Sharing Community - It's a Challenge

The morning Internet headlines tell me a sea turtle tangled in lobster lines was set free. I feel good.  I read they’ve assessed it to be 1000 pounds and at least six-feet long.  A magnificent animal, I’m thinking.  And, “once it was free it calmed down and swam away”.   One community helping another, doesn’t that make you feel good?

This morning I also learned a neighborhood resident (not my neighborhood) is so upset about a ground hog burrowed under the neighbors out building she wants them to get rid of the animal.  The sympathetic neighbor contemplates contaminating the burrowed entrance to the rotund rodents home with a toxic substance.  I don’t feel good about that.  It is secluded from expected human traffic.  In this instance I wish both parties would keep and eye out and strive to ‘live and let live’. 

I am also near an area where deer peer at us from stands of trees providing a lovely wooded ambiance in an area of lovely homes.  Dear God, please don’t let me see a deer lying prone, at the side of the street one day.  It happens because we’ve moved into their environment with all the human-made hazards we bring to what was life in the wild.  

An exterminator told me squirrels are taught by their parents to find nesting places in our homes.  We’ve cut down trees, removed what was their natural habitat so they have adjusted.  They learn to use what is available.

Once, searching for the source of a foul smell emanating from my own basement, a dried carcass of a squirrel was found.  Then a small squirrel inched out to almost snuggle against my daughter’s shoe.  It followed her out doors but lingered nearby as we stood discussing the orphan we found and how it must have happened.  Could the mother have died giving birth? How did the squirrel manage to survive?  We did decide the squirrel knew our voices and was comfortable, having lived in our basement since it was born.   Even months later, we would see the squirrel sitting on the deck railing holding something between its front paws, munching as it faced the back door.  If he/she came around after that summer, I didn’t recognize our former housemate.  This one, shown here, enjoyed Autumn at my house.

 When I was a kid, squirrels were only cute, “Oh look, a squirrel!”  No more. Too many of the bushy tailed invaders have had to be removed from inside my home.   What’s more the difficult attempt to secure the building against their determined search for nesting space is too much for me to ‘like’ them.  Once a contractor assured me the vent window under the peak of the roof had been securely fortified.  “I did ‘this’ inside; I did ‘that’ outside.  Squirrels will never get entry through here again.”  A couple days later we saw a huge red, brown and muted black squirrel up there working on that window, gnawing away.   The local squirrel community had sent for heavy-duty help.  He didn’t break through.  That was several years ago.   I’m not feeling totally secure, although I am smiling.  I’m winning, so far.

Blessed Assurance

“Everything’s gonna’ be okay.”  That’s my mantra today!

In fact it’s a softly quiet Monday.  There is no rain, no wind and low humidity.  Even though the morning sun is only periodically changing the pallor of the outdoors from gray to sun bathed, it appears weather-wise we’ll have a fine day.

GE will most likely call soon to arrange for their Authorized Technician to come see about my once revered washing machine.

Just two years ago I splurged to make the purchase.  It was a top-notch appliance as advertised everywhere top-notch washing machines are advertised.  Although, I’ll admit, from the beginning the bright and beautiful household necessity (as far as I’m concerned) was a puzzle to me.

It is my first front loader.  It’s an environmentally efficient machine.  I had not become happily accustomed to the smaller amount of water it took to clean a load of dirty laundry.  I was far from confident it used enough water to get grungy garb, linen and any filthy stuff really clean.  But it did.  Modern was nice!  (It had replaced a 15 – 20 year old washer.)

Then six weeks ago it stopped working.  The tiny bit of water came into the contraption but after less than two revolutions of the tub, it stopped! Devastation came into my being and hasn’t left.  I mean, this was not a cheap item.  And, nope, I did not buy the warranty insurance.  

I’m one of those who practice putting my money where my confidence is – with the manufacturer.  The warranty included in the purchase price was for a year.  That’s enough. “Mr./Mrs. Major Corporation, I know the quality of the product you put out in the market place.  I’m not wasting my money paying a premium to take it home and use it for more than a year – simply for peace of mind.”  To date, I had not been burnt.  Now, I have.  I’m faced with the possibility of paying almost 50% of the purchase price to get it running again. 

I’m appalled from two perspectives.  Number One being the manufacturer let me (a faithful consumer) down by shipping, to sell to me or you, a machine with a defective part.  I say a defective part took my washing machine off the job.  Number Two is the obvious, in the future I must ‘say yes’ to the passionate sales associate making the energetic case for me to purchase the warranty insurance.  It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent an inordinate amount of effort and time researching to select and locate the best product to hand over my hard earned money to own.  I will pay additional to make certain I will not pay even more for it to work beyond a year.

I think my learning from this experience is -- the best is not good enough. 

Tears are coming into my eyes.

(And, I know, this problem of mine is nothing – on any level, considering the mind-boggling issues in our problem intensive world.)

But . . . .         

MUSING

Shootings, Shootings, Shootings

Sex, Sex, Sex

Politics, Politics, Politics

That’s the news these days.

Be careful

Be discerning

Vote.

Just Thinking.  What about You?

A Bird Story

He (she) was sitting in the absolute middle of my wide, tree-lined street.  Beginning to drive down the block, I saw it almost at the end – perhaps it was a squirrel.  They are everywhere in our town.  And, they are daring.  A squirrel might stay in place until the approaching vehicle has to have brakes jammed on to keep from killing it.    Then it scampers away.

This wasn’t a squirrel. It was a rather chubby, sizeable black bird, sitting there, on both feet (big feet, too), casually blinking its dark eyes but otherwise not moving.

I pulled over and parked.  Maybe it was sick?  Wary of catching an exotic (or not) bird disease, my further inspection was from inside my car through the open window. 

I wasn’t alone on the essentially deserted street.  A man, a painter or plasterer – I guessed, was organizing materials in the back of his van parked at the house on the opposite side of the street.  From the top of the street I noticed him approaching the 'something' that wasn't moving.  In fact, as I approached he made several  almost hands-on attempts to encourage the street-bound bird to fly.

“Is it your bird?” I asked.  No, it wasn’t. He wanted him to move before a car hit him.  “I think he might be sick,” he said.  Standing so close to the bird his shoe likely touched his feathers, I was scared for the man.

From my safe vantage point I cautioned against touching the troubled bird, adding I would call the police and ask them to send animal control.

The police said Animal Control would be along within an hour.  I wanted them there sooner but kept my unhappiness to myself. 

Nervous about the bird’s safety I returned to park on the curbside near him.  This is relevant to my story because . . . in only a few minutes an agitated, bird-chirping ruckus interrupted the quiet morning. The man at his van called it to my attention.  They were two small, shades-of dark and light grey-birds in the trees flitting from limb to limb talking violently.  Then, noisily and aggressively they started flying back and forth over the stranded black bird; one darting toward him as if he would be pecked if he didn’t move. Our bird wouldn’t move. I rolled up my window afraid getting pecked was quickly becoming my destiny as the attackers flew in a wider circle.  

Animal Control was there within ten minutes.  What a relief.  “You pesky birds,” she directed to the obnoxious attackers.  She told us they were mockingbirds.  She said they are territorial and don’t like their environment upset.  Then looking at the fat stranded black bird she said, “Oh it’s a baby crow.”  Whoa!  It didn’t look like a baby.  Gloves on, she picked it up, examined it and put it in a crate in her van.  She said it looked like it would be fine.

At home I researched both birds . . . saw pictures of mockingbirds identical to the ones we faced.  I also read it’s not unusual to find baby crows stranded on the ground and in the street. They have been pushed out of the nest to learn how to fly (and live) on their own.  Type “baby crows” in your internet search box.  You'll find quite interesting reading.

Without a doubt, I’ve got much to learn about many things.

Feed the Hungry Day

Yes, that’s what I call it.  And today, our church will take one of its regularly scheduled turns to participate in the interreligious outreach.  Every single day, at the site (not our church), dinner is provided for folks, usually numbering a hundred or more, who walk-in for the meal served from 5–6 pm.

I used to think of it as ‘feeding the homeless’.  Soon it became quite apparent many are not homeless. They are in need of a dinner.

Those we serve get a full meal, salad through dessert  - including fresh fruit and a hot and cold drink.

Once when my son was going through a siege of hospitalizations, I thought about dropping in for a healthy dinner.

The feeding site at the time was a huge church on the way to the hospital where Darin had been for a couple weeks.  I was driving there, anxious about finding a good spot in the garage.  I was tired. I was distraught.  I was being a faithful visitor for my son – going to the hospital as much as he let me know he needed my presence. (I wanted to be there everyday but worried about smothering him with my motherly attentions.)

On the day I considered dropping in to eat, I had pulled to the side of the street to overcome a siege of shortness of breath- a dizzy, heart palpitating anxiety attack.  My mind had  wandered to worrying about me.  Stopped, sitting behind the wheel, praying for inner calm, I was surprised to see the feeding site just across the parking lot.  Folks were getting in line.  I realized I had been rushing around all day  eating nothing since coffee and banana that morning.  Maybe my anxiety was due in great part to my own hunger.  I should go get a meal.

Quite naturally I said, “not me”.  I don’t need to be fed by others.  I can take care of myself.  Then I answered myself with, “But you’re not taking care of you!  You probably don’t even have anything at home to cook.  You haven’t taken time to go to the market.  And, how much money do you have?  Keeping gas in the car; doling out cash every day for the hospital garage parking fee seems easy as you go by the ATM for another $40 to $60.  But, no money has gone into the account since last month.   You’ve written checks for church.  Maybe you don’t have money - can’t buy anything?  Go eat!”  I didn’t. 

But the thinking was somehow therapeutic for this person who wanted to think she was helping to feed the “homeless”.

Our church, through the program, helps provide walk-in meals for those who need it – people who must balance a budget after having lost a job; people with young children in school who need clothing, books, supplies and other amenities children in school should have to ‘be like the others’; folks whose minimum wage (if that) income may now be spread thin due to unforeseen sickness in their homes; paying the ever-escalating gas and transportation costs just to get to work; folks who must help the elderly in their family.  Our church is helping the poor and the working poor manage with what they have. 

And, yes, we are helping the homeless.  I see many homeless amongst those who leave the dining hall with a satisfied stomach.

I pray each one we serve will know better times.  I thankfully pray for the resources I’ve been blessed to manage.

Whom will you help today (albeit family, neighbor, friend, stranger) – in at least some small way?  Will your actions involve some effort that looks outside of 'self'?

Many blessings . . .

For a Happy Life

Faith, Hope, Joy, and Love - have seen me through moments, days, weeks, months, years, and yes - a lifetime of ups and downs.

A discerning, never failing, self-confidence built upon those four emotional precepts steadfastly emboldens me.

It is all about my faith in the promise of a brighter day when despair casts shadows; continuing hope for success when challenge abounds; joy acknowledged in what is and what has been; and the comforting love I’ve been blessed to experience and share with family, friends, neighbors and strangers.

Service To Others - On my first vacation home from college, concluding one of his parenting discussions that had been introduced with him questioning how much money I thought I should earn to be happy, my father cautioned me with this observation.

“Personal happiness is best guaranteed by living a life that includes giving service to others – not through earning a lot of money.”                    

                                                             . . . . John W. Woods, Jr.

In the next decade, reading the following eloquent words enhanced the value of my father’s advice and the choices I make each day.

“Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, “What are you doing for others.”                                    . . . . Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Several years ago I came across the following quote.

 “One thing I know; the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who will have sought and found how to serve.”            

                                                                 . . . . Dr. Albert Schweitzer  
+     +     +     +     +     +     +

As a kid I went to church.  My parents made me.  I enjoyed the singing, the promise of prayer and my friends.  I tolerated the long message. 

On my college campus I appreciated the Sunday school program and Sunday Vespers.  

As a parent, I introduced and encouraged the ritual of church to my children even when I was ‘too busy’ to participate.

Now as a mature adult I am more attentive to my spiritual growth.  I have an abiding faith in ‘my God’ and in prayer.  I am glad I was brought up in the church. 

A report says there are over 100,000,000 unchurched adults in America

Is the power of faith, hope, joy, love and the importance of service to others taught in the home as well as in church? 

I hope so; these days I wonder. 

The Cable Guy Came

It was a guy, not a gal who came to see about my problem.  I know there must be Cable Gals somewhere, but I haven’t seen any.  I’ll be on the lookout.

Anyway, the problem was not the cable television service or the Internet service. It was the telephone.   All three are covered by my Optimum account. Two out of their three services were doing just fine, I thought.  

The phone seemed to drop the connection during the third ring, didn’t go to message either.  For a month or so, I had suffered the inconvenience – dashing and grabbing to keep the caller from holding a silent phone.  Then folks telephoning while I was away, getting ‘dropped’, began officiously advising me my phone was acting funny.  It was time for me to be a grown up and take care of the problem.

The phone was at least ten years old.  The 'charge battery' warnings which used to never happen were becoming more frequent.  That frustration together with the dropped calls issue were reason enough to make a significant change.  So, on a sweltering Monday afternoon off I went to Radio Shack to replace the worn out 4-set Vtech cordless system with a brand new 4-set Vtech cordless system. I programmed the new phone to ring six times before inviting the caller to leave a message.  No more rushing to the phone for me.  Proudly I texted family and friends and told them, “Don’t call my home phone tonight. My new phone will be charging until morning.”

Several calls came through the next morning.  The modern, sleek telephone felt good and sounded great too.  All was okay.

That is, until the phone rang when I wasn’t nearby.  I didn’t rush; and, on the third ring, there was abrupt silence.  I was devastated. 

It was my daughter.  She suggested it must be the telephone line.  

The Cable Guy came this morning.  He was on time, patient and pleasant.  Standing in the dinette, dialing my number, listening to the malfunction, he asked if I had a fax machine.  I do.

That was the problem.  The last time I used the fax machine I had inadvertently programmed it to override the phone on the third ring.   We disabled that! In less than ten minutes my telephone problem was fixed.  But the Cable Guy wasn’t finished. 

I learned when my Cable Service Company is called for a specific purpose the technician is required to respond to data in their system and handle any issue needing attention. Today I learned a cable line to my non- cable boxed TVs had a problem.  The Cable Guy fixed it.  

After his visit I knew how to re-set the television picture for High Definition resolution.  Pictures on each television are bright and beautiful, and my telephone is wonderful.  Plus there was no service charge.  Such maintenance is covered with my monthly payment for cable service.

The Cable Guy came and I’m better for it.  It was a good day.