Melancholy understood...sort of....

The geezerette and I drove to Sioux Falls Sunday for the wake of long time friend, Tom. After the wake was over we decided to cruise town a bit. We drove around Augustana College, my Alma mater and where we met. We also drove by the house at 817 Roberts Dr. where we lived from '75 until '80.
In the process I was aware of a strong mixture of nostalgia and melancholy. This time I think I figured out the source of, at least some, of the melancholy. On the way to our old house we passed the house where Oliver and Ida Bergland lived. A young man was sitting by the driveway and I thought, "You should know about Ida and Oliver and furthermore you should know me because I knew them and I've been in that house many times."
That's when it struck me; the melancholy comes because I remember the place but the place doesn't remember me. My relationship to the place means nothing to those who are there now. That feels like loss to me and thus it is a melancholy experience.

Worth reading,,,No, highly recommended.

We're a part of newly formed neighborhood book group. The last book we read was THE HELP, by Kathryn Stockett. It's a novel set in Jackson Mississippi during the early sixties. Twenty-two-year-old Skeeter has just returned home after graduating from Ole Miss. She persuades a number of African American women who work as domestic help in white homes to tell their stories. It is very well written and helps one glimpse some of the turmoil of the civil rights movement from a new perspective.
Our discussion at the book group was enriched by the multicultural backgrounds of the group. Perhaps the key to the book is this, "Wasn't that the point of the book? (The book is the one Skeeter writes using the maid's stories.) For women to realize, We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I'd thought."

Mai-Evy at three months

When a baby cries......

We were recruited to babysit Mai-Evy last Saturday. Both Mom and Dad had to work. Tough duty but some one has to do it! For about twenty minutes she cried and wouldn't be comforted. She was mad. The bottle wasn't her mommy and she was NOT pleased. Reminds me of my philosophy teacher in college making the point about the elasticity of time. He said "Ever notice the difference in an hour in philosophy class and an hour with your girlfriend?" (It was an all male class.) Twenty minutes with an inconsolable granddaughter can seem like a long time.
But really it was a blast. She's tall, alert and probably the smartest three month old ever. Ah, Yes, retirement's grand that allows such happy duty!

He's not heavy, he's my brother!

This is another story that Lisa B., brought back from the Philippines. Lisa and Dan L. were visiting a school and handing out 'school kits' that American volunteers pack for distribution in developing countries. Each kit has six pencils, a scissor, an eraser, a pencil sharpener, three spiral notebooks and some construction paper in cloth bag.

When the students lined up to receive their bag one boy went over and picked up another boy who couldn't walk so he could be in the line. Lisa and Dan took them aside and got their story.

They are brothers that I will call Carlos and Jose'. Carlos is eight and Jose' is six. Jose' had polio and that left him unable to walk. So, everyday, Carlos carries Jose' to school, two hours down the mountain and every night he carries him two hours back up the mountain home again. As was true of most of the children neither had shoes. Now Carlos has made another decision, he's going to start school over again. He's going to do this so he can help Jose' by being in the same class. Carlos and Jose' were ecstatic about their new school supplies. Carlos said, "We only had one pencil which we shared. Now we each have six and that's enough to last us until we graduate. I've never had a notebook before."

God bless the people who pack school kits and God bless LWR! Check the website LWR.org

Duck, duck rice goose........

Lucky us! We just had a visit from Lisa B., V.P. at LWR (Lutheran World Relief) fresh back from a trip to the Philippines. She brought with her some great stories. She said visiting a new rice processor in southern Mindanao, a very poor part of the Philippines, marvelous as it is, wasn't as interesting as the ducks. She noticed a man herding a large flock of ducks in the rice paddies. LWR had provided the ducks which are herded to graze in the paddies. The ducks eat the weeds, snails, bugs and pests but not the rice. Their grazing has eliminated the need for herbicides and pesticides. They also fertilize as they graze. Additionally they lay seventy or more eggs per day. Many of the eggs are sold, except for those eaten by his family, enhancing his income. Occasionally they'll eat a duck, a treat they never had before. LWR has a great website; LWR.org Check it out.

Coming soon; the story of Carlos and Jose.

and the doctor said....

It was probably during my high school years that my mother fell on the steps in our house and broke her ankle. I saw her fall and her ankle twisted outward at an odd angle. Before any of us could respond she took her ankle, bent it back into a more normal position and said, "There, now it will be OK." Of course it wasn't and she ended up with a cast but that maybe why I'm reluctant to go for medical help.

A few years back I was getting off our roof when the ladder slipped. I didn't really fall. The ladder was on our new, second story deck which is a maintenance free plastic sort of thing. The deck was slippery and the ladder didn't grab as it did on the old wood deck. I grabbed the rain gutter and swung down my shin banging the gas grill. If I were to rate the blows I've received through my life it was about a three, on a scale of one to ten. I steadfastly refused medical help until I developed a good case of cellulitis. Yes, I know, two surgeries and a long scar on my leg were my reward.

The next year a a dog bite on the inside of my thumb eventually led to an infection in the tendon sheath. I have a scar on my thumb and the inside of my wrist from the surgery to flush out the infection. Yes, I know, I should have learned my lesson with the injury to my shin.

Have you ever heard of a 'xiphoid process'? Well I hadn't until today. A couple of weeks ago I noticed a bump at the bottom of my sternum. Where did that come from? Has always been there? Is it changing? Growing? Sore? Well a little but is that because I keep pressing on it? Not wanting to make the mistake of the shin or thumb injury I went to see my doctor, well, actually she's Physician's Assistant and was youth in one of my former congregations. She said, "Have you lost weight?" I said, "Yes". "Well," she said, "that's when people notice their xiphiod process, the cartiginous joint of the floating ribs...perfectly normal."
So that's the story of how I've gone from stoic curmudgeon who will not seek medical help to a hypochondriac.