This Thanksgiving celebration was held at our house here in South Alabama.  It was a gorgeous day, and we had 2 days of food and fellowship.  It all started when Mom and Dad Good got here on Tuesday, and we had a delicious supper all together. I still had to work on Wednesday but ended the office early, and so got home by 3 pm.  Then all the people started rolling in..first Mark and Caralee Roth and family from Clinton, MS, then Dan and Phyllis Miller and daughter Faith from McComb, MS, and finally Tim and Rosie Kanagy and family from Macon, MS.  So we somehow squeezed everyone in around the tables or spread out on the couches.  What fun in sharing together, whether it was in playing games around a table, or sharing stories from olden times. We put up Mom and Dad in my bedroom, Mark and Caralee in Kristin’s, Dan and Phyllis and Faith in the barn.  The boys all slept on sleeping bags in the living room, and Tim and Rosie and Haley stayed at Amber and David’s house.  I stayed in Stephen’s room, and Jerrel and Lauren (Dan’s son) stayed with Robert and Michelle.  Everybody brought some cereal and we had plenty of good coffee from Joel’s coffee shop. 
     Thursday morning dawned bright and clear as well, and so the festive day got started with delicious breakfast of bagels or granola or cold cereal.  3 turkeys were sacrificed for the festivities, but there were no other injuries.  Tim capably handled the frying of 2 of the turkeys, and the other was promptly placed in the oven to bake about the same time.  We were joined by Michelle’s sister Sheila, and her husband Blaine, and then Jerrel and Lauren, and Lauren’s parents as well, Dale and Linda.  So by the time 12:30 got here, the tables were laden in the usual fashion.  Cooking wasn’t too much of a problem, as we had divided up all the cooking.  Plenty of fixins, too, as we say down here.  Mom made greens out my garden, we had fresh garden lettuce in a salad, Michelle and Amber made pies, chocolate-pecan pies, no less, Mark made pumpkin and pecan pie, as well as dressing in a pan;  Rosie made delicious cranberry salad, Phyllis sweet potato casserole, baked sweet potatoes,plus there was gravy, homemade bread or rolls with honey, baked beans…ice cream, and a delicious cranberry dessert by Sheila.  It was impossible to even try all the different things–you just hoped that whatever you missed wasn’t as delicious as the things you were eating.
    Part of our family tradition down here is playing the “Pecan Bowl” on Thanksgiving Day.  This is a touch football game started probably 25 years ago when our children were young, and when it started, it was the dads against the boys.  …It got its name from the pecan trees we played under at my parents-in-laws place in Mississippi.  Over the years, we have added females, and when the younger ones started beating the older ones, we chose up teams instead.  So on Thanksgiving Day, when the crowd was gathered here, we had that traditional bowl game, lost by my team 28-14.  Pictures of that, I do not have as I was playing, but I do have of the other festivities.

The last couple of weeks have been full of saying goodbye.  Uncle Vernon Zehr from Delaware lost his battle with liver disease. Uncle Vernon was married to my mother’s sister Freda, and so He died on October 16 and his funeral was on October 20.  I was expecting his death, as his decline had been ongoing for a while, and determined that I should go to his funeral.  His oldest son, Jay, is my age, and I wanted to be there.  Amazingly, I already had taken the 19th to the 21st off already, so I was able to get a flight up to Delaware, and planned to stay there until Sunday am to visit my folks.  It was a very special time of saying goodbye to a gentle intellectual giant among men, an uncle that I admired for his positive attitude and for his work in the church as pastor and often counselor or friend.  His service was a beautiful tribute to an individual who, in the words of the pastor, sometimes came in “left of center.”  His daughter Kathy said in her eulogy,

There is a quote attributed to Mahatma Gandhi that goes like this; “I like your Christ, I do not likeyour Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ”. I would submit that Mahatma Gandhi never met my father. When you boil it all down, the message, brought by Jesus Christ is a message of love and forgiveness. Iknow of no other person who took this good news as literally as my father. He lived it daily. In Jesus he found a kindred spirit. The teachings found in the Sermon On the Mount were the foundation of my father’s life and helived them with such integrity. I saw my father cheerfully obey Christ’s admonition to love your neighbor as yourself, to forgive, to resist not evil, to turn the other cheek, to live as the sparrows joyfully in the moment,without fear or worry.

I was fortunate to have been there, and got to see my cousins and some old friends from the my original home area of Greenwood, Delaware.  I was sitting behind my cousin Jeanne who lost her husband to cancer less than 2 years ago, and so the wounds are still pretty raw there.  While singing the song, “Does Jesus Care”, and the verse that states, “Does Jesus care when I’ve said goodbye to the dearest on earth to me, and my sad heart aches til it nearly breaks, Does he care enough to be near?”   I was sobbing, and she was sobbing, and my brother Paul beside me was crying for both of us, as well as for Aunt Freda.  But I am confident in the answer –”Yes, He cares, I know he cares…But assurance of God’s love, and care does not stop tears, but it does provide comfort…

Here are Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Orpha, with Uncle Vernon’s daughter Kathy, and cousin Barbara on the right

My brother Dave with cousin Mark 

My brother Paul and cousin Brad Yoder

Uncle Harvey and Aunt Alma Jean

MaryAnn and Daniel Yutzy (BuckeyeGirlie)

Vernon, Jr. 

Polly (the patchworker) with grandson James

Cousin Alma Jean Heatwole, and Gladys Gingrich–married to cousin Dale

Cousin Brent with his wife Heidi

Dale and Gladys Gingrich

Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Beverly Wert

I had some extra time while I was up there, so I made plans to play golf with my cousin Mark, husband to PollythePatchworker.  We were playing, not so well for me, but better for Mark, on a windy, partly cloudy fall day, and had just completed 9 holes when I saw on my phone that I had missed a call from my cousin Darrel Yoder in Michigan.  Although we talk occasionally, that was a bit unusual, so I called him back.  When he said, “I have bad news from Michigan,” I knew that it was bad, but never dreamed what his words would be.  His brother Merlin, mine and Mark’s first cousin, had been entrapped in a combine and had been there for an unknown length of time until he was found.  They resuscitated him, and were able to get a heartbeat back, but he was unresponsive neurologically, and things did not look hopeful.  Apparently his clothing had twisted and cut off his supply of oxygen, although it was only his arm entrapped in the combine.  A return of the deep-pitted feeling that I have experienced during times of loss or tragedy returned with a vengeance.  Needless to say, we stopped right there and offered a prayer for the situation to the God who has all situations under control, and knows best.  Pleading for the healing of Merlin, and for his family as they gathered round him.  Merlin never regained consciousness, and died 2 1/2 days later.  That funeral was also planned on a Thursday, and once again looked for some tickets to fly to Michigan…Fortunately, 7 of us cousins were able to get a flight to Detroit from DE, FL, and AL, all landing about the same time, and able to rent a vehicle from there to take us to the Bay Port, Michigan area in time for the viewing one day, and the funeral on Thursday.

Once again, pain imposed its burden on a family, and the world stopped to grieve.  I was amazed by how similar the story of Pat, wife of Merlin, was with our families story.  Similar decisions about life and similar decisions about saying goodbye.  I wept as I met the family, with the siblings as much in shock as I was.  Gloria, Darrel, and Dale and their families all were there and I experienced their grief as well.  But in all of it, I also God’s sustaining grace working in their family, and in their lives.  The funeral service was a tribute to an outstanding man, one who was adventuresome, but with foresight; full of life, but concerned about the less fortunate; equally home at riding a motorcycle cross country as he had in the previous couple of months, or managing a farm with innovation and grace.  His son Mike sang the song

Once again tears mingled with joy at his graduation…to heaven, but so soon? It doesn’t seem possible.  I have no idea how Mike was able to sing all the way through–quite touching..

Here are a couple of pictures of Merlin, one with his wife, Pat, and one with his sister Gloria–these were taken this spring in the Shenandoah valley at our Yoder cousin reunion.

Merlin and Pat

Merlin and his sister Gloria

       I have a son-in-law who is a dog lover, and so when someone saw on Craigslist “free to a good home, registered Siberian Husky” and mentioned it to David, it was 24 hours later that we were the caretakers of a beautiful Siberian Husky, but one that doesn’t listen well, and runs off the minute he is off of the leash….so that is the beginning of the story–eventually David and Amber will have a place where this dog can have the run of the place..I don’t even think he has a name yet..Anyway, Moses, our American bulldog has accepted him quite well, but does seem to be in a bit of a competition to better him in any way that he can…whether it is in drinking water at the same time, with more noise, or suddenly deciding to eat his dog food since the new dog is eating his..The other night, when the husky took off to the neighbors and David ran after to catch him, Moses tagged along, and suddenly saw the neighbors rooster out in the back yard..I am not sure that he has ever harassed the chickens over there before, but possibly because of the motivation of impressing the newcomer, Moses soon had “aholt” of that rooster, and things were looking grim. David hollered for Amber to come and get Moses off, because he couldn’t do it since he had the other dog on the leash. By the time Amber got there, the rooster was looking quite dead, and she pulled him off and disciplined Moses, and brought him on home where I added a few more licks for good measure. I went over there, but wasn’t quite sure where the carnage had taken place, but there was no rooster anywhere but the other chickens were running around ok..so I assumed that he was dead. The neighbors were not home, so I called them later that night, and apologized for Moses and offered to pay for the rooster.. The neighbor said no, but I could tell it bothered him some, because he called me back and wanted to go out and look for it to make sure it wasn’t suffering….but he couldn’t find it either..
The next night, as we were about to eat supper, my neighbor stopped in–I thought to give me the funeral details, but he was all excited that “Old Two-Toes” was still alive….!! and except for minus most of his tail feathers, seemed to still rule the roost over the rest of the hens. He even had a picture of his post-assault status on his cell phone. Well, I was horrified to think that this rooster had a name, and was more of a family pet then I knew..seemed like when he was a young chick with his claws sticking down through the wire of the cage, one of their dogs had gnawed off a couple of his toes, so they call him Two-Toes, and he sort of walks with a limp ever since..but still rules proudly over his domain of a yard. And I am hoping that Moses remembers the pain that he experienced immediately after having a rooster in his mouth, so that no repeats follow! And that is the story from down here, where eldest daughter Kristin leaves bright and early in the am for Sierra Leone, Africa. It will be quite different around here the 4 months she is gone, and we are already worried about missing her, but we can make out…Stephen and I will hold down the fort quite nicely, but just not nearly as much flavor, and grace!

This is Moses, S/P Rooster episode, thinking on his sins

And New Dog, who shall remain nameless until someone names him!

     First off, I do want to make the usual disclaimers. This is a bit long, so you are welcome to tune it out.   I am not a cyclist, although I have a relatively good bike, a Trek, which sits idle at the house most of the time.  But for the past several years, Marvin Beachy from our church has been trying to get me to ride the Ride for Missions, sponsored by Rosedale Mennonite Missions.  And son Robert did the ride several years ago, and really enjoyed it, so I signed up finally to ride.  This year the ride was to be from Columbus, Ohio, to Frostburg, Maryland, where CMC was holding its annual conference.  For those of you who look at a map, there are a lot of Appalachian Mountains between those two locations.  So the paper work for the ride made sure to emphasize that you need to be in excellent shape to survive…and make it.  I am not sure what make it meant, but it did not mean being carted off in a paddy wagon, I don’t think.  So I went out a couple of Saturdays and rode my bike–22 miles one time, and 30 miles the other time.  I figured that if I could ride 30 miles, I could do that twice and do 60 miles, and then gut out the rest…So that is how I found myself on a flight to Columbus, Ohio, on Friday, July, 22..supposed to leave bright and early on Saturday morning.  There were a few glitches, one when I found out that Marvin would be unable to take my bike up; this was resolved by me borrowing the leader of the ride, Wayne Yoder’s extra bike.  So that meant I would need to at least have some biking shorts, but little else in the way of equipment.  So we stopped in Sports Authority on the way to the airport, and I became the slightly embarrassed owner of biking shorts.  Then I got bumped from a flight in Memphis, which was a blessing in that it more than paid for my flight, but made me miss the initial meeting of all the bikers.  But I was there by 10 pm, turned into bed, and awaited the ride the next day.
     The next day, I got up and was getting acquainted with my bike, and I realized several things–the Camelbak backpack which was to supply my water leaked severely, and although useful for cooling me off, was not going to be useful for the trip.  So I scrambled around and got several water bottles, which probably was the best move I had made up until that time.  Then a mad scramble for my riding gloves, given to me by my wise son Robert…’you need these,’ he had told me.  But I couldn’t find them, and everybody was getting ready to go, and so I said forget it, and through my bag on the support truck, and got ready to go.  So without further ado, we were off through the city of Columbus, Ohio, headed to Zanesville, as our destination the first day.  I was initially riding slowly, and following some other bikers, but at a distance.  I had not been there when they had gone over the routes, and how they marked the roads, so I thought I would just keep following others.   We had hardly gone a mile when I looked up, and the people that I was following had completely vanished–now where too?  I looked behind me, and there was no one.  Thinking, “I am a dunce for getting lost in the first couple of miles,” I decided the best route for me was to backtrack the way I came.  I finally came across a couple of bikers, and it became apparent the other bikers knew a short cut because they were not following the road as marked…I decided that I needed to stick with someone who knew where they were going.  My companions that first day were Rod Bontrager, from Goshen, IN, and his daughter Natalie. 
     We rode on together, at a comfortable pace, when the roads were still relatively flat. We had only been riding about 10 or 15 miles when suddenly I heard a hissing sound from my back tire–my first flat tire of the trip.  Now since it was someone else’s bike, I wasn’t sure what all equipment that I had.  I was surely thankful that Rod stayed to help me get the tire fixed.  He lent me a tube, because I didn’t realize I had one in the pak under the seat, and we had a whale of a time getting the tire changed, but finally we were on our way again.  I was thinking to myself that this was going to be a long trip!  I was correct about that, but that turned out to be my only flat tire of the trip!  After motoring on a while, we came to an intersection, and here there was a lady lying next to her van close to an intersection.  They said she needed a doctor, so I stopped to see what was going on.  Here, she had been driving her van when she felt like she was going to have a seizure, and so she pulled off the road, and then promptly had a seizure.  So they had gotten her out of the van onto the ground.  She was just starting to come around, when I got there.   I did not have any equipment, but I did check her pulse and saw that she was breathing fine.  The ambulance had been called, so I decided to wait there until the ambulance came.   My companions took off down the road.  After a while, the ambulance got there and were loading the lady up, so I took on down the road.  I noticed that far ahead, Rod and Natalie had stopped.  When I came up to them, I learned that Natalie had hit her front wheel on Rod’s back wheel, and it made Natalie tumble off her bike out into the roadway.  By the grace of God, the oncoming vehicle was able to stop.  She remarkably only had a road burn on her elbow, but was otherwise okay.  With renewed respect for my riding, I decided no chances for me the rest of the trip.
    The rest of day 1 is a bit of a blur.  It kept getting hotter, and hotter, and hillier, and hillier, but by 1 pm, I was in Zanesville.  Good, I thought, I am almost there.  Little did I know that we still had 5-6 miles to go, and they were the worst hills yet.  The thermometer on my bike said it was 102 degrees, by this time, and it was so difficult going up the hills with not enough speed to get a breeze.  I think the last 6 miles took an hour, but by 2 pm made it the full 60 miles.  And I think it was at that instant that I was able to say to myself, “I think I will be able to do this.”
Many of the riders had trouble with leg cramps that night, and I was having difficulty myself.  I also developed numbness in my left 4th and 5th fingers from not having any gloves, so I looked long and hard for them when I got to the motel.  Luckily I found them at the very bottom of the suitcase.  And although I wore them the rest of the trip, the first day had taken its toll, and I still have a bit of the numbness.  I took some extra Calcium in the form of borrowed TUMS and that seemed to take the cramps away but did not help the numbness.  We had nice motels to stay in each night, and my roommate was Nathan Buchinger from Vassar, Michigan.  Amazingly, I had difficulty sleeping after such strenuous exercise, getting awake most nights around 2-3 pm.  Certainly, the first night was with reason, because it poured buckets of rain and lightning and thunder from about 2 pm until morning.  It rained 2-3 inches, but by morning, all was just about quiet again.  So once again we headed out to tackle the hills of eastern Ohio. This to be continued, and eventually I hope to have pictures.  I am dependent on other people’s pictures, since I did not take my camera. (to be continued)

     Driving a coach bus is a bit like delivering babies–99.9% fun and 0.1% pure terror.  I had no problems with the latter on our trip up to Pittsburgh, other than the fact that it refused to go more than 30 mph up the steepest hills.  We were getting passed by tractor trailers, which is the ultimate insult. Our coach was christened “Blue Bell” by the youngsters from Mississippi after its striking blue color, although I kept slipping and calling her “Blue Ball” after the town in PA.  However, plugging on kept us moving closer to the goal, and we were in Pittsburgh on Monday evening July 4th, by 5 pm.  That was also the time that 4000 Mennonites, a ship regatta, and a massive fireworks crowd all decided to be in the same place in downtown Pittsburgh.  And even that did not get into the latter category, as we maneuvered somewhat nicely through the massive crowd and the busy streets.  No, that terror did not come until the end of the week.
    I was supposed to start picking up the youth on Saturday morning at 4:45 am.  Setting my alarm to get up by the appropriate time, I was on time going into downtown Pittsburgh.  Unfortunately, the city had picked that morning to work on the exit from the freeway that I always used.  It was closed, and no hint as to what they would recommend instead.  I decided to follow the GPS, which had bailed me out of one situation already on the trip.  There were several hints in retrospect that that was not a good idea, all of which I glibly ignored.  The first was the city bus that was turning around on the alternate road that it suggested.  The second was that it said–Go 1.9 miles and turn right.  In a city, you shouldn’t have to go that far.  But I, clueless to the terror ahead of me, forged ahead.  It went straight across the river–I am not sure whether it was the Allegheny River or what, and started climbing up a mountain.  The view was beautiful, but I wasn’t enjoying it so much.  When we got to the top, it said turn Right on whatever street was there.  I did so, noticing there were cars parked on both sides of the narrow road, and some of them jutting out a bit into the road.  The first block of that road was okay, but then I noticed that the cars were getting farther and farther out into the road, on both sides, and that up ahead was an extremely narrow spot.  I eased forward slower and slower, until I dare not not go any further without checking out the situation.  I realized the only option at this time of morning was to keep going forward, because it would have been impossible to back up the 2 blocks between that gauntlet of cars and SUVs.  As I got out of the bus, for some reason, I did not release the air pressure on the door, and as it does sometimes, the door slammed shut behind me, tightly shut, I might add.  Now I was in a pickle.  Not only was I trapped on a narrow street on some mountain in Pittsburgh in the dark between many vehicles, I was trapped outside the bus, with no way possible to get in…and I was overdue in picking up the youth!  I had already called and told them I would be late when I took the detour, but this was looking like it would be a couple of hours.  The only possible way into the bus was the little drivers window, but there is no way to get through that 6 X 6 inch opening.  “But wait, my arm can get through there, and I can shut off the bus,” which I did.  Immediately to my relief, the pressure came off, and I was able to get back in the door.  So I determined during this time that there were a couple of inches to spare on both sides.  I inched Blue Bell forward, not hearing any crunchy metal, and finally the space began to widen up, and I was able to get back to an area where there were no cars so I could finally turn again.  My knees were shaking inside as I returned down the mountain, and picked  up the youth at the 3 separate hotels, and headed south again.
     The remainder of the trip was marked by usual bus issues–the AC despite being recharged was barely able to keep up with the very hot day, and I noticed that Blue Bell did not have the pep that it had on the way up.  But hey, I was tired too, so I didn’t think anything about it.  I did not realize this was the preamble to the blowing of the engine, but that didn’t happen until everyone was safely delivered, and the bus was back in Alabama again.  We did notice a lot of traffic for a Saturday am.  I noticed at the convenience store that we had stopped at had a carload of men and they were all buying a six pack or two–what was going on?  That is when one of the youth told me there was a NASCAR race in Kentucky at the speedway.  Now everything made sense, from the beer to the guys all in the same car, to the traffic.  We got involved in one of the most massive traffic jams on I-71, lasting about 12 miles, with very little effort made by anyone to clear it up.  It seemed like no one knew what to do, and even the police were doing very little traffic directing at all…but we finally made it through, and sailed the rest of the way to Alabama, where my relief driver, Jerry Gehman took over.  What a trip!

The last week has been full of the goodness of the Lord, and it is amazing how He led and directed.  I read Psalm 37:4 before last week, and it was the theme of the week for me.  “Commit your way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and he will bring it to pass.”  And He did, in many ways…Quite a week.  It would be hard to recap the whole week, and there are so many stories, but I will try to tell a few.  I don’t know whether to start with the highs or lows, but maybe I will include both.  The week started about 4 months or so ago when Joel Beachy from Jubilee Mennonite Church in Meridian, MS wanted to know if our church coach bus would be available to take a group of young people from Mississippi up to the Mennonite Conference–USA being held in Pittsburgh, PA.  I thought it would be, and before long, it was committed to the trip, plus I also volunteered to be one of the bus drivers.  So, I found myself getting the bus ready to go on Friday, before we were to leave on Saturday.  That is when I went over to go over the bus, and found that the AC worked very sluggishly, if at all.  So it was a scramble on Friday before a holiday weekend to try and get someone to put some freon in the bus.  It was obvious that it wasn’t going to be possible at that late date, but we were rescued by a local auto parts store which had some of the required freon, and the other driver, Jerry Gehman, was able to put a couple of cans in and at least make it a bit more comfortable. 
    Anyway, I headed out on Saturday afternoon, for Chattanooga, while Jerry headed the bus over to Meridian, MS where the group was going to be.  I had reserved a motel room and was getting bedded down for the night, but no, not that simple.. Somehow in all the communication back and forth, I had the dates wrong on when we were leaving.  I was sure that it was Saturday night, and so when I called Jerry after getting to the motel in Chattanooga, I found out the news that he was almost to Mississippi with the bus, and had just talked to Joel, and they were not leaving until Sunday!  Talk about feeling low–I felt badly for Jerry who had ridden close to 150 miles one way in the bus, before he found out, so he headed back home, only to leave the next night at the same time.  But there was nothing I could do about my error at that point.  Other than be sorry, and that didn’t do any good.  And that meant I was stranded in Chattanooga for a day on July 3, 2011, Sunday…What to do?  I tried to think of who I knew in Chattanooga to go to church with, and I thought of my friends, Don and Laura McFarland.  They were only too glad to give me directions to their church service, the Piney Grove Baptist Church in Trenton, GA.  I enjoyed going with them to the church, and the fellowship with them was sweet.  I went out to eat with them, and as they were going to Nashville to visit their brand new grandson, I decided to play a round of golf in the afternoon.  There was a nice golf course nearby, and I got a tee time, and went there to play. I started by myself, but after a short time, joined up with a couple of golfers who invited me to play with them, and by the last 9 holes, we were a 4 some.  I played well enough to not embarrass myself, but I was walking and it was extremely hot, and there was no water on the course but at the club house.  I had a couple of liters of water with me, and refilled at the turn, but still ran out before we were done.  So when I got done, the first thing that I did was go into the club house and drink a couple more bottles of water, and then I headed back to my motel, for my second night there.  A fitful night of sleep, waiting for the bus to arrive, so I could begin the second leg of the journey.  When they got there around 3:30 am, I got the van and was going to load my suitcase and golf clubs, when I realized to my dismay that there were no golf clubs in my van!  What a dunce I am…I had left my golf clubs at the golf course, but at that time of morning, there is nothing to do but go on with the journey. There are times of stupidity, and sometimes of forgetfulness, and sometimes the two combine…But you can’t kick yourself too much…I am committed to this trip…….to be continued……

Last night, I drove to Point Clear, AL for a medical malpractice seminar.  This is a mostly annual meeting I attend to get some of the price of my malpractice premiums knocked off for the year.  It was an especially poignant trip, as 2 years ago almost to the day, I traveled down there with my wife Dawn.  We enjoyed the scenic ride, and the pleasant meeting, and a bit of relaxing away from the cares of life. Later, I would think that we should have stayed the night or a couple of days, as our anniversary was only a couple of days away from that night–instead we left the next night and stayed at a motel to celebrate our anniversary.  How much I did not know, and how much I did not say during those precious hours together..

On the way down, and on the way home, I was listening to the Fernando Ortega CD “This Bright Hour”.  That is an amazing CD that has both Dawn’s favorite song, “How Firm a Foundation” and mine, “I Will Sing of My Redeemer” on the same CD.  Another song called “Angel Fire” that I had not noticed that much before was playing, and as I drove through the scenic countryside, tears started streaming down my face as I thought of that song related to Dawn, and her leaving us so soon afterwards.  I played it over and over, tears coming harder, as I thought of the journey of the past 2 years.  I cried until there were no more tears, and still played the song.  The words of the song go like this…

I never knew the dusk could seem so sad,
An empty aching in my soul.
In this bright hour I speak your name in the wind,
The shining world outlasts us all.
Even the mountains seem to know you’re gone,
The foothills shimmer where they stand.
The sky is still and much too beautiful,
And I am missing you again.
Lift me over the San Gabriels, leaning into the southern sky.
The foothills burning in the afterglow, an angel fire passing by.
I think of songs I might have sung to you,
The love I wanted you to hear.
Everytime the blazing sun goes down,
Another promise disappears.
I never knew the dusk could break my heart,
So much longing folding in,
I’d give years away to have you here,
You know I can’t lose you again.
Lift me over the San Gabriels, leaning into the southern sky.
A flight of angels must be in the wind,
I know they’ll pass this way tonight.
Help me remember the San Gabriels, the foothills burning in the light.
Let my heart rise up to where you are, I long to be with you tonight.
I long to be with you tonight, I long to be with you tonight.

I really don’t know who Fernando was referring to when he wrote this song–but the sentiments are mine exactly.  I don’t have the San Gabriel mountains, but everything else is there..
 

I am not a writer, at least not for a living, but I did write an article on one occasion which had to do with a patient doing surgery on himself…even got paid real money for that story, as I recall….And with that as a background,  it was only natural that when I needed some fine tuning, that I would break out the scalpel and hemostats and go to work on myself. This medical story started a long time ago–I suffered a severe cut to my little finger about 10 years ago doing corn..  It healed up finally, but the injury must have damaged the nail bed on that finger, because my fingernail over time developed a V in it which went from cuticle to the end..and probably related to that fact where water and germs would collect under the cuticle, that I got an infection under the cuticle.  I had put up with it for the past 4 weeks, but when it showed no evidence for improvement, I decided to take matters in my own hands.)BTW, don’t try this at home…)  I would not be able to tell this story if it would have been my right hand that was infected, but it wasn’t..

I picked just the right day, this Thursday before being off for the weekend.  At the end of the busy day at work, I got a couple of syringes of lidocaine and put a couple of shots right around the nerves that go to my finger…If you do this right, the whole finger will be numb in about 5-10 minutes…I did this in secret, so that no one knew that my finger was numb.  After it was good and numb, I casually remarked in a loud voice that it was time to do my own surgery now..I had been talking up that I was going to do my surgery at some point, although people thought I was joking.  .Of course, I soon had a big audience of nurses..  So I washed it with Betadine, and took a scissors, and casually slipped the end of the scissors up under the nail and pushed it in all the way to the cuticle and basically cut the nail down the middle..Then I took a hemostat and grabbed ahold of the offending nail and pulled it off.  .For a second, I had them believing that I was doing that without anesthesia, which would have been impressive.  As it was, I think it was vivid enough to cause a few stomachs to take a flip anyway.  I finished up by cutting right into the abscess and draining all the pus out. 

Let’s see,
Cost of lidocaine– $ 1
Cost of hemostat– $ 5
The Look in the Nurses’ eyes–priceless

By the way, it is doing much better since I have done the surgery–it no longer smells like a decaying fish, and I played golf for 27 holes today, so I guess it was a success..

So that is my self surgery–and as they say, he who treats himself has a fool for a patient…

This blog has been absent, after I did the title–so I apologize, but some things can’t be helped.  This was a story about last Saturday, just a beautiful day with sun, temperatures in the 70s, a gorgeous day to do just about anything.  And so I told daughter Kristin to take the van to work, and I kept her car here to fix the door handle…..Little did I know.  The handle on her Hyundai was made of plastic, and 12 years and the sun, rain, and who knows what else had conspired to make it break.  And so for the past week or so, she was only able to get in the car by getting in the passenger side, crawling over the gearshift in the floor, and that was getting old.   I was confident, having ordered the part off internet, only 15 dollars, but with shipping and handling, was more like 28–and thinking that I would actually be finished before Car Talk came on at 9 am.  I have not always had the best luck in doing my own work on vehicles, but thinking of the money that was going to be saved, gave me the inspiration to try.

Eventually, however, the 1 hour task was all done, but by that time, it was 2 pm–so most of a beautiful day gone…I did get everything back together and only had one screw left over, which for a mechanic is pretty good, I think.  Moral of Story–stick to what you know best!  2nd moral–If anyone wants me to replace the door handle on a Hyundai, I think I could get the time down to 4 hours next time!