March 20 – “Galveston gardener”

 

 

Chris and I took a ride yesterday.  Actually Chris decided to take a ride and invited me to come along.  Always up for an adventure, and ever ready to be at her side, I jumped at the chance.  And we were off.  By the time we returned home we had a trunk full of plant stuff for the back yard.  And here I thought we were almost done back there.  She now has three or four different kinds of lilies.  Some of them are just about to bloom.  Others just look like an onion recently pulled out of the ground, with that bulb thing on the bottom.  One thing looks like a patch of grass, but close up it has a very strong smell, like the inside of Mario's Pizza Place.  It's quite … garlic-y. 

 

We also had to get some more topsoil to finish filling in low places back there.  One in particular is our next target.  The dogs have a nice little hole dug under the steps to the deck.  It's where they dug into the cool lower soil to escape the harsh Galveston sun.  That sanctuary is soon to be no more.  Sorry Fritz and Heidi.  Chris' plans are to fill in the hole and put some concrete pavers over it.  Gotta protect the stairs infrastructure, you know. 

 

Next we needed a huge bag of potting soil.  What I didn't realize at the time was the intent to pot and repot.  Sounds like a criminal charge.  Some of the new plants will live in the ground.  Others will live in pots, but still outside.  I have never understood the designation involved with that, but pots do need a special kind of dirt, I'm told.  Hence, POTting soil.  While she was at it Chris took the opportunity to move some her old plants back there into bigger pots.  And I took the opportunity to dig up some of the random sprouts of daylilies that I have had to carefully (or in some cases not so carefully) mow around.  Of course Chris had the exact spot she wanted them to go in flower beds.  She also had a plan for mulch.  Not the artificially colored kind, mind you.  Just simple mulch.  Made from pine (it was the cheapest).  When she pronounces the flower beds complete, the mulch will go to cover up all the empty space in hopes of preventing extraneous weeds from filling in the blanks. 

 

Finally on the way out of Home Depot's Home and Garden section, I saw the bags of Weed and Feed.  Why not?  We threw in a bag for our lawn so I would have something to do, too.  Now if the rain will hold off until I get that stuff down we won't even have to water it in.  Ah, the life of a Galveston gardener.

 

Hebrews 13:5-6 says, "Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.'  So we say with confidence, 'The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid.  What can man do to me?'"

 

Father, please help those plants grow.  It'll make Chris really happy.  Amen.

March 19 – “Defending the Island”

 

We heard back from our new accountant yesterday about our income taxes.  They need more information.  I sent the same amount of information I have been sending for years, and this is the first time it hasn't been enough.  A few of the things I can understand.  The IRS decided to change some things regarding mileage in the middle of the year last year, so they need me to break it down into six month segments.  OK.  That one I get.  But I also have to separate out every business expense by categories and indicate the dates I made quarterly payments.  Oh, and I had to report the total mileage on my car for the year.  Guess they want to make sure I did other things besides just work-related stuff.  Nice to know the government is concerned about my leisure time.

 

Yesterday I mentioned that we had grandchildren for two nights in a row.  The second night was Cailyn.  She apparently hadn't seen enough of us while her Mom was on Spring Break, so she harassed them enough until they let her come over for a visit.  With the weather clearing up and warming up we have been able to do more outside stuff with her.  The other day she took Nani on a walk.  She wore the brand new helmet we got her so she would have one here at our house.  That would be Cailyn, not Nani.  Just can't get Nani to wear one when she goes on a walk.  She better be careful.  I was working on the sermon, so they gave me a big goodbye and departed for regions unknown. 

 

As they made their way west on Sycamore, Cailyn occasionally turned toward the street and waved.  At one point she recognized someone in particular and called out a big "Hello" to Terry and Tony, those impish imaginary friends of hers.  When they arrived at the end of the street Chris texted me.  "We are at the beach." That one I recognized from one of my walks with Cailyn.  The last driveway on the block is an empty house, but it has an extra-wide driveway.  It is perfect for sunbathing and watching imaginary waves crash against the imaginary seawall.  I returned the text asking, "R U sunbathing?"  Her answer surprised me, but I guess it shouldn't have.  "No.  Fighting off pirates at the moment."  Ah, yes.  Galveston Island, of course.  We have had the nasty pirate infestation since Jean LaFitte.  During a lull in the action Cailyn returned to sunbathing, so Chris asked if she was ready to head home.  "Not yet," she answered.  Wearily, she took up her imaginary sword and fended off the pirates' last ditch efforts to invade the island.  After that final flurry Cailyn announced that she was ready now.  Like a true unsung hero, she contentedly crawled on her bike and headed back to the house.  Just another long day at the office, I guess.

 

Hebrews 13:1-2 says, "Keep on loving each other as brothers.  Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it."

 

Father, keep those angels coming.  Amen.

March 18 – “Rediscovering Tigger”

 

 

Back to back.  The last two nights we have been blessed to host the presence of none other than … grandchildren.  Started out on Friday when Kel and Christina went to the rodeo to see a band they had never heard of, Train.  No, that's the name of the band, not how they got there.  Their three boys got to spend the night with us.  Jachin and Micah are hooked on Wii video games, so they would have played them all night if we hadn't set a limit.  They did switch over to popcorn and a movie, though.  Night at the Museum.  Lots of fun, but Jachin decided that would really be a creepy place to spend the night all by yourself, even if the creatures didn't come to life.  Josiah's claim to fame for the evening was his discovery anew of the infamous Tigger alarm clock.  I have it on the topmost shelf in my office to keep it out of little hand who see it as a wonderful prank opportunity.  See, the alarm doesn't just ring or buzz or even clang like a fire engine.  It is Tigger's obnoxious voice laughing and asking if you are ready to do some bouncing, followed by a boing sound – his spring-tail bouncing off the ground, no doubt.  It is loud and continuous.  Definitely a great alarm clock, but not a sound you want to hear at 2 a.m.  Josiah saw it and wanted to check it out, so I got it down and fixed it so he could operate it.  At first he was scared of it, but after a time or two he realized the loudness was just part of Tigger's obnoxious nature.  So he decided to join in.  Best I can figure, the sound Josiah was making was something like, "Hoo-hoo-hoo-eeeeee."  We did get a video of it on our phone, so his parents could relive the experience with us. 

 

Aerate.  That's a high-dollar word that means poke holes in the dirt with a four pronged pitchfork spade.  I know they have machines that you can rent to do it for you, but I didn't have one of those machines.  And I did have a four-pronged pitchfork spade.  Why?  Well, the only reason I can figure that we would have one or for one to be anywhere near the city for that matter, is to pick stuff up after a hurricane or a flood.  So we had one.  And so I aerated the back yard.  The plan was to make a conduit for the poison to get down below the surface where the evil grubworms are hiding.  They have devastated our grass for years now, so we decided to be proactive and give the lawn a fighting chance.  Maybe we'll actually have grass in our back yard this year. 

 

Oh.  I switched back to the last anti-inflammatory drug.  I decided any new attempt should at least hold the pain at the same level.  With this one the pain was getting worse and worse, even before I did the aerating.  And afterwards I could barely lift both arms.  So back up a step.  I'll call them tomorrow morning and see which one will be next.  

 

Hebrews 10:19-23 says, "Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water."

 

Father, draw those people to church today that you want to be there.  Amen.

March 17 – “A new look”

 

 

I had another rheumatologist appointment the other day.  He changed the anti-inflammatory medication again.  We are trying to find one that controls the pain but also fits in with the list of medications that our insurance company will approve and pay for.  As luck would have it, the only one so far that seemed promising was Celebrex.  Not on the list because it has no generic equivalent.  The doc seemed quite frustrated before we left.  He said he was creating a letter to our insurance company in his mind.  From the look on his face I don't think it was such a nice letter.  I have taken four doses so far of the new stuff and I don't think it is doing much of anything.  The last one at least took some of the edge off the pain unless there was a change in the weather.  Not so much this one.  Now both elbows are hurting, and my hands and knees appear to be waking up as well.  Chris suggested I try it through the weekend and if it doesn't help we could call back for the next round.  In the meantime I'm going to get a copy of that list of acceptable anti-inflammatories from the insurance company so we can cross off all the ones we have tried and give the doc more to choose from.

 

On a lighter note, one of the fun things this doc has going in his office in that he dresses those skeletons.  You know, the full sized ones they use for teaching.  In one room the skeleton wears a bow tie.  That's particularly funny because this doc likes to wear bow ties.  In fact the other day he had on a regular tie, so I asked if there was a reason he was wearing a "big boy tie."  He said he wears one when he wants to be intimidating.  Didn't work so well with me, so good luck with that.  In the room we were assigned to this time the skeleton had quite a different look.  It was dressed as a princess of sorts.  Actually it was wearing a tiara and a tutu.  Chris took a few pictures of me and the hot chick.  The first one I just stood next to her.  The second one I positioned her arms around my shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  Chris then texted them to April to show to our own little princess.  April said Cailyn was cracking up every time she looked at them.  We asked Cailyn about it when we saw her later on, and her comment was, "DadDad didn't have a shirt on (I was wearing one of those designer hospital gowns) or some ball shoes (I was indeed barefoot – no Nikes)."  Not one mention of the goofy looking skeleton princess.  Guess she was simply stunned by how good I made that gown look. 

 

Hebrews 10:19-25 says, "Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds."

 

Father, thank you for skeleton princesses amid struggles for relief from pain.  They help.  Amen.

March 16 – “Getting spaded”

 

 

I helped April take Abby to the vet yesterday to be spayed.  Abby is their "little" boxer.  Imagine what a funny sight to see a boxer almost as big as a grown woman, wiggling around and wearing a specially made doggie diaper to catch all the dreaded drips that indicate she is in her first heat.  Now imagine said boxer in a tiny Toyota, in the back seat, squeezing herself into Cailyn's carseat.  Very funny start to the day. 

 

Abby was very excited to be going somewhere - anywhere.  When we arrived I noticed a cat lolling around the parking lot, so I made sure to get a good grip on Abby's leash.  She never saw that cat, but imagine her joy when one of the workers inside the vet's office was seated on the floor in front of a cage feeding … you guessed it … a cat.  Frenzied whining, stifled barking, anguished straining at the leash.  Thankfully they were expecting us, so we hid Abby behind a counter out of eyesight of that feline temptress.  And she was just beginning to calm down a bit when the front door opened and strutting in like the prince of the animal kingdom I'm sure he thought he was came a tiny little pug.   And all bets were off in the chance to keep Abby calm department.  That little tidbit would have been just the right size for a snack, and Abby had been on the required no-food-since-midnight fast.  But honestly, it didn't appear that Abby wanted a snack just then.  She wanted a playmate.  And the fact that this particular potential playmate was about the size of a softball made it even more exciting.  Abby ignored all boundaries of good manners and indoor voices.  She began a barking frenzy to accompany her futile attempts at tail-wagging that became rear-end wagging that in turn became serious tugging at the meager attempts at restraint by one rheumatoid arthritis afflicted senior and a young veterinary assistant who by now had made her appearance to collect Abby and show her to her room for the day.  The vet lady was finally successful in dragging her away and closing the door, thus erasing one temptation and, I'm sure, revealing a myriad more behind those closed doors.  April said that's the most complete vocal rendition she has ever heard come out of Abby's mouth. 

 

The whole thing reminded me of an experience I had in college long ago.  We were in one of those larger classes that looks more like an auditorium.  The professor asked for prayer requests before we got started (the class was in the theology building on the Houston Baptist College campus, so prayer was not only acceptable, but expected).  One fellow raised his hand, and when recognized, stood up to deliver his concern.  In a real country twang that rivals that judge on The Voice, he delivered his plea.  "I could shore use y'all's prayers around mah house this week.  See I done took my wife (pronounced why-ef) in to git spaded and thangs ain't gonna be too fun around there."  The professor was stunned.  The silence lasted only until the first snicker snuck forth from somewhere near where I was sitting.  Others followed.  Pretty soon even the prof shook his head and chuckled.  I guess it does shake up the whole household when someone gets spaded.  Hang in there, Abby. 

 

Hebrews 8:11-12 says, "No longer will a man teach his neighbor, or a man his brother, saying, 'Know the Lord,' because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest.  For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more."

 

Father, bring on that time.  Galveston needs it.  Amen.

March 15 – “A broken ‘that’s enough’ sensor”

 

 

I discovered another effect of being in some degree of pain all the time.  I think my "that's enough" sensor has gone out.  I know that's not much of a medical term, but we're bound to have one.  You know, that little voice inside you that tells you when you have had enough.  Not morally or ethically.  I have plenty of help in that department from the Holy Spirit.  I mean physically. 

 

We worked in the yard Monday and Tuesday. It was really hot and humid.  What else could it be?  This is Galveston.  Monday we decided to get some topsoil and fill in the hole that has formed in the spot where the big pecan tree used to stand.  I guess over the years more of the root system has rotted away, causing the area to settle and sink.  It was right up next to our patio area, which is nothing more than a bunch of those concrete pavers set side by side.  Thus, they had begun to sink as well.  That meant to get them level (or somewhat so.  I'm not a surveyor by any means), we had pull up a big section of them, pour on the dirt, and spread it out evenly, then put back the pavers. 

 

The dirt was the easy part.  Just had to empty the bags, shovel it around to mix it in with the existing dirt (Now that I mention it, I guess that wasn't so easy after all), and rake it with a garden hoe until it met with Chris' approval.  Well, my approval, too.  That was one of those areas where I took a stricter interpretation of "even" that she did.  Once that was done we simply replaced the pavers.  Huh.  Not simple.  Those pavers were heavy.  I'm pretty sure they have gained weight over the years.  Maybe absorbed pure tonnage from the soil.  Maybe all the weight from the missing pecan tree was mystically transferred into them.  It wasn't too bad at first, but the closer we got to the end, the heavier those things became.  I was determined to finish, though.  Chris suggested several times that we stop and begin again the next day.  Totally absorbed in the project, I rejected that option instantly.  No.  We must finish.  So I pressed on. 

 

And I kept going until I almost passed out.  Literally.  I staggered over to the shade and collapsed into a chair.  I guess I must have looked bad, because Chris went right inside and got me some water.  And she kept it coming until I finally admitted that I just couldn't go any more.  The last rows of pavers kind of sloped downward into the grass, and I almost talked myself into pulling the up and redoing them.  But Chris' logic stopped me.  She said we would probably have to add more dirt in a few years to re-level it again as more of the tree decomposes.  We might as well wait until then.  Yeah.  Good idea. 

 

The next day wasn't nearly that bad.  Chris started early weeding the flower beds, but I had to get some serious work done on the teaching for Home Bible Study.  I finally joined her.  Well, I went outside.  I was determined to try out our new lawn mower.  Hey.  I had a new toy and it had an engine that made noise.  That's a power tool, right?  I did get the back yard done, but Chris went inside to stay out of my way.  That's when I realized that I was being selfish.  I just wanted to play with my toy.  She really had an agenda to get the flower beds done.  So I put away the mower and started weeding in the bed where she had left off.  I finished that one and started on the next.  And that's when I realized that in my mind I was saying, I'm not stopping until this bed is finished.  A worthy goal, to be sure, but I had just said that about the other bed, and I was already picturing a third bed, or maybe mowing the front yard.  This could be a problem if left unchecked.  I might get too much done.   Not likely.  Or perhaps collapse in the process.  Quite likely. 

 

And so I realized that I didn't know when to quit.  Oh, I was in pain to be sure, but I was always in pain, so I stopped using that as a reference point, pushed it aside and pressed on.  My default meter then became to decide up front how much I would do and stop when I achieved the goal.  It had always worked before in things like watching my weight.  I just decide at the beginning of the meal how much will be enough and stop when I reach that point.  Worked well in that area so why not here?  Why not, indeed.  Problem is, I haven't worked in the yard enough to rely on my instincts for how much will be enough.  And most conspicuous in its absence here is any consideration of rheumatological issues.  Or … age.  There.  I said it.

 

 Hebrews 8:10 says, "This is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel after that time, declares the Lord.  I will put my laws in their minds and write them on their hearts.  I will be their God, and they will be my people."

 

Father, thank you for limits.  Even though I'm not so good with them.  Amen.

March 14 – “The Galveston Time Stamp”

 

 

Since the time change I have been waking up around 6:15 or 6:30.  No news there.  That's when I usually got up before the time change.  It struck me this morning around 4:30 (when I woke up the first time, but just for a quick pit stop) how interesting it was how the time stamp resets itself in an area after some significant event.  In Galveston that time stamp is most often affected by hurricanes.  The 1900 Storm, for sure.  To a lesser degree perhaps, Hurricane Carla or Hurricane Alicia.  And most recently, of course, Hurricane Ike. 

 

Everything around here is referenced as "before the Storm" or "since Ike," and it's a tribute to your "Galveston-ness" if you immediately know what they are talking about.    Hurricane Ike was back in 2008.  That means it's been nearly four years ago.  New folks are coming to Galveston now – folks who have never been through a storm.  They have that fresh start mentality, like nothing can stop them in their pursuit of a peaceful, happy retirement, or at least a "getting away from the stress of the big city, fishing, playing at the beach with the kids in my spare time" world view.  They greet the guarded, knowing nods of Islanders who have "been there" either with a wave of the hand in brash dismissal or a concerned, "teach me what I need to know to really survive here" air that seems to border on humility.  Many of the new folks are from over in Texas, though, so humility may not be the right description to use.  Maybe it's closer to a sociological fascination with this strange culture that has developed.  And it takes at least a little bit of "strange" to voluntarily choose to live on a sand bar just off the coast of Texas – a windbreak that keeps the swamps from totally overwhelming Houston when a real rain comes in from the Gulf. 

 

Of course for those born here a totally different dynamic must be factored into the equation.  There is just something gripping about being Born On Island with sand already between your toes that tends to tug from within, calling you home.  Even having lived through those difficult years around high school when the prevailing feeling around here is usually more closely akin to hopelessness than to pride, the sand is still there.  That one memory that pops into your conscience.  Looking for sand dollars on the beach.  Playing Little League baseball or fast-pitch softball.  A safe and profitable Halloween in Gulf Village.  Sweeping gutters to make enough money to buy a pack of baseball cards. 

 

Guess I could go on and on with that list.  And it would certainly be different for everyone.  My brothers would have to add surfing.  I never did any of that.  I was too busy playing pickup baseball in over at Zion Lutheran Church or trading baseball cards with my buddies in the neighborhood.  My sons weren't born here, but they would add soccer, I'm sure. 

 

I wonder how long this "new" time stamp will stick around?  I guess the duration depends on the severity of the storm.  If that's the case, we'll be in Post-Hurricane Ike mode for quite some time to come.  Or at least until the next hurricane.  I'd sure choose the former.  But then we don't get to choose, do we?

 

Matthew 8:24-27 says, "Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We're going to drown!'

He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.

The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!'"

 

Father, thank you for walking with us through Hurricane Ike and throughout these Post-Hurricane Ike years.  It's so good to know you, Time Stamper.  Amen.