What is More Boring

I thought that the debates of the Democrat candidates for president of the United States were boring. Their statements were just more failed Leftist dreams and promises that are unbelievably naïve. All of them propose increased taxes and removing constitutionally guaranteed rights. Their ideals continue to disperse “free” items: health care, education, housing, etc. None of it is free. Taxation for those who work or for companies that provide products or services have to pick up the tab. And we all know, except for politicians, that businesses will pass on the costs to the consumers. That means every tax increase is born by the common hard-working citizen.

They also try to buy votes by raising the minimum wage. All it means is the politicians will be able to collect more in taxes, the cost of goods will increase and negate the higher wage, and those on a fixed income will fall farther behind. They will soon have to choose food, medicine, or heat to stave off death.

Now to the crux of the matter: the impeachment trial. What a waste of taxpayers’ money. What waste of the politicians’ time that they should have been serving their constituents and not their self-serving grandstanding. They are so afraid that President Trump will carry out his promise to drain the swamp. It is almost as if the cockroaches are afraid of their past corrupt deeds are being brought to light.

With the continued accomplishments President Trump has brought to fruition in his short time in office, they fear what a second term may bring. Today’s meager field of candidates and their flimsy platforms leave them little choice but to continue to twist facts and invent outright lies to assault President Trump. They have weaponized the American citizen’s safeguard from tyranny and are using it to batter our President.

Joe Biden was exposed by blatantly doing what they charge our Commander-In-Chief of doing, but choose to turn a blind eye to that.  There are insinuations the ex-President Obama knew about this and allowed it. There is also the unresolved source of the FISA report, Spy-gate, and who can forget the debacle of Benghazi where he and Hillary Clinton chose to cover up the death of an ambassador and several Marines by lying about a film.

The Democrats are saying President Trump tried to find dirt on Joe Biden and yet they have 4 Democrat candidates for president who will be voting on the guilt or innocence of Donald Trump. They should immediately recuse themselves, what hypocrites.

Please, stop the charade. Stop the lies. Start working for American citizens and not attempting to continue the “One World” dynasty of past political leaders.

It Was Bottoms Up

There were times in my life that I’ve been surprised when something happened, but then there were times that I was shocked. One such time was when I was working in the triage area of the emergency department at Frick Hospital. A man walked in with the seat of his pants covered in blood. He was pressing a towel tightly against his bottom. I hurried him inside and helped the other nurses remove his trousers and underwear while keeping pressure over the area that the towel had been covering. His pants had an almost three inch rip across the seat of the trousers. We removed his clothing and began to cleanse away the blood. As we moved closer and closer to the injury, we were able to see the cut was large and deep. We needed to see exactly what had been cut and how large it was. Finally, after much cleaning we changed the towel for a large, absorbent pad. The laceration of his skin was nearly as long as the rip in his pants.

            While we were cleaning and assessing the wound, the man explained that he had been at a party and was shoved onto an empty beer bottle that had been left on a chair. “It shattered and cut me.”

            The glass shard had cut deeply, lacerating his anal sphincter. When the emergency room doctor saw the depth of the wound, its location, and the severity of it, he said, “Keep pressure on it and notify the surgeon on call.”

            One of the other nurses started an I. V. and gave a dose of antibiotic. We hurried to get the man ready for the operating room. I went back to my post in the triage area.

I hadn’t been there for long when a teenage girl walked in. She looked about thirteen or fourteen. I asked her, “May I help you?”

Flippantly and disrespectfully she said, “Yeah, I’m looking for my old man.” This was in the early 1970’s and such a cavalier attitude was unusual and unexpected.

“What’s your father’s name?” I asked.

It was her reply that nearly bowled me over. I could hardly believe what I’d heard.

Without giving me her father’s name, she chirped, “He’s the one with the new A**shole!”

 

Long Weekend

It actually started Thursday. I’ve been contemplating when I would buy a newer car. My 2011 Chevy Malibu was starting to show its age. I’d driven just over 100,000 miles and had no major problems, but superficial rust was beginning in spots around each wheel well. I’ve known it’s needed new struts on the front for more than a year and the tire service gauge alert has been malfunctioning for nearly as long. It was the superficial rust that spurred me into activity. I wanted to wait until spring so I didn’t have to drive a newer car in the winter road salt, but I was afraid that if I waited, the rust would become cancerous and eat away at my vehicle.

I decided to go to C. Harper auto dealership in Connellsville, Pennsylvania. I’d checked their inventory and saw several newer models of Malibu. I liked the way my 2011 drove and looked, so I was lured into their dealership. To make a long story short, I now own a 2018 white Malibu. It’s the same color as my 2011 and unless someone looks closely, they won’t notice the difference.

Friday I attended a writers meeting in Latrobe. Jan, my friend rode with me and said she likes the seats better than the old ones. The seats are easier for her to climb into and out of with more support and the interior roomier. I’m still trying to figure out the radio.

Saturday, I needed some items that probably could have waited, but with the new car, I wanted to get used to driving it. Besides that, the gasoline tank was below half and I’ve always been one of those drivers that like to have their tank more than half full. I think that habit started when my kids were young. Back then, there were no 24 hour convenience stores. They were all closed overnight. I was always concerned that one of my children might be injured or become sick and I wouldn’t be able to get them to the hospital.

While I was out, I noticed my cell phone wasn’t announcing notifications from Facebook. Since I was close, I stopped at the Verizon store to see what was wrong. I met a wonderful representative named Kate. She struggled to find the problem even Googling for information. Others had the same problem and they too had no resolution. One users answer was that it came back spontaneously. I left without the problem being solved, but when I came home, I saw notices that others were having the same problem. Later, it rectified itself.

Yesterday included the usual Sunday activities of church, Sunday school, and Sunday evening services.

Sometimes

It was another busy evening at Frick Hospital emergency department when an ambulance radioed in saying they were bringing another chest pain to our emergency room. That was just what we needed. All of our monitor beds were full, either folk with chest pains or people with shortness of breath. I was wondering what I could do, when the doctor said he was planning to discharge a middle aged man in our bed number eight. He’d been medically cleared, so I grabbed a wheelchair, pulled out his I. V., and moved him into the middle aisle between the bottoms of the beds. I ripped the dirty sheet off the cart, did a quick wipe of the mattress with cleaning fluid, and tossed on a fresh sheet before going back into the triage area.

The man with chest pain, coming in by ambulance now had a bed. I was in the triage area that evening and as I bustled back and forth from triage area to the emergency room desk, I noticed that the man I’d earlier placed in the wheelchair was looking grayer and grayer as he waited for his paperwork to be completed. I decided to check the man in the wheelchair who was still waiting to be discharged. The man looked really sick. But before I could ask, he began to clutch his chest. I was so glad that one of the other beds had opened up. That patient had been admitted to the hospital taken to his room upstairs. The bed still wore a rumpled sheet and hadn’t been cleaned.

 “I need help in here!” I called, as the man started to collapse and slide to the floor out of the chair. A feeling of panic kicked in and I snatched him from the seat and tossed him onto the dirty bed. It was just in time. Normally I wouldn’t have been able to lift the man by myself. But it’s strange how adrenaline can give you extra strength.

The man’s heart had infarcted while waiting to be discharged from the emergency department. He didn’t arrest, but had a massive myocardial infarct. We stabilized him and sent him to a larger facility. I’m glad that we had been busy and the paper work was delayed. If the man had been on his way home and infarcted, he would never have survived. Sometimes things just happen for a reason.

It’s All in What You Say and How You Say It

The new Facebook aps that allow you to warp your image and alter voice reminded me of a story one of my corpsmen friends told me while in training at the Naval Hospital in Great Lakes, Illinois. We were working together one evening when he started to laugh. “What?” I asked. He had just taken something from the hospital supply room. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but he told me that while he was stationed at another hospital he and the others on the ward were horsing around and talking oddly and kidding each other.

He said, “We didn’t have the item that the doctor wanted and I went to another floor to borrow it. The doctor was present and needed it right then. I quickly ducked down to the ward below and asked to borrow the instrument. However, I forgot that we were talking with a silly accent prior to the doctor’s request and when I asked to borrow the instrument from the nurse who was in charge, she actually had a speech impediment and talked almost the same way that I was speaking with my fake speaking accent. I was so embarrassed. It was much too late to explain, even if I wanted too and the doctor was waiting. I didn’t want her to think I was making fun of or mocking her, so it was necessary for me to remember that each time I met her, I had to talk the same way.”

It also reminds me of a time in Orlando, Florida when remembering what to say was imperative. The wife and daughter of a visiting dignitary fell out of a car when the door popped open. They were from Saudi Arabia and spoke no English. The doctor in the emergency department with me and I spoke no Saudi. The only language that these Saudi patients, the doctor, and I spoke that we could all understand was French.

French was their second language and the French that the doctor and I knew was from high school several years before. It was on the verge of a fiasco with us trying to assess the wife and daughter to see if they were seriously injured or having pain anywhere.

Somehow we managed, but I’m sure that it made a real impression on the Saudi lady and her daughter.

Climate Change

Have you ever been at a gathering, at a party, or in a meeting and the atmosphere in a room changes drastically when a certain person enters? Even before he or she says one word, a different feeling fills the room almost immediately. Sometimes upon their entrance the meeting place brightens as though it’s been swathed in warm springtime sunshine or that spotlights have been switched on. Smiles and pleasant conversation continue at a higher level. But when another type of person enters, a thick gray blanket of gloom settles in, a presence that smothers conversation and removes any thoughts of joy or mirth. A wave of melancholy and doom rolls over the gathering like a massive all-encompassing tsunami.

We’ve all met or know people like this. We’ve all been in a group when the first type of person strolls in. This person radiates happiness and joy and becomes a magnet to those who are attending the gathering. There is a concentration to this springboard of blessings. It is almost tangible. Moving around the room this person radiates a sweet smell of contentment and joy throughout the group. Sometimes the person shares memories, sometimes stories, sometimes jokes, but always sharing something of him or herself with the others. This person listens to others and makes them feel comfortable and important.

Then there are the other people who seem to suck the very life out of a group. Like a giant emotional leech that depletes the happiness and joy from others. These people are like a black hole; a vortex, a void that can never be filled. Nothing escapes them; darkness prevails, swallowing up all that is light, bright, or the least bit enjoyable. They’re always taking and never giving. They’re surrounded by an unwelcome aura like the dust that follows Pigpen from the Charlie Brown series.

To me these are the manmade climate changes. God has created the change of seasons, the rain, the snow, and the sunshine. He controls it all. Volcanoes, winds with cyclones and hurricanes, rains or lack of rains are part of his great plan. Mankind may not understand, but those who worship nature instead of the Creator will try to attempt to combat what the LORD has deemed to be appropriate. There is so much energy in an earthquake or a volcanic eruption that men can only record and measure the results. Banning a plastic straw is less than removing a single grain of sand.

I don’t believe in abusing animals nor should we mistreat the environment around, but man saving the planet is farcical. There will come a day when God will destroy the planet and to rebuild it to his complete his will.

 

 

Decay

It becomes terrible realization when a person begins to age and feels the effects of decay on their body. What was once so easy to do now become an adventure. Bones become brittle, joints become less mobile and stiff, muscles weaken, and the brain fogs. Time has a way of wearing on all living creatures and leaves us to recall our youth. Sometimes there’s a desire to cast off the wisdom gathered from our growing years and try to frolic like a colt in springtime. We might yearn to retain the energy and stamina of a small child that still resides inside our aging shell.

Perhaps it’s why God has allowed that desire to turn to him; that hope for something better than we are; a passion to regain the body that he designed to be perfect for us. That’s the body we will gain when we’re transported to heaven.

Mankind earned the decay when Adam and Eve rebelled against God’s will hearkening to the temptation of Satan. The taint of the fruit from the tree of knowing good and evil has changed our bodies that were designed to live forever. I believe that the elements in that fruit changed mankind’s DNA, just like radiation can alter mankind’s genes.

Satan lured God’s creation into committing the very same act of rebellion that caused God to exile Lucifer from his exalted post in heaven and cast him to earth. Satan beguiled the woman telling her the “ye shall be as gods.” He tempted her to sin and through her, reach Adam. He wanted God’s perfect creatures to revolt against God’s will too. Satan, a created being, wanted to corrupt and destroy all of God’s creations. Satan’s anger was still directed at God attempting to thwart God’s will at every turn.

God has given mankind a gift of rejuvenation. Although the body will weaken, decay, and die, God sent his Son Jesus Christ to shed his blood on the cross at Calvary to give a second, never-ending life in a perfect body; an eternal body that will never decay. It is free. The gift from a loving Father to his creation. Christ became the payment for the sin debt.

God created Hell for Satan and those angels which chose to follow him in rebellion. The pit has been enlarged to accommodate mankind that also chooses to live in sin and to continue to revolt and reject Christ as their redeemer.

Are you tired of the aches and pains? There is a cure. God offers this gift freely.

It Sneaked Up on Me

Lately I’ve been trying to write the blurb for my blog posts the day before. It allows me to read what I’ve written and to iron out any mistakes or rough spots. I didn’t yesterday and here I sit this morning. I forgot that today was a Wednesday post day. I used to write a post every day of the week until that became too burdensome.

Recently, I’ve been asked by several people for more people who have read my book “Addie” to write more about her, Daniel, and little Ronnie. That is what I have been doing. I am not sure it will be a story that they will enjoy as much. Although the emotions of this new tale are as intense as “Addie” the plot has shifted from Addie finding the true reason and meaning of love to her granddaughter Hannah.

The book opens with Ron hurrying to his adopted father’s side, summoned by his adopted mother Addie. After a short vigil, Daniel dies and eventually Addie moves into Ron’s home. Ron’s daughter forms a strong bond with her grandmother as she grows from a baby into a young girl. Ron loses his job, Addie dies, and the family must make choices. Hannah is blindsided by the flurry of misfortunes.

Ron finds a job, but it is back in his hometown of Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. Because of limited finances, most of their belongings are sold to make the move. The move away from her school and the only home she has known only added to Hannah’s grief and confusion.

The rest of the novel is to be about the adjustment of the family settling into a new environment and a new routine. It was Ron’s hometown, but everything is new for Hannah: a new neighborhood, a new school, and new people. Will she ever make new friends at school and in the town? What new hurdles will she find? Will there be a turning point for her grief and confusion?

As write, I begin to address these concerns flesh out this skeleton of a plot to a point that it will interest a reader, even one who hasn’t read “Addie.” So, I was engrossed in working out the plot, I completely forgot to write a blog yesterday. If my writing seems a bit rough I apologize. I did have a small and blessed reprieve. I had lunch with my high school friends.

Two Thirty A. M. and I Can’t Sleep

I started the daunting task of looking through the myriad of photographs stored in my home, searching for one specific picture among the thousands that have found lodging in cardboard boxes and plastic tubs. I believe that’s why were stirred and the imaginary troops began the assault on the walls of my brain’s garrison. Up to this point in my life, I’ve always thought memories tried to escape but it seemed those images were trying to get inside and claim the title of “king of the mountain” at the forefront of consciousness.

Relatives who’ve long been deceased rose from their graves. School photos and images of friends who’ve moved away or have changed as they’ve aged stroll before my eyes. Even my own children left a path and were knocking to be allowed inside. Scattered among the photos were remnants of the past. Tidbits of paperwork were resurrected: paid mortgages, hauling permits, deeds, and the ever present tax payments. I uncovered sad memories. Invoices for cemetery plots, contract for memorials, and funerals; ghosts from the past vied for recognition. Old birth certificates, report cards, cradle roll certificates, old driver’s licenses, and even a few old pay stubs made their appearance known.

The recent death of a fellow writer and dear friend was also a factor in my sleepless night. I was notified by her son Tom that Sara “Sally” Martin had passed away. Her life connected with mine in the backroom of the Beanery coffee shop at a writers gathering. Her courage and wit was revealed over several years. At the age of 65, this wonderful friend bicycled around the world, sometimes solo, hitting nearly every continent and through many island nations. Her memoires to that adventure can be found in Mustang Sally’s Guide to World Bicycle Touring. It shares the trials of her journey and insight to her amazing wit. At past meetings she shared her competitive nature with stories of her travels to compete in cross country skiing, swimming, and triathlon events where she received gold in many of the senior events. She once told me, “It’s easier to win when the competitors become fewer each year.”

Her life companion and husband Chuck was a lawyer by trade and an extraordinary photographer with an artist’s eye and poet’s soul. I was fortunate enough to meet Chuck before his passing and to review a few of his black and white masterpieces. Plain people doing daily tasks became a ballet. Sport stars and entertainers became human. Chuck was the only photographer to capture the grief in the Hill District of Pittsburgh the day after the murder of Martin Luther King Jr.

Sally, I miss you.

Gnashing of Teeth

An elderly teacher was admitted with a fractured humerus. Retired for quite a number of years, she’d developed a drinking habit. The fracture was in her upper arm and was to have surgery the next day. For some reason her physician decided to delay the surgery and place it in a hanging cast.

During the night she became extremely agitated, apparently in need of a drink. She thrashed about in her bed and we were fearful she would fall and injure herself further. Placing her into a Geri-chair was no easy task, but once it was done we moved her to the nursing station where she could be watched. We tried many diversionary tactics, but she was adamant that she wanted out of the hospital. She wasn’t rational and she was fuming.

It wasn’t long until we heard, “Click-click... Click-click... Click-click.” We turned to see her waving her injured arm wildly, broken bone ends were grating against each other. We feared the broken ends would cause damage to nerves and blood vessels in her arm. We tried to notify her doctor for medication to calm her down. In the meantime I folded a bath blanket and using several sheets, splinted her arm securely to her body:. Now she really went wild unable to throw her arm around, she screamed to “Take this thing off,” and “Let me go home.” She looked at us with wild eyed fury.

When her free and uninjured hand couldn’t reach the knots, she began to bite at the linens pausing only long enough to scream at us and grab a breath of air. We could only watch, keeping her safe. We hoped she would eventually tire and fall asleep. There was nothing more we could do until her doctor called to give an order to medicate her. What happened next still amazes me to this day. Biting harder and harder, she kept worrying the linens until something flew out of her mouth. Searching the floor we found her two front teeth. She’d bitten down so hard that her teeth popped from her dentures. We’d stopped her from damaging her arm, but we made her so angry she broke her own dentures.

Fearful of the consequences, we called the nursing supervisor explaining the entire episode. She knew how wildly the woman was acting. We had to notify the nursing supervisor before calling the physician. We placed her teeth in her denture cup and put them at her bedside. After several more hours of raging and thrashing about with her non-casted right arm, she finally fell asleep.

Scents and Sensibilities

While I was tidying up the house Tuesday, I saw something that has been there for quite some time. It just became another part of the ordinary things that make up my house. (For those in southwest Pennsylvania, I was doing some redding up.) In a basket in my downstairs powder room, there is a bisque scent ball. It’s almost the size of a tennis ball. Its flat bottom had a small plastic plug and the top sported several small holes like a salt or pepper shaker. It was a pomander ball that was made to hold perfumed body powder and slowly release the scent over many months much like the electric room fresheners of today. Its smooth white surface has a several roses of pale pink with stems and green leaves. It sports a shiny braided gold thread through two of the holes on the top. The cord allows it to be hung in a closet or in an unobtrusive corner of a room. The “Wedgewood” brand and “Made in England” is stamped in pale green print to form a semicircle on the base.

This inexpensive little piece of clay holds a precious memory for me. Either for our first or second Christmas together, I bought it for my wife Cindy. Neither of us had much money. She’d just graduated from California State University and I was a recent Penn State graduate. We’d just bought an acre of land and set up housekeeping in a used mobile home. The land was undeveloped and had to be prepared by scraping out a pad for the trailer and for the driveway. The trailer was towed from Casparis near Connellsville to our lot just outside of Normalville, Pennsylvania. We had to have the electric, telephone, and septic systems installed. Keeping ahead of the bills and paying the mortgage ate up much of our money.

I can’t recall whether I bought the ceramic ball from a mail order catalog or one of the party circuits selling knickknacks, but I thought it was a cute item. I even filled it with some of the bath powder Cindy used. It wasn’t a practical gift and that may be why it has lasted so long. I know Cindy stored it in her lingerie drawer for many years scenting her underclothing. Believe it o r not, the ball has still retained a soft scent from the powder dumped inside over forty years ago.

Delay of Game

Saturday afternoon my family celebrated Christmas. Because of scheduling difficulties it was the first mutually convenient day for our gathering. In the past holidays were around my availability. Employed as a nurse for over thirty years, Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving and even birthday activities were planned for my off days. Now I must bow to the needs of my children just as flexible as they’ve been.

It was a pleasant afternoon and evening with a pot luck type meal. We all had assigned foods, but not the exact recipe and flavors. It was a success, then we could retire to the living room to open gifts. I was so glad that the stack of gifts I’d accumulated over the past year could finally be given out. Gradually, I try to buy things the kids will like or make them smile. I’m not a black Friday shopper. Finding a few items to open and money in a card, and I’m through. I found 3 Snow babies together in a package. All were holding a flat plate that could be written on; instead I had brass plaques with each granddaughter’s first and middle names with their birthday affixed to the babies. It was followed by a short time of an ice cream with toppings. Hugs and goodbye kisses sealed the celebration.

Sunday became another special occasion. Our church hosted Colton Lee and his wife Melody to lead the Saturday night winter retreat. About 12 teens came out to listen to this dynamic man speak and to join the fun activities.

Sunday morning, he spoke to the church congregation about his ventures and their ministry. His calling crossed two fields of endeavor and I am at a loss as to whether he is an evangelist or a missionary. He is really doing both. Colton was one of the young men who were to accompany Pastor Norm Johnston to Madagascar when Norm died the day before they were to leave. It didn’t deter the several men who were to be his traveling companions and brother missionaries. I was impressed as Colton spoke of this excursion and of the leading from God as one plan collapsed and another door opened. One item was he mentioned was planned travel arrangements fell through. They met a local pastor that connected them with and allowed them to journey with the President of their target province in Madagascar. My tears welled up as Colton spoke of my dear friend, Pastor Johnston and of this mission trip that Norman was never to see. Even though he was no longer present, it was as if Pastor Norm spurred these young men to greater depths of dedication.

They Had a Certain Ring

One evening while working at Frick Hospital, I triaged an elderly woman who’d been brought in by ambulance for shortness of breath. I directed the crew to a bed. Upon returning to the triage area I asked a man of middle age who seemed to have arrived with her to join me. I needed to gather information to make her chart. I had assumed correctly that he was her son.

As I began to question him in the triage cubicle, I noticed his ring. It was a plain, thick band of gold with three diamonds imbedded deeply within the smooth metal. The top of each stone was flush with the surface of the gold band. Each stone flashed a brilliant blue-white flame beneath the overhead fluorescent lights. It was that bright sparkle that caught my attention. I couldn’t resist commenting on their beauty.

“That ring is absolutely gorgeous,” I said. “Those diamonds look fantastic.”

His ears perked up, then he said, “Oh, do you know diamonds?”

I replied, “I don’t know very much about diamonds, but I do know what I like, and that ring is just beautiful.”

He explained, “I used to be a jeweler, but I am retired now. I saved three of my favorite perfect blue-white diamonds. These three stones weigh just over three carats, and before I retired, I made them into a ring for myself, setting them in gold.”

He called another gentleman from the waiting area. “Show him your ring,” the son said. The other man held out his hand for me to see. It was another plain gold band, but less thick than the one that the jeweler was wearing. There was a single stone, but it was large blood-red ruby. It seemed to draw life from the overhead lights and a glow seemed to come from somewhere deep inside. The top of the ruby was set higher than the surface of his thinner gold band.

The jeweler said, “This was another ring that I made for my friend.”

The simplicity of each band made each stone the centerpiece. The ruby ring was just as remarkable as the diamond clad band. Both rings oozed craftsmanship and expensiveness.

A Bit Worn and Weary

Monday afternoon, I joined several men from our church to help another of our church members load her belongings onto a rental truck. She was making the trek to her new home near Atlanta, Georgia. Her husband was transferred there by his company. They’d purchased the home several years ago causing them to have a long distance marriage. Business interests, health issues, and the selling of the two homes they owned locally kept the wife on the road travelling. Now that those matters were settled, she was free to finally make the transition. She could join her husband, many cats, and her black Lab Jake.

She’d already taken several truckloads to her new home, with several more boxed and waiting to be moved. Much of her possessions were hand-me-downs filled with memories and because she is a Pittsburgh Steelers fan, there was a fair amount of memorabilia. Even though she was a transplanted person from Michigan, she became an avid Steelers fan, going to training camps and collecting clothing, photographs, and autographs from many of the gridiron heroes.

But back to the loading; many of the boxes were on the first floor of her home. The basement was under the first floor and a stairway with nearly a dozen steps was between the front door and the driveway below. It was always a relief when I carried a light box. The boxes were standard moving boxes. I had to tread carefully, peering around the carton as I descended. Now that I am older, I don’t bounce anymore and am more likely to break.

After four and a half hours, the truck was almost full. A few items waited to be loaded on Tuesday morning before she began her journey southward. We men were in constant motion, lifting, carrying, and packing the boxes into the cargo area. I normally live a more sedate life than this and Monday evening, every joint and muscle in my body was complaining, “What were you thinking? You’re not 25 any longer.”

Tuesday morning muscles were feeling less sore, but my joints were still complaining. I decided to try and teach them who was boss. I cleaned both of my bathrooms, washed and dried a load of laundry, and hauled in a wheelbarrow load of firewood. My joints are still protesting as we enter a new year.

Have a happy and prosperous New Year.