Little Eddie came back from Viet Nam addicted to heroin. When we met him, he had kicked the habit cold turkey. He lived in one small room of a large Victorian house where my brother rented an apartment. His sister was the landlady and let him stay there rent free. I never met her. They weren’t close. Eddie was the oldest of his siblings and had at least two younger sisters. His father kicked him out of the house when he was twelve. His mother abandoned him at his father’s command. Homeless and penniless, he lived on the streets until he was able to join the army. A deep wound of rejection coupled with a war is a perfect recipe for drugs and none better than heroin. How he managed to stop was inspiring. Overcoming so much in his life was inspiring. Eddie was a wiry little guy with abundant energy and kindness; clever and wise beyond his years. His eyes betrayed him though. It was easy to see through those two windows the young unloved boy he tried to keep concealed. His eyes didn’t sparkle until he met Janet. He was so in love and she felt the same. Until she didn’t. When she broke up with him, she hit his barely concealed wound with a final blow. And he took some drugs, walked into a lake and drowned.
More Than One Recipe
Often I read or watch bios. And often successful people knew what they wanted to do from the time they were young. They saw a show and wanted to be an actor. They admired a teacher. They loved a book and wanted to write like that. Dancers, singers and musicians are inspirations. I remember asking a dentist why he decided to become a dentist. I’d had so many bad experiences, that I started “interviewing” them before letting them near my mouth. He said his first visit to a dentist, when he was probably five years old, was fun. The man was funny, his check-up was great and he got a toy and a toothbrush to take home with him. That first appointment was in December. He said that night, Rudolph was on, and the elf that wanted to be a dentist made him sad. He decided that day that when he grew up, he was going to be a dentist.
There are other reasons for success, of course. Sometimes luck or connections play a part. But mostly, I believe, it’s hard work, perseverance and confidence. I don’t have any of the ingredients in the usual success recipes. In fact I think if there were such a thing as spirit animals, mine would be a sloth.
I found this “sloth as spirit animal” info on the internet:
The sloth loves nothing more than to relax and can often be mistaken as being a very lazy creature. This is a rather unfair assumption as we all need relaxation in varying degrees, and who are we humans to sit in judgment of one of nature’s wonderful creatures? Also, being very creative thinkers, they spend much of their time conjuring up ideas, often using so much energy thinking about them that they never actually get any further than their thoughts! In this way, they can be seen as dreamers but to them, it doesn’t actually matter whether their ideas become more than that – they are just happy to lay around thinking, relaxing, and avoiding anyone or anything that may ruin their peace. (Source: subconsciousservant dot com)
I don’t believe in spirit animals and I laughed out loud reading the description. But I imagine sloths are successful in their own worlds. And in my world, I count God, family and friends as the ingredients in my recipe.
Mem-non
Mem-non is a nickname Rob calls me when it’s suits him – when we both remember things differently. Or I don’t remember something at all. Mem-non meaning no memory. To be honest, it’s often true of me.
I was thinking about my grandfather today and for some reason thought of the last time I saw him. I was with my mother visiting him in the hospital. I don’t know if he wanted us there. He was in so much pain he couldn’t talk. His skin was gray. His chest rose and collapsed in sharp halting breaths as he gasped for air. He was dying from black lung.
Pop came from a struggling small family farm in Spain to the U.S. where the “streets were paved with gold”. He was nineteen. He was disillusioned but not ready to give up his dream of owning a Cadillac. So he stayed and took the only job available to him at the time, working in a coal mine.
At the hospital I remember my mother telling him about my son. “His name is Joe” she said, “just like yours.” Yes, Joe was named in honor of my father-in-law and my grandfather even though Joe was not Pop’s real name. It was, however, the name everyone called him since his first day on U.S. soil. The Ellis Island immigration officer couldn’t pronounce or spell Narciso and wrote Joe on his landed papers instead. At least that’s the story I was told.
My son was born a year before our visit and Pop knew his name was Joe. My mother said all kinds of things but that’s all I remember because at the time I thought it odd. But now I think my mom just wanted to see him smile or see any expression other than pain. She was in pain too. I was in shock. I never saw anyone close to death before. I never saw anyone with gray skin.
I don’t remember the drive up or back. Did anyone else go with us? Rob must have driven and he had to be with Joe. I don’t remember my grandmother on that trip but we must have stayed with her overnight. Except for the brief memory of our visit to Pop’s room, I can’t recall anything else. Mem-non.
Prayer
People often pray for healing. And when they, or the person they pray for gets well, they say God answered my prayer. What about when they’re not healed? Does that mean He didn’t answer the prayer?
Paul prayed for healing from a thorn in his side. No one is sure what he meant by that but God’s answer was, “My grace is sufficient for you.” The problem was not removed.
Jesus prayed for another way, to not be crucified, but added, “But not my will.”
We pray for family and friends to be saved. Did God answer if they die without knowing Him? “Paul said he would rather be accursed if it could save his people.”
I think what we often miss when we pray is that this world is not our home. Jesus said in this world we will have much tribulation and each day has enough trouble of its own. James said we should “consider it joy” when we suffer certain problems. He added that we should ask for wisdom.
Jesus knew God’s will and Paul understood God’s sufficient grace. James knew that God gives wisdom to understand when we are healed and when we are not.
So what’s the answer? How do we know if God answers our prayers?
I’ve often heard it said that God has three answers – yes, no and wait. I’ve never liked that explanation because it brings God down to a human level. If God’s ways are far above our ways, His thoughts beyond our comprehension, and His love beyond anything we can imagine, then His answers to prayer can’t be yes, no or wait. His one answer has to be trust Me.
Bakery Choice
Gray, lonely, cold slick street, Dry doorway refuge. Aroma steaming transom fan, Heady scent of bread, Warmth swirling round my head. Streetlight blinks across the street, Shedding tears of melting ice. Car slows, stops, Window descends. Handsome, dark-eyed stranger asks, “Do you need a ride?”
Call Your Mom
My mom and I live in different states so we talk on the phone. Sometimes she reminisces. The following stories are from one of those calls.
“My father used to take me and Jack for a ride sometimes on Sundays. Otherwise he rarely drove the car. He’d go on a mountain road with a sheer cliff and pretend to get too close to scare me. He thought it was funny. I didn’t.”
“I went to a small school. Two first grade classes, two second, two third and two fourth. Every year the school had a show for parents. In third grade we were supposed to be penguins. We each needed a yard of white and a yard of black material costing about 75 cents. My father wouldn’t pay for that. I was heartbroken to not be in the show. The next year, the fourth graders were the big shots – oldest in the school and we dressed like ushers. We wore red satin pants, gold shirts and a pillbox hat. Maybe that material cost 95 cents. Again, my father wouldn’t buy it. But my aunt Agnes, my godmother, bought it all and made the costume. I remember it because one year I was heartbroken and the next year I was thrilled.”
“My father never spent money on anything that was not a necessity. There was a fund raiser at school one year and every kid was supposed to sell a container of Morton salt (the cardboard canister) for ten cents. He wouldn’t buy it – from me or from Jack. We couldn’t sell it to anyone else because everyone we knew had kids selling salt and they all bought their own kid’s.”
In contrast, she said, “My mother always bought whatever she wanted. She had a washer with a ringer when other women were still using washboards. She had a radio, sewing machine, piano and a fur coat. Nobody had a fur coat in Parsons. It was black. When my mother died, before she was even buried, two of her sisters were fighting over the coat. My father didn’t let either of them have it. I think he gave it to the other sister.”
I said, “It’s Lexi’s birthday today.”
My mom said, “Oh, I thought it was tomorrow. It’s hard to remember because almost everyone in the family was either born or died on a holiday.” I said, “Well it’s Purple Heart Remembrance Day.” And she replied, “Oh, so it is kind of a holiday. Pop died on Paddy’s birthday. Paddy was born on St. Patrick’s Day. Aunt Agnes died on St. Patrick’s Day too. Jimmy was born a few days before Christmas. Michael was born the day after Thanksgiving. Actually I went into labor on Thanksgiving but he was born the next morning. I keep thinking every time a holiday rolls around, Oh, I hope I’m not going to die. I almost did die, though. I remember hearing people talk. I was delirious with fever but heard people talking. “If the fever doesn’t break, she won’t make it.” That night it felt like my head exploded and the next morning the fever was gone. I found out later I had double pneumonia. So I didn’t die.”
I said, Well I’m happy about that and she said, “Yes, if I died, you’d belong to someone else.”
Fat Mustard
Fat mustard in a jar. You can’t fit it in your car. Joe was about three years old when he made up this little ditty. It thoroughly amused him for a couple of days.
He was my constant companion back then. A little chatterbox, ever mindful of his surroundings. I’d be talking on the phone and he’d interject from the other room where he was busy with his toys. How did he hear from the other room, and how at his age, did he understand grown-up speak? He was delightful and beautiful and I think he was born with a bit of an old man in him. We’d often walk by the river on “treasure hunts”, filling our pockets with special rocks and shells. We’d eat the wild blackberries and pick the wildflowers.
He’s forty something now. Still delightful and beautiful and much closer to that inner old man. But sometimes I miss that little guy.
Vintage Pearl
I’m reading a book on prayer. It’s old. The flow of the writing and some of the words would ordinarily cause me to pause or re-read a section. But rather than pause at every unfamiliar turn, I decided to just plow through and gather the pearls of wisdom I easily recognize. I stopped dead in my tracks though when I read “out of heart, out of mind.”
Windfall
For months now, my mom and I have been sending each other snail mail. I have to admit, she writes more than I do. It started during the pandemic when no one was traveling. My mom has a phone and an email address, but she doesn’t text and she doesn’t use a computer. We mostly talk on the phone. But until very recently her hearing aids were giving her trouble and talking on the phone was a humorous challenge.
My mom’s latest letter came today. She sends cards with no writing in them so I can reuse them. They’re often cards she got in the mail for free from some charity she supports. She writes her notes on separate paper and fills the envelopes with things she cuts out of the Sunday news.
Columns by two different writers are always included because she says, “You could do this. Submit something to your local paper.” I told her we don’t have a local paper.
In today’s letter she said she’s so happy that she won in Vegas. She treated her friends to dinner and breakfast and generously tipped the casino workers and others. She’s looking forward to gambling again because she found a “system”.
After updating me on a few things happening with the family, she ended the letter with, “Buy a pizza.” I was perplexed. She knows Rob is the cook in our home, so it wasn’t like she thought I needed a break from cooking.
I unfolded the newspaper clippings and a twenty dollar bill fell out. Now it made sense – part of her winnings.
It reminded me of another unexpected gift. My brother, who collected disability, and often had trouble making his meager ends meet, once sent me a birthday card with a ten dollar bill in it. I was so touched that he would send me money when most of his months outlasted most of his checks. I didn’t feel like I could just give his ten dollar bill back, so I snuck ten dollars back to him. But I also couldn’t spend it. It was and still is a precious gift to me. I still have the card with that bill in it. My heart swells with joy whenever I come across it.
My mom, on the other hand, has no money problems, so I’ll buy a pizza and think of her as I share in her latest lucky windfall.
Teen Brain
Rob took the dog for his usual meander this morning and spotted a little brown/black blob on the sidewalk. A closer look revealed it was a baby hummingbird. He came right home to retrieve a small box to scoop him into. I found a small dropper and tried to give the bird some water. He did open his beak for one drop but then no more. Maybe because it wasn’t sweetened?
We quickly checked with a local group online and found a bird rescue person about a half hour away. We called and they said they’d take him. I also read online that we should keep him warm by filling a bottle with hot water and putting it in the box. I left the bottle in the box while transporting him because he was leaning up against it and it seemed to comfort him. I was nervous about it sliding around during the drive, so I held the box at a slight angle. It didn’t roll. Halfway there, he started chirping. We were so relieved and happy.
We dropped him off at a beautiful home with a lovely older couple who obviously knew what they were doing. The woman told Rob that the bird was a juvenile. “Like human teenagers, juvenile birds sometimes think they can leave the nest before they’re ready.” she said.
Rob told her about the chirping as he watched her feed the fledgling a formula through a tiny feeding tube. She said hummingbirds chirp when they’re in trouble. So here we thought the little guy was feeling better and it turns out he was crying for help. He’s getting some now.
He took one drop of filtered water. I tried a few more drops but he closed his beak. Maybe as a teen, he only likes soda?