A Tribute to Uncle Jim

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James Niedrist    4/26/1930-10/8/2022

My Uncle Jim died today.  I am sad as I write this, but he was clearly ready to leave this plane and rejoin his beloved Norma on the Other Side.  He was always my favorite uncle and my Mom’s younger brother.  I was the first of twelve grandchildren.  My Mom and I lived with my grandparents while my Dad was overseas in World War II.  Jim was still a teenager living at home when I arrived on the scene.  Perhaps that is why we bonded so closely.

Jim was truly a good person.  I don’t think I ever heard him use a bad word or denigrate anyone.  He always enjoyed life to the fullest.  There were three things in life he loved and was proud of—his wonderful wife, Norma, his five sons, and the United States Marine Corps.  At age 16 or 17 he and a buddy lied about their ages and enlisted in the Corps.  When that good friend died several years ago, Jim was an honorary pallbearer at his funeral in his Marine uniform.  Jim and Norma were never rich in material things, but their house was full of love and a lot of family fun.  They raised five boys in a modest home.  Jim was so proud of his sons and their accomplishments.  Of course, watching a Penn State game with the boys was always a good time too! 

He also loved music, especially Neil Diamond and the musical score from the Phantom of the Opera!   When my husband and I lived in Buffalo, New York, Uncle Jim, Aunt Norma, and my Mom all came for a visit.   We all went to Toronto for the weekend and got tickets to the Phantom at a wonderful theater in Toronto built just for the Phantom.  I still remember driving back to our hotel from the theater with Uncle Jim in the back seat, singing various songs from the Phantom at the top of his lungs.

He and Aunt Norma also visited us several times here in Colorado.  Inevitably, after dinner Uncle Jim and I would end up dancing around the dining room and singing some song or other as loudly as we could.  He usually tied his cloth napkin around his head as well for added effect.  To be truthful, I must admit that copious amounts of wine were probably also involved in these concerts!

Sadly, Aunt Norma came down with Alzheimer’s Disease, that insidious disease that robs you of your mental capacity and memory.  Uncle Jim took such wonderful care of her through those difficult times.  He would always say, “She took care of me and five boys for years;  I’m taking care her until the Lord takes her Home.”  Even in those days, he held on to his sense of humor.  One day she asked him where her husband was.  He replied that he was right there.  She said, “No, my other husband.”  Without missing a beat, he said, “Oh, that husband had to go to work today!”  That satisfied her.  After Norma’s death, he carried on, but clearly life was not the same for him without her by his side.

In Jewish and some Christian traditions, Archangel Azrael is the Angel who helps us cross over to the Other Side and comforts those left behind.  I suspect Azrael led Uncle Jim right up to those pearly gates and called out to Saint Peter, “Yo, Pete, Jim’s here!  Put on a Neil Diamond CD and turn up the volume.  There will be dancing in the streets tonight!”

Goodbye, Uncle Jim.  We will all miss you, but we know you are so happy to see your dear Norma again and all the others who have been there waiting to greet you.  We will always love you. 

Semper Fi!

Favorite Fall Is in the Air!

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In my last post I wrote about spring and summer (“Summer is icumen in”).  Perhaps it is appropriate that I focus on fall and winter for this blog!  I should call this post “Winter is icumen in.”  Today is the last full day of summer.  The autumn equinox is tomorrow.  Up here in the mountains, we already are seeing the first hints of winter.  This morning it was 31 degrees when I got up, and the deck was a sheet of treacherous  black ice!  We even have a chance of a dusting of snow tonight.

Colorado is beautiful in the fall.  Although we may not have the brilliant reds and oranges of a New England fall, the aspen turn entire mountainsides into panoramas of brilliant, lemony and golden yellows.  Some aspen can turn more of an orange shade, but most are bright yellow.  Right before the aspen turn, they get a funny dull green look, a change from their usual bright green; normally their leaves are sort of the shade of a Granny Smith apple. Once they begin to turn, their leaves morph into a Midas-like field of gold and yellow almost overnight.

Fall seems to have slipped in quietly this year.  We had a hazy summer with our mountain views obscured by the drifting smoke from the horrific fires on the west coast all summer long.  Interestingly, we didn’t have as many birds as usual this summer either, especially the hummingbirds.  Even the Rufus hummingbirds, who arrive in August, didn’t stay as long as usual to drive everyone else away from the feeders.   Perhaps with the smoke and bad air all summer, they simply migrated earlier than usual too!  As summer turns into fall and fall into winter, we are cautious, looking out for hungry bears and cranky moose.  We bring the bird feeders in every night, and I scan the yard with my flashlight before letting Stella out of a late-night potty call.

Fall has always been my favorite season of the year.  Instead of feeling like the ending of yet another year, it has always felt like the beginning of the year to me.  Perhaps this is because school always started in the fall with wonderful blank notebooks waiting to be filled and the upcoming promise of Thanksgiving and Christmas lurking just around the corner!

As you probably already know, the Autumn and the Spring Equinoxes mark the days when the hours of daylight and night are equal.  The Summer Solstice is the longest day of the year, and the Winter Solstice marks the shortest day of the ear.  What amazes me is how these ancient peoples ever learned about these celestial movements and actually made structures to capture the sun’s rays.  Did they stay up all night, night after night, somehow measuring the movements of the stars?  I am doing well to make it to 10 PM most nights.  I can’t imagine watching the heavens night after night, year after year, tracking the movements of the moon and stars.

I have been privileged to visit Stonehenge in England, Manchu Picchu in Peru, Chichen Itza in Mexico, and the great Egyptian pyramids of Giza.  I remain astounded at the level of knowledge and skill that these ancient peoples had.  With no modern tools or clocks, how did they ever achieve such accurate measurements of exactly when the summer or winter sun would strike a particular spot?

As this year draws to a close, I look forward to the soft, muffled sounds of winter with a blanket of new snow on the ground and watching football in front of a crackling fire, of course with a fine wine right beside me.  Whatever your favorite season may be, treasure the moments as the planets and stars course through the heavens!

Summer is icumen in

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You may be wondering about this title. It is the opening line from one of my favorite medieval English poems from the 13th century. Many of you already know that I am a bit strange, but perhaps you didn’t also know that in years past I was also a medieval scholar. One of my great joys in life was seeing an early manuscript of this poem in the British Museum. Looking at that old manuscript, written around 800 years ago, reminds us of our common human heritage and bond.

This little poem is about the annual renewal of life and hope. It seems to be an apt thought for this blog. For too long now. I have neglected my writings, so it is also time for me to experience a bit of a renewal. My Muse is once again calling me to devote more time to writing. It is far too easy to allow ourselves to be diverted from our chosen paths by the superficial things in life. We get lost in the I’ll get to it tomorrow syndrome.

After the long, hard winter, spring has finally blossomed, and the poet is eagerly awaiting the arrival of the warm days of summer.  The words below look a bit strange, but if you read them aloud, you will quickly get the gist of the meaning.                   

                  Summer is icumen in
                  Lhude sing! Cuccu.
                  Groweth sed and bloweth med
                  And springth the wude nu--
                  Sing!  Cuccu
                                                                  
                        Medieval English Lyrics, ed. by RT Davis

As you can readily observe, spelling and punctuation were a bit optional in the 13th century.  Of course, I fear spelling and punctuation are still a bit optional for too many people today!      

Life was tough in those days for the average person.  The late Middle Ages was that difficult time before the birth of the Renaissance.  Wealthy nobility and landlords owned all the lands.  The Church held sway over virtually every aspect of life.  The fear of demons, hellfire, and damnation ran rampant throughout society.  The various trade guilds marked the slight emergence of a middle class within the old feudal system.  Imagine a life with no cell phones, selfies, Starbucks, or McDonalds!  A good meal probably consisted of some boiled onions and turnips.  I’m not a big fan of fast food, but I think I’ll take a Big Mac and a latte!

So, did you figure out the little verse?  Summer is coming, so it must be spring.  Sing loud, Cuckoo!  The seed is growing and the meadows are in bloom.  The trees are leafing out.  Sing, Cuckoo!  Cuckoos spend the winters in Africa, and arrive back in the UK in early spring.  Our unknown poet is regaling in the many signs of spring. 

I gratefully acknowledge the generosity of the Medieval Woodcuts Clipart Collection (www.godecookery.com) for allowing non-commercial use of their amazing collection of medieval woodcuts.  Visit their website to see more pictures of life in medieval England.

Wishing you a happy springtime every day of your life.  No matter the season, let your life be filled with the joys of spring!

                Sing, Cuckoo, sing!                   

A Nocturnal Visitor

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We have a big bay window in our bedroom.  This area doesn’t get much direct sunlight so the snow really stays and is quite deep!  When I look out the window at the woods and snow, I am always reminded of one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”  

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here
To see his woods fill up with snow. . . . 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep.

Friday night I turned off the light after reading in bed for a while.  Bill had dropped off, and Stella was sleeping on the floor under the window.  All of a sudden, the motion sensor light behind the house came on.  Since I was still awake, I hopped out of bed to see what triggered the light.  There he (or maybe she?) was, right outside our window.  A huge moose!  His coat was a beautiful shiny brown under the spotlights.   If the window had been open, I could have almost touched his back from inside.  

I quickly whispered to Bill, “Come here quick and look at this!  Hurry!”  About that time Stella woke up and, figuratively speaking, wet her little doggie pants!  Here was the evil moose-creature about three or four feet from where she had been peacefully sleeping.  Needless to say, she went ballistic.  We grabbed her collar to prevent her from trying to lunge against or through the bedroom window.

The moose turned his head and gave an irritated look back at the window, no doubt wondering what all the commotion was about!  He continued to walk slowly along the edge of the house and garage, utilizing the little path that Bill keeps stomped out in the snow.  Our satellite dish is on the roof on the back of the house, close to the bedroom window.  When the snow builds up on the dish and we start to pixelate and lose satellite signal, he heads out back with an extra long broom he rigged up to clear the dish. (Pixelate—isn’t that a great word?)

At this point our visitor made a right turn in front of the garage, out of our sight.  All three of us made a mad dash to the living room to look out of the front window.  There he was in the driveway! He walked over to Bill’s plow truck and checked it out and looked at the giant pile of snow from previous plow jobs.  Apparently, he decided it was too much work to try to go through the snow pile and ambled slowly up the driveway and out of sight.

We all headed back to bed with a bit of an adrenaline surge.  Stella, of course, immediately told me she wanted to go out in the back yard for a potty break.  Oh no!  I know what you want; you just want to run out back to the west side and see if you can see or smell the moose.  I don’t think so!  We have a seven-foot fence around the yard.  Does that tell you something?  On the west side of the property the seven-foot fence is reduced to about a four-foot fence due to deep, crusty snow.  The moose could have hopped over that in a flash.  The moose generally go down the easement on the west side, so I wasn’t taking any chances!

Interestingly, I had just mentioned to Bill the other day that we hadn’t seen the moose lately.  I guess I jinxed it!  Now I am back to peering apprehensively into the woods every time we take a walk.  I suppose I could take my pistol, but that is a challenge too.  (Yes, I am one of those people with a concealed carry permit!)  If I put it in my pants pocket, the weight practically makes my pants fall down.  I guess I could get a holster or something, maybe a nice tooled leather with fringe, just like I envisioned as a little kid, but not sure how that works with a semi-automatic pistol. 

We don’t hunt or shoot things, but I have had hunters tell me that it takes a really high-powered rifle to take down a moose.  My little pistol would probably just be like an irritating little gnat.  The $64,000 question (anyone besides me old enough to remember that old TV show?) is if I fire my pistol, would it scare him off or piss him off? I’m not sure want to do a trial run on that.  As always, life in the mountains is never dull!

©Eclectic Grandma, 2020

If you’d like to look at last week’s blog, “Musings on the Coronavirus and Stephen King,” just high the back arrow at the beginning of end of this post.  Thanks!

Musings on Coronavirus and Stephen King

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As the fear of the coronavirus drives people into an orgy of buying, hoarding, and generally acting rude and panicky, I can’t help but be reminded of my favorite Stephen King novel, The Stand.  With the world’s economy slowing down drastically and businesses, restaurants, and sporting events shutting down voluntarily or mandatorily, it might just be a good time to curl up with a good book!  If like me, you first read The Stand many, many years ago, it might be time for a reread of the new expanded version of the book which adds an additional 400 pages to the original 800 plus pages.  If you’ve never read it, now is a great time as we all hunker close to home for the next couple of weeks.

Without divulging too much of the story, The Stand is an epic tale about how a man-made plague or virus of some kind wipes out most of the human race as well as most of the animals. A small group of survivors make their way to Boulder, Colorado to begin life anew.  Boulder is a scant 25 miles from where we live today!  One of the few animal survivors is an Irish Setter.  You know how I love my Irish Setters!

Most people don’t know that Stephen King and his wife Tabitha lived in Boulder for a while in the 1970’s.  A trip to the spooky and supposedly haunted old Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado provided the inspiration for my second-most favorite Stephen King novel, The Shining.  If you haven’t read the book, you have probably seen the scary movie version with Jack Nicholson.  Even today the Stanley touts Room 217 where Stephen and Tabitha stayed on their visit, and of course, you can take one of the Ghost Tours if you like!

We lived in Bangor, Maine for four years in the early 1990-s when I was a senior executive at the medical center there.  A good friend of ours lived across the street from the Kings and was a good friend of theirs as well.  We had the opportunity to meet them socially on a few occasions at his house.  Stephen always seemed somewhat quiet and reserved.  I remember Tabitha wearing high top button style boots and their daughter having long straight hair.  Remember Elvira, the hostess on the late-night movies?  The whole family was very pleasant, but somewhat reminiscent of the Addams Family.  Our friend had twin sons, and according to him, his sons provided Stephen with the inspiration for his novel, The Dark Half.  I can’t vouch for that, but interesting!

The King’s home is large Gothic-looking old house; it reminds you a bit of the House of the Seven Gable by Hawthorne!  The property is surrounded by a black wrought iron fence adorned with gargoyles, bats, and metal spider webs.  I suspect it was always a favorite stop for the neighborhood kids on Halloween!  Stephen and Tabitha, who is a very talented novelist in her own right, have always been always great philanthropists for the community.  They have funded ball fields, community libraries, and supported the hospital very handsomely!

Our sons mostly grew up in Greeley, Colorado during the ‘80’s where I was a senior-level executive at the hospital and Bill was the Graduate Dean at the university there.  Thinking about Stephen King reminds me of a humorous story.  Late one evening, our older son, Chris, was lying on the sofa in our basement rec room reading Salem’s Lot, not a book to read by yourself late at night!  Bill and I, of course, had already gone to bed since we have always been the early-to-bed types.  Younger son, Greg, had been out with some friends and forgot his housekey.  Seeing the basement light on, he tapped on the window right by the sofa where his brother was reading.  With that tapping Chris jumped several feet into the air!  If his hair wasn’t already light blond, it probably would have turned white on the spot.  If you have read Salem’s Lot, you know exactly what I’m talking about, and if not, I won’t spoil it for you!

Anyway, back to The Stand.  Some of the survivors of the plague head from Boulder to a dark and deserted Las Vegas for a final dramatic confrontation between the forces of Good and Evil.  Think something along the lines of Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita.  Interestingly, our younger son Greg and his wife were in Las Vegas this past weekend for their annual trip to the PAC-12 basketball tournament, which ended up being canceled of course   They said Vegas was pretty quiet with more and more of the hotels, restaurants, and casinos shutting down over the coming days, leaving a dark and deserted Las Vegas.  Sound familiar?

Let’s all hope that Stephen King wasn’t too prophetic in The Stand!

©The Eclectic Grandma, 2020

Close Encounters of the Moose Kind

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After dinner last Friday evening,  Stella was pestering so I thought I would take her for a quick little after dinner walk. It was dusky, but still light out.  I  took her for a short stroll up the driveway.  We went up the drive and down the road a short way and were cutting through the woods right behind our bedroom to go home, a really brief little evening walk.

 Suddenly Stella froze and started to growl and bark.  My first thought was that it was a squirrel or even a coyote.  Then I looked, and there they were!  A moose cow and calf, about 40’ feet away. Now to put this in perspective, the baby, the calf, was about the size of a quarter horse, and Mom was about the the size of a Clydesdale but with skinnier legs.

We live in a heavily wooded area, primarily the tall, lanky Lodgepole Pines. With snow on the ground, it is very difficult to distinguish between dark tree trunks and those black moose legs! Your eyes and your imagination can play tricks on you. Is that a moose or just a tree swaying in the wind?

Now there are a few basics about moose that you need to know:

1.  They are really big!
2.  They  (thankfully) have bad eyesight.
3.  They hate dogs!  They are pretty stupid, and their only natural predator is the wolf.  They wouldn’t know the difference between a wolf and a Corgi, let alone an Irish Setter!
4.  Momma moose are very protective of their young and VERY aggressive, even for babies who are almost as big as they are!  In fact, they are just plain mean to everyone and everything.
5.  Did I mention that they are VERY big?

So, to continue, Stella started barking, and both moose headed toward us.  Time to retreat!  Pardon my French, but I about you-know-what in my pants!  I grabbed Stella and started a retreat!  She managed to wrap her leash around a little tree!  Oh shit!  I get the leash unwrapped from around the tree.  I  didn’t even bother with the retractor on the leash, just wrapped it around my hand and headed down the slope behind the house.  The moose kept coming!  Heart rate increasing — 100, 120, 150!   I yelled for Bill, but inside the house, he couldn’t hear me!

Stella,  in a rare stroke of doggie wisdom, stopped barking and stayed as close to me as possible as we quickly headed down the slope behind the bedroom, around the garage, and to the front door.  I think she realized this was no laughing matter!  The moose finally decided that checking out things to munch on was more interesting than following us further!  Thank God!

Have to admit, I was feeling pretty trembly when we got into the house.  I saw my life  flashing before my eyes!  A few years ago a couple of women about five miles from us who were walking their dogs in the morning were attacked.  They ended up in ICU, and one died, so I have a very healthy respect for these vile creatures! 

I must have been as white as a ghost because Bill quickly asked me what was wrong.  We all three rushed into the bedroom and looked out the window.  There they were!   These photos were taken from the relative security of the bedroom window.  Guess I need to start carrying my pistol!  

Since this little episode, Stella and I both peer into the woods around us when we walk just in case our little visitors might be lurking there in the trees. As I think back on this rather frightening episode, I think that Stella’s barking definitely caused the moose to head toward us, but at the same time if she hadn’t alerted me, I could have just unwittingly triggered their wrath without warning. Oh well, such is life in the Colorado mountains. It’s pretty bad when a bear or a mountain lion seems like a less scary option!

©The Eclectic Grandma, 2019

Clutter and Procrastination

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Clutter and procrastination.  Procrastination and clutter.  One leads to the other in a never-ending loop, sort of like a mobius circle.  As we move forward into another new year, I have one over-riding resolution.  I am once and for all going to get rid of the clutter in my life!  Perhaps it is due to my getting older, but I am determined to streamline my life and possessions.  Part of me says that I would never want my children to have to sort through a bunch of junk that they probably don’t want anyway.

Does this closet look familiar?

Our clutter stems from keeping things we really don’t want or need or worse yet, sticking them on a shelf or somewhere because we can’t decide where to put them.  Perhaps the most difficult is deciding what to do with gifts that may not make your heart sing.  I used to think I had to hold on to all previous gifts from your Mom, your Aunt Ethyl, or whoever, but now I’ve learned that there is probably someone out there who might really enjoy that gift instead of having it sit in the closet and collect dust!  Once the clutter starts to build up, we really don’t feel like tackling the task of putting everything in its place, so we procrastinate doing anything about the mess.  I’ll work on that next week . . .or next month . . . or next year.

I actually got started on this quest last year, so rather than being a complete start from scratch, it is a finish what you started.  Several years ago I found myself in January with a whole year of receipts and data for our company to sort through and file in order to prepare our tax return.  I vowed that never again would I get caught with that sort of a nightmare!  I have managed to abide by that resolution both for the business and the personal taxes ever since.  One more thing off the list!

I know there’s a desktop under  here somewhere!

Do you ever feel as if you are drowning in paper?  I went through a period of time where I literally could not see the top of my desk.  I finally tried doing just one little stack at a time and finally after a few painful days, I was able to rediscover the color of the wood on the desktop!  Paper remains one of my big problems.  Do I need to file it, toss it, or pay it?   Have you ever gone to one of those time management seminars?  They always say you should only handle a piece of paper one time.  Somehow I haven’t quite figured out how you can realistically do that!  I am doing better with my “PIA-TIA” (Put it away or throw it away), but I still have a ways to go.

We have a work room that we use for our consulting business.  It has storage units, the printer, the binding machine, files, and on and on!  It was a total mess, and so was I.  I couldn’t bring myself to put the time in to straighten it out.  I finally set the timer on my phone for 15 minutes and worked for only 15 minutes a day on straightening, filing, throwing, and, my all-time favorite, shredding!  Most of you who know me know I’m a little weird.  I bought a new paper shredder last fall after my old one died.  It can take up to 100 sheets of paper at a time!  I was as happy as if someone had had just given me a new pair of diamond earrings, well, almost as happy I suppose.  Shredding old papers is totally fulfilling! After a week or so of setting my 15 minute increments of straightening, I pretty well got it all cleaned up.

I am reminded of the Carl Sandburg poem called “Fog.”  It begins, “The fog comes in on little cat feet.”  Clutter is like that fog; it sneaks back in on those little cat feet!  I suspect that may be why so many of us have a problem with clutter.  It is truly insidious and keeps sneaking back.  That stack of papers on the corner of the desk grows overnight.  The kitchen junk drawer only stays neat for a short time, and then it keeps trying to revert to its previous unkempt state, not to mention those pesky closets!

I am one of those people who likes to read up on everything under the sun, including how to manage your clutter.  One of my favorite books on coping with your clutter is The Clutter-Busting Handbook by Rita Emmett.  Rita is the best-selling author of several books dealing with clutter, procrastination, and time management.  She does a great monthly tip sheet too which always has a few little gems.  You can sign up at www.RitaEmmett.com.  One of the things I really appreciate about Rita’s Tip Sheet is that it is monthly, not daily or weekly!  If I might digress for a bit, I am so tired of all of these daily emails, wanting you to listen to some free webinar, buy something on sale, contribute to yet another worthy cause, etc.

I will keep you updated on my clutter battle.  Do let me know if you too are trying to do this!  Until next time,

May your favorite charity be happy [with all the donations you're sending]
        May your closets be neat, and
                  May your dumpster be overflowing!

Could this be my desk?

©2019, The Eclectic Grandma

Favorite Pro-Choice or Pro-Life?

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Those of you who know me know that I am definitely a conservative and not afraid to tackle controversial types of issues! With that disclaimer out of the way, I have to say that I am very much Pro-Life. Do I think that Roe versus Wade should be turned over? No, I really don’t. That could create a much worse situation than what we currently have. We certainly don’t want to return to the era of back alley abortions. There are certainly situations where I can understand that a woman might opt for an abortion, such as fetal demise in utero or congenital anomalies incompatible with life. What I object to is the routine use of abortion as an accepted means of birth control. 

Let’s look at a couple of scenarios. We have a young mother-to-be just starting her 24th week of pregnancy. She and her husband are so excited. They’ve just decorated the nursery and recently learned the sex of their baby. To her dismay, she begins having contractions, and it soon becomes apparent that this little one is not going to wait another 16 weeks to make his arrival! He arrives weighing a scant 1000 grams and easily fits into the palm of your hand. He is quickly admitted into the NICU, the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, which will be his home for the next several months. Unlike many of the other nursing units in a hospital, the NICU is a quiet place, with lights dimmed and where everyone speaks in hushed tones. The new little arrival is soon safely ensconced in an isolette in a temperature- and humidity-controlled environment with many tubes and monitors all around his tiny little body. All external stimulation is kept to a minimum.

Mom visits every day to monitor the progress of her precious little one. She carefully pumps breast milk several times a day to provide her own special nutrients to the infant. He is too young to even have a suckling response, so he receives this vital Mother’s milk via a feeding tube. Imagine her excitement when he is finally big enough to come out of his little womb-like environment for a few all too brief moments, and she can at last hold him in her arms! In several months, he is finally the size of a normal full-term infant, and Mom and Dad get to take him home. Most of these little preemies grow into normal children and adults and are able to lead a full life without any lingering effects from their early arrival into the world. Many NICU’s hold an annual Celebration of Life where all of their “Graduates” return for a big gathering! They may range in age from toddlers to elementary age children to high schoolers. What a tribute to the capabilities of modern medicine!

Meanwhile across town another pregnant young woman glances at her watch and hurries to her own appointment with fate. She too is almost 24 weeks pregnant, but for her there is no eager anticipation, only an eagerness to be rid of this unwanted burden on her life. She has been reassured that this is not a viable baby, only a growing cluster of tissue. She hurries into the waiting room and is admitted. She is given sedation, some anesthesia, and soon leaves the facility, no longer pregnant.

I do think that Planned Parenthood should change its name to Unplanned Parenthood. Planned parenthood implies that a pregnancy is wanted and desired. Last I heard, despite the plethora of gender “choices” we continue to hear about, most of which I cannot fathom, the creation of new life still takes a biologic male and a biologic female, a sperm and an ovum. A pregnancy should not just be the result of a careless moment. If Planned Parenthood put half of the energy into teaching about responsible birth control methods that it puts into promoting its abortion mills, much of the problem would be resolved. There are also so many couples out there with empty arms who would welcome the chance to give a loving home to these unwanted little ones.

You have to wonder about the values of a society where in one instance we joyously spend thousands and thousand of dollars to save a cherished little life and in another instance we cancel out a similar little life without a second thought.

About twenty years ago I worked with an excellent Perinatologist. A Perinatologist is a physician who has done a four-year residency in Obstetrics and Gynecology followed by a three-year Fellowship in Perinatology. These physicians take care of high-risk mothers and fetuses during the period of pregnancy and birth. This doctor and I became good friends. One day she sadly and bitterly told me her story. Early in medical school she had become pregnant and had chosen to have an abortion. She finished medical school, her internship, and her OB-GYN residency. During that time period she married, and she and her husband very much wanted to have a baby, but sadly she was never able to conceive again. She said that her own inability to have a baby was what pushed her into the field of Perinatology. I certainly don’t know why she was never able to have a second pregnancy. I’m sure being a part of the medical community, she got excellent care during her own abortion all those years ago.

I do think we are all born with a little touch of the divine in us, what you might call the God Spark. I can only trust that all of these lost little ones are indeed returned to their Father above. William Wordsworth said it so much better than I ever could in “Intimations of Immortality,”

But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

©The Eclectic Grandma, 2018

A Gentle Soul

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A couple months ago I told you about our painful loss of our little Mandy. Last week we relived that pain once again with having to help our Caley over the Rainbow Bridge. For the first time in many years, we are without a furry friend in the house. As you walk around the house, you see the reminders of the one who is no longer here, the empty bed, the water bowls that are no longer needed, the once favorite teddy bear.

All dogs are wonderful pets, but some reach deeper into our souls and touch us on a different plane. Caley was one of those. She was the most communicative and vocal dog we’ve ever had. She let us know with a series of demanding woofs exactly what she wanted. I think she got exasperated with us sometimes when we didn’t catch on quickly enough to what she was saying. “No, that is not the kind of treat I wanted. I want the chicken strip!” From the day we brought her home from the breeder, she let us know exactly what she wanted with a series of vocal commands. I suspect she thought we were slow learners, but she kept trying to get us trained up.

In her younger days she was a little hellion! She could get into endless streams of mischief. I can still see her running around the back yard, proudly waving a bra that she had swiped from the laundry like a flag. If the snow got deep and solid enough, she would scurry over the fence for a quick romp around the neighborhood. On one memorable occasion, she and Mandy treed a pair of bear cubs in a tree in the back yard in the middle of the night. Now that was worrisome! If the cubs are in the tree, can Momma Bear be far behind?

Mom and Dad bought me a puppy

Caley was very selective with her doggie kisses, no endless, slobbering licks from her. She was far too dignified for that! If you got a kiss, you could consider yourself to be quite special! She loved to lie on the living room floor with her head on the glass-topped coffee table watching the news. Sometimes I think she totally understood everything that was said. She loved to snuggle and would happily lie at your feet or beside you on the floor for a quick nap.
Thunderstorms or even a smoke detector beeping to tell you that it needed a new battery sent her into panic mode. We had to keep some doggie tranquilizers on hand to get her through those scary moments!

After Mandy passed, Caley went downhill pretty rapidly. I don’t know whether it was her arthritis or her doggie irritable bowel syndrome. Maybe the loss of her best buddy decreased her will to fight her ailments, or perhaps at almost 13, she just decided it was time for her to leave this plane of existence. The last couple of months of her life were really a sort of doggie hospice. We gladly helped her up from a lying down position, eased her up and down the stairs with a doggie sling over her tummy, and cooked her an endless array of tempting foods—liver, chicken breast, pork chunks, and steak strips. We washed her behind when she had bowel issues and shampooed carpets continuously. We didn’t mind at all. As long as she was eating and enjoying life, we were more than willing to help her enjoy her waning days.

As she grew more debilitated and didn’t even want to go for short walks in the woods, we could clearly see that the end was in sight though. I worked for several years as a Hospice nurse and saw my human patients suffer and grow weaker, waiting for the inevitable outcome. With my human patients, all I could do was to try to ease their pain with ever more potent doses of pain killers and try to keep them comfortable. With our animal friends, we have the awesome power to help them cross over that final barrier. We agonized over that terrible decision. We don’t want to see them suffer, but we also don’t want to force them to hang on too long just because we can’t bear to lose them.

A few days before we decided it was time to help Caley cross over that Rainbow Bridge, I had the most vivid dream. Mandy came to me in a dream; she was young and healthy again with those sparking black eyes back that she had lost in this life. She snuggled up to me. I could feel her soft, silky hair and feel the warmth of her body. She lay on one side of me, and Caley lay on the other side. In my dream, I asked Bill, “Mandy is back. Can you see her? Can you see her?” Those of you who know me know that I firmly believe in a life after death, both for us and for our animal companions. I absolutely believe that Mandy came to me to let me know that she was fine and that it was OK to let Caley join her. “I’ll help her over the Bridge, Mom.” I woke up from a sound sleep, immediately knowing that this was no ordinary dream. Mandy truly came to me in that dream to reassure me that all would be well.

The next night, Bill and I didn’t get much sleep, talking over that oh-so-difficult decision. In the morning I called our vet who came to the house that afternoon. I told Caley that it was OK for her to leave us, that we recognized that it was her time to go. I really think she understood my words. We had a quiet day with just the three of us. When the vet came, he first gave her a sedative injection and left us alone for a while to be together. Then he came back into the house to give her that final injection. She passed peacefully sleeping with her head in my lap and her Daddy right beside her. Every dog that we love and lose takes a piece of our heart along with it, but in the tearful breaking of our hearts, our capacity to love increases and our hearts must grow larger.

Best Buddies

Well meaning friends and family ask when you are going to get another dog. I don’t know if we will this time. As you grown older, you hesitate to bringing another pet into your life. What if my next pet should outlive me? That is a totally disturbing thought to me! We may change our minds, but for now we try to get used to not having a dog in the house. Goodbye, Caley and Mandy. We love you both so much! We know we’ll see you both again in due time.

Happy Birthday, America

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Long may she wave!

Today is a great day to reflect a bit on this incredible nation of ours.  For many people today is just a day off from work, a time to light the grill, chug a few beers, and maybe watch a fireworks display when it gets dark, but this day is oh, so much more!  On this day in 1776, our Founding Fathers had the courage to sign a document declaring themselves free from of the tyrannical rule of a far-off King of England.  This was a group of brave colonists who just set themselves up against what was then the most powerful country in the world.  I wonder if they knew how many years of bloodshed and death it would take before that dream of a brave new world actually became a reality!  And yes, I am well aware that the actual signing did not take place on July 4!  Most of the delegates actually signed on July 2.

As most people, hopefully, know, the primary author of the Declaration of Independence was Thomas Jefferson; he was well-known for having a way with words so the committee asked him to draft the document.

Jefferson Memorial
Washington, DC

Supposedly John Adams was the one who encouraged Jefferson in this endeavor.  An interesting little bit of history about Adams and Jefferson, our second and third Presidents, is that they went from being friends and patriots to bitter political adversaries although they did somewhat reconcile in their later years.  They both died on the same day, July 4, 1826.  According to the common story, as Adams died, he said, “Jefferson survives,” not knowing that Jefferson had predeceased him by several hours.

In may ways the relationship between Jefferson and Adams summarizes much of the political tension and dichotomy we see in this country to this day.  Adams was from Massachusetts and clearly recognized the need for a strong federal government to force thirteen wildly disparate colonies to come together to form the new and struggling nation.  Jefferson, on the other hand, was a wealthy landowner from Virginia who did not want to see the federal government subsume the rights of the states.  This healthy tension between central government and the individual states continues to this day.

John Adams

Following the end of the Revolutionary War with the Treaty of Paris in 1783, the fledgling new nation crafted the Constitution, mostly written by our fourth President, James Madison.  The Constitution was ratified in 1788 and became effective in 1789.  Our forefathers recognized that they were heading into uncharted territory as they crafted this new governmental charter.  They defined a delicate balance among the three branches of the federal government, the Executive Branch, the Legislative Branch, and the Judicial Branch.  They also struck a healthy balance between states’ rights and federal authority.

When I hear people call for the end of the Electoral College, I am saddened at how little they understand about how hard our Founding Fathers worked to ensure that the more populous states could not run roughshod over the smaller states!  Our forefathers did not want to see large states like Virginia, New York, and Massachusetts have total control.  Likewise, today I would hate to see states like California, New York, and Illinois calling the shots for the rest of us who may not agree with many of their ideas.

So many people today know little or nothing about the amazing history of this country.  Our schools have failed us miserably in this regard!  At the risk of sounding like the old “when I was your age, I had to walk through three feet of snow to go to school,” I do think past generations learned much more about US History and World History than the young people of today.  We had classes on American History, World History, Texas History, and yes, even Civics, in elementary school, high school, and even in college.  The majority of people today could probably tell you more about the latest celebrity gossip in People magazine than they could about the Constitution!

Today we tear down historical monuments to past heroes and events just because we don’t agree with the philosophy they represent.  There is great danger in trying to judge the past while wearing the rose-colored glasses of today.  We simply should not judge the practices and mores of the past by the practices and mores of today.  All of human history has been a progression of growth and change.  In the same way we should not judge a three-year old who doesn’t know how to do calculus, we also should not judge our ancestors because they perhaps were slave-owners or didn’t allow women to vote.  We are all products of the customs and beliefs of our time.  Disagreeing with the past does not mean it did not happen.

One of my favorite quotes is “Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it,” attributed to the philosopher, George Santayana.  We hear people admiring Communism and Socialism and calling for the US to move in this direction, but I doubt that they even know the meanings of those words, let alone some of the history about the world’s experiments with these deadly philosophies!

Sometimes on television on shows like Fox’s Watter’s World, we see people who do not know the answers to simple questions like “Who was our first President,” “Which President freed the slaves,” “Who is our President today,” and so on.  While it can be amusing to see people make asses out of themselves, more than that it is truly a sad commentary on just how dumb we are becoming!  The other day I mentioned to my husband that I was memorizing the list of all of the Presidents of the US; I got the “look.”  “Why are you doing that?”  For me it ties me into our history.  Try this exercise yourself!  The first ten and the last fifteen or so are pretty easy.  It is the less famous group of guys in the middle that are tougher, the somber dudes with the big mutton-chop mustaches and sideburns.

As you head out to light the grill today, I would entreat you to also pay a little attention to the remarkable history of this great country and to what it really represents to the rest of the world!  That’s why we celebrate the Fourth of July!

Happy Birthday, America!  May you long be a shining beacon to the rest of the world!

©The Eclectic Grandma, 2018