He Gives & Takes Away: The Legacy of Resilience

The one thing that I pray for most of all is acceptance of God's will. I want to welcome the testing, and know that I won't always feel the pain of humanness, but transcend to a better place in the future. We have something to look forward to when we die. I care whether, or not I cause a change in my earthly journey, otherwise, why did I even come here? I think about everything. My mind is my nemesis and blessing. That's the way it is with a blessing from God. It's often too, why we love someone. We're attracted to a characteristic, which later we find to be a downfall.

Daisy Lou and Emily Lou traveled from Ireland to be a part of our animal family. They were only six weeks old when the kennel owner brought them under the front seat of the airplane to La Guardia Airport in New York. They rested for four days in New York, visited a vet for a health check-up, and then flew to Los Angeles when the weather was warm enough. Those two little West Highland White Terriers were just about the cutest things to come into our household, aside from our beautiful Missy, whom we lost after eleven and a half years.

Of the two Westies, Emily was clearly the leader of the pack, and her sister Daisy was benevolent enough to let that happen. Daisy was gracious of spirit from the day we first met her. She always let Emily have her way, even when she knew Emily was wrong.

Emily loved to float with Don on the floater in the pool. She loved to swim, which is something our vet had assured us these two dogs would never want to do, there in the name "terrier," of the earth. Once Emily received permission to go into the pool by the removal of her collar, there was no stopping her. She'd dive in repeatedly, swim the length of the pool, climb out, and dive in again. She absolutely loved the water. She could even climb up on the floater in the pool without help!

Daisy didn't like the water at all, but Emily taught her to like it. If Emily floated, Daisy considered floating too. It wasn't second nature to Daisy as it was with Emily. The sound of sirens was something that drove Emily to distraction. She'd launch a high, screaming howl that was enough to break your eardrums! We never witnessed such an event with Daisy while Emily was alive. Sadly, Emily died at the age of two and a half years. She had a rare kidney disease, which took her down. Her last good day with us was Father's Day 2002, and she spent it floating with Don in the swimming pool. She died one week later.

After Emily died, Daisy remained extremely sad, and it became evident if we didn't find another Westie quickly that we risked losing her also. We rescued a male Westie with a heart defect, MacGregor. He took to us right away and us to him. He had surgery on his heart one year after we adopted him, and is currently as healthy as he can be. Daisy never liked floating, but now floating with Don is her favorite activity, and she is teaching MacGregor to enjoy it too. Daisy never liked standing on the step in the pool, but loves to stand there now, and has taught MacGregor to do the same. Daisy never howled like a siren, but now launches a high-pitched howl every time she hears a siren. While Emily was alive, she didn't engage in any of these behaviors. Emily taught her, and so Emily's legacy still lives on through Daisy, and now through MacGregor. It's the same way with people and families. We may not realize it at the time, but our families and others influence us. 

God and His Word also influence us. Nothing gives me more peace than to know that God loves me despite all my flaws. God had not tested me severely for a while until a year ago, when I thought Don might die. I know I might not be able to say this again in the future, but when I thought I was going to lose my husband, I realized that I loved God more. That's something for which I had been praying for many years. I had to thank God for the testing. It gave me renewed confidence in my faith. 

My father is gone. He died in 2004, and yet part of him lives on in me, the "never give up" part. He taught me in life, and he taught me through his death. I'm simply a composite of all the people I admired. God is at the center of who I am. I have dwelt with Him and now he dwells in me. That is one more reason to spend time in His Word: to gain resilience.

Dog Training Man: Arrow the Pharaoh Service Dog

I first noticed the Pharaoh service dog in the red vest as he and his owner walked through the airport in Atlanta. He was a magnificent creature. He had a long torso, a lean conformation, and a sleek head. He looked a lot like the dogs pictured at the pyramids in Egypt. In fact, they were his ancestors.

I didn't expect to ever see the man and his beautiful dog again. My husband and I boarded the airplane to Los Angeles. As the plane roared down the runway for takeoff, my husband said, "Did you notice the dog under the seat next to you?"

There he was, the lithe, royal-looking Pharaoh dog. He rested under his owner's legs and spread out under the legs of the man in the center seat as well. The man mentioned to me that Arrow was new at flying.

I petted the exquisite dog's head. Arrow became nervous and started to shake due to the airplane floor vibrations in takeoff. He scooted over to my side of the aisle and leaned up against my legs. The dog felt comforted when I slowly stroked his back and cooed to him that everything would be all right. Eventually, he stopped shaking and the owner encouraged Arrow to climb back under his legs, Arrow's assigned resting place.

My curiosity was piqued, and so I asked the owner, "What function does Arrow perform for you?"

"He senses when I'm about to have a seizure," he replied.

"What does he do when that happens?" I inquired.

"He goes crazy and jumps all over me, which is to remind me to take my medicine," the owner smiled.

"That's remarkable," I replied with astonishment. "How does he know? Does your scent change?"

"Some doctors have told me that, and some have said that it's because of the increased activity in my brain waves," he explained. Now, all the people surrounding us on the plane listened to the conversation, too.

"That's very interesting," I replied with wonderment. I giggled and said, "I have a male Westie at home who goes berserk when I walk or talk in my sleep. I guess he's a service dog, too. My female Westie could not care less. How do you train your dog or find the right animal?"

"They test the dogs for certain characteristics and awareness. I train the dog myself, or I should say, he trains me, and then we can travel anywhere together." We chuckled together. The owner continued, "I was in Las Vegas a few weeks ago. Arrow and I retired to our room and turned in for the night. In the middle of the night, he barked crazily and jumped all over me. People talked loudly in the hallway outside our room. I thought perhaps that they had set him off, and so I turned over and went back to sleep. An hour later, I woke up on the floor and all the bedding had been torn off the bed. Arrow laid on the bed with his legs crossed and stared down at me with superiority. He threw me his smug 'I told you so' look."

I laughed at Arrow's sense of humor and attitude. "I guess it pays to listen to your service dog," I smiled in return at the man.

We returned home to Los Angeles, and finally crawled into bed around two o'clock in the morning. I awoke to the furious barking by my male Westie, MacGregor, and realized that I was sleeping on the rug in the hallway. Every time that I venture out on my nocturnal meanderings, MacGregor is the catalyst to wake me. I understood that God had given me a service dog, too, to help protect me, and that knowledge gave me peace. "Gregs, thank you for your alert demeanor and caring heart. You're a good little service dog," I cooed to him as I cuddled and petted him profusely.

Sometimes we think that we choose the animal, and sometimes we think that the animal chooses us. Maybe the truth is that God pairs us together because of our natures. In other words, he created the person and dog to have an affinity for each other. It's just another way that God looks out for his children. If in that small way, the Lord protects his sheep, how many more ways do you think there are of which we are completely unaware?

How to Survive a Family Reunion - Day Three

By the fifth day of our visit to Minnesota, I felt exhausted. We stayed in the guest apartment in the complex where my youngest sister lives. The apartment was beautiful and spacious, and well equipped, except for one thing, the bed. It was a double bed, so old that to keep from sliding to the middle, I would have to tuck my nightgown under the mattress on my side! Since Don and I constantly bumped into each other and woke the other up, I moved to the sofa. The sofa was quite comfortable except that my frame was too tall to straighten my legs. For five nights, I only accumulated around twelve hours of sleep. Every morning my sister and her husband would ask me how I slept, but Don answered for me each time, “One of us slept very well.”

On the fifth morning, my no-nonsense sister, who had been a captain in the Air Force, announced that we were going to go bicycling down by the river in St. Paul. They had a whole garage full of bicycles, so they loaded them into my sister’s pickup truck, and off, we went. The parks by the river couldn’t have been more beautiful. They were so tropical and lush that they reminded us of Hawaii.

My sister pulled a bike off the truck, asked how much I weighed, and then adjusted it for my weight. She adjusted the seat, which had to go low because my left hip locked tight from the horseback riding the day before, oh the pleasures of growing older. I could barely get my leg over the bicycle even with her help, and I had no idea how to operate such a sophisticated riding device. Several levers on the right side controlled the front tire, and the same devices existed on the left side to control the back tire, but in reverse. I felt some trepidation since it had been twenty years, since I had ridden a bicycle. Don, sixteen and one-half years my senior, felt even more apprehensive. We voiced our concerns, and my “of course you can do it” sister replied, “There’s nothing to it. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Great, I thought, as I looked at the foot-holder, and wondered how I would ever get my fat-toed casual shoes into it. Well, it was a perfectly beautiful and temperate day, perfect for bike riding, and my sister had said that the ride was only two and a half miles. My twelve-year-old nephew led the way, followed by my sister, then me, Don, and my brother-in-law. I felt a little shaky at first, but soon found that I enjoyed the ride immensely. The main problem I had seemed to be the hills and turns. Other than that, it was a snap! I couldn’t keep the gears straight in my head from the front tire to the back tire, and ended up walking up the first hill with Don right behind me. Going down the hills was exciting and fast, unless, of course, it included a turn.

We traveled along between eight and fifteen-miles-an-hour. After fifteen minutes, I was soaked with sweat, and suggested that we should stop and take a drink of water. Don looked as if he was about to expire. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to figure out that the ride was longer than two and a half miles! I began to worry, since my sister once left two men behind in winter survival training when they couldn’t carry sixty-five pound backpacks and walk on snow shoes through four-foot snow!

After a half hour, we reached the end of the trail and reversed our direction to return by a different route. It took us on a wood-slatted path, with no railing, through a swamp with water on both sides. It terrified me. My sister screeched her breaks and stopped dead still in front of me. I banged into the back of her bike, and thought I was going to end up in the water. I couldn’t see what the problem was with the high marsh grasses. Around a bend came a mom and dad pushing a baby stroller. I prayed that we’d get out of the swamp, and stay out of the swamp without any more hair-raising encounters.

The next path included giant bushes of “itch weed” on either side of a mud path, which had been under water until recently. It was slippery and I felt extremely unstable. The sweat poured into my ears and down my neck and face and completely soaked my clothing. I could imagine what my bare skin would look like covered with welts! I focused straight ahead, and determined to get through the messy trail without falling.

Many people biked that day. We had to stay in single file to make enough space for oncoming bikers on the trail. An hour had passed when we took one more water break. Don positioned his bike against a tree, and sat down exhausted in the long grass. I gazed at my sister with concern as she quipped with resolve, “It’s only one more mile.” I didn’t know if I should believe her or not!

Don mounted his bike once again, and he followed my sister this time. I followed him and my brother-in-law took up the rear. My brother-in-law warned, “Tap the breaks on this hill so that you don’t get too much speed. There’s a sharp bend at the bottom.” Don did just what he had said and successfully made the turn. I did the same thing, but when I reached the bottom near the bend, two oncoming bikers appeared out of nowhere riding two abreast. I tried to turn more sharply, but wasn’t skilled enough to make a sharp turn without falling off the bike. I certainly didn’t want to hit anyone. The woman screamed with fright as I came so close to her that I nicked her bike handle. I lost my balance, and now had two choices, a bed of large limestone rocks on one side of the path, or bushy itch weed on the other side of the path. My heart stopped for a moment. I imagined my face all broken and bloody lying on top of the rocks. I pictured what might be behind the bushes of itch weed, and didn’t know if it was water or not. My heart raced with panic, and then the muscle memory righted me, or, more likely, the hand of God reached down and steadied me.

My sister, her son, and Don were now a quarter of a mile ahead of us. I knew that my military sister wouldn’t stop. I caught my breath, and directed myself to peddle as fast as I could, which I did until I caught back up with them, and then raced past all three of them to the truck. By the time I climbed off the bike, I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t steady my hands. Dynamic bike riding is a lot different from a stationary recumbent bike like the one I ride for an hour every day at home! I thanked God for not allowing me to kill the woman on the trail, or kill myself. The sweat poured down my arms and legs, and then the sky opened up with thunderstorms.

Don and I climbed into our car, and headed back to the guest apartment. He said he had a report to finish, and so I made myself a white wine spritzer, put on my nightgown, and congratulated myself that I had survived the family reunion. “Here’s to family,” I said as I raised my glass, and then gulped it down, and laid down for a well-needed nap.

How to Survive a Family Reunion - Day Two

On the second day of our family reunion, we drove to the heart of Wisconsin to continue our gathering at my oldest brother’s country home, replete with four horses: one good riding horse, one untamed Arabian, and two Amish carriage horses. After eating from a spread of goodies, my brother suggested that we all go for a carriage ride. He had two hookups to the hundred-year-old carriage, one for two horses, and one for one horse. The hookup for the two horses was broken, so the men dragged it back into the garage, and worked on the one-horse hookup. Since the second horse wasn’t pulling the carriage, we decided to saddle the horse, and ride next to the carriage. I asked my sister with alacrity, “Who’s going to ride first?”

She cried enthusiastically, “You are!” I boarded the stocky and un-ridden carriage horse with aplomb. I’ve ridden many horses in my time. It takes a persistently ornery animal to dislodge me from its back. My husband watched with concern as the horse began to crowfoot. “T-s-s-s-s-s-t!” I hissed at the horse, a sound known to distract an animal from their current mindset. She settled down. We tried a canter next. The crowfooting increased with the horse’s dissatisfaction at the separation from her partner. I knew what was next, bucking, and so I slowed her down to a rack, something that carriage horses understand. Then, we trotted and I posted so as not to upset the feisty creature. My husband told me that I really looked good on the horse, and asked us to stop for a picture, and so we did.

A young neighborhood girl who studied horsemanship, but had never actually ridden a horse yet, asked if she could ride on the horse behind me. My sister and brother assured me that it was fine, and so they hoisted the young girl up behind the saddle and showed her where to hold on. We headed down the driveway, and the horse protested, since it put such a distance in between her and her partner. “T-s-s-s-s-s-t!” I hissed at the horse, and ordered her to settle down. The horse listened, but tried to canter without permission. I reined her in and we continued at a nice rack out through the pasture, where she wanted to run and kick up her heels. I had great concerns for the young girl seated behind me. I didn’t want the horse to launch her like a rocket, and so I directed the carriage horse into the soft dirt at the side of the pasture to slow her mounting angst. We circled the pasture successfully, a large expanse of seventeen acres, and headed back to the garage where her partner was harnessed to the old carriage.

My brother decided to take a test run with the carriage before offering rides to others. The young girl and I planned to walk our horse along beside the other carriage horse to reassure the dismayed creature. I knew how a team hates separation from each other. I’ve witnessed it before. My oldest brother started out slowly, but the horse took over, and trotted. He tried desperately to whoa her, but she broke into a wild canter, and then a gallop as she hauled my brother down the driveway at a breakneck speed! I halted my steed, and said a silent prayer for my brother and the horse’s safety. They screamed out the end of the driveway, and the horse reeled onto the active highway, where, thankfully, there was no traffic. Amazingly, the carriage didn’t overturn. As fast as that happened, the horse took a sharp right down into the ditch towards the pasture, and leaped over the fence back into the pasture leaving my brother stuck on the other side in the carriage!

My youngest sister tore out to the location through the long grass. She checked the horse for soundness, and then un-harnessed the horrified animal. The horse ran lickety-split back to the fence to her partner where we stood waiting. My other sister removed the young girl from my horse, and the creature had a hissy fit, so I cantered her around the yard until she settled down. I dismounted her, and asked my two equestrian sisters who wanted to ride her next. My other sister took a spin around the drive and dismounted. My youngest sister did the same and quickly dismounted. I asked, “Aren’t you going riding?”

They gave each other a frowned look, and then turned to me and declared with certainty, “No!”

I thought that was quite curious, “Was I the Ginny pig?” You never know what is going to happen at a family reunion.

How to Survive a Family Reunion - Day One

We have just returned from the internet-less interior of northern Minnesota where all my brothers and sisters, and their families, met for a family reunion. My second brother even returned from China, where he lives and teaches full time. I so enjoyed all the foods that we ate when we were kids. I don’t generally eat these foods anymore, but I splurged over July 4th weekend. Tuna casserole, pasta salad, Jello salad, hamburgers, hotdogs, hot barbequed beans, cupcakes, and more all found their way onto my plate. It’s not the beginning of the year, but I’m going to have to make a resolution to lose weight! It was worth it. How can anyone attend a family reunion, and not enjoy the fare offered?

My third brother has such a charismatic personality that everyone is attracted to him. He is the center of his farming neighborhood’s social life. He has an event every Friday evening in his garage, and anyone can attend. The neighbors take turns providing the meal for the evening, and often call ahead of time to reserve their turn. Our family reunion kicked into a full swing party. People dropped in from nowhere to see what was going on. They knew that they are always invited. We met many of my brother’s friends. To borrow my brother’s line, we would say, “What a hoot!”

An hour passed when a long-bearded and shirtless friend of my brother’s drove up on a tractor pulling a hay wagon. There was no hay on it, but benches that faced inward and wrapped around the outside of the hay wagon. The friend and driver hollered, “Climb aboard!” We didn’t hesitate, but piled onto the hay-less hay wagon with enthusiasm. All the seats filled up with the merry crowd, and we took off. I initiated the competition for animal sounds. Every time we saw an animal, I mimicked the sound the animal would make, and the others joined me as we mooed, neighed, and b-a-a-d. The animals gazed at us and then at each other, and wondered about the crazy crew. The nieces and nephews didn’t know that the adults could be so silly because in the past, they had been much more decorous.

Our driver took us on a tour of an unknown farmer’s circular drive. We all gazed at each other with surprise and embarrassment, and felt like unwanted party crashers. To break the tension, we waved at the unfamiliar family barbecuing in the yard! We continued out their driveway and around the quarter section of land on a gravel dirt road. When we had traveled to the far side of the quarter section, the driver pulled up next to a country cemetery, and stopped the tractor. The driver said, “Get off the wagon, this is the second sight you’re going to see today.” We thought that he was kidding, and so no one moved, but laughed at his humor. He ordered seriously, “Get off the wagon!”

I said to my husband, “He’s not kidding, we’d better get off the wagon.” All the other revelers followed suit. The driver took us on a tour of all the family members that he had buried in this cemetery, and we had our pictures taken with the gravestones! This was indeed the strangest hayride we had experienced. After the unusual photo opportunity, we reloaded the wagon, and headed home, but not without another detour through a farmer’s yard! We waved at a young boy and his dog playing in the yard, and he waved back, as if this was an everyday occurrence to have strangers tour your front yard! The driver commenced to drive us to my brother’s place where we regaled our tale with those that didn’t take the ride, and explained the oddity of such an adventure. That was the highlight of the first day.