Still the Robins

      After enjoying unseasonably warm (60's) weather in March, our recent late season snowstorm has been particularly painful. I usually welcome the early spring snow because, when it melts away, the grass beneath has gone from dormant gray to green. Six inches, however, seems a little excessive. I know the Lord has greater purposes in the weather than the convenience of Connie Lamb and her winter weary friends, but I'm hoping He's in a hurry to accomplish it. If I controlled the weather, my purpose for the deep dumps of snow across our country would be to tweak the noses of the global warming fearmongers. Climate change, I'll show you climate change!

 

  Still the Robins 

When winter waned with warmth and sun,

I hoped an early spring would come,

to join the robins who've come home.

 

Instead, our spring arrived with snow 

which buried plants and hope below.

But still, the robins come and go.

 

Since their Creator is the one 

who melts the snow and warms the sun,

the robins trust that spring will come.

Could I, His daughter, trust my King,

and find the faith the robins bring

to seed the snow with hope of spring? 

 

3/24/24

 

Emergency Back up Dog

    My post about losing Baldr, might give the impression that he was Tracy's only dog. Trace actually had two dogs at the time of his death, and one of them is still with us, Mykah. The problem is, Mykah is just the emergency-back-up dog. Tracy's first dog was one of two pups left in a shopping cart at a grocery store. His fiance liked to rescue animals and gave the Husky mix puppy to Tracy. He named him Odin. When the relationship broke up, Odin was also parted from his playmate, her Blue Heeler. Odin needed a friend, so Tracy traded a gun for a Malamute hybrid, who looked for all the world like a bear cub with a lolling tongue. He named him for Norse mythology's lesser know son of Odin, Baldr. When Tracy came to live with us, the move included Odin and Baldr. 

    Every time those two went outside they played, biting each other's necks, running circles around the shop, stalking each other--face to face. (No one claimed they were good at stalking.) When Odin died of cancer at age six, Baldr stopped eating, stopped everything. We knew Trace needed to get him a playmate, so he bought a three year old Husky named Mykah. But she was not a playmate. As one of three Huskies at her last home, one who fought over (what we now refer to as) food insecurity issues, she regarded Baldr's attempts at the neck biting game as threatening. So they did not play, but they became companions. Baldr figured out that he had inherited Odin's role as alpha of the pack, even if it was only a two pack. Odin had been the one racing to the back fence to strike fear into those who dared intrude on the path behind us, while Baldr looked at him to see why they were running. Now Baldr raced to the back fence and Mykah took her cues from him.

   Mykah is a sweet natured, blissfully quiet dog, whose worst trait is trying to lick people's tonsils. But, by her own choice, she prefers to fade into the background. Thus, the emergency back up dog. We know this because we used to have an emergency back up cat. Even though Sola came to us three months before Maynard, Mayn was our main cat. The zen master within the house. The menace to mice outside the house. Sola, on the other hand, spent most of her life at the foot of our bed. She only received visitors within that chosen realm. 

    Mykah will never be as strong a link to Tracy as Baldr was, though Tracy liked her and she looked on him as her rescuer. With Tracy, she even dared to play, spinning adorable triple circles. But Mykah sleeps in a corner or under the table, instead of under our bed, like Baldr did. Odin taught Baldr as a puppy that the proper place to sleep is under the bed and Baldr continued the practice after he became a full grown 80 pound dog, though by then, it required a lot of squirming. Mykah may not even want Baldr's role as main dog. Some people, by nature, prefer to be unnoticed, and some of nature's creatures do too. Baldr's death was a heartbreak, if not an emergency, and we are grateful our inheritance from Tracy included an emergency back up dog.

Two Years in Heaven Today

   We knew today would have plenty of distractions from contemplating our loss, because Reed had both a CT and bone scan scheduled for this afternoon. Now his urologist should have all the information he needs before Reed's Monday appointment to discuss treatment for his prostate cancer. Still, we wanted to honor Tracy's memory in and around all that. Britten and Emily offered to take us out for lunch the next day, but wound up with sick daughters--again. We knew we couldn't go anywhere. Should we donate to the scholarship fund or some other cause Tracy cared about? Then I realized that the best way to honor him is probably what we have been doing all this time, finding meaning and happiness in the daily life God has appointed us, daring to find joy beyond the tears.

 

    Two Years in Heaven Today

How do we honor your memory, Trace,

two years in heaven today?

The things we have--

An aviation scholarship fund in your name.

A beautiful bench to mark your grave,

and ours someday.

A tribute wall in our entryway.

A memory box that I can't put away.

The notes you wrote us through the years.

And pictures, lots of pictures.

But maybe the better honor is in

The things we do--

Getting up in the morning, regardless of sleep.

Breathing out and breathing in.

Putting one foot in front of the other.

Going about the duties of life,

despite the hole in our hearts.

Going on because we must,

because you would want us to.

Trusting God to give daily hope and humor. 

That's how we choose to honor you,

two years in heaven today.

 

                    3/22/24

A Watch to Keep

    One week shy of the two year anniversary of Tracy’s death, we had to put down his much loved Malamute, a gentle giant named Baldr. We had been taking him to the vet for two weeks for what looked like a sore on his tail, then a bladder infection, but we could tell by the look in Baldr’s eyes there was something more. The something more turned out to be cancer in his lymph nodes, a perforated intestine and infection throughout his abdomen. The doctor gave him a pain shot so we could bring him home that night for goodbyes, ours and others.

    The next day he was clearly suffering and the 1 p.m. vet appointment could not come fast enough. But while we were waiting, I coped as I always do, by writing a poem. When the feelings are deep, I have to write rhymed verse. It is the only way the words will come out of my brain. The only form that does justice to the pain. After our son’s death, his big dog became a huge source of comfort for us, a living link to Tracy that we could still see and touch. He rests now in our daughter’s pasture, right next to Odin, Tracy’s other much loved dog, a Husky mix, who died two years before Tracy did.

 

A Watch to Keep

We have a watch to keep today

with you, our dying friend,

 who shared our lives for these 8 years.

 We'll stay close by until the end.

 Until you fall asleep,

 we have a watch to keep.

Your memories live within my phone

from puppyhood to fully grown.

 The days when Odin led the pack,

 and Tracy held you in his lap.

 Both of them are resting deep

 and now, we have your watch to keep.

We will not let you suffer, friend,

your life is clearly at its end.

 The comfort in the company of

 the gentle giant Tracy loved,

 is very hard to put to sleep.

 Still, we have a watch to keep.

For Tracy, most of all, would want

 you safe, and loved, and free of pain.

 Perhaps, somehow, with you again,

 if only that you're both at peace.

 Till then, we have a watch to keep.

 We have a watch to keep.

 

For Baldr 2015-2024

                                               

                                               

3/15/2024

An Aiiii! for an Eye

      As incongruous as it sounds, I have not been able to write lately because I've been putting together a book. For most people making a book would involve writing, but I am doing with previously written materials what I also do with leftovers--combining them in new, preferably palatable, ways to use them up. Having launched another of the Lamb book into the Amazon, Life Lines of the Lamb, and putting another, Legacy of the Lamb, into a Word document, I finally have time to write about my cataract surgery. 

    I already knew I did not like anything touching my eye. I could never have managed contacts. After getting drops for eye exams, I noticed I could feel my body oozing out of the exam chair where it had partially embedded itself to get as far away from the drops as possible. When I was 19, I got a paint chip in my eye when scraping a wall for painting and was willing to leave it there the rest of my life rather than have it removed. My fiance had to back me into a corner and hold my arms down while a coworker scraped the chip off my eye with the corner of a soft dollar bill. What I didn't know before today is that there is actually a name for that fear--ommetaphobia. The information said it could spring from a bad experience. The only eye-dea that comes to mind, is when my older brother accidentally shot a rubber tipped arrow into my eye while attempting to hit the balloon I was stupid enough to hold for him at what I considered a safe distance from my body. 

    I wish I had known I had ommetaphobia when I went to my cataract appointment. It sounds more clinical than wussy. But I was willing to subject myself to eye surgery in order to be able to drive after dark. Northwest Montana in summer has long hours of daylight, but the bill for that comes due in the winter through long hours of darkness. My driving day ended at dinnertime. Oncoming headlights looked like sparklers, but not in a good way. More like aiii! than aah. My doctor assured me that meds would have me nice and relaxed for the procedure. That proved to be a lie almost on the level of a state of the union speech. Driving to the surgery center in a white out blizzard turned out to be the relaxing part of the experience. For one thing I spent two hours in the back anticipating the surgery because a general anesthesia patient required extra time. I knew I was nervous because I could not recall any scripture or even songs to comfort or distract myself. The measly med, l.5 mg Versed, didn't relax one eyelash. I flinched when they put in the frame to hold my eye open. The procedure itself was painless, my eyeball was totally numb, the panicky part was seeing lights coming at my eye and not being able to look away. The doctor had the nurses on each side of me hold my hands. I do not know if that was to comfort me or if he thought I might try to scratch his eyeballs out. There was no music playing, so I supplied sound effects, an embarrassing whimper. The drive back to our house in the blizzard distracted me temporarily, but I had flashbacks of those frightening lights for two hours after getting home.

    At my appointment during the inter eye interval I call blurvana, Dr. Barth assured me the next surgery would be better. It was not off to a good start when they told me to report for surgery at 7 a.m. I am not a morning person and knew I would not sleep if cataract surgery was my wake up call. But then they changed the time to much more manageable 12:30. As the last patient of the day, the only person who could delay me, was me. Dr. Barth also arranged for a nurse anesthetist to administer a higher dosage of meds. I could still see the lights coming at my eye, but they were blurry. No flashbacks this time. Eye survived. My newly implanted lenses allow me to see, with perfect clarity, the age spots, crepe and other imperfections of my skin. My new prescription glasses provide better distinction for distance than I had when my last pair was brand new. And I'm starting to glimpse the possibility of driving after dark. Oncoming headlights are more globby than glaring. So, after all that, am I glad I had cataract surgery? Aye, eye.

  

Our First Date

    My first official date with Reed was to a college Valentine banquet in 1976. The one time we got together before that was when we were both in the college TV room and Reed said, "My church is having a taco night for college age, wanna come?" At that point I'd go anywhere for free food. Anyway, a Valentine banquet is an awkward first date. The speaker was addressing couples in love. The message was about not sacrificing the 99 percent of the things you like about your boyfriend/girlfriend for the 1 percent you don't. I only knew about one percent of Reed, and I wasn't sure how I felt about even that. As it turned out, Reed was the first of four guys that invited me to that banquet. For an unpopular girl who never dated in high school (not that I wanted to, dating in my high school was synonymous with getting drunk), getting asked out by four guys was a Vatican worthy miracle. So I couldn't help but wonder through the awkward evening in my borrowed dress, if I should have taken one of the other offers.

    Our first date was awkward and our courtship involved lots of breaking up--my fault, I was interested in someone else. But he had gone home and Reed was still around. And there is something irresistible about someone who keeps loving you, even when you push them away. Eventually I realized I loved him back. We got engaged June 25, 1976, despite a proposal about as romantic as his taco night invitation. 

   "I wanna marry you."  Reed

   "I wanna marry you, too."  Me

   "Will you?"  Reed  

    Long pause.      Gulp.      "Yes."  ?  Me

Not only was Reed not on bended knee, he didn't even get up off the couch.

    One year to the day from that romantic milestone, we got married. That fractured fairy tale occasion is in my previous blog, Our Ominous Wedding. Yet here we are 48 years from that first date. Happy Valentine's Day, my first and lifetime love. That one percent is still pretty annoying, but you're a keeper. See, I was listening at the banquet after all.

 

  

Love Poured Out

   As much as I love studying the book of John, as I have done so many times now in BSF, I always dread getting to chapter 12, the beginning of the beautiful, but grim, death march to the cross. This week's lesson is on chapter 13, and I needed a way to express what I was feeling. Of course, for me, that is a poem.

 

 Love Poured Out

 

You were about to leave the world

in a horrible, humiliating way,

while those who loved you best

were arguing who was greatest.

 

I would not have washed their feet,

I would have held them face down

in the wash basin. I would have 

sought comfort, not given it. 

 

I don't understand you at all,

but I wish I was like you. 

Gentle, and focused on the glory

instead of the agony. 

Focused on the eleven

who loved you, not the one

who betrayed you,

though you loved him, too.

I wish, like Mary, I had a tangible way

to comfort you then, in your time of need.

But all I have are these poured out words,

the late and faint fragrance of my love.