September 7 – “Seaside Sunday”

We had an intimate holiday crowd at church yesterday.  Fairly small (I think I counted around 28 people), but everybody seemed excited about being in church on the Labor Day weekend.  A lot of our Seaside regulars were gone for the holidays, but others came in from out of town to plug right in.  Wes and Jim and Dana did a great job leading worship.  One lady told me she had asked a friend where the nearest Pentecostal church was.  He said it was at least 12 miles away, so she should really go to Seaside instead.  Another group of folks was borrowing a friend’s beach house.  He also told them specifically to go to Seaside on Sunday morning.  Thanks for the positive words of advertisement, whoever you are. 

Two of the couples invited us to have lunch with them.  They were from Austin, and had been here for a day or two already.  They were trying to find the hidden places the locals go to eat.  They had already had some pizza, and had hit the Mosquito Café and a few others, but I noticed that not a single seafood place was mentioned.  I cautiously brought up seafood, in case someone may have an allergy or something.  Didn’t take long for that possibility to be washed aside, so I suggested Shrimp and Stuff, as I usually do.  One of the ladies remarked that “It’s one of the ones on our list,” so we were off.  They got there first and reserved us a table.  Good thing, too.  The place was hopping, as it usually is on a weekend.  We enjoyed a great lunch conversation about the 1900 Storm, the Galveston grade-raising, Hurricane Ike, and how Seaside came to be the place of refuge that it has become.  They couldn’t believe we were able to live on the Island without a second source of income, though.  It was a great opportunity to share that we have learned to trust God to provide what we need when we need it. 

Philippians 4:19 says, “And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.”

Father, thank you for what you have supplied us with.  Thank you even more for helping us learn to understand what it means to have “enough.”  Amen.

September 6 – “Bop. Pow. Zowie”

Zak and Caleb and Luke brought their parents over for a visit this weekend.  Not that they are staying on the Island over Labor Day or anything.  Josh has to preach at church this morning.  Besides, he has lived here before.  He knows what it is like on holidays here on Gilligan’s Island.    

Their stay was chock full of activity from start to finish.  They got here right after we finished home group on Thursday night.  Mom and Dad promised that they could stay up and play until ten, so they made the most of their time.  First words out of Caleb’s mouth?  “Can we get out the Legos?”  That did occupy them off and on for the hour or so they had until bedtime.  Gave us a little time to touch base with Josh and Christi. 

Friday was non-stop entertainment.  Of course the LaMarque branch of the clan arrived early and everyone headed for the beach.  Well, everyone except Chris and Josiah.  They volunteered to wait for DadDad to get home from his last water therapy assignment (So once Labor Day comes and goes, I will have effectively used up every excuse I can think of to put off scheduling the myelogram.  That dreaded phone call will take place next week).  We did join everyone for the excursion, though.  Rough seas.  Bad for fishing.  Fun for boogie boarding.  Burgers and hot dogs at the house came next, followed by an afternoon of media time for the kids and rest for the adults.  I noticed Kel crashed well before anyone else.  Of course, I was apparently the second one to go, so my observations were not very complete.

Supper time brought on the hotly anticipated event of the weekend … cousins’ sleepover.  Cailyn arrived to join the fray, and the Papa John’s Pizza Man arrived soon after that.  Hungry bellies once again full, we loaded up the cars (takes more than one nowadays) and headed for a quick firehouse visit with Uncle Nathan.  Of course that meant climbing in and out of the fire engine for everyone, as well as a photo shoot with the youngsters sitting on the front of the truck.  Next was a really special treat.  We went on a ferry ride.  Strangely enough, even though it was Friday evening of Labor Day weekend, there were very few cars in line for the ferry.  In fact they took one of them out of service for the night – the one we were getting ready to board.  The wait for the next one wasn’t long, long, and the kids filled in the time chunking rocks into the water.  There’s just something magical about tossing a rock into a large body of water.  One of those inexplicable mysteries of childhood.  We did see some dolphin, as well as a beautiful sunset over Galveston Bay. 

We arrived home with some tired … well, some tired adults.  The kids were tired, too, I guess.  Everyone snuggled into sleeping bags on the floor.  Nani popped some popcorn and DadDad popped in the 1960’s Batman movie (the one with the Bop’s and Pow’s and Zowie’s).  Didn’t take long for them all to be dropping like flies.  The Donut Man made his appearance the next morning as usual, accompanied by his two assistants, Micah and Zakary.  They still are the early risers of the bunch.  And early risers is what we needed, because Saturday morning was kids’ fishing trip day.  We just took them over to the marina at Jamaica Beach.  The catch was rather limited.  Micah nabbed a plastic bag, a leaf and what appeared to be an attachment to an underwater light system.  We did reel in a few rat reds that we had to throw back, and some piggies that we kept for future bait opportunities.  Jachin landed a ladyfish and a mysterious unknown species.  I think we had a pretty good time though.  Fairly memorable way to close out the weekend.  Josh and Christi and their boys headed home after lunch, as did Christina and her gang.  Cailyn stuck around with us since her Mom and Dad were both working.  At least they were for a while until they ended up in the emergency room.  But that’s another story.

1 Timothy 4:12 says, “Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity.”

Father, thank you again for our weekends with the grandkids.  Gotta love those youngsters.  And please touch April with some healing. Amen.

September 5 – “Raymando’s Revenge”

Yesterday I set forth on the journey toward getting my next pair of hearing aids.  When we went to the new audiologist the other day we thought we had done all the research we needed.  The ENT doc in the group was listed as an in-house provider (or however they say that).  We naturally assumed the audiologist, and thus hearing aids, would be as well.  But no.  This was, after all, an insurance company we were dealing with. 

The ear inspection went as well as could be expected, I suppose.  At least the results were consistent with what we have heard before.  “Mr. Vaughan, first of all, you have a profound hearing loss.”  Well, thank you very much for not sugar coating it.  You are within range in the lower sounds, but when it gets into the range that is roughly equivalent to a woman’s voice, your hearing “plummets.”  That’s the word she used.  Plummets.  Great sounding word, isn’t it?  And it matches what my original audiologist has said all along.  That’s confirmation.

She then went into a detailed explanation of what that meant, using graphs and charts. Very informative.  But the sneakiest move of all?  She did the explaining after installing one of the new hearing aids in my ears.  The result was amazing to say the least.  She was able to tweak the settings at many different levels of sound rather than just go louder and softer.  The hearing aid manufacturer coordinated with Apple to connect its usage to the iPhone.  The hearing aids use Bluetooth technology so that when the phone rings and you answer it, the speaker in the phone sends the sound directly to the hearing aids.  You don’t ever have to put the phone next to your ear and get that annoying whine.  And the Bluetooth also has a function where you point your phone at the speaker (say, at a convention), and it will send the voice directly to the hearing aids.  It also has the capacity to detect background noises during a conversation and tone them down, allowing the person’s voice to become clearer.  Sounds magical to me.  Sign me up.

That’s when she dropped the bombshell.  We are not considered a “provider of hearing aids” by your insurance plan.  We can get them, but they will cost $6300 and you have to pay that upfront and file with the insurance company and see how much they charge for out of network providers (“network.” That’s the word I was looking for earlier).  Of course.  She did have her research department track down what coverage we do have for us.  If we chose to go with them … not much.  If we could find an in-network provider, however, the insurance will pay 100% of the cost of the hearing aids.  What? 

So began the search for an in-network provider.  I dug through the website.  Not at all user-friendly.  I finally came up with a list of the nearest ones.  North-central Houston.  Kingwood.  The Woodlands.  Oh, and then we could go to San Antonio.  The nearest one was over 50 miles away.  Great.  I decided to call the insurance company and see if I could talk to a human being.  And that’s where it got … interesting.

The first guy I talked to was Raymando.  Very thick accent.  Extremely hard for me to understand.  After all the preliminaries, he asked what he could do for me.  Here is the essence of our conversation:

Me: “I need to buy some hearing aids.”

Raymando: “Have you tried the generic drugs?”

Me: (long pause) “Drugs?  What do drugs have to do with it?  I want hearing aids.”

Raymando: “Generic.  It means the less expensive prescription …”

Me: “Wait.  Wait. Slow down there.  I don’t want drugs.  This is not about drugs.  Forget the drugs.  Now.  I want to buy some hearing aids.  Where do I go to BUY HEARING AIDS that are covered by my insurance?”

Raymando: “Oh.  You are saying you want to buy hearing aids?” 

Me: (Sigh) “Yes, Raymando, I want to buy hearing aids.” 

Raymando: “Let me put you on hold while I speak with my supervisor.”

Me: “Of course.”

Good ol’ Raymando finally returned with a new phone number, and he actually got it right.  Come to find out my insurance company has an audiology outfit right next door to where I get my hair cut.  In Galveston.  Guess it hasn’t made its way to the website as of yet.  I have an appointment next Wednesday. 

1 Timothy 4:8 says, “For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come.”

Father, thank you for the miracle that hearing aids provide.  Please help this whole insurance thing work out. It would be nice to hear with some clarity again.  Amen.

September 4 – “Career Path”

School has started and the hopes and dreams of the children are once again in full swing.  We had Cailyn for our first foray of the new year into getting her to school on time for the first grade.  She arrived around 5:45 in the morning, still in her pajamas, of course.  Once her parents left, though she leapt to her feet and raced to her bag.  Now by “her bag” I mean one of three or four that must accompany her every time she comes over.  There is her school backpack.  OK, that’s a given.  Then there is the bag that contains her dolls of the day.  And of course there must be a separate bag to contain the myriad of adornments for the doll of the day.  Off to the side will invariably be a tiny stroller for the dolls to ride around in.  And finally, somewhere in the pile of essentials, there will be another bag that hopefully will contain an acceptable school uniform and perhaps some shoes. 

Yesterday, however, there somehow appeared a bonus item or two in that wardrobe bag.  As soon as her parents left, she notified me that it was time to see her new clothes that she had scored.  First to emerge was a leopard print dress that was obviously her favorite.  So much so that she just had to try it on and show me.  Now by “new dress” I also mean it still had the tag on it, so that had to be ripped off for the fashion show.  And that one remained on her person for the duration of her brief, pre-school stay.  She did, however, reveal the other contents of the bag.  No less than two other new dresses, all gorgeous, of course.  And then there was the bonus experience.  She pulled out a brand new nightgown.  I asked what that would be for, and she quickly explained that she snuck it in without Mommy and Daddy seeing it “just in case I need to spend the night when my cousins get here.”  That was not in the plans when we found out Josh and Christi were coming, but, hey, we are up for new experiences.  I love surprises.  I just don’t get many.  I may have provided a few in my time.  Guess I have to confess that much.  But I do like surprises.

So … we had a leopard print dressed 6-year-old prancing about the house preparing for school.  She threw one more surprise into the mix when she reached into her Mary Poppins bag of wardrobe and came out wearing a pair of glasses.  She modeled them for me, and then declared, “I look like a president.”  Had to agree.  Later on, as we brushed teeth, she paused to ponder her new look, explaining that she only needed the glasses to see far away.  But they did do something for her.  Out of the blue she announced, “No.  Not the president.  I look like a judge.”  I agreed with her on that one as well, perhaps a bit too readily.  It only took a few more minutes of pondering to come up with a third option. “No.  I know what it is.”  Excitedly now, “It’s a principal.  I look like a principal.” 

From president to judge to principal.  Hmm.  Sounds like an upswing to me.  She’s definitely headed in the right direction.

1 Timothy 2:8 says, “I want men everywhere to lift up holy hands in prayer, without anger or disputing.”

Father, thank you for children’s dreams and for whatever comes of them in their future.  Amen.

September 3 – “Drifting Days”

Well, there have been two days in a row now with that chemo brain stuff limiting my concentration.  And of course it comes on a week that I was really trying to get ahead of the game.  Josh and Christi and their boys are coming to town, and it would be nice to have everything almost completed before they arrive.  I did finally manage to complete the Bible study for tonight.  And there is at least a baseline for the sermon for Sunday.  I am sure glad the people at Bible Study and at Seaside are kind and forgiving. 

At least when it hits Chris has been able to come up with some kind of project that I can turn my attention to.  Otherwise I end up falling asleep at my desk.  Yesterday she had two things going.  Remember that shelf we put up in the yellow room the other day?  Or did I not write about that one?  Can’t remember.  Nonessential information.  We put up a shelf in the yellow bedroom.  There.  So yesterday was the day to fill it up.  That meant finding an appropriate photo of each of the grandkids engaged in some kind of fun activity.  One good thing about that activity was that we got to do it together.  Great fun.  The two of us hunched over the laptop, peering at digital pictures, trying to choose the absolute best one in our possession.  (And Chris is right there to nudge me in the right direction when I start to drift away).  Then starting all over again for the next grandchild.  I guess it doesn’t take much to make you happy when you get to be a grandparent.  We finally found eight good ones, got them framed and situated just so. 

The second project didn’t begin until a few minutes before the Astros game started.  Not a good time for this guy.  And as it turned out, Chris was happy for this one to be hers and hers alone.  She decided to redecorate the front porch.  Now from what I could see, there is only so much you can do with two rocking chairs and a bunch of potted plants.  Her goal was to get the rocking chairs away from the window screens.  They were puncturing tiny holes into the screens, and those tiny holes became friends with one another started joining forces, they were not so tiny any more.  In between innings I checked on her to see if she had need of my physical not-so-prowess.  She didn’t.  And the porch looks great now.  She reoriented the chairs to a different wall and moved plants around so that it looks like it was meant to be.  I guess now we’ll have to put a replacement screen on our list for the future as well.  Oh, and the Astros managed to find a way to lose the game, by the way.  I went to bed with the score tied 3-3 in the seventh inning.  Woke up to find the final score was 8-3.  Ouch.  Oh, well.   They are still in first place.  Go Astros.

1 Timothy 2:1-2 says, “I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone— for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.”

Father, thank you for the creativity my wife has displayed.  It has sure has helped in my lapses of concentration.  Amen.

September 2 – “Wet”

Boy, were we ever blessed with some rain yesterday.  I understand it was somewhere over three inches.  Streets were flooding all over the island.  One of the fire fighters posted on FaceBook a little clip of the guys walking through almost-waist deep water after a call.  I got to see some of the flooding first hand when I got a call from the fire station on the East End.  They had a gentleman walk up to the station and request to speak to the chaplain.  It took me a while to get all the way over there, and the crew was out on a call when I arrived.  I left them a note (after searching five minutes for a pencil.  What’s up with the office supplies, guys?), and started to leave when I heard someone call out, “Has the chaplain arrived yet?”  The guy had been sitting in his car, and I guess he didn’t see me when I got there.  I invited him over and we talked for a long time about his situation and personal needs.  I gave him a little bit of money and prayed for him.  And he invited me to come to Mario’s on the Seawall next week so he could be my waiter.  I believe I might just have to take him up on that.  He said he would call the station and leave his schedule.  We’ll see. 

We also had a visit from Bob, a Seasider who is still in the process of moving here from Oklahoma.  He brought us some of the fruits of his garden up there.  A big bag of pears, a couple of squash (or is it squashes?  And where did that name come from, anyway?  It doesn’t look squashed.  And speaking of squash, why do call that game where you smack a little ball against the wall, squash?  That one never has made sense to me), and two watermelons.  One of the watermelons had rolled around in the back of his truck and was cracked, so we were forced to cut it open right away.  It was a yellow meat.  Pretty ripe, but also pretty good flavor.  We’ll have to eat that one quickly.  I think Chris can handle that charge, though.  She loves watermelon. 

1 Timothy 1:15 says, “Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners — of whom I am the worst.”

Father, thank you for water and watermelons.  Amen.

September 1 – “Someone’s at the door”

We had quite the unusual visitor at our house yesterday.  I was on the couch watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Finally available on Netflix), and Chris was in the kitchen preparing some of her fabulous chicken and dumplings (In her words, “It’s just a chicken and dumplings kind of day”) and talking on the phone to Christina, I think.  Into the midst of our reverie came the blaring of the doorbell.  At least I assume that happened.  I didn’t hear it.  Chris did, though, so she came over and tapped me on the shoulder to inform me that someone was at the front door.  Sure enough, there stood a young man we didn’t know waiting patiently for an answer.  I joined him on the front porch and was about to ask how I could help him when he jumped in with, “Well, is it the Equinox or the pickup?”  And I was instantly more confused than usual (if that is even possible).  But as I glanced behind him, I began to form a picture of who this guy actually was.  There in the street in front of our house was one of those huge wrecker trucks – the kind that puts your car onto a trailer instead of just dragging it away.  He was here to haul off one of our vehicles.  Why?  No idea.  They are both paid for, and have been for some time.  One was in the driveway and the other was legally parked on the street.  The one on the street I had just driven to go fishing the other day, so it couldn’t be listed as abandoned. 

After the split second it took for all those thoughts to race through my already drug-addled mind, I simply and quite eloquently replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Of course that was just an elocutionary ploy to give me some more time to figure out what could possibly be going on and what would be my best possible course of action.  Could I take him out?  Not likely.  He was about a head taller than me and outweighed me by a hundred or so.  Could I simply close the door and hope he goes away?  Nope.  I was already outside on the porch.  No way I could get the door open and avoid his clutches.  Besides, he already knew where I live.  Perhaps I could bluster my way out of the situation, concocting some cockamamie story about how his boss had just called and told me to tell him to get back to the shop in a hurry because they just had an emergency call for a wrecker to pick up a … a … renegade TransAm stuck in a swamp up on the Mainland.  Huh.  Not likely with this chemo brain.  Or there was the best yet … I could play the “old guy” card.  That had all kinds of possibilities, not the least of which would be the hard of hearing excuse (No lies involved there).  Or maybe my real trump card … the bad back.  Ah, the endless scope of rationalizations there.  

But no.  All I could come up with was, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” followed by awkward silence.  He glanced down at his paperwork.  He stared at me for a second or two.  Glanced back at his truck.  Back at the paperwork.  And then he looked over my shoulder.  I followed his gaze to … our address.  And just as realization dawn on me, it did on him as well.  “Oh wait,” he said, “I’m at the wrong address.  It should be 7205.  I’m so sorry.”  And he was off.  That’s it.  Gone as quickly as he had come.  Both of our vehicles were safe and sound.  I didn’t have to reveal my secret identity or use any of my hidden super powers.  No need to call on the super friends for back-up.  Just back to the mutant turtles and a hot bowl of chicken and dumplings.  Hey. I’ll take that any day.

1 Timothy 1:5 says, “The goal of this command is love, which comes from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith.”

Father, thank you for hot soup and paid-off vehicles and late afternoons to enjoy them with my wife.  Amen.