Friday, February 19, 2010
Your fences need to be horse-high, pig-tight and bull-strong.
Keep skunks and bankers and lawyers at a distance.
Life is simpler when you plow around the stump.
A bumble bee is considerably faster than a John Deere tractor.
Words that soak into your ears are whispered…not yelled.
Meanness don't jes' happen overnight.
Forgive your enemies. It messes up their heads.
Do not corner something that you know is meaner than you.
It don't take a very big person to carry a grudge.
You cannot unsay a cruel word.
Every path has a few puddles.
When you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty.
The best sermons are lived, not preached.
Most of the stuff people worry about ain't never gonna happen anyway.
Don't judge folks by their relatives.
Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you'll enjoy it a second time.
Don't interfere with somethin' that ain't botherin' you none.
Timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance.
If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.
Sometimes you get, and sometimes you get got.
The biggest troublemaker you'll probably ever have to deal with, watches you from the mirror every mornin'.
Always drink upstream from the herd.
Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from bad judgment.
Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin' it back in.
If you get to thinkin' you're a person of some influence, try orderin' somebody else's dog around.
Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Molly (name changed) was my assigned patient, an elderly women diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease needing total care. She stared at me in bewilderment, as I readied her for the day. She began to cry as she realized she was lost and couldn't remember why. Where had her life, her memory gone? She cried because she couldn't do the simple task of putting a shirt on by her self. It is a humiliating thing to lose the ability to take care of ones' self. I tried to distract her with cheery comments as I helped her to her chair for breakfast.
"My husband was a good man, but he's not here, and he left me in this place," Molly tells me, "but I wait. The man he's coming this morning to see me."
The nurses tell me Molly's husband comes in every morning, and sure enough at about ten o'clock an elderly man comes down the hall with a bag full of letters and a cat tucked under his arm... He introduces himself to me as James (name changed), Molly's husband, and willingly offers to have me come join him and his wife for the morning. He winks to me and say's "This is her therapy that I go over with her every day." He takes her to a quiet room, and sets the cat on the table. Now to tell you about this cat he has bought her: it's orange and white, with long and lush fur, and contently purrs and meows by battery.
Being near her husband, and the simple act of petting the fake animal seems to calm her. A huge change has come over this women who was lost and depressed just a few minutes ago. Now it seems that she has suddenly come alive.
He sings to her the songs they once sang to each other. He turns on the radio to the oldies station, takes her out to the middle of the floor, and they dance around and around in circles.
He'll then take her hand and guide her down the carpeted, generic halls of the nursing home for their morning walk.
He takes her to the dinning area to see the fake roses and irises. She smiles at the colors, not realizing they're dollar store fake flowers.
He sees that her back is in pain from walking so far, and so he sets her in a wheel chair. Back down the hall and back to the quiet room again, he pulls out cards and letters from old friends who have written an encouraging word to her. At last he pulls out a card that he himself had written to her on an anniversary years ago. She reads it aloud to him: "...If I had to live life over again I would do it with you, because you are my best friend. With love, James"
He implores her, "Who is that? Who wrote this card to you?" She smiles... "James." "And who is James?" he asks. "My husband," she tells him with spunk in her voice. "Then who is he?" he asks. She nudges him with her elbow, "Well you!" For a moment a smiles breaks his faces and he knows he has her for just that moment. Although she does not always recognize this man as her husband, she know this man has loved her, loves her now and always will love her.
I leave them for a while to go to lunch. As I come back, I see James' mind is weary. Keeping an up-beat attitude for his wife has drained his energy. They are holding hands as she finishes her lunch. He tells her, "Hon, I am going to go get my lunch and take a nap, but I'll be back at 3 o'clock." "Okay," she replies, and he kisses her. As he leaves her side, he doesn't tell me in words, but his eyes tell me, "Take care of her while I am gone. She's my life!" His shoulders sag just a little and his gait quickly carries him out to escape the surroundings of the nursing home. He is mentally fighting the fact that he is losing his companion. He will not give up a moment to spend with her; he knows each moment is a gift. He keeps fulfilling his vow: in sickness and in health 'til the last breath is breathed.
God has shown me more of Himself through this couple; it is an inspiration to see what love can do. I didn't want this to be a Valentine's Day story, but rather to show that God can write beautiful love stories through His people. He created Man and Woman together to show the world how powerful a family with God in it can be, to shine a light to the darkness.
As I think more about their story, James reminded me of Christ: every day coming to us, helping us to remember "Him."
Thursday, February 11, 2010
So it's been about six months since the remolding/addition has started on our house so I have decided to update with a tour of the construction. There has been plenty of hammering, banging, clanging, stomping, sawing, air compressors, dirt and dust and plenty of crazy events. For instance a bookcase falling over make a large crash and a huge mess, our little white dog still finds Teddy's boot tasty every Monday, I randomly get called to hold a board or measuring tape, my poor friend finds her self trapped in the bedroom after my dad started to jack the house up and resulting in the door jamming in the frame, you generally find yourself tripping over any sort of object when walking in Teddy's work space, walls are chain sawed out, I am surprised at this point my Dad and Teddy haven't brought home the entire Jay K Lumber yard and Lowe's store. Anyhow here's what it looks like...
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The most frequently asked question I get is….”Have you ever been bit by a bee?”
(Now by this question I wonder if these people have taken biology at some point) I simply reply “nope, never been bit by a bee” …at this, they look at me with a very confused look but know for some reason, asking another question will place them in the category of "uneducated". I take pity and decide instruct them on what they seem to be lacking. “I’ve been STUNG by bees before.” I tell them “but never bit”
The second question I get is “So do you like honey?” I have to laugh. “Sure, I like it, I don’t eat a jar a day, but I like it.”
“Do you ever go out and work with the bees too?” they ask. I love the look on their face when I tell them “yep, I’ve been helping out since I can remember. And yes I have one of those white astronaut, marshmallow, Ku Klux, Klan, snowmen suits AKA bee suit” (note people have actually called our suits these names before)
The people who have passed biology ask some of these questions.
“How do you transport bees?” “Well we put the hives on a tractor trailer and away they go.”
“How do you keep them on the truck?” “A really big net”
How do bees know which house is theirs? “Well God gave them built in GPS”
To know what a few random every day events of my life is like…
I try to decipher the Russian lady’s order for honey on the phone…just hope I got the order right!! Arh!
My mom hopes some where out there is a beekeepers son...Me, not quite so sure about that plan.
After about 115+ trips from NY-> SC -> NY -> SC -> ME ->NY –>SC over and over again…well its no big deal at this point its like running to the grocery store.
(for those who don’t know, my family takes the honey bees south for the winter)
My dad tells me putting a few thousand labels on honey jars is just like putting stickers on letters. I use to be a big sticker fan and loved collecting them when I was a kid, some how they never seemed to be equivalent to stickers.
The local post office manager groans when he sees me arriving with 8 honey pails weighing 65.lb. For this means he must lift them all up on his scales and weigh each one to be mailed out.
Honey…well I am no longer surprised at where I find it…
Honey on my elbow, resulting in sticking to the table.
Honey on my shoes, results in me strapping my shoes to my feet to keep them on.
Honey on my fingers resulting in a sticky doorknob, light switch, facet...
Honey in my hair, ok I just give up.
But I have to say a little honey every day and life is sweet... :D