Walking the Knife Edge of History

I’ve been wondering recently if we are standing on the knife edge of history with a fall to our doom, whether to the right or the left, if we don’t choose our steps carefully. I look at the war in Iraq and I wonder how it would have gone if the country had stayed united and determined as at the beginning. We all know that “a house divided against itself cannot stand.” It doesn’t matter how powerful a nation, or any group of people are; if they become focused on destroying each other, a small, dedicated and ruthless enemy, motivated by ideology and no fear of death, can overcome. We are the world’s greatest military superpower, but we are nearly as battered internally by the constant negativity as we are externally by the insurgents in Iraq.

But what if this is part of a bigger picture. I know, generations have come and gone and Messiah hasn’t returned yet. . .but, He did come, as predicted, the first time 2000 years ago and He said He will come again. . .so. What if the scenario is like this.

What if the noble experiment of the US is held in the balance by what we do now about this war here in this time. What if God did bring George Bush to the presidency for this time. Everyone was certainly happy to see him in charge of things on 9/12 – even Al Gore, the stories go, was glad he wasn’t president while he watched the towers fall. But what if the US is hanging in the balance of judgment. We seem to think that the constant negativity is neutral and has no effect. Unintended consequences can change the course of history.

What if our choice here is to be united and stand strong, or to be divided and fall dramatically, like a falling star, from the world’s scene. What if our choice is to put our differences behind and get on with the task of finishing this war with a united front or to hate our own leadership so much that we “cut off our nose to spite our face,” as my mother used to admonish me to not do, and we destroy ourselves because of hate for one man.

What happens if we fail? It would seem that the world would fall into terror on every side. The new testament notes that near the end a time will come when “men’s hearts will fail them for fear.” A world in which fundamentalist, extremist Islam has the upper hand would definitely be a world of fear. We cannot fail through lack of strength of computer and steel, but we can fail and fall mightily if we lack resolve and strength of mind. The knife blade is getting narrower. Lord God Almighty, please have mercy and spare us; help us make wise choices.

Getting Back In The Swing of Things

After a full week of frantically trying to get ready for vacation, followed by a wonderful week in Tokyo and environs, and then another week trying to catch up with the rest of my responsibilities, I haven’t had a chance to write here at all. I haven’t forgotten, however, and hope to get back to my musings shortly.

When I traveled to Japan, the first two days I missed my dog the most. Well, not really missed; I just felt the most guilty about leaving him behind. After all, when I told him I’d only be gone a week and would come back, why would I think he would understand? So, guilt over “abandoning” the dog. But after a couple of days, I really did miss my whole family and wished that they could have traveled with me. Missing the dog receded well into the background (whew, nice to have priorities in order). I kept thinking about how much the rest of the family would have enjoyed the various activities and I wished they were there. I had a great time, enjoyed my friends, saw my first Japanese lighthouse! And saw 17 new birds! The least exciting was the Carrion Crow, the most exciting (but not most rare) the perky little Japanese Pigmy Woodpecker. We’ll have to go back as a small herd if the friends think they could put up with us all for a few days!

It was such a treat to travel with a family that is completely bilingual. I could just relax and let them lead the way. Their kids could easily move back and forth between English and Japanese as could the parents. I was stuck in one language. But because of them, I could concentrate on enjoying the things I was seeing and didn't have to overtax the declining cognitive abilities by worrying over getting back home. Riding the trains was great, but I’m not sure I ever really knew where I was going!

The week included bird watching, walks through parks, hours chatting and catching up on friends, family and events, a day trip to the ocean (lighthouse), a day trip complete with a traditional Japanese barbeque by a river in the mountains, Edo-city museum, national museum, shopping and a small, but quality highlight, visiting a bird-nest exhibit at a local museum.

What a great week! Before the trip it just seemed like forever before the day would come, now we’re over a week past and it is already receding into the past. How quickly time flies when you’re having fun!

The Ongoing Saga

Well, obviously blogging life is not as simple as I had initially thought. I finally got the photo of Baxter and his sibs uploaded onto my previous posts, and voila', it worked fine from work (weekend access, not during work time!!) and even though my first attempt - on "The World's Best Dog" - didn't appear to work, but did seem to on "Alas" -- I ended up with the photo nice and visible on BOTH postings. Didn't want to mess with apparent success, so left it both places. Came home, accessed blog from home computer and all I get are small squares where photos should be. When I click on them, I can see the photo, but don't know if that is everyone's experience. At my work computer, they all just showed up where they belonged in glorious color right with the posting - like the earlier photos.

I wish I was a little more computer/blog literate. It would be nice if everything actually made sense and wasn't all trial and error. But if I can get trial and error to work, I won't be unhappy.

So, I'll try once again from home to see if I can get the other photo of Baxter to upload. I hate feeling stymied - but it's a common feeling when it comes to computers!!!

Nope, no success again. The next time you see Baxter here, I'll probably have sent the photo to my work computer and then tried again. This is rather annoying!! Continuing on with trial and error yet again!

ALAS

I've been attempting to dowload the two photos I had wanted to add to my last entry -- The World's Best Dog -- but I haven't been able to get them to upload. I thought I'd try once again as a new entry. . .so here goes.

Alas. . .no go again. Hope I can figure it out :-)!
Almost - 4/23 - maybe it's here this time!

THE WORLD'S BEST DOG

This morning I sat in the recliner by the window with the world’s best dog on my lap. Baxter is just four years old, born in March and picked up by us on Memorial Weekend four years ago. What a cute little puppy he was! Schipperke pups look like small bear cubs and we have no idea, in the photo of the little quintuplets provided by the breeder, which of the pups is Baxter.

He’s my dog. He’s really the family dog and is devoted to and protective of everyone. But he’s my dog because I’m “mom.” When the other’s lament that he isn’t most devoted to them, I remind them that when he was a little puppy, who was the one person who would crawl out of bed at 3:00 am to take him outside when he was miserable and needed to piddle? Yup, me. Who made sure he got every meal? Yup, me. Everyone played with him and he adores them all, but since I met all those puppy needs day and night after day and night, well, he’s bonded to me in his sweet little doggy mind.

He’s so cute. If I give him a greenie and then leave the house, he usually won’t eat the greenie until I’m back home; he waits for my return. He barks with joy whenever I come home and shakes with delight that his fears of abandonment were unfounded. He’s a great little early warning system and it is unlikely that we will be snuck up on by a person with evil intent. One night he barked at 3:00 am and we grumpily told him to be quiet and the next morning I had an email from a neighbor asking why the police were in front of our house at 3:00 am! What??? We had police at our house at 3:00 am? Turned out they had chased a stolen truck into our cul-de-sac and the culprits, discovering there was no place to go, abandoned the truck in front of our house and took off through a nearby yard without a fence in the front. By the time we knew about it, the truck was long gone and the only evidence that remained were the black tire marks showing exactly where the driver was when he realized there was no exit!

Schipperkes are also called Belgian barge bogs because they were apparently bred to be ratters on barges. Baxter has proven his breeding because he’s done in a couple of rats in the back yard over the past few months. The reason we have an occasional rat come through is because we also have three pigeons in a coop and they are not very neat eaters. There are always leftover seeds on the ground under the coop and the rats that live under the neighbors shed have been seen coming under the fence to have a snack. Baxter has turned some of their excursions into the last meal before their execution! We do not mourn the rats!

Baxter has a great personality, thinks every dog is his friend -- although he’s been surprised a few times and has moderated his enthusiasm. He is very protective of me. Just let husband or kids “pick on” mom and voila, there he is nipping at their ankles and letting them know that this is not appropriate behavior.

He is a complete affection sponge and adores being petted by “dad” who is the world’s best dog petter. He love chasing balls, but won’t let go so you have to have two in order to get him to chase more than once. He loves going for walks and his favorite phrase is “go with?” which means he’s invited along in the car. At those words, he runs in circles and barks for joy! He loves to sleep on the foot of the bed and on a cold winter night I enjoy his little 104 degree heater by my feet. Best of all, he sits next to me on the recliner and offers his furry little back as a sensory treat. When I’m happy he is happy along with me and when I’m sad he licks my tears. Lots of people have very nice dogs, but I have the World’s Best Dog!

HOW THE GENERATIONS PASS - Healy, Richardson, Stevens, Sherwood

This week I've spent a lot of time typing up the entries of an old journal of my great-great grandmother - Rosina Jane Richardson Stevens, who went by Jane. It's difficult to read some of her beautiful cursive writing, but definitely worth the effort. She began writing when her mother died in 1872 and seemed to only take pen to diary when one or another family member passed on or a similar tragedy occurred. She sounds rather pessimistic in her writings, but her narrative shows that life was not easy. Their family made many moves while trying to establish themselves in farming or business; she lamented business losses (e.g., fire in furniture store, financial debts, cyclones wreaking havoc on their farm, and the loss of siblings and children. Theirs was not an easy life in the late 1880’s for those lower to middle class families who were trying to make it in either business or farming the land.

It’s wonderful that she left this short 18-entry journal. Two of the last few entries give lists of events with places and dates recorded. The first is an outline of the moves of her early marriage. Only 19 moves in 18 years – you can hear the satisfaction in her voice as she mentions that they were still living in Elgin, Minnesota six uninterrupted years later. It appears she actually stayed there many years more.

In her journal she hoped that her life would have value to someone who she had touched and due to her experiences, was always reminding herself that we need to be ready because “we don’t know at what day or hour our call will come” to pass on to the next world. Considering her brother, Nathaniel Healy, died of Consumption, while in London and reportedly feeling better; her sister Mary Dexter died suddenly of heart disease and dropsy, and a little unnamed but not unmourned niece or nephew died at the ripe old age of 22 months, her anxiety in this regard was not unfounded or exagerated. Reading this 134 years later, I’m struck with how her life did have the meaning she desired it might have to those who followed – and how her jotted notes of decades past touch my heart even now. We’re not so different, she and I, but I do feel more optimistic. But on the other hand, my life is much easier, so why wouldn’t I be.

Our lives have intersected in another way as well. She and her husband apparently couldn’t have children and they later adopted their six year old niece, Eldora Julia Dexter who they named Ella Jane Stevens. So she is my blood relative in a roundabaout way, but being my great grandmother’s mother, she is my true great-great grandmother as well. She was the one who was mom, even though her sister was her daughter’s birth mother. I have a slight interest in those first parents, the Mary who died of dropsy and her first husband, Levi, who passed away when Ella Jane was an infant, but it is enough to see great-great Grandma Jane reflected in my grandmother and later my father. Both, including the two generations before them, had strong faith in God and looked for His help and comfort in time of need. I don't know what might have happened if Eldora Julia had grown up and lived her life unaffected by grandma Jane, but Ella Jane is person our great-grandmother became.

In 1883 Great-great Grandma Jane wrote

"Elgin,[Minnesota], Nov. 8th, 1883

No cyclone here Sept 21st as predicted but one passed over us eastward, striking [illegible] in Wis., doing much damage. My health is quite poor and I feel it s my duty to divide some precious things that were our mothers. I am growing old. Soon the places that know us now will know us no more." This "predicted" cyclone would have been the one everyone feared after the devastating ones of July 21st and August 21st of the two months previous. Little did she know that her life would become easier as time went on. In spite of her feeling old and her own "prediction," she lived almost three more decades until February 1912 -- a few months before her granddaughter, my grandmother, Susan Rosina, graduated from high school. She had a long time to live before it was her turn to be the one passing on.

I'm loving reading her words, feelings her thoughts and feeling our hearts reaching out to each other across the century. Perhaps from the gates of heaven now, along with Grandma Susan and her son, my Dad, Great-great Grandma Jane watches me read her words and knows that all of them, and the rest of the family who are already there, live on in my heart. As Grandma Jane said when her sister passed on, "I trust to meet you there with many loved ones gone before."

The Inadequate Prayer Study

This morning I heard a segment on the radio about how a ten year study had shown that prayer really didn’t make any difference in the health of heart bypass patients. Apparently there were three groups, those who knew they were being prayed for; those who thought they might or might not be, who weren’t; and those who thought they might or might not be who were. What was reported was that there wasn’t much difference between the two groups who might have been prayed for, but that there were actually more complications for those who knew they were being prayed for than the other two groups.

There is a major flaw in this study; actually there are three major flaws in this study. The first is the fact that they were talking about whether or not prayer made a difference. Their pray-ers were three groups of Christians, two catholic and one protestant who prayed specific printed prayers for the persons in question.

Here is the first major flaw. There was no way to control for variables in this study. I find it hard to believe that those who were “maybe” prayed for had no people in their lives that didn’t care whether they lived or died. Just because no “official” person prayed for them, doesn’t mean that there weren’t family or friends who were fervently praying for them. In fact, knowing that there might only be a possibility, not a certainty that an official praying group might pray for their loved one, they might have been more likely to spend time praying themselves. For the group that “definitely” had an official group praying for them, perhaps the people who really loved them just trusted in those official prayers and failed to add their own petitions for their loved ones health.

And this gives rise to the second major flaw. It was said that the prayers were all printed out and read by those who prayed. So did they actually mean those prayers? What makes prayer effective anyway? Doesn’t it have to do with actually believing that there is a listener out there to whom one can appeal when the possibility or certainty of losing someone you love looms? The official Word on the subject is that it is “the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man (no gender) avails much.” We can hope that the official pray-ers were righteous, but can we, with any certainty, say that they were fervent. Was it their father or mother who was hovering by death’s door? Was it a face that they loved that might never come home, or just a name on a piece of paper?

This brings us to the last major flaw. The God part. The study sounds like they expect prayer to be a little formula that obligates the Master of the Universe to take note and to do what we want. When we pray are we just reading words on a page and putting in our time, or do we actually believe that we are communicating with a Being dramatically unlike us, but a knowable Person who can touch our heart of anxiety as well as the body of the person for whom we pray – a Person who cares for even the individual sparrow, and “how much more” for us who have so little faith.

Late Christmas at Work

Every year at Christmas time, our office managers purchase beautiful poinsettias which are placed stategically throughout the office to make things festive. Every January it seems such a waste to toss these beautiful plants just because the holiday season is past. A co-worker of mine is simply the best at keeping poinsettia greenery alive and has a three year old plant still thriving. So, following her example last year, I continued watering mine. As the season progressed, the red leaves (are they leaves, bracts, something else??) died off and were replaced by new growth.

The plant thrived throughout the year. The first half of last year it had a very sunny location, facing southwest, but then I moved to a different office with only a northern exposure. The other interesting feature of my new office is that is gets very warm during the day. The best attempts at moderating the heat are futile. It seems to be all or nothing. So we make it a point to wear layered outfits so that we can be dressed for any of winter, spring, summer or fall on any given day. Well, the northern exposure, the stifling warm days, followed by cool evenings and actually quite chilly weekends (when the heat hardly comes on) and being watered lightly twice a week must have just been the ticket for the poinsettia of Christmas 2004. Near the middle of January 2006, I noticed a few tiny buds on the ends of some branches and slowly the new growth turned out to be red. This pattern has continued with the magnificent display of a full five flowering branches and maybe even a couple more to come.

I am delighted to share with you my very first poinsettia display, grown at work! I've never had a poinsettia ever re-bloom, particularly with enthusiasm. As it has gotten the new red leaves, it has been losing the old green ones, so it is getting a little straggly looking again. Perhaps this year I'll start my first attempt at cutting it back and trying this again next year. Of course, it might be 2008 before it is ready to bloom again. We'll see how it does - or if it lives that long. Poinsettia's are generally rather cranky plants and I find it hard to believe I could keep one happy for years. But here's to this year's success!!

Evenings with Friends

One of the things that I have come to appreciate most in life is sitting around with friends over dinner. Friday night we had three friends over; one coworker family and one former coworker. Our dog even had a social evening as former coworker brought little Mr. Tucker along and the two dogs had a delightful evening chasing each other around the yard or the house with hard-earned intervals of little naps between romps. I made the main course and garlic bread and guests brought salad, desert and wine. Conversations ranged over lighthouses (no surprise), stamps, garden plants, seashells, work, arrowheads, and antique furniture. We laughed and talked and told stories of both shared experiences and individual adventures over the years.

At our church we also have informal dinners called "Dinner for Eight at Six." This happens once a month on a Saturday night and includes anyone who cares to sign up. There’s no agenda except getting to know each other. Couples or singles are assigned to host homes and usually about 8 people end up together, hence the name, each bringing a part of the dinner. Tonight we had our second social evening of the weekend, meeting new people and learning about new lives. Participants included gardener, firefighter, veterinarian, computer geek, accountant, bookkeeper, adoption caseworker and former banker, current home school mom. Conversations ranged all through these lifetimes of experiences and we learned the things we held in common and new things about people that formerly we simply familiar faces on Sunday.

What a fun weekend. Good food, good friends, good times. Jesus said once that 'not even when a man has an abundance, does life consist in what he owns.' Our evenings were simple and in no way elegant. None of us owns a lot. But the evenings were also rich in experience and memory, filled with love and laughter and peace. A veritable feast of friendship.

And, as icing on the cake, on Friday night at our house, guess who showed up? Yes, little guy Anna, sitting on the feeder and entertaining friends with his interest in his observers. So very fortunate am I, surrounded by friends, pets and visiting little birds.

Hummingbird Treats

Shortly after we came back from the lighthouse I realized that I hadn’t seen my little hummingbird. Well, not my little pet, the hummingbird -- more as in my little master, the hummingbird. I had heard no morning clicking and nearly a week had gone by without a sighting. But I’m getting ahead of the story. For those who don’t know -- Anna’s Hummingbirds winter over here in the Pacific Northwest, near the water which moderates the lower temperatures. Our other local hummingbird, the Rufus, heads south when conditions start becoming inhospitable. Last summer we had several Anna’s hummingbirds that had frequented our feeder and one apparently decided to winter over at our multiplex bird bistro.

We keep our hummingbird feeders filled throughout the year. One week during early January and another during mid February, we had unseasonably low temperatures. For us unseasonably merely requires that temperatures fall below freezing during the night. The first week night temperatures dipped consistently into the mid twenties. In February the temperatures made it into the mid and high teens and some days didn’t make it above freezing all day (wow!!). During these cold spells the nectar in the feeders would freeze. Every evening I brought in one feeder to keep from freezing. Our normal winter routine has our household up before sunrise, but by nearly 7:00 when the sun was finally coming up; I’d take out the feeder with the warm sugar nectar and exchange it for the frozen one hanging in the tree. “Little guy” Anna proved to be a quick study! After a couple of mornings of sitting on the feeder contemplating cold food in crystal form, and then discovering that a warm breakfast was served shortly thereafter, he developed an expectation. After those couple days I’d come out on the deck in the morning to a series of rapid little clicks and the small hummer bouncing around in the plum tree. I’d mimic “clicking” back in an attempt to say good morning and I’d get a series of clicks in reply. I have no way of knowing if a strict translation would be closer to “hurry up slowpoke!” or “oh thank you, great exalted provider.” The former strikes me as more likely. Usually he would sit on the feeder until I came close and then fly just a few feet away up into the plum tree. After the feeder exchange was made, and I got two or three yards away, he’d swoop right to the feeder and get drinking. I’d hurry back inside where it was warm and join him in a warming drink with a toast of my morning coffee!

While we were at the Lighthouse we left all the bird feeders filled to the brim. The temperatures didn’t drop very low and there was no need for our house sitter to add hummingbird care to her list of animal husbandry. When we came back home, several mornings went by with no sightings of the little guy. I began to get worried. Had he died? Had the cat eaten him? Had he felt neglected and gone into decline? There were no little clicking sounds, no little buzzing noises as he rocketed from tree to tree past my ear. Oh, no, I began to think – something has happened to him. Fortunately, my beginning foray into mourning was transformed into happiness when at the end of the week, at last, there he was, sitting at the feeder and clicking loudly. He hasn’t been around much but now that there are trees blooming all over the neighborhood, perhaps fresh flower fare has more appeal. Happy spring, our hummingbird is just fine!

One Sunday in the middle of my constant hummingbird care, I thought of the verse that talks about how God answers our prayer before we ask. I realized that God looks out for me, in advance of my mornings, just like I looked out for “little guy Anna hummingbird.” I thought about him, made preparations evening and morning, and brought the warm and ready food when the freeze came. God has always met my needs, often before I realized there was even a need. It’s comforting to realize that the Lord actually thinks about me when I’m not thinking about Him. How strange and wonderful. I’m sure my little hummingbird thinks I’m pretty amazing, stepping out of the great tan wood and glass "unknown" to meet his needs. How similar when God, who is so great and so unknowable, steps out of His home and Jesus comes and meets me where I have need. And all my "clicking"? Well, sometimes it’s, ‘thank you, thank you, oh Great and Glorious” but also it’s quite often “Hey, what’s taken so long, where have you been, why am I stuck in this terrible situatio, don't you care about me????” -- when I’ve no idea how dear to His heart I am.

Teenage Engineering Marvel

While staying at the Lighthouse, A and B first gathered driftwood on the beach and built a fort. It was very sturdy, and they could stand on the roof. Once that project was completed, A started building a tipi. Everything she used in the construction of said tipi was found on the beach. She started with a center pole, anchored deep in the sand and surrounded by battered and broken tree rounds that had washed ashore on some high tide. She then leaned tall driftwood poles into the center and tied them together with sea battered rope. She then added cross piece supports between the poles and tied them on with wet kelp. The seaweed dried and tightened. She left an entrance. The only potential covering she found on the beach was one dead seal but, not surprisingly, wasn’t willing to take the obvious next step to use that windfall! The following night we were treated with increasingly howling winds from the southeast and the morning brought dramatic whitecaps. The winds held steady most of the day between 40-45 miles per hour, with gusts into the 50’s. A’s solitary tipi stood firm against those and the high gusts of 58 mph without even a shudder. It was a grand engineering achievement and we were all impressed. Alas, the tipi and fort had to be gone by the time we left the Lighthouse since Fish and Wildlife don’t approve of structures. But nothing was used in this that wasn’t already a part of the beach.

Not a trace remains, just like none remains of all the S’Klallam and other native members who would rest at the Spit on their long hauls around and across the Straits. The Lighthouse has stood since 1857 and throughout that 149 years many keepers have stood on the tower, polished brass, cleaned windows and watched for ships in distress. Many keepers have washed dishes at the kitchen sink and looked across the Straits toward the lights of Victoria. Many a sailor, ship large or small, has been oriented by the sight of the light or comforted by the boom of the foghorn through the damp and starless darkness. Many of them have disappeared into history and we short term keepers will follow. But their work remains and their laughter, struggles, tears, and joy linger. They touch us in the breeze on a sunny day and in the warmth and peace found in the keeper’s house while the storms and winds rage outside and the light stands as always, shining 17 miles out to sea.

The Worlds Best Week

There is nothing like staying at the New Dungness Lighthouse. Ahh, such solitude at the end of a six mile sandspit, almost completely surrounded by Straits and Bay. A "working vacation" means we give a few tours, polish brass, and clean the windows of the tower. Offsetting these little tasks are hours of walking on the beach, eagles, seals, dunlin, sanderling, pink sunrises and glorious sunsets, starfish and hermit crabs. The first two days you can feel your muscles loosen and you find yourself taking deep relaxing breaths and often slipping into short snoozes mid-day while reclining on couch or on porch Adirondack chairs. Evenings bring family movies, games of scrabble or take-two. When occasional strong storm winds howl around the tower, we remain snug in the keepers house.
Ah, keeping at the lighthouse certainly makes for the Best Week in the World.

Lightkeeper

Where It All Begins

After months of considering starting a blog, I'm at the very beginning stages. A new adventure begins. I refuse to be intimitdated by all this technology any longer. Yes, this "old dog" will learn new tricks!