Author Archives: Janell

Daily Bread

14 Wednesday Oct 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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“Give us this day our daily bread.”

I’ve carried around this ancient prayer passage  as I’ve attended to the day’s  tasks.

Yesterday I foolishly imagined that today would be spacious, a day without demands, a day to spend however I pleased.  Instead, Max, who is still not well, put me into motion early.  I know Max is very sick because — among other symptoms — Max, who loves bread more than meat, refused to take a bite of my morning toast. 

So Max is spending the day at the clinic, being pampered and treated by a veterinary team that adores him.  Max is always glad to see old friends, though today, Max was counting on a short visit rather than an all day affair.  But with his weight now down 5 to 6 pounds, Max needs a solution soon.  And though we learned the source of Max’s problem on Monday, it’s taking a little effort to put Max back on the road to recovery.

blog_daily bread

Daily Bread for Many Days

So the day that was to be spacious has been full of tasks, included the dreaded monthly grocery shopping.  Other shopping, much more satisfying, took me to two different locations for the purchase of bread.  I buy our everyday sandwich bread at  Big Sky Bakery in Nichols Hills.  Then I shop at a local Vietnamese supermarket for fresh baquettes.  These miniature loaves are the best bread bargain in town at thirty-five cents each.   And from the looks of my bounty, it’s easy to see I went a bit overboard.

I am comforted by the smell and taste of bread.  I serve few meals without it.  But as I moved through the hours of the day, I began to think about bread as a metaphor for other everyday necessities.  Right now and for the next few days, Max’s daily ‘bread’ will be IV fluids, as our veterinarian attempts to stabilize Max’s electrolytes.   For me, it’s a bit of quiet time in the morning, usually with some reading as a source of spiritual nourishment.  Then later in the day, crazy as this might sound, it’s sweeping all my downstairs floors.  It’s amazing how much better I feel about life with tidy floors.  In some mysterious way, clean floors allow me to face whatever else life wants to throw at me. 

I share this same sentiment about Jesus the Christ, who dared one ancient day to tell this outlandish bit of good news to any who would receive it:  “I am the bread of life.”  Just like manna, there’s no reason to stockpile the bread of life; it’s always in my pantry when I need it.

Daddy & Larry

13 Tuesday Oct 2009

Posted by in Life at Home

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Daddy was sitting with the aides in the dining room when we arrived today. He saw us before Jon and I saw him.  And while I’d like to think Daddy was watching for our arrival, that might be going a bit far.  But expected or not, Daddy was all smiles, and it was good to arrive to Daddy’s big smile.

We quickly stole Daddy away from his aides, wheeling him toward the bedroom, that for the last six weeks, Daddy has shared with Larry.  Larry probably knows Daddy as good as anyone these days.  Paralyzed from the waist down for the last twenty years, Larry observes life from flat on his back. 

About a month ago, Larry motioned me to his bedside with a whisper:

“How old is your father”?
“Seventy-nine.”.
“Is that all?”  “That’s MY age.  I thought your Dad was an old man.” 

Old is a relative term I’ve learning and age is only one indicator of the state of old.  Today I learned that even the young-old like Larry (versus the old-old like Daddy) want to be useful, even if paralyzed from the waist down.  So today, while Dad and Jon were watching Bonanza, Larry caught my attention for a bedside conferernce.  And what I got was a brief of Daddy’s nocturnal wanderings.  After the report was in, I found myself admitting my worry about Daddy’s wandering ways; and then confidentially, Larry whispered that he worries about Daddy too.

It seems Daddy has become Larry’s  new found purpose in life.  Working under cover (literally), Larry watches Daddy’s every prohibited move,  everytime Daddy gets it in his demented mind to use his shaky, almost useless legs to get around.  I don’t think Daddy has a clue that Larry is spying on him.  And to Larry’s credit — he’s  becoming a pretty good informant.   He told Christi on Sunday about Daddy’s doings.   And then told the nursing home staff what Daddy was up to when Daddy fell last night.  And today, he was telling me about both.  

Daddy couldn’t ask for a better protector.  Because Larry has a handle on reality where Daddy, even in his better days, lived life in his own little dream world.  Larry is paralyzed and knows it.  Daddy is practically paralyzed and doesn’t know it.  Larry is clear-minded where in a state of dementia, Daddy lives in a fog.  Case in point:  Today at 4:30, I called Christi at work to let Daddy hear her Tuesday dog report.   Fifteen minutes later, just as Jon and I were getting ready to leave, Daddy stalls our departure by  asking me where Christi is.  My mother would have yelled at Daddy for such a silly question — Jack, don’t YOU remember, YOU just talked to Christi a few minutes ago!  Yelling’s not my thing.  I simply answer Dad’s question, by telling Daddy that Christi is at work — as if Daddy’s asking is the most natural thing in the world for him to do.   

On our way out, Larry asks my brother to open the privacy curtain that divides Larry’s space from Daddy’s.  Meanwhile, out in the hallway, I just smile.  With Dad’s family out of the picture, Larry is back on the job, trying to protect Daddy from Daddy.  And with Larry preferring truth to fiction, when do I warn Larry he’s taking on Mission Impossible?

And all shall be well…

12 Monday Oct 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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One of my favorite quotations comes from the writings of English mystic Julian of Norwich:  “…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

In any day, life hiccups and things go bump in the night.  But over the course of a lifetime, all does indeed become well.

And so it seems is Max, who gave us quite a scare yesterday.  Max is home now, after a battery of tests and after more than a little stress to this poodle mom.  Yesteday the vet had no clue what could be the source of Max’s latest malady.  Today the official diagnosis is Addison’s, which means Max’s body manufactures no cortisone.  Yes, none.  Did it stop all at once?  Was the cortisone spigot operating on Friday noon and turned off six hours later?  That’s how quick it seemed to happen.  One moment Max is his bouncy self; the next a limp rag.

I really try not to worry over that which I’ve no control.  Sometimes this is easier said than done, like last night.  I woke up in the dead of night to remember Max.  And before drifting back to sleep, I whispered a quick prayer.  And even though it was brief, I told God exactly what I wanted for Max; none of this ‘thy will be done’ business. 

I wish I could have the faith of St. Julian that all shall be well.  Then I wouldn’t feel this need to give God a helping hand with shaping answers to my prayers.  Maybe that’s why I prefer, or maybe why I feel I am at my best, when I pray without words.

When I pray with words, I’m slumming.  But not so with Julian.  Her words, like the poets, soar.  And they help lift me up — out of the slum of my own words — to  heaven, I guess.  And God, I hope.

And ushered into the presence of God, with love in my eyes and no words on the tongue, here is the part where I thank God that Max will soon be all well.  God’s good at reading minds and hearts.