I've seen fire and I've seen rain

Rain! Love it! An inch fell tonight with the promise of more tomorrow. All day the air was heavy and humid. When I played with the quartet for the first wedding of the day, at 1:30 p.m., the sky was too bright, the air somewhat stifling. By the end of the wedding it was hot and I was hotter, not having managed the ever present temperature adjustments my body refuses to make quickly. The doctor’s latest advice on this “temperature adjustment difficulty” is that it will pass in about five years. Five years! Do you have any idea how hot, or cold, a person can get if their thermostat won’t regulate for five years? Talk about global warming! All baby boomers with hot flashes should just rebel right now and get Congress to pass a bill regulating OUR temperature. Forget the polar ice caps. Get me a Sonic Route 44 right NOW!

There was another not so tiny problem today that could have been related to aging. My joints hurt. I don’t mean they ached. I mean they fell like they were on fire most of the day. I woke up that way and even took plenty of ibuprofen, did stretching and exercises in the floor just after getting out of bed this morning. That’s another thing the doctor says needs attention—the joints. We’re talking about flesh and bone here, not the illegal variety. The doc wants further follow up on the latest comprehensive lab results. When I had the lab tests it was only two days before Daddy had pneumonia, and I thought nothing about it, because for years and years, all my labs return with perfect results—right down the middle of the charts. Not so this year. The results showed a slight increase in the cholesterol and an enormous jump indicating inflammation. Flames! Fire! I prefer the fire of the Holy Spirit, thankyouverymuch. Anyway, the thumbs were flaming after playing for the first wedding, so I took more OTC anti-inflammatory drugs, rested while Muffin rubbed the arms with Blue Emu goo, and drove myself to wedding number two for the day. Our quartet played with another quartet, along with a trumpeter, a pianist, an organist, and guitarist, along with three vocalists. When I sat down with the other first violinist who is about thirty eleven years younger than I am, he said, “I don’t know why, but my hands have hurt all day and now it’s really bad.” I really tried not to feel gratified. Really, really tried. Anyway, it began raining while we were playing and both of us began to feel better.

I simply refuse to accept that I have growing pains. Not when the twenty-somethings are complaining too. This lovely rain that is falling goes a long way to regulate temperatures and quell fiery pains. Thank you, Lord for Your rain. Amen.

Summer Fun

Summer. Love summer. Reminds me of baseball, swimming, reading all the books I ever wanted to read and stayed up really late to do so, hanging out with friends, riding bikes and snow cones. Never mind that all those events and pleasantries are far in the past, my youth that got up and went with my get up and go. My memory is fully intact, and I like to think about very long ago. Summer is still a time of reading what I wish to read, but I gave up bicycles and snow cones for other pursuits.

Today I got a pedicure, a hair cut, prepared a bonnet for hand smocking, and ironed my arm. Wish that were a typo, but I did not reach far enough over the iron to grab the spray starch and branded myself. Ouch! So I drove around town with a dishcloth full of ice cubes tucked between the inside of my arm and my ribs.

I shopped for Muffin, buying shirts and shorts and received an order of hats—lovely straw for summer from this store. He looks even better than usual wearing these hats!

Then I went to the gym and wore myself out really good, hoping I can sleep tonight, cause I didn’t again last night.

When I got home, this extraordinary work of humor and entertainment was waiting for me, and you, and anyone who has the address. Now, I’m watching So You Think You Can Dance like I’m their biggest fan, but this is even more entertaining cause he’s my grandson. That boy is really funny. And loud. And funny. His Mama was funny too, so he gets it honestly. Real summer fun.

Marking Time

As I try to return to a semblance of reality and routine, I gather fatigue. Maybe it’s because I am missing Daddy. Or because I let many things go unattended over three weeks and I’m scrambling to pick up the pieces. Or perhaps it’s because I feel more responsibility toward my Mom than I ever have. Maybe it has something to do with my health.

Restless is how I feel every evening, beginning at around 5:30 or 6 p.m. for about four hours. It just seems that I should be at the nursing home, checking in on what kind of day he had, how his speech is today, whether he has a sparkle in his eye or the dullness that only dementia produces. I still wonder who is on call for the evening, who is working the floor, which nurse is taking the night shifts. And I miss Danny and the “block party boys”—the precious aide who takes the men from two halls outside every evening, paying for the juice and cookies out of his own pocket. They listen to gospel music in the courtyard under the trees just before twilight.

Frustrated and over committed is how I feel every morning when I begin making phone calls to schedule lessons, weddings, and programs. All I want to do is my Bible study, but I sing to myself, say a few scriptures, and do a few cheers to bolster my energy levels. Then I fall asleep on the sofa late in the afternoon and almost miss my gym class.

A bit anxious is the feeling I have after spending the morning with Mother—seeing her pain level, knowing she almost has all the paperwork finished in dealing with the changes after Daddy’s death. The certificates are filed, the banker’s home will not be her new home, and soon all the notes of thanks will be written. She needs to re-schedule another spinal injection, canceled in the last weeks Daddy was alive. She needs cataract surgery on one eye. Her house needs new doors and locks in two places. Paint, flooring, gates and perhaps a security system, as well as a smoother surface where the car is parked are top priorities. I made the mistake of mentioning 2 or 3 of those items today. She isn’t afraid, doesn’t worry, doesn’t want the invasion of workers or even family helpers, and only cares about new carpet and tile repair at the present time.

We chose the grave marker today. It will be lovely in bronze and granite with dogwoods and a Methodist cross and flame as Christian symbols. The dates of birth and death, and a triangle of straight razor, comb and shears will complete Daddy’s side. Mother will have the Methodist cross on her side. The veterans’ marker will indicate that he served in the Army in WWII and give his rank. That will insure that the US flag is posted for each holiday, especially Veterans Day. In three to ten weeks all will be in place, no doubt.

In this stage of life we mark time by the events in our lives—children’s weddings and anniversaries; grandchildren’s birthdays; length of time spent on a job or in service as an employee; time between doctor’s appointments; date of death. I long for the courts of the Lord, where there is no time, no repairs, no darkness, no illness, no death. And the Big Event will be eternal praise to our God, who is SO worth it.

Almost a Routine

A few weeks ago I was gearing up for one month of teaching my violin students, getting them ready for summer institutes and festivals and camps. The plan was to teach two days each week for 4-5 weeks, spending one morning each week in Bible study, and working fervently other days on smocked clothing for Gracie, Em and Roo as well as plans for music club programs for monthly meetings in fall and spring 2009. After Daddy became ill I lost my momentum and ambition. Last week I promised that I would teach this week, no matter what happened

After 40 years of teaching students of various ages I might have grown weary, but most all the days I have taught someone a lesson, I am invigorated. Today I taught five families-a total of 12 students ranging in age from 3-13 for a total of five and a half hours. Although I’m tired (I was tired before I ever started the lessons) I feel a sense of routine and accomplishment and fun. We did lots of fiddle tunes—Dill Pickle Rag is my favorite title. Bear Creek Hop, Cripple Creek, a few traditional folk songs and waltzes always help the classical techniques by strengthening the 4^th finger and improving string crossings. One or two students really wanted to play classical pieces altogether and they played really well. Another family is playing for a wedding in October and they worked hard on duet arrangements of Trumpet Voluntary, Trumpet Tune, the traditional Bridal Chorus and Wedding March, and Ode to Joy.

I am always inspired by the efforts in concentration, motor skill coordination, and listening. If you have never tried to play a stringed instrument it’s surprisingly complicated with very small motor skills requiring even more repetition to master control than larger muscles involved in athletics. Plus, throw in the real problem—left hand does something entirely different from right hand—and you have a difficult challenge. Even after practicing and learning the skills to play notes, the bowing techniques remain a challenge. Producing beautiful tone is lots of work! Ever notice how solo performers sweat when they are on stage? It isn’t just the heat from the lighting.

I snagged a venue for the December meeting for our club (Score!) at last year’s rate. After one more load of laundry and checking on the Nannie, I dragged myself to the gym. Although I was too tired to do a great workout I spent almost an hour doing some cardio and resistance training. Feels more like a routine from the past somewhere. Only thing missing was my evening visit with Daddy.

Wingless Wonders

I once heard a preacher's wife who said she formerly had wings until the backbiters chewed them off. Ouch!
I think, in the past 6 weeks or so, I've heard 4 sermons on the subject of grumbling, and did some Bible study on it my own self, too. To sum up what I learned: God really hates it! He hates it so much that the Hebrews who grumbled against Him and then against Moses, did not enter into the Promised Land. Then when Moses grumbled against the grumblers, he was denied entrance himself. An entire generation of grumblers was left to die in the desert, just miles from the Promised Land. Plus that, they wandered for 40 years trying to accomplish the goal! God provided water, food, shade, and fire, their clothing never wore out, but they wanted the Food Channel, with the gourmet stuff and were big fans of What Not to Wear and wanted makeovers.
Galatians 5:14-16—For the whole Law concerning human relationships is complied with in the one precept, You shall love your neighbor as yourself. But if you bite and devour one another in partisan strife, be careful that you and your whole fellowship are not consumed by one another. But I say, walk and live habitually in the Holy Spirit—responsive to and controlled and guided by the Spirit; then you will certainly not gratify the cravings and desires of the flesh—of human nature without God. (The Amplified Bible)

May God forgive us for grumbling and teach us how to walk and live habitually in the Holy Spirit. That’s real living!

Too Tired Top Ten (alotta alitteration)

Ten Ways you know you are Too Tired:

10.You can't even sleep, no matter how hard you try
9. You can't remember why you started this list
8. You start 15 projects and finish none of them
7. You're not sure you can make it back to the house after walking to the curbside mailbox
6. You have the balance of a toddler on a sailboat on rough sea
5. Sunshine makes you irritable
4. Moonlight makes you irritable
3. Phone solicitations don't make you irritable
2. You have 10 items in your car to return, mail, or upgrade, but you can't remember where, why, or when.
1. You try to slice your apricot and rinse your bread. (How I wish I had made this up!)

I never went to sleep last night. Just stayed up all night, writing notes, listening to sermons on podcasts, drinking tea, reading emails about meetings I missed and planning on which I am terribly behind as program chair (Does that place me behind a chair? Am I not with the program?). Then I packaged items for mailing. After that I organized some clutter. Before I knew it, the clock read 6:40 a.m.

It seems that those 2 weeks of sleeping 20 minutes here and there, or none at all at night and then 4 hours from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., or perhaps none for a day and a half, then 6 hours in the middle of the day, has my body discombobulated. Any suggestions for a remedy?

One more tribute

It has been one week since Father's Day. I listened today to 3 sermons, and 2 of them were recorded on Father's Day, but that day this year was two days after Daddy breathed his last breath, and one day before he was buried. Our family sort of "postponed" Father's Day. It was a bit too painful. JB and CB celebrated yesterday. Boo and M went through the motions. The three girls who were home for the day gave Muffin a great card, and we all smiled, but still there was a sadness that prevailed. So, I'm posting one last tribute, read at the Celebration service by an "older brother" from our church youth group who has remained a faithful friend to our family all these years.

Memories of Daddy Dub
I have so many memories of the man that I was privileged to call Daddy Dub. Some are far too personal to be shared with anyone other than Momma A., or Sister J. or Brother R. But distilled to its very essence my one overall memory of Daddy Dub is this: he was a really good man. Somehow to say simply that he was a really good man doesn’t seem intense enough or powerful enough a statement. But when I think of what that statement implies it seems to be most appropriate.

Daddy Dub was a really good husband. He really loved Momma A. He was faithful and loyal to her “‘til death us do part” as it says in the marriage vow. Daddy Dub was the epitome of what God intended when He established the institution of marriage. In my mind Daddy Dub was the model of what a Christian husband should be.
Daddy Dub was a really good father. He really loved Sister J. I know that he would have done anything in his power for her. I know he sacrificed to provide J with the opportunity to develop her God-given gift of music. He didn’t do so because he considered it a duty or obligation. He did it because he really loved her. He also saw to it that she was well grounded in the Christian faith and knowledge of her Savior, Jesus Christ. What better could a father do for his daughter?
Daddy Dub was a really good grandfather and great grandfather. He really loved his granddaughters. Take it from me—I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. I wasn’t around much while the granddaughters were growing up, so my first-hand knowledge of that is limited. But, I heard things.
Daddy Dub was a really good member of his church. He really loved Grace Church. When persons present themselves for membership in a congregation of the United Methodist Church, they are asked: “ Will you be loyal to the United Methodist Church, and uphold it with your prayers, your presence, your gifts and your service?” Anyone who knew Daddy Dub knew that he really lived up to that vow.
Daddy Dub was a really good friend. If you had Daddy Dub for a friend, you really had a friend. He was a friend that you could share a confidence with and know that it wouldn’t go any further. He was a friend that you could seek counsel from and know that he would tell you what he really thought, not just what you wanted to hear. And most of the time his advice and counsel was right on the money.
Daddy Dub will really be missed. He will be really missed by his wife, Momma A. He will be really missed by his daughter J and he will be really missed by his granddaughters. He will be really missed by Grace Church. And he will be really missed by his many, many friends who respected and admired him.
Daddy Dub will even be missed by great grandchildren too young to fully appreciate who he was, and even those yet unborn. Someday they are going to hear their mothers and grandmother talking about Dubbie and they will want to know about him. Perhaps a good way to start to tell them about Dubbie will be to say, simply, “ Dubbie was a really good man”.