Archive for the ‘resilience’ Category

Musing after my biopsy

August 3, 2012

disclaimer.  Tonight’s post may be TMI for some.  I had a biopsy  procedure done today on my prostate.  Proceed accordingly.

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As we pulled out of the driveway after lunch today, a song was on my lips:

“I’m off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz….

because because because because..

because of all the wonderful things he does…” 

I looked at my  wife and we laughed . ..especially when we got to that  line about the “wonderful things he does.”

(we were both thinking about the “wonderful thing” the Doctor was going to be doing to me in little over an hour :-(

My PSA count has been hovering slightly above normal now for a couple of years, and at my last appointment in June , it  jumped 2 points.

Dr looked @ me and suggested we needed to consider taking a biopsy  to rule out cancer.   I told him  the higher # was  just a lab error :-)

He liked my attitude, but said  I needed to retake the blood work , just in case

The next day I had  the blood work done again and when the results came back ,  it had  2 more points.

When Pam the Dr’s nurse  called with the new numbers, I  agreed, I  would schedule  the  biopsy…..

reluctantly

The procedure is on an outpatient basis…no anesthetic .   Nurse and  Dr both said it tends to feel  like someone was snapping me on the rear with a rubber band.

That didn’t sound too bad going in….

Now that I’ve experienced it first hand, I would give you a different word picture….

It felt like the Wicked Witch  took  her broom handle and  inserted  it

somewhere it didn’t  belong,

snapped it of,

and I could still feel the slivers 8 hours later.

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After everything was all finished and we headed to the check out counter,  the girl  at the reception  desk said they were wondering what had happened to me.

I told her we got lost in the bowels of their clinic.  (keep in mind I’m @ a urology clinic :-)   she was impressed w/ my quick wit.

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After today’s procedure, I’m more  committed than ever to grow  old gracefully…..

We have a friend Helen ..she’ in her mid 80′s…

She’s my role model

She has the sweetest spirit.

Every time we see her, I come away encouraged.

She still has her mind, though her body is shot.

She’s been through enough  physical pain and heartache for 3 people.

(within a year’s time she buried her husband , a sister, and a grandson who chose to end his own life)

I asked her after the death of her grandson, how in the world she did it???

What was the secret of her resilient spirit?

It’s not that I don’t grieve, she told me..because she did.

She said, she’d learned that you have to let things go,

Sometimes, things will happen that  won’t make any sense…but you have to keep living.

She’d been through a lot and spoke with authority.

Writing this tonight, makes me want to stop and see her again…being around people like that gives me hope.

How about you…

Do you know an older person who is getting old gracefully?   How so?

Tell me more!

Time to hit the sack.  I’m supposed to lay low for a couple of days.  I’ll try.

Shake it off

July 4, 2012

It was a line drive to center field.

the ball bounced straight toward our son.

He went down to scoop it up and….

and missed….

“Shake it off John” came the encouragement from the bench

He told us later, he bought his glove at a second-hand sporting goods store and the mitt really isn’t big enough for soft balls

“Shake it off”….

Those words came back to me on Saturday.

I called my brother to talk about work.

Instead of getting a sympathetic ear,   I felt like he was a little “snarky”/ I was asked to do some side work for another family member,…for half my normal wages. I mentioned this to  my brother, who said, “Well, it’s better than nothing”

I was tempted to cop a small attitude…when suddenly I hear the words…”shake it off”….

I could either replay this conversation in my head several times  and let it sour my Saturday morning, or….

refuse to think  anymore about it.

I chose the latter.

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Last night when wife and daughter #3 got home from running errands she told me, she had had a very very close call in the car.

as in…could have been fatal.

After she left the grocery store, she had to cross two lanes of traffic…a pick up was coming from her left/ had his turning signals on…rather than wait,just to make sure, she took off…out of the corner of her eye, she saw another vehicle …

     “Why I didn’t get hit, I’ll never know, she told me…he laid on the horn, I gunned it, just as soon as I saw him..it left me shaking… Normally, that sort of thing would have bugged me the rest of the day.  I would have kicked myself for being so stupid…then I heard “shake it off.  You’d be proud of me, for the most part, that is what I did.”

In the mid 1980′s I was challenged with the concept of being more intentional about what  I allow my mind to dwell on.  At the time, I thought it sounded like a bunch of non-sense.  I remember thinking there was no way, I could have control over my thoughts…after all, my thoughts were just…there…thoughts are automatic right?

Nope, they’re not.

I discovered, once I started paying attention to what I think about,  I can begin to take an active part in what I allow my mind to ruminate on…

Is it easy?

Nope,

Is it possible?

Yep.

Feel free to disagree with me. ;-)

all I know is, that  the day to day quality of my life is directly affected by my thought life.

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The soul is dyed the color of its thoughts.

Think only on those things that are in line with your principles and can bear the light of day.

The content of your character is your choice.

Day by day, what you do is who you become.

Your integrity is your destiny – it is the light that guides your way.”
  Heraclitus

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What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever had to “shake off”?

Is there something that’s currently “sucking the life out of you?”  Tell me about it.

Thanks for taking the time to stop by and stay in touch. DM


What’s under YOUR grow light? ;-)

June 5, 2012

Do you know what’s more fun than growing weed in your basement?

Heirloom tomatoes!

Why? Because

A.  they’re  legal

and B.

Instead of  only being able to choose from a dozen  varieties at your local garden center, you can choose from several hundred  different varieties of tomatoes.

In  March I started two trays of Brandy wine’s  in our basement:

Brandy wine tomatoes @ 8 weeks.

My Mom reminded me a couple of weeks ago  to set them out  a few hours  a day, a  couple of weeks before   sticking them in the ground.

(The process is called “hardening”)

Different gardeners use different technique but basically, the idea is to introduce  your young plants  to the forces of nature gradually.

if you don’t, the first good wind and they’ll all snap off.

I set them on the east side of our house, next to the compost pile.  It’s kind of sheltered there and out of direct sun light.

They were still  pretty beat up by the end of the first day.

I  put them back  under the grow light, and within a couple of days, they  started to recover.

It reminded me of a true story I’d read about  few years ago.  The mature trees in an arboretum  mysteriously began falling over.  What they eventually discovered was this….because the trees had grown up inside, in such a sheltered environment,  they had never experienced adversity.  As they matured, the cell structure in the trees was so weak they collapsed under their own weight.

I’ve been thinking about that all day today.

The  relationship between adversity and personal growth.

As much as I hate adversity, I know  that a certain amount of it can actually be good for me.

Right now, I’m roofing a 2 story farm-house.

At the end of the day I come home mentally exhausted.

I am  responsible  not only for my own  safety, but the safety of two other men.

We are installing a new type of metal roof.

So in addition to  safety concerns, I’m also dealing with a learning curve.

(At the end of the day, that roof better not leak, or you know who’s phone is going to be ringing the first time it rains….)

Did I mention, I hate heights :-)

Yep, a carpenter who hates heights…go figure….

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Went to a walk-a-thon 3 weeks ago for our grandson Rigg.   One of the disabilities he has been identified with is Angelman’s Syndrome.

My daughter deals with adversity and stress    24/7

One of the songs playing  in the back ground at the walk-a-thon was a song by Kelly Clarkson…..

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…”

When I was watching that video tonight.  it reminded me of one of my blogging friends

If you’ve been a reader here for any length of time, you know one of my few pet peeves is  religious people who spew out “trite platitudes”

If you ever see me in a receiving line at a funeral home..I want to warn you in advance..don’t..and I repeat, don’t  mumble some trite platitude to comfort me.

It won’t be pretty.

I say that here because undoubtedly someone at some point, is going to read this post and think I’m spouting off simplistic trite platitudes in response to the  adversity and suffering life can sometimes dish out.

Not on your life.

Some of the tomatoes I started out with  didn’t make it.

Others are still alive..

barely….

Here are some pictures of the ones  still standing  tonight:

Brandy wine tomato thick and healthy stalk  starting to bloom

Notice how robust that stem is :-)

Down but not out

Broken and starting over

As always, thanks for taking the time to read my “stuff” :-)   DM

Some of last years crop

A trip to the Vet

May 17, 2012

Little Moe is the latest addition to our family

A pet chicken…

and not just any chicken mind you…a handicapped chicken

Here’s a recent photo:

He’s got a gimpy leg.  His right one just wants to flop

Last night I posted a 40 second video clip of Little Moe hobbling around on our face book home page.

A good friend and fellow blogger Kristina got after me and said I needed to take him to the vet.

Now in my mind that is a $35 to $40 office call/ not to mention any treatment that might have been suggested, so I let the need be known on face book.  I was willing to take him to the vet but we were not in a position financially @ this point to cover the cost.

Would you believe I had 2 people step forward, willing to underwrite Little Moe’s visit…

There are still  lots of kind tender heart-ed people out there, I meet them all the time.

I asked my wife to call the clinic first thing this morning to see if they’d see a pet chicken :-)

Yep

The Vet clinic called at 2:30 this afternoon  and said we could bring him in for a check up….

Here are some action photos from our time @ the vets:

Little Moe in the pet carrier waiting to see the vet

the Vet and I before he examines Little Moe

Little  Moe getting a check up

As I was driving into town I thought about the situation

What if there was nothing that could be done and this little bird is in constant pain?

What would be the loving thing to do?

What would you do?

At first the Veterinary  thought there was a broken bone

The more he manipulated the leg and felt around, he decided it wasn’t broken

Rather, Little Moe seems to be missing some tendons in that area of his leg

I asked if he were in pain.

Nope, didn’t appear to be :-)

There was really nothing that could be done, in terms of a splint etc.  it just is what it is.

We talked briefly about some guy on the TV last night who shoots a bow and arrow with only his feet….

I guess that came up because Little Moe seems to be making allowances for his handicap in other ways.

I’ve had 3 different people suggest to me I ought to write a children’s book with Little Moe as the main character….

Any takers in the audience who would be willing to team up with me on this?  I’m thinking the story line doesn’t have to be really very long..

I think I need an illustrator as well.  If you’re at all interested let me know.

Well, I better go outside and shut the door to the chicken house.  I let Little Moe and his friends free range during the day, but have to lock them up at night or they may wind up as someone’s dinner in the middle of the night.

DM

Adrenal Exhaustion and stress

April 11, 2012

“A calm and undisturbed mind and heart are health and life to the body, but envy, Jealousy and wrath (anger) are rottenness in the bones.”

Eastern proverb

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I hit the wall emotionally back in 1987.

I felt like I was in a vice,  crushed between several ” self-induced” pressures.

It was a watershed time in my life.

Of late, I’ve read a couple of blog posts  that took me back to that time in my life…I wished I could sit down with each of those writers over a cup of coffee and visit…Since that’s not probably  going to happen, I thought I would do the next best thing..post a portion of a chapter on stress  that one of my daughters is currently reading ..it’s from the book  The Anxiety Cure by Archibald Hart

Chapter 10  Dealing with Overstress

Stress!  Some hate it; others love it.  If you love it, it is more than certain that you will die from it.  Stress is both exciting and painful.  It exhilarates us and gives us energy to achieve, but at the same time, it causes an accelerated wear and tear on our bodies….

Our culture does not train us to manage stress.  If anything, it capitalizes on our stress.  Do you want a promotion in your job?  Then you have to work harder and longer than your nearest rival.  Competition is the name of the game and, if you don’t play the game, you lose….

So what is stress?  Let me suggest a few examples:

Stress is being stretched beyond your limits.  Whenever you are confronted with challenges that you don’t seem to be able to cope with or demands that you don’t have the skills to deal with, your system goes into emergency mode…..

Stress is overextending yourself without adequate time for recovery.  If you have a series of crises in your life where one thing upon another is thrust upon you, your stress level will increase very dramatically.

Stress is believing you can do more than your human frame can take.  Remember my earlier engineering analogy using the term “duty cycle”?  It applies here.  Electric motors have a duty cycle, if you recall, that indicates what percentage of time the motor is designed to run.  If you use it for longer than its duty cycle, it will burn out.  That’s a fact of engineering.  No engine or motor is designed to run all the time without a break – without some sort of rest.  Remember that the human body is no different.  In fact the human body has a much lower duty cycle than most machines.

Adrenal Exhaustion

…it does not happen overnight but progresses through a series of stages.  In the first stage of fighting stress, the adrenal glands tend to overproduce.  They produce high amounts of adrenaline, noradrenaline, and cortisol.  As the stress keeps going, the glands begin to expand their production and can begin to feel overtaxed.

The second stage now beings as the glands  begin to temporarily under-function.  You will find that the adrenal glands “crash” because they are depleted.  This leaves you feeling fatigued a lot of the time, especially when you let down at weekends or in the evenings.

If you are healthy, the third stage now sets in.  Your glands compensate for coming up short and begin to rebuild themselves, adapting to the higher demand by actually enlarging so as to compensate for the higher demand for their service.

If the high level of stress continues, a fourth stage sets in.  The glands again eventually exhaust themselves and remain in a chronic state of under-functioning.  At this stage, they can oscillate between over producing  adrenaline, causing panic or mood swings like depression, then crashing and under-producing adrenaline the rest of the time.  With insufficient stress fighting hormones, you will tend to have  difficulty handling any stressful situation.  You will feel as if you are falling apart.  At this point, your stress tolerance is exhausted…..

How can you know if adrenal exhaustion has set in?  Here are some telltale signs:

A sense of chronic low stress tolerance

Frequent feelings of fatigue

Repeated bouts of depression, especially when you stop work or try to relax

Worsening allergies or asthma

Cravings for substances that provide stimulation

Addiction to caffeine.

How do you recover from a chronic state of adrenal exhaustion?  By consistently working at lowering adrenal arousal to allow your system to “reset” itself.  Your body needs time to heal and to adpat to a lower level of functioning.  Here are the general guidelines:

Simplify your lifestyle and reduce stress to the absolute minimum./  Take up a hobby.  Get lots of fresh air and sunshine.

Increase your sleep to a minimum of between 8 and 1/2 to 9 hours a night.  (I’ll have more to say about this in chapter 14)

Eliminate all stimulants, especially, caffeine, as well as nicotine, alcohol, and recreational drugs.  These play havoc with your body’s chemistry.

Eliminate all  foods that may disturb your digestion or cause allergies

Supplement your diet with vitamins such as B-Complex C and E

Take yourself less seriously and treat life more respectfully…

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End of quote.

Back in 1987  I  (DM) made radical lifestyle choices to bring my life back under control.  I hope I never find myself under that much self induced pressure and stress.  As a former people please-er, I ruthlessly guard my free time….my evenings and weekends.

There is more I could tell you,  but since you didn’t ask, I’ll stop here.

ps  there is a great self evaluation stress  test in the chapter I may post if anyone is interested…

pss.  More than once, I’ve heard some zealous fool brag about burning the candle on both ends as if somehow God was pleased with their fervor.

He doesn’t need our “burning out”   Why do you think he created us with the built-in  need to sleep a 1/3 of our lives away?  I think it’s so we’ll have less time to screw things up. :-)

So to all you driven workaholics.  (I can say this because I was one)

Relax

Build some margin into your life.  (make sure you click that link if you’ve read this far) ;-)

You’ll last  longer.

As always, thanks for reading along. DM

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Update 4/14/2012 

Here’s that stress test Wa Makeri:

Telltale signs of too much stress

 How can you tell if you have too much stress in your life?  Here is a baker’s dozen of important symptoms.  Look at these telltale signs and give yourself the following scores:

( 0)  if you never experience this symptom

(1) if you experience it say once a month

(2) if you experience it between once a month and once a week

(3) if you experience it often (more than once a week)

1.  Do you experience headaches of any sort?

2.  Does your heart pound, feel irregular, or skip beats?

3. Do you feel a lot of muscle tension or stiffness in your joints?

4. D you ever feel dizzy or lightheaded?

5. Do you get sick often (colds, flue, or throat problems)?

6. Does indigestion, nausea, or other stomach discomfort bother you, or do you suffer from stomach ulcers?

7. Do you have difficulty sleeping, falling asleep, or waking up too early?

8. Do you typically have to wake up to an alarm still feeling tired?

9. Does your mind become very active and race a lot?

10. Do you grind your teeth or does your jaw ache?

11. Do you become very excited when you engage in challenging activities?

12. Do you get angry quickly or feel a deep sense of injustice whenever things go wrong?

13. Do you suffer from high blood pressure or elevated cholesterol?

Results:

     If you scored between 0 and 8 you probably have little or no stress.  Seek help only if one or two points of discomfort bother you and especially if you answered yes to question 13

A score of 9 to 15 indicates a fair amount of stress.  If any of the symptoms has been around for a long time you may need help in getting rid of it.

A score of 16 to 30 indicates a high level of stress.  You could benefit from professional help

If your score is more than 30, your stress level is extremely high.  You should seek professional help right away.

Arne Saknussemm

February 24, 2012

In 1864 Jules Verne wrote  Journey to the Center of the Earth, a fictional story of 3 men, following in the footsteps of a Mr Arne Saknussemm, to the very center of the earth.  They encountered trials and situations beyond their wildest dreams.  At certain critical points, they would discover the name:

(Arne Saknussemm) carved into rock. That meant that in spite of what they were going through, that yes, they were on the right course.  Arne had been through this very same area and had returned to the surface to tell about his adventure, so they could keep pressing on.

I became a Christian May 4th 7:48 PM 1980.    Since that time, I have on occasion found myself in various  trying situations , some relatively short-term, others that caused me to stumble for weeks and months. For the most part, I have felt alone as I would attempt to gain (or keep) my spiritual bearings. Most of the mentoring that God has used to keep me on track has come in the form of good books and biographies.

While I am thankful for all of those timely books, I believe there is a better way….somebody who could have looked me in the eye and said, “Yes, I hear you,” or “Yes, I too can relate to what you are struggling with,” or “What you are going through happens more often than you might suspect.”

I am not talking about quoting verses about this or that, or telling you to “claim the victory” or other cheap trite platitudes.  Rather, as one battle hardened, battle- weary soldier to another.

All of us, sooner or later, to one degree or another, will taste many of the same pains:  Addictions, depression, grief, loss, betrayal, rejection, slander, loved ones who wrong us in a significant way, other Christians who turn on us, etc. etc.  Really, the list is endless.  Not one of them will come into our lives without first having to pass through the hands of God.

Even as Satan (yep, I do believe he’s real) could not touch so much as one of the hairs on Job’s camels without God’s permission, so too, nothing comes into our lives without the same permission.  There is not one harsh word, one look, one bit of slander, not one wrong doing that comes into our lives without first passing through the nail- pierced hands of Jesus.

Let me close by sharing a few things  I learned when I passed through an extended season of depression and discouragement, at a time where I lost all but one my closest friends,  and my life goal suddenly disappeared right before my very eyes. (I’m not talking about some short term, project, but something I had invested years of my life.)

#1  My focus was to remain “connected” and “soft” to God and  other people.  when I was tempted to get angry ( I was and you will be)  I could not afford to harbor bitterness.  Instead  I needed to pray God’s best over their lives.  I did it, and so can you.

#2  I wrote out my inner turmoil on paper.  Gradually it helped to clarify the many feelings and thoughts swirling around in my head.

#3  If you are depressed, you are in great company.  Elijah, David, Spurgeon, Luther, Winston Churchill and a host of modern day Christians have walked where you are walking.   Sometimes, it’s not due to any wrong doing on your part whatsoever.  Sometimes it is as simple as “burning the candle on both ends.”  Vince Lombardi put it like this; ” Fatigue makes cowards of us all.”

#4  Schedule some R and R into your life. (Remember Elijah?  God sent him to a B and B (well sort of);-) to recharge)

#5  Seek Godly counsel, someone removed from your situation with whom you can “unpack” the whole tangled mess.  My experience has been that some of these things are rather complicated.

#6 Don’t beat yourself up, cut yourself some slack, be patient with yourself.

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I originally wrote this back in 2000.  Since that time, I’ve dealt with the sexual assault of a daughter,  some heavy duty marriage stress,  one child landing in jail for drunk driving, just to name 3 significant life events.  I’m still on track and plodding .  DM

The Winter of 1831 When We Ran Out of Salt

January 13, 2011

     The following is a must read.  

I (DM)   alluded to this true account put to verse  last week.  

Lines written on the circumstance of my children going to Chicago for salt in the year of thirty-one, in most bitter cold weather.

“My brother Jacob charge me,

 And told me not to let them go,

Across those wide prairies, In the winter, on the snow.

For he said, “The snow kept blowing

And drifting all around,

 My children might get lost

And perish on the ground.”

He said, “You must prepare for winter,

 Get your salt and bread and meat,

 And all things else accordingly,

 That you may want to eat. “

And when the winter comes,

Don’t let them go far away,

 Not much farther than the ravines,

To make rails on a good day.”

 Our salt was in a gum,

And was standing on the loft,

 But met with a bad accident

When the cover got shoved off.

I had some in a box,

That was standing down below,

Not enough to last till spring,

And we knew not where to go

 A man had been selling salt,

 That lived up at Marseilles,

But when I saw the man

He said his salt had failed

. I asked him when he’d have some,

He said, “Never, as I know,

If I go for salt I’ll freeze to death,

 And perish in the snow.”

I said I had fat oxen

That were able then to go,

 But my children had the ague

And were unfit to try the snow.

When I got home, I told my children

 What the man said,

Then William said, “I’ll go myself

And take that big old sled.

“Mother, do not be uneasy,

 None but lazy people freeze,

 Because they will not exercise,

They are so fond of ease.

“There is no fear for me, Mother,

 I will jump and kick the sled,

 I will keep myself in exercise,

 Run, and kick the wagon bed.”

 The sled roller was so low

That the gopher hills it hit,

Then they’d have to stop, hitch on behind,

And haul it back a bit.

 And take another course,

So they might get along;

Their team was good and active,

 All four year olds, and strong.

With an axe he had along,

When he could, he chopped them down,

 And that did save the trouble

To unhitch and drive around.

 When at the mouth of the Fox

They did take off their team,

For the river was frozen over,

And very smooth did seem.

Squire Cloud and George E. Walker

 Helped them over with their sled,

“For the cattle had enough

 to do To keep their feet,” they said.

Then they hitched on their team

And drove on out of sight,

That first day they got lost,

 And lay out all that night.

It was most bitter weather,

 A terrific, freezing night,

The Good Lord did protect them,

They did not freeze one mite.

 And when the child got lost,

 He drove till late, he said,

Then chained his oxen on

 To the hind part of his sled.

 Where he gave them corn and hay;

 After the team was fed,

 The next thing to be done

Was to creep down in his bed.

 And that good dog was at his feet,

His brother at his side,

He said he slept most sweetly;

The Lord doth still provide.

When he awake next morning

 He saw a man in sight,

A riding very fast,

Soon after it was light.

 He called and did inquire

 Where he might find the grove.

He point out the course

 And then on did move.

His boots were very tight,

 And his socks were very thin,

 And his feet were still a growing,

Made long before they’d been.

And they hauled frozen people

 From day to day, they said;

People that were traveling,

 Glad to get in their sled.

 A lady lately told me

That when he asked to stay,

 He turned about immediately

And put his team away.

 She said, “When the men came in,

They came to the fire to warm,

Leaving out their teams

Standing hungry in the storm.

“But that manly little boy,

Went back and fed his team,

 And when he came to the fire,

 He not much cold did seem.”

 A man called for spring water

 And said his feet were froze,

 And as the boy came in,

 Said, “I must lose two of my toes.”

He saw six toes upon each foot,

And he replied, so grave,

“You will have as many left

As other people have.

” No one had taken notice

 That he had so many toes,

 Then they took a hearty laugh,

Though some of them were froze.

His little brother had come in,

 His eyes looked black and bright,

And those children cheered the company

All the forepart of the night.

The weather was extremely cold

All the time that they were gone

 Hard freezing day and night, 

 could but sigh and groan.

 And of those dear lost children

I hardly could make mention,

I could not sleep, my heart was full

 Of direful apprehension.

 When they came to the mouth of the Fox,

 Come to the other shore,

Those kind gentlemen did meet them,


And again did help them o’er.

 

 Then it was after night,
Though it was not late,
When they brought over their sled,
But sometime after eight.

And came with them through the timber,

 Perhaps more than a mile,

 For fear he might get lost,

 That they might help the child.

 At length the tedious week rolled round,

And on the appointed night

Those children did come stepping in

, O, it was a joyful sight.

 On that same night a young man stopped,

That day he was some froze,

 He was riding upon horseback

And froze his cheeks and nose.

 We all set by a good log fire,

Talking of those poor boys,

 When we heard the front door open,

In the entry, heard some noise.

The room door quick flew open,

 In stepped those precious boys,

I never shall forget that hour,

 It was so full of thankful joys.

Their cheeks they looked so red,

 And their eyes they looked so bright,

 O, I was one glad mother,

 And my heart, it felt so light!

The distance more than ninety miles,

To Chicago, where they went

And brought us back six barrels of salt,

And but one week they spent

. Its thirty-one years now

 Since those children went away,

Twenty-seventh day of November,

 They started on that day.

The little one was seven years old,

His brother was fifteen,

The little one rode in the sled,

The other drove the team.

He said he had not ague

 From the day he went away,

 His health was still improving,

He grew stronger every day.

 He took three yoke of oxen,

 As sound as might be found,

To bring six barrels of salt,

 If the snow should leave the ground.

 But that was not the case,

 The snow was but too plenty,

And did lay upon the ground

Till January Twenty

. That salt prove quite essential,

Bought corn and apple trees,

Although predicted by the neighbors

The little boys would freeze.

For we had hogs and cattle,

 And all the horses still,

Except the one that killed herself

 A grinding in the mill.

And some we got the cash for,

 And that went near Lacon,

When my brother came to visit us,

It was my brother John.

I should be very thankful

For so much mercy given,

 O, grant me, gracious Saviour,

But the lowest seat in Heaven.

E.S.A.

_________________________________________

Question for you to ponder

What was the big deal about salt in 1831?  

Loosing what today might have the same implications in our lives?

Let me know if you’d like to hear any more of these accounts.  (all 6 regular readers to my blog)  :-)

 There are several more poems  where this came from.  DM

Sarah’s Reader

January 7, 2011

    Or     “Why I love local  history ”

___________________________________________________________________

Pretend  for a moment,  you were a crew foreman for 10 years.

Then  a new job  takes you out-of-state. 

 25 years later  you  step back into your old  position  at the same company and  realize things have really gone down hill  in the time  you ’ve been  gone. 

There are new faces on the crew. People  are padding their time cards, leaving work early to go  road drinking…and worse,  most of the crew think this is normal.

What do you have that the rest of them don’t have? 

Perspective

And it is this perspective that gives you the confidence to stand up for what you know is right.

(That’s been my experience the past month, if you’re curious , you can read more at   this link)

Hang on to that word…perspective.  I’ll come back to it in a minute.

______________________________________________________

Last weekend  I  grabbed an old school reader off  my shelf published in 1833.  I noticed for the first time, the name  Sarah Ann ______ dated 1838 in the inside cover.

  On a lark I did some checking on the Internet to see if she was mentioned anywhere at all. 

 I hit a gold mine. 

I found her mentioned several times.

 I’m not going to give you too many details of her life just yet.. :-) but I will tell you  this…Between Sarah Ann, her husband Will and her mother-in-law, there is enough raw material  to write a whole new  Little House on the Prairie series….anyone want to help me????

 Getting back to Sarah…

Sarah Ann marries when she is  just 17.    Her and her husband  Will   owned a hotel that entertained this young man  on several occasions:

  I wondered what it was about their story that stirred me so?

 Was it just the thrill of discovery?

 A lust for knowledge?

 It wasn’t until yesterday that I was finally able to connect the dots and put a name to my inner angst.

Their story gives me Perspective.

When I read about Sarah’s mother in law  with 7 sons carving out a livelihood in 1831, dealing with Indians  on the rampage murdering neighbors it gives me perspective on how good I have it.

When I read about harsh midwest Winter storms dumping 2 feet of snow and ice  and  young families  trying to keep warm in a 24 by 16 ft log cabin and all they had to eat was corn dodgers, salted pork and coffee  it gives perspective on how comfortable I have it.

 When I read about how a  families meager salt  supply  runs low so a mom  is forced to let her 15 yr old son and his  7-year-old brother travel 90 miles with 3 yoke of ox to get salt in the dead of winter, it gives perspective on  worry and anxiety.

When I read  about an economic bubble popping   in our nation in 1837 which plunges our country into 5 years of  extreme deprivation, it brings perspective in these uncertain economic times.

    Found a quote on history that  also speaks to me:

     The writers of history seldom give more than the rise and fall of nations, biographies of great men, kings and princes, and but little or nothing of the common people - a matter of far more importance, and more interesting.

To know the intelligence, opinions, tastes, amusements, method and means of living, routine of every day life, the hopes and fears, which swayed and controlled a people, would be far more interesting than the life of a prince socially far removed from and having no feelings in common with the masses”

So what do you think? 

 What would you do if  the electrical grid were to go down for a month? 

   What if  we experienced the popping of another economic bubble and all the wage earners in your home were suddenly out of work…long term

  Would you (and I) have what it takes to survive? 

It really does come down to our perspective.  (attitude)

As always, thanks for taking the time to read my stuff.   DM

After Cancer Everyday Miracles by Dana Jennings

May 23, 2010

taken from the

 New York Times

Sunday, May 23, 2010
_______________________________________

April 6, 2010, 11:01 am

        It has been two years since I learned that I had prostate cancer, and a bit more than a year since I had any treatment for what I eventually learned was an aggressive Stage 3 cancer.

      Being from the sticks of New Hampshire, I’m reminded of a woods that has burned. There is still plenty of scorched earth and charred deadfalls, but, more important, the green scrub and optimistic wildflowers of normality are creeping back. Dana JenningsI’m in pretty good shape these days. I live from PSA test to PSA test – every three months – and so far, so good. I still get more tired than I would like because my body chemistry is still in ferment from hormone therapy. And, to get an erection, I have to inject my penis with Cavereject, which stimulates blood flow. (It’s not as bad as it sounds. Honest.) 

       But those are just physical details. I’m more interested in what I’ve learned from my cancer, how it has actually – and unexpectedly — changed me. Cancer is a hard teacher, but a teacher even so. More than ever, I know that I am blessed in sons and my marriage. That on a cold winter’s night a pint of porter in the company of a good neighbor is a bounty in this uncertain world. Yes, cancer is about an unwanted mutiny in the body. But, too, it’s about love and transience.

      Postcancer, I love who and what I love more deeply than ever. And I keenly feel in my bones the sheer evanescence of our existence. I’ve also undergone changes that are more obvious. The anger that raged within me after my diagnosis has mellowed to a simmer — I don’t bellow at speeding cars anymore. I do admit, though, that my tolerance for jerks and trivia has vanished as time’s arrow pricks at my back. I’ve become more myself these past two years, having shed the need to impress anyone.

       Cancer cells also knock the ego down a peg or two. I’m even more obsessive about my, well, obsessions. I binge-read, gorging on books and tearing through genres like some kind of literary wolf: fantasy (Tolkien, Rowling, George R.R. Martin), crime (Leonard, Burke, Stephen Hunter) and poetry (Li Po, Tu Fu, Basho).

        And when I realized recently that the last baseball season that truly floored me was in 1975, when the Boston Red Sox and the Cincinnati Reds played their epic World Series, I galloped to the stacks to gobble up books about the primal days of the major leagues and the Negro leagues. (Yep, Ted Williams still hit .406 in 1941.) That reading, in turn, led me to Ebbets Field Flannels, and the wool replica of Satchel Paige’s 1942 Kansas City Monarchs home jersey that hangs in my closet.

      Like ol’ Satchel, I don’t look back, because I don’t want to see what might be gaining on me.

       Most important, I think, I continue to consciously slow down as our maniacal culture speeds up. I’m constantly on the lookout for those miracles in a minor key that present themselves to us each day.

         I crave a certain fierceness of perception, am more open to the fullness of life seized in one small moment or gesture:

       Bats carving inky compulsories in the purple-black dusk.

      Fern, the sweet apricot cockapoo up the street, who likes to plant her petite butt on my foot.

        The topographical hieroglyphics of moss and lichen thriving on rock and stone.

      The eternal summer conjured by Dick Dale’s feral surf guitar.

       The dank musk of rain on the wind.

       The down-home holiness of bluegrass gospel sung by Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers.

        A wicked curveball just nicking the outside corner of the plate.

       The puppy breath of our two new golden retrievers, smelling like wet and bitter grass.

        The daredevil gray squirrels that tap-dance along the back fence.

         April snow, which my country-boy father calls the poor man’s fertilizer.

         So … what are your miracles in a minor key?

____________________________________________________________

My friend Lisa from New York shared this with us on Facebook this morning-  thank you Lisa!

Making Love

April 18, 2010

      

 One of the wisest men I know, Alexander Papaderos, is the director of the Orthodox Academy of Crete.  Unfortunately for me, he lives ten time zones and thousands of miles away from Seattle.  Even when we are together, we are separated by the subtleties of language.  His English is far better than my Greek, but we are both seriously limited by lack of common cultural experience.  We get by in English on most mundane topics, but when we reach for deeper understandings, we must be careful, lest we assume we are communicating when in fact we are not.

      As 1992 became 1993, we spent the New Year holidays together.  For all the romantic images a summer trip to Greece may suggest, the island of Crete in winter is a cold, windy place.  A time to sit indoors by an olive-wood fire, drink raki and retsina, eat prok sausage with fresh bread soaked in new-pressed olive oil, and talk late into the night of weighty matters.

      One evening we spoke of marriage.

       In Crete the custom of arranged marriage continues.  Even when a marriage is not initiated by a family, the wisdom of family experience is brought to bear in a way Americans would find anachronistic.

     The Cretans think romance is nice enough when it happens, but it is not a particularly good basis for marriage.

      Papaderos had stumbled over a concept he had found in Western literature. “Making love.”  It confused him.  “What is this making love?”

       I explained it was a popular euphemism for having sex- going to bed…whether married or not.

    He replied that for Cretans, “making love,” is a serious notion summarizing the process of marriage and family.  When two families agree that a son and a daughter would suit one another, it is expected that over time the man and woman will work at becoming compatible partners in the same spirit one might work at achieving competence in a life’s vocation.  This is making love.

      Time and experience mistakes and difficulties- are all part of the equation whose sum is a lasting relationship.  Love is not something you fall into.  Love and marriage are “made.”

    Thus in Cretan terms, when a married couple have been overheard arguing or fighting, the Cretans smile knowingly and say, “Ah, they are making love.”

      During this same winter trip, Papaderos took my wife and me along as guests in the home of a Greek family on New Year’s Day.  Though I hate to admit it, I am a closet football fan, and this was the first time in memory I could not be spending the day watching representatives of American universities struggle to resolve the great human crisis of who is Number One.  Nor would I be in touch with the professional- football run-up to the Super Bowl.  I was vaguely anxious.

     My youth and early manhood were permanently affected by Vince Lombardi, the coach of the legendary Green Bay Packers football team.  Lombardi was about winning,  Fair and square and by the rules- but winning.  Winners worked harder and smarter.  Winners were never wimps- when knocked down, they got up again.  Winners played tough in the face of adversity, injury, and pain.  Winners played hurt.

     These thoughts floated in my mind as I coped with the unfamiliar traditions of a Cretan New Year meal.  The old customs of the mountain villages prevailed.  Instead of the Anglo-American whole roasted pig with an apple in its mouth, the Cretans celebrate with boiled sheeps’ heads.  Yes.

      Skinned, simmered, and served with eyeballs intact, the head is split, and the brains are scooped out with a spoon.  The tongues are sliced and eaten like Pate.  The delicacies are savored by the grandparents and other senior members of the family, but not by the younger generation of Greeks.

      I watched the grandmother as she ate.

      Eighy-eight years old.  Blind in one eye, deaf in one ear, and shriveled by time and a hard life.  She helped herself to each dish as it passed her way.  She ate carefully, thoughtfully, and with undisguised pleasure.

     I knew that she had survived mountain life, two world wars, the Greek civil war, and the repressions of the Dictatorship of the Colonels in the 1970′s.  Her husband was taken into the army.  She did not hear from him for almost seven years.  Her village was leveled by the Nazis, and she was imprisoned and beaten.  For two years she had lived in caves, eating roots and rabbits to stay alive.  No home, no job, no income, no medical care or insurance, no retirement plan or Social Security.  She had lived without electricity, running water, even without fire at times in her life.

      At the end of the meal, she challenged the “children” at the other end of the table to a singing contest.  The “children” were men and women of middle age- her nieces and nephews, cousins, and in-laws.  She and her equally ancient husband began the keening drone of a Cretan mountain song.  It worked like this:  The challenger makes up a four-line rhyming verse, then everyone sings the common chorus, then someone from the opposing team makes up a four-line verse responding to the verse of the challenger, and again the chorus, and so on.  It’s a can-you-top this contest in song.  Extemporaneously and fast, it ends when one team or another cannot come up with the verse without missing a beat.  Not easy.

      The old lady sang her opponents into exhaustion.  She literally left them speechless.  Her last verse contained a hope that this coming year would be even better than the last, and who knows, if the rest of them lived as well as she, they might be able to keep up with her in a singing contest, though she doubted it.  They doubted it too. And so did I.

      Never mind the bowl games.  This New Year’s Day I had seen a winner.

     If Lombardi had a backfield with her kind of stuff, the Green Bay Packers would still be winning. The lady was a champ.  A winner of a lifetime contest.  She had faithfully played her part despite injuries and sorrows. 

     She played hurt- every day of her life.

     Football is only a game.

      When the dinner was over, the old lady went into the kitchen insisting on helping with the dishes.  She came to the kitchen door with a bag of garbage and barked at her husband of sixty years.  He groaned up out of his chair to do his duty, and she barked at him some more and he groaned back some more.

      “What’s going on?” I asked Papaderos.

      “It seems her husband did not eat all of his salad and was singing off-key,” he explained.  “They are still making love- it takes forever.”

__________________________________________________________

That story is taken  from Robert Fulghum’s book  Maybe (Maybe Not)  If you would have stopped by our house tonight, you would have found us sitting in  our  cream colored comfortable stuffed chairs reading to each other from this book.  I would have invited you to pull up a chair and  join us.      G-nite.   DM


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