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 |   My journey through (and beyond) the valley with Cancer as my companion. |
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Dear Friend: This is not a Blog about writing! (I already have one of those.) This is a blog about a journey I am taking with illness. I have recently been diagnosed with Cancer. My goal is honest therapy as I progress through, and beyond this new reality in my life. I hope that, somewhere along the way you will find some words that will help you too. While this is, in fact, an interactive Blog, I hope that you will scroll slowly down this page. For you see, the front of this Blog IS my journey. The entries are conversations that are held along the journey.Yes, there is a lot on it--before actually getting to the Blog entries. But, I hope that by the objects and words which appear before the Blog itself, you might come to understand just a little bit about me, and my journey, and some truly amazing friends who have agreed to journey with me. I hope that you, too, will choose to accompany me on my walk--through the Valley. I invite you to join me, and discover the wondrous truths, meet some truly amazing people, and share those "memorable" moments this journey will undoubtedly present. Come along, won't you? In His Care, ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Would you like to help me help others? I found this amazing organization, and I am proud to be a sponsor. I hope you will check it out. It's called The Network For Good.  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "RISUS OMNIA - INCRUMENTUS PER DEDECUS - SAPIENTIA PER DAMNUM" ("Every thing is funny - Growth through humiliation - Wisdom through loss") ~Leunig~ The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse. ~Helen Keller~ "If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people." ~Virginia Woolf~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "There is strength in truth." ~The Barton Family Crest~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” — Helen Keller, American social activist, public speaker and author (1880-1968) I have moved the list of my thanks for those who have helped to make this little Blog so very special. I hope that you will take a moment to read the list, growing every day, and let these fellow travellers along this journey know that you appreciate the contributions they make to our walk together.
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please feel free to click on the Blog Rings icon below to be transported to some of the very best of the Best Bloggers around WDC. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** If you are new to WDC, or to our Blogging community, I highly recommend the monthly edition of "The Blogville News". Feel free to click below, and let scarlett_o_h know that a Blogger sent ya! Hey! We've started a Christian's Blog Ring on WDC. Click on the logo, and join us! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Budroe
 Ring LeaderI have three publications at the moment. Here is a link to purchase my latest one. Buy a great read, and help a fellow writer out, Okay?  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I awoke this morning, having slept with only two distinct interruptions from last night. That is just SUCH a major victory. Thank you all for talkin' to Dad about me so good. When He tucked me in last night, there was a mention of "some shoutin'' goin' on about me, and He thought that was pretty cool. The impression that I got was that "volume does not intensity make, but whispers of sincere, and effective prayer bring all of Heaven to a halt." Evidently, there was a ton of distraction around Dad's House last night. But it was whispers of sincere prayer. That's just so very cool. I only awoke one time with any problems, and waking up solved those. It was prolly some Angle guy trompin' on me ta get to the one open space around my bed! Hey, they're kids too, ya know--some of 'em are just gettin' their trainin' wings, I guess. I don't remember waking up one time with coughin' or drippin' fits, either. Whew, I knew there was still such a thing as consecutive hours of sleep! Man, what a blessing! Rest! I shared quiet time with Dad this morning, like usual. Many times, He wants me to pay attention to something He has written to me before, in The Directions. Sometimes, it is a time for response to a question, or problem that I have. And, sometimes, it's just huggin' time. This mornin' was huggin' time. I woke up in His arms, and I think he was singin' at some point. But, He got quiet. Really quiet. In Colorado, where for more than 26 years, my life flourished, we had a saying at my house. I remember so very well, my wife laying in bed with me--or one of the kids (back in the eary days) laying between us. We would just gently "be" awake. And there was something that was guaranteed to wake us faster than pretty much anything else you could name. "Do you hear that?" "No, hear what?" "Exactly." "Wanna go see?" "Not yet, I just wanna listen." "Well, let's go see just how quiet it is..." "Okay." I do truly believe that moment is what possessed us to decide, at one point, to own a mountain "cabin". Yeah, well, that's a different story for another day. I'm all better now.... The last thing I remember thinking before actually waking up this morning was, in fact, a conversation going on with someone--I know not who or whom. "Listen, do you hear it?" Lying in my bed, with my eyes closed tightly, I heard it. Silence. The quiet. And, I simply laid there, and actively listened for a time. I could have been in Denver, or up at Keystone, or in Fairplay. That's just how quiet it was. About an hour ago, I got up. I walked into the kitchen with my head down and put on coffee. Yep, it was still quiet. I looked out my back door (Yes, my little house has TWO doors!), and there it was. It wasn't 48" of "quiet" (We taught our children not to let vulgarity come out of their lips. S*)# IS a vulgarity. It's a four-letter word that begins with "S", and shall not be spoken of in this house.) It wasn't even 4.8" of quiet. But, it was there. Getting a foot or two of it in Colorado is what a dear friend, and news/weatherman for NBC in Denver used to call a "Chance for scattered flurries". He never (so far as I know) knew this about himself. If those words came out of his mouth during a weather forecast, the hardware stores, grocery stores, and gasoline service stations all over Denver experienced a "rush". That phrase, out of his mouth, was a guarantee of a Blizzard. And, for over 20 years, it worked every single time. For those of you living in the Denver area, who lived there way back in the 20th century, please confirm this so others won't think me mad. I must insert, for clarification, a point of order. When I asked my wife to marry me, there were conditions put upon her. One of the most important was that their would be no further "Winter" in Colorado, or we would have to move. She hastily agreed. Therefore, we never had S*#^storms, we would have "Post-Autumnal Precipitation", or "Pre-Spring Blizzards". Some ten years into our marriage, to my shock and utter horror, she informed me rather unceremoniously that she had, in fact, LIED. Wimmins! Around here, these folks go ga-ga over an inch or two. But, leaning on my kitchen counter this morning, looking out the back window at the two-foot expanse of my back yard... It was "quieting". And, it was pretty, too. I heard it, I think, even in my sleep. The coffee's made, and I'm on the first cup. Oh, but for a fireplace! I wouldn't budge! Having a fireplace around here is just effect, however. But, what an effect for just such a day as today. And, in the quiet, my favorite bird made an appearance. I tried, but could not catch them with my camera. As if to punctuate the event, a pair of "Kentucky" (Yeah, okay. AND Ohio, AND Indiana) Cardinals perched on a tree limb. Mr, and Mrs. Dad was showin' off, and He sealed it with a kiss. I don't want to move. I just want to listen to the quiet. For just a little bit. The day will wait. I've got a whole new month to make blue. Things will go as things go. Life goes on. But, this morning, it was quiet at my house. I want to hear Rod McKuen and "Listen to The Warm". Today, for now, I know I am going to be alright. It's quieting outside. It's quiet inside, too. The coffee's fresh, and the heat's cranked. No TV (Sorry, Stormy!), no music. Just quiet. Do you hear it? In His Care, Budroe |
| We are supposed to be getting some snow here overnight, and throughout tomorrow night. We have had, at least in my personal opinion, mostly mild Winter weather since December 21st, 2006. Right now, it is approaching the single digits outside, for the first time in the past year. For the past few months, the heater in my little house has, in fact, kept up with the outside temperatures. My utility bills the previous Winter sparked some "up close", personal fellowship with my landlady. This little house isn't insulated, you see. The wind keeps a constant breeze moving through my house. There is no place to avoid it. And, while I sit under not one, but two heater vents while I type this, the single vent in my bedroom is so small as to be virtually ineffective. Unfortunatey, that's also where the thermostat for the heater is. That means, that's where the temperature sensor is located. Which further means that the heater runs constantly when it gets cold. I do mean constantly. My utility bill, at one moment (not the worst) during last Winter went from under $60 to over $300--in one month! My landlady has a valid point when she speaks of the difficulty she encounters when she attempts to get permission to re-organize the structure of a building that also happens to be on the Federal Historic Landmark Registry. Her problem. We agreed that my utilities (all) would never exceed $100 per month. That's sort of like your very own personal budget billing plan. Last winter had several nights when I was just simply too cold to sleep. I have two walls in my bedroom which will support the size of my bed. Both of them have a wickedly un-insulated window directly in their middle--like, ya know, where my BED is?? That's the only way I can fit my bed in the bedroom. I'm not really gnosh on sleeping in my bed--in the living room! (Too many, entirely too many explanations!) My landlady has been a true friend to me since I moved here, and has been more kind and generous to me than I have ever had the right to expect, or hope for. Since last October, she has voluntarily stepped up alongside me as I walk through the valley. She was, in fact, one of the first three people to do so. That, to me, says a lot about this wondrous lady. She came over last week and, umm, well....she fixed my stove! Tonight, it is very cold. Seems like a relatively innocuous statement, doesn't it? It's not. No, not by a long shot! My lungs don't seem to be working real good lately. In fact, since the last of October, they've been having trouble in a few different ways. We talk about the forces of nature which we fail to recognize, until the results kind of slap us in the face. Tonight, I am just a tad bit afraid. I've been cold for the past couple of days. Yesterday, I spent a fair amount of time shivering. The bug, you see, is very much alive and well in my little town. Everybody's gotten it. This particular bug seems to have significant longevity. Three-to-six weeks is the local average length of time an individual is dealing with this particular strain of Flu (Influenza). It has a very long "after-fever" life, as well. It is slow to leave. As Flu goes, this one is a playah! For two days, I have been doing everything I know to avoid this illness. I bought two days, but they weren't really very good ones. Little sleep, mostly coughin' and sneezin' have made the rounds of my sleep time. I'm fatigued. My immune system doesn't need to be challenged, much less the little bit of lung tissue I got left. The Doctor says that the Hospitals here are filled to the gills with people who have contracted this particular bug. To her way of thinking, at least nobody else is gonna give me their bugs, and I won't be giving anyone else my bugs at home. Meds are onboard, the speed-dial is glowin', my nose is drippin', and I am getting a fever. When you are called upon this journey, you will change your perspective about a lot of things. There are many things that you can't see, or touch, or hear, that can really cause you some chaos. First among them is your mind. The Pulmonary Hypertension, in my case, is an unseen (but not unfelt) reality. Now, I gotta worry about bugs too small to filter through a surgical mask. Living like that can make you a tad jumpy. I know that my major condition is my lungs, and the cancers take a third position. In the first week home from the hospital, I had great difficulty sleeping at night because I couldn't quit listening to my heart beat. While a bit irrational, perhaps, it was perfectly reasonable to the recently diagnosed, and recently diagnosed patient. Tonight, I'm tired, and feelin' a little poorly. And, for some reason, all I want to do is breathe. How do ya sleep when you are counting your breaths? I'll be fine, I promise. This is just me, thinking out loud at a time when things seem to be just a bit different, and I'm looking at them from a completely different perspective. The original event has consequences that we sometimes will not truly understand until the moment that the reality falls upon us. It takes some time, along this journey, to not merely recognise a signpost, but to truly understand it. What I hope to convey to you is that it is just such moments as these that punctuate the reality of the disease, and the journey. At least this time, I actually DID see it coming--a little. I just didn't know that it would put me into a spin. I think that, even while He's reaching His arms to me, He's just got to be smilin'. "Oh, my child! When will you learn?" One step at a time, Dad. One step at a time. In His Care, Budroe |
| Today, I begin writing some new work. I have been a Minister for a long time. I used to write stuff every week, for a tough audience. I miss it, and simply because I do not have to "Stand And Deliver" once per week is no reason not to at least write down those thoughts that still pervade my thinking. I'm not certain how I will post them, or where they will be, but they will add to the volume of work that currently exists--somewhere in my port. They will be written to congregations, friends, and "about-to-be new friends". I will let you know when they appear. The usual rules apply. I got these, this morning, in a weekly newletter from a friend, Paul Heil. For those of you who do not know the name, Paul is the host of the weekly radio telecast that goes by the name of "The Gospel Greats!". I love Gospel Music, especially the Southern Quartet variety. I believe that Paul's show does a fair job, most of the time, with keeping things "about the music", without too much politicizing or denominalizationalizing (NEW WORD!!) in the mix. He and his wife Shiela have strong faith, and sometimes (in my personal view) smothering personal political views. But, at least you know where they stand, and that's a good thing. Paul also loves a good story. But, more than that, he does love a great joke. Here are some of his latest: THE WAGER Two pals are sitting in a pub watching the eleven-o'clock news. A report comes on about a man threatening to jump from the 20th floor of a downtown building. One friend turns to the other and says, "I'll bet you ten bucks the guy doesn't jump." "It's a bet," agrees his buddy. A few minutes later, the man on the ledge jumps, so the loser hands his pal a $10 bill. "I can't take your money," his friend admits. "I saw him jump earlier on the six-o'clock news." "Me, too," said the other buddy. "But I didn't think he'd do it again!" GOOD QUESTION A little boy is gone to school one day and while he is gone, his cat gets killed. His mother is very concerned about how he will take the news. Upon his arrival home, she explains the tragedy and tries to console the boy saying, "But don't worry, the cat is in heaven with God now." The boy replied, "What's God gonna' do with a dead cat?" AWE One night a wife found her husband standing over their baby's crib. Silently she watched him. As he stood looking down at the sleeping infant, she saw on his face a mixture of emotions: disbelief, doubt, delight, amazement, enchantment, skepticism. Touched by this unusual display and the deep emotions it aroused, with eyes glistening she slipped her arm around her husband. "A penny for your thoughts," she said. "It's amazing!" he replied. "I just can't see how anybody can make a crib like that for only $46.50." REMEMBERING Two elderly ladies had been friends for many decades. Over the years they had shared all kinds of activities and adventures. Lately, their activities had been limited to meeting a few times a week to play cards. One day they were playing cards when one looked at the other and said, "Now don't get mad at me....I know we've been friends for a long time.....but I just can't think of your name! I've thought and thought, but I can't remember it. Please tell me what your name is." Her friend glared at her. For at least three minutes she just stared and glared at her. Finally she said, "How soon do you need to know?" THE TRUTH COMES OUT Farmer Josh killed a pig and hung it up for the night, intending to butcher it in the morning, but the next day it was gone. He didn't tell a soul about it, and nothing happened for more than two months. Then another farmer, who lived down the road, came by and said, "By the way Josh, did you ever find out who stole your pig?" "Nope," said Josh. "Not until just now." You can find the entire "Gospel Greats!" Newsletter here: http://www.thegospelgreats.com These are the jokes I would want to remember well enough, long enough (major challenge these days) to tell you if we got together for TGIF, or FAC. I hope they will make you smile just as much. In His Care, Budroe |
One of the things you will have learned about my life from the entries in this Blog is that there are colorful people in it (my life, that is). They are surely the substance of my life, my friends. David McClain  and PlannerDan have, amongst several other bloggers, led kind of a "follow-the-leader" discussion through the Blogs recently about just who, and what, friends truly are. I feel pretty secure in knowing that, while we may not jump across the fence to share a cup of coffee thrice a week, the friends of WDC who are coming along on this journey are every bit as genuine, sincere, and loyal as any friend I could ever hope to have.My friend Tom set me up, you see. I believe that he perfectly knew that I would spend the entire weekend just getting my computers set up to use in that unique way that only I could use them. When it comes to "personalizing" computers, I do have a nearly-autistic bent in this area. I am anal-retentive about where things belong, where things go (and return to), and where things work. So, in his own unique style, he created a space I could not fill, or so he believed. HA! "O ye of little faith..." We speak of the writing life as one of isolation, yet here at WDC we have a huge estate, filled with kids brimming over with creativity. Tom, too, has a peculiarly creative mind--it just tends to lean more to the mischievous, practical joking side of the spectrum. But his is a rare creativity that not only sees what "is", but also looks forward to what "will be". It is his artistry that will, for the greater part, provide the physical for a dream that is, for the moment, only creative imagination. His statement to me, this past week, showed me something creative in him that I just had never seen before. He may not know just how big this dream may be, but he is not only willing, but completely capable of supporting it in whatever way he can. And that, my friend, says a ton about my friend. Creativity. This site, and these people, inspire me. I am trying to learn my way around here in slow steps. I do not have the want, the desire, or frankly the ability to match most of the writers in this place. It is not only the amazing quality of the work that I see on a regular basis here which makes me humble. The mere quantity of the work product stupifies me! I have only been in this place since the last part of September, 2006. I've got over 70 items in my Portfolio (across, I think, about every creative genre IN the place). Short stories, novels (or parts thereof--yeah, yeah!), poetry, photography, and even some website stuff are a part of my port. For me, that's more than a lifetime of creative language. For the greatest measure, the few things that I brought with me do not begin to measure up to the creativity that I witness every day here. But, the point is, over 65 of those items were "born" here. I am not counting the entries in this Blog, either. (One Blog, One item in the port.) There are literally hundreds of opportunities, daily, to be creative in writing on this site. How does one even begin? And, moreover, how is the world can one possibly ever hope to keep up? I am in an A-1 Creative writing class. I am in a reviewing group (and sorely hope to do some of that soon!). I am in a few (three) forum groups. I have entered contests. I hang out with a few WDC friends in The Pub. We do Trivia occasionally there. The novels (you know, the "Big Rigs" of the writing world??) are crying for my attention--and they deserve it. That is where the fuel (money) comes from to run the (creative) engine that is my creative life, these days. Yet, I fear a bit of compulsion on my part is playing itself out. I have never been compulsive in this way before. But, I must confess to you that I may be displaying symptoms of the compulsive "joiner" here. Only a little, and only a few. But, an addiction to this place could well be the undoing of me. WDC has become the home page of my Internet Browser. My favorite places, and my favorite authors are listed in such a way as to tell the time and date of the last update from them. I feel a deep sense of personal failure for every black day on my Blog Calendar. In those few instances when I FINALLY get all my Blogroll black, there is a sense of victory which must surely equal scoring the winning touchdown in the Superbowl! I do not review for my own personal merit, but I do review with gusto. I still do not understand how I can rate, and comment on someone else's work and NOT have that qualify as a Review, a la WDC. I get Review points from wdc.com, but it shows as a Rating. <Sigh> Believe it or not, these are NOT the only creative juices which flow in my veins. I create, host, manage, build, add-to, update, and maintain four separate websites, as well. This is a creativity that just saps time out of the fabric of the Universe. "Oh, you said it here. You have to include it there." "If you do this, you must create a separate page for it there, and reference-call it six other places!" I also write software. Now, there is a creative slobber-gob for ya. You talk about "Clean-Screen" creativity! I also create music. I also create music quality as a Studio Engineer. I have been asked to consider performing "one more time". I also have to take a bath, and eat. I do not have a "job", and am having to be unbelievably creative in my personal life. I have been given the luxury of being a full-time student, and have for the past two years dedicated huge chunks of my time each day to that creative task as well. (If ya can't dazzle 'em...). I guess you could say that, in the greater scheme of things, I am a creative kind of guy. One of the things about WDC, and creativity that I have noticed is that creativity doesn't count as it's happening nearly so much as when it is complete. Creativity gives us only a framework to hang our dreams upon. If this were not true, no Editor would have a job. (And, the world would be a kinder, gentler place!) Once the creativity has done its work, the real work begins. Do you find this to be true? Or, is it just me? Can it really and truly take over two years to edit a book? Yes, and more. With three books in the process, I am fast becoming convinced that the books on our bookseller's shelves first saw written form before the original writing of the Constitution of the United States of America! Like the light from a far-off star, the words are only just now reaching us. What then, of the stars of tomorrow? I won't hear their words--and you won't either. Who will be the adoring audience for their creative genius? It doesn't matter, really. The only thing which truly matters is that, just like my friend Tom's visionary friendship, there be a place in the world to contain it. There must be a safe place to hold it, catalogue it, encourage and nourish it, nurture it, protect it, and declare it. We set ourselves up to "join" things, and then just simply allow ourselves to be convinced that we have "done" something. This is a truly human nature, and one of those things that define us. Who is us? Well, anyone with a belly button, you see. But there IS creativity within each of us. For my friend, it is the creative genius of accessibility, provision, and future. For me, it is the creativity of language and music. Software and the imagination of what will become are creativity, too. There is the creativity of the new idea, the new "need", and the new opportunity. I see life as a migration through creativity. The first part of our lives are intensely dedicated to our creativity in what we will "BE". The next part of our lives is given to the creativity of what we will "DO". We gather around ourselves all of those tools that are required for each step as we go along. Society is measured by them, and our contributions are judged according to them. These are good, and very important steps in any life well-lived. I am learning, however, that there is a yet further, and perhaps final step in this creative process that we of the belly button variety must address. It is not so much an easy one to consider. I do, however, believe that it could well be the one step that all the others were forever ago created to take us toward. I've been working on it for a while now. The amazing thing about my life, personally, is that I have been working on it a very long time, and didn't even realize it. I believe that, for most of us here in this place, the same truth can be realized. The next, newest, and perhaps most important step in the creative journey is the one which, at one particular moment of our lives, we all address. It is the one for which we all strive. This step is the only one, to many of us, which will ever truly matter. That is sad, in a very real sense, to me. Life is an "additive" process both in design and nature. Adding to the mantle of a life well-lived does not, by itself, detract from the life already complete. Yet, we seem to believe otherwise. I am not so sure that is such a healthy belief system. It is the compilation of the entire life which is of the greatest value. The failings, the short-comings, the sadnesses and agonies of life are all a part of the life well-lived as well. These are the very things which carry us from the creativity of "Being", and through the creative nature of "Doing". They lead us to this final, most important step in our creative lives. We will, most likely, never see the fruits of this step. But, friends, have no doubt. The one most-important step in your creative life, no matter how you choose to measure it, is the step that requires you to learn how to "Leave". What will you leave after this life? For some, it will be future families. That is not my lot. For others, it will be the creativity of leaving friends who have seen us together walk a most amazing journey. For me, I will creatively "leave" some very amazing friends. For many of us, however, the one thing which we most desire to create for this capstone of life, is our words. Our language, communicating not only that we were here in the first place, but that our being here, somehow, mattered. Of the items in my port, is there a single one of them which will add to the creativity of my leaving? Every bit as much as a Father leaving his children, or a Mother leaving her home, the items in my port represent to me a creative leaving, of sorts. This is that time in my life. Not because I have a disease. Not because my time is "close" (it isn't!). It is that time of my life, because (beware: profundity directly ahead!) it IS that time of my life. This is the point of my living where the creativity of leaving is appropriate. I do sincerely hope that it is the longest of the steps of my life, to be honest. There is much left to do, and there is much left which I deeply desire to do with it. But, in my life, the creativity of leaving is an area that most of my life has been given to. It is not the most important area of life, perhaps. But, it is certainly one which grabs our attention. And, that is just silly. It is no more significant than the creativity of our "being", or "doing". It is no more difficult, nor more significant. It is just the next step on an amazing journey. But, of all the steps, we as humans find this to be a more important step because to us it has the largest ramification. While that is a truth, it is also only true to us, as humans. We, among all species of life, have this as a truth. It is one of the remakable truths that separate us from all other living species. What will we leave? How will we leave? When we leave, where will we go? As for me, baby, my bags are packed, and I'm ready to go! Have no doubt, the act of leaving is the more precious of all life's steps to me. What do I "leave"? I'm working on that. I'm working on that with a few wonderfully, and lovingly dedicated friends who have selflessly placed their "leaving" aside. Their sole purpose these days deals with MY "leaving". Together, we do hope to leave something of significance that will shine for a very long time, indeed. It is, truthfully, only MY dream. These friends have purchased their way into it with a brilliance that blinds me. I hope that this idea will be born, and grow, and be, and do. Like every time I type "Chapter One", and just like when you do, hope is born. And, unlike us who have the gift of the belly button, hope does not require air, or blood, or food to sustain itself. Hope only requires a first believer. This place is jam-packed with first believers. And, in that way, WDC has shown me an incredible truth that will last far after my echoes fade, my footprints are blown away, and my port is dissolved into the forever silence of the electrons. Let my dear friend's gift to me be my gift to you. Let my gift to you be the gift you leave others. Let's leave some hope. What a great gift that will be to those who, coming after us, may be the one truth that can be easily, and readily understood. Let's leave hope. In His Care, Budroe |
| Today was a new version of an old experience--shopping for groceries. My friend Tom sacrificed over four hours of his available time today to allow me the access, and the vehicular capacity (his van!) which allowed me to visit (DANG!! I missed the date cut-off~ Grrrrrr!) WalMartTRB!! Boy, did we have a trip to the grocery!! My last "extended" trip was the day I was released from the Hospital. I hope there is no direct relationship to these two realities! LOL It not only took me that long to get around to making a suitable list of groceries needed, but it also took me that long to "eat my way down" to the necessity. (The last time was a pretty large spree, as well!) I like going grocery shopping. It's a list. You check off the items. When the list is done, you *How did THAT get in the cart?* pay money, and the task is complete. Productivity. Contribution to the future of the household. (See, and you thought there WAS no thread! HA!) On the same trip (because he's the hardware guy, and I'm the software guy), we made the unfortunate decision to spend some "quality time" in the electronics department. You know, male bonding time. Friends sharing time together, and like dat. I need to tell you that there are iron bars in both our heads, which are extremely susceptible to electro-nonical thingeys. It is one of our common traits. Put us both together in an electronics store, with a credit card, with an available balance--and something truly magical magnetic happens. We tremble. We drool. We run from aisle to aisle. Unplanned outbursts of "Ohhh, pretty!" are anything but uncommon! They have STUFF there! It's especially funny watching my friend. All the way (4 luxurious miles, at near death-defying speed on a busy, yet unforgiving Interstate highway, mind you) to the place, Tom was talking with great animation and excitement. My friend is also a true New Yorker. On the highway, for instance, this means that he is the ONLY decent driver, and he SHOULD, in fact, be in front of whomever may appear on the other side of his front windshield! After all the years of being a passenger with him, if he were any different in his driving nature I would be extremely nervous. We get to the Electronics Department, and somehow time ceases to exist. "What's yer hurry, ya got a date?" "Let's look around, see what day got heayah!" Careful and scrupulous examination of just about every container in the place is an instinctive necessity. And, for Tom, it's even worse! "This is what you need, right heah!" "Tom! What does THIS do?" In the computer electronics department, everything is connected, or used, or called, or a part of, something else. With my friend, it's a high adventure in education! He doesn't explain what THIS does. No. He SHOWS me what it connects to, or what uses it. He is quiet, almost reverent. Yea, verily. I learn so much from him. It's a good thing, too. Because later, I will be expected to repeat same as THIS is pulled out of one of my grocery bags. He grills me on the five "W"'s of said object (as he is hanging it off my computer tower). I sometimes even amaze myself in my new-found knowledge, use, and ready defense of purchasing same--later. Tom is a hardware wizard. If you can touch it, he can fix it, apply it, insert it, build it, and/or repair it. Just never go to CompUSA with him without a sleepingbag--and a credit card with an available balance. "Oh, Wow! Day got one o' dem!" I have no idea what dem is, what dem does, or why dem is so good a ting ta find. I act relieved. He seems pleased to have found "dem". I now own one o dem. We then proceeded down every other aisle in the Grocery Store, the Pharmacy (I had to drop off, and pick up, a couple of prescriptions), and (??) Lawn and Garden. I have no list in my possession--but my computer desk has one sitting on it--back home. I try to call upon the expired film that was, at one time, my photographic memory to recall the list. It's (sorry) fruitless. Aisle by tortured aisle, we walk. He following me, or moving the cart/buggy thingey. I don't park it good. I park the buggy at the end of the aisle, and walk up one side (or aisle) and down the next. He says I'm always walking away from the cart. I explain to him that, unless otherwise noted, there has not been, heretofore, any device created, manufactured, or sold which brings the items from the shelf to the cart! I am single. Tom is married. Can you just read his face about then?? I rolled. I came home with sufficient foodstuffs to last the average platoon eating priviledges for the entirety of it, the siege. (And, I didn't even know anybody was fixin' ta commence ta siegin' nuthin'!!) After schleppin' about an even TON of food into the house (well, shortly ago, one of my cupboard shelves actually fell from the weight, I kid you NOT!), I start putting the groceries away. Where's Tom? He went home. He was late, you see. His wife actually squealed rubber to make the corner in FRONT of him to be first into the driveway. That way, she got home before him, and he was, therefore, by proxy, LATE! Squealed rubber, she did--and right in front of the Church, ta boot! Pity full. About 20 minutes later, Tom and his young son (TJ--the third TJ in my life of late) show up at my door. I'm up to my cast-iron kettle in cans needin' a little shelf life, and Tom wants to know where "dem" is. We got about 140 bags to choose from. It gives "Deal or No Deal" a whole new meaning, let me tell ya. Rootin' around, with support personnel alongside, mind you, "dem" is found. Before I make the first dent in the putting away of groceries, my friend Tom and his soon-to-be trusty sidekick have not one, but TWO computers torn apart. He's just slingin' parts, and tools, and wires, and cables all over the place like a kid with a new toy. Oh, wait.... Finally, as only Tom can do, I hear "Well, there ya go! Yer all set, dere, Budroe!" And, he does something that he does every single time this happens in my home. (It happens a LOT!) He went home. Like the invasion of the Valkyries, to dead silence with none but the lonely bags as witnesses. I am, in a word stunned! What just happened here? And, what the blue-blazes is a DEM? Now, some five hours post-occurance (hence the black mark on the calendar, incidentally), the food has been put away. The meat has been re-packaged into serving sizes suitable for a single diabetic with a decided edge for something chocolate. the cans are in the pantry. (Okay, about a zillion of them have, only recently, found new lodgings on the floor of said pantry...but I digress!) The grocery bags have been herded into a single - bag corral, and have made the way of all things "over", and are in the trashcan. Outside. Where they can't hurt each other, or an innocent passer-by. I'm sitting here, looking at a newly-built computer, umm, well...NETWORK! All my towers are now talking to one another. I have literally terrabytes of space. My Raid string has more than doubled. My speed is almost doubled. My backups are now automatic. I can access all the information I lost. I can get to this site from ANY tower. All the stuff is managed, controlled, sent, received, transmitted, and negotiated from one keyboard, one mouse, and one (incredibly beautiful) monitor. I am well-fed, and internet capable. I sort of fear that I may accidentally re-task a NASA Satellite. But, you know what any true blue New Yorker would say about that, right? (It's the most inappropriate way to use the word "Dem!") Now, Tom's a hardware guy. I, on the other hand, am a software guy. His work takes minutes. Mine takes years. But his minutes make my years possible. Sometimes, I actually create work that somewhat approaches the art that this man can produce in minutes. It just takes me longer. G'hed. Try to hurt me, I dare ya! Even WalMartRTB give my friend as much room, and as much time, as he needs to get the job done. Oh, and we also gently swung through Chik-Fil-A today. For one particular soul who has reason to care... I do, in fact, have a witness who saw me not only get, but USE mustard on a <shivver> CFA sammich today. Now, don't go tossin' yer cookies just yet. It was truly a gut-wrenchin' experience, and there's just no easy or genteel way of sayin' it. But, you see, there was the matter of a friendly wager involved. I know that when Dad created Chik-Fil-A, it was purely because of His infinite love of Ketchup...I know. But, while my team won (GO COLTS!), it took my selfless sacrifice ta do it. <Wipes tear from somewhere towards eyeball> So, rather than watch a dear friend suffer through the humiliation of that amazing moment, when you (for the alleged FIRST time ever!) actually eat a CFA sammich as the Good Lord intended (with Ketchup, and good common sense!), I humbled myself to gargle down MY first--EVER (and, PLEASE Dad, never again) CFA wiff MUSTARD on it. Lord, the humanity!! If I don't wind up in Chik-Fil-A jail, it will BE a miracle! (And DONT mention Whip wif dat! I mean, even I got limits!) I lost the bet. My team won. I ate a sammich wif mustard on it. And, that's what I call a Win/Win/Gag! So, I ate two more with the appropriate condiment, gargling as I munched. I got groceries, I got "dem", and I had a truly glorious time at the grocery store. Sounds to me like an almost normal day. <Sigh> Now, if only I can find "dem", I'll get to work on my writing for today. It's gonna b.....uht oh, I got a message from NASA. I gotta go. It looks 'portant. TTTTTTOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM?????????? In His Care, Budroe |
| It seems that the rather indeterminant nature of the weather around these parts the past few days has confused immune systems from hither to thither (and even, potentially, to yon as well!). There has been a particularly unfriendly bug travelling the neighborhood where most of my friends live, or hang out. So far, it has had no welcome in my home. Regardless, it seems to be at least attempting to have its way with me. I have not gotten the "full-blown" version of this malady, but I really don't need a lot of it to suffer. For those called to this journey, the smallest things can have the greatest influence. I am fighting it with lots of vitamins, herbs, and some gorilla-cillin to boot. I hope it realizes the futility of its designs BEFORE they become other than futile. In other news of the day, I have been working on a dream. Not only have I been immersed in the final editing of a book, but I have been working on a very special website that may well come from the books. Looking at illness as a "right here-right now" sort of deal has long-term effects on the patient. Suddenly, those plans for next year seem to get short-circuited by the next scheduled medicine dosing. I have felt, for a couple of days now, the need to raise my head, and my perspective. Over in a quiet corner of the Internet, I am patiently attending to this website. Hopefully, in time, I will be able to point you to a site that offers much in the way of excitement, hope, and future--not for me, necessarily. At every moment, and stage of our lives, there is within the human spirit a need, I think, to create something. For some of us, that something needs to be larger (in this case, much larger) than we ourselves could ever hope to be. Joining a dream with today's amazing technology can be quite the enterprise. But, in small bits and pieces, that is precisely what I am attempting to do. Finding the writing time, the Blogging time, the email time, and the creative time can easily consume 20 hours per day. Scheduling can be a great friend when such things linger in your creative mind. I sometimes resist the urge to run over to one idea, or another, simply because I know that there is no small moment when you are creating anything. Cooks carefully attend to the recipes, the menus, and the consumers. Plumbers, and politicians, and even candle-stick makers must spend some quality time with not the product, but the dream. As a writer, it is usually a very easy task to spend time with the dream. Creating new words, editing, and hawking the finished product can consume an entire lifetime's worth of work in a much smaller time. Agents must be sought, and publishers must be safely negotiated. The craft of writing can take more than enough time all on it's own. To raise the "child" of a completed novel is usually considered to be a second career all by itself. But, dreams are to be dreamed. Plans and goals are to be made. These are the pathways that lead from a dream to a satisfied reality. And, just for today, I have been surprised by the quality (and quantity) of the output my brain has produced. It was, for all intents and purposes, a satisfying day. The over-abundance of tissues have made it a bit of a challenge, and the chills just seem not to want to retreat from whence they came. Rest is elusive, and all of a sudden the candle is lit at both ends! How can anything as sedate, sedentary, and isolating as crafting a novel suddenly transpire into the need for a large number of people, just to handle the load of bringing the dream to birth, and life? Simple. Some dreams are bigger than others. I have long had the tendency to dream very much way large! As the dream grows, hands will come to hold it up, and move it to the reality it does deserve to have. And, it makes for a nice little side-trip while on the journey. At least I think so. But then, I'm a sick person. As for the answer to the trivia question of yesterday: I was a bit surprised (but only a little) that, of the responses I received, none of them were correct. It seems that the use of the words "Tag Line" may have caused some to believe that I was actually talking about the "Closing" of the email, just above the "signature". Actually, the Tag Line appears above the "Closing", and is the last sentence of the email, "Tagging" it closed. The tag line that I love to use for every "first" email got me in trouble the other day. I failed to use it, someone noticed, and all of a sudden I got 23 emails wanting to know if I was okay! (Yep, that's what prompted my writing of it in the first place!) With apologies, I sent a follow-up email to every person that asked about it, just to let them know that I was okay. What is it?"Good luck on your journey." In His Care, Budroe |
| There is a concensus opinon here in Blogville about comments. The opinion is that it is correct etiquette to respond to every comment, and/or every commenter in your Blog. Generally speaking, this is a true statement, I believe. However, it is also optional. The choice NOT to reply, comment-for-comment does not automatically make one anti-social in Blogville. I encourage all Bloggers to recognize, if with only a "footprint", those who take the time to read your work, and comment upon their response. Even if all you say is "Thank you for visiting my Blog today.", that is a footprint that leads to another step. It is also common courtesy in life not to ignore those who are speaking directly (or indirectly, in this case) in your face! There are, however, some notable exceptions. I believe that this Blog is an excellent example of just one such real exception. This Blog began as a personal journal of a personal journey. I did not (and do not) write it looking for, or expecting to satisfy an audience. Heck, the simple fact that there IS an audience daunts my soul, sometimes. It is a very good thing that I can (usually) hold my paranoia in check, or this baby woulda "jumped the shark" long ago! Over the very short course of only a few entries, your comments began to directly contribute to my journey. They were not general words, or generally "socially acceptable" words. They widened the path, and you came along for a journey that has become, truly, an amazing adventure. And, not only for myself, it would seem. Your contributions here have not only meant added treasure for me, but for many others who have read not only the Blog entries, but have also read, felt, experienced, and found gratitude in YOUR writing here as well. The growth of this work has been because of your comments, and your comments to each other. This is true so very much more than anything I do. This is a journey of hundreds. I am so grateful that my words can never express my gratitude for your selfless love. Yet, it is not a love reserved only for myself. It is a love that is shared by, and spread across the entire (and, daily growing cast, it would seem) spectrum of the journey itself. This is, to my mind, terrific! Your comments here extend the story, increase the cast of characters, and enrich the journey -- and not just for me! So, I do not (generally) respond to the comments inside the Blog. I have, on occasion rare. But mostly, if there is something specific for my edification, I will respond via EMail to the writer where I can. These are not special, they are merely personal. My work has become simply a framework upon which the story is being constructed. The colors, the texture, the depth of the Blog does not come from me. And, for me, that is just the very best thing that I could ever have hoped for. My noticable absence within the comments (so I have been told) is not disregard, or disrespect. It is rather a sincere desire not to interrupt the dialogue along the way. I surely get enough space and opportunity to have my say. I believe that, as the tapestry of this particular artwork becomes woven into the final product, my opportunity is to be one color. That is sufficient for me. As my Mother used to say to me with a rather uncomfortable regularity: "Because you hear a conversation does not grant you access to it!" (Her way of saying "Shut up!"--when she didn't want to say "Shut Up!") I do also visit the work (and, especially the Blogs) of the commenters here, incidentally. I may not do it well, or often enough, but I do it as often as I can. Leaving a footprint is a joy for me in these works. I list the Blogs that I regularly visit, but not the ones I visit only occasionally. And, no friend. That's not a descending pecking order amonst the niche, or the Clique. It (the Blog List) serves two distinct purposes: 1. It lists those Blogs that I particularly enjoy. It is not a statement of quality, or affinity. I happen to enjoy reading certain Blogs on a regular basis, because in them I have the opportunity to see, share, learn, and grow in ways that are unique to me. They are NOT the only Blogs I visit, and they are not a Roll-Call of the Accepted. I visit well over 100 Blogs a week (in a good week), and at least try to leave a footprint with each visit--especially on the first visit. Now, if you have followed my work in my Port (Poor thing!), you will perhaps notice that I do leave intentional opportunities to garner GP for yourself, from time to time. There is, within my personal style, a "tag line" that I always include as the last sentence of every Blog I visit for the first time. If you are the first correct responder to this question before my next Blog entry here, you will gain 1,000 GP. So the question is: "What is Bud's 'Tag Line' for another Blog's first comment from him?" Your correct answer as a comment to this entry will be the acceptable response, should you choose to participate in this little piece of Blog Trivia. (And, some of my friends here KNOW how much I do enjoy trivia.) 2. The Blog List is merely a functional tool of convenience for me. Using this tool, I can simply click to a Blog quickly. Else, I could spend days finding locations. Some people include in their ports a page of Blog listings. I just happen to choose to do the same on the left side of my Blog. So, if your Blog is not listed there, please do not be alarmed, or insulted, or injured. For these reasons, I do not (generally) respond to comments within this Blog. There is no ill-will, self-aggrandizement, or any other ulterior motive. I do believe that it is only common courtesy to acknowledge the efforts of another writer in your work. There are, however, a few acceptable exceptions to that general rule. This Blog, I believe, illustrates one of them. In His Care, Budroe P.S. All the Blogs on my list are black today. YAY!! |
| Three minutes into his speech, the President lost me. I'm just flabbergasted. Where is it that the economy is in growth? Where are these 7.2 million new jobs?I would love to see the plan to balance the budget, without tax increases. He did suggest that we could "grow enterprise". To me that is a watchword for out-sourcing. Meanwhile, here at home.... How did the government lower the percentage of unemployment? Easy, they just changed the way the numbers are counted. By dropping the numbers for those whose unemployment has ended, yet no job exists, the unemployment figures were reduced. By dis-allowing the numbers to reflect the under-employed (chemical engineers flipping burgers, for instance) in our society, the unemployment numbers go down. This is amazing, considering the reality that the number of new unemployment beneficiaries has been consistently going up for the last 38, umm, months. After that, I just have to listen, knowing that, in my view, it is merely spin. Of course, some would say that my views are merely spin. The only difference is that the government's own numbers prove my words. We need an American President. I don't truly believe I would so much care which side of the aisle he (or she) came from, so long as there could be some kind of sense that the interests of Americans were superior to American interests. Rational debate used to just fly across this land, from one sea to the other. But, the debate was about solutions, not problems. Then, we started screaming about which problems were important, or sufficient. Then, we started debating about the messenger, instead of the message. Is it really impossible to believe that our first, and most fundamental civic obligation is the one of citizenship? My feelings transcend those of a citizen, and soar into the lofty environment of the possible. From where I stand, looking for the opportunity to realize the possible is a really big deal. We have enemies, to be sure. As a nation, we have only begun to understand the dismal citizenship we have shown the planet for many decades. The realities of our disproportionate riches, in the face of planetary poverty, is not, in my view, reason for pride. Perhaps it is not sufficient reason for patriotism, either. Our anger-generating attitudes have, in the most grave sense, caused many in the World to desire our humility in a degree that at least approaches the humiliation they have suffered at our hand, or at least with our silent assent to their condition. Some players on the world stage desire our humility so badly that they are willing to attempt to cause it themselves. A few players, with more nationalism, religious fervor, and patriotism created our worst nightmare--enemies on our own soil. And, on that day, our forever was forever changed. And, still, it seems as if we have not learned the one resolve that could lessen the angst against us--even as it grows daily within our own numbers. Until our poor have shelter, food, healthcare, and education sufficient for life-sustaining employment right here in America, there is no lesson we could speak that the world will hear, or heed. How can we speak of justice, when tens (if not hundreds) of thousands of our own citizens have still not had the assistance they need to overcome the devestation of natural catastrophe? Meanwhile, the very documents which defined the purpose of this nation continue to suffer assault--from our own leaders. For the first time since the beginning of the 20th Century, it is widely accepted that our children will not have a greater opportunity than their parents to live sufficiently, in peace, with justice. The generational decay of opportunity within our own borders grows, while (in my view) the elimination of the American Middle Class continues without regard, concern, or accountability. In the past few months, I have had to face the rather daunting reality that I cannot, on my own, or for myself, afford the healthcare that I need in order to sustain my life. Hearing that Veteran's benefits have been, yet again, further reduced; to hear that insurance costs more per month than most house payments, and all but the most ludicrous leases on automobiles; to hear that the only way I can possibly hope to receive the care to extend, and end my life is to prove my poverty to such a degree that my total disability will never provide my comfort--much less my basic needs, is daunting indeed. But, as has been so often the case recently, this journey is just chock-full of new surprises. While there is much, if not most, that I disagree with this Administration over, I am still an American with deep pride, patriotism, and gratitude. I am on a journey as a citizen of this country, and of a very special citizenship which lies beyond the restraints of this mortal life. I must continue to be aware, and concerned about those situations which drastically affect my living in this time, and in this country. I have, at times, great difficulty (now, hear me out!) considering myself capable of constructive contribution to my life, my community, or my nation. I am, in the purest sense of the term, a care-taker. My existence, at least at this moment, represents the draining of available resources, and does nothing to add to the benefit, or wealth, or larder of our shared concerns. This has been, and still continues to be a stunning reality in my world. For the first time since the age of 13, I cannot work. I am, according to those who should know, totally disabled. The short-term outlook for my life is only as a consumer. I can offer nothing, give nothing, and share nothing to add to the bottom line--even within my own little house. At the same time, I must endure the hindrance, and the humility of state and federal agencies who are so short-staffed and under-funded that I must not merely prove my case--I must prove it beyond doubt. I must also prove that my condition is more significant than some other person, because there simply are not sufficient dollars to go around. That process takes years. In the meantime? In the meantime, I do what I can. I give what I can to those who have less than I, or nothing at all. I give myself, and pour my being into any crevice which will accept it. There is very little that I can do. There is very much that I cannot do. But, that which I can do, I simply must do. For me, in my life, and in the continuing pattern of my teaching, there is no other choice. Even when it flies in the face of common sense, I must somehow seek, and find a reasonable way to contribute. I have been, for the whole of my life, a care-giver. To some in my personal history, this has been seen for decades. I have not always given my care adequately, or successfully. But it has always been my first intent. As we all know, intent yields little when you are hungry. Or sick. Or homeless. I believe America is sick, and hungry. We no longer have the option to choose differently, because for us there is no choice left, if we intend to save the dreams that compel others to risk death with every step, for only one breath of freedom on our shores. We must offer ourselves entirely to the purpose. Ours is the opportunity, and the requirement. As I must declare myself in the fight of my life--for my life, so too is the America I thank Dad for every day in the fight of her life. I, for the very first time in my journey, have no alternative. I must declare myself the receiver of care. It is the most difficult declaration I, or anyone called upon this journey, can or will ever be called to make. It is no less an imperative moment that causes America do the same, and do it now. There is no doubt that such a declaration will be the most difficult that we, as citizens, have ever been called to establish in our country's history. I am, if nothing else, truly a "Hope" addict. I have hopes for myself, my health, my life, and my country. For me, however, the only real hope that I can muster is the hope that I can walk this journey with the humility, and the pride of citizenship which I would hope that we, as a nation, would adopt. I hope most of all that my journey reflects not my citizenship in America, with the failings of political reed-bending. I hope my journey through the valley testifies of my citizenship in the Kingdom "without end". I hope that those who walk with me will not necessarily agree with me on all (or any) topic that we discuss as we walk through the valley. I just hope that they will come, somehow, to understand that my citizenship reflects a leader who is entirely without peer. I hope that, through me, my Dad can be seen in such a way that all who see me, see only Him. We used to feel that way about our earthly leader as well. I've never felt any differently about Dad. He just never fails. And, He gets elected too. One heart at a time. I am well. I am His, and I am, and will forever be, In His Care, Budroe |
| It is a cold and blustery day here in my little town. Amidst the flurry of work that goes on inside, there is, in at least one amazing sense, continuity of calmness outside. I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I am not one who cares much for the anacronymic illnesses, generally. I just always thought that I did not like Winter. A few years ago, however, I discovered that this illness really does exist, and that I have had it my entire life. I undergo physiological changes in the "Winter" time. I get depressed. I hate being cold. I seriously planned to move because of this. If my recent illness had not caused the "U Turn" on my journey, I would most probably be writing these words from the warm climes of Southeastern Nevada today. And, more than any other reason, it would have been to escape the four-month disability which attacks me each year. But, I notice things. I guess all writers do. I hope that, someday, I can become a good enough writer to notice them with detail! Outside, the world is a quieter place in the cold of Winter. Things tend to move slowly at this time of year. Somehow, just seeing snow justifies all the changes in life during those Winter months, I think. Cars travel more slowly, as drivers are most prone to realize their dangerous position while going to WalMartTRB, for instance. A sense of quiet covers everything, it seems. And, with quiet (at least in my life) comes a time for reflection. It is a calm day here in my town. The same things are going on as happen any other time. But, for some reason, it just seems a little calmer outdoors. That tends to make things calmer indoors. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** And, as we are creatures of nature, the same can be said of us, I think. No matter what is assailing our lives on the outside, this time of year allows us to move just a little slower. We plan better for those external activities of life, which seems to give us a little more time on the inside. I know that you, like I, used to chide older folk who just did not seem to be in much of a hurry about anything. I wonder, today, if that's what the sages meant about being in "The Winter" of life. Not so much age, but attitude. Slowing down a little on the outside seems to bring our insides to a slower pace as well. Winter does have value. If we pay attention, we can learn some really important, and really quite nice things about ourselves, and each other. We slow down during this time not so much because we want to, but because the external conditions demand it of us. Failing to do so can have serious consequences for us in life, especially in the winter of life. But, Winter is only a season. It is not, I believe, a life, or a lifestyle. Some people love the cold. I do not. It is uncomfortable to my body. It hurts. It is depressing. It artificially induces a different pace that my body just does not readily accept. But, for a time, just every once in a while, I think that being in a Winter mode can be a good thing, and even helpful. You don't have to be an older person to live in the "Winter" of life. Watch a child. They find Winter at the most amazing moments of life. Of course, we see "The Winter" of a child while they sleep. But, they show us "The Winter" of life as they quietly play alone, or read, or simply observe those things around them. While Winter represents things that I would prefer, perhaps, not to endure, it also allows us all some things we desperately need. The outsides of our lives live in balance, it seems, with the fundamental disposition of nature. We simply adapt ourselves to it. I understand, for today at least, a few things about Winter that I can appreciate more than ever. A dear friend sent this to me in an email today. I found it not only thought-provoking, but especially meaningful as I reflect on the things of Winter. The Most Important Body Part My mother used to ask me what is the most important part of the body. Through the years I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct answer. When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to us as humans, so I said, "My ears, Mommy." She said "No-Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon." Several years passed before she asked me again. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time I told her, "Mommy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes." She looked at me and told me, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind." Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge and over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No. But you are getting smarter every year, my young child." Then last year, my grandpa died. Everybody was hurt. Everybody was crying. Even my father cried. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I saw him cry. My Mom looked at me when it was our turn to say our final goodbye to Grandpa. She asked me, "Do you know the most important body part yet, my son?" I was shocked when she asked me this now. I always thought this was a game between her and me. She saw the confusion on my face and told me, "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I have told you was wrong and I have given you an example why. But today is the day you need to learn this important lesson." She looked down at me as only a mother can. I saw her eyes well up with tears. She said, "Son, the most important body part is your shoulder." I asked, "Is it because it holds up my head?" She replied, "No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life, my son. I only hope that you have enough love and friends that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it." Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one-it is sympathetic to the pain of OTHERS. You are my friend and whenever you want, you may cry on my shoulder. Author Unknown I'm so glad I was gifted in this way today. Today, it makes sense, as I reflect in my warm home, safe from the bluster of the external. And, at least for today, the things of Winter are just not so very bad. In His Care, Budroe ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I would like to thank the person that is not only a favorite cousin, but also the family historian for her precious gift to me of the Barton Family Crest. It now graces the frontice piece to this Blog. Thank you Annie. I love you, too. For those who may be interested, I did some writing today that was in the creative, "new word" category. While, on the one hand, I feel like a bit of a Carnival Hawker touting my own work, on the other hand, I have to look at the signe over the doorpost of this place. I realize that the first reason I came here was to do what writers do: write. This is the third in the continuing series of essays on Blogging. Should you consent, I would appreciate your R/R/R on the work. Brutality is optional. Flames will be ignored.
Now, it's off to bed. Today is going to require a visit to the Hospital, so that someone whom I do not know will be given their "Drac" fix. I want to tell you all that I do very much appreciate your willingness to withstand my pulpit-bashing for these last couple of entries. I do hope I was able to get my feelings across in such a manner that you will choose to create YOUR documents: NOW! (Oh, did I say that already? Sorry!)  The journey awaits. Leave a message under the stone if you wish, and let's be off. We have an adventure to catch up to, and time waits for no man. Tempus fugit and all that! As my dear friend would say: "Tally Ho!" In His Care, Budroe |
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