Musings

It seems that my creativity has completely dried up.
The last month has been a nice change from the rushing back and forth from the office, and it put an end to my 16 hour days, at least 12 hours of which I worked. Sam was laid off on the first day of my "vacation" and that made for an unusual time off experience for me.
He has been looking daily at numerous job websites and establishments that post jobs. There is really very little to be had out there, so it means a lot of work for very little response. But I have been happy to have him with me for this last month. I may have gone crazy with these puppies had I been 100% responsible for them, day in and day out.
Because we have young dogs who can't travel yet, we couldn't go away this last month. Therefore it really hasn't felt likc much of a holiday. We have however, been able to watch them grow, to train them to some degree, and to have the luxury of sitting on the floor and holding them every morning. They have a very strong bond to us, even if they are naughty sometimes (like the other night when they started chewing on the couch. Sam was apoplectic!)
We've been getting up in the night with them at least once, usually twice, so they can relieve themselves outside. They are getting better as they get older and more continent, for which I'm thankful. But I am extremely tired due to sleeping lightly at night so I'll hear them, or that they usually wake up in the morning around 5:30.
Meanwhile, Otis has lost weight and become a bit more to himself. I suppose he has had to withdraw some, just for his own sanity. He does sleep with us at night though--the one time he has us all to himself. We're keeping an eye on him to be sure he's okay. He's eating well now, but after we got the puppies, he didn't want to eat much of anything. He doesn't own the whole house any more. Just everything but the den and kitchen. Baxter and Charlie have a sense of ownership for that space and go nose to nose with him if he drinks from their water dish or sniffs their food. Even a pass through the room by Otis causes great excitement, barking, and hurling themselves at him. Of course, that goes over like a rubber crutch.
But now I'm back at work and supposed to be productive, cranking out the work. I just want to go up to a mountain cabin, curl in a ball under a down comforter, and sleep for several days.

It has been nice to see a few of the students and some of my colleagues again--that's all that are on campus just now since school doesn't start until September 27th. I've been holed up in my office, trying to get an application for a post-master's certificate written. It has to go through the administrative committee hoops on the 22nd, so this document needs to be comprehensive and thorough. It is like writing a dissertation, I'm finding. I'm already up to about 60 pages. I never knew I could say so much about the topic, or about accreditation issues, etc.

There are syllabi to construct and a course to put online. I have to start going back up into the hospital to make rounds with my students; and to the outlying clinics where they work (under my license). So that will be more to do.

When I get home, it is always nice to see what Sam has been doing. Yesterday, he had my car serviced, done some shopping, and got all of our packages and mail sent out. What a relief! We've made a deal that since he doesn't like laying the new flooring, he will carry in the big cartons of wood to the space where I'll be working, tear up the carpet and padding and remove it, and then clean the floors once they are in. That suits me well, since putting in the floor is much like making a quilt: a good activity to do at one's own speed whilst reflecting on life. I now have two rooms done, with the exception of half of one closet. This weekend we will get started on our bedroom upstairs. We are finding that wood floors make everything look much more spacious. Our livingroom and dining area should look enormous. We will hire someone to do the stairs and upstairs hall-landing area. I enjoy saying I can do this myself, but this is not an endurance contest, and that will be a really complicated space to do. I'd rather not, thank you.

So as I ponder my utter lack of creativity right now, it may be obvious to the reader, but only slowing dawning on me, that there are so many things to manage right now that creativity has gone on hiatus for the time being. Everywhere I look there is something that needs to be done. When I was single, I ordered my life and household so that there wouldn't be all of these unfinished tasks plus a list of things to do in the future. But now that I share my life with others and have more responsibilities, it's a hard lesson to learn that being compulsive about everything simply doesn't pay.

I passed up a job offer that pays twice what I am paid now, and that would put me in an esteemed school of medicine as director of a collaborative care training program. I recommended one of my recent graduates whom I have been grooming for this kind of work for three years now. He has had three interviews with them thus far, and will have an on site formal interview next week. He is thrilled and so am I. I really didn't want to leave here, since this is a dream job and I hold strong convictions that I belong here.

Even so, there are some steps that I've taken at work to try to improve my working conditions, since people here get worked to death (just as I heard on the street when I interviewed here!): I've asked for a raise at work. I've asked for an assistant who can supervise my interns out in the field. That right there will save me about 10 hours per week. I've asked for a couple grad assistants who will work with me to get things done for my classes and to keep my office paperwork filed, etc. And I've told my boss that I do love him dearly, but I will never work for him as hard as I did last year. Especially since I don't go home with him at night. He laughed and seemed tickled by that, "Give me that ultimatum, Barbara!" he challenged.
I'm planning to work at home--to have a writing day--once per week. Every Friday I will stay home as often as possible. I will also have one clinical day: Tuesday. The other days will be "Run sheep, run!" kind of days.

So as I sit here on the couch in my PJs, my babies curled around my feet on their blanket, Otis on the back of the couch out of their reach, purring, I am lead to think that perhaps this is as good as it will get for awhile. I am not unhappy particularly, just consumed with everything going on at present. Perhaps at some point I will be struck with something clever and interesting to read. Until then, I will do well to check in here.

Happy Birthday!

Tomorrow is my mother's 81st birthday. She is going strong and looks terrific. One of the ladies at the Villa (retirement center where she lives) had a tea for her. Mother said she has never had a birthday party, never had a tea in her honor, so she was excited. Her hair had been set and styled and she was wearing a lovely turquoise dress when I got there to help her get spiffed up. She looked lovely and her face glowed with excitement at the tea.


Heady, a wonderfully warm woman of Hungarian background, hosted the tea. It was a great group of ladies: Kathleen, the activities coordinator was there; Evelyn (93), Mother's best friend was there; Hepsi, a new resident from India, came; Salma, who is the self-proclaimed matriarch of the Villa (she has lived there 18 years); and Joyce, who is from New England and is struggling with a new cochlear implant. The six residents who attended were all over 80 years of age, and so very sweet.

Heady had baked little shortbread cookies with apricot and raspberry fillings, lemon curd tarts with raspberries on top, cucumber-cream cheese-mint appetizers, home grown cherry tomatoes, cream scones with raspberry cream, and wonderful tea. All of the tea cups were different and quite elegant. There were antique clear dishes that we ate from, and on each of the tea saucers was a teaspoon with different flower on the tip of it. Heady brought out all of her beautiful cut linens for the table: beautiful white cut linen placemats, a pale green tablecloth, and a runner with various teacups cross stitched on it. Two burning candles topped it off. We were all in awe.

We chatted, laughed, and talked. Interesting, the topics that they wanted to share. One of them was how they want to die. I suppose that at their ages, this is something that is a matter of course. Heady said that she wants to die doing something that she enjoys, and then told us how her mother died while scrubbing the floor on hands and knees in her sister's house. Someone else wants to die in her sleep, and another said that she hopes to die from a massive heart attack--quickly and suddenly. I looked over at Kathleen, who is my age. The horror on her face was probably a reflection of my own. I was appalled to be talking about this over my mother's birthday tea. But she didn't seem to mind and added her two cents about her wishes.

Kathleen asked, "Barbara, do you want to live to be a hundred?"

Mother piped up, "It's great if your marbles all roll in the same direction!" Everyone howled with laughter.

Then the conversation moved to upper arm strength. Salma told us that she had arm wrestled her sons, grandsons, and now her great-grandsons. "When they can pin me, then that's the last time." She giggled and looked around the table. "I'm a tough one!" and everyone laughed. A couple of women flexed their biceps and explained how they grew so large: making bread, doing housework, farm work, etc. It struck me that English women would be absolutely scandalized with these antics, were this a British tea. But this was a friendly, happy, warm event that was to honor my mother. And she loved it.

The next topic was middle age memory loss. Heady had recently read research that low dose Ritalin helps with memory loss in elderly. Although this is correct, and a blessing to many, for a moment I envisioned all these women on Ritalin, bounding through the halls with their walkers. I could hardly contain myself.

Joyce taught us how to say (in sign language) that we will meet our friends in heaven. Everyone tried to get the hand gestures just right. To see all those dear arthritic hands moving in unison, fingers and wrists all askew, was very moving to me. Particularly, given the message that they were conveying to one another.

I asked Heady how she started giving teas. It was something that she dreamed up after she retired and moved to a Southeast mountain town. "If those people there didn't know your grandparents, they thought of you as an outsider," she said. So as a way to extend friendship to her neighbors she invited them to tea. They loved it, and after today's fare, I can see why. She really wanted to start a Bible study, but they had no interest in that. So she kept up having teas and they always came and really enjoyed themselves. "That is my missionary work," she mused aloud. "Who would have thought?"

Indeed. But what a lovely tradition.

Looking around the table, I knew that all of the ladies have emotional battle scars. One of them can't hear. Another can barely walk. One has congestive heart failure so bad that her ankles are the size of her calves. And several have gnarled fingers from arthritis. At one point, Evelyn leaned over to me and put her hand on mine.

"You have such beautiful hands!" she exclaimed.

I was shocked, seeing that I have wrecked any vestige of refinement on my hands this week putting in the floor.

"Really?"

"Oh yes," she said. And she gently stroked my arm and hand. Evelyn ran her hand longlingly at my arm. "You have lovely skin." Her wrinkled, cool, somewhat translucent hand on my wrist felt warmly comforting and I wish she would have kept her hand on mine longer.

There were cards and a gift for Mother. The women shared with her how much they love her and how her cheeriness has ministered to them. One lady drew a picture of herself making the hand gestures ("I love you!") that she makes to Mother every morning at breakfast from across the dining room. Mother was pleasantly surprised at how eager all the ladies were to make the birthday tea a nice experience for her. I was so very happy to see her glowing face, laughing at their jokes, and participating without hesitation. Gathering up the table centerpiece (two dozen yellow roses) that Heady insisted she take, she fairly floated out of the room and down the hall to her apartment.

Mother is 81 years old tomorrow. I hope I am as fortunate as she is to be surrounded by people who love me when I am her age.
Happy Birthday, Mommy.

Lovely Furballs

We are falling into a daily routine with our puppies these days. They have been very full days, what with the flooring going in, Sam's job search, and my general time-off lazing about on the couch. Here's what our days are like:
5:30 One of the boys barks to go outside to do their business. One of us bolts down the stairs to put them out. While they are outside, we wash and refill their half-gallon water dish and shake out their blanket. A good sniff around the den next, to be sure there are no nasty little surprises left anywhere, that the couch isn't bitten into, and their toys are out from under the couch.
5:45 After chasing each other around the yard, doing their business, tearing a few more iris fronds out of the ground, they come careening into the house when I whistle for them. They are usually chewing landscaping bark that we remove by taking their jaw in hand and saying, "Ah!" They open their mouths and we remove whatever half-chewed foreign object is there.
6:00 Breakfast for the boys that triggers wild jumping, crying, and wriggling about, licking my legs and pulling on my nightgown whilst I fill their food bowls.
6:10 I sit on the floor and the boys climb onto my lap to chew their toys for awhile. They really seem to enjoy snuggling into my lap. This always dissolves into one puppy on either side of my legs, digging for all they are worth to reach each other under my knees. Once contact is made by my lifting of the knees, they reach for each other's mouths, biting, showing teeth, and whining, nipping, and growling at each other. This goes on until the growling and barking grows annoying.
As a way to prevent the escalation, we have a training session.
The puppies can now sit, shake hands, and lie down. Getting down and staying down until they are released is what we're working on right now. When I tell them, "Down!" and point to the floor right in front of them, they both whine and cry as if they don't want to do it. But eventually they do lie down, for a few moments. And that is enough, for the time being. They are only three months, so while Charlie could continue on with training, Baxter isn't nearly as mature. He just wants to have a good time and be a baby.
7:00 We have to do the face and ear washing ritual. I get one of them on my lap and with a cotton ball, gently clean around their eyes and then inside their ears. They are usually very happy to sit still while their eyes are cleaned, but the ear cleaning doesn't usually occur without a whine or struggle. But after the cleaning, we snuggle for awhile. Their little bodies go limp and they lean into me, sleepy and content.
Mornings are their sleepy times. They generally sleep from about 8:30 - noon, waking up for a potty trip outside, before going back to sleep for another hour or two. This is when I can get things done around here.
In the afternoon they really come alive after their lunch. We try to put them outside for about 30 minutes at a time so they can play, run around, and get out from under our feet. They yip and fight under the bushes until they drop and chew on things they shouldn't be eating: lily fronds, bark, sprinkler heads, etc. Because it's been over 100 degrees outside this week, we bring them in pretty quickly.
In the evening when it gets cooler, they roil about yipping and chasing each other through the yard or the den. When I say to them, "Wanna go for a walk?" Charlie goes ballistic, jumping up and down, whining, and chasing his tail. Baxter slinks off under the bench and lies down, looking sadly up at me through his eyebrows. He is frightened of cars, of the leash, of birds, and of himself, most likely. It is only in the last two days that he's been able to walk any distance on the leash without throwing himself on the grass and screaming. (Not howling, screaming, as though I were skinning him alive). Charlie on the other hand, rushes to the front door and holds his head high while he trots down the sidewalk next to me.
When they get back from the walk, we go through their tricks again and get treats. That keeps them satisfied for about 20 minutes, and then they get wild again, racing through the house. That is the signal that it's time to give them their evening ice cubes out on the back patio. They chew them and throw them in the air before having fights over the select cubes.
At some point they mercifully fall into a deep sleep on the floor, their fat little legs sticking straight out behind them as they sleep on their stomachs. At 10:00, we go out for a last potty stop, and then put them in their little puppy playpen for the evening. "Nite-nite!" we tell them as we turn off the lights. They are three sheets to the wind by the time we are to the stairs.

I suppose this is how new parents of human babies count their days, too. Sam has been through all of this before, but I haven't. These little guys are my kids. I'm delighted but tired. Their sleepy heads dozing against my neck, the wet nose on the back of my ankle when I'm cooking, the fat furry feet placed in my hand when I tell them to "shake," and the big black eyes gazing into mine, make it all worthwhile.

One down, five to go

I am sitting here on the couch with my feet up. Six of my fingernails are broken and jagged. My hands are so rough that if I handled pantyhose, the skin on my fingers would put runs in them. I have four bruises on my legs and numerous little cuts. The muscles around my knees are really, really sore and tired. My low back is a little tired and my eyes feel gritty from the sawdust that resulted from all the floor boards that I've cut. My left index fingernail is white from being hit three times (count 'em, THREE times!) with the mallet. But we have a gorgeous floor in one bedroom upstairs. It is the study, and will be used as a hobby or guest room while we live here. It is the room in which I've learned how to lay laminate flooring.
Sam and I started out together working on it, but I discovered rather quickly that unlike me, he doesn't find it terribly exciting work. (I also hatched a new research interest: how do renovation activities impact marriages?!) Doing my own renovation has very different meaning for me than it has for him. To Sam, 'having' to do it ourselves means that we are short on money, because people should be paid to come in and do this. But for me, who grew up where so many homes were over 100 years old and everyone was renovating something, it is just part of life. There is real New England pride in being able to say that you did something yourself. So I have been very eager to get started on this project.
It is a huge project! On Friday we tore up the old carpet and padding in two upstairs guest bedrooms. Sunday we got started putting down the floor following the advice of instructional videos that we found online. Start about two feet out from the far wall and then lay the boards in one at a time until there are two or three rows. Then shove the entire thing up to be plumb with the far walls. Sounded good, but it didn't work that way. We had real difficulty getting the boards to line up. Instead of tapping them into place, we were whaling away at them to get them to fit togehter. There was none of this "clicking the boards into place" kind of thing. It was brute force. After three hours we had only put down three feet of flooring. We were sweating and Sam was at the height of his element.
I called the flooring company. As I was explaining our dilemma to the good man on the phone he stopped short and said, "Is the pounding that I hear what you're doing with the flooring?" He was horrified. "You're going to ruin the boards that way. Bring in a box of your flooring and let's see how we can help you." So I jumped in the car and drove the 30 miles over to Buddy's Flooring Outlet and watched the manager pop all of the boards in my box into place in about three minutes flat. There is a technique that can't be taught and obviously, we didn't know it.
This morning I started in on the floor again, deciding that since I enjoyed it and Sam doesn't, I would happily do it alone at my own speed. Seven hours later, that study is almost done. The boards aren't on the closet floor yet, and I have one little board that needs to be cut with the coping saw to fit around the door jam. The last finishing touch will be the small baseboard round that needs to be nailed where the baseboard meets the flooring.
I am tired but happy. And somewhat overwhelmed at the magnitude of the rest of the job that is waiting. Gladly, I needn't do all the floors at one time, right now. I think I'll aim for the second guest room and the upstairs hallway before I call it quits. I have to go to work next week and I want to get some rest before school starts.
Hurray for do-it-yourself attitudes and efforts!

Fatigue and Satisfaction

This morning I woke up with a 56-year old man in my bed. Yes, it is Sam's birthday and we are celebrating by tearing up our floors. After the day we've spent, he doesn't feel 56. He feels 99 years old. So do I.

It all started over a year ago. I couldn't breathe at night and kept waking up with a dry mouth. My head was consistently congested and Sam kept telling me to roll over and face the wall because I was snoring so loudly. Then his asthma kicked up and he'd come to bed wheezing like a concertina. We promptly went in and got allergy testing. It was an interesting process, getting pricked with little tines all up and down our arms. After measuring some of the larger welts that came up we realized that we are both highly allergic to dust and moderately allergic to cats. Rather than say goodbye to Otis, we invested in a high quality mobile air filter. We cleared up quickly.

But we have considerable trouble if we don't have our filter going. It's probably due to the old, dirty carpet that we have in the house. It was filthy when we got here and using a Dyson plus getting it professionally shampooed didn't really improve it that much. So we began considering the possibility of putting in wood floors. Then we can just swipe a damp dust mop over it a couple times a week and get rid of the dust easily.

The search for the perfect flooring began. Being a do-it-yourself maven, I naturally wanted to buy the flooring and install it myself. I've been known to bite off more than I can chew, so Sam was a bit leary about this. We have 1400 square feet to put down, including the staircase. That excludes three bathrooms and the den, which has ceramic tile on the floor.

We asked a couple handymen to come give us estimates. They said they would charge us between $2000 - $4000 to install it for us. On top of the flooring, that could easily run $6000 just to purchase. We called a company in the area that advertises that if you purchase two rooms worth of carpet or flooring, they will install the rest in the house for free. The guy who came out measured the house (and came up with the exact measurement that I did, which was good confirmation that I can measure properly!) But then he told us that the total cost to use would be $24,000. Are you kidding? Even at Lowe's we could get all the flooring we would need for $2.89 per square foot which would come in way below his price. He couldn't give us a breakdown of installation, products, etc. and kept telling us that his was the best deal in town. We reported him to his company's headquarters and kept looking.

Long story short, we found a family owned flooring outlet about 30 miles from us where we found some lovely distressed, handscraped laminate flooring. It is thick and has lovely coloring (if you click on the hyperlink you can scroll down on the website and see it). They were such friendly people and gave us a discount on the high quality underlayment and threw in the installation kit for free. We ended up purchasing 108 cartons of flooring and 14 rolls of underlayment. Total cost: $3300, plus $120 for a Black and Decker chop saw (YAY! more power tools for Barbara!)

So back to today. Since we pulled up the carpet in one upstairs bedroom yesterday, all that we had to do today was to pull up the carpet in the second bedroom, remove the carpet tack strips, level the floor and clean it all out. I ended by cutting the underlayment to fit one of the rooms. Fatigue overcame both Sam and me, and we flopped down on the couch a couple hours ago, nearly drifting into a coma. We are sooo worn out!

The puppies slept through almost all the pounding and hefting of carpet down the stairs. It was only when I put them in the backyard after their sleepy time that I heard a frenzy of barking. There they were, with their little legs stiff in defiance, barking their heads off at the heap of old carpet out at the side of the house. Territorial little guys!

Unfortunately, we realized that a chop saw isn't all that we need to install the flooring. We need a table saw, which we will need to borrow in the next day or so. For now, we are dozing on the couch, almost prostrate with exhaustion. We chose quite an activity today to celebrate increasing age! Will keep you posted and upload pictures of the finished business. Don't hold your breath...

Welcome Babycakes!

Yesterday, Destiny Rae was born to my neice, Angie. She woke up on Thursday morning with swollen up legs all the way up to her hips. Apparently Destiny was resting on her lymph nodes or something. Anyhow, you can see why, when I called Angie earlier in the week she said, "I'm as big as a house, Aunt Barbara!" She was, poor thing.



Here is the expectant family waiting for everything to begin: Angie, Kaiden, and Ryan (Daddy). Note that they all look pretty much awake and alert. It didn't last for long!


When finally Destiny was born, Great-GrandDaddy carried Kaiden to the window so he could get his first look through the glass as Destiny was getting dressed. (I just love this picture!) Destiny was 7 lbs., 7 oz., and 20 inches long, with lots of black hair.

And finally Kaiden gets a closer look at his sister. He's wearing a button on his shirt that says, "I'm the Big Brother!"

He thinks he'll keep her, and gives her a kiss. I think he likes her. Be still my heart!

But he is still a little boy who is tired and needs a nap. And he still needs to know his mother loves him. She does, and he got a nap.

Angie is holding court today with all of the extended family buzzing about, holding Destiny and Ryan is sound asleep in the back bedroom. Grampa has run out to get dinner and diapers. Grandma is overseeing everything and trying to keep the extended family entertained. Great-GrandDaddy is reading a book to Kaiden to keep him occupied. So the circle of life carries on. Welcome, little Destiny Rae!

New Love

Have you ever had an experience that caused you to see your loved one in a new way? Was it unexpected? Or had you prayed for the change of perspective regarding that individual? Do you think it's possible?
Perhaps there is a life situation that you have hoped to feel differently about, so you've prayed about it. And you still feel resentful, wounded, suspicious, livid. A prayer for a different feeling goes up most urgently, when you realize that you are guilty of harboring bad feelings. Have you ever experienced a shift in perspective about that situation?
How about a work situation or an unpleasant aspect of your experience: not having enough money for your needs, or feeling hopeless that you might never advance in your job. Quite possibly there are people at work who talk your ears off about inconsequential things, or who catch you in the hall to tell you the latest salacious tidbit. Have you ever prayed about these aspects of your life, and have you had a change of heart?
That has happened to me on a number of occasions. It happened when I went out of state for an interview and found everything objectionable about the process. Then suddenly, both Sam and I had a change of heart and were gung-ho for the new job.
It happened about our move to my current job in Southern California. I had no intention of ever coming back here and yet, it has become a real joy and pleasure to teach here. Who would have thought it? And now, it's happened three more times.
I am now head over heels in love with our puppies. That is an about-face from my determination to get rid of them as quickly as possible. These little guys are loud, chew everything in sight, whine and scream if they are left behind the gate while I go for my morning walk. And yet when I return there is no jubilation like the joy they express at my reappearance. They dance about asking to be petted. So happy are they to be near me. In the morning, after they go out for that morning potty run, they fly back in the door and settle on my lap with their squeak toys. The squeaking is loud and prolonged, and they settle into me happily. Then at night when it is time for us to go to bed, we drag their sleepy bodies outside for one more potty break. As they stumble back inside, we pick them up and murmur into their little fuzzy necks, "Nite-nite, Babies" as we lay them down together in their little bed. So my mind and heart can change after all. I try to remember this when I look out the back door and find Charlie humping on Baxter's head, or when Baxter is digging up the bulbs in my garden.

The loss of Sam's job was another thing that I had no positive feelings about whatever. It was a very stressful job that made me worry that Sam would drop of a heart attack. It is not easy to be the face of an organization that people want to tell off every day of your job. But he loved being able to change people's minds and truly tried in every way possible to help them. Now he's been let go and someone else is being hired on--a veiled indication of the new boss' dislike of Sam, for whatever reason. It has been very difficult for Sam, as anyone might imagine. But now I feel relief that he is not having to put up with everyone's complaints day in and day out. I am glad that I have him home with me on this month that I have chosen to either ignore work, or work at home. We had a beautiful day together out and about: a drive to Santa Monica, lunch at Cantor's Jewish Deli on Fairfax, a walk through Old Pasadena and then a stroll through Victoria Gardens in Rancho Cucamonga. We got home tired but happy. The future is uncertain regarding a job for Sam, but I am not at all uncertain about God's loving care for us. I know that we will be okay one way or the other. Perhaps it was the unsolicited phone call from a medical school asking me to consider being their new director of a family medicine behavioral science department to the tune of twice my current salary. While I don't want to leave my current job, it was an indication that God can pull things out of thin air in order to provide for us. We just need to trust, and as Corrie ten Boom said, "Don't wrestle, just nestle" (into the arms of God.

This is the God who can change hearts and give us new love for our lives, remove our discontent, and cheer us over to His way of seeing things. On this night, I am very, very grateful and look forward with expectation to what He will have for my Sam and me as we face whatever comes.

Lyrics in Life

Some months ago I picked up a CD from my collection so I could listen to something in the car while driving to San Diego. It was a recording of early American religious hymns in the shapenote style. Only a few are actually shapenote songs. The rest I considered to be meandering odd pieces that were not all terribly melodic. Coming from the 17th and 18th century, they were a bit austere, musically speaking. But since I hadn't heard them for a long time, I put in the CD and started listening. I skipped over the odd sounding songs and the lyrics that I couldn't fully understand in favor of the more familiar tunes and lyrics.
I well remember "Oh Praise the Lord" by Billings. As a teenager, I used to belt out these lines to my brothers in an operatic voice:

Ye dragons with contagious breath,
People the dark abode of death;
Change your vile hissing into heavenly psalms;
And praise your maker with your for-or-or-or-ked tongue.

That really did seem appropriate for a brother somehow.



So I resurrected this CD about four months ago. Now every time I get in the car I immediately put it on and start singing along. These are some of the finest lyrics I have ever heard in terms of embodying the gospel and being songs to cheer the heart. Ever since I have been listening to these, I feel as though I enter into a very different atmosphere and even world.

Here are some of the lyrics:


Methinks I see a Heav'nly Host,Of Angels on the Wing;
Methinks I hear their chearful Notes,So merrily they sing:'
Let all your Fears be banish'd hence,Glad Tidings I proclaim,
For there's a Saviour born to Day,And Jesus is his Name.

Lay down your Crooks, and quit your Flocks,To Bethlehem repair;
And let your wand'ring Steps be squared By yonder shining Star.
Seek not in Courts or Palaces, Nor royal Curtains draw;
But search the Stable, see your God Extended on the Straw.

Then Learn from hence, ye rural Swains, The Meekness of your God,
Who left the boundless Realms of Joy, To ransom you with Blood.
The Master of the Inn refus'd A more commodius Place;
Ungenerous Soul of savage Mould, And destitute of Grace.

Exult ye Oxen, low for Joy, Ye Tenants of the Stall,
Pay your Obeisance; on your Knees Unanimously fall.
The Royal Guest you entertain Is not of common Birth,
But second in the Great I am; The God of Heav'n and Earth.'

Then suddenly a Heav'nly Host Around the Shepherds throng,
Exulting in the threefold God And thus address their Song:
'To God the Father, Christ the Son, And Holy Ghost ador'd;
The First and Last, the Last and First,Eternal Praise afford.
William Billings, 1778 (found here)

As I've listened to these songs scores of times, I've fallen in love with the richness of the lyrics. After all, where else might you sing about "rural swains" and "tenants of the stall?" I always grin broadly when I sing along the words, "Lay down your crooks and quit your flocks, to Bethlehem repair." This King's English languages the shepherds in the most lofty way possible. Just wonderful verbiage.

There are a couple songs on this CD that I doubt I shall ever fully appreciate. One of them begins, "Zadok the Priest gave up the ghost..." My thought usually is, Who cares?!

There is one song that begins as a dirge:
My flesh shall slumber in the ground...
For a long time I just skipped over it and said, "Oh, that thing." But one day I actually listened to it in full. It is now a favorite of mine:

My flesh shall slumber in the ground
Till the last trumpet’s joyful sound;
Then burst the chains in sweet surprise,
And in my Savior’s image rise.
When shall I wake and find me there?

Interestingly enough, the week before Sam's job was eliminated, I began to take notice of a song that is based on Psalm 42. It is one of the most moving Psalms that I can think of, particularly now. It paints a picture of one whose faith is unwavering even with untoward circumstances. The refrain is life and breath for me just now. I love the King James version:

As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God.
My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?
When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holyday.

Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.

O my God, my soul is cast down within me: Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.
Yet the LORD will command his lovingkindness in the day time, and in the night his song shall be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life.
I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me? why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
As with a sword in my bones, mine enemies reproach me; while they say daily unto me, Where is thy God?

Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.

Few Psalms could possibly comfort me more at this time of financial uncertainty. And how grateful I am that I became more aware of this Psalm only recently--right when I needed to internalize its meaning. It reminds me of my time in Minnesota while I was in graduate school. The only means I had to support myself was my nursing license, and so I went to work for a temp nursing agency. Most of the time I knew the staff and routines of hospitals since I went to a handfull of them repeatedly. I was even on the schedule for over a year for two large county hospitals, and was the charge nurse several times in a small hospital down river from St. Paul. I practiced nursing for 20 years--18 of them in ICU settings. And yet I still felt anxious every single day on the way to my job site. I really never felt terribly competent, even though I probably only made 2-3 medical mistakes in 20 years. It was probably because nursing did not come naturally to me and it was considerable work just to stay at it day after day, night after night. As I'd get in the car, my heart would begin to sink and I'd start to feel overwhelmed and anxious. But I had no alternative, and it did pay well. So this is when I developed the habit of singing a hymn several times on the way to work, just as a reminder that God was in control and I'd be okay. In fact, how I felt was probably irrelevant in the larger, spiritual scheme of things. God had something in store for me and my job was to put one foot in front of the other.

Oh, those were hard days. But out of that time I learned patience, reliance on God, perserverence, and stamina. And once again, I internalized these words:

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said
Who unto the Savior for refuge have fled?

Fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid;
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.

When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee thy troubles to bless
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flames shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.

The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I will not, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, no never, forsake!
("Keen", 1787).

This was the song on my lips once also, after I had applied for a pastoral job in Northern California and learned that someone else had been hired. I was sure that my future was in shambles without getting my foot in the door as a pastor, and I sang this song all the way home some 500 miles South. It was a real comfort to me.

The blessing is in the faith behind the lyrics of these wonderful old hymns. Once, after a painful relationship breakup, and after special prayer that I would survive it all, I awoke every morning for two weeks with a hymn in my mind. The words were always just what I needed for that day. Without this evidence from God that I would be okay, it is doubtful that recovery from this could have occurred as well as it did.

These hymns gave courage and cheer to many of our forebearers. They are still good, and the lyrics still inspire and uplift. I am really thankful.

Second Thoughts

I suppose it's not a whole lot different than what happens to new parents: Second Thoughts. Night before last, I laid in bed thinking who might be glad to be given these puppies. I was feeling ill over the weekend and was utterly exhausted after flopping around for two days. It is an enormous amount of work to manage two active puppies who tussle and fight all day if they are left unsupervised. That translates into no naps for Barbara.
Then I found a website that explains why people should never, ever adopt two puppies at the same time. Especially two puppies of the same gender. There will be fights and posturing for dominance constantly. Two puppies are twice the work, since if the owner isn't vigilant. You have to spend time with each puppy, training them separately and helping each to bond to you as the owner and "pack leader." Pack leaders don't allow fighting between other dogs in the pack. They stop the fight. I've seen this with the older sister dog at the dog nanny's house. She stands between Baxter and Charlie when they begin snarling at one another, so they are pretty calm around her. But without a pack leader, maybe they will have vicious fights for dominance and act like nothing less than "an eight-legged dog" as the woman in the vet's office mentioned to me.
After reading this website, I sat back and tried to decide which puppy we should give away, and who might take it. Which one could I bear to part with? I was so tired and felt so hopeless about having the dogs maim one another, being unable to control them, having them run into traffic, or worse yet, completely ignoring Sam and I as their owners. Perhaps we will never learn to be the pack leader. We have to get another crate and start crate training them. What will I do with them once I start working? I can't bear the thought of them being in a crate for 9 hours--that is inhumane. But they are already starting to nibble on the corner of the sectional. This wasn't a good idea at all to get puppies.

To top it off, Sam came home with a box of his personal effects from his office on Monday. His job has been eliminated and he is now officially unemployed. My heart breaks for him--this was a job that he really enjoyed. Given that the job market is abysmal here, it was a sobering thought that we would not have his input in our finances for awhile. If that is the case, can we afford this vicious, fighting, eight-legged dog?

I told Sam what I had found on the internet and that I was discouraged and worn out with them. "We have to give them to Mimi" (our loving dog nanny who has asked to be their godmother). "This will break my heart." That is what we both thought.

The next day, we spent the day with the boys, carefully taking them out separately to learn how to walk on the leash. We have a month here when we will both be here at home. We have time to train them and get them to behave well. Sam looked down at them sleeping on their little puppy blanket in the den, Baxter on his back with his feet paddling the air as his dreams made him sniffle. Charlie rolled over lazily and looked up at us. "We can't give them away," Sam said thoughtfully. "We can do okay with them."

And we have. Yesterday we put them both on leashes and went in opposite directions in the front yard. I should say, we tried to go. Charlie thought it was a splendid game, tucked his little tail between his legs and started to bolt across the lawn with me in hot pursuit. He had the leash in his teeth and was not about to drop it. Meanwhile, Sam didn't know what to do with Baxter, who threw himself down on the grass and sadly looked up at him through his eyebrows. He is a stubborn little guy, and no matter what Sam did, Baxter would not move. He dug in his heels and started howling.

But we did it together, and with a few treats, the boys started behaving rather well. We're up for it again today. Now, the babies are asleep on the floor. they are so darling when they are asleep...

Food Fetish

America seems to have a food fetish. Since the Supersize Me movie, a number of programs about food and eating a lot, have come out. I had the interesting experience of seeing one of them today: Man vs. Food. I was flabbergasted. The whole show is about this overweight guy named Adam Richman who goes to various eateries in the U.S. that serves ginormous portions of food to see if he can eat this portion within one hour. So he is seen going in to the kitchen to watch the cook prepare his 12-egg omelette with cheese, mushrooms, and onions inside, and add two large bisquits, a pound of hash browns, and a pound of sausage in it. He comments about how wonderful it looks and how he can't wait to sink his teeth into it. Earlier today we saw him try to eat 5 lbs of steak, two large buns and a pound of creamed spinach and broccoli. He came within two spoonfuls of doing it within an hour. His face was ashen, he was bloated, and God only knows what his stomach looked like on the inside. it must have been stretched way out of shape, not to mention what his arteries must look like. But while everyone in the shop was cheering, hooting, and raising their drunken fists in the air to encourage him, he just kept pushing it down.
This man did manage to get down the omelette but failed to eat the steak dinner. He goes at food like the truest glutton I've ever seen.
Aside from recoiling at what he is doing to his body, I can't believe the message he is sending to young people today. And we wonder why at least 28% of the people in this country can be considered obese (30% over their desired weight). If you look at the people who are watching him gulp down these massive quantities of food, you won't find very many of average size. And there aren't many people in the restaurants who are cheering that I would want my kids to emulate.

People don't think that these kinds of messages stick with young people. Why try to be healthy when these guys on TV look fine (more or less) and are yucking it up with both feet in the trough? There are incredible restaurants and diners in this country that thumb their noses to health. Here's one: the Heart Attack Grill where people over 350 lbs eat for free. They allow non-filtered cigarettes there, and the menu items are things like the Quadruple Bypass Burger, Triple Bypass Burgers, Flatliner Fries, and Jolt Cola. Are these people crazy?

In case you can't tell, this is a bona fide rant. Our country is suffering from poor nutrition, when we are the best fed people in the world. We have so much while the vast majority of the world don't have enough to eat. It is almost painful watching a porky guy chow down a plateful of food that could easily feed a family of six. What are we coming to? While the economy is going downhill and people are struggling with the enormous global issues we face today, the best we can do is watch people gorge and destroy their health?