Flu

At 51, the flu knocked me down, like a freight train. I've been sick a week, 7 days. And it feels like forever. Depression is bearing down on me, too. I wonder will I ever feel like myself again.

Saint Augustine

I watched a movie about Saint Augustine. Two parts. A total of 3 hours. His ambition, his talents, gave him worldly pleasures. Yet, something gnawed at him. Was it his mother's continual prayers for her son? He, so strongly against The Church that worshipped Jesus, fought against their right even to exist. Amazing transformation, when he found himself unable to argue for the Emperor. His heart, touched by the simple faith, ached for more. His knowledge, deep, and thorough, couldn't give him peace.

He turned towards truth, and truth found him.

I think that is all we have to do.

Just turn and look at the truth.

Then truth finds us.

And we have peace.

Dreams Fulfilled

Dreams Fulfilled

Clear blue sky

What is beyond the blue?

The clouds, small fluffs, transparent 

gliding in the wind.

What carries them?

The ground we stand on

Planning our future

Aging twisted trees, with small new stems

ready to produce sweetness

decorate our horizon

Behind us

A small dip in the land

once held a lake

where we stood

Hand in hand

And you said to me

"One day, I  will put a house here."

Such a peaceful day that was

What has carried us from that point 

to this one?

Like the wind carries the clouds

God's hand, on our shoulder

We float, freely, allowing 

the invisible force to guide us.

My heart cannot contain the joy

I feel.

We both weep, and kneel, and thank

God for his love.

Invisible to the eye.

but visible to the heart.

Joe From New Jersey-Part 2

I decided to attend a Catholic Mass a few weeks ago.
I was 30 minutes late.
So the sitting and standing and crossing
and kneeling and verbal responding
were in mid-swing.

Sometime during the service, I looked to my right.
There was Joe from New Jersey.
Sitting beside him was his daughter.
He didn't see me.
But I saw him.

Hmmmm
What did that mean?

I believe I was in the right place, at the right time.

A wink and a nod from Jesus.
And Mary.

Amen

Inside the Bush

The blueberries are pulling down the branches.
I approach the bush with my plastic bucket hanging over my arm.
With a light touch of my hand, the blueberries let go of their limb, and fall into my palm.
I begin with the limbs at eye level.
"This is so easy."

I spend time with the berries, and contemplate God's goodness.
I try to see Him in everything now.
Since the great day of reckoning. I search out God, it is a quest that I enjoy.

The blueberries are everywhere.
But it seems that the best ones are just out of reach.
Why is this?
I force myself to look only at the ones that I can reach, and pick an entire branch, before moving on.

Soon, I am pulling down the overhead branches, and sliding my hand over the clumps.
I hold my bucket beneath the branch, where they fall, joining the others.
Plunk, plunk, plunk.

After the tall branches are picked, I find myself plunging into the bush.
There are berries, big, full, purple blueberries, surrounding me.
Oh, this is so God! His fullness really does surround me.
I feel so humble. Because I fail to recognize His bounty 99% of the time.

I think of my neighbor, who was pinned under his tractor last week.
And of my friend Robin, who just lost her husband.
I pray for their relief of pain and suffering.
I feel so grateful.

My neighbor, he is fortunate to have a wife that will help care for him when he returns home.
Robin, what a model of true love. She married her husband, knowing he had cancer. They had 6 years together. And he's gone now. Sacrificial love.

The bucket is nearly full now.
And so am I.

Changes

I like to sit on my porch and watch the birds.
And the leaves are nice to look at too.
This morning, I decided to go out on a friend's porch. She has a beautiful horse farm, a lake, a view of the eastern and western horizon. So, yea, I was going to watch the sunrise, read from my current library book, "The autobiography of  Saint Teresa de Avila", and pray a little.
I opened the door, looked to the left, where an inviting green wicker sofa sat, then to my right, where a porch swing hung, then looked straight ahead at the horses standing beside the lake, and zap, something hit my forehead.
I thought it was a stick. Then I realized it was an insect.
"What?" My forehead began to sting."Oh crap, I've been stung."
I looked up to see an angry bunch of wasps swarming. Then it dawned on me. "These guys might not be too happy with me either, I better go back inside real quick!"

I calmly informed my daughter that I was going home to get some Benadryl and then head over to my new high school.

The pain moved out into my temples, my cheeks and even my left ear.
"Damn that wasp!" Then, instead of being angry, I decided to thank the wasp.
My morning was going to go in a different direction...and one never knows what tragedy they are avoiding when something like this occurs.
Also, feeling pain, suffering, and continuing on with whatever the next thing is...well, its my new hallmark for life. Feel the pain and keep going.
I think athletes are taught this when they are in a competitive sport. I used to think it was silly, false bravado.

Knew experiences have created a different perspective.
Feeling the poison go through my head, while continuing on with my day, gave me a sense of victory.

I put half an onion on my head for 20 minutes before leaving the house, though. I choose not to wash of the juice, because I thought it would continue to sooth the stinging. (And I think it did.)
Nevermind that I met with my new department chair, while smelling like a wild onion.
I moved on with my day, forehead flaming. The third eye appeared, red, swollen..I think it must be very allergic to my face, its face.

The day is over now, and I think the wasp did his job, and I did mine, too.

Pity-party over. Feel the pain and keep moving. But its okay to grab an onion and stick that on your forehead if it helps a little.

The Cage

We got out of the van and headed into the gray colored building. As we opened the glass doors, a chorus of yelps and howls came rushing out to greet us. 

"Good morning. How can I help you?" The dark-haired lady asked us from behind the 3 foot wall.

"She's here to volunteer." I pointed at my daughter who stood next to me, hands behind her back.

"Okay. Well, here's a leash, you can just walk on back and take the dogs or cats out for a walk. There are bonding rooms where you can go also." She handed the leash to us, and pointed at the double doors.

"Okay, thank you. Where do we go?" I asked.

She pointed at the door to her left, and then waved her hands behind her. "It's just right here, just go through those doors, there's pod A, pod B and pod C next. Then you can go outside. There are cats and kittens and dogs, and they are up for adoption; that way is the adoption area." Her tone was that of someone slightly irritated. She rolled across the floor in her chair, like she was glued to it.

"I'm not really clear on where all of these places are. Do you mind showing us around? This is our first time here."

She grunted as she pushed herself up and out of her chair. (I'm guessing we were interrupting something very important to her.)

Her walking tour wasn't much more informative than her behind the desk tour, but at least we saw the areas first hand. She ended the tour at the outdoor area for dogs. She passed the blue leash to my daughter and disappeared back into the building. A row of cages, at the edge of the building, sat facing a large cement area and several small pens. A chorus of yelps, varying tones and pitches, beckoned us to come for a visit.

Annabelle walked to the first cage, put her hand next to latch, and let the large brown dog sniff her hand.

"Hey there fellow. How are you?" 

He responded with several loud barks.

She put her hand beside the cage and he licked her hand. She put one finger through the small wires and rubbed an eye brow. Finally, when she decided it was the right time, she opened the cage a little and put the leash on his collar. He bolted through the the gate, jerking her arm and body. She lurched forward. "Woe boy, Hold on!" He ran towards the wooded area, pulling on her arm. She pulled back and kept him close to her. He lifted his head sniffing the air. He pulled her towards the small pen with a group of puppies that barked repeatedly while jumping up on their fence. After a 10 minute session of walking, pulling, ear and belly scratching, she returned the brown dog to his cage.

She opened the next cage, and repeated the greeting. "Hello and how are you?" Again, she put her hand next to the cage and let the dog sniff and lick her. With a little more caution, she placed the leash on the collar. The small brown dog, probably only 6 months old, pushed open the gate and kept his nose to the ground as if he was trailing an escaped prisoner.

"Must be some type of hound. Look at the way he's keeping his nose to the ground." She said.

After a few minutes of walking, she sat on the ground beside him, and talked to him. "You like your belly scratched? Yea, you like that don't you?" He responded with a low moan of pleasure. We took him in a small pen and tossed him tennis balls and chew toys. Annabelle knew when it was time to put him back in his cage.

"Come on, back you go." she said with a cheerful tone.

She came to the next cage, and an all white dog, with a gray spotted face, sat looking up at her. No bark. Just a look. Annabelle put her hand next to the cage."Hello, and how are you?" The dog just looked at her, still sitting.

"You wanna go for a walk?"  She reached for the latch and the dog pulled away from the door as she opened it.

"Hello sweetie." She reached in a rubbed the dog's ears and head. She clipped the leash on and stood up, "Come on, lets go for a walk!" 

The dog slid back further from the door. Annabelle tugged the collar a little and coaxed again. "Come on girl. Let's go for a walk!"

The dog looked up at her with big brown eyes, yet didn't move.

Annabelle squatted down and stepped halfway in the cage, while rubbing the dog's head and whispering in her ear. I didn't know what she was saying, but I could tell the dog was listening.

The dog put her nose on Annabelle's knee and Annabelle put her forehead on top of the dog's head. More whispering. Next, the dog inched closer to Annabelle, laying her whole head on Annabelle's leg. Something just happened. I couldn't tell you what, but some type of communication. The dog leaned closer to Annabelle and my heart lurched again. A tear trickled out of my eye.

An employee approached and asked, "Is she adopting that dog?" I wiped my cheek with my sleeve.

"No, she's volunteering here today." I said.

"Really?" He walked away. "Look at her." I wasn't sure who he was talking about.

When I turned saw Annabelle sitting in the cage with the white dog. They were having a deep conversation and the dog was now laying her neck across Annabelle's legs. Next, the dog lifted her head and put it on Annabelle's shoulder.

"Okay girl. Now let's go for a walk."

Annabelle crouched out of the cage, and tugged on the leash. The white dog took a small step and stopped.

"Come on. It's okay."

She took another step, stopped, then took another, as if there were land mines all around.

"Come on girl. Let's go for a nice walk."

She took one small step, then another, and slowly came out of her cage. We went to the enclosed large pen where they played and talked to each other.

"Look, she's had surgery!" Annabelle said, while rubbing the shaved area of her abdomen.

"Yes, she's already spayed." I responded.

I watched her, amazed at the interactions. So pure, so free, so natural. How does she know what to say to the dogs? How does she know what to do? It's a gift she has. And it's a gift for me to see it.

She took her back to her pen, rubbed her ears and whispered something else to her.

"Let's go see the puppies now."

We spent the rest of the time with puppies, kittens and cats of various weights, colors and temperaments. 

Throughout the remainder of our time, the thought, "She talked to the white dog, then she climbed in the cage with the white dog!" continued to hit me in the heart. Finally, I asked her how she knew what to do with the white dog.

She responded to me with a question. “What would you have done?”

“Well, if she didn’t want to leave her cage, I would have left her in there and gone on to the next dog.”

“Oh really? Well, she was scared, so I talked to her.”

“What did you say when you were whispering to her?”

"Well, the first thing I told her was that she was beautiful."

I've been schooled by my daughter, once again.