G.K. Chesteron

I borrowed a book from the Canal Fulton Library, Collected Works, by G.K. Chesterton.

This man is one of the great Christian writers; have you heard of him?  I just started reading the book and started with a short story, "The Wild Goose Game."  A boy sees a wild goose and just knows he has to chase it.  So he leaves everything behind and goes off on this adventure.  He's met up with a number of different birds already, but now he encounters a wise, old owl for answers as to how to find the beautiful, white, wild goose. 

The owl asks him why he wants to find this particular bird.  "I think," said the little boy, "I seem to have followed it because I couldn't get it."   "Logical," sniffed the Owl.  "No," replied the Boy, "not logical, only natural.  I looked at the white bird flapping far away against the fiery sunset and I seemed to long to spend my whole life seeking for it in the strange sunset lands.  I longed to follow it and find where it lived and all about it simply because it seemed as if the chase might last forever."

Chesterton's works have strong Christian themes running through them, and I suspect that the white bird has a deep-seated meaning, but I'll have to keep reading to find out.  Meanwhile, the writer has hooked me because we can all relate to this little boy and his quest.  I'd bet that each one of you who reads this blog has had some kind of quest that has gone on for a long, long while.  And I'd also be willing to bet that the quest continues in part because you have not been able to reach the goal.

We humans are wired that way by God, I think, because all of our lives the most important quest that we undertake -- that of reaching heaven -- is just over the horizon in the lands of the fiery sun.  We know so little about it and we want to know everything about it. 

Writers have been trying to tell us about heaven over the ages.  A more recent book, "Heaven is For Real," deals with a near death experience of a child.  One of the neatest parts of the book for me was when he saw his grandfather (whom he had never known), and recognized a picture of him in a photo album.  Another great part was his response in answer to questions that Catholics had asked about heaven.  He said that, yes, Mary was in heaven with Jesus and was always right by her.  In another book about heaven, this one written with a lot of Bible references, the author says that he believes we will play sports in heaven, have our own room, and visit with whomever we want but will tend to visit with the same people (our favorites).

 My sister always asks, "But where ARE they?"  This we do not know for sure.  Faith is not science.  Faith is believing in something that we cannot see, an amazing gift.  It is a gift we cannot explain to those who do not believe; it is a gift that we have to show through our lives and how we live them.

A Bible leader once said that faith is like a gift sitting on the table.  And it will continue to sit there all wrapped in finery until we take the time to open it. 

So if you haven't opened it, please do so.  If you have opened it, but it needs a little dusting off, please do so.  And if you haven't read Chesterton, make a little note and do so.

For doing the work of the Lord requires perspiration and also inspiration.

Mr. Archer

Yesterday was the funeral Mass for Herb Archer, 85 years old, and a long-time parishioner at SS Philip & James Church.  There were many, many people at church and that should make all of his family members very proud. 

Herb's primary job was as an employee at Superior Meats for 31 years.  He then drove a school bus for Northwest Schools for 17 years. 

Two of the people who sang in the choir for his Mass were among those Herb transported here and there.  For one of them, it was the Archers' garage where they waited to take the bus to Central Catholic High School.  For another one of them, Mr. Archer was her bus driver for a long while.  According to Fr. McCaffrey, those bus loads of kids were "his" kids to Mr. Archer who took the job very seriously and put a lot into it.

One of those bus riders was Jill.  Jill Burke started out as Jill Galehouse in Canal Fulton, Ohio, and it was obvious from a young age that she was blessed with a wonderful singing voice.  Then Jill became Jill Jordan and she went to Nashville and was under contract for a period of years.  She never really achieved the highest eschelon of fame in the country/western genre, but you would not have known that yesterday when she sang two songs for Herb.   Jill was Country Newcomer of the Year in 1989, quite the honor from a competitive industry, and her beautiful voice remains strong and true.  Her talent today is shown in nursing homes where she entertains residents.

The first song was during Communion -- Ave Maria.  After Communion, she sang Heirloom, a country song familiar to most of us and made popular by Amy Grant. 

I think that the words are profound and should resonate with every one of us.  Who doesn't have boxes of photos and a few "heirlooms" about?  Who doesn't have containers of memories?  And really, in the grand scheme of things, what does all of this stuff mean except for the people we love captured in that moment in time.

So this is Heirloom. 

• Songwriters: Brown Bannister, Robert Burk Farrell, Amy Lee Grant

Up in the attic, down on my knees
Lifetimes of boxes, timeless to me
Letters and photographs, yellowed with years
Some bringing laughter, some bringing tears

Time never changes the memories, the faces
Of loved ones who bring to me
All that I come from and all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious family is more than an heirloom to me

Wisemen and shepherds down on their knees
Bringing their treasures to lay at His feet
Who was this wonder, baby yet King?
Living and dying, He gave life to me

Time never changes the memory, the moment
His love first pierced through me
Telling all that I come from and all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious Savior is more than an heirloom to me

My precious Jesus
Is more than an heirloom to me.



It says a lot.



. 

Thursday

What are we going to talk about today?

An NFL star is charged with murder.  Another jury needs to be seated to determine the fate of Jodi Arias -- life or the death penalty.  The George Zimmerman trial is in full swing in Florida.

Do soap operas imitate life or does life imitate soap operas?  It's kind of hard to say these days.  Each of the above mentioned stories involves a death.  Three people are dead after contact with Aaron Hernandez, Jodi Arias and George Zimmerman.  That makes it much different than a soap opera where after the taping is over, everyone gets to go home.

I almost hate to admit that I watched the made-for-TV movie about Jodi Arias a few days ago.  It seemed to follow fairly closely the details that were provided in the newspapers and on TV.  I did not watch the trial.  The bottom line -- it would seem that Ms. Arias was not about to share "her" man with anyone else.  And it would seem that Travis Alexander was leading a secret life, one that he did not share with his closest Mormon friends who would certainly not have approved. 

George Zimmerman may be the type of person who loves the rush, and didn't find much of that in his personal life.  Being a watch captain gave him that thrill; phoning 911 about suspicious characters gave him that thrill; being out at night with a gun gave him that thrill.  There is so much he-said, he-said in this case that it is hard to say what will happen.  But if you go by the experts on TV, his attorney didn't do him any favors today while questioning the girl that Treyvon was talking to at the time of his death.

The NFL player's story is a little vague right now.  The authorities are keeping whatever evidence they have fairly quiet.  Apparently, the victim in this case did know Hernandez and his body was found only about a mile away from the house belonging to Hernandez.  Bags of evidence was removed from his house.

When I was still working at Akron, I took some for-credit classes.  One of them was criminal justice, and it was really excellent.  Our system of justice in the United States is an adversarial one by its very nature.  The "state" prosecutes the accused and the defense defends the accused.  Each is supposed to do their very best to provide the jury or in some cases the judge with all of the available information.  The scales of justice should balance out.

What does all of this have to do with life in a small town and faith? 

It just goes to show that no matter how small the town, all of us have information about what goes on in the world to the extent that we want to know.  It's everywhere, and 24 hours a day.  It means to me that we see played out in the cases mentioned above that there is good and evil.  Each one of us would certainly hope that we would make better choices -- choices based on what we know and understand about right and wrong.

And that goes for big towns and small towns too.

Amen.

Renovation

There is a new reality show -- probably hard to believe, right?  It's called "Renovation Raiders" and the premise is that the husband knows but the wife doesn't that after they return from an evening out, their house will have undergone a drastic makeover.

In six hours they completely gutted a kitchen, did electrical and plumbing work, replaced all appliances and added one (wine cooler), installed hardwood floors, painted and decorated.  They practice in a warehouse using the actual layout of the house they will be working on.  Then they load up some of the prefabbed stuff into a box truck and off they go. 

The unsuspecting wife ate a seven course meal with her husband and then found out (surprise) that their tire was flat, thanks to a good friend of theirs who acted as spy to let the raiders know what was going on.

Wouldn't it be great if we could completely renovate ourselves in six hours?  And I'm not talking about physical condition here.  I'm talking about our souls.  In Bible studies, we talked about how God helps us to remember our past sins, particularly those we've chosen to bury deep.  A few times lately as I've been otherwise occupied except for my mind that's busily humming along, I'll suddenly get a bolt out of the blue -- a memory of something that I did a long, long time ago.  Something that hurt someone else's feelings for sure.

It's humbling and that's just what it should do. 

When we were at Marblehead, I asked my sister whom she really misses there.  Her house sits on Bayshore Drive and then there is a lane that runs straight down to the lake with houses on each side.  The original owners of her house sold off parcels and created an association for the homeowners.  There is a dock and some open space at the end of the lane where Lake Eric comes into view.  Currently, only one husband-wife live there year round.  She answered that she missed the Kreigers.  They hailed from North Lawrence and had the cottage closest to the lake.  They loved to fish!!

The last time she had spoken to Carrie Kreiger, the elderly woman wasn't doing very well and was in a nursing home.  So when I got home, I checked online and found out that she died in February 2012.  So I let my sister know that.  Mrs. Kreiger was a well known figure in volunteer circles.  She was a very giving person, but she was also earthy and forthright.

Goes back to what I was saying about six hours -- the approximate amount of time it takes to fly from Cleveland to Los Angeles including check in and out.  We may not be able to clean out the cobwebs in six hours, but we can try an hour at a time, can't we?  For prayer is like a good housecleaning for our souls.  We pray for others and God works on us.

Bad storms last night.  I pray for the families in Canton that were so hard hit!! 

The Essence of Faith

The trip to Marblehead was just what the doctor ordered.  The weather, though hovering at 90 degrees on Saturday, was still beautiful and there was a breeze as there almost always is by Lake Erie.

Martha and Molly's was open as we had hoped, still operated by the older gentleman we've come to admire and enjoy.  My husband's comment to him when we walked into the shop and found him in his usual windowed spot by the cash register was, "Hi Martha."  My retort was, "Eric, that was actually very funny."  Another shopper smiled at us in amusement.

As we rode in the car back to the cottage after getting some sandals, my husband said he'd asked the owner about the nun who had always purchased her shoes there.  She made the trip once a year for the longest of times, and the last pair he had ordered for her, size 16, had been on display when we first visited the shop years before.  They were quite the conversation piece.  He'd ordered them for her yearly summer visit, but she never again came.

Lately, I've been ruminating about deep thoughts that often come out of nowhere.  The visit to Marblehead did nothing to change that, and in fact, probably made me more introspective.  I've been thinking about birth, life and death.  The mystery of it all.  Now I'm using a two-week trial membership in Ancestry.com to ferret out more information about people I hardly got to know.  People whose genes I must certainly share.

During the weekend, my sister answered more questions about our grandfather.  He had started at 26 as a newly-minted American, and according to a copy of a scrap of paper related to his naturalization, he lived at that time in New York City.  Using Google Earth, I typed in the address and found myself on a street looking at a brownstone with the exact address hand written on a basement door.  Already knowing what came next, my grandfather's humble beginning in the US was a blip on the radar screen.  Soon he became an accomplished chef (trained by his successful brother) and was head chef at a huge resort in the Catskill Mountains with 1,200 rooms and also a very fancy eatery in Cleveland, the Union Club.  He and his Alsatian-born wife (as was he) built a home on West Boulevard in Cleveland in 1902.  Another trip on Google Earth plunked me right in front of a handsome two-story home with almost 1900 square feet, four bedrooms, and one bathroom.  The stock market crash decimated my grandfather's savings, and he and his wife sold their home to a well-known Cleveland gangster, Jimmy Patton.  They moved to a much more modest home in Fairview Park, my hometown.  During the last years of his life closing in on 70 he rode a trolley to work where he was a night watchman, and his home was a rented room.  He spent the last two months of his life in a hospital suffering from cancer of the gallbladder.  Gathered in his room, family members were speaking of his death while he was in a coma.  My mother instead looked at him and kindly told them that he could hear, since a huge tear ran down his cheek.  And then it was over.  This man who had known such success, who had been in the Knights of Columbus, who had owned a beautiful home and beautiful furniture, who had cooked for the rich and the famous, was gone from his family.  His faith was all he had at the end.

Today's readings at Mass were about the apostles' realization that Jesus was the Christ, not a resurrected prophet as many people thought.  The paragraph ended with the words of Jesus, that we should pick up our own cross and follow him.

To pick up our cross means to accept all of the hardships and burdens of this life, but even much more than that -- to do the work of our Lord.  There are crosses made of mahogany, a naturally red wood that might appear to be stained with blood.  There are crosses of deep brown oak, one of the sturdiest of woods, revealing a loyal servant of God.  There are platinum crosses that reflect the light of the sun and the Son.  There are gold crosses that I imagine being carried by the saints because of their worth to the world.  There are acrylic crosses that are translucent, showing a soul of great purity and one that hides almost nothing.  There are huge crosses and very small ones.  All of the crosses are gifts to us because according to Jesus, we help complete his suffering on Calvary not that He needed us to do that.  He has given us that chance. 

A bioptic on TV on Sunday about H. Graham Greene, a writer who happened to be a convert to Catholicism, described one of his books about a priest who greatly sinned.  Greene was criticized by many for the book, but his comment was that the mysterious and unfathomable mercy of God is certainly found in those who need it the most.  I paraphrase here, but you get the idea.

Greene traveled the world more or less trying to escape from himself.  Honestly, his trips to the Congo, Mexico, Vietnam, and other remote places put no distance between him and what he feared most.  That he could not wrap his mind around the Divine Mercy of God forgiving all of his sins and apparently there were many.  He didn't need to go to all of those places to find meat for his stories or answers to the deepest of questions.  Inspiration is everywhere -- which takes us right back to Marblehead which has oft been mine.

Have a great Tuesday!!

Friday/Saturday

This post will have to suffice for both Friday and Saturday, so I suppose it should be doubly good. 

We are leaving this morning for Marblehead on Lake Erie to visit with my sister, so basically we are trading one small town for another.

Marblehead gets its name from the limestone quarries that are still operational there.  It's a jutting out of land that ends at its point with a beautiful white, trimmed-in-red lighthouse.  A must see for visitors.  The beautiful light tender's cottage is just darling.  And the crazy part is you turn down this driveway that takes you right by a church in a residential area, and there in front of you is the lighthouse.  It remains in operational but it is open now and again for tours.  Check first.

The "downtown" of Marblehead is about the same size as Canal Fulton, maybe a little smaller.  There are some unusual shops along the strip of land and no traffic lights.  Let's pretend to visit some of them.  Embellish is a little shop that sells women's clothing -- Fresh Produce brand for one.  There are gauzy little skirts and dresses for warm summer evenings, shorts, tops, and trendy things that come and go.  Some of their jewelry items are lovely.  The clothes are not cheap and they are for mature women.

Martha and Molly's is a really interesting shop.  The owner is an older gentleman who is an expert buyer.  He focuses on shoes and some clothing.  The place is packed with goods arranged on folding tables and you can always find something to like.  The shoes are excellent quality and many of them are Minnetonka brand which seem to hold up very well; in fact, he told us last year that he got an award from Minnetonka for selling more shoes than anyone in the region.  Not surprising.  This is obviously my favorite shop.  I have a number of nice zippered jackets for cooler weather, as well as some very individual tee shirts -- all purchased at Martha and Molly's.  And there is neither a Martha nor a Molly in case you were wondering. 

Across the street is an antiques store.  It's worth a visit too; if not to buy, then to appreciate some nostalgia. 

Another spot is an art gallery.  You might want to stop there, but I never do.  I find the atmosphere to be way too hoydy toydy, and always feel that I need to show evidence of wealth to look.  It just never seems to fit in the little town.

Down the road is an old school house, and it is a great place for tourists to look.  They have all kinds of things with the lighthouse on them, as well as other household items.  There is plenty of parking there too.  Not so much near Embellish and Martha and Molly's.  There is a private parking lot across the street for $2 I think it is, but that's ridiculous!! 

There is a place that serves great Cuban sandwiches along another little strip of stores.  There may be some other stores down there too, but I haven't checked in a while.

If you like to swim, there is a public beach not too far away.  The ferry is located along the main drag too.  There is a great coney dog place and an ice cream place.

There are a few nice spots to stay overnight as well. 

Marblehead is one of those not-to-be-forgotten spots in Ohio and it is not spoiled.  And don't forget Johnson's Island that was mentioned in an earlier blog about Memorial Day.  It is definitely worth a drive.

See you on Tuesday, friends!!!

Peace Core and VISTA

In the 60s when I was in college, we heard a lot about the newly-established Peace Corps and also VISTA (Volunteers in Service To America).   VISTA was the homeland's version of the Peace Corps, and they were always seeking individuals who might want to help in impoverished places within Tennessee or maybe West Virginia.

When first hearing about the Peace Corps, what I was drawn to was the idea of helping people help themselves -- the old story of giving someone some fish for one meal, or teaching someone to fish for a lifetime of meals.  To me it made sense and it still does.  I'm honestly convinced that there are not many people on this earth who just want a handout.  Oh, they might think that's what they want, but there is purpose in work and effort.  Once an individual gets that feeling of worth from their work, it changes them much for the good.

Another thing I did back in the 60s was work for Cuyahoga County during my summers at home.  The first two summers, 1965 and 1966 were spent at 24th and Payne at the Welfare Building.  I walked from the bus station terminus at 15th, a long nine block stretch past the police station and unsavory bars.  A brick hothouse of a building, the welfare building was not air conditioned and we were sent home if the temperature inside reached around 95 as I recall.  I don't recall that ever happening.  We ( a large group of women) were on the fourth floor working at desks in a wide expanse broken only by support pillars.  At each desk was an electric typewriter and a Dictaphone machine.  Stored on the desktop were disks that fit into the Dictaphone sized like 45 rpm records. 

My job was to transcribe the recorded words of case workers for eight hours a day, five days a week.  We used good quality paper and had to hand correct any mistakes we made, so I ended up buying the equivalent of white-out which at that time was handheld correction tape.  Helped immensely.  Once we selected a disk, we had to go to the adjacent records department and ask for the file folder for that client.  Some of the folders were really thick, meaning that this welfare client had been known to the county for a long time.  In the files behind the caseworker's notes, there were newspaper clippings sometimes -- robberies, accidents, murders, shootings, assaults.

The caseworkers were overloaded but did their best to make visits in a timely manner.  One of the key things they were looking for was signs that a man, a husband, or the father was staying at the home because that negated the client's qualifications for getting welfare.  Even at that time, the idea that the men were not welcome in the home made me wonder what sort of effect this was going to have.  Essentially, this policy made it illegal for a father figure to be present in the home.  It created the matriarchal arrangement that still dominates many poor neighborhoods.  Getting the handout came at a price, and although caseworkers tried, no one was learning to fish.

It was a system and each client was a number. 

The second summer, I was sent downstairs to "Intake" one day to drop off some paperwork.  I'd never been down there before because we entered the building from a separate entrance.  I was ill prepared for the cacophony of sounds and sad souls in that area, people who had reached the last straw and were there to try and get help.  My emotions were really shaken that day by what I saw and from that point on, the case histories were something much more profound -- they were the stories of life's failures on so many levels.

As naïve as I was back then, what was missing in the system was so obvious.  We weren't helping anyone in the long run, and the craziness continues to this day because no one has come up with something that might actually work.  Generations of children have grown up in dysfunctional homes where the caseworker is a spy for the system.  Caseworkers made notoriously low pay and work in difficult conditions and there is turnover.

How much would it cost to teach people to fish?

As I picked up another file, it was yet another person's story.  One that began with an innocent baby with potential and possibilities.  A child of God created in the image and likeness of God.  A child created with abilities and talents.  There must be better ways.

Bird Watching

A small article in the Akron Beacon Journal the other day stated that bird watching is a burgeoning hobby.  Neat, huh?  It's great for aging boomers.

I've just got to tell you about my bird watching days at KSU so long ago.  Our teacher was an Easterner and he had the interesting accent to match.  He just loved birds and like most people who have a passion, they more or less assume that everyone else moves along the same road.  His particular passion was nighthawks, and he had set up some sort of nesting area on top of the science building at Kent where he could watch and film them.

At that time, I didn't give a owl's hoot about birds.  I had to take the Ornithology class in order to get my minor in Biology, that's all.  We had our loaned-out binoculars and young, strong legs as we followed our fearless leader to all sorts of parks and locales where various birds were likely to be found.  We saw some loons, as I remember.  Loons are interesting birds that partake in a crazy dance in the fall, I believe.  To see that would have been something.  Our loons were just cruising about on the water. 

We went in student-owned cars to these haunts, and I think somehow they got paid for gas.  Or I assume so.  It was usually quite warm and humid, and in order to see birds one had to endure a lot of hiking through unknown types of foliage in areas far removed from the picnic spots or swingsets.  One had to be very, very quiet as well.

The worst part were the quizzes and tests.  We didn't get tested on the dance of the loons.  I read about that in a book once.  We got tested on the birds, dead and stuffed ones that rested in glass-covered cases in the lab.  Numbers resting by the birds matched our quizzes and we had to identify each and every one in order to get a good grade.  Some were easy, birds we've all seen since we were little.  Others were much harder, like when you get into the different kinds of sparrows.  Yep, there are many different kinds of sparrows.  It's almost like the guy on Forest Gump when he talks about shrimp.  It goes on and on -- English sparrows, chipping sparrows, field sparrows, and that's all I can remember right at the moment.  My Petersen's Guide to the Birds is down the basement and I don't feel like going down there to retrieve it.

Okay -- so here's where I have to offer a confession.  I did take the Ornithology class to fulfill a requirement, but something happened to me.  I began to like birds a lot more, and noticed them a lot more.  I probably sold my old Petersen's Guide for some extra cash back then (always needed money), but some years ago I actually bought one.  And here's where it starts to get interesting because knowing about birds isn't a stagnant pursuit.

At Kent, we talked about woodpeckers, fascinating birds.  One type of woodpecker was already extinct -- the Ivory Billed woodpecker.  My Petersen's Guide was pretty clear on that.  However, about three or four years ago, someone found a whole group of them, alive and well and living somewhere that was not identified and probably won't be.  Bird watchers can be really nosy people, you know, and if everyone that wanted to see a woodpecker with around a 20+ inch wingspan showed up in this remote area, it would really ruin things.  So presumably, the Ivory Billed woodpeckers are still doing well and being willfully ignored.

About five years ago, a Pileated woodpecker showed up here to make her nest in an old, dead tree.  That's their preference.  We got to listen to her beat on that tree (sounded like a drum) for a long time and then once her eggs were hatched, to listen to her young screeching for food when mama or dad returned.  We also got to hear the mayhem on the day that they finally left for good.  Pileated woodpeckers don't return to the same place again, and so we haven't see one since.  If you aren't paying attention to the birds, you can miss some wondrous things!!  The Pileated woodpecker, by the way, is the one that Woody Woodpecker is modeled after.  Great markings.

Looking for an excuse to take to the woods?  Buy a new pair of binoculars and go at it.  And don't forget to buy a copy of Petersen's Guide, still the best way to learn about birds.  You'll get hooked.

Every single time I look at the hummingbirds that come to our feeders, I am humbled and awed at the beautiful creatures that God has created.  How great is our God!!

Relativism

Let's start the week off with something a little heavy -- the theory of moral relativism.

Our new Pope, Francis I, identified relativism as the leading threat to faith.  He's surely right on this.  Why?

Relativism is the belief that there are no absolute truths.  So from that would naturally come the belief that there are no absolute morals, no absolute ethics, no God whose wisdom gave us the 10 Commandments.

From that perspective, what is really bad?  What is really wrong?  What about lying?  With relativism, maybe it just depends on whether you are able by lying to protect a plan or someone's hide?  Kind of like that "whatever it takes" kind of reasoning that takes a soul right down that slippery slope.

To me relativism represents another danger -- that of comparisons.  "Well, at least I'm not like so-and-so who did this.  At least I didn't sink that far."  With no absolute, how would one know how far he or she has gone down?

For me there are absolutes, and I'm not the perfect person who hasn't veered off of the right path based on those absolutes.  By admitting that there are absolutes, I admit that there is sin and that I have done wrong.  By acknowledging absolutes, I recognize that God loves us and because God loves us, He knows that certain behavior leads away from Him and toward evil.  And the older I get, the more I recognize that the absolutes do not limit freedom, but rather offer a platform upon which I am free and take responsibility for doing right or doing wrong.

Told you it was going to be heavy today.  Take an opportunity to look online or elsewhere about relativism.  Then you will be able to judge for yourself as to when and where relativism is starting to snake its way into our lives.   Because it surely is.

I really like Pope Francis.  He embodies for me the humility that Jesus showed, the humility that His disciples showed, and the humility behind which lies tremendous strength.  There was a video of Pope Francis not long ago ministering to a man alleged to be possessed.  He put his hands on the man's head and prayed over him.  Suddenly, a change occurred in the man's demeanor, in his behavior that showed a calm, a relaxation.  I'm not saying here that the man was healed, but something surely happened.  Without absolutes, there is no real good and there is no real evil.  There is no sense in that for me.

Pure Michigan

As a lifelong Ohioan and a big believer in local tourism, I've got to hand it to the advertising genius who came up with the "Pure Michigan," ads.  They are absolutely great.  The music is perfect and the dialogue is perfect.  Makes me want to jump in the car and get to the Upper Peninsula as fast as possible, since that was the focus of the last ad I heard on the radio.

Pure Michigan ads have also featured Detroit which is about to declare bankruptcy, but the ad sure didn't make you feel like that.  It featured The Henry Ford Museum, a great place to see I'm told. 

Michigan is home to some very fertile farmlands and in fact, a lot of Michigan is undeveloped, except for in and around the large cities with whose names we are all familiar -- Flint, Ann Arbor, Detroit, Lansing, Troy and Farmington Hills for just a few.  And some of the wealthy suburban areas around the big cities, like Bloomfield Hills near Detroit.

Michigan is blessed with a huge shoreline and some amazing scenery, enough so that any number of my classmates chose to call Michigan home after college and remain there even now.

During my high school years, I got to visit Michigan for a cheerleading clinic that lasted five days.  It was a little spot called Brighton, Michigan, not that far from Ann Arbor.  The camp was in a wooded area and had its own little lake.  It was staffed by the UM cheerleaders who really made it fun, challenging, and worthwhile.  The amazing thing about the camp was that while the temperatures during the day climbed to near 90 and maybe higher on one of them, the nights chilled down to the 60s, making sleeping very comfortable.  Nothing like the nights in Ohio when I was a kid and I took a washcloth to bed with me to try and cool down. 

So I can see why people like Michigan and find the topography and the climate much to their liking.  Isn't it interesting that we end up in one place, like Ohio, and remain there.  Often it is a distant relative's decision to come here that ends up being why we are here, or at least why we started out here.  It can't always explain why we are still here. 

One thing I do know from the meager amount of traveling I've done is that home is easily moved to another location when family is along for the ride.  Like when we liked Maryland so much we actually considered moving there. 

The most wonderful thing about all of it is -- wherever we are either by choice, habit, or convenience, we always take along the most important family member -- God.  He rides along in our hearts and our souls as we traverse the highways of life and keeps us close also within the family of believers. 

We went to Mass in Oakland, Maryland several times on trips to Deep Creek Lake.  It's St. Peter's, I believe.  Each time it would be the same ushers, the same Mass, and it was like being at home.  For that bonding with God is what makes whatever place we happen to call home a great "temporary" home.

Have a wonderful Saturday.

Dentist

This morning I have a dental appointment.

Since the last blog, you already know that I am a cluck-cluck chicken when it comes to storms.  And now you will find out that I, like many, am a cluck-cluck chicken when it comes to the dentist.  Not checkups, mind you.  It's when there's a problem that I get weak-kneed.

Starting as a child, our dentist was my father's cousin.  He practiced dentistry at E. 70th and Euclid Avenue in Cleveland, and recently when we were watching American Pickers the duo bought a dental chair and setup just like my relative's.  There was a spit bowl, kind of like a mini-toilet.  And wires and an arm from which hung the dental drill.  And a white glass ledge on which he placed his dental instruments.

When I moved in with my sister at age 14, the ability to drive to the east side location became much tougher.  My sister had three little kids, and she had already started going to a local dentist by that time.  So that's what we decided -- that I'd go to the local dentist.

His office was much more modern and his practices were more modern.  When I went for my checkup it was a bit of a shock to learn that I had 14 cavities, apparently one for every year.  My dad's cousin probably had started to miss things due to his age and eyesight and these were permanent teeth, so I got an appointment to have the first group of cavities filled.

That day every single patient the dentist had must have cancelled.  He seemed quite glad that he could accommodate me for a longer time and do more.  And he did ask if I wanted to be numbed, but that had never really been an issue before since most of the fillings were in baby teeth and they don't have deep nerve endings.  So I gallantly said, "No."  And regretted it right away!!

The low-speed drill of Dr. Joe was no match for the high-speed drill that the new dentist had.  Once he got down into the tooth, the pain hit hard and I was ill-prepared for it.  And a painfully shy child.  I just couldn't tell him that I was really tanking in the chair.  Thanks to all of the cancellations, he filled all 14 cavities in one sitting, and I was like a limp rag when I left there.  AND had to take a bus home. 

That spawned my fear of dental work.  Even a twinge of that pain that I felt all those years ago, and I start sweating.  It's not that I don't go.  It's just that I don't want to and worry about it every single time.  It's been years since I've needed any filling work done, so when my tooth started acting funny last Friday, I started literally sweating again.  It's a little tap sensitive, but it is not abscessed.  It's a capped tooth, so it's really hard to tell what's going on.  So dear friend, I will be in the chair at 8:00 a.m. this morning, and that's why I'm typing up this posting at 6:41 a.m.

I'll be praying, that's for sure.  And this time if it hurts, I won't be the least bit shy.

If you have fears of the dentist like me, then I'll pray for you too.  Maybe we can get over this dread at some point, and move past it. 

Take care today.

UPDATE:  Back from dentist.  The tooth wasn't even hurting this morning, so I thought maybe it was a false alarm.  But, I have to get a new crown and also a root canal because the base has eroded away some and there may be decay in there.  Won't know until they remove it.  They make the crowns on site now so it will be a one appointment process.  They recommended bringing a book or something to do. 

The Storm

After what we've all seen in Moore, OK, I would imagine that a lot of folks last night were a little unsettled when the storm hit during the night.  It was around 2:00 a.m. when I heard nearly continuous thunder and got up to check the weather radar on the computer.

The radar maps for TV 8 and TV 5 in Cleveland were similar for the Akron-Canton area, but the TV 3 radar map showed a huge red section coming right for us from the west.  That's what really scared me.  The stations were saying that we could get wind and hail.

So I woke my husband and told him that we should probably go down the basement.  Sounds dumb now but at the time it made good sense to me.  We live in the woods after all, and it's not like trees haven't come down before.  More than most we are at the mercy of the weather and especially high winds.

After about 15 minutes down there, including three short power interruptions, we watched the radar maps on the TV and saw that the worst of it had already gone by and it was safe to return to bed.  At that point being fully awake, I wasn't sure how trying to get back to sleep would work out, but it was okay and we slept in a little bit today to more or less make up for it.

Call me a nervous Nellie but the sound of that thunder is terrifying.  Unlike many homes in the U.S., at least we have somewhere to go in case of a serious storm.  Besides the actual winds and hail, the overriding fear that gets to me is that the house would be so damaged that we would have to leave and not return for a long while, like the folks in Oklahoma.  Honestly, where would a person go?  Sure, a motel or hotel, but how many of those are in Canal Fulton?  Life in a small town, right?  There is one bed and breakfast.  Other than that, the closest motel/hotel would be the Belden Village area, a good 20 minute drive from here. 

Our neighbors had to leave their home a few years ago due to a car fire, the car being parked in the garage.  It was months before they could return and they were able to rent a home in our area, but they were really homesick.  Their whole kitchen had to be rebuilt as well as the family room, and the rest of the house had smoke damage.  The house they returned to wasn't anything like the one they had left. 

So today I hope that those most affected by the storm are okay and that they will better deal with the aftermath than a nervous Nellie like me. 

Maybe I should see if they sell thunder shirts in an extra extra large?

See you tomorrow, friends.

Knock Out Rose

A couple of weeks ago I bought a knockout rose and planted it in a location that I thought would look nice.  Thing is, the hostas that grow in a circle around the area that I selected are HUGE.  They are way too big and overshadow the rose.  They need to be thinned but now it is too late in the season for that.

The rose just looked a bit unhappy, a few wilting leaves and no new blooms to speak of.  Just a year or so ago, I would have just tried to think on the bright side and to give the rose time.  That's what I've done before and in almost every single case the result was that the plant died and I was mad at myself for not intervening sooner.

I did not want this rose to go that way so I dug it up and saw that the roots hadn't ventured from the root ball at all.  A certain sign that this plant was not happy in the sandy soil.  I moved it to where other plants flourish and I can keep an eye on it much more closely.  And just to be sure it wasn't being bothered by insects (although they are supposed to be insect resistant), I powdered it with some "Sevin."  Did I spell that right?

The wisdom of us older people is like that.  We are better at knowing when something is wrong to the point where it requires intervention.  And of course, we're not talking about plants here anymore.  And just where does that wisdom come from?  From God, of course, the wisest of all.

And wisdom is just one of the gifts that He gives so generously.  There is also patience, charity, faith, hope, strength, and love, among others.  Some of the gifts we are given at birth, while others come from receiving the sacraments and from prayer. 

Just like the rose, God tends to us, watching us intently in His infinite love.  And sometimes when He sees that we need help, He intervenes.  The creative ways that He uses to help us are many, including using other people.  For as we have been told, we are God's eyes and ears and hands.  Sometimes we are the ones being helped, and sometimes we are the helpers.

I hope the rose is happy in its new spot.  I'll be watching.

The Extremes

The reality shows are cloning themselves.  They are about everything and they are everywhere!!

Sometimes the ads for them is all I need to know that the life chosen by some stalwart sorts is not for me.

Take the swamp folk.  Probably right at the top of my list of places I would not want to live.  My take on it would be that everything is always wet or damp, that mold is everywhere, and that there are snakes and bugs that no one would want to encounter.  And that you can't go much of anywhere except in a small boat that would seem to afford very little protection from the alligators, snakes, or other creatures that are about.

The Alaskans have to be admired for their tenacity, but I would not want to live in Alaska.  My take on this existence is that most of the time you are cold or worrying about how cold it is going to get and also concerned about the amount of food you have stored -- a constant mental and physical battle for survival.  In Alaska your ability to get here and there is dependent most of the year by having a running vehicle that can buzz through the snow.  Although some of the people on the one show seem to do very little of that and are more dependent on their snowshoe-clad feet. 

Last night watching American Pickers (which is a really good show) made me realize that I would not ever want storage buildings full of uncataloged junk from floor to ceiling.  Things like old doors and frames, rotted wood, old car parts, and cardboard boxes of more junk.  It just seems wasteful and a burden for a person to carry.  Not only that, but it would seem that the folks who go to these extremes are weighted down by their insatiable appetites to find more junk.  After a while it is a toss-up as to whether the junk owns them or they own the junk.

I suppose that what makes life interesting for one person is a curse for another.  And those who choose to live in the extremes make life a little more interesting for those of us who don't.  The more important aspect of it is that you find God.

Jesus went to the desert and stayed for more than a month in order to pray.  He was tempted in every category by the devil who so cunningly used Jesus' hunger and thirst as his weapons.  The desert represents wasteland, the most uninhabitable of all climates perhaps on the face of the earth.  And in this environment stripped of all of the comforts and distractions of life, Jesus prepared Himself for what was to come and gave notice to the devil that He would not bend.

Jesus went to the mountain and spoke to the people about the kingdom of God.  His voice echoed off the ancient rocks as he told about how blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for the peacemakers, for those in sorrow, for the poor in spirit. 

Jesus went to sea in a boat with his disciples, the legendary Sea of Galilee where storms would crop up without notice.  That day a storm came and tossed the boat about, and his disciples feared for their lives.  But Jesus calmed the seas and awed these men who thought they knew Jesus, but had only started finding out about our Lord and themselves.

Jesus went to Jerusalem, teeming with life and noise, a far cry from the small towns of Nazareth and Bethlehem.  He went there to challenge the Jewish hierarchy who had elevated themselves too much and had lost their humility.  Jesus went there to have his last meal with His disciples, knowing full well that one of them would betray Him.

From the mountains to the sea to the desert, Jesus moved about in a deliberate way toward fulfilling the will of His Father and toward offering us eternal life.  A humble man who no matter where He went left an indelible mark on those who met Him.  For He said that we ought give our lives rather than save or conserve them.  He said to trust Him.  He taught us to pray.

The reality of Jesus' life is far more compelling than any reality show, isn't it?

Sunday Musings on Monday

We had a visiting priest yesterday because Fr. Kevin was on retreat.  An older retired priest, he is currently serving a six-month assignment at Little Flower in Middlebranch at the behest of the bishop. 

His sermon was about the Sunday gospel which came from Luke.  Here are some of the things the priest said about Luke.  He is the only gentile among the gospel writers, and a disciple of Paul.  He was a physician.  And he is the only one of the gospel writers to venture past Jesus' appearances after his resurrection and then his return to His father.  He wrote the Acts of the Apostles which chronicle the apostles after Jesus left them empowered with the Holy Spirit to travel among the peoples, minister to them, and bring the Good News.  He was also the only one of the gospel writers to tell the story of the Widow of Nain. 

Jesus went to Nain and immediately realized that there was a death.  Father explained that there would be wailing which was the way that the Jews showed the depths of their despair when someone died.  But Jesus also noticed that the widow was alone alongside the bier holding her dead son.  She had no one, and back in Jesus' time, being a widow was a difficult existence.  That's why widows and orphans are mentioned together, for so many times they were the forgotten.  The previous two times that Jesus raised someone from death, it was because he was requested to do so.  Jesus healed and returned to life the son of Jairus who asked for help.  When Jesus went to the aid of Lazarus, it was because Martha and Mary, his sisters, said that if only Jesus had been there Lazarus would not have died.  And Jesus wept because of the death of his friend, Lazarus, at that point dead four days. 

This time no one asked Jesus to help the widow, but for some reason he was moved to do something on His own.  Unlike Elisha who had to ask for God the Father's help in restoring life to the dead son of a widow, Jesus simply told the man to arise.  The priest asked us to imagine the joy of that widow, the amazement of the townsfolk and their cries that, "a prophet is among us," and "God is here."  It would certainly be amazing to a physician that Jesus could restore life, so no wonder he is the one gospel writer who was led by the Spirit to include it.

My granddaughter was riding in the car with me some months ago, and we talked about the miracles of Jesus.  She remembered some of them, such as the crippled man.  I told her about the paralyzed man who was lowered through the ceiling to where Jesus was and he was healed of his paralysis.  Then I just casually mentioned that there are still miracles.  That really got her attention.  "There are?  Like which ones?" she asked. 

Oh, there are, and so many of them.  Probably because we choose to recognize science so much, many miracles go unrecognized for what they are.  Only people of faith see that God was at work, and sometimes it is when the physician himself or herself has absolutely no explanation.

During the years when I went to Magnificat breakfasts, we heard many speakers.  One of the most memorable for me was a lady from New Orleans who had a large property.  She hosted a Halloween party and had a hayride.  Somehow she fell from the wagon and her ankle was snapped by the wheel of the tractor.  She was in a bad way and the doctors were concerned about her leg.  At the same time, a good friend came to her and said that she needed to go to Medjugorje with her.  You can imagine her reaction -- are you kidding me?  But the friend persisted and finally, she went.  They climbed the mountain and there she met a man who asked about her.  She told him about her leg.  He asked to see her leg and he touched her ankle.  The pilgrims spent the night on the mountain but she did not see the man again, and in the morning she realized that her leg was healed.  She told others about the man, and they nodded in understanding -- he has been seen by many at Medjugorje.  Was it Jesus?  When the woman returned home, she had an x-ray of her ankle done and the doctors were absolutely amazed.  Her leg wasn't just healed.  There was no trace of the break at all!!!  A miracle -- yes, definitely a miracle.

Thanks be to God who never abandons us and who loves us like no other and who believes in us like no other.  For that is the most wonderful miracle.

And thanks be for those who love and serve the Lord, despite never seeing Him.

Tribute

I was kind of slamming Facebook yesterday when I talked about blabbing, but there are some really fine things on Facebook.  Just checked my account and looked over all of the different postings on it from people all over.  Here are some that stand out:

• One friend photographs birds.  He is getting very good at it, and included the photo of the Indigo Bunting.  We saw one a week ago at our bird feeder and they are a sight to see -- their feathers are iridescent.  He also photographed a hungry spider eating his prey.
• One friend wrote about his wife's birthday and he was polite enough not to mention her age.  But it must have been a milestone.  His words about his wife and a quote that he included were priceless.  Better than any gift he could have given her.  His daughter read his words, and sent back to her father, "Good job, Dad." 
• Another friend talked about her anniversary and her husband's unfailing support of her for all of the years of their marriage.  She more or less chronicles in just a short paragraph how the two of them have grown through their marriage.
• Still another friend obviously misses her parents, and is excited about a trip to see her sister.  They will probably spend a lot of the time talking about the past, and remembering their dear parents.  People are born, live and die, but it is so obvious as I read my Facebook postings that people make a profound impact on others.
• One dear friend going back to high school remembered her husband on the anniversary of his death 20 years ago.  She mentions all of the things he missed over the 20 years.  She speaks so tenderly of him and for anyone who knows her, he was the love of her life.  She and her family were going out to dinner to remember, to celebrate, to share.
• One special friend shares photographs from her travels that are absolutely breathtaking.  One shows a tree that is so absolutely amazing that I stared at it for the longest time.  The tree is surrounded by children and I believe she is also in the picture.  Her sense of color, style, and form is indicative of an artist through and through.  She is dear to me.
• One friend loves to sleuth.  We live in the CSI world nowadays and everyone is an armchair detective, or almost everyone.  So she plays a sleuthing game and her progress shows up now and again in her postings.  She is recently retired, and so like most retirees, she is looking for her comfort zone.  I wonder what that is?
• Several friends are mentioning their workouts and running schedules.  They are finding ways to make running and exercising more enjoyable.  Sharing their accomplishments with friends is one way to keep up the good work.
• Some friends shared pictures of poems, sayings, and quotes that are meant to provoke thought or change our point of view.  Often they have a thread that runs through them -- love others as you already love yourself.  Don't put yourself down because God made you. 

So on this Saturday since I have no voice (vocally challenged from a cold), I'll share my voice on this blog and say hello to all of you who read this.  And please say a prayer for my sweet granddaughter, Ella, who has a bad cold which may have migrated to her lungs.  She is going to the doctor this morning. 

See you Tuesday.  I'll let you know how Ella is doing then.

Exposure

There is little doubt that we as a society suffer from too much exposure, and sometimes we are the architect of it.

The recent information about the government's intrusion into our cell phone usage has pitted against one another those who think that we should use anything to protect ourselves from terrorism and those who think that our right to privacy comes first.  When the Patriot Act was passed by Congress, it was in the wake of 9/11 and everyone was afraid.  And there were those who felt at the time that it was a mistake.  At this point, what we do know is that the release of cell phone records had to do with the numbers that we call, when we call, and how long we talk.  It did not include the wiretapping of the content of the calls.  Still, pretty creepy.

And yet, when left to our own devices, given Facebook, tweeting, and the like, we blab way too much.  You might even say that this blog is way too much, but honestly, I don't reveal anything that I wouldn't tell a stranger.  That's kind of the rule in the back of my mind.  And while we're talking about tweets and Facebook, I don't tell the world that I'm leaving for the store or that I had a dentist appointment or that I'm running late for something.  Who cares?  The people who read the various tweets and postings probably don't either, but they don't want to hurt feelings, ya know.

This "open book" to our lives has a cost.  What are we missing while we are tweeting and reading tweets?  What about the supposed real relationships in our lives that are relegated to second place while we stay connected to the world?  What about the give and take of normal conversations face-to-face?  What about mannerisms and manners?  Research has shown that the ability to communicate properly and well suffers because people today, particularly children, don't do it enough.

The ability to say things about others and then hide behind a made-up screen name is what often constitutes the bullying that we are hearing so much about. 

Backbiting is what we used to call it when I was a kid -- or talking behind someone's back.  Everyone does it now and again, but it can become a bad habit to the point where more time is being spent on what others are doing from a "superior" standpoint. 

Life in a small town used to insulate people from the world to a degree.  Ask anyone who grew up in the 50s, 60s, 70s or even 80s about their childhood.  Those who were raised in a large city had a much different experience than those from small town America.  Once the revolutionary communication devices took hold, even a small town could not hope to hold the tide back.  Of course, there are parents who have a no-cell-phone rule.  Schools often have a no-cell-phone rule or at least a rule that the phones have to stay in the locker during the day.  At colleges and universities, the professor often makes an announcement the first day of class about cell phone usage. 

And life in a small town is still remarkably special, cell phones or not.  It just seems apropos to mention that with all of the communication devices we might have, shouldn't that free us up to speak to and listen to our Creator a little more?  With all of the labor-saving devices we have, shouldn't they free us up to speak to and listen to our Creator more?

That's the real crux of free will.  We make the choice of what we are going to do.  Every single day.

Donut Day

Today it's donut day.  We don't do this very often, but just every once in a while as the whim might hit. 

Lieberman's Bakery in Massillon is the place that we usually visit.  The same women have been working there for probably 30 years.  Although they pick up on some of the trends like cupcakes and whoopee pies, the fare at the bakery is usually the same.  But it's good!!

One of the neatest things about Lieberman's is their wooden bakery cabinet.  They said they got it from a bakery that had closed years and years ago.  I know about them-- there was one just like it at the bakery where I went as a child.  Hermann's bakery was a lot like Lieberman's.  We generally went there every Saturday when my mother shopped for groceries nearby.  My favorite was probably the pineapple cheesecake, but there were many other goodies to try.

I imagine that she would have loved going to the grocery store during the week while we were in school, but we only had the one car.  Sometimes my father would share a ride with another electrical worker and so my mother had the car all week.  It must have been glorious!!

So I'm not going to write for very long this morning, as you can imagine.  The call of the donuts is beginning to overpower me.  My brain just can't function properly at this point and  ... what's that?  Now I think I can smell the donuts!!  Even with this darn summer cold that started yesterday morning.

Key word -- Coldeeze or however you spell it.  The stuff does work.  It shortens the length of a cold by days and makes it easier to sleep at night too.

So goodbye to my friends out there in the blogosphere.  It's time to get my hair combed and my teeth brushed for a trip to Lieberman's.

Life's Trials

I just got done reading the Community Pregnancy Center's newsletter for this month.  Apparently, they may be able to move to a place more able to handle their needs, and an announcement will come along soon.  This is wonderful news!

The Community Pregnancy Center location where I've visited is in Barberton; it's an older home modified to be an office and distribution setting. 

The newsletter shows the many ways that citizens are helping this cause.  They have a special evening fundraiser once a year and there were more than 40 baskets with gifts and goodies for bidding.  Many large and small companies donated to the event as well, from individuals who sell Tastefully Simple and Thirty One products, to doctors and landscapers.  They had a night at the movies recently and requested donations of diapers for admission.  The response was amazing!!

The people who walk in the doors of Community Pregnancy Center are often teetering on the brink of a decision -- whether or not to continue the pregnancy.  These women are often scared, needy, and desperate and they need someone to talk to.  Sometimes it is only a phone call between an abortion or no abortion.  One phone call -- one person on the other end who is compassionate and loving and has only minutes to make sense of confusion and chaos for the woman in need.

Not only are mothers and babies helped by this wonderful service, but also siblings and families.  The Center gathers together food items, baby furniture, clothing, and other forms of assistance as varied as the clients they serve. 

There are SO MANY ways to give.  A gift of cash is certainly a wonderful way to help.  Or call them and ask for what they really need.  There is a niche for every person to fill. 

Here's what I do - and compared to so many it isn't much.  I love to crochet baby blankets.  The "Pound of Love" baby yarn makes a perfectly sized blanket, and there are gorgeous pastel colors to choose from.  Once I have a number of them finished with ends buried, it's time to make a trip to Barberton.  On the way there, I start my CD player and say a Rosary so that each blanket is coming along with the prayers I've said for that baby, that mother.  They are baby prayer blankets and they are delivered with love!!

While I crochet it isn't hard to imagine a child swathed in the blanket as it begins to take shape and size.  I've told my husband that one of these days, I'm going to out and about somewhere and I'll spot one of the blankets.  I'd know them anywhere.

The Center uses the hand-crocheted baby blankets from me and many, many others to create personalized layettes for the clients.  The layette includes clothing, diapers, and a car seat for starters.  The worth of the layette is more than $300, I'm told.

There are so many worthy charities to help; I realize that.  But if you find it in your heart to donate to Akron Pregnancy Services, I am sure that they will make the most of your gift in reaching out to women who really need help.  Thanks for reading! 

Pass it on!! 

Bad Jobs

In this economy it's hard to discount any type of employment, because working right now is the goal -- not necessarily what you do.

Here are some jobs that certainly take a person willing to do what others don't want to do:

1. Porta-Potty Cleaner -- these folks come with a pump truck and hose to pump out the potties, and then they freshen the tanks with some foam cleaner, replenish the toilet paper, and clean what needs to be cleaned.  Rather unsung heroes, wouldn't you say?  The potties have made going to those out-of-the-way baseball fields and parks much more bearable for people of all ages.  We were at one of those more remote parks last week and when the potty cleaning truck came and took care of three of the units, I thought about the young man who did this job.  It might not be glamorous but it is most definitely appreciated!  Next year their services won't be needed.  The township got a grant and will put in bathrooms.
2. Dog Doo Cleaners -- Some people have dogs but don't want to deal with the deposits in the yard, so they hire a company to come out and do the work.  But "companies" don't do the work, do they?  People do.  So someone has to come in with small scooper shovels, waste containers, and cleaners to do this job.  A house near my son's was vacant and in foreclosure.  One day a dog doo cleaner came and spent about eight hours cleaning the fenced backyard.  Wow.  Apparently, they also sanitize and de-germ the ground where the doo was.  This prevents kids from getting in contact with the germs that might otherwise be left behind.  Once again, it takes someone special for this, and usually the companies are "mom and pop" types.
3. Crime Scene Cleaners -- Once the police and investigators have finished at the scene of a crime and have collected all of the information they need, the area is released.  Often, professional crime scene cleaners come in to do this work.  It is definitely not  pleasant, and certainly takes a special person as well.  Not only do the workers encounter something very, very disturbing, but they have to know exactly what kinds of cleaners will do the work in each instance.  A few of those home improvement programs on HGTV have featured houses that were left abandoned and are being renovated by one of their TV designer teams.  They show the "before" pictures and in many instances the filth is so extensive that the crime scene kind of cleaners might be required.
4. Garbage Collectors -- This is one of the most hazardous jobs there is.  Workers get cut by glass and other sharp edges that people throw out.  They have to be out when it is still dark, so this is very dangerous.  Drivers don't watch out for the workers like they should sometimes, and there are accidents.  There are also accidents from workers jumping up and down off of the truck.  Add to that the variances of our weather here in Northeastern Ohio, and this job certainly is a tough one.  I wonder what the average length of time a worker stays with the job.  And one other thing -- unlike the jobs mentioned above, garbage collectors make very little in wages.  Workers who are employed by a city have a better deal, but those employed by private companies really have it much rougher.  And no matter whom you work for, you still have to pick up the refuse of others.

Even in these extremes there is commonality.  All work, no matter how demeaning it might seem, has value.  We should not be defined by our work, but we are certainly made more fully human, fully alive by it.  No matter the job, the best way to approach it is to work as though we are working for God.  Because we are!!  He created us and he is our highest authority.

One of our students at UA graduated but had not as yet found a job in his field.  He was working at a fitness place selling memberships and also working as a bank teller.  Really, both were full-time jobs.  A bank customer came in one day and encountered this young man who went out of his way to be friendly and welcoming.  The customer was so taken by him and his wonderful attitude that they chatted a little more and the customer discovered that the teller had been a student of his daughter, an associate professor at UA.  The customer went home and told his daughter about the encounter and the fine young man at the bank.  The daughter made a phone call to someone she knew was hiring and got an interview for the young man.  The young man was hired and remains working for the company to this day -- and he loves his work!!  When his boss travels with him from time to time, he notes that this young man gets more hugs than anyone. 

He could have grumbled or whined about his situation and brought all of that to work with him, but he chose to do something different.  He brought the best he had to offer to both jobs and in the process, his work ethic and his kindness were rewarded.

We work for God.  Simple as that.

The Gambling Thing

In 2006, we got some stunning news.  Without a newspaper in town anymore, information gets about by the oldest of means -- word of mouth.  One of our friends from church told us that the Eastern Shawnee of Oklahoma were working on a deal with Canal Fulton to build a casino/hotel somewhere along Rt. 21.  When we found out about it, discussions had already been held.

Thing is, the land that the Indians were eyeing isn't in Canal Fulton; it's in the unincorporated area that we call Lawrence Township.  The audacity of a governmental jurisdiction making plans for land that isn't theirs seemed over the top to me.

A band of citizens, coming from both Canal Fulton and Lawrence Township, began to meet to fight this proposed plan and formed an organization.  My husband and I joined in.

Research became one of the most important facets of our group's basis.  I read and read and read about casinos, gambling, and the effects of all of this on a community.  And we found two or three experts who do research on gambling who were particularly helpful.  Others in the group did the same, and one stalwart member of the group traveled to Oklahoma to see the gambling operation that the tribe currently operates.  She brought back pictures and stories.

There were those in town who absolutely hated us, because they were convinced that all of the money woes in our area would disappear and there would be no need to travel to Mountaineer or any of the other existing gambling places at that time.  As time has gone by, though, I'm fairly sure that most of the pro-casino residents have changed their minds.  There is a good reason why there are ads all over the place for gambling addiction help since the Horseshoe opened in Cleveland.

It isn't just that gambling can become a problem; it's that gambling becomes a problem with young people very quickly.  It's just that an area that has a casino is sucked dry after a while.  Anything of value, such as history or culture, gets passed by and overlooked.  People go broke and that hurts families, and the most vulnerable of the family, the kids.

For me, there was a basic point -- why would we need a casino here? 

From the researchers' standpoint, and this is really key -- gambling produces no "new" money.  Money just changes hands.  There is no product, nothing to show for the expense of it.  Casino employees work awful hours, in darkened rooms, with loud noise all about.  Very few casino employees make the big bucks.  Most of the jobs are low paying.

In one case that I found, a casino was built in an area that had a historic home that had always been a popular tourist attraction.  After the casino, the mansion sat ignored and they were forced to move the house to another location. 

If you do business with the Indians, there is only two percent of the proceeds from the gambling that comes back to the community.  With traffic, crime, addictions, EMS calls, road repairs and the like, that two percent is gone in a heartbeat.  We learned that for every dollar spent on gambling, two dollars is needed tor social services, like help for addiction. 

The early reports of earnings for the Cleveland casino is starting to show what our group said all along -- that proliferation of gambling centers lowers the amount of money that the operation makes and shares with the local community.  And we haven't seen the end of it.  Yesterday's paper details a plan for a new racino near Youngstown. 

 One thing that I never saw coming was the threat of a casino in our area.  There are times when we are called to activate ourselves, and this was one of those times.  Now, each time when I drive down Rt. 21 and pass the intersections where the casino was being considered, I am so relieved!!