Yeah, the yo yo is still going up and down. Over the past week it was at the bottom. Since Monday flipped the odometer of this injury up to eighteen weeks, I went through another sinking spell. A third of a year is enough time to heal a broken bone three times over. Not so my shoulder.
To make matters worse, I have some important decisions to make and my health is a major factor in those conclusions. By health, I am still blessed enough to be referring to running and swimming. I haven't run since November 2016. I am able to swim, but every time I get around 2,500 meters, the shoulder goes backwards. To train for Chicot, I need several session of well over 10,000 meters. Right now that is a no go.
The doctor left it up to me if I wanted to get an MRI or not. I am trying to put that off because even with insurance it costs a lot of money. I have given myself a deadline. By December if I cannot swim 3,500 meters with no negative consequences, I'll go for the MRI. The doc said all I had to do was call.
During Mom's final week and the aftermath, I learned something else about my troublesome appendage. It got worse, much worse when I do not workout. I have noticed that before but this time the layoff was longer and consequently the downhill slide was worse. The shoulder gets better when worked, but if too much work it goes backwards. Slowly I am learning the things that it doesn't like. Last night I must have hit it just right because it feels 100% today. I know it is not 100%, but it feels as good as it ever has. Among other things, I benched
15 X 55
16 X 65
17 X 75
10 X 85
10 X 85
and did the Swim Pull for
15 X 22.5
20 X 22.5
22 X 22.5
10 X 22.5.
With the new machine, I can do seated rows. I have done them with the equipment I already had, but the angle is different with the new machine. The shoulder seems to like those a lot. In addition to seated rows, the new equipment has a Smith machine. My shoulder does not like to be pulled back like I have to to use it to back squat, but I am doing front squats with it holding the bar with an undergip hand position.
Maybe I will be able to do Chicot this year. Right now, my gaze is coming up after my eyes being on the ground just ahead of my steps. The Bible calls God "the lifter up of my head" (Psalm 3:3). Thank you, Lord.
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
Monday, October 30, 2017
10/23 - 10/29
It was another truncated week, but I did manage some weightlifting. I am still going extremely light as I attempt to rehab the shoulder, but at least I am working some and I am inching the weight up literally a pound per workout. On my last session of bench presses, I did 83.5 pounds.
I lifted Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Thursday it was not as airish as the preceding days so I went to the pool and swam a paltry 1,200 meters.
Friday, RT and I went to Olive Branch to pick up a piece of exercise equipment. We made a good haul. I came back with the machine, another Olympic bar, and an additional 80 pounds of Olympic plates to bolster Plate City Gym's already prodigious collection of weight.
Saturday I maneuvered the machine into its new spot, thoroughly tested it, and lifted again. Then after watching some football, I took the dogs out for a hunt. In the yard I walked .63 of a mile, and in the country I logged an additional 1.85 miles.
Sunday, Centerville met at Sheila's house and we worshiped, ate, and recreated. Gerald and I took a little stroll, and I added another .45 to my total.
For the week, I lifted four times, swam 1,200 meters, and walked 5.7 miles. Praise be to God for the beautiful weather we are having right now, and Lord help my shoulder to completely heal.
I lifted Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Thursday it was not as airish as the preceding days so I went to the pool and swam a paltry 1,200 meters.
Friday, RT and I went to Olive Branch to pick up a piece of exercise equipment. We made a good haul. I came back with the machine, another Olympic bar, and an additional 80 pounds of Olympic plates to bolster Plate City Gym's already prodigious collection of weight.
Saturday I maneuvered the machine into its new spot, thoroughly tested it, and lifted again. Then after watching some football, I took the dogs out for a hunt. In the yard I walked .63 of a mile, and in the country I logged an additional 1.85 miles.
Sunday, Centerville met at Sheila's house and we worshiped, ate, and recreated. Gerald and I took a little stroll, and I added another .45 to my total.
For the week, I lifted four times, swam 1,200 meters, and walked 5.7 miles. Praise be to God for the beautiful weather we are having right now, and Lord help my shoulder to completely heal.
Friday, October 27, 2017
Roses: A Tribute to Mom
Life is like that. Sometimes good grows out of bad. Sometimes bad grows in spite of good. But life gives us both whether we want them or not.
I snapped this shot because it struck me as a symbol of life in general and Mom's in particular. In the background, like it is with many of us, is a young, beautiful, vibrant bloom. In the foreground is a mature, beginning-to-fade flower that will soon look like the dried remnants of the dead bud between the two.
I can remember when my Mom was physically a stunningly beautiful woman with a house full of young kids, one of whom had a penchant for mischief. She was always a beautiful person, and even after time, age, and disease began to ravage her body and abilities, the qualities of her soul always shined through, always testified to a nature touched by God.
 |
| The Mom of my youth. |
My first memory of her is within days of when we moved from Leflore Ave. to 422 West Harding Street in Greenwood, Mississippi. This was May of 1959. At that time, the house to our west wasn't there. Instead, we had a large green lot where we ran, played ball, and stepped on honey bees. An older boy got after me in that lot, and I ran for my life. He bore down on me like a big dog running down a rabbit. I zigged and zagged like a terrified creature trying to survive. He zagged at one of my zigs and fell to the ground while I escaped. I ran straight inside and told Mom how brave I was and how I had outrun the big boy. I always wanted to impress my mom.
My favorite memory of her also dates way back to my youth. Maybe I was eight or ten, just a small boy. We had a tom cat named William who was unusually aggressive, mean, dangerous. He was so pugnacious that I remember Dad running him out of the house with a broom because he had gotten stirred up and was attacking everything in sight. William was then banished to the outdoors where he quickly established a pattern of rambling, fighting, and coming home with severe wounds. After disappearing for days at a time, his manner was to drag back home with bloody, stinky fight wounds and lie around on the back steps while he healed up just enough to go off and do it all over again. He was too mean to touch so he never saw a vet and never received the attention most toms crave.
He lived that way for a few years and then died on the back steps one summer night to greet us with his carcass the next morning. Despite his violent nature and unpleasant presence, upon discovering his body, Mother went into the kitchen, sat at the table, and wept for William. For me, that characterizes her as well as anything I can think of. She loved deeply and saw the value, the beauty, the dignity of everything and everyone God created. Sometimes I wonder if that is why I am the way I am about cats today. She wasn't afraid to cry in front of her children, because she never received the memo that she "had to be strong" for us. Her tender compassion was impressed upon my soul like a tattoo on a sailor's arm.
My son, Forrest, called his granny, "The most Christian person I ever knew." She was not, however, showy in her faith, but she was steady, consistent, enduring. She taught Sunday School for thirty-one years. She took minutes at the church board meetings. She was the official photographer of the church for a long, long time. Brother Seefeld, her pastor for many years, said she never called attention to herself but did her job, did it well, and did it without fanfare.
Besides her huge heart, unusual capacity for compassion, and her service to her church, one word that describes her well is "creative." She could do just about anything and do it well. Of course she was a good cook and seamstress. She made my wife's wedding dress as well as those of her two daughters, Carol and Helen. Beyond that, she made Christmas decorations for the house. She cut and painted a large Santa out of plywood that she used to mount on the front of the house each Christmas season. For a while, she and her friends were into quilt making. Later, is was jelly, once making the tasty stuff out of the spent hulls of purple hull peas. Her carpentry skills were off the charts, and Dad always enlisted her help when he built something. She could do electrical work, lay bricks, plumb, and paint. She built cabinets for the house and a bathroom for the cabin in Carroll County. An artist from her youth, she could draw anything, make anything, create anything. When computers came out, she learned the computer. Late in her life, she took up photography, set up a dark room, and then when digital came along, she learned that. I, on the other hand, like my dad, change slowly and view technology with a modicum of distrust and annoyance. She, however, embraced change and delighted to learn the new.
The subjects of her photography were her children, grandchildren, flowers, and birds. With huge lenses on her cameras, she took photographs of tiny flowers most people never notice. She enlarged the flowers and everyone who saw the photos always wanted to know what kind of flower and where they grew. They were shocked to find that they had been walking over and on these little beauties all their lives. She noticed God's beauty everywhere she went. Below is one of the small flowers I took a picture of with my cell phone. It was barely discernible to the human eye. Now I notice things like this.
Her photographs of birds are National Geographic worthy. She stalked rice fields in the delta to capture stunning shots of geese. She set up a blind in Carroll County to ambush turkey with her camera. At home, she availed herself to the large sliding glass doors to record all the local town birds. Once she told me that "You'd be surprised at how many wounded birds there are around here," and then she showed me shots of a one-legged robin and a redbird that couldn't fly but had learned to survive.
We used to take a family trip during spring break each year. We, Mom, Dad, siblings and kids, would meet at a State park somewhere and spend time together fishing, eating, and just hanging out. On the last one of these trips she took, due to her health, Mom made the journey in the back of her SUV lying on a mattress, tied to the sides to prevent her from sliding around. I drove her vehicle and all the way to Natchez State Park while she saw and remarked about birds all the way there and back.
"Did you see that bird?" she asked me several times during the trip.
"Mom, I'm driving. I can't look at birds."
Once in the hospital with only a brick wall for a view, a bird lit on a ladder that went up the wall about 100 yards away from her window. She noticed. She always noticed and asked me what kind of bird it was. Who pays that kind of attention to a native bird on a ladder 100 yards away? She did and now, I am unable not to notice birds everywhere I go. Momma instilled that in me by the way she lived and it is impossible to see one of our feathered friends without thinking of her.
She not only took pictures of birds, but she kept a large flock of cockatiels in the house. She also had some parrots and I don't know what all. Once there were seventeen birds many of which had free run of the house. So she photographed birds, observed birds, and kept birds, and passed that awareness of them down to me.
That is not all she passed down to me. Her kindness and gentleness has seeped into my soul. I am selfish with my time, and self centered in many ways, but it is impossible to be raised by her and not take up at least a modicum of her sweetness. The kindness and gentleness I posses show up mostly in my dealings with our grandchildren and cats. I can't help but treat them as I saw her treat everything and everyone for all of my life.
I can never be as good as her, I can never be as selfless as her, I can never be as caring, conscientious, and courteous as her. But her goodness has influenced me and will no doubt do so for the rest of my life. This, I am sure, is the most accurate assessment of someone's life: what impact survives his or her death. Hers survives in her children, grandchildren, and friends. Maybe I can emulate her and pass some of that along. Maybe. One thing is for sure: we can all be as forgiven as her. Jesus offers that to us all.
Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters,
and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat;
yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.
(Isaiah 55:1, KJV)
To everyone who reached out to the Hodge family during and after the loss of Jo Hodge, thank you. We received calls, texts, visits, food, flowers, donations to the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi, prayers, hugs, Snickers Bars, and condolences from many. They were all received with gratitude and they touched us and ministered to us and helped begin the process of healing from this encounter with the valley of the shadow of death. God bless you all.
He lived that way for a few years and then died on the back steps one summer night to greet us with his carcass the next morning. Despite his violent nature and unpleasant presence, upon discovering his body, Mother went into the kitchen, sat at the table, and wept for William. For me, that characterizes her as well as anything I can think of. She loved deeply and saw the value, the beauty, the dignity of everything and everyone God created. Sometimes I wonder if that is why I am the way I am about cats today. She wasn't afraid to cry in front of her children, because she never received the memo that she "had to be strong" for us. Her tender compassion was impressed upon my soul like a tattoo on a sailor's arm.
My son, Forrest, called his granny, "The most Christian person I ever knew." She was not, however, showy in her faith, but she was steady, consistent, enduring. She taught Sunday School for thirty-one years. She took minutes at the church board meetings. She was the official photographer of the church for a long, long time. Brother Seefeld, her pastor for many years, said she never called attention to herself but did her job, did it well, and did it without fanfare.
Besides her huge heart, unusual capacity for compassion, and her service to her church, one word that describes her well is "creative." She could do just about anything and do it well. Of course she was a good cook and seamstress. She made my wife's wedding dress as well as those of her two daughters, Carol and Helen. Beyond that, she made Christmas decorations for the house. She cut and painted a large Santa out of plywood that she used to mount on the front of the house each Christmas season. For a while, she and her friends were into quilt making. Later, is was jelly, once making the tasty stuff out of the spent hulls of purple hull peas. Her carpentry skills were off the charts, and Dad always enlisted her help when he built something. She could do electrical work, lay bricks, plumb, and paint. She built cabinets for the house and a bathroom for the cabin in Carroll County. An artist from her youth, she could draw anything, make anything, create anything. When computers came out, she learned the computer. Late in her life, she took up photography, set up a dark room, and then when digital came along, she learned that. I, on the other hand, like my dad, change slowly and view technology with a modicum of distrust and annoyance. She, however, embraced change and delighted to learn the new.
The subjects of her photography were her children, grandchildren, flowers, and birds. With huge lenses on her cameras, she took photographs of tiny flowers most people never notice. She enlarged the flowers and everyone who saw the photos always wanted to know what kind of flower and where they grew. They were shocked to find that they had been walking over and on these little beauties all their lives. She noticed God's beauty everywhere she went. Below is one of the small flowers I took a picture of with my cell phone. It was barely discernible to the human eye. Now I notice things like this.
 |
| One of the tiny flowers she often shot with huge lenses and enlarged into gorgeous photographs. |
Her photographs of birds are National Geographic worthy. She stalked rice fields in the delta to capture stunning shots of geese. She set up a blind in Carroll County to ambush turkey with her camera. At home, she availed herself to the large sliding glass doors to record all the local town birds. Once she told me that "You'd be surprised at how many wounded birds there are around here," and then she showed me shots of a one-legged robin and a redbird that couldn't fly but had learned to survive.
We used to take a family trip during spring break each year. We, Mom, Dad, siblings and kids, would meet at a State park somewhere and spend time together fishing, eating, and just hanging out. On the last one of these trips she took, due to her health, Mom made the journey in the back of her SUV lying on a mattress, tied to the sides to prevent her from sliding around. I drove her vehicle and all the way to Natchez State Park while she saw and remarked about birds all the way there and back.
"Did you see that bird?" she asked me several times during the trip.
"Mom, I'm driving. I can't look at birds."
Once in the hospital with only a brick wall for a view, a bird lit on a ladder that went up the wall about 100 yards away from her window. She noticed. She always noticed and asked me what kind of bird it was. Who pays that kind of attention to a native bird on a ladder 100 yards away? She did and now, I am unable not to notice birds everywhere I go. Momma instilled that in me by the way she lived and it is impossible to see one of our feathered friends without thinking of her.
She not only took pictures of birds, but she kept a large flock of cockatiels in the house. She also had some parrots and I don't know what all. Once there were seventeen birds many of which had free run of the house. So she photographed birds, observed birds, and kept birds, and passed that awareness of them down to me.
That is not all she passed down to me. Her kindness and gentleness has seeped into my soul. I am selfish with my time, and self centered in many ways, but it is impossible to be raised by her and not take up at least a modicum of her sweetness. The kindness and gentleness I posses show up mostly in my dealings with our grandchildren and cats. I can't help but treat them as I saw her treat everything and everyone for all of my life.
I can never be as good as her, I can never be as selfless as her, I can never be as caring, conscientious, and courteous as her. But her goodness has influenced me and will no doubt do so for the rest of my life. This, I am sure, is the most accurate assessment of someone's life: what impact survives his or her death. Hers survives in her children, grandchildren, and friends. Maybe I can emulate her and pass some of that along. Maybe. One thing is for sure: we can all be as forgiven as her. Jesus offers that to us all.
Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters,
and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat;
yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.
(Isaiah 55:1, KJV)
To everyone who reached out to the Hodge family during and after the loss of Jo Hodge, thank you. We received calls, texts, visits, food, flowers, donations to the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi, prayers, hugs, Snickers Bars, and condolences from many. They were all received with gratitude and they touched us and ministered to us and helped begin the process of healing from this encounter with the valley of the shadow of death. God bless you all.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
Pee Wee's Poem
Pee Wee
roaming wasted streets
fed by strangers
attacked by dogs
saved by my son
gifted to me,
he runs with joy
his nature to fulfill,
made by God
His blessings to pour
into my undeserving soul.
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
Wednesday Workout
Wednesday I worked out again. Despite doing the right things, I woke up weighing 180.6, more than yesterday and Monday. What?!?!? It was a bit cool so I didn't want to swim. On the bench I did
18 X 56
15 X 67
13 X 72.5
12 X 78
9 X 83
The 83 almost felt like real weight. Of course I did the Swim Pull:
30 X 21
20 X 22.5
20 X 22.5
I also did over 100 reps of internal and external rotations each along with a host of other exercises. The fire to lift is starting to come back. That's always a good thing. In addition to all of that, I walked between sets and even shuffled back and forth across the yard a few times. I am beginning to believe that one day I will get the running back. I need to work on leg strength, which I did, and lose weight, which I am trying to do. It is going to take a while. I will be patient, but I will run again and I will do Chicot in 2018.
18 X 56
15 X 67
13 X 72.5
12 X 78
9 X 83
The 83 almost felt like real weight. Of course I did the Swim Pull:
30 X 21
20 X 22.5
20 X 22.5
I also did over 100 reps of internal and external rotations each along with a host of other exercises. The fire to lift is starting to come back. That's always a good thing. In addition to all of that, I walked between sets and even shuffled back and forth across the yard a few times. I am beginning to believe that one day I will get the running back. I need to work on leg strength, which I did, and lose weight, which I am trying to do. It is going to take a while. I will be patient, but I will run again and I will do Chicot in 2018.
The Journey Begun
I'm attempting to get back in the saddle, unfat some, and refit a lot. So far the results have been not so spectacular. Monday I weighed 180.2!!!! I did not go to the pool but instead lifted at Plate City. On the bench I did
16 X 50.5
10 X 61.5
12 X 67
11 X 72.5
On the Swim Pull I did
10 X 21
12 X 21
16 X 21
Tuesday I weighed 179.6. I failed to get the moxie up to go to the pool so I went back to Plate City and lifted and played with the dogs. They love it when I am back there and the cool weather had them extra feisty. On the bench I pushed
17 X 55
13 X 65
13 X 70
10 X 75
On the Swim Pull, I pulled
21 X 21
25 X 21
26 X 21
I know you are wondering why I lifted two days in a row. Normally I would not, but the weights, even considering for my lack of fitness, are so light right now that I am not tearing down muscle tissue. I am really just rehabbing the shoulder. Which is? you ask. Better but still not well. During the layoff it regressed considerably. I don't know what to make of that. I would have thought the rest would have been good for it. However, that is not what I got. It always feels better immediately after a workout and the day after a workout. Go figure.
Thanks be to God for good weather and happy dogs.
16 X 50.5
10 X 61.5
12 X 67
11 X 72.5
On the Swim Pull I did
10 X 21
12 X 21
16 X 21
Tuesday I weighed 179.6. I failed to get the moxie up to go to the pool so I went back to Plate City and lifted and played with the dogs. They love it when I am back there and the cool weather had them extra feisty. On the bench I pushed
17 X 55
13 X 65
13 X 70
10 X 75
On the Swim Pull, I pulled
21 X 21
25 X 21
26 X 21
I know you are wondering why I lifted two days in a row. Normally I would not, but the weights, even considering for my lack of fitness, are so light right now that I am not tearing down muscle tissue. I am really just rehabbing the shoulder. Which is? you ask. Better but still not well. During the layoff it regressed considerably. I don't know what to make of that. I would have thought the rest would have been good for it. However, that is not what I got. It always feels better immediately after a workout and the day after a workout. Go figure.
Thanks be to God for good weather and happy dogs.
Monday, October 23, 2017
10/16 - 10/22
I bottomed out this week. At least I hope I did. I did almost no training, a butt load of eating, hours of sitting, and spells upon spells of crying. Through it all, I managed to outgrow the remaining pair of pants I could still button.
Mother was dying starting late last week. Actually, she has been dying for several years, but the pace quickened and we knew the time was drawing near. I was there most of the time and when I wasn't I was sort of in a fog. She passed early Wednesday morning, a kind and gentle soul who never harmed a person in her life and gave love and respect to everyone she met. Seeing her pass was the most difficult thing I have ever endured. I will be writing about her life soon.
Friday afternoon was the only time I exercised. I mowed the lawn and did some gentle weightlifting. On the bench I pushed
15 X 50
12 X 60
10 X 71
10 X 71
That's it. I hope now to begin the process of grieving, getting this weight off, and moving back towards some sort of fitness. Thanks be to God who has given sufficient grace during our time of crises.
Mother was dying starting late last week. Actually, she has been dying for several years, but the pace quickened and we knew the time was drawing near. I was there most of the time and when I wasn't I was sort of in a fog. She passed early Wednesday morning, a kind and gentle soul who never harmed a person in her life and gave love and respect to everyone she met. Seeing her pass was the most difficult thing I have ever endured. I will be writing about her life soon.
Friday afternoon was the only time I exercised. I mowed the lawn and did some gentle weightlifting. On the bench I pushed
15 X 50
12 X 60
10 X 71
10 X 71
That's it. I hope now to begin the process of grieving, getting this weight off, and moving back towards some sort of fitness. Thanks be to God who has given sufficient grace during our time of crises.
Friday, October 20, 2017
The Bell Tolls
177
leaves fall, light fades
her eyes glaze, sentences chop,
the bell tolls.
178
sun falls and air chills,
she eats a few bites and rests,
seasons change.
179
afternoon light dims,
she closes eyes and sleeps,
son walks out in tears.
leaves fall, light fades
her eyes glaze, sentences chop,
the bell tolls.
178
sun falls and air chills,
she eats a few bites and rests,
seasons change.
179
afternoon light dims,
she closes eyes and sleeps,
son walks out in tears.
Monday, October 16, 2017
10/9 - 10/15
I almost hate to write this because it will sound like poor mouthing, but it was another less than record-breaking week of trying to get back to training. Monday I felt bad (notice I didn't say "I felt badly" because feet is an intransitive verb and you feel bad not badly) so I went to bed early. Like in the afternoon (yes, that is a sentence fragment).
Tuesday was a hard session at rehab and then an easy one at the pool where I swam 1,800 meters. Wednesday I did some weightlifting, maxing out at 70 on the bench press, and swam 2,500 at the pool. Thursday was more lounging in the bed, trying to nap and hoping to feel better.
Friday, Sloan, the physical therapist, put me through a longer more involved workout. I liked it and the shoulder felt good when I left and better the next morning. I did not swim Friday because I was still semi-sick and I needed to see Mom.
Saturday we were originally scheduled to go the French Camp with our best friends, Debbie and Gerald Johnson, but little Corey got sick and so did I. I studied a little, drank lots of liquids, and watched a bunch of football. I didn't think it was possible, but after the Georgia game, I had had enough and turned the channel to something else. The something else was so compelling that I can't even remember what I watched, but I was filled to the brim with football and opted out of the game until next Saturday.
So all in all, it was small swimming, little lifting, and the creeping back of an unmerciful malaise. Sigh. I swam 4,300 meters, lifted weights once, and went to rehab twice. God help me, and give comfort to Mom.
Tuesday was a hard session at rehab and then an easy one at the pool where I swam 1,800 meters. Wednesday I did some weightlifting, maxing out at 70 on the bench press, and swam 2,500 at the pool. Thursday was more lounging in the bed, trying to nap and hoping to feel better.
Friday, Sloan, the physical therapist, put me through a longer more involved workout. I liked it and the shoulder felt good when I left and better the next morning. I did not swim Friday because I was still semi-sick and I needed to see Mom.
Saturday we were originally scheduled to go the French Camp with our best friends, Debbie and Gerald Johnson, but little Corey got sick and so did I. I studied a little, drank lots of liquids, and watched a bunch of football. I didn't think it was possible, but after the Georgia game, I had had enough and turned the channel to something else. The something else was so compelling that I can't even remember what I watched, but I was filled to the brim with football and opted out of the game until next Saturday.
So all in all, it was small swimming, little lifting, and the creeping back of an unmerciful malaise. Sigh. I swam 4,300 meters, lifted weights once, and went to rehab twice. God help me, and give comfort to Mom.
Saturday, October 14, 2017
Sam Shames at These
174
broken corn stalks dot
vast field. robins land and peck,
tractors line the road.
175
sheep in a pile,
we stop and look, sweet talking,
they rest beside road.
176
birds land in short grass.
man mows, lifts weights, and gazes,
dogs nap in shade.
broken corn stalks dot
vast field. robins land and peck,
tractors line the road.
175
sheep in a pile,
we stop and look, sweet talking,
they rest beside road.
176
birds land in short grass.
man mows, lifts weights, and gazes,
dogs nap in shade.
Friday, October 13, 2017
Coffee, Cats, and Death
They are. Thanks for asking. Baby Kitty is in another room on another bed. That rascal. But Luvie and CC are on the bed with me as I peck at the keyboard and sip coffee that tastes like it costs lots of money. My wife is good like that.
Though the cats are OK, Momma, on the other hand, is not. I mentioned in the last post that she has gone downhill over the past few months. She has had severe health issues for more than half a decade now. Most likely she would not have survived 2012 if it had not been for my little sister, Carol, who has cared for Jo Hodge like a little baby and has tried everything and thought everything and done everything possible.
"That was our last Hail Mary," she told me yesterday, her eyes reddening as she spoke of a recent medical procedure Mom had. "It didn't work, and we are out of options."
I'll leave that conversation there; that one is private. But the larger conversation about death, the contemplation of it, the reality of it, is not.
We seem to have a genius for avoiding the subject. I use "we" with confidence because I cannot imagine any sane person disagreeing with me on this. Yet we can't drive a car very far in any direction without passing a cemetery. We can't even drive much around town without seeing road kill. TV programming gives us death by the bucket full, as does the nightly news, and even a cursory glance at a newspaper exposes us to obituaries. Despite all this, we rarely think about it, death, and almost never discuss it.
I guess we don't care to ponder our own mortality. Recently I attempted to talk to my wife about funeral arraignments. The mouth I married, the one that never stops, stopped. I see that conversation is never going to happen. We do have a plot and a tombstone, provided as a gift by her dad. Thank you, Ellis Roberts. It's a nice stone in a family cemetery where we laid Penny's mother to rest almost four years ago. She is on a little hilltop overlooking the house she and her husband built. We planted her there on a cold, rainy February day. I preached her funeral and wrote a tribute to her in this blog (RIP Louise Roberts-- 2/8/2014). That post remains my second most read post of all time with 914 views.
Every time we go to Hillbilly Heaven, I take a stroll over the hilltop with the stones. I gaze at my name and birth date. One date is missing, to be supplied later. What will that date be? There is some discomfort in pondering that. There is some comfort, however, in knowing where your survivor's will bury you. At least a little. But I must admit, the first time I looked at that tombstone with my name on it was a bit strange, unsettling.
I wonder if animals have a sense of their own mortality. They do have fear of anything that will harm them and will fight valiantly and viciously to live. But do they think of it. Some would say animals don't think at all, and once I believed this. By now, however, I have spent far too much time with precious pets to be deceived in that manner any more.
The Bible speaks on death. A lot. It calls it our last enemy to be defeated:
I suppose that helps explain things a bit. Death is an enemy, an intruder, not part of the original order. But it will be destroyed in due time.
Despite this and other great promises, none of us seems to embrace our own passing or the passing of a loved one be that loved one a family member, friend, or pet. On the part of the ones left, the loss, the separation, is troubling. On the part of the one passing, maybe it is the fear of the unknown. Whatever it is, maybe we should spend more time thinking about it. Death is part of the world we live in and we all have an appointment with it.
Though the cats are OK, Momma, on the other hand, is not. I mentioned in the last post that she has gone downhill over the past few months. She has had severe health issues for more than half a decade now. Most likely she would not have survived 2012 if it had not been for my little sister, Carol, who has cared for Jo Hodge like a little baby and has tried everything and thought everything and done everything possible.
"That was our last Hail Mary," she told me yesterday, her eyes reddening as she spoke of a recent medical procedure Mom had. "It didn't work, and we are out of options."
I'll leave that conversation there; that one is private. But the larger conversation about death, the contemplation of it, the reality of it, is not.
We seem to have a genius for avoiding the subject. I use "we" with confidence because I cannot imagine any sane person disagreeing with me on this. Yet we can't drive a car very far in any direction without passing a cemetery. We can't even drive much around town without seeing road kill. TV programming gives us death by the bucket full, as does the nightly news, and even a cursory glance at a newspaper exposes us to obituaries. Despite all this, we rarely think about it, death, and almost never discuss it.
I guess we don't care to ponder our own mortality. Recently I attempted to talk to my wife about funeral arraignments. The mouth I married, the one that never stops, stopped. I see that conversation is never going to happen. We do have a plot and a tombstone, provided as a gift by her dad. Thank you, Ellis Roberts. It's a nice stone in a family cemetery where we laid Penny's mother to rest almost four years ago. She is on a little hilltop overlooking the house she and her husband built. We planted her there on a cold, rainy February day. I preached her funeral and wrote a tribute to her in this blog (RIP Louise Roberts-- 2/8/2014). That post remains my second most read post of all time with 914 views.
Every time we go to Hillbilly Heaven, I take a stroll over the hilltop with the stones. I gaze at my name and birth date. One date is missing, to be supplied later. What will that date be? There is some discomfort in pondering that. There is some comfort, however, in knowing where your survivor's will bury you. At least a little. But I must admit, the first time I looked at that tombstone with my name on it was a bit strange, unsettling.
I wonder if animals have a sense of their own mortality. They do have fear of anything that will harm them and will fight valiantly and viciously to live. But do they think of it. Some would say animals don't think at all, and once I believed this. By now, however, I have spent far too much time with precious pets to be deceived in that manner any more.
The Bible speaks on death. A lot. It calls it our last enemy to be defeated:
- Then cometh the end, when he shall have delivered up the kingdom to God, even the Father; when he shall have put down all rule and all authority and power.
- For he must reign, till he hath put all enemies under his feet.
- The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
I suppose that helps explain things a bit. Death is an enemy, an intruder, not part of the original order. But it will be destroyed in due time.
Despite this and other great promises, none of us seems to embrace our own passing or the passing of a loved one be that loved one a family member, friend, or pet. On the part of the ones left, the loss, the separation, is troubling. On the part of the one passing, maybe it is the fear of the unknown. Whatever it is, maybe we should spend more time thinking about it. Death is part of the world we live in and we all have an appointment with it.
Thursday, October 12, 2017
Wednesday Wondering
I have an appointment with the shoulder doc next Monday, the 16th, and I'm contemplating on whether or not to cancel. The shoulder has improved a lot since our last visit which means he will spend about forty-five seconds with me and charge me around $100. That is what I will pay out of pocket. This is just one reason I rarely go the the doctor, but of late I have gone a lot. Yesterday, one of my co-workers was counseling me to visit yet another physician. But I'm getting a little tired of shelling out all this cash. I don't have much of that anyway.
Yesterday I received a bill from the hospital for the sonogram I had to try to see if something was wrong with my carotid artery. I looked in the mirror one morning and saw it about to beat out of my neck. To make a short story long, the bill the hospital mailed me was for the exact amount of my wife's truck payment. Since I payed her vehicle off in September, I was hoping to have a few dollars left in the bank at the end of this month. It's not going to happen. When will God rebuke the devourer? Enough of that, but I need to make a decision on the orthopedist. The yo yo I wrote about yesterday has hit the bottom and come half way back up since then. Will I make a full recovery? Will I need this visit to secure an MRI if I fail to fully heal?
Amazingly, when I went to the pool yesterday, the water was 80 degrees. This confuses me. Tuesday it was 76 and the overnight low was 59. How did it climb when the weather was cool all day? It was sunny which allowed the full measure of any warmth we had. Normally, however, the water temp can't climb much this time of year because the nights are so long and getting longer while the lows creep downward. Tuesday, I felt the water was warmer than the thermometer said, but how could it have been wrong then and right now? I don't know but what I do know is that I am enjoying the unseasonably warm temps and the comfortable water that goes along with it.
I swam 2,500 meters and decided to tap out before anything could feel bad. Then I went to Mom's. She was asleep. My sister always says wake her. The sitters always say wake her. I did not wake her, but even watching her sleep, she did not look good. She has gone downhill a lot in the past few months. Please pray for her.
At home, I decided to hang out with the dogs at Plate City. On the bench, I pushed
20 X 50
15 X 60
12 X 65
10 X 70
I still feel something slightly negative in that shoulder. while doing a bench press, especially on the first set. It is not pain. Mild discomfort would be an apt description of it. Looking back, however, it is way better than it was even two weeks ago when I was pushing the bar alone with more than mild discomfort.
I also did some seated rows and lateral raises. I did my band stuff, the homework the therapists orders, during the day at school. I have the band with me now and will again to all my internal and external rotations and other stuff this morning and then I hope to swim this afternoon. The nightly low hit 52. What will the thermometer say today? I also plan to do some more weightlifting after the swim. The dogs love it when I am out there. They are both extremely jealous of each other so I can't pet one more than his partner. They, like the cats, give me great joy. I enjoy their love, attention, and energy. Thanks be to God who blesses us with the love of friends and family and animals.
Yesterday I received a bill from the hospital for the sonogram I had to try to see if something was wrong with my carotid artery. I looked in the mirror one morning and saw it about to beat out of my neck. To make a short story long, the bill the hospital mailed me was for the exact amount of my wife's truck payment. Since I payed her vehicle off in September, I was hoping to have a few dollars left in the bank at the end of this month. It's not going to happen. When will God rebuke the devourer? Enough of that, but I need to make a decision on the orthopedist. The yo yo I wrote about yesterday has hit the bottom and come half way back up since then. Will I make a full recovery? Will I need this visit to secure an MRI if I fail to fully heal?
Amazingly, when I went to the pool yesterday, the water was 80 degrees. This confuses me. Tuesday it was 76 and the overnight low was 59. How did it climb when the weather was cool all day? It was sunny which allowed the full measure of any warmth we had. Normally, however, the water temp can't climb much this time of year because the nights are so long and getting longer while the lows creep downward. Tuesday, I felt the water was warmer than the thermometer said, but how could it have been wrong then and right now? I don't know but what I do know is that I am enjoying the unseasonably warm temps and the comfortable water that goes along with it.
I swam 2,500 meters and decided to tap out before anything could feel bad. Then I went to Mom's. She was asleep. My sister always says wake her. The sitters always say wake her. I did not wake her, but even watching her sleep, she did not look good. She has gone downhill a lot in the past few months. Please pray for her.
At home, I decided to hang out with the dogs at Plate City. On the bench, I pushed
20 X 50
15 X 60
12 X 65
10 X 70
I still feel something slightly negative in that shoulder. while doing a bench press, especially on the first set. It is not pain. Mild discomfort would be an apt description of it. Looking back, however, it is way better than it was even two weeks ago when I was pushing the bar alone with more than mild discomfort.
I also did some seated rows and lateral raises. I did my band stuff, the homework the therapists orders, during the day at school. I have the band with me now and will again to all my internal and external rotations and other stuff this morning and then I hope to swim this afternoon. The nightly low hit 52. What will the thermometer say today? I also plan to do some more weightlifting after the swim. The dogs love it when I am out there. They are both extremely jealous of each other so I can't pet one more than his partner. They, like the cats, give me great joy. I enjoy their love, attention, and energy. Thanks be to God who blesses us with the love of friends and family and animals.
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Deja Stu pid
Me, I'm talking about me.
It happens. With five Composition I classes, inevitably I have a case of deja vu from time to time. Sometimes that sneaky suspicion that I am repeating myself can be traced to the fact that I have said it all before in another class. Sometimes it could have something to do with the fact that I did it a year ago or a semester ago. Sometimes it has to do with the terrible truth that I did in fact cover this lecture the last class period with the students I am talking to. But they will never tell. Did you hear that? They will never tell.
It happened today. I was going over memoir writing with them when the deja vu hit me upside the head like a rock tossed from a kid throwing at cars. "Have we done this already?" I asked. No one answered. Then I saw the slight grin of a back row student and realized that once again they were going to let me do the whole thing all over just to waste some class time. Yeah, it has happened before but only a few times, like twelve of fifteen.
Don't give me advice. Don't tell me to write everything on paper and look at it before class. That is far too practical, and I am far from a practical person. Besides, I like to be able to shift gears with passing whims. It's more funner that way or at least more fun.
Sometimes I will ask them up front, "Have we done this?" The answer is always the same, "No." But a look at the faces in front of me will often yield a different result. There is usually someone who doesn't have a good poker face and who lets the truth leak from of his or her expression.
When will students change? When will they want their money's worth? Maybe if they actually paid money for their classes they would be concerned about value. But that will never happen. Education is the one thing where people do not want their money's worth. They want it easy or they want to do nothing at all.
Sigh.
It happens. With five Composition I classes, inevitably I have a case of deja vu from time to time. Sometimes that sneaky suspicion that I am repeating myself can be traced to the fact that I have said it all before in another class. Sometimes it could have something to do with the fact that I did it a year ago or a semester ago. Sometimes it has to do with the terrible truth that I did in fact cover this lecture the last class period with the students I am talking to. But they will never tell. Did you hear that? They will never tell.
It happened today. I was going over memoir writing with them when the deja vu hit me upside the head like a rock tossed from a kid throwing at cars. "Have we done this already?" I asked. No one answered. Then I saw the slight grin of a back row student and realized that once again they were going to let me do the whole thing all over just to waste some class time. Yeah, it has happened before but only a few times, like twelve of fifteen.
Don't give me advice. Don't tell me to write everything on paper and look at it before class. That is far too practical, and I am far from a practical person. Besides, I like to be able to shift gears with passing whims. It's more funner that way or at least more fun.
Sometimes I will ask them up front, "Have we done this?" The answer is always the same, "No." But a look at the faces in front of me will often yield a different result. There is usually someone who doesn't have a good poker face and who lets the truth leak from of his or her expression.
When will students change? When will they want their money's worth? Maybe if they actually paid money for their classes they would be concerned about value. But that will never happen. Education is the one thing where people do not want their money's worth. They want it easy or they want to do nothing at all.
Sigh.
Top of the Yo Yo
For the past fifteen weeks, my emotions have been like a yo yo: up and down, down and up. Right now, I am up. Sort of.
I had a good session of physical rehab yesterday. The tightness in the back of the shoulder is disappearing and although I still feel the biceps tendons from time to time, it is not pain anymore. Maybe I am overreacting to any sensation in the shoulder. Once, I had an Achilles tendon issue. Every time I would try to run, the tendon would start to-- not pain, but feel funny and to ache just a bit. To be safe, I would stop running and walk home.
I did that for months until one day, in disgust and frustration, I just kept running. Those odd sensations lasted a few minutes and then faded away. It happened every time I ran for months. Eventually, these achilles sensations left and stayed gone. Maybe that is what is happening with the shoulder. The problem is that this injury has impacted my thinking and my confidence in my body so much that I freak at every little feeling.
One thing is for sure. I can't afford to start over again and still do Chicot. Better than a quarter of a year has passed already since I pushed on a concrete pad and my shoulder popped making a sound like someone snapping a stick. Later that same day, I attempted to pick up another one of those pads and the shoulder made a ripping sound like someone tearing a pair of jeans. It has been a long, long comeback from there.
In the past, training for the big swim always started in January. Now is the time I am normally in the base building and strength training phase. Last year at this time, I was warming up with 100 pounds on the bench press and going up to 160. Now I am warming up with 50 pounds and going up to 60, and that is a big improvement. Wow, just wow.
But it is what it is as they say, and at least I am inching my way upwards. I did go to the pool after Tuesday's PT session. The 76 degree water felt good and so did the shoulder. I stopped at 1,800 meters because I felt something, not pain just something. Am I overreacting? There is my sticking point. Do I just keep swimming? I am a little short on nerve right now. Better safe than sorry, I keep thinking. Maybe today, maybe I will break through my fear and regain my confidence.
I long for that feeling that my body is sound, that the water is my domain, that I can swim all day. I miss that, I yearn for it. It will come back, won't it? It has to. Thank you, Jesus for hope and health and happiness, and you who are praying for me, please don't stop. I especially need it when the yo yo hits the bottom like it has forty-eight times in the past fifteen weeks.
I had a good session of physical rehab yesterday. The tightness in the back of the shoulder is disappearing and although I still feel the biceps tendons from time to time, it is not pain anymore. Maybe I am overreacting to any sensation in the shoulder. Once, I had an Achilles tendon issue. Every time I would try to run, the tendon would start to-- not pain, but feel funny and to ache just a bit. To be safe, I would stop running and walk home.
I did that for months until one day, in disgust and frustration, I just kept running. Those odd sensations lasted a few minutes and then faded away. It happened every time I ran for months. Eventually, these achilles sensations left and stayed gone. Maybe that is what is happening with the shoulder. The problem is that this injury has impacted my thinking and my confidence in my body so much that I freak at every little feeling.
One thing is for sure. I can't afford to start over again and still do Chicot. Better than a quarter of a year has passed already since I pushed on a concrete pad and my shoulder popped making a sound like someone snapping a stick. Later that same day, I attempted to pick up another one of those pads and the shoulder made a ripping sound like someone tearing a pair of jeans. It has been a long, long comeback from there.
In the past, training for the big swim always started in January. Now is the time I am normally in the base building and strength training phase. Last year at this time, I was warming up with 100 pounds on the bench press and going up to 160. Now I am warming up with 50 pounds and going up to 60, and that is a big improvement. Wow, just wow.
But it is what it is as they say, and at least I am inching my way upwards. I did go to the pool after Tuesday's PT session. The 76 degree water felt good and so did the shoulder. I stopped at 1,800 meters because I felt something, not pain just something. Am I overreacting? There is my sticking point. Do I just keep swimming? I am a little short on nerve right now. Better safe than sorry, I keep thinking. Maybe today, maybe I will break through my fear and regain my confidence.
I long for that feeling that my body is sound, that the water is my domain, that I can swim all day. I miss that, I yearn for it. It will come back, won't it? It has to. Thank you, Jesus for hope and health and happiness, and you who are praying for me, please don't stop. I especially need it when the yo yo hits the bottom like it has forty-eight times in the past fifteen weeks.
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
10/2 - 10/8
Another mediocre week. I guess I have digressed into a mediocre man. So it seems. Monday I swam 2,600 meters and Tuesday I did 2,700. By Wednesday the liquid temps had risen to 79 degrees, and I swam 2,800 with the first 2,400 straight. That was a tad too much. Several weeks ago when I did the same thing, I had some discomfort at the exact same point. I did not swim again the rest of the week.
Thursday I wrote nothing in my journal so I suppose that means I did nothing. I have been a bit under the weather and that has reduced my activity. Also, we had revival services at Centerville Wednesday through Friday night. Brother Jim Kelly preached for us and did a bang up job. He brought with him a strong anointing that impacted the church and me.
Friday I had rehab. Saturday, I did some work at Plate City. On the bench, I pressed
18 X 50
20 X 55
25 X 60
20 X 65
I also performed a bunch of other stuff, of course, but I have always considered the bench press as an accurate indicator of the health of my shoulders. Each bench session is getting better. I no longer have to do the reps slow on the bottom end of the range but can push without thought. This week, I plan to start raising the weights a little more quickly instead of the five pound increments I've been going up. I'm convinced the shoulder is ready for it.
I still feel those bicep tendons sometimes, but the tightness in the back, although it is still there, is fading and it accepts stretching a little more now. However, I continue to worry about it and wonder if I will be able to do Chicot again. Is this a test of my faith? I don't know, but if it is, I fear I am failing like an alcoholic who just won a truck bed load of beer on a game show.
That afternoon, I took Pee Wee out and I heard him bark up a tree once, but he left it. He ran a bunch of deer and we had a good time. Sunday, Forrest wanted to go out with him so we did. I don't normally do stuff like that on Sundays, but Forrest is my son and the one who rescued the pup. He treed once, but we didn't find the squirrel. He hunted hard and had a good time.
For the week, I swam 8,100 meters, went to rehab twice, lifted weights one, and walked 5,32 miles. Thanks be to God, and please Lord, forgive my unbelief.
Thursday I wrote nothing in my journal so I suppose that means I did nothing. I have been a bit under the weather and that has reduced my activity. Also, we had revival services at Centerville Wednesday through Friday night. Brother Jim Kelly preached for us and did a bang up job. He brought with him a strong anointing that impacted the church and me.
Friday I had rehab. Saturday, I did some work at Plate City. On the bench, I pressed
18 X 50
20 X 55
25 X 60
20 X 65
I also performed a bunch of other stuff, of course, but I have always considered the bench press as an accurate indicator of the health of my shoulders. Each bench session is getting better. I no longer have to do the reps slow on the bottom end of the range but can push without thought. This week, I plan to start raising the weights a little more quickly instead of the five pound increments I've been going up. I'm convinced the shoulder is ready for it.
I still feel those bicep tendons sometimes, but the tightness in the back, although it is still there, is fading and it accepts stretching a little more now. However, I continue to worry about it and wonder if I will be able to do Chicot again. Is this a test of my faith? I don't know, but if it is, I fear I am failing like an alcoholic who just won a truck bed load of beer on a game show.
That afternoon, I took Pee Wee out and I heard him bark up a tree once, but he left it. He ran a bunch of deer and we had a good time. Sunday, Forrest wanted to go out with him so we did. I don't normally do stuff like that on Sundays, but Forrest is my son and the one who rescued the pup. He treed once, but we didn't find the squirrel. He hunted hard and had a good time.
For the week, I swam 8,100 meters, went to rehab twice, lifted weights one, and walked 5,32 miles. Thanks be to God, and please Lord, forgive my unbelief.
Monday, October 9, 2017
A Sadly Depression
"For this reason, It could also lead to a sadly depression."
I hate it when that happens. What about you? I hate it when I read stuff such as this on student papers. This is one of the better bad sentences I have read in the past few minutes. I have just been led to a sadly depression, and with every sentence I read, it only gets worse.
Before God Almighty, this semester I have used every trick, method, idea, and ounce of energy to do the best I could in teaching students to write better. I seem to be failing terribly.
Don't get me wrong. I am not one of these people who goes around talking about how unsmart this generation of college freshmen and freshwomens is (see what I did there?). OK, I am. But you would too if you had had my experience.
I suppose it is impossible to make up a lifetime of not writing with a few weeks of scribbling words and near words. That is what I am telling myself now, but somehow that is not good enough. Between the last sentence and this one, I simply glanced down at a student paper and read this:
"The Delta suffered with the health issues during the time of the Civil War."
This is a report on diabetes in the Mississippi Delta, which I have sadly learned that my students cannot find on a map. They were supposed to be writing about our current health epidemic. Where in Hades does the Civil War invade this simple report?
Pardon me while a vent a bit. I could tell you a whole lot more, but you also might get the sadly depression so I'll spare you the trouble.
OK, I just walked off, went to my office, and ate a Snickers Bar. I also refilled my coffee mug. I feel better now. I can make it. The world, my world, is still a problematic place, but "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
I hate it when that happens. What about you? I hate it when I read stuff such as this on student papers. This is one of the better bad sentences I have read in the past few minutes. I have just been led to a sadly depression, and with every sentence I read, it only gets worse.
Before God Almighty, this semester I have used every trick, method, idea, and ounce of energy to do the best I could in teaching students to write better. I seem to be failing terribly.
Don't get me wrong. I am not one of these people who goes around talking about how unsmart this generation of college freshmen and freshwomens is (see what I did there?). OK, I am. But you would too if you had had my experience.
I suppose it is impossible to make up a lifetime of not writing with a few weeks of scribbling words and near words. That is what I am telling myself now, but somehow that is not good enough. Between the last sentence and this one, I simply glanced down at a student paper and read this:
"The Delta suffered with the health issues during the time of the Civil War."
This is a report on diabetes in the Mississippi Delta, which I have sadly learned that my students cannot find on a map. They were supposed to be writing about our current health epidemic. Where in Hades does the Civil War invade this simple report?
Pardon me while a vent a bit. I could tell you a whole lot more, but you also might get the sadly depression so I'll spare you the trouble.
OK, I just walked off, went to my office, and ate a Snickers Bar. I also refilled my coffee mug. I feel better now. I can make it. The world, my world, is still a problematic place, but "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
Friday, October 6, 2017
A Place Where the Pavement Ends (Title stole from Jim Kelly)
I slept late and am now sipping coffee. The cats are holding me down while I muse over last night. The musing is good.
We are holding revival services at Centerville Baptist Church. Come out tonight at 7:00 pm. Decide ahead of time that you are in no hurry because we will feed you and be friendly with you after the preaching and praying stops. You can find us on Airport Road. Turn off Highway 82 at the foot of the hills like you are going to the airport. Cross the bridge and take the first road to the left. It will go straight up the hill. Follow that road about four miles and you will come to one of the prettiest little country churches you ever saw.My wife and I drive in a different way, from Humphrey Highway. We love the turn off the pavement onto a gravel road and the transition to a different world. Thursday evening, that turn greeted us with freshly harvested delta fields, ground recently plowed where corn grew and big round bales of cotton where those mechanical monsters did their work not long ago.
The dust behind us boils up like smoke from a raging inferno. We pass the fields and come to the pasture where sheep lie on God's green grass and babies dot the flock. Their beauty and innocence is astounding. I lower the window and call them babies as we pass.
Soon we see a deer with her fawn cross the road. Trees bordering our gravel path are slightly showing signs of the fall with tiny tinges of yellow on the edge of their leaves. The gravel road winds and rises into the hills. Another momma deer and her baby cross ahead of us and run swiftly away.
We arrive at the church to a silence that is a salve to the soul. This is "a place where the pavement ends" as Jim Kelly, our evangelist, called it in a recent video he posted on Facebook. People begin to drive up. These are folk of a simple faith. This is unadorned society, unpretentious people, real people who attend church cheerfully.
The cemetery across the road adds to the charm with its tombstones that rise from the high ground like sentinels as part of God's "great cloud of witnesses" (Hebrews 12:1). The grass is still green but its growth slowed of late by the dryness, lengthened nights, and cooler evening temperatures. The giant oak in the Church's front lawn is an open house for birds and squirrels and a testimony of the creativity and kindness of the God we worship.
I stand on the lawn and am thankful, honored to be the pastor here, amazed at God's unforeseeable plan. We go inside. We sing. Brother Jim preaches. We pray in the alters. The congregations slowly slips away. I go outside in the darkness and the silence has been replaced by a gentle but powerful music. The night air has a nip but the sounds of summer still seep from the woods adjoining the church lawn. Crickets and tree frogs, and katydids sing while and angles of God direct the unnoticed choir.
Praise God forevermore.
NB. Jim, I stole you words, "a place where the pavement ends." You can pray for me tonight.
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
Cainbrake
The fierceness of Doll's barking was a sure sign something was wrong.
"Go see what's the matter out there," Stella quipped, staring out the kitchen window.
Dan exited the kitchen door, went through the screened-in patio, and into the back yard where Doll, the Cohens two year old miniature Schnauzer was in a corner barking with a ferocity and rage they had never seen or heard. Suddenly Dan turned and ran back into the house.
"What's wrong?" Stella quizzed as Dan trotted to the gun case and pulled out a scoped .22 rifle.
"Snake."
"Oh God!"
They both ran out the back.
"He's big. Try to get her so I can shoot him. Be careful and grab her from the back or you might get bit."
The huge rattlesnake was coiled and ready to strike in a corner of the chain link fence. Doll was hysterical, jumping in nipping at the reptile and in grave danger of being struck, envenomated.
Stella managed to nab Doll by the back legs and drag her away then hold her down. Dan raised the Remington, took careful aim through the scope, and fired a single bullet into the viper. The snake instantly went into a roll, tossing, coiling, but his death sure.
"Take her inside," Dan barked. "That snake can still kill her."
Dan went to the storage room and brought back a long-handled hoe which he used to drag the monster away from the fence. He then saw his bullet had hit just below the head, severing the spinal cord but not full separating the head from the rest of the beast.
Stella came back out while Dan went to the storage room again, this time to retrieve a kaiser blade to finish the job of removing the head.
"Is that a diamondback?" Stella asked.
"We don't have diamondbacks around here. That's a canebrake. But I swear, he's as big as a large diamondback. I'm gunna measure him."
Dan made his third trip to the storage room, this time to fetch a tape measure. He stretched the snake out on the lush green grass of their back yard and measured 6'1'' minus the head.
"Dang. That has to be a state record or something. Canebrakes usually top out at around four feet. I've heard of a five-footer but never seen one that big."
Dan took a few pictures with his camera then hoisted the huge creature with the hoe handle and carried him through the back gate and into the woods. He took him deep into the woods and tossed him into a gully. But he kept the head. He scooped the head into a galvanized bucket which he hung high on a nail in the storage room.
They had built their house ten years ago, their dream home located on three country acres of Carroll County Dan had inherited from his father. With his contractor business booming, they had paid for the house in five years and had purchased an adjoining 80 acres of woods and gullies behind them. When they enclosed the back yard with a chain link fence, Dan had the gate put in so he could walk right out of his back yard and into his little hunting paradise. There he shot squirrels, ambushed deer, and sometimes just sat under a large hickory tree and rested, listening to the sounds of the woods. When their daughter Delilah came along, the only thing that could make things better, in Dan's mind at least, was a son. They were working on that.
After their Saturday fright, Dan forgot about the snake head until Tuesday when he came home from work. He had locked the storage room door for safety's sake. A three year old can get into just about anything he had mused to himself. He unlocked the door and pulled down the bucket. It was empty!
What the heck? he thought. His brain whirled and his heart rate quickened while his eyes roamed the room. Then he jumped backwards striking a nail that he sometimes hung stuff on and cut his left arm. He had startled at the snake head on the floor not far from his foot. "How in God's name?" he querried out loud.
Regaining his composure, he scooped the head back into the bucked, still careful not to touch it. He used the blade of the same tool that had decapitated the creature three days earlier. This time he looked around and found a Styrofoam top from a minnow bucket to go over the galvanized bucket and pressed the styrofoam down tight into the bucket so there was no way the head could fall out.
Things got weird the next day. He and his foundation crew were busy trying to get a slab poured. It was fall, the rains would start soon, and he had to make money while the making was good. As usual, he received texts from Stella throughout the morning, but one stopped him in his tracks. Sweetie, their little house cat was swollen, sick."She needs to go to the vet!" Stella texted with an urgency Dan could feel through the phone. He decided he could be off site a while so he drove home just in time to hear Stella shriek when he stepped out of his truck. He rushed inside to find her and Delilah hysterically bawling. Sweetie was dead.
Snake bit most likely was Dan's estimation. He took her lifeless form and held her close, crying silently but forcefully. Unlike many men, he loved cats in general and this one in particular. Her death was devastating and he determined then and there to declare total war on all venomous reptiles.
He walked outside in a daze trying to think where he might bury her. Then he saw it! In the flower bed behind the storage room was the head!
"No way!" he yelled out loud.
Stella, having followed him out asked, "What?"
"That head."
"What head?"
"That one," he pointed to the rattlesnake head he had chopped off six days before. It still looked just like it looked then, like it had happened only minutes ago.
"Where did that come from?"
"I had it in a bucket in the storage room."
"You kept that thing?" she shouted. "How did it get out here?"
"I don't know."
"You're the reason Sweetie is dead," Stella yelled in a rage.
Those words cut deep into Dan's heart like a knife plunging into a deer carcass. "We don't know that," Dan snapped back.
"Get rid of that thing and get rid of it now. Now. Before it kills something else." Her eyes registered her disgust and Dan knew her words were more than an outburst of grief. She blamed him truly.
Dan scooped up the head with a shovel for the third time but this time carried it through the back gate. He walked deep into the woods and tossed it into the same gully he had tossed the body into. Then he went back and buried their little fur baby and placed some bricks over her grave so nothing would dig her up.
After Sweetie died, a chill fell over Dan and Stella's marriage. She spoke little and he retreated into his work. Being blamed for the death of a beloved pet had hit him hard. He was sure he didn't deserve the blame but what else was new? She always blamed him for everything, even for their lack of a son.
During the following week, word started getting around that two neighbors lost dogs to snakebites. The Jones lost a full grown German Shepherd and the Shacklebees lost a poodle. When Stella brought it up, she gave Dan that look that said it all.
"It's not my fault!" he yelled.
"Don't raise your voice to me," she yelled back and left the room in a huff.
Everybody in the area was on edge. Dan had taken to carrying a .410 shotgun with him when he let Doll out to use the bathroom. He did this for a week until one morning he heard her yelp. He was horrified to see a rattlesnake head stuck to her back leg.
It can't be, he thought. But it was. He pulled to head off with the muzzle of the shotgun then blasted the head with three shots at close range. Nothing was left but scattered blood and bits of snake skin.
When Stella came out at the shooting, Doll was already on the ground suffering, swelling, yelping. She died within minutes.
"That dang snake head!?" she screamed at him.
"It could not have been the same one. It could not have been."
She wailed with a gut wrenching scream that itself was frightening and dropped to her knees. When Dan tried to comfort her, she pushed his hand away.
"Don't touch me you killer!"
"I didn't do it! I am not the only one who cuts the head off a dead snake."
But she would hear none of it. He let the snake head kill their cat, their dog, and she knew what was coming next. He would kill one of them.
Two weeks went by with no more problems. Although he and Stella rarely spoke, he was beginning to believe that bad stretch of crazy snake stuff was over. Then he stepped out the back door one morning and felt a pain in his foot. Yeah, he looked down and saw the snake head with its fangs sunk into his flesh.
He pried the head off with a shovel, smashed it, then ran inside. "Take me to the hospital," he said in a panicked voice. Stella didn't even ask why, but followed him to the car and drove furiously to Greenwood Leflore Hospital.
There was confusion in the emergency room. The doctors wanted a body, the actual snake so they could give the right antivenom. Even though both Dan and Stella told them it was a canebrake rattler, they delayed until Dan became very ill. Then they placed in ICU and began administering antivenom. His foot and leg swelled to the point that they no longer looked human.
When Stella made the mistake of telling the doctors about the head that never died, the doctors and nurses all grew suspicious and stopped administering antivenom. Dan's condition, which was already critical, then began to deteriorate even further. His foot and leg swelled so large blood flow to his lower limb stopped. His kidneys failed even though the doctors tried valiantly to flush them with IVs. Despite pain medication, his suffering was immense, his nausea constant, and his complications multiplied. He fought, fought for his life, fought valiantly, but after three days he succumbed. At 6:36 am, Dr. Lazarus pronounced him dead.
Stella stood still and gazed at the wall. She had questions to answer. Where did she want the body taken? Did she have someone to see after her? Did she want a visit from a pastor?
She answered nothing but stumbled from the hospital and strolled into the parking lot. Finding her car, she drove home without tears. Once there, she took a gallon of gasoline, poured it around in the house, on the couch against a wall, on the floor. From the open back door, she tossed a lit match inside and then watched from the road as the house went up in flames. She was standing there with a blank expression on her face when the fire department arrived. Jay Maxie, the head of the Gravel Hill Volunteer Fire Department tried in vain to talk to her. She was still there staring at the smoldering ashes when the firemen drove away.
"Go see what's the matter out there," Stella quipped, staring out the kitchen window.
Dan exited the kitchen door, went through the screened-in patio, and into the back yard where Doll, the Cohens two year old miniature Schnauzer was in a corner barking with a ferocity and rage they had never seen or heard. Suddenly Dan turned and ran back into the house.
"What's wrong?" Stella quizzed as Dan trotted to the gun case and pulled out a scoped .22 rifle.
"Snake."
"Oh God!"
They both ran out the back.
"He's big. Try to get her so I can shoot him. Be careful and grab her from the back or you might get bit."
The huge rattlesnake was coiled and ready to strike in a corner of the chain link fence. Doll was hysterical, jumping in nipping at the reptile and in grave danger of being struck, envenomated.
Stella managed to nab Doll by the back legs and drag her away then hold her down. Dan raised the Remington, took careful aim through the scope, and fired a single bullet into the viper. The snake instantly went into a roll, tossing, coiling, but his death sure.
"Take her inside," Dan barked. "That snake can still kill her."
Dan went to the storage room and brought back a long-handled hoe which he used to drag the monster away from the fence. He then saw his bullet had hit just below the head, severing the spinal cord but not full separating the head from the rest of the beast.
Stella came back out while Dan went to the storage room again, this time to retrieve a kaiser blade to finish the job of removing the head.
"Is that a diamondback?" Stella asked.
"We don't have diamondbacks around here. That's a canebrake. But I swear, he's as big as a large diamondback. I'm gunna measure him."
Dan made his third trip to the storage room, this time to fetch a tape measure. He stretched the snake out on the lush green grass of their back yard and measured 6'1'' minus the head.
"Dang. That has to be a state record or something. Canebrakes usually top out at around four feet. I've heard of a five-footer but never seen one that big."
Dan took a few pictures with his camera then hoisted the huge creature with the hoe handle and carried him through the back gate and into the woods. He took him deep into the woods and tossed him into a gully. But he kept the head. He scooped the head into a galvanized bucket which he hung high on a nail in the storage room.
They had built their house ten years ago, their dream home located on three country acres of Carroll County Dan had inherited from his father. With his contractor business booming, they had paid for the house in five years and had purchased an adjoining 80 acres of woods and gullies behind them. When they enclosed the back yard with a chain link fence, Dan had the gate put in so he could walk right out of his back yard and into his little hunting paradise. There he shot squirrels, ambushed deer, and sometimes just sat under a large hickory tree and rested, listening to the sounds of the woods. When their daughter Delilah came along, the only thing that could make things better, in Dan's mind at least, was a son. They were working on that.
After their Saturday fright, Dan forgot about the snake head until Tuesday when he came home from work. He had locked the storage room door for safety's sake. A three year old can get into just about anything he had mused to himself. He unlocked the door and pulled down the bucket. It was empty!
What the heck? he thought. His brain whirled and his heart rate quickened while his eyes roamed the room. Then he jumped backwards striking a nail that he sometimes hung stuff on and cut his left arm. He had startled at the snake head on the floor not far from his foot. "How in God's name?" he querried out loud.
Regaining his composure, he scooped the head back into the bucked, still careful not to touch it. He used the blade of the same tool that had decapitated the creature three days earlier. This time he looked around and found a Styrofoam top from a minnow bucket to go over the galvanized bucket and pressed the styrofoam down tight into the bucket so there was no way the head could fall out.
Things got weird the next day. He and his foundation crew were busy trying to get a slab poured. It was fall, the rains would start soon, and he had to make money while the making was good. As usual, he received texts from Stella throughout the morning, but one stopped him in his tracks. Sweetie, their little house cat was swollen, sick."She needs to go to the vet!" Stella texted with an urgency Dan could feel through the phone. He decided he could be off site a while so he drove home just in time to hear Stella shriek when he stepped out of his truck. He rushed inside to find her and Delilah hysterically bawling. Sweetie was dead.
Snake bit most likely was Dan's estimation. He took her lifeless form and held her close, crying silently but forcefully. Unlike many men, he loved cats in general and this one in particular. Her death was devastating and he determined then and there to declare total war on all venomous reptiles.
He walked outside in a daze trying to think where he might bury her. Then he saw it! In the flower bed behind the storage room was the head!
"No way!" he yelled out loud.
Stella, having followed him out asked, "What?"
"That head."
"What head?"
"That one," he pointed to the rattlesnake head he had chopped off six days before. It still looked just like it looked then, like it had happened only minutes ago.
"Where did that come from?"
"I had it in a bucket in the storage room."
"You kept that thing?" she shouted. "How did it get out here?"
"I don't know."
"You're the reason Sweetie is dead," Stella yelled in a rage.
Those words cut deep into Dan's heart like a knife plunging into a deer carcass. "We don't know that," Dan snapped back.
"Get rid of that thing and get rid of it now. Now. Before it kills something else." Her eyes registered her disgust and Dan knew her words were more than an outburst of grief. She blamed him truly.
Dan scooped up the head with a shovel for the third time but this time carried it through the back gate. He walked deep into the woods and tossed it into the same gully he had tossed the body into. Then he went back and buried their little fur baby and placed some bricks over her grave so nothing would dig her up.
After Sweetie died, a chill fell over Dan and Stella's marriage. She spoke little and he retreated into his work. Being blamed for the death of a beloved pet had hit him hard. He was sure he didn't deserve the blame but what else was new? She always blamed him for everything, even for their lack of a son.
During the following week, word started getting around that two neighbors lost dogs to snakebites. The Jones lost a full grown German Shepherd and the Shacklebees lost a poodle. When Stella brought it up, she gave Dan that look that said it all.
"It's not my fault!" he yelled.
"Don't raise your voice to me," she yelled back and left the room in a huff.
Everybody in the area was on edge. Dan had taken to carrying a .410 shotgun with him when he let Doll out to use the bathroom. He did this for a week until one morning he heard her yelp. He was horrified to see a rattlesnake head stuck to her back leg.
It can't be, he thought. But it was. He pulled to head off with the muzzle of the shotgun then blasted the head with three shots at close range. Nothing was left but scattered blood and bits of snake skin.
When Stella came out at the shooting, Doll was already on the ground suffering, swelling, yelping. She died within minutes.
"That dang snake head!?" she screamed at him.
"It could not have been the same one. It could not have been."
She wailed with a gut wrenching scream that itself was frightening and dropped to her knees. When Dan tried to comfort her, she pushed his hand away.
"Don't touch me you killer!"
"I didn't do it! I am not the only one who cuts the head off a dead snake."
But she would hear none of it. He let the snake head kill their cat, their dog, and she knew what was coming next. He would kill one of them.
Two weeks went by with no more problems. Although he and Stella rarely spoke, he was beginning to believe that bad stretch of crazy snake stuff was over. Then he stepped out the back door one morning and felt a pain in his foot. Yeah, he looked down and saw the snake head with its fangs sunk into his flesh.
He pried the head off with a shovel, smashed it, then ran inside. "Take me to the hospital," he said in a panicked voice. Stella didn't even ask why, but followed him to the car and drove furiously to Greenwood Leflore Hospital.
There was confusion in the emergency room. The doctors wanted a body, the actual snake so they could give the right antivenom. Even though both Dan and Stella told them it was a canebrake rattler, they delayed until Dan became very ill. Then they placed in ICU and began administering antivenom. His foot and leg swelled to the point that they no longer looked human.
When Stella made the mistake of telling the doctors about the head that never died, the doctors and nurses all grew suspicious and stopped administering antivenom. Dan's condition, which was already critical, then began to deteriorate even further. His foot and leg swelled so large blood flow to his lower limb stopped. His kidneys failed even though the doctors tried valiantly to flush them with IVs. Despite pain medication, his suffering was immense, his nausea constant, and his complications multiplied. He fought, fought for his life, fought valiantly, but after three days he succumbed. At 6:36 am, Dr. Lazarus pronounced him dead.
Stella stood still and gazed at the wall. She had questions to answer. Where did she want the body taken? Did she have someone to see after her? Did she want a visit from a pastor?
She answered nothing but stumbled from the hospital and strolled into the parking lot. Finding her car, she drove home without tears. Once there, she took a gallon of gasoline, poured it around in the house, on the couch against a wall, on the floor. From the open back door, she tossed a lit match inside and then watched from the road as the house went up in flames. She was standing there with a blank expression on her face when the fire department arrived. Jay Maxie, the head of the Gravel Hill Volunteer Fire Department tried in vain to talk to her. She was still there staring at the smoldering ashes when the firemen drove away.
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Rain
After my flip turn, I looked up
through the crystal clear water of Twin Rivers’ pool and saw the surface above me being peppered by the rain. Yeah, it was that kind of day. And John wasn’t there. John.
He will start calling Wednesday
wanting to swim, desperate to swim, demanding to swim even though I told him already that Centerville Baptist Church has revival starting midweek and going through
Friday night. Yes, I still plan to hit the pool, but I won’t have time to wait
on John. And I won’t have time to pray even if he does make it to the pool. No
joke, it takes him twenty minutes after he gets out of the pool to make it to
my truck where we often have prayer following our dip. Twenty minutes! I have timed
it more than twice. That drives me crazy. Everything he does is slow except
drive. When he gets behind the wheel of a car, Dr. Jekyll become Mr. Hyde, or
something like that. On our recent trip to Tuscaloosa, he drove 80 to 110 miles
per hour. I was frightened and Gerald vows never to get into an automobile with
him again. He missed it. He missed the rain. Again. He didn't even answer his phone.
The rain was glorious. I won’t even
attempt to descrube what it’s like swimming in a downpour. Ineffable. That means you can't put it into words. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures right up there with dipping snuff, taking a nap with a cat, and eating a Snickers Bar.
Once again, I didn’t try to do too
much, but I did do a little more. I swam 2,600 meters, and left feeling that smug
satisfaction I have when I leave a good top flight restaurant after a good meal and some
pleasurable fellowship with friends.
I went home, gave some affection to
CC, did some work for MDCC, and just generally got lazy. I re-watched the Alabama/Ole Miss game. That was a barn burner. I went by CVS Pharmacy Monday and they had sold out of sympathy cards. Too bad. I was going to purchase some for several hurting people.
Today, I have an appointment for more therapy and then I plan to hit the pool again. I won't even call John. I already know his phone will be off. But he will call me Wednesday. Wanna bet? Thanks be to God anyway.
Monday, October 2, 2017
9/25 - 10/1
Monday was swim one at Twin Rivers. I did 2,100, alone, and the water was 85 degrees. I also did my rehab word and walked .5.
Tuesday I did 2,200, and some weight lifting. The bench press went like this:
13 X 45
15 X 50
16 X 55
Wednesday, I had my rehab session and did 2,300 at the pool.
Thursday I had another session of rehab and cut the pool to 2,100.
Friday John and I swam and i busted out 2,500 which right now is a long swim.
Saturday, I did a pretty thorough session at Plate City with the bench going
16 X 45
18 X 50
20 X 55
15 X 60
Then I took Pee Wee and Bear to the country where we stomped around in the bush. For the day, I walked 2.64 miles.
For the week, I swam 11,200 meters. That is almost swimming. Maybe I will swim this week. Thank you, Lord for that much. I walked 3.74 miles, and I lifted weights three times.
Tuesday I did 2,200, and some weight lifting. The bench press went like this:
13 X 45
15 X 50
16 X 55
Wednesday, I had my rehab session and did 2,300 at the pool.
Thursday I had another session of rehab and cut the pool to 2,100.
Friday John and I swam and i busted out 2,500 which right now is a long swim.
Saturday, I did a pretty thorough session at Plate City with the bench going
16 X 45
18 X 50
20 X 55
15 X 60
Then I took Pee Wee and Bear to the country where we stomped around in the bush. For the day, I walked 2.64 miles.
For the week, I swam 11,200 meters. That is almost swimming. Maybe I will swim this week. Thank you, Lord for that much. I walked 3.74 miles, and I lifted weights three times.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Pee Wee's First Time in the Bush
My son rescued him off the street. He and some of his coworkers-- at the time he worked for the Greenwood Leflore Public Library-- took him to the vet, got his shots, and then he took him home. He called me crying. "Dad, can you take this dog?" His other babies weren't speaking to him. It wasn't working out. "I can't put him back on the street."
So I took the twenty-five pound mutt to West Monroe Avenue where this little fireball of fur took over the back yard and in short order, my heart also.
That was February. In March, I started taking him and Bear, our other outside dog, with me to the fishponds where I train for my charity swim. On the very first trip, I realized I had something special. His energy, speed, drive, and hunting instincts were evident from the moment I let him out of the truck to run the final miles to my swimming hole instead of riding. This quickly became a ritual he loved. He can run 25 miles per hour. He loves to run that fast. He barks at birds. He hunts the pond levees while I swim. If I make five trips around, so does he. While I swim he slips off from time to time to sniff out a ditch, but he always returns to check in with me.
On the trips to and from the pond, he barks incessantly. That's a little annoying, but the energy he displays both amuses and impresses me. For me at least. Bear will curl up on the front seat and look at me like, "Make him stop, please." Pee Wee wants out. He wants to run. He wants to bite something.
In the back yard, he is the king of his domain. His eyes are everywhere seeing everything, especially the squirrels that go up and down the big pecan tree next door. He barks, he whines, and when they get into the yard, he gives chase. I have found dead ones in the grass.
I took him to the hills Saturday. I wanted to watch him in the woods, and I wanted to shoot a .22 rifle around him. He didn't pay any attention to the rifle. He hunted like a bird dog only better. I learned something about him. He likes to go to my left and make a big circle eventually coming up behind me. He ran a lot. He sniffed. Once he bolted at something and he barked once. Probably a deer.
He did tree. He didn't bark, but he treed. The barking will come later. He is raw. He has the stuff, but he needs to be hunted until he knows what we are after and how the game works. He hunted and hunted and hunted. He made my heart happy. When we got in the truck and took the long way around by the church and home, he desperately wanted out, back into the thick of things. Next week, I plan to buy a pair of Red Wing boots and begin to wear them out. If he can make a hunter, we will do it together. if Not, we will have fun trying. Together.
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