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The 83º weather earlier today made me antsy to get outside to do some yard work.
So, after Bible Study was over and several other diversions, I ventured forth.
The weather had changed rapidly.  A strong wind from the north east had knocked
out a window candle and brought a rapid change in the temperature. 
As of this evening the temperature is a chilly 46.4 º.

Remember my barrel from last spring?

The tulips from last year had been planted at various and sundry places around Shady Acres, (They are actually coming up profusely this spring) and summer flowers had been planted and carefully tended in the barrel.  In the fall, the flowers had been pulled out and the barrel has lain dormant over the winter.  A few days ago, I noticed two volunteer tulips coming up, and it reminded me that I had a bag of tulips in the pump room, waiting for planting. 

So, out I went into the wind and chill and planted those 100 tulip bulbs (using the barrel and four other containers.)  Now it is time to wait for what might happen.   At least with the promised rain tonight, they will get a good watering for starters, and I will let you all know how this turns out.

On another note, I saw the doctor this week in regards to the trouble I have been having with a lame arm.  You see, it happened like this:

The right arm of Certain Man’s Wife gets used for a great many things — stirring soup, kneading and shaping bread loaves, scrubbing counters, clicking the mouse on the computer, and stuff she doesn’t even think about until something complains.  It literally is a “right hand helper”  (duh!)

About two weeks ago, there was this very nice pen that wasn’t co-operating.  It hadn’t co-operated for a while, and for some reason, CMW was constantly picking it up in time of need, and it would not even budge into a writing position.  It was stuck in the retracted position.  (CMW was of the opinion that this may have started when she used a pen to unstick the opening in a tube of super glue one day when she wasn’t thinking about possible consequences to the pen, but this story isn’t about that incident, so why bring that up?)  The problem was, there was nothing visibly wrong with the pen.  It looked like it had ample ink, and it was otherwise in great condition.  So every time CMW picked it up (usually when there was a very important person on the other end of the telephone line instructing her to make a note of something) it caused her great frustration when she realized that once again, she had picked up THAT PEN.

In a moment of brilliant inspiration, she decided that she would either fix or break that pen.  There was a magazine lying on the cupboard and she seized that pen in a death grip and brought it top down upon the magazine with great force, causing the plunger to go crashing down, forcing the writing end into position.  This was good.  Except it looked a bit like it might be stuck now into the out position.  Investigation proved this to be so.  So, CMW upended that offensive pen and brought it down “CRASH!!!” on the magazine again, and the writing end went back inside. 

Almost immediately, there started this annoying pain radiating from her elbow down towards her wrist.  It really didn’t register until she went to lift something and then there was this alarming pain, and a decided inability to perform the task.  Also, a strange sounding clunking noise somewhere inside the elbow when the lower arm was moved in a particular direction.Over the next couple of days there were varying degrees of discomfort — some rather in the “excruciating” range at times, so it was decided to pay a visit to Dr. Rowe’s office and have a consult with Fred, the engaging PA employed there.

Sometimes it is comforting to have a medical person come in, ask about four pointed questions and come to a diagnosis in less than five minutes.  “You’ve got yourself a good case of tendonitis.” he announced cheerily.  And he explained how it happened and what all was involved in the inflammation.  “You need to get a brace to go just below your elbow, use heat on it, do some range of motion exercises in a gentle sort of way, and just be patient.  It will take up to five or six weeks to get all better.  And you need to exercise a little caution in using it.”  He did an X-ray for good measure, and it showed no chipped or broken bones, no dislocation, no large cancerous tumors growing there, and so he said there was nothing to really do about it except to come back in six weeks.

Oh, dear.  This has to be punishment meted out upon Certain Man’s Wife.  You see, back when she and Certain Man were planning their wedding in 1973, CMW’s Sweet Mama took it upon herself to repaint most of the inside of the old farmhouse on Greenwood Road.  (Just the thought of such a daunting task causes CMW’s courage to fail, but then, Sweet Mama was only 44 years young at the time — as opposed to CMW’s current 53 years OLD–It makes a difference!!!) The resulting beauty to the old farmhouse was pretty incredible, but the resulting tendonitis in Sweet Mama’s elbow was so bad that she could not shake hands with her right hand at the wedding.  In some indirect way, CMW has always felt responsible for that.  So, now it has come home to roost, causing a great deal of sympathy for her Sweet Mama all those many years ago. 

Middle Daughter had better be getting ready for a crash course in bread baking. 

And bring on the Ben Gay, Heating pad and Arthritis medicine . . . CMW needs it all. 

They set the stone that marks my Daddy’s grave today.
I traced his name —  and wiped the tears away
And thought about the days that just keep marching on
And wondered if the time will come when tears are gone . . .

When my days are full

Of the many demands

That are justly mine.

And my heart feels empty of good and true

And full of the ugly and the lies of our time-

Lord Jesus, hold my hand steady.

And when my “cup” is jiggled,

Make me remember that

What spills out in those unexpected trials

Is what I have chosen to already put there.

It isn’t what others do, or say, or think

That makes me do or say or think.

It’s those same old choices,

Coming out of that same old nature

Spilling across the pages of my days

Leaving their colors there.

Ah, my Heavenly Father

May the love of your Sweet Son, Jesus

Fill this heart of mine in ways that overflow

In Living Water, so that what “gets spilled”

Is only more of You.

It has been a week of interesting challenges.

Our Nettie-girl has enjoyed some months of relative tranquility.  But about a month ago, she started to show signs of agitation and depression.  I tried numerous tactics to divert attention, improve the mood, speak hope and finally, requested consultation.  This resulted in a medication change which certainly holds promise but did very little for the immediate behavior.  There have been days when I have prayed fervently that my Heavenly Father would gift me with wisdom way beyond myself, for we do believe that He brought Nettie to us and that He wants to bring her to stability and peace.  God has been merciful to us all.  (Of course, crashing in on the end of this week was full moon.  I am thankful that things are no worse.  I am hopeful for better days.)

And then, at the beginning of the week, Cecilia came down with bronchitis.  Her doctor agreed to see her first thing Monday morning, and got her started on antibiotics.  On Wednesday, she was coughing as much as ever, and she was still running a temp.  So we had a medication change and added a cough syrup.  And she has slowly improved as far as her illness.  She has developed some interesting behaviors that appear to be designed to make me sigh.  (Why would someone who is coughing alot already want to run her feeding spoon down her throat until she almost throws up????)  Sigh.

And this week was Science Fair.  Enough said.

And Beloved Son in Law was gone this week for a training class.  The nice side of this was that we got to see a whole lot more of Eldest Daughter.  That bad, bad side was that we all miss him intensely when he is gone.

And this was the week that we refilled our chicken houses with baby chicks.  Certain Man has worked himself silly.

I’ve been pondering alot this week about how our hearts respond when there are things that are not in our plans.  There have been moments of glory this week that have left me breathless with wonder and amazement at God’s incredible gifts to us.

Right now, outside the sliding glass doors that lead to my deck, to the East, there is a phenomenal Lunar Eclipse.  Certain Man made sure I knew.

I spent precious hours with my Sweet Mama and with my Bible Study Girls and with a new friend and with my daughters and my incredible husband.

I prayed for my far-away sons and thought about their hearts, and about the men they are becoming and missed them intensely and was comforted by the knowledge that, though they are out of my sight, they are not beyond the reach of my prayers.

I listened to my Youngest Brother tell of a recent dream he had about my Daddy, and it felt like I had word from Heaven, somehow, and it made me cry, and it made me laugh and it made me think about the eternal and how very much we have to look forward to.  I thought of my Friend, Ethel, and about how that what was once “through a glass darkly, is now FACE TO FACE”.  And I wondered what she would say to me if she could talk to me now.

I’ve been so blessed this week by a poem that I found in the November/December Discipleship Journal and for those of you who are still with me, I want to share it with you.

A PSALM OF WANDERING
by Joseph Bayly

Lord, You know
I’m such a stupid sheep.
I worry
about all sorts of things
whether I’ll find grazing land
still cool water
a fold at night
in which I can feel safe.
I don’t.
I only find troubles
want
loss.

I turn aside from You
to plan my rebel way.
I go astray.
I follow other shepherds
even other stupid sheep.
Then when I end up
on some dark mountain
cliffs before
wild animals behind
I start to bleat
Shepherd Shepherd
find me
save me
or I die.
And you do.

Ah, yes, my friends.  He does!  He does!

What a gorgeous, windy, sunny, sheet-drying day this turned out to be!  I almost can believe that spring will actually come!  Certain Man spent time out in his garden today, “evaluating” and I saw the green sprigs of tulips on the front side of my barbecue pit.  I am anxious for some nice warm days.

Last night, Certain Man came home from the office carrying a Wal-mart bag.

In the bag was a gallon size ziplock bag, containing a yellowish, creamy looking substance.

And also in the bag was a page of instructions.

 A dear nurse friend of mine from the Department of Health

has sent me

(Drum Roll here, please!!!)
Starter for a batch of Friendship Bread!!!

Now, as some of you good folks out there in Xanga-land know, this is an exceptional blessing that can be a sore trial after the third or fouth gifting.  But this is my first in many years, so I am quite delighted, indeed.  If any of you have a hankering for Friendship bread, just message me and let me know, and I will certainly keep you in mind when it comes time to hand it out.

The Refiner’s Fire

This has been a most eventful day

I picked up Mama soon after 7:00am to go to Dorchester General Hospital in Cambridge, MD.  This was the day that she was to have an EGD (esophagogastroduodenoscopy) to determine the progress she has made since her esophagal cancer two years ago.

“I’m dreading this,” she confided in me as we were driving over.  “I just wish it was over.”

“I don’t blame you, Mama,” I said.  “I don’t like it either, and they aren’t even doing it to me.”  I did keep her mind somewhat distracted, though, on the way there, because I was in dire need of a ladies room and there seemed to be none with the amenities that appealed to ladies of our upbringing on that long, long road between Bridgeville and Hurlock.  I was getting more and more concerned as the miles passed, and even began to look appraisingly at some of the roadside factories and wonder what proximity their ladies rooms might be with the front door.

Just when I thought that there would surely be a catastrophe, we came into the town of Hurlock, and there, right on the edge of town was this ramshackle beer joint/grocery store/ truck stop sort of thing.  It looked like it could possibly at least have restrooms (at this point, this was all that mattered) and I hurriedly pulled Mama’s sweet car up in front of it and threw it into park.  I did not even bother to turn off the key, and jumped out.  As I hastily shut the car door, I tried to ignore the two bedraggled looking black men lounging around an upside down fifty gallon drum, nursing a brown bag and eyeing me with bleary eyes.  I hurried down the sidewalk and to the front door.  Almost every available window space was covered with homemade white paper banners heralding COORS 12 PACK $—–, BUDWEISER $ —- and BUDWEISER LITE $ —- and PAPST BLUE RIBBON $—–. (and lots of others that I forget!).  I tried not to look at them as I sailed through the door.  Once inside, I was pleasantly surprised to find an atmosphere not unlike a slightly rumpled gas station shop.  There was everything there — except a sign indicating where the restrooms were.  My heart sank as I saw a brown door at the back of the store that had a passage lock and a sign that said:

NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS

BY ORDER OF THE MANAGER

POSITIVELY NO EXCEPTIONS!!!

Except that from where I stood, all I could see was the “No public restrooms” part of the sign.  (And my state inspector husband has told me over and over again that no business in Delaware can deny a customer the use of a restroom.  It is against the law.)  So I sidled up to the checkout counter and looked the ruggedly handsome young Iranian in the eye.

“Sir, I’m sorry.  I know your sign says ‘No public restrooms, but I am in desperate need of —”  Before I could finish my sentence, he had turned and picked up a key behind him and dropped it into my hand.  I was so thankful!  I made my way to the back of the store and then I saw the rest of the sign.  YIKES!  If I had seen it before, I would never have had the courage to ask.   (I don’t know what I would have done, but I promise you, it would not have been pretty!)  I unlocked the door and pushed it open, wondering what to expect.  It was not at all filthy (except some of the inscriptions on the walls) and it smelled of disinfect and soap.  It was rather dark, but it was adequate, and all I could think of was how grateful I was for it.  I came out, locked the door behind me, made my way back up to the checkout counter and returned the key.

“Thank you,” I said to the young man, wondering how I could delicately express my gratitude.  To my surprise, his eyes were cold and contemptuous.  I managed another weak attempt at thanks and fled.  Through the front doors, past the two men, still lounging by their barrel, and into the safety of Mama’s presence.    She did not scold or criticize but she looked somewhat askance.

“I can’t believe you went in there,” she said.

“I almost can’t either,” I said, “but it was necessary!”  (It really, really was!)

We made short work of the distance between Hurlock and Cambridge and came safely and on time to the hospital.  We were scarcely in when they called Mama to go back to change into the hospital garb, and then they told me to wait in the waiting room until they had the IV started.  After about a half an hour, I inquired about whether they had put the IV in yet, and it was another 10 minutes until they let me go back.  And then in about ten more minutes they sent me out again because they were ready to take her to surgery.

In a relatively short time, Dr. Murand poked his cheerful, youthful face around the corner and asked for Mrs. Yoder’s family.  He waved me out into the hall, and his eyes were so delighted and kind.  “Everything went great,” he told me.  He waved two pages of repulsive pictures under my nose that he was treating like a delightful Rembrandt painting.  “If you look right here, you can see how smooth and healed this is.  We  have some inflammation here-” (he pointed to a disgusting looking blob of something labeled “Antrum”) “but it isn’t anything to worry about.  She looks so good.  I didn’t even find anything to biopsy.  She is good to go for a year!”

One of the things that Mama was concerned about was that she might need to have the stricture stretched again, so I asked Dr. Murand if he had done that.

“Nope, I didn’t see that as being necessary!” he said.  “She is doing so well.  There is just this peace about her.  I knew the minute I saw her that she was doing good.  She was glowing.  I think it is her faith and her supportive family (YEAH, US!!!).  Everything is just fine!”

“We think our Mama is pretty impressive,” I told him.  “She has an incredible will to live, and she just marches on.!”

Then he told me something that was just so special to hear.  “You know,” he said, “we have a few people who have come through what she did, and are healthy — at least somewhat healthy.  But your mother is far and away the healthiest person we have ever had come through this.  She is just amazing!”   A person can go on that kind of good news for a very long time!

And then I came flying home and finished up just a few loose ends on my tax records and did a few loads of laundry.  Around 3:30,  I went to pick up Certain Man (Who had so kindly and graciously gone late to work so that he could get my ladies to their respective centers) and we scrambled to Smyrna to talk to our accountant and give him our paper work.  On the way home, we stopped for supper, just the two of us.  It has been a very long time since that has happened, and it was just so sweet.  Then we came home to discover that Middle Daughter had fed Nettie and Cecilia, (inspite of a rather discouraging day at clinicals) and Youngest Daughter had already left for her quarter final basketball game.

Oh, joy!  She was allowed to play tonight.  And made 7 points and retrieved 13 rebounds.  It would be hard to find a happier girlie tonight in all our fair land.

And so ends this busy, eventful day.  Tomorrow, I make soup for quiz meet, and somehow procure two dozen individually wrapped baked goods for them to sell.  But I won’t have to worry about getting my taxes together.  What a blessed relief that is!

I found a good way
to help a tax payer
pay attention.

Make an appointment
with the accountant,
and determine
to be done the day before.

(I wonder if this tactic will be effective . . .)

This is Raph’s Team

In the back, left to right is Caleb Ivanitsky and Derrick Wagler
In front, left to right is Laura Fisher, Karen and Daryl Enns, Mac Mullet and Raph Yutzy

(It seems forever since I’ve seen our Eldest Son’s face . . .)