Strange Minds Think of Strange things

On Friday my only grandson is getting married. I am excited for this event which has brought another event with it; all of my living siblings will be together for the first time since our oldest sister, Carol, passed away three and a half years ago. Bill, Lois, David, Dolores, MaryHell and me. We plan to spend Saturday at Dolores' house for a good and long past due visit. I am especially excited to see Bill because he is like a fart in a skillet...hard to keep up with. He travels a lot.

I stated that strange minds think of strange things because as I was thinking of the timeline between Carol's passing when we were last all together, I thought of the house Carol and Dave had lived in for about forty-five or fifty years. The house where they raised their family of five children. It was a very nice home, which Carol and Dave took great pride in, always keeping it well maintained and looking good.

It so happens that a couple of years after Dave passed away, developers came into that neighborhood and bought up every home there, planning to build a large shopping/office complex. Carol sold the property and moved into a brand-spanking new home. Just a few months before actually moving in, Carol was diagnosed with brain cancer. She died in that new home, never getting to truly enjoy it.

Meanwhile some of the homes in her old neighborhood were torn down and some where jacked up off their foundations onto steel girders for moving to a new site. Carol and Dave's home was one of the latter. It was temporarily moved to a lot not far from it's original plot of land, along with several others, waiting for someone to come along and buy it from the developer. This lot was on Yellowstone Avenue in Pocatello, Idaho. I have to say that Carol loved that home and all the memories that it held for her. Yellowstone is a main thoroughfare in Pocatello, so family and friends could see that house sitting there looking lonely and forlorn, as often as they drove that route to WalMart or the Pocatello mall.

A day or two after Carol had passed away, her friend since early childhood, Karen and her daughter Misty, were driving that route after dark. As they passed by, they noted that the lights were on in that house. So what, you say? Well that house was sitting on the moving trailer, or whatever it is called, and was not connected to any electric power, plumbing, water , or any of those things which bring life to a structure! Was it Carol, saying her final respects to her long time home or maybe soaking up the memories of all the years she spent there with her family? No one will ever know, but it was indeed a strange happening.

Weird Things Work!

On Friday morning, after the passing of my beloved friend Suz, it was time for MaryHell and me to hit the road for home, both having to get back to our jobs. Though we hated to leave our sisters, Lois and Dolores, it was time to get on with life. The morning was hectic as we packed our bags into to the car, stopped at the gas station to fill the tank, and then hit the road. On our way out of town, we decided to stop by the Nampa City cemetery to visit our Aunt Lola after calling then city for the correct section and plot number. Since several years had passed since our last visit, we were still lost, even with the information the clerk had given us. We gave up looking and found the Sexton who then directed us to her resting place. By the time we found her and paid our respects, over an hour had passed, so we were a little behind getting onto I84 and heading for Washington. I'm glad we stopped though.

I'd had a little bit of a sore throat that morning, but nothing to worry about, so I thought. by the time we arrived in Pasco, I was feeling pretty punk so I decided to stay the night and leave at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning for Moscow. On Saturday morning my throat was so sore I could not swallow even water without great difficulty. I decided I'd better go to a Quick Care and see a doctor. Mary took me to a place near her home but they were so busy that after two hours of waiting, being told it could be another two hours and my throat getting worse by the minute, we left for another place in Richland. After another hour's wait, I was finally able to see a Doctor who congratulated me for having a raging case of strep throat. He had the Nurse give me a potent shot of long-acting (six weeks) penicillin and sent me on my way. I dropped Mary back at her house and hit the road for Moscow, getting home around four that afternoon.
I went promptly to bed, miserable and waiting for the penicillin to do it's job.

I DON'T FEEL WELL.................


On Sunday, I went to work, staying away from everyone as much as possible, spending the day catching up all the "paper" work from the previous week. I could not eat or drink. Again, I went home and promptly to bed, spending a sleepless and miserable night. On Monday morning, I called-in sick, took a quick shower and headed for the Doctor again because my throat was getting worse. The doctor gave me a prescription for more antibiotic and told me to stay in bed through Thursday. It was a major feat just to swallow those two pills every morning and I could not eat a thing or barely stand to drink any fluids, which I knew I needed.

On Friday, I went back to work, feeling a little better, but still having difficulty eating or drinking. Yesterday, Wednesday, I went back to the doctor because my ear was aching any my throat still hurt more than I felt it should and I had finished my ten days of antibiotics. She checked out my throat and told me that while the strep was gone, I apparently have some kind of infection going on with my sinus cavities which is causing the irritation and swelling of my adenoids. She put me on a four week regiment of the very potent drug, Augmenton. It has helped, but the pain was still hard to take today.

This afternoon, one of my employees noticed me holding my throat, asking me, "Does your throat still hurt"? I answered, "Yes." She then asked if she could rub my hands and I said sure, why not. She took my right hand, telling me that I felt very congested as she started massaging it. After about a minute, she asked how it felt compare to my left hand and I had to tell her that it felt much more relaxed. She then did the same massage to my left hand which made me feel less tense all over. Before an hour had passed, my throat felt much, much better. It was amazing! Later, I went to her work station and thanked her for the help, telling her that if she would do this for me every day, I would soon feel like a twenty year old. I don't know what happened there, but hours later, I still feel much better and though a little soreness still remains in my throat, the ear ache is completely gone and I think I'm going to live.

Weird, but it worked for me. I will be looking farther into this with her. But just in case, I will continue with my meds to make sure the infection doesn't rear it's ugly head into a raging roar again. Life is GOOD!! Wahoo...................................................

Miracles

As I was pulling out of the parking lot on my way home this evening, I saw a bumper sticker that said something about praying for peace. Now this made me consider what a lazy society this world houses. Now, don't get me wrong...I do believe in prayer and have seen prayers answered many times in my life. But a miracle, asked for on a bumper sticker struck me as "whining". Why, you ask? Because...I see it as asking God to do a task that we can do for ourselves by simply doing what we have been instructed to do by that same God, Buddha, Muhammad or Superior Being each of us claim to belief in. The message from each Deity is the same for all of mankind who make up the family of the Earth. That is, to love one another unconditionally, respect our differences, be non-judgemental and offer our hands in help. If each of us would expend just a little energy, every day, to do this......................THAT WOULD BE A MIRACLE! The World would be at peace. This brings me to a little miracle that happened to me when I was 14 years old.

Summer, 1959
My Mom, Beth, was a very compassionate, empathic and loving woman. After my Father died in 1951, Mom was left with very close to nothing, except 8 hungry kids to feed, house and clothe. She had been a wife and mother since her Senior year in high school, possessing no special skills that would gain her the employment needed to support her family. So, after a year of scrubbing floors, caring for home bound Seniors, taking in ironing, or other odd jobs that would bring home the bacon, she took a gigantic leap, entering Nursing school to become an LPN. After graduation, she landed a job at a local hospital doing what she loved and expected of herself, earning a living that kept us all together and surviving. After a few years, she was finally able to buy a decent automobile. (She'd had a couple of real doozies in between) It was a 1956 Buick, big as a tank. It had a white body a a red top, known, in those days, as a two-tone paint job. The chrome alone must have weighed 500 LBS! Anyway, I was 14 and thought the car was absolutely beautiful. I had learned, from some of my older brother's friends, to drive a little. I wanted, more than anything, to drive that Buick. Along with taking care of a large family and working full-time, my Mom was usually pretty tired when she got home from the hospital each day, so she would lay down and take a nap for about an hour. One sunny day, after Mom was sound asleep, I decided I was no longer going to dream about driving the Buick, I was going to do it. I took the keys off the table, ran out to the car, started her up, and away I went. I was having a grand time driving around the neighborhood and even ventured across Oak Street into Alameda , where a very, very cute boy I knew happened to live. I drove past his house, hoping he would see me driving this gorgeous vehicle. He would be soooooooooooo impressed, but drats!....no one was around. I knew I needed to get home before Mom woke up so I turned the corner and headed back to 8Th Street. It was the time of day when the sun is deep into the Western sky, blinding me as I drove toward home. I proceeded slowly, but was frightened about not being able to clearly see where I was going. Suddenly, as clearly as I've ever heard, a male voice said, "Stop this car!" I was stunned, thinking that I was hearing things but the voice said it again. I put my foot on the brake and came to a stop in the middle of the street. There was a small dip in the road, which moved the hood of the car down enough to create a clear view for me. I looked around for the man who had spoken to me but he was nowhere to be seen. What I did see was a beautiful little blond-haired girl, maybe 3 years old, riding a tricycle which was stopped right in front of that monster sized Buick, and no more than a foot away. My heart was thundering in my chest and ears. I trembled uncontrollably and couldn't move for what seemed an eternity. The child smiled sweetly, waving at me as she finished her trip across the street....Now THAT was a miracle...................for both of us.