Joy inside my tears

Forty-four years ago my life was turned upside down. The trajectory actually started in August of 1973. In the womb of my 15-year-old body, a baby was conceived. I met this wee bairn on May 22, 1974, and then I said good-bye. Until Friday, December 21, 2018.

Ten days earlier an adoption angel contacted me. She asked me if I had found my son. You see, for the past 15 years, I had been registering on adoption websites to help my son be able to contact me if he so desired.

(If you are interested in reading the whole story about my pregnancy in high school, you can read it in this book, "The Spirit of Adoption.")

At first, I was skeptical. I don't believe everything I read or fall for any email scams. Talking it over with Wade, my husband, we concluded that there was nothing to lose by asking Amy, my angel, what the process was.

By the end of the next day, I had my son's name, last known address, phone number, confirmation of matching adoption files, and link to his Facebook page. His name is Brian Jones. He lives in Valencia, California.

An event that I never imagined would ever happen was now suddenly going to take place. I was going to make contact with my firstborn son.

My sweet angel advised me on how to construct a letter that would be an introduction. Amy suggested that I keep it short, giving him information about my family, and offering nothing more than medical information and family history.

Sending the letter in a UPS envelope would allow for tracking without requiring a signature.

With Wade and Amy's approval on the content of my letter, the packet was mailed on Tuesday, December 18.

As is my nature, my mind raced with all the potential outcomes. Struggling to overcome this mind race, I kept busy and watched UPS's tracking on this package on my phone.

When I saw that it was finally delivered, the anticipation really became overwhelming.

A quick email to Amy was helpful as she helped me understand the different ways that people like Brian might respond to receiving this information. Amy was adopted as well. While her job is teaching, her vocation is to help adopted children and their birth parents find each other.

So many possibilities to consider: most adoptees take a few days to digest the information before making contact, or they may speak to a trusted family member or friend. Perhaps Brian was on vacation.

All I could do is go about my day and make sure my phone is on.

I memorized the phone number that was given to me so I wouldn't ignore it, thinking it to be a robocall.

On Friday night Wade and I attended a concert. Being the responsible concert-goer, I silenced my phone during the event.

After arriving home at about 8:00 pm, we changed into our evening at home attire and settled into the night.

At 10 pm I remembered that I had silenced my phone. When I reached into my purse to retrieve my phone, I immediately recognized the number listed as calling three times around 8 pm. My son was reaching out to me.

My heart raced with anticipation. I kept asking Wade what I should do! Call him back? Was it too late? Did I seem to anxious? He didn't leave a message, so what did that mean?

Then I thought to check Facebook. Bingo. He'd sent me a friend request.

It was all I needed to step off the ledge into the unknown. I hit redial.

With my phone on the speaker, so Wade could hear every word, the three of us talked for an hour. Well, at least two of us talked and one did a lot of listening.

Do I remember what was said? Not really. Wade would later refreshen my memory, along with observations that we had the same intonations to our voices. Brian rambled along in the story in the same manner as I did. We laughed the same.

Now to the point of this essay. The tears that flow from my eyes throughout the day are filled with joy. Until Brenna was born, and then Kalie, and then Jesse, the longing I had for my firstborn was muted. Having a baby at 16, then placing the child up for adoption, not being able to really talk about the emotions I had during those 9 months, there is bound to be some emotions.

The tears that are flowing from me now have been dormant for 44 years.

The depth of my love for Brenna, Kalie, and Jesse bring clarity to the love I have for Brian, even though the last time I saw him he was barely 1 day old. I was intentional in unconditionally loving my children because of the lack of unconditional love I felt in my youth.

It is impossible for me to believe that I love Brian any less than I do my other three children. However, it feels as if I have gone from zero to 500 in the last week. Truthfully, there is an aching in my being that is not being squelched with Facetime and phone calls. I need something more. I need to hold him. Though I don't think he will fit on my lap, I want to read him a bedtime story and tuck him into bed.

Equally as emotional is the realization that I now know that he was cared for and loved by his parents, the people who reached out to adopt him. I have so many questions for them. My heart wants to sit at their feet and offer them gifts of adoration and thankfulness for taking my boy and raising him so well. For loving him to the best of their ability, giving him the opportunity for happiness and success.

Isn't that what we want for our children?

This journey of adoption that I have been on for 44 years isn't over yet.

Did I mention I have a 13-year-old granddaughter?

Not a laughing matter

Omran Daqneesh. His 'home' was bombed in Aleppo. I feel helpless when I think of the horror happening around the world.

My friend posted these words from another friend:
We get compassion fatigue with the breadth of tragedy around the globe. It's hard/impossible to enter into it all. But I do know that wherever there is suffering, wherever there is misery, wherever there is pain, Jesus is present--grieving, weeping, suffering alongside. Muslim, Christian, gay or straight, young or old, Jesus grieves in the suffering of the world. May what breaks the heart of Christ break our hearts. May we also trust that when we cannot summon up another tear or prayer for this violent world that Jesus stands in the gap for us with tears, hope, long-suffering love and presence. Jesus holds all the suffering and despair and all the hope and joy in the world in nail-pierced hands. (Sarah Thomas Baldwin)

When I am consumed with my trivial problems, Omran's sweet face comes into my mind and I weep inside for his lost innocence. I let go of my little problems and remember that in other parts of the world there are people, children, suffering from so much tragedy. God help them.

Ode to the Still Living Fonzy

Warning: Read with a kleenex handy. (Remember. I warned you.)

Patience is required when caring for the elderly. Every task you give them takes a bit longer to perform.

For example, our morning walks. When my old guy finds an interesting smell that he wants to leave note on, he sets himself up, making sure he gets just the right angle. He settles along side this odor, backing up a few steps, then realizes he's in the wrong angle and sets about to realign his body to the previous dog’s note. He sniffs again, making sure he's on target, and them releases the smallest bit of urine, reserving some for the next note as we continue on our way.

As soon as he completes his task, the younger Roxy comes in and quickly aims her urine right over the top of Fonzy’s carefully laid liquid.

Then, Fonzy will stop, come back to where Roxy left her note, line his long body up for the squirt, making sure he’s at least near the target, repeat. Come on already!!!

Fonzy is a little wire-haired mini-dachshund that came to our home back in 1999. Wire-haired dachshunds have just the right amount of terrier in them to make them, well, terrier-like. Kalie saved her hard earned money to make this purchase. He was adorable. We all fell head over heels in love with him. All except for Tasha.

“It's hard not to immediately fall in love with a dog who has a good sense of humor.”
― Kate DiCamillo,

He weighed almost 2 lbs. when we drove him home from southern Oregon that summer. Tasha, our sweet older, middle aged, yellow Lab, was annoyed with Fonzy’s cleaver little antics. His adorableness was completely lost to her.

Hoping he would disappear, she ignored him. He’d grab her tail. Pull her ears. Run up to her sleeping body and bark. She was really good at turning a blind eye, deaf ear, the cold-shoulder and paying no attention whatsoever to this little punchinello.

The rest of the family just loved watching Fonzy. He was and still is such a clown. Then one night, about three weeks after we brought him home, Tasha couldn’t resist him any longer. The kids and I watched in amazement as Fonzy ran around the sleeping Tasha. I am sure he was expecting her usual brush off. Suddenly Tasha reached out with her paw and gently laid it on top of Fonzy, stopping him in his tracks. She made a deep, gentle, growl as she kept her paw atop of Fonzy. After a few minutes, she released her hold on him. Fonzy immediately began jumping and barking around Tasha. She repeated the hold and growl. The next time she lifted her paw, Fonzy just lay there. Then Tasha nudged him in a playful way, the stalemate was over. Tasha and Fonzy became the best of friends.

“Such short little lives our pets have to spend with us, and they spend most of it waiting for us to come home each day. It is amazing how much love and laughter they bring into our lives and even how much closer we become with each other because of them.”
― John Grogan

When Tasha was 14 years old she developed something that certainly was going to be the end of her. She vomited when she ate and was lethargic. After we had her euthanized, Fonzy lost his zest. While he still charmed us on a daily basis, he was obviously depressed.

Pet-Finder became our family’s evening past time. We wanted to find the right companion for Fonzy. Our family knows dog breeds. We wanted a Border Terrier in the worst way. Alas, they are expensive and hard to come by. Our search on Pet Finder led us to a Border Terrier “Mix” located in southern California.

Pictures and conversations with the woman fostering this little dog led us to believe “Murphy” would be a good fit. He was flown from California to PDX one afternoon. Wade, Fonzy and I picked up the new member to our family.

One look into the kennel revealed to me that he was more Chihuahua than Border Terrier. When my sister met him for the first time she confirmed this fact.

A quick introduction at the airport and then back into the kennel as Fonzy and I sat in the back getting to know this funny little dog who now was part of our family. Once we reached home we let the two smell and touch before letting them into the house. They were fast friends.

Over the years Murphy developed diminished eye-sight, we added another dog and Fonzy just kept on going.

He’s got horrible teeth. One vet called them “Cat teeth” which means they decay at the root. No amount of brushing will help. Good thing too because he HATES preventative dental care!

Last year Fonzy was diagnosed with an ‘innocent’ heart murmur. No symptoms were present so we are just watching it.

Another noticeable change over the last year has been Fonzy’s sleeping. He has scared the earth out from under me more than once in the last several months. Basically I’ll find him in either our bedroom or Wade’s office. He’s laying flat out on the floor. Sleeping. Looking dead. The only way to wake him up is to shake him. Or stomp the floor. Upon doing so he looks at me with this “What do you want?” look.

He still loves his morning walks with Roxy. I’m a good dog owner who understands how important smelling things are to dogs. We stop a lot to sniff and pee.

On June 26 Fonzy turns 15 years old. I know our time with him is short. He’s seen the better part of my children’s lives. He’s met, licked and cuddled with Cyrus.

Composing this written memory often brings me to tears. I’m really gona miss him when he draws his final breathe. Part of me hopes that I really do come home and find him laying on the floor. REALLY asleep. It’s hard for me to think about making that decision to euthanize him.

There are so many things about this old man that infuriates me. I am, have been the main caretaker of our pets. And yet, Fonzy adores Wade. (All the dogs do for that matter.)

More times than I can count he has come to our bedroom, barked and then ran back down the hall. Yes. He’s like Lassie. He communicates. Of course I would follow him to the front of the house where he would be standing at the sliding glass door wanting to go into the back yard.

“Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.”
― Orhan Pamuk

During Fonzy’s young years I spent countless hours trying to get him out of the creek in our back yard. He’d escape through our mini-fence, amble into the creek and bark at the neighbors. He was a sneak, an escape artist and down right smart about the whole thing.

He digs too. Or, at least he did when he was younger.

He has NO pain tolerance. When he was just a few months old he had an episode with pain that panicked the whole family. Early in the evening I was out of the house at my book club. I received a phone call (pre-cellphone days) at the coffee shop. Wade was on the line. Frantic. I could hear the wailing of a puppy. I was told to come home because something was very wrong with Fonzy. The details of the problem were sketchy. Over the phone I was told that Fonzy was screaming and then would pass out. This happened a few times before the family decided to call me.

I hurried home and surely did witness this disturbing event with my own eyes. I called the emergency vet and Wade and I drove to Tualatin.

Along the way it was evident that Fonzy was feeling better. Upon arriving at the vet clinic, Wade gave the receptionist the story. “He was chewing on a section of a horse hoof and all of a sudden started screaming and passing out.” Ah. I knew those horse hooves. They had been given to us by a neighbor. They had little spikes from the cutting of the hoof. Now I understood what happened. The considerate receptionist suggested we get him something to eat, suggesting that her surely wouldn’t eat if the pain overtook his desire for food. He wolfed down the cheese we offered him and wanted more. The crisis was over. Emergency vet bill averted.

After that we adopted a ‘three day waiting period’ for all of Fonzy’s injuries.

Until I purchased a dremel for grinding dog nails, our bi-monthly nail trims were, well, there is only one word for it: violent.

He’s got O. C. L. D. (Obsessive Compulsive Licking Disorder). But only for Wade, Brenna and Jesse.

In the last few years he’s developed a horrible gas problem. Room clearing kind of problem. I mean you really cannot breathe. Your eyes start watering and you are gasping for breath.

And yet, our lives without him will be horribly empty.

“After years of having a dog, you know him. You know the meaning of his snuffs and grunts and barks. Every twitch of the ears is a question or statement, every wag of the tail is an exclamation.”
― Robert McCammon

"It’s not always that one has the blessing of having more than one exceptional dog to share life’s journey with. My quiver has been full."
― Jere Witherspoon

Thankfully, Roxy entered my life about 5 years ago. She’s a youthful nine years old at this writing. I know that she will be a comfort when Fonzy leaves us. It won’t be the same, though. She’s a Jack Russell Terrier and there is nothing funny about her. Except that she adores me.

“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”
― Roger A. Caras

Fonzy. You are one of a kind. Smart. Eager. Sprightly. Capricious. Waggish.

I’ll never forget you. Oh, and by the way. I fully expect to see you in heaven because you really are a very good dog.

Patience and Pain

Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.
John Quincy Adams

Patience has never been one of my virtues. Just ask my husband. Most of the time I want something immediately. A conversation. A result. An answer. In order to get something taken care of quick I will shove it, force it, demand it. Now.

A healthy human being can not function well with impatience. People won't want to be around you. Pushing things (and people) into place breaks them.

Becoming a parent forces you to be patient, or at least face it. First of all, you should model and teach patience to your children. Children are the epitome of impatience. As a singer to my children I made up songs to help them learn certain attributes...like patience.

"Let's all try to be patient.
Patient is a good way to be.
If I try to be patient
Everyone will want to be with me."

For the last two and a half years I have been a student of patience. The lessons started back in April, 2011. The previous October I began taking water aerobics classes as a way to get fit and healthy. Immediately I saw the benefits of this discipline. Everything was going 'swimmingly' until April. That is when the pain first started. At first I noticed the pain while sleeping. Or trying to sleep. The slightest movement would wake me up from the pain.

Soon walking became impossible without doing so in pain. That meant that walking my dogs each day came to a screeching halt.

In June I lived in constant pain. Sitting, standing, laying down....pain. My doctor at that time increased my Vicodin and began a regiment of cortison shots. These treatments dulled the pain but did not resolve anything. I continued my water aerobics classes and worked through the pain.

By August I was depressed and hopeless. By now even the 10 Vicodin a day did nothing to release me from the pain.

I demanded an MRI from my doctor. She suggested an x-ray. I insisted on an MRI.

My doctor sent me to the fracture clinic to discuss the results of my MRI. I was told that my knee was so bad that I would need a total knee replacement. However, I was too young and overweight. They could offer me a brace that would be fitted at an Orthotics clinic. As this was my only hope I jumped at this solution.

Within three weeks of receiving the brace I was 80% freer of pain and weaned myself from the Vicodin. I asked for physical therapy appointments so I could get ready for a knee replacement once I got older and lighter.

Unhappy with my doctor I began a search through the Kaiser system for someone closer to home and perhaps I could find someone who believed my pain assessment and would be proactive in helping me with my treatments. I found a physician's assistant who could serve as my primary care physician. Once she got to know me she suggested a second opinion on my knee. Terri processed my referral to an orthopedic doctor.

Dr. Rae examined my recent x-rays and looked at my MRI. After explaining to me that my knee was the worst he had ever seen, he also told me that my age would never be a barrier to getting a new one. However, the manufacture would not allow a replacement to be inserted unless I was under a certain BMI. Based on my current weight I only needed to lose 25 pounds.

The biggest barrier to my new knee had been my age and weight. I couldn't do anything to get older faster, and in my mind the weight barrier was big as well. Without seeking clarification I assumed the weight loss would likely be at least 75 pounds, at the time, a huge mountain for me to climb....impossible.

After a brief conversation with Dr. Rae I had renewed hope. The mountain had collapsed.

During the drive home my mind raced with possibilities. Impatience began to creep into my mind. I wanted to lose that 25 pounds immediately. I recognized that starting a drastic diet would be, well, rather silly and I would surely set myself up for failure. By the time I arrived at work I decided that my weight loss quest sould begin after the new year. In the meantime I would step up my exercise routine. Daily bike rides, water aerobics and weight training became my addiction.

Ten days into 2013 I downloaded MyFitnessPal to our iPad. Thus began my strict commitment to calorie counting, which turned into an awareness of what I allowed into my mouth and the importance of exercise. By March 25th I had reached my goal and immediately contacted Dr. Rae's office.

As I spoke with the appointment scheduler impatience snuck it's way into my mind...the first available date with the surgeon I had chosen was April 25, 2013. Hesitantly I accepted it but soon reason smacked impatience out of the way. My first grandchild was due April 7th. An earlier date would cause stress and a potential to reschedule the surgery at a much later date. We all know that babies have their own agenda. Surely he or she would have arrived by that time. The date was actually perfect. Hmmmmm......was somebody at work with me??

Sixteen days after Cyrus was born I had my appointment with Dr. Budge. He determined that I was a candiate for a knee replacement. The official process began.

Along the way there have been some bumps. An earlier post on my blog discusses the birth of my grandson, who by the way is thriving.

If God has had me on this journey to find the true meaning of patience, I wish he would have informed me. My joy and elation in passing the test to be a candidate for knee replacement soon collapsed at the next step in the process....scheduling the surgery date. Several days after my meeting with Dr. Budge I had not yet heard from the scheduler as Dr. Budge indicated. Impatience drove me to email Dr. Budge who affirmed that I should have already heard from the scheduler. He said he would contact her. Three more days went by and nothing. I began making phone calls and leaving messages.

When I finally heard from someone the news dashed all my hope. Looking back now I understand how silly it was to respond as I did. I cried. A new policy had been implemented requiring that before a patient (ha!) could be given a surgery date they needed to have medical and dental clearance. It was more than I could take. I cried. Hard.

As I worked to comply with this new policy, each day brought me closer to achieving their requirements. Before another week would go by I had a surgery date: June 24, 2013. Despite my fear and well laid plans, in spite of my own ideas.....the date is perfect.

Along the way I've learned a valuable lesson about patience. First of all, sometimes you can hurry things along in life and other times you can't. Secondly, a lot of things happen to us because of choices and decisions we have made...or haven't made. Thirdly, we are more impatient when things we have no control over affect our lives, but being rude to those people should not be an option, at least for me. I couldn't live with myself.

Being patient means being pleasant...ultimately realizing that what I do, or how I act has an effect on others.

Pain isn't fun to live with. Over the past three years I have often thought about my father. He had rheumatoid arthritis for most of his adult life and suffered at it's hands more than I can tell you. Yet, when I think of my father I think of the word patient. I'd also add the word joyful. He lived with pain much worse than I but was still patient and joyful.

In 30 days from today I will begin a new life, so to speak. Right now it is important for me to reflect on the lessons learned so I don't pass up the opportunity to grow through the last three years.

Oh, I know that I have not left the valley of pain and impatience. I have done my research. This surgery is going to be painful. The recovery equally so.

While living without pain is a good enough reason to have this surgery, there are other reasons that are more important. First of all, walking the dogs again.


But walking with this litte guy's finger wrapped around mine is the most valuable motivation for me to keep exercising and getting strong so he and I can walk together....and maybe we can take the dogs along. I can hardly wait.

A Thousand Words

It is said that a picture paints a thousand words. How many words can I find that go along with this picture?

Joy. Contentment. Relief. Love. Delight. Elation. Jubilance. Comfort. Peace. Pleasure. Gladness.

At last, my baby...my daughter and her husband have come home with their son, Cyrus Jones. My grandson. The moment I saw this picture my heart felt relief. A thousand words.

Over the last 17 days my emotions have traveled to places I have never experienced before.

My friend, Abigail Rine, wrote on her blog the words that perfectly expressed what my heart was feeling:

"Being a mother is like living with your heart outside of your chest. You have tethered it to another impossibly fragile life, and there is a wound leftover, a hole that will never heal."

The fragile lives I have tethered my heart to are Brenna, Kalie and Jesse. Seventeen days ago my heart wound extended to Kalie's son. The hole in my heart throbbed. Each day, being separated during this time of uncertainty, the distance between Portland and Seattle, was as vast as the deepest part of the ocean.

Kalie faithfully kept me current on the daily reports of her son's progress. Each day brought more good news about his progress. Despite a diagnosis of Cystic Fibrosis, the most urgent concern was his recovery from surgery for an intestinal blockage.

When I couldn't face another unknown moment, I prayed. My husband comforted me...we both ached for our daughter and son-in-law. Prayers from friends and family sustained us all. Our hearts were heavy at the thought of Cyrus being in the hospital. Our hearts were comforted by the fact that he was in good hands, loved by his caregivers, beholden by his parents. He had so much going for him.

Perspective kept me expressing gratitude. During the first days after Cyrus's surgery we were painfully aware that our little grandson was one of the lucky ones. Born healthy, he was a strapping 8 pounds in a NICU of much smaller infants.

Our heartache is not be diminished by this perspective. God's love transcends what our minds can comprehend. I believe that perspective keeps us humble but does not change the fact that God gives us comfort in our own heartache.

Much of what I have experienced over the last 17 days further confirms that God loves me. From getting to Seattle in time to witness the birth of my first grandson, to the fact that as I write this my three children are together, with the newest member of our family, celebrating my own son's 23rd birthday. On one hand my heart longs to be with them. On the other hand my heart is full of joy knowing that my children love each other enough for Kalie and Aaron, just arriving home from an emotional journey, to host Brenna and Jesse for dinner in celebration of birth.

Joy. Contentment. Relief. Love. Delight. Elation. Jubilance. Comfort. Peace. Pleasure. Gladness.

When I gaze into the face of my daughter in this picture my heart can hardly contain all that I feel. The heart that beats for my children now extends to my grandson. I share the emotions found on Kalie's face, emotions welled up from her heart and poured over into her son.

Now my daughter is a mother who is living with her heart outside of her chest. She has tethered it to another impossibly fragile life, and there is a wound leftover, a hole that will never heal.

Poop.

I've never prayed so much for bowel movements. And now I am praying for a desire for a breast. What grandma wouldn't do that for her grandson?

At the end of Cyrus' second day alive grandpa and I noticed something to be concerned about. We didn't say anything because Kalie and the other nurses were noticing too. The faces this precious child is making look pained. I thought to myself "It looks like his little tummy hurts." The picture that Wade took confirmed this to me.

So at the end of day three X-rays were taken, a contrast done (shooting dye up his little bum to compare the two x-rays with). They found the reason this precious boy was making those faces. Indeed his tummy did hurt. He couldn't poop. He had a blockage in his intestine and would need to have surgery.

On Cyrus' fourth day of life Dr. Proctor cut an incision under his still corded belly button, removed his colon...all several feet of it, found the blockage, pushed the dried meconium through his colon, sewed him back up and waited for him to poop.

We were told he filled 5 diapers. And he hasn't quit pooping since. Which is what we have feverishly been praying for him to do. Each day was a milestone. He kept on pooping till they allowed him to finally have another bit of Kalie's milk that SHE had been feverishly pumping.

Within the first hour of his birth he ate very well. Turns out he liked the breast. Early on however, with every drop of milk he sucked from his mother's breast his clogged bowels filled up and had no place to go, thus the painful expressions on his face on his second day of birth.

Wade and I stayed around the Seattle area helping Kalie and Aaron in whatever way they needed. But soon it was evident that our presence wasn't needed. It appeared that Cyrus would be in the hospital for at least a week, more likely two.

While I know coming home was the right thing to do, I am aching on so many levels. So I pray. Constantly. For poop.

Each day brought good news. Cyrus is pooping. Peeing. Keeping food down. They increase his mother's milk intake incrementally...5 cc's each feeding, then 10 cc's, then 20, etc....

No set backs, other than Kalie and Aaron are desperate to find normal and get their son home. Yet though they are anxious to get him home, they are handling this hiccup so well. I couldn't be prouder of them.

Day nine a new prayer request. "Please God, help Cyrus desire to nurse from Kalie's breast. Oh, and please let him keep pooping."

Tests are being run to see what caused the blockage. We've all been told what the diagnosis may be. While there may be a difficult road to walk, none of the likely possibilities are too concerning. Thankfully we live in a day and age, and a place in the world where excellent medical care is available.

Praying for poop, well, it's something we all do! Pooping I mean.

I believe as I write this Cyrus is three days away from getting to go home with his mom and dad.

He's done so well at recovering from his surgery. He's pooping and peeing as he should. He's starting to desire his mother's breast, he's smiling, swinging, getting his hair styled.

God's been faithful. He's answered our prayers. Starting with prayers for poop.

Like I said, grandma's will do anything for their grandchildren. I can hardly wait to change his poopy diaper.

Joy Complete - thoughts on becoming a grandma.

Grandparents. My 'older' friends have been telling me for years that the only reason you have children is so you can have grandchildren.

Grandparents. I am told that you can spoil grandchildren and when the results of that spoilage makes their presence unbearable you can return them to their rightful owners.

Grandparents have a do-over with their grandkids.

Just Google "grandparent quotes" to find all the trite and adorable reasons that being a grandparent is one of the best things on earth.

The funny thing about life is that others often interpret experiences for you. As you share similar experiences you begin to realize that your view may be vastly different.

Of course I have thought about being a grandmother...and my husband being a grandpa. Honestly I hope my little grandson calls me something other than grandma. I like Nana Boo.

I don't have years of experience at this grandma thing. Truth be told, as I write this I haven't been a grandma for even 1 day. But I don't need anyone else to tell me what I have seen and what I feel in my heart.

From that day in August when Kalie and Aaron told us they were expecting, my emotions have been pretty even keel. Sure, I've been excited. But I determined to put on my granny pants and not go overboard...too soon.

My actions were tempered. Since the parents decided to keep the gender hidden from everyone but the ultrasound technologist, spending a small fortune on clothes before the birth didn't seem prudent. I focused my time on considering ways to make life long memories for my grandchild, for my little sweet pea.

Two lovely baby showers and still my emotions were in check. Each event I breathed in the experiences and held them close to my heart.

As Kalie's belly grew so did my tempered enthusiasm. Not a day went by (especially if I was with my mom) that I wasn't asked "Are you excited about being a grandmother?" Of course. But what does that really mean? Being a grandmother?

Kalie and Aaron invited me to be at the baby's birth. This birthing process is something that is very important to me. Since I had two home births (Brenna and Kalie) and Jesse was born in a clinic in PNG, as a young mom I did a lot of research into giving birth. Several family members and friends were in attendance at my own births so having the opportunity to witness this miracle was very important to me. My invitation was a gift and I am thankful beyond words. Kalie is a labor and delivery nurse....she's in the business of delivering babies. (Which by the way, must add an interesting dynamic to the lovely ladies who work at Swedish who delivered Kalie's baby yesterday.)

In the days leading to Kalie's due date I grew increasingly agitated...at least inwardly. The biggest thing for me was the drive to Seattle. I knew that depending upon the time of day it could be a disaster in making it to the birth on time.

Now don't worry, I am not going to give you a moment-by-moment account of the events surrounding the birth but here's a little insight to the day.

As I look back, each step, each decision was perfectly planned. From the phone call from Erin (Kalie's doula and friend) at 11 pm on Monday, April 8th, to each decision by Kalie and Aaron from that point on.

But this grandparent gig. I still don't think it has completely hit me. I deeply love my children..have from conception. Even now they continually amaze and bless me.

Children can become the best parts of their parents. Then what do we say about our grandchildren?

When little Cyrus was born a whole new world burst open for me. I could barely restrain myself from reaching for him still covered in vernix. As his arms and legs stretched out and sweet cries came from his mouth, being a bystander in this moment was difficult.

Once again, tempering my emotions, I kept my cool. As I gazed upon the flurry of activity surrounding the mom, my daughter, who had just delivered my grandson, completely natural, no drugs, my heart swelled with pride and my mind raced to how this tiny little man was going to forever change my family's life. We have a grandson, a nephew, a son.

So I am new at this grandma gig. Today we will welcome him into his parent's home, share some time with his other grandparents, watch them marvel at this little wonder.

Tomorrow and the next day, to infinity and beyond, this little man, Cyrus J. McNelly, and I will together get this grandma thing down. I am pretty sure it will come naturally. And no doubt before too long, I'll believe that what my 'older' friends have been telling me about grandchildren is true.

The reason we have children......

My friend Patty has been telling me for years that the reason we have children is so we can have grandchildren. I've been hearing that phrase long before my kids were child bearing age. (Patty is several years my senior.) Last August Kalie and Aaron announced to us that Wade and I would finally become members of the grandparent club. We are now down to the last weeks of waiting to meet our precious sweet pea. We get to be surprised at the birth as to which gender it will be. There are times when the whole thing seems surreal. I haven't gotten carried away....yet. I have a new chest in my living room beginning to fill with toys. I have great plans for this little one....coming to Nana Boo's house will always be so much fun. Wade is giddy with excitement. He's gona be a blubbering grandpa. He can't decide if he wants to be called papa or grandpa. Or gramps. Or grumpy. Jesse will be Uncle Jesse and Brenna will be the favorite aunt. Roxy will need to love this little bairn.

Boo.....

Just like my journals sitting half empty in my bedroom bookshelf, so sits my 'blog' on the internet.

Ha! Some things never change.

Pages of my journals are filled with 'updates' from life. I don't know who I think I am writing to. I am the only one who read them.

This evening I was surfing through Facebook and I came upon my friend, Sherry Macy. She had shared a link to her blog, sharing the events from her church this evening. I took a journey through her blog to catch up with her life, since this in the way I keep in touch with her these days.

Going back in time through her life was such a treat. Not only does Sherry write about her life, she uses pictures to tell the stories as well. From church activities, to house remodeling to family gatherings, Sherry carefully crafts a story worth reading.

I wondered if I would be like her someday...with my grandchildren and family as they expand.

Discipline, that's was it takes to consistently write down your thoughts, to share your life and wisdom...humor. You also need something to say. One my say, "Sheez Jere, you ALWAYS have something to say!" True. But does anyone really care?

Maybe the point isn't for someone else to read this stuff. That's bonus! Perhaps the point of blogging is to capture our lives in a post modern way that documents our lives. I enjoy going back and reading about my life. Highs and lows of life remind me that each day is new. If the day is going badly give it 24 hours. A new day could bring a whole new perspective.

My blogging has given me some good moments, now forever (or at least as long as Google's server stays up) on the internet for the edification of those who stumbled upon it.

In the spirit of my friend, Sherry, I leave you with of few photos that document this phase in my life.

I don't have grandchildren, but I do have grandchicks. Thanks to Kalie and Aaron.


Here I am with Peggy, named so because she has a peg leg.
This is the chicken coop that Aaron built. I 'pinned' it on Pintrest! :)
And finally, Jesse was honored with an award at the Fox Film Festival - Best Art Direction for his work on the film "In Case of Zombies." We are so proud!!

It's a new year with new possiblilites

That week between Christmas and New Years always freaks me out. It's like there is something that needs to happen that changes everything. Maybe that feeling comes from the whole Y2K thing or memories of something from childhood. Maybe it is the knowledge that we have to get our taxes filed.

Either way, I tend to feel a sense of dread.

For the past 53 years nothing out of the ordinary happens. I wake up January 1 to face a holiday of some sorts. It is usually spent cleaning house and getting ready for the work week.

This year was no exception. There is a sense of disappointment at the coming of the 2012 new year. I think we were promised in several movies from the 70's that we would be driving around in the air by 2012. Our mode of transportation would be something right out of 2010 space odyssey. Heck, we aren't even CLOSE to that!

Despite the new and old disappointments, I want to wish my friends a happy new year. Who knows? Maybe the flying car is just around the corner!

Christmas

One day I hope to understand my dilemma about Christmas. Not the original Christmas. The one we celebrate today in modern times.

Many people share my feelings about the Christmas of today. It starts now before October 31 and rolls right over us like Santa's sleigh through November and on into December.

My aversion of Christmas isn't just about the commercialism. While I love the lights and the beauty of the holiday, there is just something about the holiday that puts me in a grinchy mood.

Let's start with the tree. I do NOT like the bushy Douglas Fir trees that other members of my family prefer. I like a spindly Noble Fir. Each year no one remembers what my favorite tree is. I am not blaming any one person, because truth be told if it was that important to me I guess I should go get it myself.

But my reluctance to fall hard into Christmas comes from somewhere deeper: a darker place. Childhood disappointments? Regrets?

Favorite favorite memories from my entire life revolve around Christmas. My oldest daughter, Brenna, was born on December 11th. (I'd say the year but she's already pretty broken up about turning 27 this year.) I'll never forget the moment about 3 days after her birth, walking into the living room. Brenna was in the little crib next to the decorated, live, Noble Fir tree that we bought to later bury her placenta under.

The setting sun darkened the room but the glow of the Christmas tree radiated on my darling daughter. This was Christmas. A perfect gift given to me.

When in Papua New Guinea our Christmas' were perfect. We got to spend the entire morning in our own home. No running around to get ready to go to Grammy's house. A lovely, peaceful Christmas dinner later in the day with friends who shared our time in a far away place.

Memories...that is what the ads on TV tell us we should be creating. I regret the lack of memories I made with my family. Things I wished I'd done but didn't. And now it's too late. Christmas regrets.

I believe it is important to look at life from different perspectives. And that is how I choose to look at Christmas. I am blessed. Christmas isn't about things, it is about the gift of Jesus. The gift of life.

As a kindergarten teacher my class put on a play called "365 Days of Christmas." It is in that perspective of Christmas where I want to live.

And as you can see in the picture above I got the perfect tree this year.

Puppy Love

I love my dogs. Everyday when I walk out the door to go to work I know I am going to miss them. Each one of them in their own unique way make me laugh, smile and be happy from the top of my head to the tip of my....tail. :)

This weekend I took them to the dog park in McMinnville. It's been several months since we visited there. From the moment we arrived I realized they remembered where we were. Roxy was much more confident and in fact was able to rustle around with some bigger dogs without going in for the kill. :)

As we entered the gate for the grassy area, Murphy's gait increased as the memory of where we were hit him square between his blind eyes. He ran off like a bat-out-of-hell with his bouncy running with a huge smile on his face. I wish I had a camera to capture their joy.

Roxy played ball for a while but mostly enjoyed all the new smells. Along with Fonzy she emptied her bladder in her attempt to cover every other dog's smell.

Three tuckered out dogs came home after being out of the house for more than two hours. Between the hour at the park, driving time and my stops at the store, they had a wonderful day outing.

The boys are much less agitated as we travel around and Roxy's confidence is evident. I know that our daily excursions to the Newberg Dog Park has been a big benefit to their overall level of security and lessoned their fear of the unknown.

I just wish I could bring them to work with me. :)

The Only Thing Consistent About Life

(Posted October 2, 2011 - began writing August 28.)

Several years ago George Fox decided to undergo an evaluation of employee's job descriptions. Each staff and administrator was required to complete a survey regarding their job. In preparation for this task we were asked to attend an information meeting. As an introduction to the meeting the Human Resources director asked "How many of you like change?"

I was the only one who raised my hand.

Change....it's something you can count on happening in life. Just when you think you have everything all figured out change comes knocking.

In my adult life I have embraced change. For me, change is like a gift. Something new in life that makes the day-to-day mundane....well, different. What's wrong with mixing it up a bit! :)

Even when the change is not good, it helps us to look at things differently. Change pushes us away from the perspective we've been accustomed to and gives us a new view.

I believe if we embrace the change, the new view, we will grow. Being stuck in the 'mud' is not something that excites me.

Wade has a new job. And he loves it. For the first time in many years he feels respected and valued for his experience and his degree.

Granted, the rhythm of our life has changed. Especially for him. He doesn't have the freedom to hit the park and play his guitar in the afternoons. The time we now have together is primarily on the weekends. But he isn't distracted by his job, nor does he hop down to the office for a couple hours.

I am thankful beyond words for the change in Wade's life right now. And even though we are walking to the rhythm of a new drummer, I am liking the new moves.

Half way through and the end is in sight

Summer. The month on the calendar says it has arrived. It is July after all. Yet the clouds in the sky and the temperatures say otherwise. The Pacific Northwest as had one of the oddest summers on record. And while I'd like a little more sun for my lovely tomatos I won't complain. No floods, tornados or hail. It is all about perspective.

Summer. It's a time for vacations and reunions of all sorts: the family and high school kind, trips to visit family and perhaps along the way find a place where summer has arrived.

One of the disadvantages of working at a college is that time is measured. Semesters come and go with the seasons. We are constantly reminded of where we are in the semester, just in case we forget. Which we never do. My co-workers, rightly so, can't wait for each semester to come to an end with hopes that the next one will have less stress. The issues that come up vary and the ebb and flow of working with young adults can be rather draining.

Especially in student life.

Typically summer is the only time most of my co-workers take off for vacation. This summer all three of my bosses have been gone at the same time. Silly them. :) In their absence I've had a long list of tasks to complete. Half way through the summer I am 97% complete with my list. I can leave on vacation without any looming tasks keeping me from having fun!

I will say that it is nice when summer is here. Plans to get something accomplished rarely go unmet. I catch up on the donkey work that seems to get put at the bottom of the pile.

I have the luxury of a window view so my cubicle gets plenty of sun, whenever it decides to rear it's pretty little head. Clouds, wind, birds, bugs...they all make their way past my view.

When I come back from vacation in August I'll be running. All three bosses will be back and I'll be scurrying around getting ready for the retreat and then, the start of the school year.

But it will still be summer, right? I'd love to take another trip to the beach with the dogs. We had so much fun that last time. I plan to make a journey with Roxy (and maybe Wade) up to visit Kalie in Seattle sometime in August. So maybe I am a little premature in thinking that my summer vacation is over once I get back from San Diego.

But I can see it. The end of summer. It hits me right in the face everytime I take a phone call from a student or parent. Things are ramping up here in the office. August will end with the beginning of school.

And that's the way it goes each year, leaving us with memories of summer that left us before it really began.

....Only when I laugh

Life hurts. So do accidents.

Monday morning, just as I was getting ready to dry my hair and get to work, the phone rang. On the other end was Brenna, my oldest daughter who still lives in town. Surprisingly the was calmly telling me that she'd been in a serious car accident. Leaving my hair to dry in the wind and clothed myself and hopped in my car to rescue my baby.





There wasn't much I could do. She was standing at the scene trying to gather her wits. Her car was totaled. The other car that t-boned her only lost the license plate.

Due to the accident up the road a few blocks, two of three lanes of traffic had come to a stand still. The drivers in those two lanes waved her across. Cautiously she inched her way across the road, looking for any cars coming up that third lane, a turn lane. When she didn't see anything she went all the way and bam! The driver admitted that he wasn't looking at traffic cause he was watching the police lights up ahead.

When the dust and car parts settle it's Brenna's fault. She's got insurance but the final settlement is yet to be determined. My heart aches for her and the loss of her first safe, new car.

Her body is sore and she is under treatment of a chiropractor. Both her neck and hip is aching....but she says they only hurt when she laughs, or cries.

Accident number two came when one of the fledgling red tail hawks miscalculated and more than likely crash landed, injuring one of its legs.






I discovered this incident on Facebook when I saw someone had posted a news story complete with video of the police officer that found and rescued the young bird from Oak and Broadway. The poor thing was so scared it didn't even bother trying to fly away and easily walked into a large box for transportation to the Dove Lewis Animal Hospital. I am sure that the young bird of prey is now in the hands of the Audubon Society. Whether it will be released back into the wild is yet to be determined.

One of the teens had injured its leg prior to the three leaving the nest this past week. Everyone following the raptor cam was concerned about it. How would the leg injury affect his fledgling activities? Days prior to his leaving the nest the leg seemed to mend and allow him to fly away with his siblings.

However, all of the birds were now out of our sight. Unless we were physically downtown Portland we would not know what the birds were up to. Local folks posted updates on Facebook, but none of us had any control or would be able to assist the juveniles in any way.

Thankfully, the bird rescue was recorded by the local news station, KGW, and we were able to see for ourselves that the bird was injured, same leg as the one injured in the nest. (Today the Audubon Society messaged me that the bird is okay and being watched by their expert staff at the rehabilitation center.)

It's hard for people to watch real life unfold before their eyes. There are no guarantees that these birds will survive beyond their first year of life. In fact, it is almost a miracle that the three hawks survived till now! Death or severe injury could have befallen them prior to their leaving the nest and certainly is a great possibility from here on out.

We cannot keep these birds from harm.

I cannot keep my kids from harm...unless I plan to keep them in a bubble for the rest of their lives, which would be completely miserable.

To live in this world we must accept that bad things happen. That is a part of life. Keeping the bad things at bay is not living. Some of life's most exciting adventures come to us when situations run amuck. :)

The pain and agony of defeat comes with thrill and adventure....if you choose to look at it that way.

Learning also happens. I bet Brenna will NEVER cross a road in that same manner again.

And there are funny memories of this incident for Brenna. Certainly not then, maybe not now... but soon. I did get after Officer J. Fair! He kept doggin' Brenna to get a tow truck to get her car out of the way. The 3rd time I told him to back off. Yes I did.

We will also remember the 'dude' that hit her. What a gem. He admitted he wasn't paying attention to the road. And yet it is Brenna's fault. A lesson to learn.

Pain, heartache and disappointment hurt. But only when I laugh.

Fly Away

When my children were small I pretty much lived in the moment. Together we made it through one day after another doing the things that families should do when their children are young. Watching the kids play, dance, sing and quarrel with one another, teaching them how to play, work and love. Through each phase of development I embraced the moment and enjoyed them right where they were. Many of these moments are recorded on video. I am so thankful that we have "Kalie can't dance" forever etched on DVD along with many hours of music, song, dance and just plain silliness.

Not once do I remember thinking about how my life would change when my children 'flew the coop.' Thinking about having an empty nest was not something that occurred to me when my children were young. It's not like I wanted them to always be with me but I just never imagined my life without them living in my home with me.

This spring some of my time has been consumed with watching two eagle nests and one red-tail hawk nest. The red-tail hawks nest has been the most rewarding because I have been actively watching since the eggs were laid. Also, since the nest is located in Portland, last weekend Wade and I went searching for the nest. A well placed camera angle gave me a clue to its whereabouts when a local business appeared on my computer screen.

From the moment the first chick hatched the drama of life and death has played out for anyone interested to see. This is 'reality T.V. at its finest! :)

The mother hawk laid four eggs. Each day through the cold early spring I watched mom and dad take turns keeping those eggs warm. Then as predicted by the Audubon Society moderator of the site, the female began turning her eggs in preparation for hatching.

During the nesting period plastic bags would appear in the nest. Their presence really bothered some people but there was nothing we could do. Speculation arose as to weather it blew up there (15 stories? not likely) or did the parents bring it to the nest?


The first chick hatched a few days before the other two. (The fourth egg never did hatch and would become a marker for us to compare the growth of the chicks.)

That first chick was strong and confident.

Once the three chicks had all hatched that plastic bag was used by the mother to protect the two small chicks from their oldest sibling. He was a mean and vicious creature! About day 5 after they hatched every time the mother got up that oldest chick would peck the young two siblings. It was so violent I couldn't watch! Others on the site felt the same way.

But then one afternoon I watched the mother get up off the chicks and she pulled that plastic bag over the two smaller chicks. The oldest sibling looked for his prey but they were not to be found. They were safely hidden from view. Momma to the rescue!!! Soon, the violence stopped and the chicks all got a long fine.

Several times each day food was brought into the nest. Most of the time the carcass was still and death had taken place in the air or at the time of the attack. Once I saw slight movement on a rat that was brought. The diet of the city birds was mostly pigeons and rats. The chicks all ate with great enthusiasm, each taking turns as the mother or father ripped small pieces of flesh to feed their young.

At first the three chicks stayed smack dead center in the nest. They didn't venture far from the safety they knew from birth. But soon, one by one, they began to wander out towards the edge of the nest, but well away from the edge of the railed staircase. Our moderator assured those who were fearful of their falling out of the nest that although it could happen, it was very unlikely.

In the same way it was exciting to see how the parents taught them to rip their food apart. As the blood feathers appeared and the white downy feathers gave way to the brown fledgling feathers, the parents would bring their meals to them and leave it in the nest. Gradually the parents had been weaning them from being fed by the parents and the chicks were expected to eat the meat themselves. It started gradually: First the parents would feed half the rat and then leave the remaining carcass for the chicks to figure out what to do. As you might imagine it was the oldest who showed the way for its younger siblings.

Eventually the chicks, starting with the oldest, began to practice flapping their wings. One by one they worked to stretch their wings in preparation for the day that we all know would come. Even though there was a bitter-sweet acknowledgement of the facts, I encouraged them when I saw them flap their wings. I cheered them on and felt a sense of pride for them.

Life in the nest atop the 15 story building must have been grand. But as all children must (or should) do, the day was approaching when one day it would be time to venture out on their own. I knew that one day I would log onto that web cam and the chicks would be gone. That day has come.

Yesterday I logged onto the site and the two younger chicks had left the nest area. Their older (and meaner) sibling has been absent from camera view for 4 days. If we were to go to Portland today we would likely find them in nearby trees or buildings, but they are no longer confined to the nest...their wings have strengthened and they have the freedom to fly wherever they care to go.

For a time they will follow mom and dad around and at least once a day ask them for food. For a awhile the parents will oblige. However at some point mom and dad will stop feeding them and force the 'teens' to start hunting the plentiful bounty of food on their own. And they will.

That's the way it is with human children. For a time we do everything for them. And then seemingly one day they want to fly by themselves. (Or drive in a car with a boy.) :)

I always have the memories of the past to warm my heart, and videos to remind me when my mind fails me. The best part of my parenting life now is watching them live the lives we tried to prepare them for. Tears of pride well when I hear stories of their lives now, whether they are delivering babies or teaching young men to live independently or flying (alone) to New York or participating in jury duty.

Although they are not all living in the nest, I don't have to look very far to see them flying around the trees and buildings, living and loving as I hoped they would.

Mommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?

I am never quite sure about mother's day. Somehow the celebration of it feels forced. While everyone has a mother, not everyone has a mom.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't want to tell my mom how much I love her or appreciate her. But I find it awfully presumptuous to think that everyone wants to honor or celebrate the person who brought them into this world.

Knowing that my mom doesn't get on Facebook, nor does she know how to get to this blog, I can safely write that while I love my mother and appreciate all that she has done for me and my family, our relationship has not been what I had hopes for. Enough said.

When I became a mother I am pretty certain that I remember looking deeply into Brenna's sleepy eyes while rocking her to sleep, whispering promises of what kind of mother I would be. I would be nothing like my own mom. In my profound and glorious wisdom I would improve greatly those areas that drove my own mother and myself apart.

Often I wonder if my mom ever made me promises of being a better mother than HER mom was to her!

Alas, over the years I found myself saying some of the crazy things my mom would say to me or grab the girls' arms and shake them when they misbehaved. Guilt and shame gushed into my heart washing away all my good intentions.

As the kids and I got older I saw glimmers of hope in my behavior as I worked to change the patterns developed. Conversations with Brenna and Kalie often prompted me to rethink my parenting style. Wade's influences too gave me courage to look at teaching, discipline and my reactions to situations from a new perspective.

Sure, there are plenty of awful memories of fights and arguments, times when I completely acted irrational and lost all sense of my grown up self. (Remember when I announced that you girls could do you own laundry from now on? It was right after you gripped about what we were having for dinner.)

Time and age become my friend as the memories of all my mistakes fade into the past and only the good memories are clearly seen in my mind's eye.

Yet guilt and regrets are hard to shake, and they often rear their ugly heads to remind you that you really aren't much better than anyone else.

Growing up is a never ending process. At least it shouldn't be. I am still a mom, but my roles have changed. I can't, try as I might, control my children. They are now all old enough to take care of themselves and in fact do a pretty good job of it.

So what kind of mom do I want to be, now that I am all grown up?

I want to be the kind of mom that encourages her children.

I want to be the kind of mom that speak truth and love, sprinkled of course with humor.

I want to be the kind of mom that my kids still want to call and tell me their joys, hurts, pains, sadness and hopes.

I want to be the kind of mom that prays for her kids.

I want to be the kind of mom that marvels at the adults her kids are becoming.

I want to be the kind of mom whose kids call her blessed. Because I am.

Thank you, Brenna, Kalie and Jesse: for being such amazing and wonderful children.

Happy Mother's Day! I love you!

Oh yah, and I really would like one more medium sized to large wind-chime.

Life and Death...then choose life

As you may know I've been watching a couple of 'wildlife' cameras: One red-tailed hawk in Portland, and two eagle cameras. Live animal cams are much more interesting than watching 'Jersey Shore' or any other so called reality TV. You can't get more real than unscripted wildlife!

This fact hit several thousand people on Tuesday, April 26 when the female pair of bald eagles raising three chicks in Norfolk, Virginia's Botanical Garden was struck and killed by a plane getting ready to land at the airport. News coverage continues daily after the mother eagle was identified by wildlife staff experts at the park.

Yesterday afternoon over 11,000 viewers expressed their shock and grief at the loss of this eagle who raised 18 chicks, all surviving their first flight from the nest. The couple had 9 years together, raising a family each year before the watchful eye of devoted followers including many children in classrooms.

I can't find this quote, but I remember hearing it several times throughout my life, pertaining to the violent nature of wildlife. If we think that humans are brutal to their own kind, then just watch some of the stuff that happens in the wilderness.

And yet, as I navigate my way to the news website that hosts the camera, there are links to news reports about human tragedy:

~ Afghan officer opens fire, kills 9 Americans

~ Storms kill 11 in the south

~ Terror reigns in Syrian City

~ Nun stuck in elevator for 4 days

~ 190 killed by violent tornados in the south


Well, you get the picture. Death and destruction are happening all around us. And while a part of me mourns the loss of this magnificent animal the fact that people are suffering is not lost on me.

Humans connect with the actions and lives of animals. Perhaps some of the viewers wish their parents had cared for them as faithfully as the eagle couple cared for their young.

On the eagle cam blog people posted questions and comments like: "When do you think the father eagle will stop grieving." To which the wildlife expert replied "Eagles don't feel emotions in the same way that humans do."

Animal lovers tend to anthropomorphism when describing animal emotions. Although I am guilty of this as well, I have to chuckle when I read on the eagle cam blog about people feeling bad for the male eagle as he no longer has a mate nor his babies. The staff at the Norfolk Botanical Garden decided to remove the chicks to a wildlife rehabilitation center as they feared the male wouldn't be able to provide enough food for his three growing eaglets. While the decision to remove them is controversial, I believe that the decision for life was made.

In the cycle of life and death comes the reality that life is fragile. Accidents happen cutting life short, forever changing the lives of the people involved.

The eaglets, while not bound for certain death if left in the nest, now face a different future void of the kind of parenting that will give them the tools they need to make it in the wild. It's got to be complicated. But again, with the 'benefit' of technology we humans are given a birds eye view to the circle of life in the wild. The daily activities can't be scripted. The horrors of life played out before an audience on a live camera.

The same can be said for humanity. The random brutality of a tornado that took the lives of over 190 people last night give me pause. Human lives mingled with animal lives in that destructive force of nature.

With my passion for animals I have to work to keep humanity in the forefront of my concern. For I know that the brutality that befalls the animals that God created pales in comparison to the brutality that is inflicted upon those made in the image of God.


“Nature is not human hearted.” says Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu.

"Plans to protect air and water, wilderness and wildlife are in fact plans to protect man." Stewart Udall

A Big Day for Bird Watching

At 6:15 am (Pacific Standard Time) the process for banding the eaglets in Virgina began. What an amazing process. Best part of the day for me were these still close-ups of the babies. What a treat to see them up close without the camera swaying!

Here's the link to the website: http://www.wvec.com/marketplace/microsite-content/eagle-cam.html

Then, this early afternoon the Redtail Hawk chicks (at least two of them) hatched in Portland.



Imagine...this miracle is happening all over the world right now...spring is bringing forth its bounty and because of technology we get to see it! WOW!



(Below are two pictures taken by the Norfolk Botanical Gardens staff during the banding today. Look at their talons!)

And then the sun came to play

Birds singing in the cold but sunny backyard, squirrels searching for the remains of yesterday's nuts, and the sun....promising a full day of its rays brings a smile to every ones face.

Such is the life in the Pacific Northwest.

No complaining, just observing. We've had a fairly mild winter compared to the folks east of us. No windstorms, hail or tsunamis. But nonetheless, the sun is a welcome accompaniment to our days.

Even now as the puffy clouds roll into the sky it's a welcome change to the blanket of clouds that we've all gotten accustomed to over the last several months.

So as long as we can, look up and feel the warmth on your face. Sunday it will likely be rain drops splashing in your eyes.