BolingersCottage

No, we haven't fallen off the edge of the planet...

2012-02-12T14:12:00.002-05:00

It's been a busy two weeks here. I have updates but for now, let me call on you to remember us in prayer during this next week.

Monday, Mike will get his next chemo treatment and then return to the week of oral chemo. During the last two cycles, this wiped him out for much of the week.

Although we really do love each other, we're good if Valentine's Day involves naps and cuddles.

But, Mike is putting the finishing touches on his next talk: he'll be speaking at The Kokomo Huddle on Wednesday. I'm taking 1/2 day off so I can attend.

Then, he continues to practice as he will be joining the band at Oakbrook Church next Sunday.

So, while you await all the other news, please pray for us this week.

Here we go again

2012-01-30T19:52:00.005-05:00

So this week, Mike is back to the chemo place for treatment. In addition to that, he takes the 6 horse pills for 8 days. He finds that these treatments hit him harder as the number rises. So far, he says it's worth it.

I mentioned that it seemed to me that Good Days/Bad Days are about even. He says that no, the Bad Days are more numerous. But it's not time to give up. There's a kayak that's almost finished. There's the dream of another summer at the lake.

The treatment is Monday. Then, on Friday, we drive back to University Hospital for the 5th ERCP. Quite a week.

Central Indiana is a buzz. Next Sunday, it's SUPERBOWL Sunday in Indianapolis. Our papers and new shows are wall-to-wall stories about what's going on, what's going to go on, and how to the action. This is especially important for all those fans who can't pony up the ticket price but want to 'be close to the action.'

Superbowl Sunday has not been on our calendar. But I realized today that our route to the hospital is the northern boundary of Superbowl Traffic patterns. I'm assuming that the hospital will restrict its parking; otherwise Friday morning will be interesting for us.

Routines help. Scheduled events help. Expected agendas help. But more than anything, our greatest help comes from the Lord. And, dear friends, when you pray for us, you call upon that help. So thanks.

We are surrounded by His protection and by your spiritual care. I know that I get down sometimes, but God is quick to remind me of His presence. And, He needs to prod me a bit because I have such a short memory.

As 2011 began, I laid a specific request (for me) on my Heavenly Father. A really special friend of mine -- funny, bright, attractive, employed -- had had not so much success in our local dating scene. And although she was probably ok with that, I decided that it was time for her to meet a nice young man. Not Mr. Right, necessarily but Mr. Nice Guy. I sealed my request by sharing it with a Christian friend. Soon after, Mike's cancer returned and I forgot about it.

But guess what? She met Mr. Nice Guy. When I heard about it, well, it wasn't who I might have chosen, for no specific reasons. She was enjoying Mr. Nice Guy when he became Mr. Right. Yup. In love. Engaged. Date set. Woooo hooooo.

When I mentioned the engagement to my Christian prayer friend, she reminded me. "That's what we've been praying for, don't you remember??"

Hm. Well, no it had slipped my mind. But God honored my weakly presented case anyway.

I'm so thankful that God included those Bible stories about the forgetful Israelites. I used to think, "Wow. They forgot how God had taken care of them. Wouldn't you think that after watching the Red Sea part, after eating the manna, after drinking from the rock in the desert, they'd remember?"

But, no, about the time they wiped their mouths, they forgot.

I hope I'm not ungrateful but I DO forget. God answers my prayers faithfully and then often sends in one of His saints to 'knock me upside the hay-id' to recall that I had asked Him for this and that.

I don't know if this is the modus for all, but in our case, a terminal diagnosis jerked a knot in the tail, made us turn around, reorder, and come up with what's really important. In our case, we have been able to live with that understanding.

Powerful Truths: The God who made heaven and earth: take your request to Him, the Father. He knows what you need. He will supply all of your needs.

In our circle of praying friends, we join together to pray for a baby who was born with many needs. He's 5 months old now; his parents, grandparents, and friends are traveling with their arms around The Father.

Our sweet sister-in-law, Janelle, received the dire diagnosis in August: glioblastoma. No one wishes for a brain tumor but this one would be last on your shopping list. Initial treatment seemed to have no effect. But Janelle and Ken, along with so many friends, prayed for and continue to pray for healing. At her last report, the doctor told her that the tumor had shrunk 40 % and was less inflamed. Janelle has been able to reduce her steroid medication and concentrates on enjoying life.

At my school, our prayer circle continues to pray for so many with physical needs. God continues to flex His muscles and beat back fear.

Here at our casa, we will continue to live our lives, staying open to God's leading. Mike has been asked to speak to The Kokomo Huddle again. He will be playing with the church band in mid February. I am about to drag yet another group of high school juniors through my favorite book, The Scarlet Letter.

Much joy here. And peace. And hope.

Arming the Knight for Battle

2012-01-28T12:29:00.006-05:00

Many of you who read this blog knew my father. If you knew Dad you probably know my mother. They were married for 46 years, which is quite an accomplishment in this day. Now that the evil Lynne and I have passed 38 years of marriage, making us scarred veterans of the marital wars, I sometimes think about how my parent’s marriage worked and compare theirs to mine.

Most long term couples evolve ways to get along with each other and to help the other person with shortcomings or inabilities. (For a lengthy and comprehensive list of my marital inadequacies please feel free to consult the evil Lynne. Make sure you have at least a couple of hours.) This was certainly true in my parent’s marriage. Most of you know that my father was a lawyer and was always impeccably dressed for work. What you probably did not know is that the man never dressed himself even once in his married life.

Dad did not have a clue about how to dress. When it came to colors, patterns and styles of clothing, he was hopeless. He knew it, too, which was good, because my Mom, while not a “clothes horse,” has a very refined sense of fashion and color.

So every night before my parents drifted off to sleep, my mother laid out what my Dad was to wear the next day, down to socks and underwear, as well as his suit, shirt, tie, belt, shoes, tie tack, cuff links, watch and handkerchief. Mom left nothing to chance. All Dad had to do each morning was to take his shower and put on whatever Mom had laid out. This is why he always looked so professional.

Every morning my parents each had roles to play in two long-standing rituals. The first ritual began when Dad was finished with breakfast. He would head to the door to go to work. Mom would say, “Let’s see what you look like.” Dad would stop and wait to be inspected. Mom would walk around him, adjusting his tie or collar, maybe straightening his lapels, or pulling out his cuffs to check the cuff links. When she was satisfied, she would say, “You look good.”

Then their second marital ritual would play out.

Heading toward the door, Dad would say, oftentimes mimicking the voice of a very, very bad Shakespearean actor, “I am going forth to slay the dragon.” This would be followed by Mom's response, “You are my hero. My knight in shining armor.” And out the door he would go.

At 6 o’clock my Dad would come home from work to a formal dinner in the dining room. The table would always be set with crystal, china, linen tablecloth and napkins, and the chandelier would be dimmed or the room lit with gold candelabras. This was a nightly event in their house. Dad would sit at the head of the table with Mom at the other end, us children on the sides. After the prayer, my Mom would inquire, “Owen, did you slay the dragon today?” Dad would respond saying, “I got in a couple of solid hits, but he got away, again.” Mom would follow his response by counseling, “Well, there is always tomorrow. You can slay him then. You are still my hero.” And the dinner would proceed.

I loved writing this piece, because it brought back memories about my parents and my childhood. Their marriage wasn’t perfect. They had their ups and downs, like all marriages do. Somehow they made the decision to stay together because the relationship was worth it.

These two schmaltzy rituals seem quaint and outdated to me. Yet my heart is warmed when I recall them. If nothing else, my Mom dressing my Dad, inspecting him before he walked out the door, and the “slaying the dragon” skit offered some regularity and solidity to the marriage. Good for them. But there is more to it than merely accommodating or adapting to each other. My Mom knew what is maybe the most important thing a wife can know about her husband.

All good wives know that their man, perhaps above all else, wants to be a hero…their hero. I think God wired men that way. Every man wants to be known by those that he values as being courageous and brave, because that is what makes a hero. Courage and bravery. And you know what else? The hero does not always have to win, either. The true hero has but to try his best.

As I was writing this, the evil Lynne reminded me of what Harper Lee wrote in To Kill a Mockingbird. She said that true courage was present when you knew you were beat before you started, but you took up the fight anyway, because it was the right thing to do. That is what knights in shining armor do, you know.

Mike out.

The New Normal

2012-01-22T16:59:00.008-05:00

I just checked a calendar. It's been 35 months since Mike first became ill. It was two months later when we received the realistic diagnosis: that Mike's cancer had spread, that it was incurable and inoperable, and that statistically he faced a quick death.

A long 35 months. We know we are living within the protective dome of so many prayers; we know that God has purposed to keep Mike here, rather than escort him to his "Arts and Crafts cabin by the lake," along the silver sea; we know that God continues to give us gifts tangible and intangible, to help us day to day.

How can we not be joyous, almost 24 hours a day? Well, let me tell you:

Chronic illness supplies its own stresses. Will we have a good day or a bad day? Will Mike have energy and inclination to work on the kayak, go out to lunch, teach his class, attend The Huddle, practice his guitar? Or will he need to rest, sleep, roam around the house in the middle of the night?

On those good days, and there are plenty, Mike acts and talks so much like Old Mike. He might let himself get perturbed by his wife. He will joke. He will call us, "Hurry, come running!" to watch something inane on television. And we can be perturbed back.

Then, it flips. He crashes. He gets blue. Really blue. And he hurts. Hurts a lot. Gets cold. Can't get warm. Needs to sleep. Deep sleep in the afternoon.

There's not always a way to anticipate but we assume that it's connected to the chemo.

This new regime involves a trip to infusion room and then 6 horse pills for 8 days. Then, a week off. Then, back again. When we began, Infusion Day was just the drive out and back. Day Two was a crash day. By Day Three, Old Mike was emerging.

Mike tells me that this treatment's effects are cumulative...they build on each other. So, in our case, his down time is growing. And few things make him more blue than having to lie down and rest for prolonged times. This last week has been particularly difficult.

Me? Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. I want to do what he needs me to do for him. It's not always so clear. I get weary.

It's my own little battle against the Amalekites. In Exodus 17, Moses sent Joshua to lead the Israelites against barbarians in the Promised Land. God's guys were outnumbered but advanced bravely. Moses, up on a hill, raised his arms and as long as those arms were up, Joshua prevailed. When Moses lowered his arms, the Israelites began to fail.

Quite a task for Moses. He grew weary. So, his brother Aaron and a guy named Hur climbed up next to him and held up his arms for him.

Joshua won.

(Exodus 17

8 The Amalekites came and attacked the Israelites at Rephidim. 9 Moses said to Joshua, “Choose some of our men and go out to fight the Amalekites. Tomorrow I will stand on top of the hill with the staff of God in my hands.” 10 So Joshua fought the Amalekites as Moses had ordered, and Moses, Aaron and Hur went to the top of the hill. 11 As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning.
12 When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up—one on one side, one on the other—so that his hands remained steady till sunset. 13 So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword.

I'm not Moses. Mike's not Joshua. But, we need some strength here, some angelic arm raising.

That's what we'll ask for as we go into a Non-Chemo Week. Hopefully, God will give Mike a strength infusion and give me wisdom to help him.

Emerging Kayak in the Basement

2012-01-17T18:25:00.004-05:00

Little by little

with some assistance from whomever he can grab

the kayak is coming together.

Requesting Your Prayers Again.

2012-01-15T18:07:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow, the hub goes back to the Oncology Department and into that nice, soft, beige lounger. He'll get hooked up and his nurse will administer some targeted poison. Then, he's back on a week of the special pills: 6 a day for 7 days.

These treatments are supposed to buy us time. So far, that's exactly what's happening. Mike's doctor says the therapy continues until he decides to stop. Or when his disease overtakes the benefits.

Right now, Mike's in the living room, playing the blues on his guitar, one of his favorite pastimes. Earlier, I assisted as he glued some sort of support to some sort of piece of wood that should form a side of the kayak. And that's our life on a chilly Sunday night.

What is it about me that I need reminders of God's attention to the details in our lives?

Right now, we continue to live in the glow of a miracle. We have some sort of yen that there's more for Mike to do. From the sidelines, I am witness to how God is using him in the lives of some of his friends, some of his former colleagues, even some of my students who have seen the video of his testimony.

He'll drive himself out to the hospital in the morning and when it's over, he'll drive himself back. Then, there will be a nap. A deep nap.

So, while I enjoy a day off from school, when God brings us to mind, please pray for us on Monday.

Baby, it's cold outside

2012-01-12T19:17:00.004-05:00

So that means it's cold out in the workshop. THAT boat is waiting for some warmer weather. Meanwhile, down in the basement,

little by little;
piece by piece;

DREAMS of summer and flying over the surface of the lake......

the kayak is taking shape.

For Today and ALL of 2012

2012-01-07T10:29:00.003-05:00

Matt 6:34

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes."

Dancing with the Doctor

2012-01-03T16:56:00.005-05:00

Just before the new semester was to begin, we kept a scheduled appointment with Mike’s oncologist.

She had ordered a scan in mid-December; we collectively decided that we’d wait until after the holidays to ‘review the results.’ We’ve followed this protocol before. Unspoken: why risk ruining the celebration? So we put it out of our minds (not really) until today.

How many times have we sat, tense, in the examining room, I on my chair and Mike on the table? How many times have we exchanged banter with the nurse, the nurse who KNOWS but will not say? How many times have we greeted the doctor and then eyed her as she flips through the reports, making notes?

Today was……I forget. Often enough that the choreography is the same. We lean forward and she speaks. So far, the tension has been broken by a broad physician smile and good (no) news. Today: we lean, she eyes, she looks up.

She smiles.

“Looks good, Mike. Those two areas that we were concerned about…they have been resolved.”
What does this mean? That nasty Gemzar is poisoning the cancer. Is it gone? No. Is it still small? Yes. What should we do?

Keep living your life.

Doctor says that Mike can take this medicine chronically, on and on as long as it causes no problems, or bearable problems. Doctor says that Mike should add a few things to his bucket list.
Doctor suggests that if Mike wants to take a chemo vacation, that would be fine.

SO: Mike will continue to build the boat and the kayak. He will be playing his guitar in church. He will hold court at The Brick. And, of course, he’ll teach his classes at Ivy Tech Community College.

I’ll be back at Kokomo High School, passing on the wisdom.

We’ll be loving life, loving each other, and loving our Father. God has a few more things for Mike to do, I’m sure.

Traveling Over The Holidays

2012-01-03T15:41:00.007-05:00

For months, we had been warned that Christmas-time travel would be filled with terror: crowds, noise, crowds, traffic, crowds, short tempers and, oh yes, crowds. Air fares would be high. Gasoline prices would be high. Some of those in the crowds would be…well….

But, we had decided that, health concerns at bay, we would get to San Antonio from Indiana and we would get home again in time for the New Year.

It was complicated at this end. Mike and I would travel down together. Zach would come a few days later. Mike and Zach would return home together. I would come a few days later. Mike was traveling free, on credit card points. I was traveling on air line points. Zach’s itinerary involved actual money. And as there are no direct flights to our location, this meant 12 separate reservations.

The airline points were with Delta…..dreaded Delta…Don’t Ever Leaves The Airport Delta…so the rest of the trips needed to coordinate. We ended up with all Delta, all the time.

Delta is the largest Airline Carrier and whatever strengths it might possess, it does NOT have a good PR department. It seems, at least to the casual traveler, that Delta gets it wrong all the time….most delays, most canceled flights, most passenger complaints. But no matter, we steeled ourselves for all of our challenges and drove to the airport a few days before Christmas.

Indianapolis International is a really fine airport. It’s small enough and easy to get around, to find your way. Even little things, like how the restroom faucets always spray warm water when you wash your hands, makes traveling to and from Indianapolis pleasant. However, it takes us about an hour and 20 minutes to get there, get parked and then into the terminal. So our trips have to commence several hours before take –off. And on this day, we anticipated traffic and then parking problems so we left even earlier. Guess what? Light traffic. What else? Lots of open parking in the economy lot. So we were at the gate in plenty of time. Both of our flights were on time or early so the trip was over quickly.

Zach’s first flight was at 8 AM so he said he drove to the airport in the dark and there was no traffic at all. One of his flights was delayed (in Memphis) because of the snow storms farther west. This was the only ‘Delta problem.”

Then, after the Christmas celebration, Mike and Zach returned to Indianapolis. Both flights were on time or early. There was enough room to stow both guitars as well as their carry-ons.
None of us had luggage problems. Staff was pleasant and polite. Sure, there was a little passenger drama (not from us) but it was handled quickly and efficiently.

MY flights back were equally pleasant. The first leg was a 2 ½ hour trip from San Antonio to Detroit, where I would have a 2 hour layover. Although the airplane was only partly full, I got relegated to the Children’s Table, near the back of the ship.

Catty corner on the aisle in front of me was Mom with 18-month-old boy on her lap. He played, had a snack and occasionally he’d play peek-a-boo with anyone who would play. Big brown eyes. Big toothy grin. Adorable. Plus he slept a lot.

Catty corner behind was Mom and Dad with 3 children under 5. One was named Sophie. More on that later.

Directly behind was Mom with her 4-year-old son and 5-year-old daughter, who like to spell. And spell. And spell.

All of the children did just fine until the final half hour.

Cute little boy ramped up his peek-a-boo, pairing it with rocking back and forth, into the aisle, back into the seat next to Mom. Mom just let it go unless an attendant was in the aisle.

Mom behind, with the speller, was working hard to keep the kids in tow without bothering neighbors. The games and DVD players were out of juice so they commenced to the question/answer game.

M: You need to turn around and get your seat belt on.
B: Why?
M: Because it’s the rule.
B: Why?
M: Both of you, turn around and get those belts on.
B: Why?
G: It hurts. It’s red. R-E-D.
M: No it doesn’t. You must put it on. What if we crash?
G: I don’t want to.
M: You have to. It’s the rules.
G: He’s touching me.
M: Both of you, don’t you take those belts off.
B: Why?
M: We might run out of gas and crash.
B: Then what?
M: Daddy will be sad if we were to die.
B: No.
G: Waaaaaaa.

Deep breaths from the seat in front of them. But then, from the other corner.

Dad: Sophie, you must sit down.
S: No.
D: Sophie, you need to put on the seat belt.
S: No.
D: Sophie, why are you being difficult?
(Because she’s 3!!!!)
S:No.
D:Sophie, turn around.
S: No.
D: Sophie, stop kicking that seat.
S: No.
D: Sophie, why are you crying?
(She wasn’t. It was one of those fake whines.)
D: Sophie, what do you want?
(more wailing)
D: Ok, you want to sit on my lap?
S: No.
D: Here, I’ll hold you for a moment……now you must sit there and put on your belt….
(wailing)

Way up in the front, a baby began to cry. That usually happens as the plane descends and the pressure changes. All good signs that the flight is coming to an end. And soon, we were on the ground at Detroit Metro Airport, a former stomping ground for me and my high school buddies.
All of the kiddies and even Sophie’s daddy, made it to Detroit and none of them were headed to Indianapolis.

The last leg of my flight was quick. By sundown, all of us were back home again in Indiana.
We had no big plans for New Year’s Eve. We ended up watching The Apostle, starring Robert Duvall. Amazing film.

And, well rested, we transferred all the birthdays from the old calendar to the new calendar.
And we wonder what 2012 will hold for us all.

Marking up our Calendars

2012-01-02T15:39:00.008-05:00

So. 2012. ANOTHER New Year. Here's where we are today, looking into this next year.

I left my classroom on December 23, prepared to begin the new semester. This means I'm ready for the first day of classes on January 4. No veteran teacher would miss the first few days of a new semester if at all possible. That's when teacher and students meet, size each other up, set the tone and begin the dance.

I've learned that any and all effort during those first few days pays dividends for the rest of the semester. There will still be about 2 weeks of testing and pushing...probably more with my freshmen...and then we'll settle in.

So, yes, the plan is for me to return to my classroom and a new group of students. All good. These two weeks off have been glorious...restful and busy at the same time...Our travels to Texas and many hugs. A smattering of get-togethers with friends. Then, several of those messed up kitchen cabinets have been emptied, ordered, and repacked. Specifically, I was inspired by my brother/sister-in-law's kitchen...they have lids for all of their plastic wear AND they can find them. It was time to organize and get rid of the loose pieces.

I discarded with brutality. All good.

Mike plans to teach one, maybe two, classes at our community college. He LOVES this and since he'll be repeating, it's not too much work. He's also tearing through Sudoku booklets and his Sudoku-a-Day calendar. When we visited my brother at Thanksgiving, Mike saw Ken scribbling absently at a Sudoku. Ken is, how can I says this, a math brain. Very organized. Precise. Mike asked him about the puzzles and Ken said that once you know the trick, they are easy. (oh)

"I'll show you." He did. "You see, it becomes easy to see that it has to be one number." (oh) "And, REAL players don't write all sorts of little numbers in the boxes." (oh) "Oh, and you use a pen, not a pencil." (oh)

Oh. oh. oh. oh: All of MY tricks. Early on in this exchange, I thought about nosing in. When the brother trashed those who write the little numbers...well, I'm out.

But before we commence with our teaching, we go January 3 to see his doctor, to discuss the latest scan. We scheduled this so I could go along. All good.

Our friends, Morgan and Sandra, have sent out word that the 'next Brick' is January 13. All good. (and yum)

Mike is scheduled to play at church on January 15. All good.

I find that I live better if I cut back on long-term planning. I mean, a friend will marry September 29 and we are "on the A-list" for the wedding. I'd love to take my man to that party. And as a teacher, I have to plan out sequences for lessons that make sense and build on each other.

But, it's easier, in most parts of my life, if I take it a day at a time. Each day has its own challenges, joys, and cautions. My verse for this year are the words of my Lord:

"Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matt. 6:34 (NIV)

Right now, Mike is building a boat and a kayak, suitable for launching into Winona Lake next summer. Wouldn't THAT be great?

We remain amazed and humbled that God continues to bless us with time. And with all of our praying friends. We hope your new year holds great joy for you.

Christmas 2011 San Antonio: EEEE-ha!

2012-01-01T17:39:00.052-05:00

Can you stand a little more Holiday Cheer? Then, stay tuned!

You may have seen our photos already if you are Facebook Friends. But, no matter, here we include the narrative.

Chrismas 2011 found my family gathered around the tree at Allyson's home, in San Antonio. Although Texas was foisting untypical weather upon its citizens and visitors, we were warm and snug, by the light of the gas fireplace AND the glow of HD Yuletide Log on television. Mommy and boys snuggled as they had to wait.

One of our traditions is that we may eye the goods but wait until Mike reads the Christmas story in Luke 2.

Then, let the games begin.
(notice the video fireplace)

Gramma was overruled: the boys received air rifles from their Granpa. Later, in the back yard, we discovered that they are, in fact, a bit too young to enjoy these. Next year, I'll bet.

We shipped Zach's gift ahead. He now owns a mandolin. I got a harmonica and we planned to make some music. "Sitting on the dock of the bay"

I've been practicing my C chords.

Then, it was time for a nap before dinner.

Allyson prepared a repast worth the wait. We would continue to enj0y baked ham and sweet potato fluff for several days beyond.

As visitors, we had our tasks. Allyson handed her dad a list, a long list, of fix-it projects. 5 or 6 trips to Lowes and the list was history.

Uncle Zach's job was to provide music AND Uncle Time

My 'jobs' involved Cuddle Time.

Teaching Drew, left-handed darling, to tie his shoe.

And, of course, reading. Lots of reading in this house.

There are so many intangible blessings when family can gather and share love. For our part, we enjoyed this time with no health concerns. Much hugging, laughing, and getting things done.

I hope your Christmas was filled with joy. Ours certainly was.

Currently in my Basement: Clues

2012-01-01T13:42:00.009-05:00

Last month, some mysterious pieces of wood and what not began sprouting in my basement.

I confessed that I had no idea what was going on.

I could narrow it down, slightly, in that it appeared to be a new husband project.

There's still the boat that's coming together out in the workshop, but it gets cold out there, I'm told.

The various heating units, placed here and there, do not take the chill off, I'm told. So this project will suffice when the temperature drops.

But, what? Strips, clamps, and when I returned from San Antonio, the appearance that sanding had commenced.

I DO keep my printer in direct path of sanding dust.

Clues;

And more clues;

Skills are apparent.

Have you figured it out?

Wait for it.........

It's a kayak. Looking forward to next summer.

Holiday Cheer

2011-12-20T19:06:00.004-05:00

Tis the season to be jolly.

Or not. Out there, the push is on. Rush rush rush. Spend spend spend. You hear less "Merry Christmas" and more "Whew, I'm DONE!!!

In here, we have ramped it down over the last few years. And with plans to be in Texas for Christmas, we weren't even going to put up a tree. WE. Well, THAT'S not accurate. Decking the halls falls on me, now that my daughter moved away. She took the task over when she got old enough to plug in the lights. We had really elaborate decor until she moved out.

I wasn't going to put up anything shiny in December. But then, Mike invited our good friends over for dinner. (He hauled out his rotisserie and bought a Moby chicken.) I knew I had to sprinkle some holiday cheer here and there. My solution: a trip to the bargain store where they had a special on a pre-lit tree. It's all of 24 inches so the light is intense. A few of our special ornaments and it is all a sparkle. Wouldn't you just know my luck? Our local department store was GIVING AWAY pre-lit door wreaths. My oh my, all I need is a Yule log. (0r that On Demand high definition Fireplace!)

The dinner, by the way, was spectacular. And then, here's why we continue to celebrate. Since February (i.e. "recurrence"), every planned trip has been penciled in. We did not know if we would be able to go, if Mike would feel well enough. And so was our Christmas trip, which involves air travel. Even after getting all flights coordinated, last weekend seemed to indicate that the trip would not happen.

I'm pleased to say (and this is how God is answering prayers THIS week), the trip is on. On Thursday night, I'll be hugging some grandsons! So, even though the crowds out there are pushing and shoving, I can thank our Father as I drag out the suitcase.

Mike had a scan today, scheduled but scheduled incorrectly, so what might have taken an hour filled most of the day. And then he came home to a letter. A mean letter.

It seems that during the chaos of the closing of the office, some client's case was mislaid. Some sort of inheritance allocation. They want a refund. They will get it.

But in the letter were some hurtful words, striking at the heart of this career attorney. I'm guessing that two years ago, he would have let the words roll off his back while addressing their concerns. But this is later, this is the tender Mike, who would go all sorts of extra miles to help. He said, "Mean, isn't it? No big deal, we'll fix it. They are wrong but it's not worth it...."

Then he lay down and took a deep nap.

When he awakens, he'll see what another former client sent to us. Along with the plant is a letter telling him, specifically, how Mike had helped this person. How she'll always be greatful and, as such letters often end, that she'll continue to pray for us.

I love how God sends unexpected blessings right when we need them.

From our house, cottage, workshop, and blog: May you have a very Merry Christmas. May you find joy in this holiday season. We serve a mightly God who loves us so much that He sacrificed His dear Son. May the miracle of Emmanuel, the Messiah, fill your hearts with hope and love.

That was the week that was......

2011-12-18T17:34:00.004-05:00

Whew. Ready for a new week here.

Last Monday, had I snapped a photo, you would have seen that the hub looked like his old self. Friends dropped by and they played. And lunched. And played some more. I was dragging from the end-of-semester busyness and he was flying.

Tuesday began with full vigor. THEN, I'm not sure what happened here but I think the hub unearthed something old in the refrigerator. Maybe some lunchmeat. Not sure. But the result was a rip roaring case of gastroenteritis by Wednesday.......sick sick sick by the time I got home. The list of chores lay where I left it. The hub lay abed, moaning and groaning, when he was not sprinting for the porcelain throne.

He slept fitfully but insisted that he was well on Thursday, so off to school I went. And it was 'root day' so I was late getting home, although my hair looked fabulous. But Mike would never know.....he was deep in the covers, pale and weak, and still sick.

It was a rocky night and this time, he wanted me home. Just in case 'this was it,' he did not want me to miss anything. His stomach was relieved of some stuff and then he felt a little better.

Several quarts of Gatorade later, his doctor returned our call. As he had no fever, she suggested that we come in on Friday to check his various body fluids. We did. Turns out that he did a 'good job of hydrating himself,' and after a few bags of saline, he was pronounced good to go.

Go we did. So HE was/is fine but I was/am exhausted. Saturday was a catch-up day.

Then, on to Sunday. Mike got to play with the church band. Few things make me smile as wide. And, I know from my friends, that when Mike is on stage, his church family smiles wide, also. He is, after all, their miracle man.

Watching, singing, worshipping, a thought crept in.....was this the last time he'd get to play? Will this be our last Christmas? And a tear began to form.

But here's the thing: does God want to rob me of my joy? No, that's the other side. We are so blessed and we are so vulnerable to attacks from the Evil One.

I wiped off the tear and upped my volume.

Jesus, Messiah
Name above all names
Blessed Redeemer
Emmanuel

We are well and headed into the season that celebrates our Savior's birth.

Happy Birthday, Jesus. Thanks, Father for each and every gift.

The Legend of the Two Toms

2011-12-17T19:18:00.002-05:00

One of the interesting sociological facts about Kokomo, apart from its extensive Ku Klux Klan history, is that a significant portion of our population are persons who immigrated north from such places as Beaver Tail, Tennessee, and Coon Holler, Kentucky. These persons and their offspring can be identified easily, apart from being grossly overweight and habitually beating their mouth-breathers in Walmart, by the shotgun and compound bow they have on a rack in the rear window of their jacked up, 4-wheel-drive pickup truck. In addition, they all have police scanners in their home, right next to the 52 inch flatscreen which is always tuned to whatever channel is showing “wrasslin.”

Police scanners allow anyone to hear radio transmissions from the police, which can be really useful if you are hiding young Otis in your house, because the cops in Kentucky have a warrant for him for back support, said warrant now being in the hands of the Kokomo cops who are anxious to apprehend young Otis, put his sorry butt in jail and ship him back to the patiently waiting judge in Beaver Tail.

Also, the radio calls often say where the cops are going, which might tip you off that it might not be a good time to go weed that secret plot of ground that you are using to grow your own weed, for personal use only, or to access your stash of shine that you ran up here to Indiana from Uncle Floyd’s still back home.

Even better, you can hear the cops talking about being enroute to an often-visited residence, because Harlen is beating the snot out of Geraldine, yet again. If you get the call early enough, you can mosey on down to Harlen’s house to watch the fireworks, where four officers try to drag an irritated, liquored-up Harlen out of the house, clad only in his wifebeater T-shirt and boxers, while roaring that he will never be taken alive, all the while Geraldine trying to smack the cops, screaming that she will love Harlen forever and will visit him every Wednesday in the jail.

Rowdy, but home sweet home.

As it's understood that every kid whose parents have a scanner is listening, it has long been the tradition with the police in Kokomo that on Christmas Eve, the on-duty officers are to call in to dispatch about 9:30 to report that an unidentified flying object has been sighted over Kokomo. Another cop will then respond that the UFO has a red light on the front and appears to be stopping on the roof of each house.

Yet another cop will report that a very fat man with a white beard, clad in a red suit is going down the chimney of each house. This scenario is limited only by the creativeness of the officers, or their boredom, pick one. It is safe to say that a substantial portion of the police force view this task as beneath their dignity and professionalism. It is also safe to say that some police officers are in possession of, shall we say, a perverted, twisted sense of humor, sometimes not kept in check. Such was the case on one legendary Christmas Eve.

Which leads me to the two subjects of this tale of woe, Officers Thomas Dinardo and his evil accomplice, Thomas Kelly, who on a peaceful Christmas Eve were bored (not a good thing) and who managed cleverly to create a Christmas Eve, in our burg, that lives on in infamy. This daring duo cleverly managed to put countless mouthbreathers in therapy, thoroughly tick off half the community, and to incur the wrath of their commanding officers, all in the space of 5 minutes, and in so doing upheld the highest traditions of the Kokomo Police Department…

and became local legends.

Now before this tale continues, let the reader envision eight year old, buck-toothed Elmer, fresh out of his once-a-week bath, clad in his jammies, with his oversized left ear glued to the scanner, anticipating the report of Santa Claus being in the vicinity. Perhaps he frequently glances toward the Christmas tree, noting that there are no presents underneath and thinking that Santa has yet to deliver down the chimney and if he doesn’t bring him that set of broadhead arrows he asked for, well…Santa just might get to find out what a load of 12 gauge double ought buckshot feels like where the sun don’t shine. After all, Elmer left out by the chimney one of those special brownies that only Ma and Pa eat, just for Santa Claus.

All the while young Elmer’s parents are sitting by the scanner, also with their own thoughts. Pa is thinking that if the cops would just get on with it, Elmer could be sent off to beddy-bye, he could get a ball mason jar of shine out of the garage and he and Ma could maybe share a little toke and then hop into the sack together for some serious substance abuse-enhanced, sheet time. Little did they know of the diabolical plot concocted by the vile, two Toms.

It seems that when 9:30 rolled around and the Santa Claus schtick was scheduled to commence, the two Tom’s decided to deviate from the script and do a bit of, shall we say, ad-libbing. As ordered, Officer Dinardo called in to report an unidentified flying object. Right on cue, Officer Kelly reported the red light out front. Dinardo then reported that the UFO was east bound at low level and appeared to be a sleigh being pulled by reindeer. Kelly observed that a fat man in a red suit was going down the chimney of each house. Dinardo opined that Rudolph was doing a good job guiding the sleigh, but that the bad weather was making it difficult to see. Kelly then observed that Santa was now crossing the Delphi and Chrysler plants at low altitude. And then the fun began… with thousands of tiny ears glued to the scanners.

Kelly: Man, Santa is awfully low.

Dinardo: I hope Rudolph sees those high tension wires east of the Delphi plant.

Kelly: Oh man, he’s too low! He’s going to hit those wires!

Dinardo: I see sparks! Pull up, Rudolph! Pull up! You are going to hit the wires!

Kelly: Oh my God, they’re in the wires! Oh no, the sleigh is tangled up in the wires. The sleigh is burning! The reindeer are on fire. They are going down! Oh man, Santa just fell out of the sleigh! Oh, the humanity!

Dinardo: Santa just hit the ground! He’s splattered! All the presents are burning! I smell burning reindeer meat! Call the ambulance! Santa is on fire! I am at the scene and it looks like Rudolph and the other reindeer are extra crispy and Santa is well done!

Kelly: You think we could get some of that reindeer meat? I hear it tastes just like deer meat. I think we better get out of here. You know, some people can’t take a joke and might not appreciate this.

Dinardo: I am thinking that it is an hour before we get off for the night. I am heading to Dunkin Donut for a donut and coffee. I am going off the air, too. Meet you there. I think we had better lay low for the rest of the shift.

Of course, young Elmer and hundreds of other mouthbreathers, realizing that Santa was toast and Rudolph and the boys were on the way to the weigh station, screamed and promptly went into a catatonic state. Children all over the county were traumatized by the vision of Santa and Rudolph going down in flames and being turned into reindeer steak and Santa burgers. Even worse was the collective wail that rose over the city as the mouthbreathers figured out that their presents were incinerated, despite assurances from their parents that that was not the case.

Of course, the Sheriff and the Chief of Police were, strangely enough, not amused by the deviation from the script. The dispatchers were furious as their switchboards melted down with hundreds of incoming telephone calls from furious parents. The Sheriff and the Chief sent out directives to the two Tom’s that they had better “fix this thing," or their heads would roll. But, of course, the two Toms were nowhere to be found.

So, there you have it. The legend of the Two Toms. Where else could this have happened, but Kokomo, Indiana. Smokin’ Santa and barbecued Rudolph! Merry Christmas!

Mike out.

Madison Elaine Miller

2011-12-17T19:14:00.005-05:00

Born 12/15/2011 around 11;30 PM

20 inches 6 lb 3 oz

And, Great Aunt Lynne got to cuddle her 10 hours later!

Currently in my Basement

2011-12-12T18:46:00.005-05:00

I have NO idea.

Stay tuned.

Sweet

2011-12-09T09:52:00.000-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vu2E2FUcIiE&safety_mode=true&persist_safety_mode=1

Slowing Down

2011-12-07T12:49:00.003-05:00

It has been thirty-three months since four doctors told me I had ninety days to live. I guess I fooled them, didn’t I? They have no explanation for my apparent reprieve. They just shake their heads, throw up their hands, and say things like “medicine is an art and people are unpredictable.” Gee, I would never have guessed that! I know why I continue to live and I could tell them, but they wouldn’t put in stock in what I would tell them, so why bother?

Being sick with cancer with the attendant radiation, chemotherapy, and related drugs has a tendency to slow me down. I am tired most of the time. I would also say that the tiredness is not the same as if I had run a race or worked really hard. It is a completely pervasive fatigue that is bone-deep and long-lasting. It has to be experienced to be understood.

Nonetheless, the constant fatigue has brought with it some good things. It has forced me to slow down and has given me the opportunity to appreciate what is around me. There are many little things that we each experience that slip by unnoticed most of the time. For me, this is a brand new, enlightening experience. Let me give you a quick example.

Back when I was playing lawyer, it was not unusual for me to be on the road to court in four different counties in a single day. There was no time for breakfast, lunch or anything else, for that matter. I got skilled at driving with my knee, while looking at a file, and talking with a client or one of the secretaries on the cell phone. Stopping for lunch was out of the question. You may not believe this, but in thirty-three years, I never stopped one time to have lunch while on the road. Really stupid. This obsessive behavior became a habit.

A few months ago I had business in Warsaw. I drove there in my truck, took care of the matter and headed home. About fifteen miles from Warsaw is the small farm town of Silver Lake. On the corner is a tiny mom-and-pop diner called Keisling’s Iron Skillet. It looks like my kind of place. Quiet, good food, you will be left alone to read, and reasonable prices. Fine dining it is not. Comforting it is.

So I rolled into Silver Lake about noon… hungry…and rolled right on through… because I needed to get back to Kokomo. About three miles out of Silver Lake it dawned on my tiny brain that I was not working anymore, there was no office to go to no appointments to keep and I had no reason at all not to stop and enjoy a leisurely lunch. I will not tell you I turned around and went back to Keisling’s, but I did stop for lunch at The Red Apple diner five miles up the road, where I enjoyed a cheeseburger, fries, cole slaw and Coke, followed by apple pie and ice cream for dessert. I spent an hour having lunch and reading a book. That is the first time I have ever stopped for lunch.

So where am I going with this? I am learning to slow down and sometimes even stop to enjoy little things that I used to blow right on by and not notice. I am working on making this an art form. Consequently, I thought I would make a partial list of some of these little things that I have noticed, so you get the idea. Acknowledging these little events make life better, even if you are sick.

1. A long, hot shower, followed by crawling into fresh sheets on my bed and opening a new book to the first page.
2. One frozen peach wine cooler in bed at night.
3. The clatter of my Ducati’s dry clutch and the shriek and snort of its motor at nine thousand rpms.
4. Peach salsa and Tostito chips.
5. Any road trip in my Silverado with the Iverson and Lynne, providing it ends at a dog-friendly Hampton Inn for the night.
6. The sound of river water slipping by the hull of my handmade wooden kayak.
7. Eating a roasted chicken cooked on my Ron Popeil rotisserie.
8. Waking up in the morning and celebrating with Iverson (or Lynne) that we have new day to goof off together
9. Meeting up unexpectedly with a friend and having lunch or dinner together.
10Playing anything written by Mississippi John Hurt.
11. The sound of my razor sharp plane as it slices off a ribbon of wood.
12. Watching any sunset from my pier on Winona Lake with Lynne and Iverson.
13. Listening to my son, Zack, play his guitars.
14. Driving by any courthouse or my old office and laughing, because I do not have to do that stuff anymore.
15. Playing music in the band at Oakbrook Church.
16. Watching the coots land on Winona Lake in the late fall.
17. Seeing a hawk on a telephone line anywhere in Indiana.
18. Looking up and seeing a perfectly trimmed sail on my sailboat.
19. Being inverted on the forty-five degree down line on the backside of a Cuban-eight, followed by a loop and roll in a Decathlon.
20. Puttering along at 80 kts five hundred feet above the ground, watching cars, cows, people and land go by.
21. Asparagus cooked in soy sauce with lots of salt and butter.
22. Any peach ice cream anytime. Or strawberry.
23. Any barbecue joint with pulled pork, cold slaw, baked beans, cornbread and sweet tea.
24. Gymnopedie No. One played on my Martin guitar through a Fender amp with slight chorus effect.
25. The curve of Lynne’s waist.
26. 19 kts in my wooden hydroplane.
27. Talking with my mom, when she remembers who I am.
28. Lunch with Tommy D.
29. The stock market over 12000.
30. Walking out of a church service determined to try to do better.
31. Giving Iverson a bath.
32. Any song by Leonard Cohen.
33. Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.
34. “52 Vincent” by Richard Thompson.
35. Cooking dinner for friends.
36. The smell of lilacs blooming.
37. Seeing my daughter, who will always be two years old, anytime.
38. Taking off our shoes, and walking ashore on Omaha Beach with my son, Zach.
39. My oncologist saying that nothing is showing up in the CT scans and “come back in three months.”
40. Any new story from anyone about my dad.
41. Waking up in a sleeping bag on the Appalachian Trail and fixing oatmeal over a backpacking stove.

This is a partial list. I could go on all day. I never used to notice these things. Not so nowadays. I would urge you to make your own list. You would be surprised how much good it does you.
I have still not had lunch at Keisling’s, but I swear I will get that done.

Slow down. Life is short. Enjoy the little things. Share them when you can.

Mike out.

Update: James Caird II

2011-12-06T17:43:00.002-05:00

Here is the latest picture of my Maine Peapod, which I have named James Caird II. All of the stringers, which run the length of the boat, have been installed and await planking.

I hope to start tomorrow, if I can kick the after effects of my most recent Chemo treatment. Further pictures to follow.

Give Thanks

2011-11-24T16:18:00.015-05:00

We are here in Charlotte for the third time.

Third time (in three years) that we’ve made the trip;
Third time that we are enjoying this traditional Thanksgiving feast;
Third time we’ve STOOD BACK as my brother, spreadsheet/notes/timeline/cookbooks created the feast;
Third time’s the charm, I’ve heard.

MUCH to give thanks for this year: friends from my home church are safe at home after surviving an attack by armed invaders. Most everything else pales in comparison.

Except. This trip was only penciled in: would Mike be well? Would he be alive? And my sweet sister-in-law, who carries the added weight of a brain tumor: would she be well enough? Would she still be with us?

Yes to all of this.

Even as of Tuesday morning, our trip was still ‘penciled in.’ Mike had chemo on Monday and by Tuesday morning, he was dragging. He may beg to differ but I did not plan our route nor pack up my clothes. When I got home from school --- I rushed right home – he presented the sweetest picture. He was deep asleep, blanket tucked under his chin.

So, I took off my shoes and snuggled up. About an hour later, he awakened. “What are you doing?”

“Napping.”

“We’ve got to get going.”

“If you want.”

“Come on. No time to waste on the likes of you.” (Bolinger cliché’)

So, an hour later than we had expected, we were headed south. Then it started to rain. Then we hit Indianapolis traffic. And more rain. We inched 15 miles in about an hour and Mike was getting frustrated.

“I’m heading home if this doesn’t clear up.”

“Ok with me.”

But, once south of Indianapolis, traffic thinned so we continued.

Our route – because after 3 years, we have a plan – is to drive to Lexington, KY, where there is a dog friendly Hampton Inn. We pulled in about 9.

A word about the motel: there aren’t so many places that permit pets. When we booked our room here the first time, we figured, I don’t know, that you would notice an animal-ness to the place. As it turns out, except for a walking path and doggie playground, and the occasional bark off in the elevator, you wouldn’t know that canines are in the house.

This place is as nice as any Hampton Inn we’ve stayed in; we love Hampton Inns. Lexington is about 4 hours from home so it makes a good stopping point on the 10 hour trip to Charlotte.

We hit the road around 9 on Wednesday and arrived at my brothers around 4. My mom and my sister Jan had already arrived AND had hit the mall.

Janelle’s blog, as she takes her readers with her through her illness, mentions her trips to Pinkberry’s. She posts photos of whatever she orders. I had said, absently, that I’d like to go this yogurt place. So, after supper, and Cheesecake factory pumpkin pie (getting in shape for the Big Day), we drove over and had ourselves some Pinkberry’s.

Why oh why do we not have this place in Kokomo?

Of course, there were multiple trips to "Ken's" Starbuck's.

So, here’s the count at my brother’s house: Ken and Janelle; Mike and me; new bride Brittany and her Kenneth; sister Jan. And our mom, Evelyn. Then, by the time the turkey is ready, Cousin Jeannie, neighbors and other friends make the party about 20, ranging from 2 to 90. Much good food and drink.

Pockets of conversation.

And then football/puzzles/computer and tablet time/and more food.

So many of these friends gather every Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas. Traditions are precious and sacred.

Ken’s prayer joined us and he raised to the Father the needs of those gathered, especially Mike and Janelle.

How blessed we are to be a part of this day. Thank you, Father, from whom all blessings flow.

THIS overshadows THAT

2011-11-21T14:20:00.005-05:00

A week ago, 14 members of my church traveled to Haiti to work as short term missionaries. We ahve partnered with an agricultuarl settlement, Double Harvest, for many years. This was to be yet another routine trip, a time to serve and then come home to report.

Except it turned out to be anything but.....on Thursday night, 6 armed men converged on their sleeping quarters, attempting to take hostages.

In the pitch darkness, one man awoke to screaming and guns in the face. Then, in the next 10 minutes, the 14 drew from within themselves to hold off the attack.

I cannot do this justice, but I sat yesterday and listened to their accounts. Here is a link from Sunday.

Click here to listen to it on Oakbrook's website.The story is also reported at Channels 6, 8, 13, and 59 in Indianapolis.

They credit our God for their safety. Please pray for them as they heal, physically and emotionally from this ordeal.

So, what do you make of that?????

2011-11-20T17:52:00.004-05:00

This is the question raised by the hub when he wants my insight into a situation. I would get to opine occasionally when he was about to pick a jury and thought I might have an unusual connection to the voting list from which our juries are culled; when he had tried to explain something and the receiver had not, um, received it as he had expected; when his rational mind was challenged by the irrational.

And just recently. Around here, what some might label “irrational,” or “luck” or “bad luck,” or “coincidence,” we can see as an act of God: protection, a gift, a secret delight, a confirmation of His presence.

Today, Mike told me that he had not taken any of his pain medication for 3 days. And he is having no pain. “What do you make of that?” The diabetes…I guess it’s still a diagnosis, is more than under control. “What do you make of that?” During the last ERCP, that doctor found a tiny ulcer and is treating it. He said that some of Mike's discomfort may have been a result of this ulcer. “What do you make of that?”

His questions gave me reason to pause and think: oh yeah. My small group and I have been praying about Mike’s pain. My request has been that his pain will diminish. So, this is an answer to prayer. A big “duh” on this end.

And for the rest? Our penciled in plans for Thanksgiving are to drive again to Charlotte, NC, for a big family feast. We have joined Ken and Janelle for the last two years. We were not sure if Mike’s health would permit it. And, as you may recall, my sweet sister-in-law is battling a brain tumor. Their insistence was that we come if we can and celebrate in style. This year, my mother is coming from Florida and sister Jan is driving from Kansas.

Could it be….yes it could….that family members have been praying specifically that we will be able to come…..as of this Sunday afternoon, it looks like a go.

Personal note: I continue to identify God’s specific answers at a glacial pace. But I’m glad He keeps pointing them out to me.

Nieces

2011-11-19T17:27:00.006-05:00

Look, I love boys. I am in love with two of the most gorgeous grandsons in God's creation. And I have a son. And I have a small team of nephews.

BUT, I love my nieces. Right now, I am blessed to be called Auntie by 7 extraordinary young women: two in college; a talented graphic designer; an MBA/super scrabble player, like her mom; an Alaskan whose Facebook pages are exotic to a Midwesterner; her sister who is likewise talented and a nurse; and the soon-to-be-Mama of Madison Miller. That new (female) addition is due to make her debut in December.

Her mom, Kristine, is the only niece who experienced my teaching from the desk side; she met her husband at Taylor University and they have recently purchased a first home in Kokomo. She is a teacher, a tennis coach, and soon, a mother.

So, some ladies celebrated the coming event at a shower last Saturday. Sister Kat (niece!) was the hostess. She's been practicing 'Aunt ness." From great-grandma to great aunt, to friends and mothers of friends, the fete filled the afternoon with pleasant reminiscences, advice and very good food.

Tick tick tick, Madison.

Is Anything Too Small For God?

2011-11-17T18:35:00.008-05:00

Close Christian friends know that I struggle with taking the small things to God in prayer. I know.....we are to take all of our requests to our Father. Somehow, however, I've gotten the idea that I shouldn't' muck up His agenda with inconsequential requests. Like God has a finite amount of time and energy and I shouldn't be injecting some silly little thing.

With Mike's cancer, I have the understanding that requests in this area are the biggies, the kinds that we should pray about. But I still edit my needs when they strike me as small or a mess of my own making. I'm learning, though.

My husband is a man of many talents and interests. With what looks like our last of warm autumn on tap, he and his buddy decided to drive out into the country for some target shooting.

Another friend owns a patch of wooded land about 15 miles away. It is surrounded by fields, now harvested, and a smattering of homes. Our friend has built a tiny cabin next to a larger garage: in that garage he has quite a few ALVs and lots of other guy-stuff. It's great fun to go out there and motor through a large, flat field.

Anyway, as is his practice, Mike brought Ivy along and let her out. She likes to run through the trees and see how many brambles she can pick up in her coat. Mike and Tom spent the afternoon disturbing rural peace. Then, I got a phone call:

"We've got a problem," said Mike.

These days, that can be the lead off to a long list. "What's wrong?"

"I can't find Ivy. We've been all over the place. We've called her. She's no where."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked. "Should I get out there and help?"

Then, the list of questions: Has anyone called? NO. Does Ivy have a collar? YES. Doesn't she have a tag on the collar?" SHE USED TO. (See "So Us" in October) What can I do? I DON'T KNOW: COME RIGHT OVER."

So off I drove, west, to Burlington. Then RIGHT. Then, LEFT on County RD. 350. Then, look for the cross road after the jog.

I got there 20 minutes later. Mike had the strangest look on his face -- worry, sadness, helplessness, resignation. We fired up the ATVs and drove the large field. We stopped. We called. No dog.

Zach and his friend Tiffany arrived. She's a country girl and came better prepared. (I was still in heels) She had pulled on some sweat pants and a pair of waterproof boots. More ATVs, more transit, more calling.

And the sun was setting. A chilll dropped into the air. I sat down on a bench and watched Mike as he paced and rubbed his arms. Now the face was all sadness. Maybe she was lost. Maybe she was hurt. MAYBE, oh I hope not, maybe she has been hit by a car or caught in a fence, or she has met up with a hungry coyote.

There are few hazards out in the country. However, there are hunters, mud pits, larger stray dogs, barbed wire fences, and water. Where could she be? What would we do? And even with a collar, a finder would have no way of contacting her owner.

I just slumped onto a bench, folded my hands and had a talk with The Father. I reminded Him (this is SO ME) that Mike loves this dog, almost to distraction. When I'm at school, Ivy is his constant companion. Did I mention that Mike LOVESthis dog?

"Father. Please let us know what has happened to Ivy. If it is within Your will, please help us find her. If something has happened, please let us find out."

Mike announced that he would drive home, get his various medications, a blanket and pillow, and return to spend the night.

I don't argue with him.

Tiffany needed to get home so I drove her along dark county roads. As this is deer mating season, fields get thick with roaming deer. They can be a hazard in the twighlight, so the trip home took a while as I was on the lookout for that doe that would crash into my car. A few more moments in prayer, asking for protection from those phantom deer, and another request for Ivy's return or a sure outcome.

As I got home, Mike was heading back out. He planned to camp in his truck, near the spot where he had last seen her.

Rural county folks tend to be generous and helpful. Several had been golf carting around since we had left. Still no dog.

One gentleman, wise, told Mike that there was no reason to freeze. "Look, why don't you lay your coat on the ground? We'll put out some dog food. She'll find it, catch your scent, and wait for you to return in the morning. And," he added, "we'll keep looking for a while."

I'm glad that Mike took that advice. He returned home, long faced, took a shower and prepared for a sleepless night. We prayed again and turned out the lights.

You may know how this turned out:

PHONE RINGING.

Ivy was found, was safe, was curled up in Mike's jacket. He threw on some sweats and was out the door again. Within the hour, the Iverson was back in her home.

Today, she's sporting a new collar; a tag with all sorts of information (blood type?) AND quite a few big black brambles.

All is calm. All is bright.

Thank you, our Father. You love us more than we can imagine.

A One-Act Play from the Chemo Room

2011-11-17T08:09:00.001-05:00

The chemotherapy room at Howard Community Hospital is in the shape of the letter “C” Very comfortable beige leather armchairs make up the “C”, while the space in the letter is the nurse’s station. Each chair can be privatized from its neighbor by pulling a curtain around the chair. This affords a degree of privacy, because some people go to sleep while being infused with the poison ( I have done this.} Sometimes, you want the curtain closed because the person in the next chair is not looking too good. That can be a real downer.

Oncology nurses, in my book, are nothing short of angels. They greet every patient with a smile and, oftentimes, a hug or pat. They are always up, never down. Frankly, I do not know how they do it. I could not handle that job. Most everybody dies of this infernal disease.

You can see this hard, immutable reality in the nurses’ eyes. They know that you may not die today, but they are aware that the relentless black horse can be seen on the horizon, always galloping closer.

I commented to one of my favorite nurses, Cathy Primerano, that I could not imagine the emotional toll the job must take on her. I asked her how she deals with it on a daily basis. To my surprise, Cathy told me that there were downsides, but they were greatly outweighed by the benefits. Surprised, I asked what the benefits were.

She told me that every day she was witness to astonishing courage and the incredible will to survive displayed by patients. She marveled at how grateful the patients were for the care that they were receiving and that she could tell sometimes that the patients could see the end and they were at peace with it, yet they continued to fight on for one more day, so they could make Thanksgiving or Christmas to be with family, or to see a loved one graduate from high school or college, or get married, or to see that first grandchild, or the tenth. She said she was inspired daily by her patients.

She said that she sometimes wished she could do more for them and she told me how much she hated the disease for what it did to patients.

This Monday I was being infused in “my” chair, when I looked at the man in the chair next to me. At first I did not recognize him, as the liver cancer was doing its vile job on him. John was a former client and a good one. He had grown a beard and had lost some weight, but he was still a big guy, maybe 6’ 2’. He had with him an old leather motorcycle jacket that had long been in the wind and was scraped and bruised and smelled like motor oil. That jacket and John, as bikers often say, had been down a time or two.
But it was the baseball hat that caught my attention. Instead of “New York Yankees” or some other logo, it said “Marine Recon.” His VietNam service ribbon was pinned to the hat. Like the coat, that hat had been around.

“You earn that hat, John?,” I asked.

“Damn right, Mike. Hardest thing I ever did, almost. Three tours, one in infantry, two in recon, “he replied.

“I am impressed. You were one of the baddest of the bad,” I said.

“Well, it was a long time ago when I was just a kid. I was only nineteen. There’s no way I should be here. Should have been dead a hundred times, but here I am.”

“What kind of cancer do you have?” I asked.

“I have been fighting liver cancer for 5 years now and I am tired of it. It has beat me down. I am always so tired. I can’t ride my Harley anymore. I can live with that, but I can’t stand being so tired all the time. I can’t deal with it any more. Most days I just want to lie down and rest, but even if I do, I am still dragging my butt when I get up. I hate it.”

“What are you going to do, John?”

“This is my last treatment. I am going to tell the doctor I’m done. I feel like I have done what my family and friends wanted me to do. I have had enough. Five years is a long time. How long for you?”

“Almost three years. Too damn long for sure. You know, if you quit, you might only have a couple of months. That’s it.”

“I know. I don’t care. I should have been dead a long time ago. I’ve had three heart attacks in the last year. It’s time.”

He spoke with an air of finality and I could tell he had given it a lot of thought. Frankly, I did not know what to say after that. So, I reached over and shook his hand and I told him I appreciated that he fought for us in Viet Nam. I told him I would attend his funeral if I was still alive and that it had been a privilege to represent him in court. I told him that I wished we had gone for a ride together. I told him he should be buried in his jacket and especially his hat.

He laughed and said, “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“I’ll be looking for that hat,” I said.

Mike out

Too Fast?

2011-11-10T19:18:00.003-05:00

So, the hub visited with a new doctor today; he now has an endocrinologist to monitor the diabetes.

She downloaded the data on his little monitor, examined all those facts and figures and announced that he doing well.

In fact, perhaps TOO well. It seems that they expected his glucose level to drop, gradually, over several months, to a better level. She said that perhaps his newest fatigue is caused by his too quick drop from stratospheric to 'normal.'

She told him (so he says) that if he wants a candy bar, he can eat it with a strategy. If he wants to sip a wine cooler, something he has been missing, he can, with a strategy.

She also lowered his overnight medicine. "Let's see how you do," she said.

So, on with the adventure.

Today, Friday, we drive back down to Indianapolis for Mike's 4th ERCP. It was scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving and his doctor (which one?) decided that we should go for it tomorrow. The specialist (ANOTHER of our doctors) is sandwiching Mike in so instead of our favorite time, that being 8 AM, we cruise into the operating room at 11.

All OK. It WILL kill the day. Maybe it will be raining. TODAY, we got our first dusting of snow.

So, as you remember us, you are now up to date.

James Caird II Update

2011-11-05T20:44:00.005-04:00

The boat won on Wednesday as I was too sick to do anything
of significance. I won on Thursday, even though part of it was spent in the hospital.

Anybody ever given blood samples from a port and both arms? No fun.

The pictures show the curved parts that make up the bow and stern. Cut and trimmed by hand. Note keel is installed. The first sheer clamp is installed, giving the hull its beautiful shape.

More photos to follow.

Mike out.

Humming on a Saturday Afternoon

2011-11-05T19:15:00.002-04:00

Was it, what? 3 weeks ago that the doctor dropped a new bomb: full blown diabetes.

From the initial shock and anger and worry and stress.....

We've been weathering along. Although the hub can exaggerate, I was sitting right there when the doctor explained the disease, with the stratospheric numbers of Mike's glucose.

"What if I don't do anything about this," he asked.
"Then you'll slip quickly into a coma," explained his doctor. "And you'll disappoint many people around here."
"I am not doing this," he said.
"Of course you will," the doctor winning out with her wise ways.

So, it's been three weeks of testing, charting, injecting, and eating more carefully. One week in, his doctor was less than satisfied so she doubled one type of injection. Wow oh Wow. Did THAT change things.

In the last week, Mike's numbers have been amazingly low. We even had an incident of low blood sugar.

He had taken his overnight injection. It was about an hour later.

"I feel really funny," he said.
"What do you mean, "asked the Frau.
"I'm sweaty, shaky, and, I don't know, my skin feels, well, funny," he said.

I am not a doctor. I do not play one on TV. I get most of my medical knowledge from USA Today which, you may notice, is always announcing something that is both really bad and really good for you.

I AM a veteran mom and in this case, a public school teacher. I knew that he was describing hypoglycemia. Blood sugar was too low.

I also knew that the quick fix was to drink some juice and then eat something a little longer acting. And I knew, as I headed to the kitchen, that I had thrown out all of the sugared drinks, bottled juices and cookies.

What to do? What to do?

I rummaged around and way in the back, I found some cranberry juice that had evaded my initial cleaning. In the freezer, waaaaay in the back, I found a petrified donut, probably glazed, and popped it in the microwave.

Hypoglycemia abated!

This week, the numbers are good. This morning, they were as low as are mine, which would win awards if such prizes were given.

Why? We asked.

Oh yeah. We have an army of prayer warriors. They ask our Father to help us, in anyway we need. And, as He is faithful, He does.

Random Thoughts About Cancer

2011-11-02T16:34:00.007-04:00

Sometimes I just do not know what to think about my struggle with cancer. Given that I have endured this evil disease for nearly three years, I have almost become used to it. Dealing with it each day has become a way of life, or death, for me. Daily it leans on me, pushing me toward my grave, and I push back, trying to maintain my shrinking physical beachhead. It is relentless in trying to define what is left of my life by throwing up daily roadblocks designed to gnaw away my remaining life.

I have learned that there are certain things I can no longer do, because my body is not as strong as it once was. I have learned to pace myself through the day. I never run. I walk. I enjoy my afternoon nap, most days, because I need it. I have learned how to get through painful, sleepless nights, which seem to be increasing in number, and I know enough to not even try to do some things I used to do.

I would like to think I am compromising with the disease, but that is only wishful thinking. It always trumps me, eventually. Maybe I win on Monday, but it’s back on Tuesday. It never

lets up. There is no slack and it gives no quarter.

I love building wooden boats. Constructing them differs from building furniture, as the tolerances are not so critical. I like to think that my mortise-and tenon joints, which are basic to quality furniture construction, are accurate to 1/64th of an inch. With a wooden boat, get it

within 1/8th of an inch and you are good to go.

Wood bends; it can be clamped in place, epoxy can be added, or a screw installed to close a gap. Building a wooden boat is stress free, compared to building good furniture.

After much internal debate, I am building another wooden boat, a 13 foot peapod. You can row it or sail it, depending on how you fit it out. The long term problem that I have is that I am in a race with the boat. Completing it will take three to six months. Can I finish it before I am gone? Which of us will win? Me or the boat?

The immediate problem is that I am running out of strength and stamina. It would be funny, if it wasn’t so pitiful. Today, I needed to handplane two pieces of wood for the boat. It used to be that I could do this simple task in just a few minutes. Five or six passes with my exquisitely sharp Stanley No. 4 plane would have made short work of the job.

Not today. It took me almost ten minutes and I was exhausted. I made three or four passes with the plane and I was gasping for air and had to sit down to catch my breath.

Pathetic.

So, I moved a chair next to the workpiece and sat down. Five or six more passes and I laid my head on the workbench to rest. A few more passes and I was out of breath again. And so it went, until I finished the task. I got it done, but I was literally exhausted.

I remember once that I had not eaten in three days. I picked up my forty pound backpack and trotted 5 miles through the woods to pick up a 16 foot aluminum canoe, which I then carried by myself for 3 miles on a trail to a river. I paddled with my partner down the river for 12 miles and dropped off the canoe. Then I ran 10 miles through the woods on a compass course, finishing my Outward Bound school. I didn’t even breath hard. I was an animal back then. It was a lark. I may not have been the fastest, but I would never quit and I could go forever.

I remember swimming in college. It was the hardest money I ever made. Six miles a day in
the pool six days a week will turn you into a machine. I weighed 135 pounds and was cold all the
time. This was because I had no body fat. None. I was solid muscle tuned for one purpose--- sprint the 50 freestyle and 100 backstroke. I could swim the 50 free in one breath, the one I took off the starting block. Those were the days when I was going to live forever and only other people got cancer.

Now I have to rest my head on my workbench and sit on a chair to accomplish a simple task.

The only thing I can say about the physical challenges confronting me is that I still may not be the fastest, but I am not going to quit, either. Maybe the boat will win and my friend, Brian, will finish it. Maybe I will survive long enough to finish it and sail it across Winona
Lake. Who can know? Time will tell.

Mike out.

A Gift: "The Old Gray Couple"

2011-10-28T16:21:00.003-04:00

They have only to look at each other to laugh--
no one knows why, not even they:
something back in the lives they've lived,
something they both remember but no words can say.

They go off at an evening's end to talk
but they don't, or to sleep but they lie awake--
hardly a word, just a touch, just near,
just listening but not to hear.

Everything they know they know together--
everything, that is, but one:
their lives they've learned like secrets from each other;
their deaths they think of this in the nights alone.

She: Love, says the poet, has no reasons.
He: Not even after fifty years?
She: Particularly after fifty years.
He: What was it, then, that lured us, that still teases?
She: You used to say my plaited hair!
He: And then you'd laugh.
She: Because it wasn't plaited.

Love had no reasons so you made one up to laugh at. Lơok! The old, gray couple!

He: No, to prove the adage true:
Love has no reasons but old lovers do.
She: And they can't tell.
He: I can and so can you.
Fifty years ago we drew each other, magnetized needle toward the longing north.
It was your naked presence that so moved me. It was your absolute presence that
was love.
She: Ah, was!
He: And now, years older, we begin to see absence not presence: what the world
would be without your footstep in the world--the garden empty of the radiance
where you are.
She: And that's your reason?-that old lovers see their love because they know
now what its loss will be?
He: Because, like Cleopatra in the play, they know there's nothing left once
love's away...
She: Nothing remarkable beneath the visiting moon...
He: Ours is the late, last wisdom of the afternoon. We know that love, like
light, grows dearer toward the dark.

-Archibald Macleish

THE BRICK and Shameless Name-dropping

2011-10-23T13:51:00.008-04:00

So, Friday night we drove over to Morgan and Sandra Young's home for The BRICK. Check out http://www.thebrick.com/ and wallow in envy.

Anyway, Morgan, the ever affable host, was snapping away so I'll share these photos. (We look better in black and white...vintage skin tones, you know.

It was great to run into my buddy, Erin Shultz, who is the entertainment editor at The Kokomo Tribune. She is skilled at scoping out 'What's Happenin' ' in our little town. She makes it ALL sound exciting.

She's also witty, fearless, and a Believer. We e-mail and text but our lives haven't crossed physically for awhile. She got to The Brick and we had ourselves a face-to-face time.

And here is her guy. He swooped in with ingredients for a specialty pizza.

SHHHHHHHH

Vegan.

(Large discussion of pronounciation: VAY-gun? VEE-gun?)

No matter: icky. I just KNOW it. Have I tried it? No, like sushi, I just know it will taste ICKY. (Don't tell me about California rolls, thank you.)

Now HERE'S some REAL PIZZA, homemade and fresh from the oven.

I don't know which 'one' this is but all of Sandra's non-vegan pizzas are YUM!

Ok ok. Who's that guy over there, chomping on the vegan pizza? The one who pushed the chef aside and helped himself?

Hmmmm. That would be the hub. He likes it. He also does NOT like too much PDA.

Needles and Updates

2011-10-22T08:09:00.004-04:00

I must confess that last Friday night, I felt like we were at the foot of the highest mountain and that there was NO WAY we would climb up and over.

And, yes, I avoided James chapter 1. God has smacked me upside the hay-id several times with the book of Janes. I sank down, weak, and called out to friends to pray for us.

And so many of you did.

And God's loving arms lifted us up and over.

On this bright, autumn Saturday, I report that we are good here. One week in and we are rolling smoothly through the new routine.

Mike's glucose levels are down from the scary numbers of last weekend. His insulin time is just another thing, and a small thing, that slips in before meals, which are now planned a bit more.....who am I kidding?....planned....

Last night, we went to The Brick (thebrick.com) and enjoyed friends and food. Yes, food. We are learning that what looked like severe restriction is merely a more deliberate approach to what goes into the mouth.

So, once again, as always, thank you for keeping us within God's protective custody in such tanglible ways.

Oh yes, And James 1:

1 James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ,
To the twelve tribes scattered among the nations:
Greetings.

2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds,
3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.
4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.

6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.
7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord.
8 Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.
9 Believers in humble circumstances ought to take pride in their high position.
10 But the rich should take pride in their humiliation—since they will pass away like a wild flower.
11 For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich will fade away even while they go about their business.
12 Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.
13 When tempted, no one should say, “God is tempting me.” For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone;
14 but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. 15 Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.
16 Don’t be deceived, my dear brothers and sisters.
17 Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
18 He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all he created.
19 My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, (not this time, but God has directed my eyes to THIS verse many, many, many times)
20 because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.
21 Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you.
22 Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.
23 Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror
24 and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.
25 But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do.
26 Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless.
27 Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

If you have a half hour

2011-10-19T14:31:00.002-04:00

Our church posted Mike's talk to their web site.

Today, in school, one of our teachers showed it to all of her medical terminology classes. Some of my students are in those classes. They have dropped by just to give me a hug.

Then, there are those who don't know me. Many of THEM have dropped by to give me a hug.

It comes as no surprise to those who are tech saavy but it will continue to amaze us: once something is on line, out there, whatever you call it, it will take on a life of its own.

May God be glorified.

http://www.oakbrookchurch.com/mikebolinger/

Sunday, Octobver 17, 2011

2011-10-19T06:24:00.005-04:00

As Mike said, once he knew that he was part of God's plan, he knew that someday he would speak at our church. That someday was Sunday.

After a rather typical, superlative Praise and Worship set, our pastor, Mark Malin, introduced Mike and then left the stage.

And for the next 30 minutes, Mike bared his heart and related what God has taught him through this experience of 1) being diagnosed with terminal cancer; 2) being given 6 - 9 months to live; 3) experiencing remission; and 4) being faced, once again, with a ticking clock.

For those of you who have ridden with us since May 2009, you have seen much of the journey. Let us not forget, any of us, ever, that this entire process has been bathed with prayer. Here in Kokomo, we live within the protective bubble of your prayers for us.

For those of you who were not in attendance, let me say that I know God spoke through Mike.

What a blessing for him and me. How humbling to be used in His service. These photos are compliments of another of our pastors (and friend) Morgan Young.

And, by the way, doesn't the hub look cute????

Our love to you. Lynne and Mike

A New Wrinkle and New Toys

2011-10-17T19:12:00.009-04:00

Last weeks was NUTS!

Mike began his new chemo regime so we wrote off weirdnesses to 'side effects.' First, he was exhausted. Then, he climbed out of bed hungry and thirsty. Again, we assumed he was making up for the day before.

He worked on his new boat while I was at school. Then, in the evenings, things really got crazy. Twice, middle of the night, he nudged me and asked if McDonald's was open. Well, yes, our local is 24/7. Is America great or what?

"I want some hot cakes," he said.

"I can make some, you know." I used to cook.

"No, that's too much work. Can you go and get me some from Mickey D's?"

Well, sure. On with the sweats, out to the car, down the street to the Golden Arches. He devoured them (the hotcakes).

We had a repeat on Wednesday night. You might question the choice of errand boy. But, right now, I like to do for him when I can. (I get the coffee)

Also, during the day, he was thirsty. Really thirsty. We purchase some of those 2 liter juice bottles and he was chugging them; we ran out of our supply of white grape and cran-apple. (Gourmets here)

Then, when I came up the drive on Thursday, he greeted me by standing in front of my car. He had a strange look in his eyes. I rolled down the window.

"Do you know what I weigh?"

Well, no, not today.

"I'm not getting enough food."

"I have a steak for supper."

"That's too far away. Take me to Fazoli's, right now!"

Oh. Ok.

We drove about a mile before I raised the question. "You can drive, right?"

"Yes, I guess."

"And we have, what? 4 friends nearby who will come over anytime, right?"

"Yes."

"So..........?"

By then, we were turning into the parking lot of pasta paradise. Into the shop. He ordered fettuccine Alfredo and sucked it down.

Feeling a bit better, it was time to talk.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

"I think I'm really dehydrated. I'm thirsty all the time."

"Do you think you should call your doctor?"

Mike said that he would go out to the hospital in the morning. His thought was that they could give him some IV fluids and he'd be fine.

The next day, I received some messages. From Zach: Dad wants you to know that he's at the hospital. Hmmmmm. I assumed as much.

Then, Tom called the school and they put him through to my classroom. His message was that Mike said I should not leave early (SUCH a Bolinger!) but I should come out to the hospital as soon as school was over.

Hmmmmmmm. This is NOT IV fluids. It would have been easy to leave early, as my department head suggested, but I'm still the good wifey so I waited until 2;30.

Mike was lazing in the chemo treatment room. Then the news.

He has developed 'full blown' diabetes. His glucose was 'off the charts.' (As a non-scientist, all those numbers mean very little...except I know MY numbers are good...around 90.. and his were over 1000) They wanted to admit him to get his 'numbers under control."

He was NOT happy. He was adamant that he would NOT stay in the hospital after Saturday. He was scheduled to speak at our church and he was not going to miss it.

First came the Diabetes Educator. As she talked, the patient was NOT happy. He asked no questions (I did). Then came the Diabetes Specialist with more information. Then, Angel Oncologist. NOW the hub had plenty to say.

"I'm not doing this."

"Of course you are."

"What if I don't?"

"Then you'll slip into a coma, fairly soon."

"So what?"

She's developed a relationship with THIS incarnation of the hub. She convinced him that spending the night in the hospital would help him clear his head.

He sent me home. He was NOT happy.

And me? Here's the good Christian girl: God? WHAT ELSE??? NO, I DON'T WANT TO READ James 1.

I sent out a quick note to family and pastors and asked for prayer for us in this special challenge. God showed up, as He always does.

We both needed a good night's sleep. With another beautiful autumn day dawning, I knew that we would attack this challenge like we have everything else. Mike's rest helped him, too.

I went to the grocery store with my notes. He had a quick lunch with Tom. And so begins our new adventure...planning, poking, reading, medicating...

Mike has the icky part. Mike often speaks of TOYS. He has a whole new set of toys.

I get to renew some dusty skills on meal planning and nutrition. We will both be healthier so this is all good.

Thanks for your continued prayers as we tackle this new challenge.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' on the River

2011-10-14T10:13:00.002-04:00

Mike and his siblings used to plan an annual hiking/camping trip in southern Indiana. They called it the L.Owen Memorial Trek, in honor of their father. These long weekends involved hauling backpacks over hilly country and camping out....really out....tents/sleeping bags/cook fires/washing in the river.

Several times, I served as 'shotgun,' meaning I drove and picked up. (MY idea of 'roughing it' is staying in a motel with no cable.)

Anyway, Mike has been a no show lately but last week, he and Lisa and Matt took to the Eel River for an afternoon of kayaking. Mike said it was so easy that he faced backward much of the time.

Except when Matt snapped these photos.

Peaceful times in God's nature.....with family...few things can be better than that?

Getting Ready for Sunday

2011-10-13T18:15:00.002-04:00

Mike will be speaking at our church next Sunday. We pray that God will use Mike's story to touch and reach those who God brings to the services.

We know that our friends have been praying for us and especially for him as he prepares. And wouldn't you just know it? His throat is sore today. His strength is down. Isn't that just like the enemy -- to attack when God wants to use us in a specific way?

So, we'll ask you to target your prayers for Mike as he prepares his talk. Pray that the sore throat passes and his energy rises.

And, that God will be glorified in this man's story.

Old Dogs: New Tricks

2011-10-10T19:31:00.016-04:00

SO us.

This is what our daughter says about her family of origin: she means that her parents put up with things that don’t work or that work just well enough to get the job mostly done. Around here, a great many do-dads and what-nots operate at less than maximum mode.

We use the thing until it absolutely doesn’t work or we lose it or we try to use it and mess it up.

We have an idea about security: we're fer it. We're just not good at it.

We have a sort of thing that opens the garage doors from inside the house. It’s only about 2” square. It’s easy to lose; the battery (or whatever) is so weak that you must press it, wait, press it again, wait, and then give it a BIG squeeze to open a door 50 feet away. So, it works.

Could we get something else? I bet we could. But until this breaks or gets permanently lost we cannot find it, this little gizmo will open our garage doors.

We used to keep one garage side door unlocked. Then, one evening, several kids broke in (does it count if it wasn’t locked? (SO us)) and stole a motorcycle. The thieves tried to move it through the door, knocking the mirrors off. They did not notice that the key was in the ignition (SO us) and so walked it several blocks and then tossed it in the weeds.

We got it back and fixed the mirrors. The hub purchased a major locking padlock that fitted into a hinge. Then, he lost the key. So that door is REALLY locked. Good thing we can open the garage doors!

SO us.

Keys – old, new, used, never used, colored, mystery – keys are an issue. That may be genetic. When my father-in-law passed away, he had a deep box full of keys. Unlabeled. Given enough time, we can unlock anything.

Combination locks: we have a collection. And on various book jackets, slips of paper, and address notebooks, we have combinations. Lots and lots of 3 number secrets. Most are not labeled to their locks.

Then, there's an ongoing challenge with electronic media.

Televisions make me shake. I believe you cannot purchase one now with a manual control. Or it's well-hidden. The one I have in my classroom is not even all that new but if you lose the remote, you’re in trouble.Or if I accidently push the wrong button, I get all sorts of menus….”Input” “Default” or “Something I Don’t Understand.” My students know that if they don’t jump to my aid. I’ll just turn the whole thing off and bore them with the lecture. They are well-trained.

Then there’s our television at home…do you still call it that? The hub purchased a big screen TV and we hooked up major cable…do you still call it that? With it, the technician handed me a silver remote with many, many, many buttons.

Plus they gave us two black remotes. Even MORE buttons. I grabbed the installer and would not let him leave until he taught me how to turn it on and turn it off.

“Easy. Just use this red one. Watch. On. Off.”

“What about the others?"

“Just don’t touch the other buttons. As for the other remotes, just put them in a drawer and leave them alone. You’ll be ok.”

After he left, I deftly demonstrated me new skills. The hub seemed content to let me be the Power Ranger of the new TV.

Alas. In the middle of the night, the love of my life landed an elbow into my side. “There’s something wrong with this TV.”

I rolled over. To my horror, he had found those other remotes and was punching away.
My go-to plan is to turn off. I turned it off. Then I took the black remotes away. “We’re not supposed to touch these,” I said.

“Then, why do we have them?”

The middle of the night is no time for philosophical discussions.

I was able to turn the TV back on. Red button.

Since then, I have enlarged my skills and now, sometimes, I can DVR (!) and find my way to On Demand.

In my lifetime, a car radio was an option. You could get a car with a blank dashboard. If you went for the electronic option, you would turn on the radio (click the nob to the left), you could dial in a station (manually turn the other nob) and then set that place by slipping your pinkie under a button, find a hole, pull the button out and then push it back in. That locked in that location until you wanted to change it.

Simple, simple, simple.

Today, we both have car radios that are much more complicated. You need to rest the instructions on the seat and work through 5 pages, step-by-step, to change channel choices.
Until Indiana joined the rest of the world and adopted Daylight Savings Time, we did not have to change the clocks. Now we do. THAT takes another session with the directions.

Or we could move to Arizona. Toss up.

My car clock is currently 5 minutes slow. It’s almost time for ‘Fall Back’ when I’ll have to dig out the booklet, so I live with this wrong time shining at me from the dash. SO us.

Mike’s radio/clock/CD/GPS/microwave (kidding) (I think), is much more complicated. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that to change the time, you’d press the CLOCK icon. You’d think. That only makes things flash. You still have to figure out what nob or button or dial will change the minutes and seconds, and set AM or PM.

We have more than a few small radio/CD players that we cannot use. We cannot figure out how to change channels. Occasionally we get frustrated/motivated and give it a go. Luck and persistence sometimes gets us a channel change. Sometimes. But it's hit or miss.

SO us.

So, is it any wonder that the hub has a small clocked radio/CD/alarm clock by his bedside that has perplexed us both for quite a time.?

Several, several years ago, when he needed it, the clock got set to go off at 7:00 AM. It would buzz, slowly at first, and then accelerate to a whine and then a loud, long beeeeeeeeeeep. If he was slow to respond, his reward that that beep. It was annoying enough to get him to slap it off before that happened.

It’s a cheap clock and it is about 10 minutes fast. AND it still was going off every day at 7 AM

(6:50...SO us.)

It’s been almost 3 years since the hub needed to rise at 7. The clock still sounds the alarm.
I asked him if he would like to turn off the alarm.

“Yes, but I don’t know how.”

SO us.

However, what did we find inside the drawer right under the clock? The booklet. (Notice: near the clock. What a concept!) The one that shows how to set the clock AND turn off the alarm. I report that the hub figured it out. We no longer get the alarm.

So, Daughter Dear: nanananana. Old dogs/new tricks.

Two Specific Prayer Requests

2011-10-09T19:28:00.004-04:00

And so ends another gorgeous weekend at the lake. From last week to this, the trees have gone from the hint of autumn to full bore explosions of red and orange and yellow.

Out away from town, there’s that almost forbidden scent of burning leaves. Ok, I know it’s probably bad for the environment, but to me, it’s as much a part of autumn as are caramel apples. Yum.

And let me repeat: YUM!

As you head into this week, our friends, we’ll ask for specific prayers on our behalf.
Mike begins a new round of treatment on Monday. I believe he gets ‘infused’ on Monday, takes pills for 6 days and then back to the oncology department. Except for the poison part, he looks forward to these trips: the unit is staffed with angels who smile, pat, hug, and giggle whenever they can. As for the treatment: we hope to buy time, to keep new growth in check, to see many more glorious weekends together.

Speaking of weekends, next Sunday, Mike will be speaking at our church, Oakbrook Community Church, in Kokomo. Way back two years ago, our minister interviewed Mike who was, as you may remember, facing mortality in the face. That interview was used in a church-wide small group setting. About 6 months ago, another local church asked to interview Mike. Then, they posted it on their web site and, as they say, it went viral. Then, about a month ago, Mike spoke at the Kokomo Huddle, a weekly lunchtime men’s meeting at the YMCA.

Each time, Mike has come to see that this is, at least, one of the reasons that God has waited to take him home. Mike has learned a lot and has been able to impart that to others. We know it is God’s work. So, the next time, up there on the dais, all by his lonesome, facing his homies, he feels the pressure and import.

Look, you and I know that he’ll do fine. What our prayer is: that God will be honored, that God’s message for someone in attendance will be clearly delivered; that Mike will have the energy to do his job at both services, 9 and 11.

That’s it for now. Thanks.

Gift of Hospitality

2011-10-06T18:58:00.004-04:00

It's one of the greatest gifts: there are those who open their houses to others and make their guests feel at home.

Such gifted folks are Morgan and Sandra Young. About once a month, their Friday night becomes THE BRICK. Folks follow their noses to the house on S. Indiana. Fresh, homemade pizza heads the menu; guests may bring some items; and once you've been, your invite is a given for the rest of your life.

Morgan and Sandra hope that guests will bring guests. In the two years or so that we've been regulars, the group has grown into an eclectic gathering.

When you enter, you can migrate to the kitchen where, on one counter, Sandra has stacked a wall of rising dough, captured in plastic bags. Then, over there are bowls and packages of toppings. And, the Brick for baking.

And the wine/soda/water/coffee/etc. for the thirsty pizza lovers.

So, last Friday, there we were. Morgan, a man of many talents, has a photography business and sent these photos of the hub. I wanted to share them with you.

Interesting Legal Scenery

2011-10-02T19:31:00.007-04:00

My friend, and former Chief of Police, Thomas Dinardo, is a man of many personas, more than “good cop/bad cop.” As he would tell you, each of the personas has its particular use and purpose. Not all of the personas are appropriate in a particular situation. Some are frequently in use, and some get taken off the rack, dusted off, and put into use only under special circumstances, and then returned to storage. As Tom would tell you, the trick is to know what persona needs to be utilized. That takes years of experience.

Being a cop and doing police work involves a lot more than just carrying a gun and arresting someone. In fact, Tom would tell you that good cops are frequently called upon to improvise plans to deal with all sorts of different events which are not criminal in nature. People frequently unknowingly create situations that require police assistance. He would also tell you that much of police work involves defusing situations so as to not arrest anyone or create alarm. Consider the following event and ask yourself how you would have handled it in real time.

Judge Eleanor Stein presided over the misdemeanor and small claim court in Kokomo for a number of years. “Judge Ellie,” as she was locally known, was an elegant, educated Jewish grandmother. She brought judicial decorum and impeccable manners to the local court, where the underprivileged, uneducated, unwashed public routinely appeared. I always thought she brought class to the system. I liked her a lot.

Judge Ellie was not long on legal knowledge, which is not generally needed in small claim court, anyway. She rarely found criminal defendants “not guilty,’ which often irritated the defense bar. On the other hand, she could hardly bear to put anybody in jail, which evened things up with the prosecution. It all worked out most of the time and, as they say, justice was served.

One afternoon Tom was waiting to testify in Ellie’s court. He was reviewing his notes in the case. At that time the criminal defendants were also seated in the same row. The study of his notes was interrupted by Judge Ellie, who asked, “Officer Dinardo, would you approach the bench?”
Tom got to his feet and warily walked up to the bench looking for a reason Judge Ellie had requested his immediate presence. Seeing nothing out of order Tom quietly asked, “What can I do for you, your Honor?”

At that time, Judge Ellie leaned far over the front of the bench, turned and lowered her head so no one could see or hear what she was going to say to Tom, who moved as close as he could get to her. “I want you to take care of that for me,” she whispered. She jerked her head back the opposite way, her eyes never leaving Tom’s, as she tried to direct his attention to the opposite direction she was looking. Tom turned slightly, scanned the crowd, and told her he did not see anything.

“Not there, Tom, over there,” she said, motioning with her head.

Tom turned to the new direction and scanned the criminal occupants of the first row. At first only the usual suspects were observed. And then, Tom’s supernatural powers of observation zeroed in on Bob Dough, who was seated right in front of Judge Ellie. Bob was completely oblivious to the goings on around him as he was quietly talking to himself and the demons who had been occupying the bottle of wine he consumed before court. Except that the alcohol was not the problem. Not by a long shot.

Unfortunately, Bob had lost the crotch of his Goodwill pants, which had allowed his unrestrained immenseness with all related attached parts, to come to a state of quiescence on top of his chair in direct line of Judge Ellie’s elevated view.

Tom immediately said, “I’ll take care of it, Judge.” Tom positioned himself between the offended judge and sat down in front of Bob.

“Bob, what is the matter with you?” said Tom. “Your crank is falling out of your pants, man. We can’t have this."

At which time, the half inebriated, partially conscious Bob put both of his feet on the floor, leaned over to get a better view, and moved his knees further apart. Of course this allowed Bob’s now totally exposed member and its lesser lights to, literally, fully escape Bob’s pants and to allow them fresh air and the sun, much to the horror of some and amusement of others.

“Oh my goodness,” said Bob. “What am I going to do? I can’t go home, I have to testify in my case.”

“You are going to have trust me on this, Bob. I’ll see to it that your case is last so you have time to change and get back here. Now go home and change your pants.”

Bob headed toward the court room door, running a gauntlet of curious eyes. Just as he was almost to the door, Tom said, “And Bob…remember that underwear is not optional in court. See you later.”

Judge Stein said, “Officer Dinardo, the court is in great debt to you today. Thank you.”
“No problem at all, your honor. I am always here to protect the community…from whatever.”

Mike out.

BAD DAD Stories

2011-09-29T18:03:00.004-04:00

My sister Lisa and I live two blocks apart on Winona Lake. It is a quiet, peaceful lake neighborhood, where most of our neighbors delight in living on the water’s edge on “the island.” The tranquility of the lake and community makes it the perfect place for our mother, who struggles with health issues, and lives with Lisa. My brother Matt and I try our best to help out with Mom’s care, so no one person is overburdened.

Since I live only two blocks away, I can walk over to Lisa’s place in three minutes or kayak from my pier to her pier in about five minutes. My daily job is to visit Mom once in the morning and once in the afternoon. All I have to do is sit and talk with her, if she is having a good day. Topics of conversation usually have to do with family and lake gossip. Nothing serious. Keep it light.

About two weeks ago, I was sitting in Lisa’s living room, with its panoramic view of the lake. Mom was having a good day. Out of the blue she asked me if I ever thought about Dad, who died fifteen years ago. I told her that never a day went by without me thinking about him. Something happens to bring him to mind.

I do not know how it happened, but I told her a couple of stories about what went on at the office that my dad and I shared for twenty-three years. Whatever else it may or may not be, practicing general law in a small, Bible Belt town is not boring. My mom was smiling and laughing about the antics of the clients I was describing. She was surprised at how silly and crazy they were.

After about an hour my sister came home and joined in the story sharing. I commented that I was certain that Mom had heard most of the stories I had told. My mom abruptly informed me that I had forgotten that she was not ever allowed to come to the office for any reason. She was right. For reasons that continue to escape me to this day, Mom never darkened the door at 215 N. Washington. Nothing ever happened there that would be embarrassing to him, to the best of my knowledge, but Dad did have that rule.

When Mom reminded me that the office was off limits to her, it occurred to me that she knew nothing about Dad’s life for sixty hours a week. She knew nothing about what he was doing or who he was seeing, other than what she might read in the newspaper. If you think about it, she just was not a part of half of his life for forty years.

As I got up to leave, I told her that I hoped she enjoyed my “happy dad stories.” She told me she like the stories, but wondered why I did not tell any “bad” stories about Dad. Surprised, I said that was because I did not know any. She did not believe me.

On the walk home, I tried to think of a bad story to tell about Dad. The truth is that I simply cannot recall any. When I told my wife I could not think of any Bad Dad stories, Lynne said, “What a wonderful gift he left you! Not a single bad thought! Nothing but smiles and laughter! How can a person be better remembered?”

As always, she is right. Dad cannot be better remembered by me. Every memory of him is accompanied by a smile or laughter.

It does not get better that that.

Mike out.

You Belong to Me

2011-09-29T17:19:00.007-04:00

Isaiah 43 1 - 3

1 But now, this is what the LORD says—

he who created you, Jacob,

he who formed you, Israel:

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have summoned you by name; you are mine.

2 When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire,

you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.

3 For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior;

Update

2011-09-27T17:33:00.003-04:00

Mike met with his doctor this morning. Although I offered to go with him, he wanted me to go on to school. I complied. His buddy, Tom, went with him instead.

(When I am at school, I'm in that world. I'm with those kids. I'm surrounded by those friends. I'm deep into lessons and issues and drama, although I've learned to tune out those last two. At any rate, my brain is elsewhere than the doctor's office.And that was what the hub wanted for today.)

Before the school day began, I fired off a quick message to The Angels -- Laura's Angels: our community prayer/care network. I asked them to pray for Mike at 9:30 as he kept his appointment. I knew that they would. I think I felt some thunder and shaking at half past nine.

Someone must have shared the info with some students. There was an impromptu prayer circle during lunch. God's people are everywhere.

Here's the report I got after school: the CT shows three enlarged lymph nodes in his pancreas. Some ducts are enlarged. He has been fighting an infection. He had no fever this AM. His doctor's assessment: You are no more sick today than you were three months ago.

He will attack the nodes with another round of chemo. This time, he gets an infusion on Monday and then a pill a day for 6 days; then back to the infusion. I've got reading material here...something about a 28 day regimen. For the Googlites, the drug is capecitabine. Go for it.

Tom's message to me was: not as bad as he was expecting. Mike asked his doctor what her goals were. There was some talk about Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Our plan was to meet up at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles at 3 PM for some business. I left school and drove over. As they are closed on Monday, Tuesdays are hopping. It took us about an hour to conduct our business. I think that's a record. Between signing this and that, handing over licenses and credit cards, getting them back, signing more things and then getting the whole thing "approved,' the hub filled me in on the details.

Then, as we finished there, he said, "Do you want to go and get a drink?" Well, sure I would. Except our BMV is no where near anywhere to get something non-alcoholic.

"Where shall we go?" I asked.

He thought. "Huh. You DON'T hang out, do you?"

Well, no. I'm at school.

He suggested a local coffee shop.

"Really? Do you go there? When?"

He smiled slyly. "You just never know," he said. "After all, I'm retired."

We drove over. I had my latte/he had the specialty frappe menu memorized.

Amazing. Marriage is one long revelation.

We sat for about an hour and then headed home. I think we have tied up a bunch of loose ends.

So, here's where we are in Kokomo, Indiana. Mike's treatment begins next Monday.

Thank you.

When You're Down, and Lonely....

2011-09-27T12:27:00.003-04:00

Not a sigh is breathed,

not a pain felt

not a grief pierces the soul,

but the throb vibrates

to the Father's heart.

Ellen G. White

Rainy Days and Mondays

2011-09-25T19:56:00.004-04:00

This has been a blue weekend.

A steady rain has drenched the ground...sometimes drizzle, sometimes sputter, sometimes an absolute downpour. This amid gray skies and 50 degrees. Early fallen leaves, those we thought we'd get up, are now soggy and matted.

The weather has been crummy and Mike has been under it. We decided to stay at our home base.

His immediate ills began on Friday night, after spending the day repairing insulation in the garage. He and a friend had installed it originally; in the last year, several strips have come loose and one whole pad recently fell onto the floor. It needed to be fixed. I wish he hadn't tackled it by himself. It took him much of the day, stretching, bending, lifting, and so forth.

So, Friday night, he began to experience pain in his left shoulder. He announced that the pain was deep in the joint. "Do you think I'm having a heart attack?" he asked.

I suggested a quick trip to the ER.

"No. I'll just take something."

And he did. The meds did not dull the pain enough for him to get a good night's sleep. And so the weekend began.

Much of Saturday, he tried to catch up on sleep and tried to get ahead of pain. We are learning that some discomfort is referred pain, not directly related to anything specific. But the chronic pain he now lives with, in his midsection, seemed to radiate and then there was that shoulder.

He called to on-call oncology nurse: this means he gets the switchboard lady who, I guess, sends a message. When the nurse did not get back to us, I called to the same switchboard lady. I was less cordial. zip zip zip, I'm speaking to the nurse.

Her advice was for Mike to double up on his pain medications. He did.

After another rocky night, he asked if I was going to church. I said I was. "I'll go. I can always leave if I feel bad."

So it was off to our home church. It was great seeing Kokomo friends and finding our seats. Then, after an amazing musical set, our lead pastor continued a series on growing closer to Christ. His messages are supplemented by a 5 week small group study; we are 2 weeks into that.

As always, I came away with a few pearls just for me. More on that later.

Mike still felt bad, so bad he made the ultimate move: he called his doctor who got right back to him. Her voice is Pavlovian to him. Her instructions: come in Monday for a new scan.

So that's where we are. Not much sleep. Feeling blue. I'll ask you to pray again. Mike could use a good night's sleep.

By Popular Demand: Ivy's New 'Do"

2011-09-18T19:02:00.014-04:00

Say what? You want to see what my 'Dad' and 'Mom' did to me?

I'm naked, mostly.

Make-up! I'm not ready for my close up.

A little ruff around my face and I still have my tail.

Mike keeps saying, "Sleek!"

His sister, optimist, says, "Oh well, within a week, she'll be all white and fluffy again."

Frost warning tonight: BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRr.

So Let's Trim the Dog

2011-09-17T21:11:00.004-04:00

Our little Ivy, an interesting mixture of terrier, mutt, and terrier, occasionally needs a trim.

I, myself, am all about letting the professionals tackle the task. I drop her off messy; I pick her up all clean and fluffy and neat…..and really glad to see me.

The Princess does NOT like the grooming experience. One local ‘shop’ consists of the chain smoking owner and a succession of shady employees. The boss is the constant and the others change with the seasons. At her shop, though, I can drop off the dog at 5:45 in the morning and she’s ready by 3. Very convenient to my schedule. One hitch, however, is that they charge an ‘attitude’ penalty for the Princess. I believe she makes her discontent known throughout the procedure.

A lady in Warsaw groomed the dog early this summer: it was difficult to get an appointment as she is booked with regulars, but she found a window of time, three weeks after we called, and worked her magic on Ivy. There was no extra charge, although her base rate is higher.
No matter. The Ivy was clean and coifed for much of the summer.

When the hot, horrid July weather stretched on for three weeks, Ivy developed an itch that caused her much distress. The vet suggested Benadryl which helped. But her scratching left her droopy and matted, much like the rest of us.

One afternoon while I was somewhere else, Mike got the idea to trim the dog. He had watched, fascinated, as our nephew groomed HIS dog. The hub decided it couldn’t be too hard. Not sure how it went (or WHO actually clipped the dog) but when I arrived back, the trim coupled with a trip to the Laundro-mutt gave the Princess a renewed beauty.

The last few weeks have given Ivy the chance to scamper and scavenge in two locations and she was looking pretty ratty. I suggested a bath. The hub said, “Let’s give her a trim first.”
Assuming he knew what he was doing, we walked down to his sister’s house where the trimmer is stored in the garage.

The standard Dog Grooming Trimmer Kit consists of the electric trimmer and several ‘guides’ or ‘trimming heads’ that are snapped on the trimmer. Without the guides, you’re going for the Hoosier buzz cut so popular with mothers of little boys.

“Hold her while I start on her back,” directed the love of my life.

I leaned over and grasped Ivy by the collar and circled her upper body with my arms. My head was resting on her shoulders. The buzz of the trimmer commenced.

I concentrated on two things: holding the dog firmly and guarding my hair. In 37 years of marriage, I’ve suffered a few ‘accidents’ while engaged in partner activities. The oft heard reply from the hub, “Hmmm. I never thought THAT would happen.” A quick slip of the trimmer and I’d be minus bangs or chunks of hair on the top of my head.

After about a minute, Mike suggested that we take a break. I loosened my grip and sat up.

There were no guides on the head of the trimmer. Mike had buzzed much of the rear flank of our dog.

“What do you think?” he asked, smiling.

“I love you,” said I.

“Doesn’t it look better?” he asked, smiling.

“I love you,” said I.

“She likes it short like this, doesn’t she?” he asked.

Smiling, “I love you,” I said.

You see, once you start on the buzz cut, it’s a commitment. You can’t exactly scape ONE part of the dog naked without continuing.

So, we continued. I held, I turned, I lifted. This went on for an hour. Under the white coat, Ivy has dappled skin and some old age bumps. They now gleam. We have removed the camouflage.
Finally, Ivy’s fluffy tail and the scruff around her face, the part that is ALL terrier, were all that was left to face the trimmer. I suggested that we trade places.

I clicked on the trimmer guide and basically combed through the remaining coat.

So, now our Princess is sporting her new ‘do.’ So fortunate she’s not very vain.

A Quiet Thursday Night

2011-09-15T20:52:00.002-04:00

This week began with high temperatures but by midweek, we started to sense the coming of fall. This morning, I needed a coat for the drive to school and tonight, the full moon has begun to wane.

Mike has been home this week....misses me, I guess. He started in on a new project. Also, our home became a gathering place as friends dropped by and sat a spell on the porch. As I want to catch up and get ahead with school work, I talked the hub into riding up to the lake this afternoon. Caught up, I"ll be able to leave right after school.

I get this question all the time: How's school going?

It's going great for me. Without thinking, I'd say that as an experienced teacher, I'd give myself all sorts of credit. Ah, but thank you Lord. You're whispering in my ear.

Honestly, although I love what I do, I really enjoyed just not doing much of anything this summer. I like spending all that time with Mike and likewise spending almost no time on anything much else. But he wanted me to return to school and I know that we are blessed as we follow God's lead. So back to school I went.

I was anticipating some new problems: I have two classes of freshmen. I haven't taught 15-year-olds for 10 years. As the youngest in the building, they can be hyper and loud and emotional and disorganized and tearful when disorganized. Also, there's not much mental challenge to preparing lessons and executing the same. I wasn't too thrilled with my change of assignment.

But, God's gift is that these youngsters sit in my room during the first two periods of the day. They are still just waking up. There are no disruptions. And, you know, they are charming in their newness. Each and every tidbit from their teacher is a golden coin to them.

I was also apprehensive about the other end of my day: two sections of most challenging students. Non-academic juniors. These classes are for a wide range of students....some are poor readers; some are locked into vocational courses and THIS is the class that fits their schedule; some are those kids that, a generation ago, would have dropped out by now. Several of mine are in school under court order or threat.

Even those of us with some management skills find the mix volatile. In any classroom, a teacher can handle up to three really disruptive students. But any more is too much. They feed off each other and it's difficult to keep lessons flowing. AND I have these classes during the last two hours of the day, when this teacher is tired and THEY are getting wound up.

So, I anticipated these classes would be problematic, as they always are. Also, because our school had to reduce the teacher force, we were expecting huge classes.

I was surprised that my classes are small....14 and 17 enrolled students. I figured that the computer programs would balance my classes as this is what happens every year. By the end of the third week, when the class lists were still this small, I then figured that everybody's classes were small. When I checked, I found out that, no, other teachers were working with much larger classes.

Huh. Lucky me?

Come on! THIS is the Father's gift. He's not setting me up for a stress out.

And here's another plus: with these supposed problem students in small classes.....teachers crave small classes....some of our challenging students are getting special attention and in several cases, they are blooming into really great members of the class. Some of those really problematic kids really cry out to be noticed.

So, my school year is going great. God whispers to me often in ways that I can do a good job and work for my students without overworking myself into a frenzy. So far, I'm able to drive north soon after that final bell sounds on Friday.

And then, there's the love. As their teacher, most students find me a bit of a dictator, that woman who makes them do a lot more than they would choose to do. They learn to behave and they learn their lessons and by the end of the semester, we're all ready to say, "Goodbye" to each other.

As one scholar said last spring, "It's been a looooooong semester."

But, once we don't see each other every day, many of those kids morph into my biggest fans. At least once a day, some big senior guy walks past me and says, "I miss you, Mrs. B." or "Can I get back in your class?" or "I love you, Mrs. B."

I don't know how much love is too much. So, far, it's all good.

So here in central Indiana, as the cool breeze rustles those first fall leaves across the lawn, it's time to tuck in for the night.

Looking forward to a great weekend.

"I'm Still Here" Birthday Party 8/27/11

2011-09-13T14:07:00.003-04:00

Well, it's now a tradition. Before the candles get lit and blown, the birthday boy addresses his friends.

So, here's the latest installment of the Birthday Party Remarks.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbAt7CRq2Uc&safety_mode=true&persist_safety_mode=1

Kokomo Huddle

2011-09-08T19:00:00.002-04:00

Mike was asked to speak to The Kokomo Huddle, a regulary scheduled meeting of local men, held at our YMCA.

I share this here because Mike is conviced that this is one of the reasons God has continued to bless us and extend his life. It is his prayer that he can serve our Father in this way.

If you'd like to hear his talk, to do www.Kokomohuddle.org where it is posted.

Labor Day Weekend 2011

2011-09-06T19:35:00.022-04:00

We grabbed a bite at the Windmaill Grill in Kokomo. It features, besides windmills, a train that circles its track near the ceiling. Alas, the train was off the track.

But, as always, the food was great.

Take a peak at our weekend at Winona Lake. No less than the US Army gave Dr. Al an unexpected leave so she said that she knew she needed to come home. She and the boys arrived on Wednesday afternoon for a long weekend.

Drew had been playing with a loose tooth. Uncle Jim offered a sure-fire tip; Drew "manned-up" and flipped out his own tooth. His reward? A Golden Coin from his great uncle.

Grampa watches the Water Olympics at dock side.

Drew's first kayaking trip.

Local folks joked that the Texans had brought their hot weather with them. One of those not-really-so-funny jokes. While we were sweltering, our guests felt right at home.

That meant, of course, lots of time in the lake.

Noah at the stern of the ship.

A typical sunset.

We also ended up with a whopper of a thunderstorm. Allyson was so pleased, she just sat outside and got soaked.

Boat time with Gramma

A not-so-typical quiet moment by the Winona Lake Duck Pond.

Saturday was also so, so, so hot: 97 degrees but a nice breeze. The boys and our niece's son, Titus, spent the afternoon by the pier. They spent hours and hours of running and jumping off into the water, climbing up the ladder and back to the run. As the afternoon wore on (and the adults wore out), they took a watermelon break by the sea wall. Each grabbed a chunk of cold watermelon and rested for just a moment.

Early Sunday morning was time to drive to Indianapolis. As Allyson has been away for 4 years, she wanted to visit with her former neighbors. Here Dad and Daughter share a brief word of wisdom before we climbed into the car.

The boys, Allyson and I checked into the airport Hampton (I love Hamptons) for the night. Allyson parked herself in the work center while the boys and Gramma hung out in the pool.

Monday morning, we drove across the way to the Indianapolis International Airport. Aunt Sherry waved from inside the terminal as the boys waved back. Once Allyson loaded her bags on a dolly, a quick hug and they were gone.

What could be better than some really great fun with our children and grandchildren? Not much.

A Long Weekend: Back to Work

2011-09-05T20:53:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow will mean I'm back in the classroom. And the hub? Well, he's preparing for something special this week.

Mike and I have had lots of talks, introspective kinds of chats, about all sorts of things. One topic that continues to rise: that, whether or not we understand it all, we are part of God's master plan. What Mike has found here are many lessons; how gracious that our Father has given him time to try these out.

Twice Mike has been interviewed by local churches. One of those videos has been posted on line. Although Mike is not so big on being public, we both know that the lessons of the past two years are part of what his life is all about.

So, the interview can be viewed at

http://vimeo.com/24873199

And Wednesday, Mike will be speaking to the fall kick-off meeting of Kokomo Huddle, a lunch time meeting at the YMCA. Around 200 men will hear his testimony.

So, as you pray for us, please pray that our Father will use this testimony to His glory.

Woooo Whooooo

2011-08-31T14:21:00.002-04:00

So, the Captain called. The Army gave her some unexpected time off.

I'm on my way to the Indianapolis Airport to meet Dr. Al and the Boys.

We will head north for a fun, long weekend at the lake.

Mike has gathered the goodies: tube, skis, gas for the boat, and all of that.

Soon, I'm hugging grandboys.

We are having another temperature spike: we're expecting temperatures in the 90s. For Allyson and boys, this will be a reprieve from San Antonio's weather.

Can't wait.

Birthday Party Report

2011-08-28T20:40:00.005-04:00

Although today, 8/29, is Mike’s actual birthday, SOME of us have to work so we celebrated his 3rd Annual “I’m Still Here” Birthday with a big party on Saturday night.

With a blanket invite, I was expecting roughly somewhere between 20 and 70. Someone asked me, “How do you plan for THAT?” My secret? Not so much planning.

I visited a local bakery and ordered 60 cupcakes, a dozen in 6 varieties. I made a quick trip to Sam’s Club and purchased some brightly colored drink cups, some matching napkins, a case of Seagrams wine coolers, and, um, 300 plastic forks. Anybody need forks?

And the wrong beer. I mean, I asked after the fact. My beeros were nice but said, "MILLER Light." Ok, next time.

On Saturday, one guest asked me early if she could bring some fresh fruit. I said, “Sure.” Then I was off to the local grocery store for soft drinks, chips and such, a veggie tray, some cheese balls, a few interesting cracker varieties, and cookies.

Back to the cottage, out came the white table cloth. By 3, we started to load the table with stuff. But, as guests arrived, so many brought ‘something’ that much of my purchases remained unopened. The guests started arriving around 4 and by 7, the count was 48 – 50. A few random children here and there…not sure they were ours. SOME kids will do anything for some cake.

And noise makers. And baloons.

A Kokomo contingent drove the 70 miles north to join the party.

Before the candles were lit, the Birthday Boy had a few words to say. I captured it on video and as soon as my people (Zach) can, I’ll post it here.

After the candles were blown out, the party began. It consisted of lots of people, some who knew each other, some who didn’t. They shared their connection with Mike. That was enough to forge new friendships. EVERYBODY, it seems, has a Mike Story. The buzz in and around the cottage was warm. Like the temperature.

A quick cloud burst let visitors experience a bit of the lake that the regulars are familiar with. Then folks were outside for Corn Hole Competitions, boat rides, strolls around the island and conversation.

Folks came and left; some came back. By 10, many but not all had called it a night. Most were resting up for Sunday's Island Breakfast, at Hal and Jenny's, down the block.

There were many highlights, but I think the absolute best moment for me was when Mike’s buddy, Tom, a retired chief-of-police, related Mike’s favorite story from his years in service. I’d heard it many times and I can’t do it justice here; but Mike was sitting 4 feet on my right and when I turned to look at him, he was smiling so big, his cheeks seemed to crack.

I looked around for my camera, phone, video cam, anything but by now, all devices had been moved and moved aside for the party. I must say, though, that this image is branded into my heart. I believe I will always remember that big smile. So, thanks, Thomas.

So, now we’re back to the routine: Mike will maintain residence north and I’ll be back in the classroom Monday. This week, though, will be a short work week: Allyson and the boys arrive Wednesday afternoon and we will spend the weekend on the lake.

We try to put the cancer thing on the back burner whenever we can. I mean, this was the 3RD birthday party, after 3 wedding anniversaries; we DO have some tests coming up in September and then we’ll meet with Mike’s doctor in October to discuss what’s next.

And, we will keep you all posted.

Please continue to pray for our sister-in-law Janelle, her husband Ken, and their family. It is their prayer that, besides miraculous healing, God will be glorified.

News/Views

2011-08-21T10:40:00.002-04:00

News: Tomorrow, Monday, we will show up at the University Hospital in Indianapolis, at 6 (yawn) AM for Mike's 4th ERCP. He had left me a note after a recent trip to the doctor:

"ERCP ASAP"

So, first available, right?

THIS is first available.

6 AM in Indianapolis means 4:45 AM on the road TO Indianapolis.

We'll see a smattering (bad choice of words) of truckers. Mostly, the roads will be clear and ours. Mike DID mention that we would get their sooner if he drove. So, fine. I'd rather not drive with him in the shotgun position. That usually brings helpful tips about hitting all the green lights and watching out for the _______, and "do you know where you're going?"

By now, I do. Even in the dark.

The ERCP is a palliative procedure so on many levels, it's good that we are getting the 4th one.

Views: My mind is flooded right now with thoughts about my sweet sister-in-law, who has gained the weight of an inoperable brain tumor; and her husband, my baby brother, a big lug of a guy who protects his family, both immediate and extended. In this situation, they both come face to face with how helpless we all are, except for running to the strong arms of our Savior. While it's a good reminder, it usually comes through the most dire of circumstances.

And, can I help it if I'm reliving OUR life two years ago? Ken is inundated with 30, 40, 50 emails a day, all asking the same questions and afraid to ask the same questions; Janelle, who's long-time blog (showandtellblog.typepad.com) is shining with the love she has for God, plus candid remarks about her current experiences; and the darkness of the long nights, the quiet times with scripture, the need to talk about uncomfortable topics with those she loves.

I know, because I'm in one loop, that an ocean of believers are holding Janelle and Ken (and their children) up to the Father. A miracle? We'll take it. A healing that extends life far beyond what a doctor may say? We'll take it. God's will, even if it means what medical science seems to hold? Hmmmmm, well.....

I found myself singing to the radio "All to Jesus I surrender, All to Him I freely give." (Moody station)

Except I got caught....."All to Jesus, I surrender.....except THIS."

Weak sister here.

I visited with Ken on the phone and told him that all those Christian cliches' about God's will, and God's grace, and God's goodness.......feel a bit cold right now. It's when we must, MUST, rely on what we know about God. And if you've forgotten, read Janelle's blog and be reminded.

Yesterday, Janelle opined that perhaps within God's grace, should this be her graduation to glory, she may be saved some real pain on earth. How non-coincidental that I was given similar insight by a young man in a coffee shop who is learning Russian on his own and needed a break.
(He told me that although he's no genius, he has the ability to pick up languages easily and thinks that God will send him to the mission field. In Russia? God knows.)

And here's something else I know: NOW is when Satan turns all guns on God's children. At my church, they like to call him The Evil One, perhaps because the culture has cutified 'satan.' Whatever his name, he and his minions surround us; we are protected but in weakness, he finds just a small hole to wheedle away.

In our story, as Mike lay recuperating from a failed surgery, a dark curtain fell and he doubted his salvation. No matter what I said, what anyone said, he sank into despair that not only would he die but he'd be damned to hell. A pall hung over his pillow.

So, I enlisted all of God's children within the scope of my voice and writing, to pray to this specific end: that God would lift the curtain and shine through with assurance and peace. And, faithful ever (remember that) He did.

And, today, I'm going to ask you and everyone I can reach, to prayer that Satan (evil one, whatever) be held at bay, that amidst what Ken and Janelle are fording, their minds and hearts can be at peace that God is with them, will never leave them, loves them more than anyone and more than humans can understand.

PS. Janelle's illness has brought me back to being keenly aware of our situation. We need your prayers, also.

News PS: Daughter Allyson is coming home over Labor Day. She told me she got 'unexpected' time off (no coincidences for God's children) and thought this would be a good idea. Fun and the Lake over Labor Day!

3rd Annual "I'm Still Here" Birthday Party

2011-08-19T14:56:00.002-04:00

Well, it's that time again.

AGAIN!

Saturday, August 27, 2011
501 Administration in Winona Lake, IN
And around Winona Lake, IN.

We will light and blow out the candles at 5 PM.
Come when you wish.
Stay as you wish.

And, once again, a happy birthday to Mike!

Make room

2011-08-17T11:53:00.003-04:00

How much we cherish our friends who drop by our blog.
How we cherish your thoughts and prayers for us.
How we have seen All Mighty God intervene.

How we need to make room:

First, please visit or revisit

showandtellblog.typepad.com

This is the blog of our sister-in-law, Janelle Hayes.
You will be blessed.

She is now facing decisions about treatment for her brain tumor.
She and her family are at the apex of this decision.

She and her husband, Ken, ask for wisdom.
(not advice)

They are wrapped in the Father's arms.

Please add Janelle and Ken Hayes to your prayer list.

Thank you.

Meet with the Doctor/Go to School

2011-08-10T18:32:00.002-04:00

Tuesday's appointment with Mike's doctor was mostly good news. Mike's vacation from chemo has helped his body re establish its strength. All those blood numbers are up and good.

He told his doctor that he hasn't 'felt this good' in a long time. Other numbers indicate that, as she says, "Well, you have the disease. It's just a number."

Mike's current plan is to head back up to the lake as I begin back to school. We've had two work days and the games REALLY begin tomorrow.

This could be a good plan. I can stay late any day, work ahead, and then dash up to the lake right after school on Friday.

There are lots of changes at school. It will be a new challenge on several fronts. But, for me, being in my classroom is a statement of normalcy, so it's all good.

We will continue to keep you posted. For now, please remember to pray for my sister-in-law Janelle and her husband, who happens to be my baby brother. Ken and I just chatted. He echos some of our experiences 2 years ago.

Funny how life works, isn't it? No time to ruminate about that. We are God's children. This, right now, is the Plan.

Thanks for joining with us.

So, here's a lot of the family

2011-08-10T18:04:00.014-04:00

Britt Hayes and Kenneth Freeman joined hands and promised to 'always love' each other; this in front of friends AND family, smiling widely.

Here is Britt with her mom, Janelle.
All the planning that leads up to a weddding can be hectic. The entire weekend ran flawlessly.

And this is the Bride and Groom.
Last time I saw Kenneth, he had a beard which he shaved for the occasion. The hat is a constant.

These are the Hayes sibs with their MOM, Evelyn. From left to right, Kris, Jan, Mom, Lynne, and Ken, the father-of-the-bride. He said he figured out his job early. "Say nothing and sign checks."

Sister Kris is married to Steve Amerson. Their daughter Kat is fresh from her freshman year at Westmont in Santa Barbara. Their son, Matthew, was back in California working.

Here's Mom with two granddaughters, Allyson Fewell (my girl) and Sarah Parsons, Jan's eldest.

Drew, Jarrod, and Noah retreated early to a side table and a hot game of Angry Birds. Jarrod is Sarah's youngest son.

Here's Mom again with her Great Greats: Josh (Sarah's), Drew and Noah (Allyson's) and Jarrod.

Sister Jan engaged in deep discussions with Noah, who is often deep into discussions....often with himself. So serious.

Earlier, Allyson and I stopped for a drink of water. I have learned why folks in the south wear hats.

Hot hot hot.

And here is Mom with Zach and Ian, two of her grandsons.

And me with my kiddos. We clean up nice.

The weekend was so much fun, Allyson and Sarah are planning another family adventure.

Mr. and Mrs.

2011-08-10T18:02:00.004-04:00

The big family treat: gather in Raleigh to witness the marriage of my niece, Britt, to her North Carolina guy, Kenneth.

For Kenneth and Britt: 7/30/2011

There you are in foreign clothes, smiling broadly, toes to toes
Holding hands and speak the words, some of the oldest ever heard
Family, friends, all smiling too. In merely minutes, we’re all through

Here.

And now: Marriage

This man, this woman, together; not MINE, not YOURS, but OURS
Everything, now for us. Now through us. Now by us.
That’s the idea, anyway. And the ideal.
The more you two can be as one, less the drama –more the
fun

For her, he wants to fix it. What’s the problem? Here, do this.
Or let me.
But she knows it’s more complicated. She wants to explain (and explain and explain)
For him, she wants to teach him “nuance.”
SHE sees nuance. What’s wrong with him?
And that’s the mystery: two become one but will ever differ.
Blending is the secret.

It’s easy to love him when there he stands, flowers and a big grin,
Pleased that he remembered.
But, it’s hard for him to remember.
It’s easy to love her when there she stands, all fresh and powdered
At the end of the day.
But it’s hard to primp at the end of the day.

And all too often, even though there is love,
We let it slip to expected, convenience.

Don’t fight much, but fight this.

Today you make a promise. You make it to each other; to your parents; to your family; to your friends; and to God.
Ah, but promises are fragile.
If you break it, you will hurt your love, your family, God, and mostly yourself.
So commit. Commit to take this hand and walk the path through life.
Help each other; guide each other. Let each other ‘win.’

It’s the plan that He set forth for His creation.
“It is not good for man to be alone.”

Be good.
Be best.

Rally the Prayer Warriors

2011-08-07T17:55:00.005-04:00

So, if you’ve been tuning in for the next installment, you wonder just how lazy can one writer be.
I gotta tell ya: pretty lazy. Actually we have all sorts of adventures to share with our friends, including the week of the Grandsons (whew, God intends YOUNG women to have children) and a grand family wedding weekend in Raleigh.

But, first to the important thing. My sweet sister-in-law --- mother of the bride, by the way --- drove home from Raleigh on Sunday; on Monday, she learned that she has a brain tumor; on Wednesday, it was determined that it is inoperable; on Thursday, biopsy showed that, as she puts it, “this thing is not my friend.”

And on Friday, she and brother Ken got to go home and sleep in their own bed.

Right off: Janelle and Ken belong to Jesus. They love the Lord. No matter how this goes, they will rest in His infinite wisdom.

They have a great church family; they have a great (I think) blood family. And they have a huge internet family, most of whom are already praying.

Janelle is the author of Showandtellblog. In addition to administrating a private preschool, she creates the most unique things from paper and stamps and ribbon. Many of her family hold treasured pieces of her art. She writes about the how and why of her creations.

Her current blog updates her readers about her health but just for a moment. Then she takes you to all the goodie bags that she created for the wedding.

As I know that many of my readers are also praying for us --- and by the way, we have a big doctor’s appointment on Tuesday morning --- I will ask you to add Janelle and Ken Hayes, plus their daughter Britt (new husband Kenneth) and their son Ian, to your list.

Ken and Janelle are asking God for a miracle. An absolutely clean bill of health. They will meet with a team of doctors and plan to attack this foreign mass as advised.

But they put their faith in God. They ask that all of us, any of us, pray that Janelle will be healed.

Thank you for joining in this battle with us.

Rah Rah Raleigh

2011-07-27T20:55:00.002-04:00

This weekend is the big doin's in Raleigh, North Carolina.

Brother Ken's daughter, Britt, will marry her guy, Kenneth, on Saturday night.

Family is headed east from all over the country to be a part of this celebration.

That's all. Gotta pack and catch an early flight.

it'sssssssssssssssssssssssss HOT

2011-07-21T17:02:00.003-04:00

We have not dropped off the edge of the earth but we HAVE been living under a 'dome' as they call it, that covers half of the United States. This week, much of the nation is sagging under blistering heat.

You may remember that our little piece of heaven does NOT include central air. I guess it's fitting that I'm finally reading Gone With The Wind, as I grow ever empathetic with the field hands of that novel. Also, those girls wore all those layers of crinoline?

One little nod to current events is that I walk (drive, this week) every morning to purchase 2 or 3 newspapers for my breakfast entertainment. Each and every one front pages the weather story. Photos of children sitting under a sprinkler. Photos of workers, out in the heat. Photos, in this part of the country, of livestock getting sprayed and fanned.

Why is it, that as you swelter, you fill your brain with stories about how others are sweltering? I don't know but that's what I do. I care less and less about the deficit; give me a breeze.

On Tuesday morning, as I wilted in my chair, the headline locally was "On Thursday, you'll wish it was (sic) Tuesday." Great. Now it's Thursday. Drip drip drip.

The hub and I find ourselves sitting in the shade, near the lake, trying to catch a little whiff of cooler air. Last night, we cracked open a big cantaloupe; that, cheese and some ice water was supper. I have a honeydew on the counter, waiting for today's repast.

Our local village has a very nice coffee house/bakery with central air and free WIFI, so I decided I'd connect with my friends this afternoon. Who knows when this heat will break? Who knows when I'll get back to my novel.

Our brother-in-law Steve arrived Tuesday night from LA. He had planned this trip way before the heat arrived. He has a singing engagement in Chicago Friday night. But within the hour of his arrival, he got a call from his agent in LA and had to return the next morning. We saw him briefly, learned about a very good ice cream from Cincinnati, and waved him on his way.

Upcoming is my trip to Raleigh next week for my niece's wedding. I believe our weather will be following me east.

Then, the first week of August, the grand boys arrive for some lake time and Grandpa Time. And, THEN, the second week of August finds me back in my classroom at Kokomo High School.

But it's really NOT all about me. Mike continues to enjoy his chemo vacation. He has gotten back into swimming in the lake, although when it's this hot the 'algae is in bloom.' That means he can emerge looking like Swamp Thing. Google it.

Mike will return to his doctor on August 2 for extensive blood work and so forth. Then, we will meet with his doctor on August 9 to discuss the results. As you remember us, you can pencil in these dates.

And FINALLY: Saturday, August 27, 2011, we will convene again for the third birthday party we didn't think we'd have. Details will follow but we will blow out candles at 5 PM.

So, that's the news from the coffee house near the shore of Winona Lake. I need some ice water.

Bridge Camp

2011-07-17T22:02:00.010-04:00

Last week, my freshly retired friend/teacher spent several days at our cottage. She’s a sport: she got into the spirit of the place almost immediately. Took off her watch. Closeted the makeup. Jumped into the lake with abandon. Let the hair go natural. Acclimated to real weather. Grabbed an afternoon nap. She was just about the perfect guest.

AND, the intended purpose for dragging her north was for personal instruction in the highly complicated card game of Bridge.

My mom, an avid player, tried to teach me. This is the same left-handed woman who switched paws to teach me how to knit and crochet. But Mom started in way past my beginner status and I quickly got confused. And in areas of learning that are voluntary, confused usually leads to ‘quit.’ (Her first lesson was something about ‘No Trump’ and strategy.)

Now, teachers tend to be good at teaching and pretty good at learning. It’s our stock and trade. We DO seem to sense more quickly when we are not getting it. And ‘not getting it’ is fairly common in Bridge instruction.

So wise teacher that my friend is, she orchestrated and enforced little lessons with lots of breaks. A tidbit of information, several illustrations, a practice hand, and discussion, followed by a few questions from her, answers or confusion from me, and then lots of praise.

I bet they teach this model in how-to-be-a-teacher school.

Mom had left me a book for beginners. I found that even THAT needed context to make sense of it. So, once I had my first two lessons, I could open that booklet and read it with some understanding. I am, however, a learner who needs tangibles. My teacher understood that and complied.

She taught/I wrote: deal all cards; everybody gets 13. Arrange your cards and count the points in your hand.

ACE = 4
KING = 3
QUEEN = 2
JACK = 1
And some additional points for singletons/doubletons/and a few other arrangements.

Write write write.

Then, the suits are ranked for bidding:
NO TRUMP (we got to it, Mom)
SPADES
HEARTS
DIAMONDS
CLUBS

Watch me show off: If someone bids, oh, say 1 Spade and you want something else, you have to up it to 2 of something else.

This was much of the first lesson. However, EVERY lesson included Bridge Etiquette. My sense is that rabid Bridge players will get a bit testy if you violate the rules of polite Bridge society.

Bridge is SO unlike other partner games like Euchre and Pinochle, where partners make eyes, thank each other sincerely or sarcastically. Also, in Bridge, you seek help from your partner….there are ways, politely, to indicate whether or not you can help. Also, less cigar chomping. Bridge players’ drug of choice is chocolate-covered nuts, yet another motivation to learn this game.

Break time: shopping, coffee, etc. etc. and then back at it. My gifted teacher came armed with 8 decks of cards so we could place out many hands and talk about them. She brought a variety of learning aides, as students use different things to help them.

My notes, scribbled on two small notebook pages were found on neat, laminated booklets. But it was good for me to write them long-hand first. She knew that.

There was another book by some dude named Goren, “DON’T call him a dude. He’s a grand master!” and a wheel reminiscent of that talking animal toy you buy babies: “The GOREN (again) Point Count Bidding Wheel.”

Break time and into the lake. Dinner on the porch prepared by the hub: a nice salad with fruit and wine.

Back to the table and more hands. And more positive reinforcement. “Good move.” “I like that.” “Oh, well, that might work.”

Two days later, she had to get home for HER Bridge group. And here’s the thing. Two days of very good mini lessons only take a nick at what needs to be learned. Yes, as she reminds me, you need to play. A lot. Often. But you also need to find willing players who won’t lose it (bad etiquette) if you bid something bizarre or throw the wrong card.

Her parting instruction involves those Bridge Columns that appear in daily newspapers. “You can now look at those. They usually come up with interesting hands. Just don’t read what they do. YOU think what you’d do and THEN read.”

I’m on it, teacher!

So, I’m thinking we have a plan here for a summer (what the heck, she’s retired) or autumn camp where campers can be paired with great teachers, study the game, take lots of breaks, and then play some games together under the watchful eyes of their instructors.

I don’t know that she’s looking for a second career but this sounds promising.She told me that the secret for her is that she loves Bridge. Maybe, but she also leaves my formal profession with gifts and skills that I hope she’ll continue to use her gifts.

Sleepy Village, World Hub

2011-07-10T16:20:00.011-04:00

Regular readers are getting to know our sleepy little community, Winona Lake, that surrounds its namesake body of water.

Life is easy; life is slow. Today, even at 4:30, the summer heat is a bit much for us so we're inside. I'm on my next puzzle.

This evening, we'll drive back to Kokomo as Mike has an appointment. Then, returning with us will be my buddy, a freshly retired teacher, who is just dying to teach me how to play bridge.

Anyway, a stone's throw from our lake is Warsaw, Indiana. If you drove through, you'd compare it to most mid sized Midwestern cities. However, many make this a destination: Warsaw is the world headquarters of 3 of the 5 makers of artificial replacement joints. It calls itself, rightly, the Orthopaedic Center of the World.

Now what does that mean? For starters, Warsaw has a very low unemployment rate. A neighbor who works on the line can work 7 days a week, if he wants to. My brother-in-law, a local technical educator, says that the three companies are a source of money and technology to the local schools.

And then there's one founder, Dr. Dane, who adopted Winona Lake about 20 years ago and with historical grant money, has lead to a renaissance on the lake. We looked up one day and all of our utility wires were buried; our street was newly paved over improved sewer lines; new curbs and lots of plantings.

Last year, Winona Lake gave every resident 2 trees, free, if we would let the Boy Scouts plant them on our property. We said, "Well, sure." The place is looking good.

Also, these three businesses invest lots of money in 'Quality of Life' activities for their employees and for the rest of the city. So, Friday night, as the sun was just thinking about setting, the hub and I sat on the grass in Warsaw's Central Park, for BLUES AND BARBECUE. The featured performer was Duke Robillard and his band. Further back in the park, at the edge of Central Lake, large BBQ half drums were smoking and cooking. The ribs were also gratis.

This week it was Depuy. So, thanks, Depuy!

FIRST Week of Chemo Vacation

2011-07-08T14:37:00.002-04:00

Summer, really nice Midwestern summer, has arrived around our lake.

The nights are clear and pleasant. The dawn....who knows as we are on lake time.
The days see temperatures climb to the mid-80s without all that bothersome humidity.
And as the sun sets, a cool breeze takes the temperature back down to the low 70s.

Windows open at night for great sleeping.

We've settled into a routine. We decided that we should 'kinda' do things like chores in the morning, cutting it off at noon. Then, after a nap, we should climb into the boat and motor about the lake, stopping in the middle for a swim. Then, back to the dock, thinking about a light dinner that becomes something like salad as we sit on the porch.

Life is good. Life is slow and good.
Currently, and my children will find this amazing, EVERYTHING works on the boat. (This is so 'not us.')

We will drive back to Kokomo for Mike's next appointment with his doctor. Hopefully, we'll learn that the transfusion has kicked in and his numbers are headed north. Then, we'll be back to our life around Winona.

A few nice things got inked in on our 'calendar.' Brother-in-law Steve will drop by for a few days. Then, as the month ends, there's the family wedding in Raleigh. As soon as I get back, THE BOYS are coming for the next week.

Then, can you believe it? My school starts August 9.

August 9!

And finally, we've got another birthday celebration to plan for the end of August.

My. It's almost 3. Time for my nap!

...and the rest of the week was a wash

2011-07-03T20:33:00.006-04:00

We were both pretty beat come Tuesday. The headache was gone but with no sleep, we lazed around even more than usual.

By Wednesday, Mike was still feeling rung out. I happened to brush his forehead (kiss!) and realized that he was hot hot hot. Time for the thermometer: 103 degrees.

Because chemo messes up the immune system, Mike is susceptible to infection. And we have instructions to go the the hospital if he runs a fever. I reminded him.

"I want to go back to Kokomo, to my doctor's hospital," he said.

So we called ahead to let them know. (On one 'emergency' visit, we sat among the coughing and sneezing, in the waiting room for an hour. Mike's doctor insisted that this would not happen again.) It took 80 minutes in afternoon traffic but I DID hit all green lights. Inside joke.

Again with the tests: various fluids, X-rays, CAT. The hospitalist, a tiny man from Pakistan who looked 18 (face it, when you get to be my age, they all look like kids.) It was late late late when he said Mike would be admitted; I drove home for a restless night.

By mid morning Thursday, with fluids in and fever down, the hub was looking much better. On a regular diet, he took two trays; then friend Tome brought him a large Frosty and the nurses kept him supplied with lemon ice.

Here's where we are: his oncologist sat on his bed and said, "Mike, I don't want you to EVER leave this earth. But, I sure don't want to write 'infection' on any certificate." So, since Mike has had two infections since March and because his WBC is very low, the doctor announced that he's getting a vacation from chemo.

Woooooo whoooooo!!!!!

So for the next two months, no trips to the oncology center, no needles, no poison. She wants hims to build back up and he will.

ALSO, she said that his latest CAT shows "no change." That means

NO CHANGE.

Woooooo whoooooo!!!!!

Friday, they let him leave after a transfusion. It was about 6 PM and we both decided to crash at the home base, driving back up to the lake on Saturday.

Saturday was to be the big fireworks. The day, hot and humid, had been one big blue sky. Town folk were setting up their places for the show. Then, out of nowhere, the wind picked up,the sky turned dark and the sky opened up again, complete with its own light show. The storm lasted until almost midnight.

So this evening, 24 hours later, I see a clear sky, I see the barges on the lake, and I see our chairs, waiting for us on the pier.

We know, friends, that so many of you pray for us. And that's one reason that I want to keep you in the loop.

Tonight, all is well. I hope, like us, you'll have a great Independence Day.

Monday Night Was Brutal

2011-06-28T22:38:00.002-04:00

Monday was Chemo Day. By now, we’ve got a routine. Once the treatment is over, Mike finds he’s hopped up for the rest of the day. It’s akin to that supposed burst of energy that pregnant ladies get just before delivery. So I’ve heard.

Since we are north mostly, perhaps you’re curious about Chemo Effects. So far, except for our initial problem with low blood counts, Mike is breezing through. He has experienced no nausea. And his hair? (Everybody’s interested in the hair) Well, he’s not lost any. The chemo HAS made his hair softer and wavy. Really nice to touch.

We were both in Kokomo; I had a list of errands and finished about the time Mike arrived home from the hospital. As the weather was spectacular, he announced the travel plan. He would take his motorcycle and I could bring up my Caliber, loaded with new projects. He left several hours before me so I could catch up on laundry and so forth.

When I arrived at the lake, he greeted me with a most pained look on his face. “Where have you been?” he asked. “I thought you were coming right up.”

“Ivy was off touring the neighborhood,” I explained.

I thought that it would be no big deal as this would be energy night. Alas, it was not to be.

Mike’s face took me back almost 25 years ago. It was how he looked when he was getting a migraine headache. He hasn’t had one in all these years.

Now, let me explain that I was not always the most sympathetic to headache suffers. I was raised by an Army nurse. At my house, you needed to be bleeding from your ears AND mouth to stay home from school. I’ve learned recently that her hard line was partly for our good and partly because she really didn’t want to have a kid underfoot when she had other projects on her agenda. It’s OK, Mom. It made us tough.

When friends would get to stay home from school with a headache, I’d think, “Give me a break. A headache?”

In my limited experience, I had not seen a migraine sufferer. Until I married this man and he went to law school. I would come home from school to find him utilizing what worked for him: he would be submerged in the bathtub with only his nose and mouth in the air. He would rest there until the headache went away or until he ‘lost his lunch,’ which also seemed to speed the pain away.

Why should Mike develop migraines now?

Since marriage, I’ve increased my knowledge of many things, including internal human anatomy. The only way I survived Freshman Biology at Wheaton was that I sat next to this Red-haired Hoosier who let me, um, copy what he saw under the microscope. I never saw anything but blurs. (Bacterium moves fast!)

I know that you can drive a motorcycle with your left wrist broken in two places. I’ve seen the doctor ‘insert’ a tube into a collapsed lung. I know where heart caths go and what ERCP stents look like, new and used. And the human neck. Fascinating piece of equipment.

Mike might work this into any conversation. “When I broke my neck…..” “My broken neck….” “The break in my neck….” much to the surprise and horror of the listener. I mean, a broken neck? Then, you’re paralyzed. Or dead. But here this guy is. So what gives?

In case you, too, struggled in the sciences, let me speak slowly. If you were to look at a cross-section of the neck, you’d see three openings. The big round one in the middle and two ovals, one on each side.

And yes, Mike broke his neck. His doctor called it a ‘lucky break.’ He cracked one of those ovals. Except for an occasional humid day when tissue swells, he hardly notices it.

How did he break it? Do you have time? About 10 years ago, he was racing mountain bikes with our nephew Caleb. They were each trying to out-do the other. In the woods, on untried paths. Up. Down. Watch out for the tree. You get the picture.

At one point, Caleb flew across a shaky bridge that took you over a stream. Uncle Mike was right behind. But he slipped. His bike went over the bridge and he fell, head first, in the muddy bottom of the stream. That’s when the vertebrae cracked. And as they say, it could have been worse. Had Mike been alone as he often was, he might have drown, stuck in the mud and his head underwater.

Caleb pulled him out and brought him to the cottage. The mud was the least of his problems. He was blue and trembling and sister Lisa knew he needed to get to the ER.

And so, technically, he broke his neck. If he strains it, OTC usually makes it better.

However, Monday, on his mighty bike and the back roads, the hub bragged that he had traveled, um, a bit faster than the posted limit. And, without a wind shield, his face (and neck) took the brunt.

So the pain radiated from the neck to the head, all over.

I filled the tub. I got the ice bag. I grabbed our assortment of analgesics. It was a rough night.
Nothing really touched the pain. And although Mike’s not been nauseous from his treatments, he made up for it, 10 or 15 times.

In between the trips to kneel at the porcelain throne and runs to the kitchen for water, ginger ale, and so forth, he nudged me and I was up. Then back. Sometimes, he wanted me to massage “GENTLY” his neck, right where that break occurred. As the night wore one, I would doze off in mid rub.

Now, I’m not complaining. This is part of the deal, after all. It just was a brutal night followed by a day of feeling like we’re sleepwalking.

Tuesday night, after a clear sky day, the temperature dropped to 55. Windows open and blankets.

Good sleeping. And a brighter day tomorrow.

The Weather and Such

2011-06-26T14:35:00.007-04:00

It‘s been a weird week for weather in northern Indiana.

I know. Talking about the weather? Next thing you’ll be working jigsaw puzzles between spells of sittin’ and rockin’.

Yeah, that’s us. When nephew Brian, all of 34, comes by, he and the hub BOTH age about 30 years as they ponder and reminisce, all while rocking. (Except, of course, when they take to racin’ in the lake) And me? I’m on my third puzzle.

So back to the weather. Last weekend we had very hot and humid. That’s one reason I made such progress on the puzzle. Not much desire to move around when it’s so hot.

Then, Monday brought darkening skies and temperature drops. We went from sticky hot to shivering cold, along with a clammy sense that a storm was on its way.

Except no storm.

The gray and cold continued onto almost the end of the week. When Mom showed up to spent the night, instead of wondering if the fans would be enough, I went digging into the blanket closet and fetching hoodies for my guests.

So, when Wednesday dawned with no visible dawn, we expected another cold day. But then the clouds began to churn and the wind kicked up a bit: harbinger of storm.

Our cottage faces WEST, in the direction of most storms; as such, we can usually sit on our outside deck and watch the rain tap its way across the lake and move inside with plenty of time to avoid a soaking: one little game we play.

But this day was different. After several empty threats, the sky formed a solid and down came ‘ropey rain.’ Heavy, straight plaits that drenched the earth. 5 minutes later, the rain stopped, the sun came out, and within 30 minutes, sidewalks and other pavings were dry.

About an hour later, the sky grew dark again. A sudden gust of wind that died as quickly, and heavy droplets fell --- plop plop plop – for about 30 seconds and then stopped.

At which point, our neighbor Jenny walked by and said we should come over for pie. Sounded like a plan. She and Hal are full time residents. Their home faces out the lake from a glassed-in porch that opens to a large deck. They are good friends who live only a few dozen yards from us PLUS they had pie so we were off to their house.

As we sat outside, talking about the weather and munching on warm peach pie with vanilla ice cream, the sky began to churn again so we moved indoors to finish our dessert in the dry. Again, a cloud burst of sorts, this time with some sideways wind.

I finished my pie first (!); Mike and Hal were all about some discussion of the weather report on The Weather Channel, so I excused myself to stroll back to our porch. I walked as the sun again dried the ground.

Inside, (really this is going somewhere), I had just taken my seat in the puzzle corner when the wind/breeze stopped, dead still. Then there was an enormous CRACK of thunder and a WHOOOOOOOSH that shook the house. I ran to crank in our windows that take the brunt of eastern winds as the skies opened again, this time with a torrent AND the wind.

That initial ‘whoosh’ took another swipe at our red maple in front. Island trees have shallow roots and the last time we had a big wind storm, our tree developed a bit of a lean. Now there is a crack at the surface: it may be a loss.

And then Storm 4 was over and the whole Island Neighborhood was out to survey damage. A few limbs here and there and then onto Hal and Jenny’s home.

Down the street, that gust uprooted a much larger, mature tree. It left a 5 foot hole as it leaned toward many houses.

It fell squarely in the middle of the street. Not a single residence was damaged. That's Hal and Jenny's home, behind the tree.

It DID crash onto Hal’s truck. He loves his truck. It also scraped his ‘vintage’ van.

Clean up began almost immediately but it will require some finesse as certain heavy equipment is not permitted on the island. No one was hurt and all but that truck can be duplicated.

What struck me is that in times like this, when “it could have been much worse,” we talk of coincidence.

If I’ve learned nothing else in the last two years, I know that for God’s people, there are no coincidences.

Transitions

2011-06-23T15:34:00.007-04:00

It’s a trick to change residences. What to bring? What to buy? What about mail? And so forth.

Son Zach is at the homestead often enough to stack the mail and we will be in town for treatment often enough to keep up with bills.

What to bring? We already are in the habit of two sets of contacts/glasses/wetting fluids/toothbrushes/deodorant, so not much problem.

As for clothes, well, it’s the lake. Casual to swim suit is de rigueur.

What to buy? How many bottles of ketchup do YOU have?

The news is that Mike had another chemo treatment Monday. Sister Jan had arrived late Sunday night and we spent the next morning on errands and such. Then, we all came north.
Chemo jumps the hub and he finds it hard to sleep the first night. So on Tuesday morning, when Jan heard someone up before dark, she assumed it was her formerly early rising sister and came downstairs to find Mike up and dressed. Not sure what they did, something about a trip to the woods. Sister Lynne stayed abed until about 8:30.

Later, Jan left for Michigan and will return today. Also on the way are my brother Ken, his wife Janelle, and my mom. All will converge tonight and then Ken and Janelle will leave to Illinois, with Mom and Janis following on Saturday.

Whew! This is the most scheduled we’ve been. Today, cool air and all, we slept until

(wait for it)

9!

As for lake life, we’ve had several whitheringly hot days. Since we have no air conditioning, we are at one with the temperature. For those too young to remember life before central AC, what that means is that you, by necessity, slow down. Sit a lot. Eat a lot less. Chewing generates heat, I've heard. Drink more water.

I have found a spot on the screened porch where I sat up a jigsaw puzzle table. I have a history with jigsaw puzzles and will save that story for another time. On a hot day with an occasional breeze, I can sit, not move much, the work my brain a bit. Then, as a gust of lake wind flows, I can just sit, refreshed by the cool.

After several weeks here, when Mike had fixed everything he plans to/can fix, he was getting a bit restless --- some of us are better suited for sitting than others.

“I need something to do,” he said.

Wouldn’t you just know it? Just before the move, he had announced that he was done with big furniture pieces and started making wooden boxes. These found a place to cure, right on top of my dishwasher.

So I asked him what he needed up here to make boxes.

He thought for a moment and then, “I wonder how much an inexpensive table saw would cost?”

“Why don’t we go and see?”

Truck Trip!

As it turns out, the saw was rather cheap. He said, “I could make boxes if I had my small tool bench.”
“Why don’t we bring it up?”
What a team.
So, Zach loaded it up in the truck and now it’s on the front porch, near the Puzz Table. We can both play and keep each other company.

Mike is merrily cranking out boxes. There’s more to it, of course, than the saw; his finish work takes my breath away.

As does he, every time.

Lake View

2011-06-19T12:24:00.011-04:00

Living here almost full time, there were several things I wanted to do. One was to stock a bird feeder and invite our chirpy neighbors to drop by.

Such a good idea. However, I'm beginning to think that my other neighbors have given up luring birds to their yards. We fill up this tube and within 60 minutes, it's empty.

Yes, we are seeing lots of birds and the squirrels can't reach it. But these are rather tame birds and they have attitude. When the feeder is empty, some of them, especially the male robins, perch on our fence and complain. They stop only if I give the feeder a second fill

Mike and our nephew Brian have resurrected Last Call, the Cocktail Class Racer that Mike made. Brian has built a small hydroplane and together, they are racing around the lake.

I hear that last weekend, the Conservation Officer, Nathan, (always good to be on a first-name basis) pulled them over for some silly thing like speed or registration.

I hear that the offenders have addressed the issue.

Back at the cottage, my other goal, since I can be here daily, is to keep my window boxes vibrant. In the past, I planted what I hoped were hearty flowers that had to survive 4 or 5 days without water. Usually, when we arrived on Friday, they were all wilted and drooping. I'd drown them and sometimes they would spring back.

However, now I can water daily. I may have lost the BLACK THUMB for which I am so famous.

Also, my big treat is my single tomato plant. It's very easy to grow tomatoes in Indiana. The problem is bugs and critters who also like them 'maters.' So, this year, I plunked my tiny seedling into a pot, clearly 2 feet above critter reach. I placed a intimidating bright yellow cage around it and daily, I'm watching it reach up to the sun.

"When might we expect some tomatoes," asks the hub.

"August, near the end of the summer," I brag, assured.

So here we sit and watch the lake and the sunset. Peace.

Update: Busy

2011-06-19T12:10:00.002-04:00

Friday, Mike had his 3rd ERCP. By now, he knows everybody's first name.

Hardly routine, but there IS some sort of ritual by now: no food; bring the meds; someone has to drive you home; Dr. will discuss this with you but you will not remember; the day after is for sleeping it off.

Dr. says he'll see us again in about 3 months. Mike does not remember.

I'm back from San Antonio where is was and is hot. Amazingly hot. People actually live there, outside sometimes. Grandson Drew who has just finished 1st grade, is reading chapter books. He just finished Mr. Popper's Penguins, a Gramma favorite, in time for the movie.

I hope it's exciting for everybody, but it's extremely so for this teacher, to witness a child 'getting it' and loving it, when it comes to reading. Drew's such a normal kid, except he's had his tv and computer time limited, so books could stick their feet in the door. Once, and if, a child learns to read well, the world can open up for him.

Noah just graduated from preschool. Next year, he and Drew will ride the bus to their new school, as they have moved to a larger house. Allyson has wanted, among other things, for the boys to be able to ride their bikes. This was hard in their old neighborhood which features breath taking hills and drops. New digs are in a more flat subdivision. They also will have a larger back yard.

Today, Sunday, sister Jan is on her way from Kansas City. She should arrive late tonight at the Kokomo address. Mike has chemo tomorrow so we are heading back south. Then, we will all drive up to Winona. Jan will continue to Michigan to visit with some friends and then she'll return here.

In the meantime, brother Ken and his darling wife, Janelle, are headed this way Thursday, on their way to the annual Hayes Family Reunion in Illinois. They will pick Mom up at the airport in Indianapolis and then head north.

It's great we get to visit. For them, it's only about 1 month to the BIG WEDDING of their daughter, so their lives are getting busy.

It's a sticky Father's Day at the lake. The Father of my kids is taking a nap. I really love to watch him when he's sleeping so peacefully. We talked and walked last night and recounted our blessings: great kids, great friends, and, of course, our Father's love. We rest in that.

6/17/11

2011-06-16T18:45:00.002-04:00

Early in the morning, we will drive down to University Hospital for ERCP #3.

We covet your prayers.

DON'T Tell My Mom

2011-06-08T12:34:00.003-04:00

My mom is, among many other things, a survivor of The Great Depression. My dad used to say, often, that he never saw anyone who could stretch limited resources like my mom’s mom. They were a minster’s family in a rural community and saw, first hand, much suffering.

It made an impression on my mom. Waste not! Never! From my earliest memories, for me, it meant hand-me-down clothes from my older sister. (When I was done with them, well, they were also done so younger sister got new clothes. Also, Lil’ Sis and Baby Brother were born during the Gravy Years: Other Sister and I were born during the Biscuits and Gravy Years.)

It meant cleaning your plate; turning off the lights when you didn’t need them; using all of the toothpaste up; washing with that bar of soap until it disappeared.

Not complaining here: all good things.

However, as a newly minted adult and wife, I would occasionally assert myself when Mom and Dad came for a visit. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mom tense up as I emptied uneaten foot into the garbage disposal. She would sometimes make suggestion about what I could do with it besides throw it away.

Then, there were clothes. I remember that once my little girl’s gorgeous-but-not-expensive voile dress came apart at the waist. It had begun to unravel. I quickly assessed that the fix was not worth it. But Mom happened to be there, swooped in, and fixed it, good as new.

I HAVE grown up a bit and no longer wish to bait the mama. But, I will never be as wise and as frugal as is she. Some things are just beyond saving. Toss it out. Get another.

Alas: last week we were faced with a rather expensive mess. Our darling dog, having just received several injections, proceeded to eat some of her reddish dog food and then jump on our couch…..loyal readers know about the sleeping couch…and upchuck the contents of her stomach. In three different places, including between the cording.

Look, I’m a mom. Puke does not deter me. But RED on our WHITE (blue stripped) favorite couch?

At times like this, messes beyond reason, the hub stands back. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll wipe it up and see how bad it really is.”

Bad. Really bad. Really, really bad.

I drove over to our local ACE Hardware Store (which is, single-handedly, giving the big boxes a run for their money) and talked to my helpful hardware man. As we strolled to the cleaning supplies, he winced and said, “Red, huh? That’ll be tough.”

I headed home with some upholstery cleaner, read the directions, and got to work.

Vacuum first.

Check.

Try on a small spot.

Nah. If it fades, well, that’s better than red.

Squeeze a little foam and then scrub with brush.

Check.

Wipe up excess.

Check.

Let it dry. Maybe it fades as it dries?

Uh, nope. Still red. Really red.

Again, with the hub, “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll keep at it after this dries completely.”

Long, thoughtful pause.

“Maybe it’s time for a new couch,” he said.

Magic words for me.

Would we just toss this one out? Would we even be able to find a replacement? Certainly not just like this one, as it holds history, along with red doggy juices.

But after an hour of scrubbing and pretending that it really was getting better, I was warming to Plan B.

THIS is why you can’t tell my mom. No matter where her world travels are taking her today, she’d jump on the next plane and get here, supplies in hand, and she’d work on this couch until it was perfect or the fabric dissolved.

(As she is a follower of this blog, well,…..)

Not to worry, Mama. Plan A1/2 began to materialise.

Quite a few years ago, our cottage suffered from a kerosene heater malfunction. Every single thing inside was coated with black oily goo. Everything, including this couch. A local restorer has worked some magic and cleaned it up. Black and oily is as difficult as red and pukey, I reasoned.

So, I drove over to his business. Yes, he had remembered me and all the black mess. Yes, he would send someone over.

Early the next day, ServiceMaster pulled up and Josh jumped out. I shook his hand and escorted him to ground zero.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Ok, I’ll see what I can do.”

Magic, it appears. Within a hour, the entire couch was cleaned and freshened and sanitized.

We have our couch back, ready for our next guest.

Mom? Is that you?

6-8-2011

2011-06-07T20:02:00.003-04:00

37 years ago today, at high noon, in the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan, in front of God and a whole bunch of witnesses:

We joined hands and promised that we would.

We have.

We still do.

Chemo and Cars

2011-06-07T19:52:00.001-04:00

We were back in Kokomo for a Monday appointment.

Yesterday, Mike drove out to the Oncology Department. His numbers were acceptable so the treatment commenced. He reports that he was the only patient there. That meant that all 4 nurses came and checked on him and chatted him up and chided him to be careful and asked why he had not brought his guitar. He said all of this with a tinge of bother but I know it’s a show. He loves how they care for him. So do I.

Meanwhile, I got a few things done in Kokomo: bills paid, errands run, and some laundry completed. I also laid out the things I’m taking to Texas later in the week. I have one dress up event and then I believe I will dress for the weather, which is even hotter than Indiana, I hear.
Mike rode his motorcycle back to the lake and I followed in HIS truck.

A word here: My husband and I do not share the same philosophy about automobiles. I was raised in Detroit when that’s where cars came from. And there were a lot of cars. That region’s idea was 1) drive it, and drive it fast; 2) wear it out; 3) get another. Mike, on the other hand, has always been one of those car fanatics: he washes the car, by hand, when it gets RAIN on it. If we are driving after a storm, he will alter the route to avoid puddles which might contain, GASP, mud. He always parks away from other cars as ‘you just can’t trust them.’

Consequently, over the years, people have wanted to buy his cars, knowing what good care he takes. Mine? Ready to trade or scrap when I’m done with them. Some of us consider auto dings as its patina.

Honestly, I’ve gotten better over the years, although I refuse to let the weather determine if I’m going out.

So, although he loves me lots, he would rather me not drive HIS car which at this time is a Silverado truck. But this moving back and forth is tricky; this time, the bikes needed to come. That requires the truck. So, hub sucked it up and tried not to think about me driving HIS car.
I will report that I ran into no puddles and arrived several hours after he had.

“Where have you been?”

“Puddle jumping. Also, I stopped at Wal-Mart, just to get a few things, so I parked right by the door.”

Kidding. Kidding.

Today, we are enjoying the hottest day of the year so far. We both worked in the yard for about an hour, early in the morning, and then it was time to come inside to get out of the blazing sun.
Wednesday we head south again as I will catch a 7 AM flight on Thursday, from Indianapolis.

I asked a friend, an oncology nurse, what to make of days with pain, days with mild discomfort, and then days with nothing to make us think about cancer.

“Good days,” she said.

I’ll take as many good days as God will give us.

Sitting in the Shade on a Sunday Afternoon

2011-06-05T17:27:00.003-04:00

You may have noticed that I’ve lost count of the CHEMOs. That’s because the best laid plans of mice and men and Chemo Doctors, can go astray.

This treatment has targeted, among other things, Mike’s various colors: Red, White, Blue (ok, no chemist…..). All of the colors must be flying to get a treatment. We’ve had a few weeks when one or more were not at attention. Last week was such a week.

Tomorrow, Monday, we go back (yes, a trip back to the OLD neighborhood), get the colors checked out and then, if the time is right, Mike will sit for some more juice.

Right now, we’ve retreated inside as the afternoon sun is beautiful and brutal. Mike is snoozing off a monster steak he just ate. He saw a table top grill in a magazine and decided that we needed one. It’s out on the picnic table, all round and small and cute; and right now, it’s cooling off.

Earlier, I ventured back down to the Art Fair and dropped in to visit with several of my favorite shop keepers. While I was strolling, Mike tied the kayak to his ankle and went for a swim. It makes him feel good except that, as they say these days, the “algae is in bloom.” That is nicey nice talk for the lake is really dirty……bloom away, oh you green gunk.

We decided that we DO have a few appointments and visitors and trips and such so I brought back my desk top blotter/calendar….but I’m keeping it out of the way.

June will see visits from the Hayes side of the family. Also, I’m making a quick trip to San Antonio to hug some grandboys and to see Allyson graduate from residency.

July brings, I know, the 4th. Winona Lake does it up big on that weekend. Also, a buddy of mine may come up and teach me to play bridge. Here’s what I see: when you become a vintage lady, you either play golf or your play bridge. I’m no golfer. My mom, who is both, tried to teach me to play bridge but I think she began in the middle, too far ahead for me to follow. My buddy is a freshly retired teacher….teacher….you know, good at reading confusion on the student’s face. I’m hopeful I’ll get the hang of bridge.

THEN: best part of the summer, darling niece and her almost-as-darling fiancé will tie the knot in Raleigh at the end of the month. A large contingent of family will be there for the weekend.

Much fun.

So, for now, here on Sunday afternoon, I’m packing up to go back to Kokomo for the day and then back to our lake house home.

I’ll keep you posted as to our progress in the oncology department.

On Lake Time

2011-06-04T20:54:00.002-04:00

So, we've sorta moved our residence. We are 'at home' in Winona Lake. We will make trips back to the other home for treatments and so forth.

Just Thursday, two days into our 'move,' we had to go back because is was ROOT DAY. Some women of a certain age, certainly THIS one, make scheduled visits to the hair genius who cuts and colors and styles the hair.

Sally, a true artist, has been with me through much of my adult life. We figure it out...about 25 years. She coaxed me into perms when that was a bit deal; she coaxed me into that hair-through-the-cap stage until what remained was getting quite gray. Now we color and, on occasion, foil. Sally is so much more skilled than I appreciate. I know that I am approached regularly by someone who does appreciate a skilled coiffure, who asks for her name. Alas, or yon-ya, Sally is way too busy. I am blessed, believe you me.

Other than that, we are sliding into the lake life. It's a bit of a shock: no TV; no Internet; no central air; also no make-up or the need for dress up clothes.

The Village of Winona sponsors events throughout the summer. This weekend is the annual Art Fair. Lots of artists in various mediums, display their creations for the huge crowds that come. Today, it was steamy and sunny, good for that kid wheeling the cooler with bottled water. (Enterprise: another art) Sometimes the first weekend in June can be cold and rainy so this is better, meaning bigger crowds.

Two Winona Lake friends, who are also mother and daughter, have formed their own company. Their art is hat making. And although I'm in declutter mode these days, I just had to buy one of their hats.

As some of you come to me via other sites, you might enjoy checking out their work: Jillandabby.com Abby is a precocious 11 year old. And Mom is pretty cool, too.

From our porch, we can watch, as we did tonight, the storm that blew in. We've had a steamy hot day, even with a hefty breeze. So, the storm a-coming dropped the temperature about 10 degrees. Dark clouds mixed with pink ones, swirling until they were all dark. Then, big drops began to fall, just before the lightning. From our white rockers, we felt the cooling breeze and saw trees sway and grass ripple.

On other nights, we sit out on our pier, sip a little of this or that, and watch the sun set over the lake. Swans and ducks float past as the waves lap across the bow of a wooden boat.

And, I taught the hub something: he kept looking at his watch, like we had somewhere to go by a certain time. Which we don't. We're on lake time. "Why don't you take off that watch?" I asked him. "That's how I unwind in the summer, no bells, no set times."

It was obvious that this idea had never occurred to him. His watch, well, it's like part of his wardrobe. Ah, but we are sporting new wardrobes, or the lack thereof. So, he smiled and took it off.

NOW we don't really care what time it is. Sun up? Day time.

So, my set plan when we moved was to rise every day before dawn and walk to the drug store to get a newspaper. Then, I would walk back. And I would set aside a hour a day for uninterrupted writing.

You see that I have trouble letting go of a schedule.

So far, we've been sleeping in (and taking great naps), and the 'hour a day' just hasn't happened yet. I have a few entries, not finished, that will appear soon. But not tonight.

We're on lake time.

A Scene from the Chemo Room

2011-05-25T19:26:00.002-04:00

Whoever laid out the chemotherapy room at Howard Community Oncology Center knew what he was doing. It is shaped like a giant C. The nurses are in the open part of the letter, while the patients are facing them in an arc. Every cubical has a leather, cream-colored recliner, always stocked with a fresh white pillow. Each chair has a TV, although I have never noticed anyone watching. All chairs are surrounded by A privacy curtain surrounds all the chairs, and warm blankets appear upon request.

As you might guess, it is a pretty serious place. You do not end up there because you are healthy. You are there because you are sick…really sick…dying-kind-of-sick. Most of the patients are not talkative, except to their nurses, who are always upbeat and quick with a warm smile or pat on the shoulder. These nurses (angels, in my view) do an amazing job of trying to help you bear the unbearable.

I have learned to arrive at 8:00 am. No one is there but me, usually. Cancer patients are late sleepers, I guess. I like to get in there and get out. I hate to admit it, but the place depresses me and looking at people who are even sicker than I am depresses me more, because I know that is where I am headed. It is best for my psychological health to get in and out quickly.

A few weeks ago I was plugged in getting my weekly poison, when a very frail- looking older gentleman walked by me. He stopped and asked if I was Mike Bolinger and didn't I used to swim everyday at noon at the YMCA. I replied affirmatively and asked his name.

"My name is Albert Buchanon and I used to work out at the Y," he said, "until I got sick."

On that particular day, I had brought my guitar with me to pass the time of the therapy. Albert eyed it and asked, "Do you play the guitar?"

"A little bit," I replied.

"I can sing," said Albert. "Do you ever accompany singers?"

"I play in the band occasionally at Oakbrook Church," I said. "I do a lot of that."

Albert's nurse called to him for his chemo to begin and so we ended the conversation that day.

Two weeks later, Albert walked by again as I was plugged in. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" he asked.

"Not at all. What's on your mind?"

"You are a Christian, right?" he asked.

"I prefer the term Believer, but yes, I am," I responded.

"Well, I can sing. I have a lovely voice, you know?" He then paused. "Do you think they will let me sing in the choir in Heaven? There are going to be some pretty good singers there, you know."

What a question.

How would you have answered Albert's question? Think of the theological implications? Does Heaven exist, or is it a myth? Who will be there? Who will not? Will there be music? Or not? It would have been easy to say I did not have the faintest idea. Or refer him to a pastor, who might know. Or ask him if I looked like God; ask Him. There were a lot of possibilities and then the answer came to me.

"Albert, I do not know much about Heaven, but I know this. There is lots of music there. This is because God created music and He loves it. Particularly if it is praising Him. What could praise Him better than a choir? So I know there will be a choir. I do not think that you might sing in the choir. I know for a fact you will. I am certain of it. Why else would God have given you your voice?"

"You really think so, Mike?" he asked.

"No, Albert. I don't think so, I know so. And you know what else? You will get a solo part, too."

"I do not know if I could do that. A solo in the choir in Heaven? Wow!"

"Well, look at it this way, Albert. You will have eternity to practice. I'll bet you get pretty good in that time."

Albert beamed and went to get plugged in.

MIKE OUT.

Chemo Eight

2011-05-18T19:13:00.003-04:00

After a week off, out of sequence, Mike went back to the oncology department on Monday and the angels plugged him full of poison.

He came bearing gifts: his newest projects are wooden boxes.

(That sentence doesn't do them justice. Photos soon.)

Anyway, the doctors and nurses and technicians continue monitoring his cells: white, red, and 'other.' They are still not pleased with the numbers. Next week, Mike will meet with his doctor to discuss 'getting back on schedule.'

One discovery: Mike has returned to the Y and his swimming. You know, for some people, (like me) stroking the length of a pool -- back and forth, back and forth, back and forth -- would be nothing more than exercise that gets your hair all messed up. For Mike, it is most healing. He finds that as he stretches out, the discomfort in his middle eases. As he is a fit guy, working his muscles feels good.

His doctor might advise him against the public pool -- all those germs coming at the low-white-count guy. Or his doctor might say, as she does so often, "You need to enjoy your life."

We've chosen the later.

On the high school front, we are on final approach. Next week, we have three days of classes and then two days of exams. Exam days find me shuffling paper: the pressure shifts to them. I sense that my students are ready for the school year to end. Their English teacher is worn out, too. Summer vacation is just ahead.

St. Wignet, Healer of Cats

2011-05-15T20:21:00.007-04:00

I recently posted a blog entry about my remarkable sister, Lisa, known also as The Wignet. I spent several weeks thinking about the stories about her that I wanted to include in the piece. Immediately after posting, I got several phone calls from friends who informed me that I had left out the best story of all. I hate to admit it, but they were right.

So, here is the best story of all on the Wignet. Before you go on, let me say that those of delicate religious sensibilities, particularly Catholics, had best read no further. I figure the Lord knows when I am joking and He likes a funny story, too. Here's what happened.

It was the beginning of winter on Winona Lake. The Hobstetter's, who summer in the house next to my sister's house, had closed it up for the winter. My sister noticed that an unnamed, stray cat had taken up residence in one of the concrete window boxes around a basement window in the Hobstetter's house. Lisa immediately began to feed the cat daily. She also put old rags and dried leaves in the window box to keep the cat warm.

Try as she might, Wignet could not befriend the cat, who refused to have anything to do with humans.

One day after school, Wignet's youngest son, Isaac, ran in the back door and shouted that the stray cat had been hit by a car and was lying dead in the street a block away. Lisa quickly asked him to take her to the cat to get the body out of the street. As we all know, there is a certain demented part of the population that takes delight in running over cats, be they dead or not.

Isaac and Wignet arrived at the scene and, sure enough, the cat was lying in the middle of the street. Wignet told Isaac to run and get his brother, Caleb, who was to bring a snow shovel. Isaac was told to get an old piece of carpet out of Hobstetter's trash barrel and bring it back, while Wignet would stand watch over the cat-corpse.

Isaac and Caleb arrived shortly and Wignet told them that she would lift the cat up, so Caleb could scoop it up with the snow shovel into the carpet held by Isaac. They would then bury the animal.

Wignet approached the cat, stooped down and started to pick it up by the tail. At which time the cat opened its eyes, let out a blood curdling howl, lept to its feet and ran off between the houses, apparently thoroughly irritated that humans had messed with it. Wignet, Caleb and Isaac stood there shocked and speechless at what had just happened.

After a few seconds, Isaac said, "Unbelievable! Mom healed the dead cat!"

Wignet immediately said, "I did not. The cat was simply knocked unconscious and it regained consciousness. I did not heal the cat!"

Caleb stood silently for a moment and then said, "You didn't heal the cat. You brought it back to life just by touching it with your hand. That is really cool, Mom!"

Wignet said, "I did no such thing. The cat wasn't dead, at all."

Caleb said, "All I have to say is that cat was deader than a doornail, you reached down and touched it with your hand and it came back to life. I was here and I saw it. That is my story and I'm sticking to it. You resurrected the cat."

You can imagine how fast this story shot through the neighborhood and the family. When I heard the story a few days later, I called Wignet to tell her I had heard about it. She moaned that she was never going to live this down and the story seemed to have a life of its own. I asked her to tell me what happened. I then told her that was not at all the story I heard.

Wignet groaned and asked, "What did you hear?"

"Well, "I said, "I heard the cat was not quite dead, but was badly injured and dying. I heard that in the cat's last effort to live, it reached up with its paw and touched the hem of your jeans and that is when it was healed instantly."

"You are disgusting, Michael; God will get you for that!" said Wignet.

"Maybe so, but as I see it, you either resurrected the cat or you healed it, either way you are a Saint. By the way, that is what we are going to call you now: St. Wignet, Healer of Cats."

Lisa groaned.

"By the way, you ought to name the cat Lazarus," I said.

Wignet groaned again.

Mike out.

Chemo Eight

2011-05-11T13:43:00.000-04:00

Well, not this week.

That nasty therapy is playing havoc with Mike's white blood cells. These, you remember from high school science, protect you when you contract a disease. Chemo kills bad cells but also kills some good cells.

Mike's doctor wants him to wait until at least next week, so he gets a week off THIS week.

He had hurt his back while riding back from the lake....motorcycle and bumpy road. And so he was blue. Then, a friend dropped by.

Friends dropping by: great gift!

Grandparenting

2011-05-07T16:02:00.007-04:00

If you haven't tried it, I highly recommend GRANDPARENTING. It begins with a small bundle, wrapped and warm. You can just sit and stare at it (him or her) for hours. The bundle doesn't move; it doesn't talk; it doesn't really DO anything. Yet it is infinitely fascinating.

Then the bundle grows, smiles, turns over, crawls, stands, walks, runs, talks, hugs, and on and on. The BESTEST part is that you get to be a part of this child growing up yet you do not need to concern yourself with any of the important but oh so RESPONSIBLE parts, like nurtrition, schedules, church attendance, financial education, clean clothes, all that stuff.

The tough parts are when the children who are giving you grandchildren announce that in some part of their upbringing, THEY will be doing it better. And when you see that they ARE improving on your best parenting efforts.

We have two amazing grandchildren who live with their amazing Mother, our amazing daughter.

Here's Drew. He's almost 7 and today he's best dressed for the Texas heat. Already, they have days into the mid-90s. Soon, they'll consider such a day a reprieve from the heat.

Drew is almost finished with 1st grade. I'm sure that no one, no other first grader in the world, or universe even, has conquered his school work like Drew. He reads and writes; his arithmetic skills are superior; he opines on many a subject.

It's hard to pin him down on the phone but when do, he signs off with, "Bye, Gramma, I love you."
HEART HEART HEART!

Here's Noah. He is NOT, here, bothering his big brother.

What a Texan. EEEEE-ha~

Oh, by the way, Noah just turned

(Note the sushi: requested birthday meal)

You may be grandparents. Or someday, you may get your chance. I know you'll enjoy it but let's face it, you'll not top THESE grandsons!

CHEMO Seven

2011-05-05T14:59:00.001-04:00

This week, Mike’s date with the white leather chair was on Tuesday; Monday morning, he drove out to the hospital at 5:30 to “drink the lemonade.” This is part of the prep. for a high-contrast CT. He drove back for the tests at 9.

Dr. wanted to see if there was anything to see. Sooner or later, we expect that there will be something to see.

But not this week.

When Mike was tethered on Tuesday, his doctor pulled back the curtains, again with the big smile. Her report was that there is nothing to see.

What that means is that, right now, this cancer remains microscopic. The chemo regime is keeping the tumor at bay.

What that means is that the discomfort Mike has in his middle is NOT tumor. It may be the stent. It may be something else. But, you know? The pain has diminished considerably.

What that means is that Mike will get to play his guitar in church again.

What that means is that we can make that move north when the school year is done.

What that means is that Mike and his buddy might just take another trip to Deals Gap.

What that means is another anniversary. What that means is, possibly, another birthday bash.

What that means is that God is giving us more, more, more time.

What that means is that, once again, we are reminded that God is mighty; His timeline is not our timeline.

We are so blessed. Thank you for your continuing prayers.

TOUR Part II

2011-05-01T12:46:00.034-04:00

I see that I have goofed. Tour Part II will appear in the May Table of Contents. Part I, titled "Movin' on Up," is found at the end of April. Only one day for me but a change of month for you, gentle readers (we are wading through the Romantics right now at school.)

I hope you aren't confused. Anyway, to continue, here's a bit more to see at the Bolingers' Cottage. (Oh, by the way, how many people have asked me, English teacher, about the lack of punctuation in our blog's title? Many many many. Let me defer to an editor ('gentle editor') who set up the blog. I believe that apostrophes in a title might confused the cybermuse.)

As we continue our stroll, here is Mike's latest creation. He made this from a photograph; You can see details, I believe, somewhere in April.

And, as you may remember, Mike replaced all the cabinet fronts and remade the drawers in our cottage's kitchen. Our friend Frannie helped with colors and son Zach painted.

Me? My area of expertise involves cleaning out the refrigerator. Perhaps a tad less skillful but, let me tell you, we had neglected this for a long, long, long time.

I began by dumping out almost everything and then scrubbing, scrapping, and spraying all sorts of brightly colored chemical cleaners. (Daughter says, "You LOVE your chemicals, Mom.)

By the time I finished, I must say, it was pristine. I replaced only a few items so it looks like a proper bachelor frig: 3 cans of coke (in Indiana, this is generic) and two bottles of ketchup.

We DO go the the grocery store when visitors come.

So, now we'll turn, walk past all sorts of freshly-made Arts-n-Crafts creations, and hop up the stairs.

The stairway wall is papered with remnants of epic family vacations and a few odds and ends

Ivy stands guard. She's going to let us pass.

She thinks you may have some bacon.

No?

Hmmmmmm...maybe later.

Besides our room, here's where the grandboys stay when they are at the lake. It's a nice dark blue room with really good shades so if you need a nap and the couch is taken, this is a great place to crash.

Last summer, we borrowed another bed for Allyson. It's in what we call "The Library," so guests will have a nice selection of reading material.

This room, by the way, is dark chocolate brown.

That's C H O C O L A T E.

We hope to spend a lot of the summer in and around our little place. And, you see, there's plenty of room.

Mike LOVES any excuse to go grocery shopping.

Wait! I hear the Cocktail Class Racer buzzing by.

Movin' On Up

2011-04-28T21:11:00.016-04:00

For as long as we've owned our cottage, we've talked about moving up the lake for the summer. It's been all talk, no matter how much either of us wanted it: Mike was working long hours and I was teaching summer school. We really thought it was something if we got out of town by 3 on Friday. That gave us enough time to get to Winona Lake and enjoy Chicken Tortilla Soup, the Friday special, at The Boathouse Restaurant.

Well, this year, summer of 2011, we're going to do it. Mike, of course, is the man of leisure. My school ends with Memorial Day Weekend. So, hopefully, our new address will be 501 Adminstration Drive.

Many of you have visited us on the shore of Winona Lake. Perhaps some more, if in the area, will drop by.

So, I'm taking you on the tour of our place, complete with many newly-made pieces of furniture.

This corner piece dates back to Mike's earliest efforts. The item on top is a pewter replica of the Hunley, a confederate 'submarine' which you can actually see in Charleston, S.C. The wooden lighthouse belongs to our grandson, Noah.

Ahhhhhhhhhh. The new recliner with matching ottaman. Also, the side table that holds my reading material.

And this, not made by Mike, is the infamous 'Sleeping Couch.' Over the years, many guests have plopped down and then fallen into deep deep sleep. We wish, now, we had committed to photographing all of the sleepers. We'd have quite the album.

I, myself, took a snook this afternoon, after planting my flower boxes with Lynne-proof vines and flowers. I need my friend, Sande, but I followed her good advice, almost as good as her golden touch.

Some of you may remember this table. It has appeared before. And, as you can see, it's behind that addictive couch.

The cottage came with these pieced stain-glass double windows. We added this panel that Mike framed

We have a nice, airy space in front. A friend once described it as 'like the Cracker Barrel in Heaven.'

Our little piece of peace sits just back from the lake. We have no television or phone. You'll need to just show up. And if you do, we'll welcome YOU to the lake.

Hospital Tips

2011-04-28T20:00:00.014-04:00

In 1920's Paris, Ernest Hemingway, who had already gained fame as a novelist, was a member of what was later referred to as "Paris café society." He would have lunch regularly with such luminaries as Ezra Pound, Henry Miller, Anais Nin, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, James Joyce, and others.

I am a member of Kokomo's café society, which is made up of a number of the usual suspects, who are no less brilliant than Hemingway and his contemporaries, but have the good taste to be less public. As we all know, having a leisurely lunch with friend is a very special occasion and is to be treasured. It is rare that I do not have a lunch date these days.

I was having lunch with a friend last week and he asked me if I had learned anything during my sickness. I told him I had learned two things: 1) the meaning of life, and 2) how to get along in the hospital. He asked me several questions about staying in the hospital and commented that he guessed few people know what I know about hospitals and then opined that I should put it in writing on my wife's blog. Hence, this entry.

Let's suppose you are sick and your Dr. says you need to stay overnight for "some tests." How should you dress for the occasion? Simple. I arrive at the hospital wearing my boating shoes, a pair of athletic socks, my pajama bottoms and my Navy blue, hooded, floor length bathrobe. I have already put my toothbrush and toothpaste in tonepocket with my glasses and a bottle of Tabasco sauce in the other. I am sure I look like an ancient Druid on his way to worship at Stonehenge, but who cares? This is not a style show and the first thing the nurse is going to tell you to do is take off your clothes, put on that weird hospital gown with no back to it and get into bed. You might as well be comfortable in your own clothes, right?

A word about that cute little gown is in order. I always wear my pajama bottoms. Always. When I am told to put on the gown, I take my bathrobe off and say, "I brought my own. That's not happening". Never have I had a response other than "OK." Show a little backbone, but not your back end.

If you can swing it, try to get a room across from the nurse's' station. It is a little bit noisier than down the hall, but the staff can get to you more quickly if you are in trouble. Nurses have a tendency to check on you more frequently if you are across the hall and have a tendency to hang out with you and talk, which is a great thing. Nurses are very special, cool people with lots of good stories about crazy patients. Like me. If they send out for pizza and you smell it, they might give you a piece.

It may be that you have been there for a few days and your mouth tastes awful. A nurse might ask you if you want some ice chips. No, you don't want no stinking ice chips. What you want is "lemon ice," which seems to be stocked at all nursing stations in all hospitals. Lemon ice is essentially frozen lemonade. Big improvement over ice chips! From what I can tell, the supply is limitless, as I have personally depleted the stocks at two nursing stations during one recent stay.

Try to get a private room if you can afford it. Private rooms usually have their own shower. The nurses will not want you to take a shower, particularly if you are doped up. They worry you will fall in the shower, lose consciousness, or scald yourself. Maybe all three. Of course, you couldn't burn yourself if you had to because they have turned the water temperature to lukewarm, at best. Nonetheless, even a lukewarm shower will make you feel better. The trick is to get to take the shower. You can ask, but they will probably say no. I just tell them that is what I am going to do and do it. Sometimes the nurse will say she needs to check with the Dr's orders. While she is checking, go take your shower.

You may find yourself hooked up to an IV machine running off a wall plug. This might prevent you from getting to the shower. No problem. If you unplug it from the wall, it will continue to work under its own internal power system. You will not die. Hang the plug on top, get out of bed and maneuver it into the bathroom and take your shower. Be careful of the needle in your arm, Bozo!

What do all combat soldiers in Afghanistan have in common with hard-core hospital patients? They all carry a bottle of Tabasco sauce with them. I do not find hospital food to be bad. It just has no seasoning, so it tastes flat. Even Chicken ala Hospital can be tasty good with Tabasco sauce on it. Ditto for the commonly served scrambled eggs in the morning. The bottle can be kept under your pillow.

Always take something to read. Sleepless nights in a hospital can stretch on and on. I try to take a car or motorcycle magazine or something I am interested in with me. It is psychological. You can think about what you might do when you get out. I do not take a laptop. Why? Because every nurse has a story about walking into a room and finding the patient cruising a porn site. Laptops, by their very presence, are suspect. If you are stupid enough to bring your laptop, apart from insulting a professional who is trying to help you, may I suggest that the next time you need an IV, a bigger bore needle than is really necessary is going to be used. Ouch! Also, there is the possibility of an enema in your immediate future. Do we really need to go further? I think not.

Every nurse can find you a warm blanket, heated in their special blanket warmer. Once you have been tucked in a warm blanket, you will not forget the experience. The problem I have is that it is so unmanly to ask for a warm blanket. So what? You are a little cold. Be a man, right? But that blanket is so nice. I cannot bring myself to ask for one, but I will not turn it down if offered. It is my own weird little standard.

If you happen to be in Krannert at IU Medical Center or some rooms at St. Vincent (I am a veteran of both.), you might find yourself in a room with a view of the outdoors. Your bed has wheels. Ask your nurse to wheel you into the sunshine. She will. I remember a nurse did that for me at Krannert and made room in the bed for the Lynne. He said he wouldn't be back for at least an hour. I know what you are thinking. So was I…but not with 90 stitches down my abdomen. Even I am not that tough.

It is nice to have visitors when you are sick in the hospital, except when you are really, really sick. ( I have been there and I like to have the Lynne with me and nobody else.) Sometimes, visitors do not know when you have had enough visiting. Just say that you think you are going to throw up. The room will clear in a nanosecond. Trust me on this.

Most hospitals will assign a nurse to you during each shift. Always, always ask them where they went to nursing school. Nurses are professionals. They are proud of where they went to school. They do not give RN certificates away, especially when accompanied with bachelor's degrees. Always ask how long they have worked as a nurse. They will always tell you about their school and work. I have noticed that when you show some interest in them, you get separated out from the rest of the patients. Not a bad thing. Might get you a piece of pizza or, as one nurse did for me, a bowl of peach ice cream every day at the beginning of her shift. Love those nurses!

Always say thank you to whoever is working on you, if you are able. Apart from being common courtesy, which is rare these days, medical people appreciate that you acknowledge they are trying to fix you. I always say "Thanks for trying to help me, I appreciate it." They tell me so few patients ever thank them, just like the practice of law.

I do not mind being stuck with needles, having been drilled several hundred times by now. If needles bother you, then don't look, Bozo. Try to carry on a conversation when they are putting in the IV line. Watch the television or take a deep breath when you get stuck. It is not much, but it is the best advice I can give.

If you have to have an EKG, the technician will put these little rubbery thingies all over your chest. No big deal, except if you are a manly-man like me and have hair on your chest. ( Unless you work in the circus, this tip isn't for women.) You can handle this one of three ways. Shave your chest in advance. Not cool, because the guys in the YMCA locker room will look at you weird. Pull each one off in a quick, extremely painful jerk. Or just go take a hot shower. It turns out that warm water will melt the glue and the little thingies almost fall off. Very cool, right? I'll bet you didn't know that, did you?

I guess that is about it so far as hospital tips go. You want to stay out of hospitals, of course, but sometimes you can't avoid it. I should know. Take my advice and you will receive better care, the food will taste better, you will get a shower, and you will hear some great stories from your nurses.

Mike out.

CHEMO Six

2011-04-24T18:24:00.005-04:00

Monday was chemo day again. And I took the day off as I had a doctor’s appointment so I got spend time with Mike and the angels who care for him at the oncology center.

The treatment room is a large, semi-oval room with windows around the outside. Just inside the glass are large, plush, cream-colored loungers, separated by curtains and walls. Each little cubicle has a television, a few chairs and a cabinet for books and magazines. You almost don’t see the chrome metal stand from which holds plastic bags with various fluids.

In Mike’s treatment, most of the three hours is about liquids other than the chemotherapy: hydration, anti-nausea med, and a few other things.

Mike’s doctor dropped by as the treatment was coming to the ends. She was smiling large with news. Mike’s tumor marker had dropped.

Here’s the liberal arts, concentration-in-literature, explanation: most of us have a certain protein in our bloodstream. Normal levels are below 30. I don’t know 30 what. Just 30. Raised levels don’t mean a cancer diagnosis but such a reading would send a doctor looking for an explanation.

Before Mike had his gallbladder and its tumor removed, he scored 350. When his gallbladder was removed, this dropped to 10 and stayed there.

Apparently, that number had begun to rise. When we began the chemo, Mike was up to 200. Dr. Moore’s hope was that chemo would keep the tumor microscopic for as long as we can. We know we are buying time.

Our good news is that, right now, it’s 75. What that means is that the chemo is doing what we hoped it would: it is attacking cancer and slowing its growth.

Much celebration at the oncology department.

But, here’s something I learned that day. Those angels are all about celebrations. If there’s something positive, they will clap and cheer.

One of Mike’s new friends was in the next room. This time, he only puked once. Usually, he throws up 5 times. So, it was time to celebrate.

And I found myself thinking about how great it is to live looking for real things for which to be grateful. I’m going to work on that.

4/15/2011

2011-04-23T19:12:00.003-04:00

I was up early. Before I roused the hub, I drove to our local gas/convenience store to fill up the car and get a few newspapers. I knew I would be sitting for a time, while Mike had his second ERCP. The doctor would remove the old stent and place a nice, new, shiny one.

We know that we will do this in 2 to 3 month intervals.

As I pulled into the bay, this is what began on the Christian radio station:

I know it seems
Like this could be
The darkest day you've known
But believe you me
The God of strength
Will never let you go
He will overcome, I know
And the arms that hold the universe
Are holding you tonight
You can rest inside
It's gonna be alright
And the voice that calmed the raging sea
Is calling you His child
So be still and know He's in control
He will never let you go

Lyrics/music by 33 Miles

As a believer, I've learned to erase "coincidence" from my vocabulary.

We drove to Indianapolis; I avoided that U-Turn mistake from February. I dropped Mike at the door and parked the car.

University Hospital is HUGE. Many elevators, many hallways, many departments. All I remembered was that we were on the bottom floor. I think I took a less-convenient elevator but eventually found the right room.

The ERCP takes about 45 minutes. Mike was back in his room within a hour after they wheeled him out. According to Dr. Vogel, a jovial Canadian, Mike "did well." They inserted a "slightly bigger stent" which hopefully will stay clear longer.

The doctor was headed to Louisville with his daughter, for a soccer tournament. I asked if he'd like my newspapers. He smiled and took them, with thanks.

Then, we drove home.

Mike remembers none of this, including the after-procedure chat with the doctor. I"m not sure what they 'give' him (technically, it's not general anesthesia) but he has to abide a tube down the throat, to the stomach and beyond, to the bile duct. They want him compliant. He is.

When we got home, I tucked him in and he continued to be 'compliant' for the rest of the evening. He ate some jello and soup, wanted more but I stood my ground until about midnight when he got a grilled cheese sandwich. It was all buttery and brown, and melty, with grape jelly, just the way he loves it.

Ivy also loves grape jelly and she got some on her whiskers.

By the AM, he ate a real breakfast and then went back to bed. We turned on The Food Network and watched 6 episodes of Man vs. Food. As it concluded, the hub said, "I want some barbecue." So we were off to our local 'real' pit BBQ place.

We knew that Monday was his next chemo. For the remainder of the weekend, we walked, and played, and talked. Saturday's cold and driving rain made way for a sunny Sunday.