So…you thought I had disappeared off the face of this earth? I may as well have when it came to blogging. I made the horrible mistake of taking my one-and-only list of passwords on a trip and losing it. Then, too, I could not recall my user name for blogging; and no matter what I tried, I could not gain entrance to my own blogsite. Well, finally John stuck with the problem long enough to help me out of the mess I created. Now I am onto other pursuits.
My last blog was April 25th. There has certainly been a lot of water under the proverbial bridge since then. If I could have blogged, I would have written about the following:
Of greatest importance was the exciting news of the birth of grandson #2 – Lucas JOHN Wyatt. He traveled here with his parents and big brother Eli to see us. I had the privilege of holding him every morning from 5 til 8 a.m. What bliss! It did not look like David and Geoffrey would be able to get together during that visit, but David surprised everyone.
For our 46th anniversary, John took me out to dinner and to experience the Broadway play The Lion King. Awesome!
Our one-and-only trip this summer was an annual campout with all of our Washington-resident family. This was our third time to meet at Ohanapecosh Forest Camp near Mount Rainier for a funfilled weekend.
I also volunteered my body to three new studies on Parkinson’s disease. Now, PeDee and I are back and ready to share some of our adventures.
Just to let you know, I was not completely idle through this dry spell. I did write about each of the mentioned activities; but I think I will begin blogging from a clean slate. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
PeDee Takes Seattle
I apologize for the delay in this continuing saga, but my computer has had a limp.
When our children decided to give their septuagenarian father a fun-filled birthday present, they chose to meet in Seattle during Spring Break and do the Emerald City – whatever that meant. You see, his birthday is in January; but the earliest all the kids and grandkids could get together would be April. I expected to be the “odd man out.” Even if the invitation automatically would include me, I knew from past experience I would not have the stamina to climb the hills (rivaled only by San Francisco), maneuver the throngs of people, manage stairs, or stand in long lines. I figured PeDee and I would stay in whatever accommodations were arranged or, better yet, stay home. I should have known better. The day before we were to make the trip North, our oldest called to suggest I go online and look at rentable wheelchairs.
First morning/first thing, while everyone else toured the Seattle Central Library and Elliot Bookstore’s moving sale, my son drove me to Access Medical Equipment to select just the right chair for PeDee and me. The clerk showed us immediately the best wheelchair for the occasion. She did warn that we could expect some challenging terrain. I could just picture how that would go – sitting…abandoned…wondering where my transporter had gone or, worse yet, seeing him or her across a crowded area but unable to get their attention that I needed to be moved.
I won’t bore you with the details of how it came about, but by the time we left Access, PeDee was riding on a shiny little red scooter (hereafter to be referred to as the LRS) that could be broken down into five pieces. After turning the key, I had only to remember to choose my speed (turtle…..rabbit) and the right knob meant forward and the left meant backward. Dropping PeDee and me and the little red scooter (LRS) in front of Ivars restaurant where the lines were already forming for lunch orders, David went to park his vehicle. Meanwhile, I tootled to what I considered to be a nonconspicuous spot and parked, waiting for anyone from our group to join me. Within minutes the beggar carrying his cardboard “desperate” sign moved from down the way to position himself between the street and me.
Finally, our group of 14 convened and told me we had reservations to eat indoors. Driving the LRS in “hare,” I was able to keep up as we were ushered to Ivar’s very back table. As I entered that last room, the bump caused by the doorsill rendered LRS useless and completely blocked the doorway. Nothing I tried would restart it. A couple or more strong arms moved the dead vehicle into the corner of the room while we ate. After lunch, David was able to reassemble and resurrect the dead red scooter.
By the time we had eaten, it was decided to take the Harbor Tour next. While some of the group shopped for souvenirs and others purchased the tour tickets, PD and I stayed to the side. Instantly, a tour guide came up to me and said, “As soon as you have your tickets, let me know. We will put you at the front of the line.”
“There are 14 of us.”
“No problem.”
And so it was that we assembled for the group photo and were ushered onto the boat ahead of the crowd. PD was happily seated with a perfect view of Seattle City and constant narrative about the sights.
The next challenge was to cross the street to the parking garage and locate the elevator to Pike’s Market. How do I describe Pike’s Market? It is a very crowded public market. Some of the vendors stock and sell items they have created themselves (jewelry, tee shirts, note cards, CD’s, etc.); others hock fresh fruits and vegetables. What I wanted to see was the arrangements of bouquets of flowers (tulips, baby’s breath, and pussy willows). The group was to reconvene at the “flying fish” market. Try to imagine the ending of a ballgame or play when everyone is trying to exit and not lose sight of their party. Now, imagine that they are squeezed into a narrow aisle and are stopping every few feet to talk to vendors. To this mix, imagine a lady whose mode of transportation (LRS) dies ever time she stops. Now you have a hint of my experience. Each time the LRS died, I had to turn it off and back on to proceed to our rendezvous point.
It would be two days before Access would be able to swap the scooter so it was left in the car, and the decision was made to just return it. My diamond willow walking stick did not leave my sight while our tour continued. At the Science Center, Patty traded her identification for a wheelchair, and she and Geoffrey took turns pushing me. The most interesting elevator of the entire Seattle experience ushered us into the world of dinosaurs, visual illusions, and live butterflies. One wall of the elevator was transparent, and we could see into the room we were about to enter; the floor of that room was about knee high. Pushing the button to go up, we watched as the elevator inched its way even with the floor, a ride that took a couple of minutes.
Sunday morning worship and lunch with dear friends, REI, Space Needle, PeDee liked Seattle. He loved being with family – observing cousins and Aunts and Uncles interacting, and Papa John eating up this special birthday gift.
When our children decided to give their septuagenarian father a fun-filled birthday present, they chose to meet in Seattle during Spring Break and do the Emerald City – whatever that meant. You see, his birthday is in January; but the earliest all the kids and grandkids could get together would be April. I expected to be the “odd man out.” Even if the invitation automatically would include me, I knew from past experience I would not have the stamina to climb the hills (rivaled only by San Francisco), maneuver the throngs of people, manage stairs, or stand in long lines. I figured PeDee and I would stay in whatever accommodations were arranged or, better yet, stay home. I should have known better. The day before we were to make the trip North, our oldest called to suggest I go online and look at rentable wheelchairs.
First morning/first thing, while everyone else toured the Seattle Central Library and Elliot Bookstore’s moving sale, my son drove me to Access Medical Equipment to select just the right chair for PeDee and me. The clerk showed us immediately the best wheelchair for the occasion. She did warn that we could expect some challenging terrain. I could just picture how that would go – sitting…abandoned…wondering where my transporter had gone or, worse yet, seeing him or her across a crowded area but unable to get their attention that I needed to be moved.
I won’t bore you with the details of how it came about, but by the time we left Access, PeDee was riding on a shiny little red scooter (hereafter to be referred to as the LRS) that could be broken down into five pieces. After turning the key, I had only to remember to choose my speed (turtle…..rabbit) and the right knob meant forward and the left meant backward. Dropping PeDee and me and the little red scooter (LRS) in front of Ivars restaurant where the lines were already forming for lunch orders, David went to park his vehicle. Meanwhile, I tootled to what I considered to be a nonconspicuous spot and parked, waiting for anyone from our group to join me. Within minutes the beggar carrying his cardboard “desperate” sign moved from down the way to position himself between the street and me.
Finally, our group of 14 convened and told me we had reservations to eat indoors. Driving the LRS in “hare,” I was able to keep up as we were ushered to Ivar’s very back table. As I entered that last room, the bump caused by the doorsill rendered LRS useless and completely blocked the doorway. Nothing I tried would restart it. A couple or more strong arms moved the dead vehicle into the corner of the room while we ate. After lunch, David was able to reassemble and resurrect the dead red scooter.
By the time we had eaten, it was decided to take the Harbor Tour next. While some of the group shopped for souvenirs and others purchased the tour tickets, PD and I stayed to the side. Instantly, a tour guide came up to me and said, “As soon as you have your tickets, let me know. We will put you at the front of the line.”
“There are 14 of us.”
“No problem.”
And so it was that we assembled for the group photo and were ushered onto the boat ahead of the crowd. PD was happily seated with a perfect view of Seattle City and constant narrative about the sights.
The next challenge was to cross the street to the parking garage and locate the elevator to Pike’s Market. How do I describe Pike’s Market? It is a very crowded public market. Some of the vendors stock and sell items they have created themselves (jewelry, tee shirts, note cards, CD’s, etc.); others hock fresh fruits and vegetables. What I wanted to see was the arrangements of bouquets of flowers (tulips, baby’s breath, and pussy willows). The group was to reconvene at the “flying fish” market. Try to imagine the ending of a ballgame or play when everyone is trying to exit and not lose sight of their party. Now, imagine that they are squeezed into a narrow aisle and are stopping every few feet to talk to vendors. To this mix, imagine a lady whose mode of transportation (LRS) dies ever time she stops. Now you have a hint of my experience. Each time the LRS died, I had to turn it off and back on to proceed to our rendezvous point.
It would be two days before Access would be able to swap the scooter so it was left in the car, and the decision was made to just return it. My diamond willow walking stick did not leave my sight while our tour continued. At the Science Center, Patty traded her identification for a wheelchair, and she and Geoffrey took turns pushing me. The most interesting elevator of the entire Seattle experience ushered us into the world of dinosaurs, visual illusions, and live butterflies. One wall of the elevator was transparent, and we could see into the room we were about to enter; the floor of that room was about knee high. Pushing the button to go up, we watched as the elevator inched its way even with the floor, a ride that took a couple of minutes.
Sunday morning worship and lunch with dear friends, REI, Space Needle, PeDee liked Seattle. He loved being with family – observing cousins and Aunts and Uncles interacting, and Papa John eating up this special birthday gift.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
PeDee Untethered
Now that PeDee has been released, he is actually allowed out in public. Two weeks ago, I volunteered my body at Oregon Health & Science University (OHSU) for another research study. Let me just state, right here, anyone can volunteer for medical research. Folks with little or no ailments are needed for the “control” group; their data are used for comparing the afflicted with normal.
I was asked to stay off PeDee’s medication for at least 12 hours before showing up for the study. If PeDee would not be recognized in public by my slowed gait or body rattle, he would certainly be noticed by my beautiful Diamond Willow walking stick. John allowed an hour to transport me during the morning Rush hour; and, this time, we were early. Kelsey met us at 8 a.m. sharp and guided us through the catacombs of the Hatfield building to a small, equipment-crowded room to meet Brent. These two students would be testing PeDee’s wits and balance while on and while off medication. Meanwhile, John took the tram down to the trolley and enjoyed a Portland-city morning.
The study went fine…the selected words to remember for the morning were face, velvet, church, daisy, and red. CHECK. Some may question this, but I believe PeDee’s mind is intact. The worst part of the study was balance -- trusting the researcher enough to lean all of my weight against her hands, which were placed firmly on my shoulder blades and knowing that she would let go. Stepping backwards is particularly scary for elephants.
Perhaps in the near future, the Development of the Instrumented Test of Mobility will benefit others with Parkinson Disease.
* Thank you to my friend Anita for labeling this blog upon reading Meet PeDee..
Stay tune for the next installment of PeDee’s adventures – PeDee Takes Seattle
I was asked to stay off PeDee’s medication for at least 12 hours before showing up for the study. If PeDee would not be recognized in public by my slowed gait or body rattle, he would certainly be noticed by my beautiful Diamond Willow walking stick. John allowed an hour to transport me during the morning Rush hour; and, this time, we were early. Kelsey met us at 8 a.m. sharp and guided us through the catacombs of the Hatfield building to a small, equipment-crowded room to meet Brent. These two students would be testing PeDee’s wits and balance while on and while off medication. Meanwhile, John took the tram down to the trolley and enjoyed a Portland-city morning.
The study went fine…the selected words to remember for the morning were face, velvet, church, daisy, and red. CHECK. Some may question this, but I believe PeDee’s mind is intact. The worst part of the study was balance -- trusting the researcher enough to lean all of my weight against her hands, which were placed firmly on my shoulder blades and knowing that she would let go. Stepping backwards is particularly scary for elephants.
Perhaps in the near future, the Development of the Instrumented Test of Mobility will benefit others with Parkinson Disease.
* Thank you to my friend Anita for labeling this blog upon reading Meet PeDee..
Stay tune for the next installment of PeDee’s adventures – PeDee Takes Seattle
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Meet PeDee
The time is right to introduce the world to our resident elephant. PeDee moved in with our family practically unnoticed almost 20 years ago. He was not much trouble. Why, he did not even need to be fed the first five years. Up until recently, as long as no one mentioned him, he required little care.
I recall the exact moment PeDee announced his existence to the world. The location was not in our house as I had always expected; it was in the security line at the airport. I was sure I had left our resident pachyderm at home. However, much like a grandchild always packing a stuffed animal for security when they come for a visit, PeDee had slipped unnoticed into my carryon luggage. After showing our identification and boarding pass to the first security official, John inquired how long it would take to get through the screening process.
“Eight to ten minutes,” was the official’s reply as we merged into the hoards of people shuffling along at a snail’s pace. They seemingly took no notice of my bouncing body. For some reason, my medications were not doing their job that particular morning. As I tried to stand upright and act calm, my tremor started with my toes and moved upward until my entire body was at a full-boil rattle, and my head was turning side to side. I knew instinctively the skimpy barrier straps would be of little use if my body decided to topple over. I grabbed each flimsy pole through which the straps were threaded for anything sturdy to hang onto.
“You have chosen the Happy line this morning,” the charming, young people mover was announcing. “If you are not happy, you are in the wrong lane. Please move to another line.” I knew to not try changing lines unless I was ready to reveal PeDee to the world.
Meanwhile, my legs were so weak, and my body was going like a jackhammer. At last, I removed my shoes and placed everything on the conveyor belt to be xrayed. Then I stepped through the metal-detector arch without removing my jacket. I must have set something off because rather than having me step back through the sensor station, this guard used his wand and declared me harmless.
At that instant, PeDee emerged from my luggage, exploding beyond full growth for any elephant, rearing his head and blaring his trumpet unreserved. I am certain the entire terminal shook as the happy people-mover lady left her station to offer me assistance. She asked if she could help me with my shoes. I gladly accepted. Then, she asked me if I needed a wheelchair.
What occurred next surprised even me. From my own lips slipped the words, “Oh! Please!” We waited a couple of minutes for the day’s hero (that person being the wheelchair driver) to whisk me away to the front of the boarding line.
Since allowing PeDee out of his silent world, I have introduced him to anyone who will listen. I also have probably overused announcing the fact that I have Parkinsons Disease.
I feel that I need to explain the description “There is an elephant in our living room.” To me, this means that there is a huge problem in the household, and as long as family and visitors alike do not acknowledge its existence, we think everyone can be deceived. Folks may tread all around the subject, and perhaps even deny its presence.
One might wonder how our house guest came to be called PeDee. Very often, I receive medical literature. In recent years, I have noticed a reference to PDP, but could not find an explanation of its meaning. After several of these reference newsletters, I deduced that PDP stood for Parkinsons Disease People...thus naming the ever-present reminder of my very human flaw.
My reader can expect to hear more elephant stories in the future.
I recall the exact moment PeDee announced his existence to the world. The location was not in our house as I had always expected; it was in the security line at the airport. I was sure I had left our resident pachyderm at home. However, much like a grandchild always packing a stuffed animal for security when they come for a visit, PeDee had slipped unnoticed into my carryon luggage. After showing our identification and boarding pass to the first security official, John inquired how long it would take to get through the screening process.
“Eight to ten minutes,” was the official’s reply as we merged into the hoards of people shuffling along at a snail’s pace. They seemingly took no notice of my bouncing body. For some reason, my medications were not doing their job that particular morning. As I tried to stand upright and act calm, my tremor started with my toes and moved upward until my entire body was at a full-boil rattle, and my head was turning side to side. I knew instinctively the skimpy barrier straps would be of little use if my body decided to topple over. I grabbed each flimsy pole through which the straps were threaded for anything sturdy to hang onto.
“You have chosen the Happy line this morning,” the charming, young people mover was announcing. “If you are not happy, you are in the wrong lane. Please move to another line.” I knew to not try changing lines unless I was ready to reveal PeDee to the world.
Meanwhile, my legs were so weak, and my body was going like a jackhammer. At last, I removed my shoes and placed everything on the conveyor belt to be xrayed. Then I stepped through the metal-detector arch without removing my jacket. I must have set something off because rather than having me step back through the sensor station, this guard used his wand and declared me harmless.
At that instant, PeDee emerged from my luggage, exploding beyond full growth for any elephant, rearing his head and blaring his trumpet unreserved. I am certain the entire terminal shook as the happy people-mover lady left her station to offer me assistance. She asked if she could help me with my shoes. I gladly accepted. Then, she asked me if I needed a wheelchair.
What occurred next surprised even me. From my own lips slipped the words, “Oh! Please!” We waited a couple of minutes for the day’s hero (that person being the wheelchair driver) to whisk me away to the front of the boarding line.
Since allowing PeDee out of his silent world, I have introduced him to anyone who will listen. I also have probably overused announcing the fact that I have Parkinsons Disease.
I feel that I need to explain the description “There is an elephant in our living room.” To me, this means that there is a huge problem in the household, and as long as family and visitors alike do not acknowledge its existence, we think everyone can be deceived. Folks may tread all around the subject, and perhaps even deny its presence.
One might wonder how our house guest came to be called PeDee. Very often, I receive medical literature. In recent years, I have noticed a reference to PDP, but could not find an explanation of its meaning. After several of these reference newsletters, I deduced that PDP stood for Parkinsons Disease People...thus naming the ever-present reminder of my very human flaw.
My reader can expect to hear more elephant stories in the future.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Making New Traditions
What a wonderful word – “Tradition.” To speak it, we almost have to stamp our foot and yell out “TRADITION.” In our family, if you do an act twice, it could easily slip into becoming a tradition. For instance, if we attended any play or concert which included music, tradition dictated that event must be followed by ice cream. Of course, our children became experts at bursting into song if an evening’s play did not include music.
When Geoffrey decided to take a bride, he was especially excited that she experience our traditional family Christmas, which is bereft of what others might expect. Only twice have we ever strung lights outdoors, and the traditional family tree has been reduced to an elfin four-foot creation which may be kept completely bare….or not.
Our Christmas tradition begins on the day after Thanksgiving. That is the day we are allowed to bring out the few items which prod our reminiscing. We begin with the music. As December 25th draws closer, the hand-stitched stockings are brought out for hanging. Each child can still show you on his or her own stocking just which stitches they contributed to the project.
The hand-made, plaster ornaments emerge. Each one is special – not because of its beauty, but because of the story that goes with it. Geoffrey globbed black paint on his sheep so thick that only he recognizes it as a sheep. David camouflaged his by gluing on cotton balls. There is the dark blue angel candlestick, created by one proud kindergartener, utilized as a doorstop. The Mrs. Buttersworth bottle completely covered with collaged bits of tissue paper did eventually dry, but still appears to be oozing glue some 30-plus years later. And the piece de resistance. . . . the last thing to declare we are ready to come together to celebrate. . . .the fat angel is given a place of honor. She was handsewn many years ago and stuffed by an overly enthusiastic three year old Patty. For when she is in place, it is as though the angels are heralding, “Let the traditions begin.!”
There is one bit of silliness that keeps our pot of tradition stirred. It is a set of fourteen red, green, and white wooden blocks. With one exception, each block has letters on two opposing sides; the exception has only one letter. When placed one way, the blocks read JESUS LOVES YOU and the other way MERRY CHRISTMAS. Once, years ago, I came into the room and noticed some “Rocky” fan had changed the message to read YO JESUS LOVES. That was the beginning of a new tradition, which gets pretty crazy. The following are just a few samples of the unexpected messages which greeted us last year: MR. TEACH IS R JURY and I JUST LOVE MUSH and MUST I LOVE MUSH and MASSIVE TRUE JOY and OLE RUMMY STARES and USE MY WATCH SIR and R CREATERS MESSY and RUSTIC MOSS and MERCY SO SURE.
It makes one ponder. “What traditions, begun with our generation, will be passed along to future family?”
When Geoffrey decided to take a bride, he was especially excited that she experience our traditional family Christmas, which is bereft of what others might expect. Only twice have we ever strung lights outdoors, and the traditional family tree has been reduced to an elfin four-foot creation which may be kept completely bare….or not.
Our Christmas tradition begins on the day after Thanksgiving. That is the day we are allowed to bring out the few items which prod our reminiscing. We begin with the music. As December 25th draws closer, the hand-stitched stockings are brought out for hanging. Each child can still show you on his or her own stocking just which stitches they contributed to the project.
The hand-made, plaster ornaments emerge. Each one is special – not because of its beauty, but because of the story that goes with it. Geoffrey globbed black paint on his sheep so thick that only he recognizes it as a sheep. David camouflaged his by gluing on cotton balls. There is the dark blue angel candlestick, created by one proud kindergartener, utilized as a doorstop. The Mrs. Buttersworth bottle completely covered with collaged bits of tissue paper did eventually dry, but still appears to be oozing glue some 30-plus years later. And the piece de resistance. . . . the last thing to declare we are ready to come together to celebrate. . . .the fat angel is given a place of honor. She was handsewn many years ago and stuffed by an overly enthusiastic three year old Patty. For when she is in place, it is as though the angels are heralding, “Let the traditions begin.!”
There is one bit of silliness that keeps our pot of tradition stirred. It is a set of fourteen red, green, and white wooden blocks. With one exception, each block has letters on two opposing sides; the exception has only one letter. When placed one way, the blocks read JESUS LOVES YOU and the other way MERRY CHRISTMAS. Once, years ago, I came into the room and noticed some “Rocky” fan had changed the message to read YO JESUS LOVES. That was the beginning of a new tradition, which gets pretty crazy. The following are just a few samples of the unexpected messages which greeted us last year: MR. TEACH IS R JURY and I JUST LOVE MUSH and MUST I LOVE MUSH and MASSIVE TRUE JOY and OLE RUMMY STARES and USE MY WATCH SIR and R CREATERS MESSY and RUSTIC MOSS and MERCY SO SURE.
It makes one ponder. “What traditions, begun with our generation, will be passed along to future family?”
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
HAUGHTY SPIRIT
When I acquired a pen pal in China, I was unprepared for one of Lucy’s questions. She had specialized in the study of the English language for 18 years of her short life. By her letters, she seemed to have an excellent command of her topic of study. I have since been told that, in person, it was hard work for Americans to understand much of her spoken words.
In one letter to me, she asked, ”Why is your language so difficult? In my language, there is only one word that means to walk. But in English, there are many. For example saunter, swagger. shuffled, moped, skipped, etc.. Can you help me to grasp this concept?”
As I recall, I spent quite a chunk of time gathering information, forming my thoughts, and answering her question. Now, I am finding myself searching for just the right terminology in describing the word fall.
In May of this year, I had on hosiery that caused hardwood floors to be very slippery. And, sure enough, I slipped. The result was two crushed vertebrae and eventual back surgery.
Last Sunday morning at 5 a.m., out of concern for a neighbor, I traipsed across our lawn in bare feet. I know exactly where the short path lies, the familiar clearing we have worn from years of crossing our property lines to visit or share with each other. What I did not take into consideration was the complete darkness that time of morning and the fact that the path had not been used very much in recent times. Well, I tripped, tangled in a short, brushy ground cover. And here I sit with my left arm in a splint, learning to type with one hand, and kicking myself that I will still be thus encumbered when Eli comes to entertain and be entertained in one short month.
I am really hoping to not plunge, dive, stumble, hit the dust, faint, misstep, step in a hole, become upright challenged, tumble or....must I say it? FALL ever again!!
Proverbs 16:18
In one letter to me, she asked, ”Why is your language so difficult? In my language, there is only one word that means to walk. But in English, there are many. For example saunter, swagger. shuffled, moped, skipped, etc.. Can you help me to grasp this concept?”
As I recall, I spent quite a chunk of time gathering information, forming my thoughts, and answering her question. Now, I am finding myself searching for just the right terminology in describing the word fall.
In May of this year, I had on hosiery that caused hardwood floors to be very slippery. And, sure enough, I slipped. The result was two crushed vertebrae and eventual back surgery.
Last Sunday morning at 5 a.m., out of concern for a neighbor, I traipsed across our lawn in bare feet. I know exactly where the short path lies, the familiar clearing we have worn from years of crossing our property lines to visit or share with each other. What I did not take into consideration was the complete darkness that time of morning and the fact that the path had not been used very much in recent times. Well, I tripped, tangled in a short, brushy ground cover. And here I sit with my left arm in a splint, learning to type with one hand, and kicking myself that I will still be thus encumbered when Eli comes to entertain and be entertained in one short month.
I am really hoping to not plunge, dive, stumble, hit the dust, faint, misstep, step in a hole, become upright challenged, tumble or....must I say it? FALL ever again!!
Proverbs 16:18
Friday, October 30, 2009
Training Up A Child
As I write this, David (our firstborn) is on his way for a visit. He called a couple of days ago to say he would be coming by train. I arose at 5:20 a.m. and called his cell phone to make sure he was still coming. He answered."Yes. The wheels just started turning. I am on my way."
I do not know how much life's experience he has riding this mode of transportation; however, I do recall our first visit to the "lower 48." After living in Juneau 3 years, our family of four flew to California. Mainly, the reason for this journey was so our two children could experience unconditional love otherwise known as "Grandparents." The plane we were on from Seattle to San Francisco had a scheduled stop in Portland, Oregon, where David peered out the window and noticed the sprinkler system watering the grass and asked, "What are they doing?"
We explained to him that places other than Juneau sometimes had to make certain their plants did not die from lack of rain. The way this was accomplished was to feed water to them. He thought for a second and surmised, "That is the silliest thing I ever heard!"
He did not realize that life was full of silly things. This child was too young when we moved north to recall "cows" and "sheep" and "goats" other than in books we read. In real life, he was accustomed to "seals" and "whales" and "bears." So, when riding from the airport, Grandma pointed out the sheep "over yonder" (thus earning her the title That Yonder Lady). "But where is the shepherd?" he asked. Another time, Grandpa stopped the car to point out the"horned toad" crossing the road.
After the allotted time with my parents, we decided to take the train south to visit John's family. The train left us free to point out every herd of cattle or grazing horse or bleeting sheep as we passed. Hours after John and I had tired of that game, David was still going strong, identifying every living thing God made. Somewhere around Santa Barbara, David called out "tiger" to which we started to explain that tigers don't live in California. That is...we STARTED to tell him, except that, looking out the window, we discovered that he was right. For the train was passing through a zoo!
I wonder what splendor he will discover on today's journey!
I do not know how much life's experience he has riding this mode of transportation; however, I do recall our first visit to the "lower 48." After living in Juneau 3 years, our family of four flew to California. Mainly, the reason for this journey was so our two children could experience unconditional love otherwise known as "Grandparents." The plane we were on from Seattle to San Francisco had a scheduled stop in Portland, Oregon, where David peered out the window and noticed the sprinkler system watering the grass and asked, "What are they doing?"
We explained to him that places other than Juneau sometimes had to make certain their plants did not die from lack of rain. The way this was accomplished was to feed water to them. He thought for a second and surmised, "That is the silliest thing I ever heard!"
He did not realize that life was full of silly things. This child was too young when we moved north to recall "cows" and "sheep" and "goats" other than in books we read. In real life, he was accustomed to "seals" and "whales" and "bears." So, when riding from the airport, Grandma pointed out the sheep "over yonder" (thus earning her the title That Yonder Lady). "But where is the shepherd?" he asked. Another time, Grandpa stopped the car to point out the"horned toad" crossing the road.
After the allotted time with my parents, we decided to take the train south to visit John's family. The train left us free to point out every herd of cattle or grazing horse or bleeting sheep as we passed. Hours after John and I had tired of that game, David was still going strong, identifying every living thing God made. Somewhere around Santa Barbara, David called out "tiger" to which we started to explain that tigers don't live in California. That is...we STARTED to tell him, except that, looking out the window, we discovered that he was right. For the train was passing through a zoo!
I wonder what splendor he will discover on today's journey!
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