Two white (tan-challenged) chicks looking for Huck Finn & Jim

Discharged on Friday

My weeks’ service at the nursing home is complete. And I have to admit to missing it a bit. The Warden claims that I was getting “too much attention” from the gray-haired set. I guess I never should have mentioned “Esther.” I did find one resident who was under 50, but she left on Thursday after spending two weeks recuperating from an accident. I did feel especially young throughout the week, even though a head cold descended upon me around Wednesday.

The middle of the week also brought some sad news in our family as we heard of the passing of my brother-in-laws’ mom. She was a contemporary to many that I worked around (literally) during the week. I thought of Fran as I received the multitude of smiles and gracious hellos as I continuously walked the halls going from room to room. Fran was like another grandmother to our kids, always remembering them and asking about their progress. (Our kids are truly spoiled, or better stated “blessed,” with two sets of devoted grandparents and other supportive and concerned senior adults. Well, on second thought, they probably need that to deal with their parents.)

But back to the “care center.” This place, which is operated by the Volunteers of America, has an amazing positive spirit. Words of encouragement and laughter were common in the halls, and it seemed genuine. In the schedule were at least daily hymn sings, Bible studies, or worship services, along with reading from the newspaper, sing-a-longs, craft sessions and scores of other events that were well-attended. I would sometimes plan my work in certain rooms to be near to where the music was being sung, especially the hymns.

I did have to endure something this week, however, that I can normally avoid—daytime television. Usually the TVs were left on in the rooms as the residents were off doing other things. Not many were actually watching the tubes. And that’s good. The garbage on the screen provided a stark contrast to the overall good-natured atmosphere present in the halls and commons. This wasn’t the worst example, but I do remember Regis, and whoever his sidekick is, oooh and ahhh over some Hollywood bimbo I’ve never heard of and how great she looked in her $10,000 dresses. I’m glad I have a day job.

One sad encounter was with a blind lady whose room I visited repeatedly one day. She was awaiting a ride to take her shopping at 1 p.m. I was working on her walls before and during and after that time. She would continually inquire as to the time and wonder what happened. As the hour arrived and passed I continually tried to offer her hope (the day’s rain might have hampered traffic, I said.) However, her ride never came. Her day was spent a little like the characters in Beckett’s novel “Waiting for Godot.” The good news though is that the following day she was gone. I’m assuming that her ride did come, maybe she had the day mixed up or maybe her ride did. But I’ll go on assuming that they hooked up and enjoyed an outing together.

Next week my job will go back to “normal,” just me and the walls, with no worries of dropping mud on individuals or in beds. But I’ll probably miss the constant hellos and the sweet refrains of “Amazing Grace” coming from the adjoining rooms.

Finally Advancing to a Nursing Home

I was planning to have a slow week at work—finally. But. A buddy called last Friday to see if I could squeeze in a job near home. I agreed to and am spending my week at a “Care Center.” My assignment began at 6:45 Monday morning as I met the “sup” for the job. He had never worked in a “retirement home” before, so he was eager to tell me all about it, what to look out for and what to expect. He wanted to warn me about “Esther” who was continually putting the moves on him. (He assumed that she was after all the guys and wanted me to be prepared, but after two days I’ve come to realize that she is not after all the guys, and I am safe. This 80-something gal is after him, continually asking about this 40 year-old guy with all his hair, wondering when he’ll be back.)

This job supervisor’s warnings along with some initial encounters with staff got me wondering what I had gotten myself into. Needing some water early Monday morning, I looked in vain for a janitor’s sink. Finally I chased down a maintenance guy pushing a floor polisher to ask for water. This character looked like he had come straight from the zombie film, “Night of the Living Dead.” He made no response to my question, but continued walking, pushing the machine in front of him, staring straight ahead. He walked about 30 feet and then stopped, reached for a door handle, opened it, and then continued walking. It sure seemed he was happy to be there. But after two full days I’m finding it quite delightful.

This morning I was anxious to tackle another unit. I’m working on a total of 12 rooms plus a few patches in the stairways. It was raining outside; the rooms were dark, since the drapes had not yet been pulled. I brought in some of my tools and materials to the first room of the day and a funky odor overcame me. The room looked vacant, but I looked toward the “ladies’ room” in the back to see if someone was using the facilities. Nobody was in there. I decided to open the curtains. The room was brightening as the smell was intensifying. Ah ha! The culprit lay beneath me. I had been straddling a stool, and not one upon which I’d like to sit. I informed the staff and they were gracious enough to quickly remove the offending article, but the stench seemed to linger well past the time I was in there.

My 3 o’clock hour at the “old folk’s home” today was a treat, since I got to hear a well-done hymn sing from the commons area, the music loud enough that it drifted into the room where I finished up the day.

I’m finding that the biggest challenge is turning out to be the “convalescence home” heat, temperatures high enough to make the folks think they are in Florida. When nobody’s looking I sometimes crack open a window to get a little fresh air. But other than that, the overall mood and atmosphere is very upbeat and I’m looking forward to heading back tomorrow to once again play in the mud.

The ?

PBS had a worthwhile program last night called “The Question of God.” TiVo allowed me to watch it late last night. (We’ve had TiVo for over a year now, having succumb to my two brothers’ insistence that it is so much better than a VCR—I agree. And what the Warden did not think we needed she uses more than me. Thank heaven honey.) But back to the show.

The program is based on a course taught by Armand Nicholi, a psychiatry professor at Harvard University. He has his students examine the lives and writings of two individuals with opposite conclusions about the ultimate questions of life, namely Sigmund Freud and C.S. Lewis. The program featured actual photos of the two at different stages of their lives. And it used some believable actors who recited some of their more noteworthy quotes.

In between the short segments which explained these two’s divergent views a panel of thoughtful folk from varying perspectives offered their commentary on the topic at hand. It was fair-handed and balanced. Everyone seemed to get an equal say, and no one shouted over anyone else. (Where is Chris Matthews when you need him? Just kidding. It was fun to see some civility this time of year.) Instead of getting on soapboxes, the panel members were actually trying to directly answer questions raised by the other members of the panel.

I think part of the reason the format of this show worked so well is that the two individuals whose ideas were discussed set such a high standard in the clarity of their own thoughts. They had both been well versed in the positions which they ultimately rejected. They knew well their “enemy.” And thus, they weren’t ones to give simplistic answers to their philosophical foes.

The worldviews at which these two men finally arrived cannot be more different. Complete rationalism (or materialism or scientism) as advocated by Freud and an historic Christianity open to supernatural intervention posited by Lewis. The distinctions were quite clear.

The theory that the host proposes though is that all of us as individuals waver to some degree between these two poles. Because of this, he was continually prying into the lives of those on the panel, encouraging them to tell their own stories. He continued to ask about their histories and the development of their worldviews. We never get Nicoli’s position on things though. He plays the neutral moderator well.

It was hard to fall asleep last night after viewing the show even thought it neared midnight. It was an engaging first half of a program that I look forward to seeing next Wednesday. Part two airs on PBS on the 22nd, 9 p.m. Central.

au naturel

Dealing with Today’s Pressing Issues in a Cold, Rational Manner not allowing my Personal Biases to Flavor this Report

I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream, especially if it’s Breyers. But hey! What’s the scoop? If you look in the lower right hand corner, what do you see? A half gallon of ice cream is now 1.75 quarts? Is this some metric conspiracy? Are we being short-changed by the Canadians? Or is this a helpful move on the part of greedy corporate America to allow us to more easily insert our ice cream in the door slots of the standard refrigerator freezer? Or is it merely a way for a Chicago company that uses only REAL ingredients to compete with all the ice cream manufacturing wannabees that dilute their cream with all sorts of unpronounceable chemicals?

I’m trying to make sense of it all as I scoop bowl after bowl. Tell me I needn’t switch. I’m not left-leaning enough to swallow Ben & Jerry’s. And the Blue Bunny and other generic boxes allow foreign odors to seep in and contaminate my nightly pleasure. Hmmmmmm.

I know. It just came to me. It must be the FDA. This has conspiracy written all over it. The ever expanding government is trying to lower my cholesterol level by chiseling away at my sustenance. If they’re successful at this, what’s next? Will quarter-pounders weight only .18 pounds? Will a double cheeseburgers have only one piece of cheese? Will a Whopper be eaten with only one hand?

It’s a scary new world out there. Next time I eat ice cream, I better only look at the pictures.

Men’s Retreat

I signed up my two boys and myself for a Men’s Retreat in October at our church’s Bible Camp in northern Minnesota, but I’m a little bit worried. It could be dangerous this year.

I attended last year and had a great time. We played lots of paintball and board games, ate a lot, and listened to an interesting shrink. He was a former pastor who now counsels people for a lot more money than he made as a pastor. He fit in well with all the crazies that ran around the camp shooting each other with paintball guns—uh, excuse me that’s paintball MARKERS. Lest anyone think that this is a violent game, just because we nurse our welts each evening after the hard fought battles.

This year’s speaker will not be a shrink though. Instead they’ve lined up a heretic. That’s where the danger lies.

This is the second year in a row that our non-Baptist denomination has lined up a speaker from the Baptist General Conference (the SWEDISH Baptists, I suppose that "tempers" the Baptist part.) Both pastors have ties to Bethel University (formerly College—the BGC school), but I guess that’s what we get for living in Minnesota. This year’s pastor is a former professor at Bethel. He claims to have left to spend more time at his ever-growing church. (No longer attending Bethel and not a Baptist myself, I am not privy to all of the politics that took place surrounding his leaving. Maybe it was entirely his decision, but it seems that adequate pressure was applied to force his hand. At least that’s my take from the inadequate hearsay to which I should not be listening.)

This year’s speaker has received a lot of criticism for some of his preaching and writing. He has been an outspoken advocate of an open theism, which his critics claim to be a very dangerous heresy. Those coming from a Calvinistic position see his views as more extreme than Arminianism. They see him denying God’s sovereignty. Of course, his response is that an openness view bridges the gap between the above two views and is a healthy response to a hyper-Calvinism that squelches any free-will and leads to a dangerous fatalism.

So what am I doing taking my boys to hear this dangerous heretic? Well, I hear he’s a great drummer, and maybe he’ll have time for a few helpful pointers for the aspiring musicians.

Of course I am kidding. But seriously, he is a great drummer, but more important he’s also a great preacher and thinker. I’ve read many of his books and hear him occasionally on the radio. Greg Boyd presents a much needed word of urgency to those who become complacent in their spiritual life. He fights hard against a hyper-Calvinist mindset that can degrade into a dry apathy. We can all use a wake up call once in a while.

I’m still not sure where I line up or fall down on the subject of free will and predestination (I’m also a big fan of some Calvinists), but I think it will be helpful for them to hear a worthy, top notch proponent of the non-Calvinist side of the argument.

Now I should probably start looking for a decent Calvinist that can play a mean set of drums. Well, maybe that’s a stretch. I don’t know if there is such a creature—well, maybe a three-point Calvinist, but definitely not a five-pointer. Send me your suggestions. Even if it's a Baptist.

Protecting One’s Brew

Because I come from a tradition that straddles the line between evangelicalism and Lutheranism, I wonder if I can shed some light on some of the animosity that occasionally arises between the above two traditions. Although the temperance movement of the past century was not the sole property of any one denomination or single religious branch, it was probably most welcomed within the evangelical camp.

So as one who is more evangelical than not, and even though I prefer fine coffees and teas (and occasionally a fine wine), I now declare (in the tradition of Pope John Paul who has made ecclesiastical apologies chic) that we are extremely sorry for prohibition. We will never again try to steal your beer.

May you always have enough brewsky to sport beer-bellies that you can be proud of. May your ales always be handy enough to treat any ailment. And may you nurse your brews long enough to let us allow our lattés to cool.

Cheers!

Two more observations

Last night I had planned on adding two more observations of this past weekend. However, I glanced at an interesting, exhaustive web-site and was lost for the evening.

I forgot to mention the stars in SW Minnesota. I’ve heard that they’re the same ones that can be found in the Metro, but oh what a difference the lack of city lights makes. I know this from past trips to the sticks; but with a late rising moon, they were simply majestic. They warmly greeted us as we arrived late on Friday evening. But they didn’t provide much help as we attempted to back our trailer into the pitch black wooded area which was to be our camping spot for the weekend. It’s a good night when the little dipper is almost as visible as the big one, and the Milky Way band of light looks as appealing as the candy bar. A good night for stars always reminds me of the line from Rich Mullins’ song “Sometimes by Step” where he sings of nights like this causing him to think of Abraham and “how one star he [Abraham] saw had been lit for me.” Looking up into the sky at night can not only bridge the gap between us and those half a world away (hello Mai and Inga), but it also links us to generations past (and future?).

The other observation I meant to make concerned three days without radio, TV, or newspapers. It was nice. With so much heartache and violence filling the airwaves everyday, it was good to get a reprieve. On the day we left the news reports were escalating from the Russian school. On one hand it’s not good to be ignorant of the extreme evil present in this world, but it’s also not healthy to have too rich a diet of bad news. The weekend isolation from tragedy was soothing for me. The extent of the challenges for us was an overly moody teen-ager and a Georgia-like humidity. We survived both.

the creek next to the campground 

There's probably some long scientific name for what this is. I just think it looks cool. 

Back North

For those of you downwind, I have now showered. And it’s been good to sit and stand above water again.

It’s amazing how God can continue to impress me with His creation. Southeastern MN is a beautiful place. With hints of the Appalachians, we breathed in foggy air, drank in crystal clear cold water bubbling up from a spring at the entrance of a cave at the base of a 75 foot wall of limestone, and played Frisbee golf in a meadow which was home to about 50 dairy cows.
We rode our bikes, but wimped out in choosing a state bike trail that was actually too easy. The 6.5 mile section we chose was a continual 2 to 3 percent declining grade and only took us about 20 minutes. We would have continued on, but we had pre-arranged where the non-bikers dropped off our van.

About 100 Amish families live in this section of MN, between Harmony, Lanesboro, and Preston. Our daughter freaked out when we sped by a high-school-aged boy sporting a foot-long beard and riding his black carriage behind the tow of a very in-shape horse. They were going uphill almost as fast as we were heading downhill.
We even got to hear some live Accordion music as we waited in line for our homemade ice cream at the Wurst Haus.

Our dog Raven was thrilled with the nearby trout stream. He jumped in, lapped up a good portion of his daily water requirement, and seemed content to spend the entire day checking things out—chillin’, literally. Maybe he was catching the scent of trout. We discovered he has a real appetite for shrimp cooked in butter and herbs.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot the cave. We spent an hour cooling off on our 85 degree Saturday. The cave offered us a cool 48 degrees plus amazing colorful formations. It’s incredible all the grandeur that is hidden from us at ground level as we go from place to place. Our “in person Discover Channel” was a good work out too. I believe we descended more than 200 feet, only to turn around and climb up the same way. Why didn’t God put elevators in caves? I’m glad the air-conditioning was working so well in that cave. The cave is named Niagara because of its 60 foot waterfall inside. Over 300 weddings have been performed inside the cave in its chapel.

But now I’m home and there is this amazing TV-like screen on my desk with a keyboard in front of it. And it’s plugged into the wall and I can read about stuff from all over the world. Wow. What would the Amish think? They probably wouldn’t be impressed. Oh well.

The Warden is taking me and the young-ins south for a few days. 

Brave and New

Over my breakfast bowl (yeah I’m back to plain Quaker oatmeal) I just finished a review of the Brave New Workshop’s latest comedy offering. Situated in the middle of “Uptown,” where Wellstone bumper stickers are still required for on-street parking, BNW has offered up some awesome humor over the years. Four years ago they unfortunately bombed with “Dead Man Running.” But with their new show, it sounds like they might have a winner. This year’s salute to the 2004 campaign is “Electile Dysfunction; or two Johns, a Dick, and a Bush.”

I don’t know if the Swansmith and myself are quite up for show, but at least it sounds like it wouldn’t make us Ralph.

Mmmmmm. . .  

Cereal Connoisseur

I may not be able to properly evaluate fine wines, but I do know a good cereal when I find it. Of late my weakness has been Honey Bunches of Oats with Real Peaches. “With Real Strawberries” is also very good.

My breakfast staple for the past two years has a large bowl of oatmeal with a sprinkling of brown sugar—one of those cholesterol lowering deals. So I have not been as adventurous during the early morning hours as I once was. However, about once a week I treat myself to some sugar-laced, pre-packaged, overly-marketed, chemical-fortified, coupon-bearing breakfast cereal. Sometimes it’s General Mills (that British hero from the Falklands conflict), other times it’s Kellogg’s, but this time it’s Post.

And today’s Post treat was not an early morning event—oatmeal filled my ever-expanding gut before work. The HBOOWRP was both an appetizer and dessert for this evening’s leftovers meal. The main course was yesterday’s refried (make that remicrowaved) tacos. But being limited to one, I was forced to supplement.

HBOOWRP has been my cereal of choice for about a month now. It has reminded me of some of my past loves, like Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Honey Nut Cheerios, Oatmeal Crisp Apple Cinnamon, Corn Pops (back when they were “Sugar Pops”), Brown-sugar Mini-Wheats, Grape Nuts, and Grape Nuts Flakes. I’m sure there have been more, but these have won my heart and tummy and stuck in my memory.

I missed it.

I missed it. I really missed it! Did you all miss it too? I think Suzi, you know ‘the Swansmith,’ missed it. I wish that I hadn’t; but I unintentionally did. Maybe it was the effort spent anticipating my birthday, or maybe it was Mai’s presence, or maybe it was the attention we gave to Raven’s allergies that kept us from not celebrating the event at our house.
But next year will be different. We will—whether you like it or not—send out reminders. August 22nd was National Punctuation Day. And don’t you forget it?