RE-BLOG: PART TWO – SEEDS OF ANOTHER KIND

MOVING THE ANCIENT BOUNDARIES

Last week, in Part One, I wrote about seeds of rage. Seeds we see harvested on the nightly news and in the headlines. But these aren’t the only kind of seeds growing and being harvested in America.

Bundles of Bales 4

A friend read the following article in the Wall Street Journal and passed it on to me and now, I’m passing this on to you. ‘Cause you certainly won’t hear this on the evening news. But could you imagine what would happen if every town U.S.A. adopted the attitude and actions of the citizens of North Platte, Nebraska.

While the story in and of itself is wonderful and amazing, be sure to catch the information this wasn’t the first generation of North Platte citizens who planted seeds of a town united…when called on this isolated town in Nebraska again repeated what they had been taught for several generations.

Thank you, Wall Street Journal…

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blessings

So a little over a week ago the weather people told us the U.S. jet stream dipped well into the southeast. This was a good thing, (for here) right? Everything above it was cooler, below it is unimaginably hot.

No one has any idea how long this will be.

Ok, so yes, it’s good (for here) but with this comes rain. Meteorologists can explain why. All I know is we have basically had solid rain for going on 8 days now. With thunder mostly.

The thing about that is rescue dog Lulu won’t eat when it thunders. She turns around in circles by the back porch door, crying until I let her out. But she won’t go outside when it is raining. Well, that’s smart. And I do have these herbal chews thatIMG_0170.JPG are supposed to relax Lulu. They have lavender, chamomile and colostrum. They only help when she collapses in exhaustion from stressing over the rain storms and sleeps for about 2 hours.

2105551020-bfcf7f5f049178968f2aab6a0d35bdf1.jpgBut then rain is a blessing. Obviously without it nothing grows. No gardens, agriculture. No irrigation, no water.  Just because something appears inconvenient or is612294559-aa1bfc74e56dcb5f6d475ea40290989a.jpg not to my liking does not mean it is wrong. I learned long ago my perspective is a tiny fragment of a much bigger picture and the amount of control I have over this picture is not as significant as I sometimes may think. Like the butterfly effect. Generally something that ripples out far beyond anything I will ever see and will have an effect that is far removed from the initial thought or motion.

And many blessings are in the eye of the beholder. In food, in relationships, in acts of nature, in politics. I have learned to, if not be thankful personally then to thank God for whatever purpose He intends for whatever or whomever is the object of the moment. Whether I like it or not.

And I can be like Lily, reluctant to step out into the life that is happening because it is not to my expectation or liking, yet as the popular phrase goes, “it is what it is,” and my participation or lack of will not necessarily change things. It might, though. But avoiding it orIMG_0169.JPG hiding from it will accomplish nothing because Life goes on whether or not I choose to participate.

So, blessings.  Like beauty. Definitely in the eye of the beholder. Moreso if the beholder has wisdom.1599110096-Bible-Passages-Scriptures-Quotes-and-Verses-about-Blessings-pictures-and-images-Blessing-Verse.jpg

 

 

the blue velvet poodle parlor

There were many things I wanted to be when I grew up, one of which was veterinarian. Science was not a good subject for me so the closest I came to practicing in an animal hospital was as a veterinary receptionist. This was not complicated. Answering phones, calming agitated pets, occasionally their persons, running a cash register (the worst part of the job), and taking specimens back to the lab. Once in a while a vet would ask for assistance wrestling a dog or cat still to clean ears, give a shot or trim nails or something.

Often clients would ask for recommendations for shampoos, food, or groomers. Hands down, Blue Velvet Poodle Parlor got top recommendations.

This was not easy for me to do. Just saying the name sounded comical. At the time I had a West Highland terrier. My dad had given me a professional dog clipper to groom her. The problem with grooming Westies is they have 2 coats: a soft, downy undercoat and longer, coarse outer coat. The professional method of grooming them is called “stripping” with a special comb/razor blade tool that actually stripped out the undercoat and then they tackled the outer coat, face and legs. This sounded too painful so Dad gave me the clippers.

Having clippers and knowing how to properly use them are not the same.

IMG_0145.JPG    IMG_0147.JPG                                This does not taste like peanut butter

I did try to trim Piper’s hair but she got so many curious looks and “what breed of dog is that?” that I gave it up. And decided to try the ‘Poodle Parlor’ having been assured they groomed dogs other than poodles. This establishment was behind and beneath one of the foremost bridal salons in the city. A tiny strip mall of only 3 shops in an exclusive neighborhood, I knew it would be costly.  But I made an appointment.

I brought Piper inside and placed her on the grooming table the groomer indicated. She sized me up as much as Piper. Then she examined Piper, her head to her tail. Looking steadily at me she said, “$35.00?” I nodded, relieved I could afford to do this and left Piper in her care being told to return for her between 4 and 5 pm.

Aside from the blue satin bows behind her ears Piper looked picture-perfect beautiful. She even smelled powdery fresh. She bounced and pranced knowing how nice she looked and likely felt good with 3 pounds less hair.

She enjoyed her visits at the poodle parlor. I don’t even know if it is still there but since I have grown to mistrust American dog breeders, and there are so many healthy dogs in shelters and city pounds in such need of homes I adopt rescues now.

And Lily and Lulu have made it pretty clear they are happy with a brushing and occasional shampoo.

But no clippers.

 Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothes the grass, which today is in the field and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O you of little faith?”     –Luke 12:27-28

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blossom

When I was married and my (now ex) husband got a job in Tennessee I was, for the first time, at sea. Fortunately I did not know this. My method then IMG_0109.JPGof adaptation was to flounder comically until I found footing. Others were distracted because I was good at making people laugh by laughing at myself.

One kind person did take me under her wing (briefly) to help with altar guild at the church we attended (briefly). Before she finally gave up realizing I was not detail oriented she told me to “bloom where I was planted.” This was wisdom I’d never before heard because I’d bloomed well wherever I’d been, just not there. And I have not forgotten what she said and it has been helpful at times over the now very many years.

No matter where I have alit in life I have made a friend or two and gratefully we have kept in touch. I learned that people are basically the same –good– wherever I am, no matter their manner or customs.

After rescue dogs Lily and Lulu and I have taken our pre-dawn morning walk I set out to take a longer walk, more for exercise than sniff for messages. One recent morning I came upon a plant that somehow I’d not seen before. This thing is called a blue agave or century plant since it blooms once every hundred years. And here this thing had sent up its inflourescence (flower). I thought it was a yucca but their flowers are very difIMG_0104.JPGferent and nowhere near as tall as that. The blooms are ivory-colored and branch singly off the flower stalk. They do not appear to have branches like a small tree.

I marveled at this plant! Here is something on the outer back corner of a drug store that looks like it was planted as more of an afterthought. It has grown here happily in nutrient-poor sandy soil and bright, full scorching sun since and now shows itself in all its glory. I wondered if anyone else saw the flower. It’s really important because, after this plant flowers it dies! It sends out what are called pups or little plantlets, offshoots, but the original one’s life is over. I don’t think this plant has been here for 100 years. I suppose it’s possible but the subdividing and development that is going on in this town lends itself more to plants being put in the landscape when buildings are built. I somehow doubt construction would have protected this single plant when the store was being built.

I could be wrong.

IMG_0124.JPGThis is another one in the landscape of a subdivision near the one that is blooming

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This is a baby one I have. They grow very slowly. And though they are the plant from which culinary agave nectar or tequila are made I do not know how to do this and I bought this plant more for decorative landscape purposes than imbibing. If what I learned about it is true I likely will not live long enough to see it bloom. Though I have seen an aloe bloom, in Florida. It has a tall stalk with pretty orange and yellow flowers.

So while Lily and Lulu have no problem making themselves right at home, wherever they find themselves

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it may take some of us longer to bloom.

“But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.”    2 Peter 3:8

 

 

 

where to

My father defied definition. He was a force.Whether of nature or not I am uncertain, yet he taught me so much, and nothing at all. He shared family history with my brother. He shared magic with me. Mostly tricks that he either explained, laughing, or I figured out to his delight. But something else. I wish I could put into words…

He taught me whenever anyone thinks they know it all they are dead. We never stop learning. He taught me to play chess. He showed me how to dig sand fleas for bait when surf fishing. He took me to Lincoln Center to see the magic of the Nutcracker ballet. We sat at a table with a beaten up aging boxer and his girlfriend at IMG_0088.JPGPaddy’s Clam House to eat lobster. We sang the Air Force “Wild Blue Yonder” and the Army marching song though he was with the FBI during the war because of a mountain climbing accident. But as I grew up we became contentious. We argued about just about everything. I reached an age where neither he nor anyone could teach me anything — I knew it all.

Of course, I didn’t, but our arguments were legend. When I worked for his company the shouting matches caused more than a few employees to quit and I couldn’t blame them.

We especially argued about Christians. Faith. Dad had always been a man’s man, self-made, self-sufficient. He saw Christians as weak, helpless, dependent. Almost like welfare recipients which he had complete disregard for. And emotions ran high when we had arguments about God, or Jesus or anything that was a large part of my faith. So we stopped talking.

That was not the answer. Eventually we began talking again but not about religion. Then he got older, began getting sick. Looking back I wish I’d done so much more. I wish I had read the book of Acts to him. He’d especially have admired Paul I think when he was shipwrecked. Dad loved sailing, all things maritime really and I think this might have hooked him at least a little into being interested in Christians. Especially how Paul became one. Earth-shattering if anything could be.

There are many places in the Bible where heaven is described. Ezekiel, where that contraption with flashing wheels and the being with the heads of an eagle and a lion, wings, talons… nothing I can visualize well, no matter how many times I read it. I also believe heaven is nothing like we can imagine so anyone that tries has to use the words we know which probably don’t even come close.

Dad became very sick after a fall where he broke 7 ribs and went through three or four bouts of pneumonia. My brother called me to tell me Dad’s doctor had told him we needed to be with Dad. So we flew home. Dad was in intensive care and the nurses kindly allowed us to stay with Dad all day. One morning one of his therapists came in to work on opening Dad’s lungs after breakfast. Dad had fallen asleep after eating. This was no small man. Nothing he did or said could wake Dad. He came back an hour or so later, same thing. Dad slept on. Throughout the day various people came to do things or speak with Dad, no response. Sleeping soundly.

At around 5 that afternoon Dad woke. He opened his eyes, blinking slowly and looked around the room. “Is this Heaven?” he said.

I asked him if he could tell us where he had been, what he had seen. He would begin a sentence only to stop abruptly, then begin again, stop again. I realized he’d been given a wonderful gift.

A friend of mine, a Priest, who I’d asked to visit Dad came by just after. I told him about Dad’s day, how no one and nothing would wake him, what he’d said upon waking. My friend slowly smiled. He sat with us a bit, asked a prayer then left.

Sometimes people, badly bruised and hardened by life’s knocks, twists and turns, are shown what is ahead for them. We none of us ever truly knows another’s heart.

God does.

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The grass withers, the flower fades, But the word of our God stands forever.   –Isaiah 40:8