BAD DAD Stories

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

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

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....

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

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"

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

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.