The Law of Diminishing Returns

    Most of us have heard of the law of diminishing returns. I first learned about it in a lecture regarding physical intimacy. If the relationship moves from the holding hands stage to hugging, going back to just holding hands will not be satisfying enough. If it moves from hugging to kissing, hugging will not be enough. If it moves from kissing to you know what, kissing won't provide (as the song says) no satisfaction. You can guess why this particular precept might be shared with dating couples at a Bible college.            

    Addiction follows the same pattern. The amount of alcohol, drugs, sex, gambling, etc. that is required to be satisfying keeps increasing. But addictions are obviously harmful, what about other things with diminishing returns that I (for some reason) see ads for regularly--like beauty products for aging women. After a point, such efforts are all buck and no bang. The spokes-model looks like a geisha and the actual users look like slightly less wrinkled prunes. If the promised "measurable results" are only detectable with lab equipment, unless I plan to carry the findings with me, my beauty secret will remain a secret beauty.

    Safety requirements are also subject to the law of diminishing returns, especially in organizations with permanent safety officers. At first they offer sensible ideas about using and storing tools, equipment, chemicals etc. These are easy to obey because individuals with a detectable I.Q. are motivated toward their own well being anyway. However, when workers gather in groups, the I.Q. is divided into the lowest common denominator, men might decide to show off, women can become "unruly". Groups need safety rules. And, since every group has at least one score-keeping, rule-nazi, narc in it, it is easier to just follow them. The workplace has become safer, but the safety officer still has to justify their job by looking for remote remnants of risk.

     Now for the one most annoying to Reed--safety systems. Safety systems, the insurance approved ideal/idol of many aviation businesses, are even worse. Not only are they grasping as safety straws to find risk, nearly all of their edicts make the workplace less efficient. Since their entire business model is based on continually coming up with additional safety measures, eventually they are making mandates about not drying your hair in the microwave or how to operate a stapler, as if the employees do not have the sense God gave a mud puddle. And frankly, "puddle" people don't bother to read them. Someone else reads the regs to them while they wait for the EMT's to show up.  

    When Solomon wrote, "of the making of books there is no end," it was a complaint not a commendation. Making endless regulations ought to be against the law, actually it is--the law of diminishing returns. 

 

 

49 Years Ago Today

    We did not deliberately choose the 100th anniversary of the Custer Massacre to get engaged. For one thing Custer's Last Stand is not a big deal in Oregon, where we lived at the time. For another, both Reed's proposal and my acceptance were unrehearsed and spontaneous. Even Custer could have made a better plan. But perhaps that doomed engagement date explains the series of mishaps that occurred a year later on our wedding day. Thankfully, only vehicles were massacred. I know the big celebration, the Golden anniversary, is reserved for the 50th, and I think Reed and I will manage to make it one more year. But 49ers is more fun to say and filled with double meanings so that's what this poem is about.    

 

  49 Years Ago Today 

Today we are officially 49ers--

not the NFL kind, the padding

we have put on through the years

has nothing to do with football.

49 years ago today, Reed and I entered

the unexplored frontier of marriage.

We were looking for gold.

 

We had glimpsed gold dust before,

but the longer we sought for the source,

the deeper and richer the gold became. 

One promising vein played out

far sooner than expected, but we know

it is resting deeper in the Master's mine

and someday we will find it again. 

 

Other seams divided into veins

even more robust than the originals.

And the gold we have mined on earth 

will become unimaginable riches

once it is refined by the Master.

The Golden anniversary is the 50th, 

but we struck gold 49 years ago, today.

 

 6/25/26 

 

 

  

 

 

Using Things Up

      If our small group knew how much of the bountiful buffet we offer our guests was driven by what I need to use up in the fridge, they would be less impressed. My menu is often a combination of remnants in the refrigerator plus recipes. Since the internet offers an endless source of recipes, all I have to do is look up, for instance, appetizers using ham. The cookies I made this week, chocolate raspberry bars, are an example of both using up and substituting what I have on hand. My main goal was to use some of the huge tub of spreadable cream cheese my friend gave me to go with the croissants she brought over. It was a very kind gesture, I love croissants, but cream cheese has always grossed me out. I think of it as an ingredient, not a food. I cook with it, but I can barely look at it and hate to get it on my hands. The Costco tub she brought would be a lifetime supply for me. However, since I discovered spreadable cream cheese can sub for the regular bricks, I now plan slip it harmlessly into recipes that hide the taste and texture.

    Now back to the cookies, the middle layer of the bar cookies was cream cheese mixed with melted white chocolate chips. Perfect, I had some aging white chips I needed to use up, so this would be the culinary version of killing two birds with one stone. However, the recipe called for one cup and I only had one third. Then I remembered a trail mix I had on hand contained white yogurt chips. Close enough. So I nicked all the chips from the mix to use for the cookies. That still only made one half cup, but since the goal is just to sweeten the cream cheese layer, I figured that was close enough too.

    I did not have the seedless raspberry jelly the recipe called for, but I had been looking for a way to use the strawberry spread I bought mostly because it was on sale. Strawberry spread instead of raspberry jelly? Close enough. The other thing I needed to use up was half a can of chocolate fudge frosting. I don't usually buy canned frosting either, but it was on sale for a buck. You may notice a recurring theme here. The recipe called for melting chocolate chips to make a glaze, instead I zapped the chocolate frosting to make it softer. Close enough. 

    The chocolate raspberry bars turned out delicious despite the deviations. And as for my goal of using things up--this time I actually finished off three birds with one stone.

 

Being a Dad

     I make cards on a Hallmark computer program that enables me to customize. This year I decided the Father's Day card I made for Reed should include a poem. The poem is bittersweet, as all things have been since Trace died, but by God's grace, the sweet is gradually overtaking the bitter.

 

Being a Dad 

 

I wondered how you would take to it 

       . . . being a Dad.

You didn't have the advantage I did, 

of feeling your child inside you.

Our daughter was not as real to you

until she was born, 

and the nurses could barely

pry her out of your arms. 

 

Years later, on your arm,

walking her down the aisle 

I saw the look on your face--

you did not want to "give her away"

more like get her away 

from this barely grown groom

who dared to take her

from our home.

 

Will introduced me to the 

mysterious world of sons,

where you knew better than I

what to expect. Although Will

seldom behaved as expected.

And we realized Will should have been

his middle name, his first name

should have been Strong. 

 

Then came Tracy, who inherited

my compassion, your skills,

and from both sides of our family,

a predisposition to addiction. 

He shared so much with me, 

but in the hardest failures of his life

turned to you, and you were there

  . . . being a Dad. 

 

Father's Day 2026 

 

 

 

 

Father's Day Gifts

    I wrote this poem for my Dad's Father's Day card this year, but I won't publish it until he has received it in the mail. My Dad is very healthy for his age, but he will be 99 next month, and I realize that whatever I need to say to him, I should probably tell him now. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. I did not specify in this that my Mom was mentally ill, but I wrote this for my Dad, who needs no explanation. And I hope that perhaps this may speak to people whose circumstances were different from ours, yet familiar.

Father's Day Gifts  

It is hard to buy Father's Day gifts 

for a man as satisfied with what

God has given him as you are,

so this year's gift is mostly my words.

 

For us four siblings, raised when

dads went to work to support their kids

and moms stayed home to nurture them,

Dad was the bond that held us together.

 

He showed us the value of 

honoring our future wedding vows

regardless of reciprocation,

appreciation, or mental condition. 

 

He showed us sacrificial love

by coming home to a family

who needed him, instead of

pursuing his own happiness. 

 

Dad is the reason we grew up

to be responsible, resilient people,

and to find the fulfilling relationships

that he chose to give up for our sake.

 

From Dad we learned that happiness 

comes from attitude, not circumstances,

that love is a commitment, not a feeling,

and to be content with what God gives us. 

 

Father's Day is a reminder, 

not about the gifts we give you,

but about the gift God gave us

by making you our Dad. 

 

Father's Day 2026 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Learning by the Seat of My Leg

    I am half way through six weeks of my right leg being non-weight bearing following ankle surgery. I thought I would be using crutches, having underestimated the changes between the 50 plus body I had for my knee replacements and the 70 minus body I have now. My shoulders, even the new one, are not up to crutch duty, my left leg can sock, but not hop, and I am a little off balance (no surprise there). These deficiencies must show, because my podiatrist strongly recommended I use a knee scooter. I always thought those were for the younger crowd. I have not ridden a scooter since  . . . I have never ridden a scooter. 

    At first it was awkward, like a junior high dance. Where am I supposed to hold you? When is it okay to let go? How fast are we supposed to move? The latter was written right on the handlebars:  Recommended speed: Normal walking 3.6 km/h (2.24 mph). I can actually reach that on the straightaways, even inside my house. It is the first time I have been able to go normal walking speed in years. Imagine how fast I could go if we didn't have carpet. Now I love my knee scooter. The brand is called BlessReach, so I call my scooter Blessie Blue. Here are some of the things I have learned:

 

1. I know the best way to transfer to/from the bed, toilet, shower, car, and most of the furniture. Still working on refining transfers to motorized carts at stores.
2. I am learning to organize tasks by line of reach, especially in the bathroom. I brush my teeth, wash my face and put on face cream on the way to the toilet. I put on my nightgown, grab meds, and drop my dirty clothes in the hamper on the way to bed. Scooters do not turn on a dime, more like a manhole cover, so I try to anticipate everything I might need from any area of the house before I leave it. Up until now, forgetfulness was the best exercise I got.
3. I can pull the cords on the ceiling light and fan with my reacher, which I have named Jack.
4. Even giving him a list that includes brand, size, price, aisle, and sometimes pictures, grocery stores are mostly unexplored territory for Reed. Unless I go with him, I need to lower my expectations that he will recognize good produce or bring home the sale items.
5. Reed has been hiding his talents from me. Although church friends have brought in several dinners for us, Reed has fixed bacon and eggs, even French toast (his idea!) for breakfast. He also knows how to do laundry (with some coaching on sorting and cycles). And, like those men I see in commercials, he knows how to clean a house.
6. That leads me to the most important thing I have learned while semi-recumbent--I DO NOT GET TO HAVE MY HOUSE MY WAY! 

    Reed does not think like me, load the dishwasher like me, clean like me, fold clothes even to my extremely low standards, etc. But he does help me shower, finds and fetches dozens of things I need, is my chauffeur, built a scooter ramp on our front steps, and has a great cup of coffee waiting for me at breakfast. The price of having things my way is doing them myself and, although I am getting my energy back, and Blessie and I are discovering how to do more things together, I have also learned that when you don't have a leg to stand on, you need to sit some things out. 

 

On This and Every Other Day

 

On This and Every Other Day 

 

We cannot tell the ones who've gone

how much their memory lives on

in flags that fly upon their graves,

in speeches given, veterans praised,

but most of all through families

who gather because they are free, 

on this and every other day

through the life you gave--

Memorial Day.

 

5/25/26