A Great Tempest Arose

This afternoon I took a closer look at the stock market. The news headlines were all screaming about the panic on Wall Street and how stocks were plummeting in response to the sinking Chinese economy. It is one thing to read a headline; it is quite another to log on and follow the market second by second. I followed the Dow Jones and within a few minutes it had dropped over a hundred points. I kept watching, and it kept plummeting. Suddenly it started to rise a bit, and then fall some more. Then it rose again for a little while before resuming its descent.

It made me feel giddy, It was like the waves of a storm, a worldwide storm. Outside my window the weather looked nice and calm. Inside my mind, though, I was starting to feel agitated, wondering what this was doing to my retirement funds. It occurred to me that this mental agitation was but the tiniest part of a much larger picture. Waves of mental anguish were at this moment sweeping through the emotions of millions upon millions of people world-wide. This was nothing less that a psychological tsunami.

It seemed to me, though, that there was nothing I could do about it. There was no point in selling any of my stock or withdrawing any funds at this point. I have no idea whether prices will continue to sink, or begin to rise. And really, nobody else knows what is going to happen. The direction of the market is the result of millions of individual decisions. No one person can control it. Even governments, though they can have an influence, cannot dictate the outcome.

Only our Lord, who is God of both heaven and earth, really rules over such things. And He will at times permit things to happen in the short term because His real concern is the long term, and, indeed, our eternal welfare. Sometimes it is useful for people, who make worldly things to be an end in themselves, to get shaken up so that perhaps, just perhaps, they will reexamine their priorities.

It is a comforting thought--it brings comfort from deep within--to remember that He is in charge. It brings perspective to such worldly ups and downs, such financial storms. Money is not everything. We cannot even take it with us. There are deeper and far more important concerns. Do we have trust in Him? Do we love our fellow human beings? Are we acquiring spiritual wealth, eternal wealth, from His Word?

The stock market storm is only a worldly storm. And even this worldly storm is in our Lord's hands. He is in control. To know this, to believe this, will help calm even the most violent surges of panic.

Now when He got into a boat, His disciples followed Him. And suddenly a great tempest arose on the sea, so that the boat was covered with the waves. But He was asleep. Then His disciples came to Him and awoke Him, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” But He said to them, “Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?” Then He arose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. So the men marveled, saying, “Who can this be, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?” (Matt. 8:23-27).

The One Cent Check

I have always wanted this to happen some day, and today it happened. I got a check in the mail for one cent. Yes, one cent. Pay the Sum of -0- dollars and 1/100.

It was sent to me by my mail order pharmacy, OptumRx, thus tempting me to descend into a rant about the inefficiency of health care in the U.S. After all, it cost them 39 cents in postage to mail me the check in response to some alleged overpayment on my part. But, I resolve to take a dignified approach toward their heartfelt desire to make sure they were not conning me out of a penny.

I now have to decide between a number of mature responses to such silliness on their part:

• Wait in line at my bank and cash it. Somehow I think it might be appropriate to wear something dignified for the occasion. Perhaps my blue wig.
• Endorse the back and forward it to a favorite charity, or perhaps an unfavorite one. ASPM (American Society for the Protection of Mosquitoes) comes to mind.
• In a similar vein, endorse the back and forward it as a donation to the Donald Trump presidential campaign. I just love that fellow's comb over, don't you?
• Wait until the "deposit by" date passes, and then send it back to OptumRx asking them to please reissue it.

As I say, I have always wanted this to happen some day.

Thinking about Our Thoughts

Thought is such an interesting thing to think about. It sounds humorous to say this, but it is actually a very serious observation. Because we can think about what we are thinking, we must surely conclude that there are different levels of thought. From one level we can look down and observe our flow of thoughts on a lower level. Not only that, it is possible, to some degree, to control the flow of our thoughts on that lower level. We can, for example, say to ourselves, "I must try to stop thinking so pessimistically."

Thought is central to what makes us to be human beings. And the way we think says a lot about what kind of people we are. Look down again at your thoughts. Notice what you think about the most. What kinds of things occupy your mind? Angry thoughts? Thoughts of hopelessness? Or perhaps you are a happier kind of person with a mind filled mostly with cheerfulness and contentment.

Take the time occasionally to notice the flow of your thoughts. Your thoughts are actually a reflection of what it is you most love deep down inside. If you have lots of angry thoughts about other people, then perhaps, just perhaps, you love and care about yourself far more than you do about others. Selfish people tend to be very angry people. Not only that, selfish people are people who lack a good relationship with their God. Only our Heavenly Father can lift us up above selfishness, above bitterness, and bless us with a heart of cheerfulness and contentment and love. And He can only do this if we turn to Him in prayer and in a life of obedience to His commandments. Follow Him for only He can give you peace.

Look down on those thoughts. Watch their flow. It can teach you a lot about yourself, and about your relationship with Him.

Be Still

The noise of life, the constant sound,
My mind goes there and round and round.

The world is here before your face.
A mindless aimless empty race.

A deafness deadens deeper sighs.
A heart in pain unheard it cries.

We close our ears by seeking noise,
And choke the life of inner joys.

Stand still. Stand still and hear the pain.
Hear your heart weep once again.

Listen, listen, within the deep.
A warmth, a fire, the heart does keep.

Buried  beneath those constant tears,
The heart knew love before its fears.

Love is quiet, but love is there.
And love remains. And love is bare.


Patrick A. Rose, June 17, 2015
(c) 2015 by Patrick A. Rose

Youth

Older people, and I am getting to be one, were once young.  Not only do they remember being young, but they remember when they never imagined they would get old.

It happens though.  Slowly, so slowly it is hard to notice, the body ages and changes. The word "inevitable" comes to mind.  We are used to fixing problems.  Something is broken?  We get it repaired.  Or replaced. We like to be in control.  But you cannot replace your entire body. There are some ways in which we can slow down the aging process and so have some control.  Healthy living--a good diet and regular exercise--can certainly be very helpful. Time, though, marches on, and it seems to do so at an increasingly rapid pace.  Where did it all go to?

Remembering our own youth is, it seems to me, mostly an introspective activity.  We may reflect within ourselves about when we were young, but others see us as we now are.  They don't think of us as people who once were young. To them we are older people.

My memories of my grandmother are of an elderly lady--a wonderful human being, but elderly neverthless, I recollect asking one of my aunts, when I was a young child, about a painting on my grandma's wall.  It was a painting of a beautiful young woman.  I remember laughing, as a child, when I was told it was a picture of my grandma.  At that age I could not wrap my mind around this concept that old people were once young.

And yet they were once young.  All of us were at one point newborn babies, starting out on the inevitable trajectory of life.  All babies, if they live long enough, become old.  At least their bodies grow old.

Our spirits, our minds, are different. If we are wise enough to turn to the Lord and keep our sense of wonder, and avoid toxic emotions such as bitterness and resentment--emotions which poison the spirit--we will remain young inside.

My grandmother had an aging body, but she was young inside. She was full of fun, of love, of kindness.  She was a child of God,  This was brought home to me just recently.  I was sent some photos of her when she was only fifteen or so. As I looked at her as she looked over a hundred years ago, she looked very different from the way I remembered her in her later years.  And yet in a way she looked the same.  That childlike and innocent spirit so evident in the photos, never departed from her. As she grew wiser, her childlike and innocent spirit also grew and deepened.

I believe she is in heaven.  I believe she looks young and even more beautiful than when she was fifteen here on earth.

None of us have to grow old.

Softsoap

I was waiting for the doctor today, an ENT, and my brain was a bit fuzzy, not having had my first coffee of the day yet.  My eyes groggily scanned the room and lighted upon an interesting choice of words on a Softsoap container.  Apparently this Softsoap contained "real moisturizing lotion."

I found myself wondering if other soaps might contain artificial lotion instead of the real kind offered here.  Silly thoughts, really.  After all, marketing verbiage is marketing verbiage.

By now I have had my coffee for the day.  Sadly, though, the thought of this Softsoap has remained with me.  Even more sadly, I took the time to look up the ingredients and found out some rather unsettling information.  My source is a blog written by nicolelstjean on Wordpress.  Go here for her complete list of ingredients.  Some ingredients are considered harmless.  Some are not.  One of the questionable substances is Triclosan.  "Effects include evidence of moderate endocrine disruption at low doses, immune system and allergenic effects, and classifications as a skin, eye, and lung irritant and as an expected toxicant that is harmful to the non-reproductive organ system."

Follow the link to the blog if you want to learn more bad news.  In the meantime, don't forget to wash your hands properly.  The CDC recommends you wash them for a minimum of twenty seconds, and suggests that to keep time you "hum the 'Happy Birthday' song from beginning to end twice."

Perhaps the "Happy Birthday" song is appropriate.  After all, those candles on a birthday cake might also be toxic.  Go here to learn about toxins from birthday cake candle smoke.

Sort of a scary world, isn't it?  But I wouldn't worry to much.  After all, worrying can be bad for your health!

Sir Bob

I wanted to say a few words of thanks to Sir Bob Russell who, until the recent election, was Member of Parliament for Colchester, my home town.

I have lived in the United States for many years, and am now a U.S. citizen.  I have no involvement at all in British politics, though I do follow it keenly.  I still love Colchester, though.  It is where I was born and raised.  It is where family members still live.  And this is why I want to thank Sir Bob for all the work he has done for Colchester.

Sir Bob was Member of Parliament for Colchester from 1997-2015.  Not only does this represent a great number of years.  It represents an incredible amount of work.  He is a man who puts in amazingly long hours.  He is a legend when it comes to devotion to his work.  I remember years ago visiting my sister in Colchester.  Some flier was placed through the letterbox.  My sister looked out the window and commented, "That was Bob Russell."

Sir Bob (he was knighted in 2012--very well deserved indeed), has devoted decades to the service of his fellow citizens.  Before his election to Parliament he had already served twenty years as a councillor in Colchester.  One year he served as mayor.

I have never met Sir Bob, and can only guess at this, but it seems to me that it must be particularly hard for him to have been defeated in the recent election.  Wherever one stands on the political spectrum, I think we can all agree that it is not easy to lose.

It might be easy for me to say this, from 4000 miles away, and with no personal commitment to the process, but let me say it anyway.  Bob Russell did not really lose.  Yes, he was defeated in the election.  He remains, though, a winner, and a most remarkable man who has worked incredibly hard for others over the years.  He deserves the gratitude of many.

In recent remarks Sir Bob suggested that now he could now live a normal life.  Now he gets a chance to rest a bit, and a rest was never more well-deserved.  I have little doubt though that he will continue to find ways of serving others.  It is the very nature of this remarkable man.

'
Thank you Sir Bob.

The Gym

I sit here in my recliner pondering whether to go to the gym tonight or to put it off till tomorrow afternoon.  My body is tired.  Even my brain feels tired.  It is not too tired, though, to make up all kinds of reasons why tomorrow would be better:

• Tomorrow I will have more energy and will be able to work out harder.
• Sometimes a person needs to be gentle with himself.
• If I stay home I can get more writing done.
• My back is a bit sore and it perhaps needs a longer rest till my next workout.
• I feel short of sleep and a nap can be very healthy indeed.
• My body is telling me that it needs to rest, and a wise person will listen to his body.

One of the most fascinating things about working out is that is brings an awareness of the mind/body connection, and sometimes the mind/body lack of connection.  The gym is not simply about the body.  It is about the mind.  Indeed, it is more mental than physical.

In yoga there is the practice of building one's will power.  You can find some tips here.

My muscles are already feeling stronger than a month ago.  It is now time to go to the gym to strengthen my will power as well.

I just love being a jock! :)

Maturity and Visiting the Doctor

I will be 65 this July, and because of this I am trying very hard to be mature, but I must confess that I suspect I am failing because, as far as I am concerned, there is just too much silly fun to be had in life.  For example . . . this week I found a wonderful way to take twenty pounds off my weight at the doctor's office.

All you need is a cane.  I have a back and hip problem and so often will use a cane when out and about.  My cane is called Eileen, because I lean on her.  This week I was leaning on her when the nurse took my weight.

I decided to steady myself on the scales using Eileen.  Not only was I steady but I was much lighter as well.  I chuckled as the nurse told me my wonderfully new and lighter weight.  I am assuming that she was having a bad day, because she never noticed my cane pushing down on the floor, talking a load of the weight off the scales. Perhaps, though, she assumed that a patient in his senior years would not purposely distort a clinical measurement.

Then I felt sort of bad and I confessed.  I did not fully confess.  I did not admit that I put the cane on the floor as a joke.  All I said was that I noticed my cane was pressing against the floor and was probably messing up the reading.  She re-weighed me and my miraculous weight loss disappeared instantly.

For next time I am thinking of holding my breath when she measures my oxygen level. . .  but I will try to resist doing that.  After all, I am working on being mature.  Sort of like an aged cheese, I suppose.

Mommy Chipmunk

I saw Mommy Chipmunk today! I want to proclaim this news alongside the “big” news we read about everyday. Big news is the kind of news that the BBC or CNN puts up on their websites. And much of what they publish is very big indeed, for it affects millions of people. There are wars and potential wars. There is economic news. There are natural catastrophes. And don’t forget politics. As frustrating as it might be to read about the antics (yes, antics) of politicians, their actions can affect the lives of very many people. Included in the big news are stories that may not affect many people but still are of interest to them. Sports news is like this, I suppose. So too, the antics (yes, antics again) of celebrities seem to make the big news, though it is sad, I think, that the doings of strange and often spoiled people get published.

Here is a plug for something different — for small news — news that most likely will never be reported. Some news is of interest to only a few people, perhaps a family, perhaps only one person. And individual people — you, me, all other people — have their own news, small news. It might not make the networks, but it is still news, important to those it affects.

“Dog dies. Family mourns.” “Woman diagnosed with breast cancer. Woman is terrified.” “Car breaks down. Man on low income can no longer make it to work. Family devastated.” There is good news too. “Family gets new puppy.” “Biopsy proves negative.” “Jobless man hired.” And, one of my favorites: “Baby born.” All big news, to a few people.

There is even smaller news, news that is perhaps almost trivial, but which still affects people. “Water pipe breaks.” “Cell phone lost.” Trivial? Only if it is someone else’s life. “Man finally gets lawn mowed.” Ok. Very trivial. But, a good feeling, very good. For him. Also for his neighbors.

I want to add another category: beautiful small news. There are things that happen to people everyday that may not affect their outward lives, but affect their spirits, and do so in beautiful ways. “Man sees rainbow.” “Woman sees bird bathing in bird bath.” “Couple out walking see deer walking through neighborhood.” Such things are not big news. It is not right, though, to call them trivial, for these are beautiful events! Nature is filled with beauty, awesome beauty springing forth within a world of wonder.

Which brings me to Mommy Chipmunk. The wonderful thing about a blog is that a person can publish news that is perhaps important only to himself . This might not be important to you. But it is to me. Nevertheless, you may still like it, because it is, I think, beautiful.

There is a hole in our back lawn. It goes under the root of a tree that was cut down some years ago. I love that hole because as I look out the kitchen window I see little chipmunks running out of it and getting some of the seed that has fallen from the bird feeder. Some little chipmunks even make it up to the birdfeeder itself. And when a squirrel happens by and chases them away from what he thinks is his food, they move so fast —darting back to their hole.

Today, for the first time in a long while, I saw Mommy Chipmunk. She is about twice as large as her chiplets (I think that is a good word for small chipmunks). She was sitting in the middle of the lawn, but within running distance of the hole. She scratched herself. She looked around. She scratched herself again. She wasn’t even going for the birdseed. Perhaps she was just feeling relieved, relieved that her chiplets were alive and well. It doesn’t even matter that that she most certainly was not thinking that. I doubt chipmunks think much at all. It doesn’t matter because Mommy Chipmunk is a beautiful little animal. Her chiplets are beautiful little animals. And this beauty cheered me immensely as I looked out the window.

That is my news for today.

Thank you so much, Lord, for the beauty of this world.

http://youtu.be/V2RbFVRRtqI

Bless Their Hearts! :)

I got something in the mail today that made me chuckle and wince and feel a tad irritated all at the same time.  I got mail from the Republican National Committee.  I had been a card-carrying member until a few years ago.  Then I got tired of continual fundraising letters that suggested that if I did not send in extra money immediately, then the Democrats (gasp) would win an extra seat in the House and the nation would suffer terrible things.  It is one thing to have political views and leanings, and I do lean towards the right.  However, it is quite another to think in exaggerated terms of black and white, and of evil and good, with nothing in between.

My guess is that much of this rhetoric came from the fundraisers.  I have run into this before.  While living in Ohio a man representing the Fraternal Order of Police phoned me and was so pushy in his attempts to get me to contribute that I resolved never to give to that organization again.  It was a shame, because I felt that even if I wanted to give (and basically I think the police need far more support from the public than they get), to contribute at that point would encourage this practice of ugly and pushy fundraising.

Back to today's whopper.  Take a gander at this!!!!

Past due?  Past due???????????  If you really want to alienate your donor base, then go ahead and suggest that they are late in paying their bills.  This is not a bill.  It is not a debt or an obligation.  It is, or might have been, a donation.  But this donation will not be donated, certainly not while the organization is wasting its money on incompetent fund raisers.

It is sad, really.  If people talk to me intelligently, I, like most people, I imagine, will listen and consider their request.  But use exaggerated rhetoric, or use insulting words on the envelope, and I will turn my attention elsewhere.

I have no idea whether this particular envelope contained exaggerated rhetoric.  It probably did, but I will never know because this envelope is now in my trash.

Grow up, fundraisers!

The Divine Lullaby

We know that the Word of God is living.  It is not just a book written down and left by the Lord for us to read by ourselves.  He is with us as we read, helping us notice things, and giving us the light and love to see the most wonderful things within those holy pages.  This is why the Word never grows old.  We can, if we open our minds and hearts and bow our heads, learn new things every time we read, seeing things we never saw  before.

I have read the 42nd Psalm countless times, but today, in reading it once more, a small phrase jumped out.  "In the night His song shall be with me" (Ps. 42:8).  It seemed at first to be saying that during the night the Lord sings to you.

Admittedly, the wording is ambiguous.  Perhaps David is the one singing, singing to the Lord "His" song.  This may well be the case, given that the verses continues, "and my prayer unto the God of my life."  If we reflect, though, we realize that even if David is the one singing, he really is not singing alone.

As we read the Word, the Lord is with us in that reading, helping us see and understand.  As we pray, He is with us in the thoughts and feelings behind our words, helping us to know what to say.  And when we sing?  Surely He is with us in our singing, and rejoicing in His being present with us.

Perhaps, the next time you have trouble sleeping, your mind filled with all kinds of useless worries, you can focus on His song, the song of our Father and Savior, the song of the Lord who will never leave us.

Seems like I am still going to have to wear something to protect that foot joint.  I am being sent to get myself a crow boot that will continue to provide support, more comfortably than the current boot does.  I am supposed to wear it most of the time.   Looks kind of forbidding to me.  Here is a pic I pulled offline.  And what a name!!!  Oh well, at least I have my foot.

Trip

And now, with all those old posts transferred over to this blog, it is back to the present!

Trip is the name I have given to my orthopedic boot.  I have worn Trip now for just under six weeks.  Tomorrow, if all goes well with the xray at the podiatrist's office, and the joint in my foot has healed, Trip and I will part ways.  And my life will get easier.

Claudius, 2000-2011

Claudius, one of my two cats, slipped peacefully away right before our eyes this past week.  He began the day hardly able to walk, and crying in pain.  He had weighed over 20 lbs.  Now he weighed nine.  We took him to the vet wrapped, like a little baby, in a blanket.  On the way home we were both crying.  Cats do not just take up residence in your home.  They get inside your heart in a wonderful way.

I wrote this poem today in memory of many happy times over the past decade.

FLY AWAY

Fly away my little friend;
With purrs you warmed my heart.
You snuggled soft upon my lap,
But now we have to part.

Fly away my little friend,
A friend I loved so dear.
You never spoke, you never talked,
Yet your voice I still do hear.

Little darling, little friend,
I am grateful for the days
You shared my home and touched my heart,
In soft mysterious ways.

Patrick A Rose
Feb. 1, 2011.

First published Feb. 1, 2011.

Betty the Bird Brain

Once upon a time there was a Canada goose.  She was a magnificent fowl, as fowls generally are.  She was covered with feathers and had a beak.  Her name was Betty.

Betty looked like a typical magnificent Canada goose.  Deep down inside her birdish soul, though, she had a yearning, a yearning to reach out beyond the limited social realm of bird-dom.  Even though she was not merely a bird, but a goose, she was growing tired of the soul-destroying shallowness of a life spend flying around making honking noises, landing on ponds, and generally fouling their banks.  Betty wanted more.
One day, purely by chance, as she was flying from one pond to another -- alone, because she happened to be in a grumpy solitary mood that day-- she looked down at the front lawn of a house she was passing over.  There in the middle of the lawn was a bright shiny red something.   Whatever it was, it looked powerful.  It looked strong.  It looked so ... mmmmmmm masculine.  Betty's heart started to go plippety plop -- the palpitations of love.

She adjusted her wing feathers -- the bird equivalent of flaps -- and slowed her airspeed.  She banked.  She banked some more.  She was dizzy with love.  And even though she was a bird, she was about to make herself airsick.

Finally she plopped down, clumsily, on the bright green lawn, in front of the bright red shiny masculine machine.

How does a bird that is bored of bird-dom but is nevertheless still cursed with a bird brain, reach out romantically to a machine?  Inevitably, she did so in a stupid way; and it was beyond stupid, for the only word to describe the consequences is "tragic."

Those of the human ilk find much of nature to be savage.  Hence the use of the word "savage" to describe animals, I suppose.  And indeed it can be savage.  Think of the poor male spider who gives it his all, and then is eaten by his mate.  Think of cats -- tom cats -- who get all torn and scratched fighting for the right to mate with that cute little sweetie with wide brown eyes and with whiskers to die for.  Think of germs, which reproduce by splitting in half!!   'Tis a very brutal world.

 No ending was so tragic, though, no love so destructive, no affection so misplaced, as the attraction which Betty had for this machine.

Perhaps Betty imagined, in her bird brain, that the machine had feelings, and perhaps even a name.  She might well have honked, in the language of Canada geese, the words, "I adore you, my love, my love whom I have lovingly named Larry."  Perhaps she did think of him as Larry.  We have no way of knowing, of course.  What we do know, though, is that -- and this is not simply tragic but also horrifying -- "Larry" was not a being with feelings, but was, rather, a machine with blades, big and very fast blades.  "Larry" was a lawn mower.  He was one of those wonderful new remote-controlled lawn mowers.

In his living room, a human called Bud had just replaced the batteries in the remote control for his bright red new remote-controlled lawn mower.  He pushed a button, at the very moment that Betty the shameless was trying to place a kiss on Larry's shining metallic surface.

It would not be appropriate to describe all the heart-rending details of Betty's demise.  Phrases such as "blood mixed with feathers," and "severed webbed feet" come to mind, but will not be elaborated upon here, in this public forum.

Bud is still cleaning up his new lawn mower.  Poor Bud.

And poor Betty.

First Published Oct. 10, 2009.

Piano Practice

There is something to learn from learning the piano as an adult.  It is most likely too late in life to become good enough for Carnegie Hall.  And it is certainly a time of life where hours and hours of practice are simply not possible.  In fact, once one takes into account a very busy work schedule and that undeniable sense of fatigue at the end of the day, it is amazing I practice at all.  Actually, for my last piano lesson I didn't -- practice at all, that is.  Except for the few odd minutes at the keyboard while waiting for a meal to cook.  So... while driving to my lesson, I did what most men are particularly talented at.  I searched for some excuses.  Not just one excuse, but excuses.

The first excuse was easy.  I had been traveling.  Not only had I been traveling, but I had been to Arizona and New Mexico before heading back to Atlanta.  I was thinking of throwing in a related excuse and mentioning that I had gotten some desert dust in my eyes in New Mexico, but decided against it.  It is never good to appear too pathetic.

The second excuse suddenly hit me -- fortunately only in a metaphorical sense, since I was driving.  The mot du jour would be "dabble."  Not only does the word have a certain breezy sound to it -- try saying it quickly five times in a row -- but it was the TRUTH!

Oh yes, I have been taking piano lessons for about ten years now.  But I have not been practicing that much for those lessons.  I have learned a fair amount, for sure.  But I could have learned so much more if I had not dabbled.  I dabble at learning the piano.  But -- and here was the sudden insight that metaphorically hit me while driving -- it is not necessarily bad to dabble.

We cannot excel at everything.  We do not have the time to excel at everything.  And it is just as well, because we would than fail to excel at being humble.  Adult piano lessons are not about excelling.  They are about adding something of balance to one's life.  They help one understand music better, enjoy music better.  They enrich the mind.  They lend cultural depth in an electronic instant world.

I was set.  I sat down at the piano, and explained to my teacher that I had been traveling, so had not had a chance to practice.  Then, after a subtle but calculated pause, I added that what what I was really doing was dabbling at the piano.  I mentioned the way it added a certain balance to my life. 

She nodded wisely and agreed wholeheartedly.

I have a terrific teacher, don't I?

Originally published July 4, 2009.

My Mum

Stella Rose, my mother, and one of my very best friends, left for Angel Land on Monday, Dec 1, just  over three weeks short of her 83rd birthday.

I am going to miss you a lot, Mum...all the wonderful phone conversations...all the silliness...and your gentle but deep insights into people and into life itself.  You are going to be a terrific angel, though, I suspect, one of the more mischievous angels.  Heaven is a beautiful place.  It is also wonderful fun.

"There's a better home awaiting,
In the sky Lord, in the sky."

Originally published Dec. 3, 2008.

My Brother

My brother died last week.  He led a hard life and had been sick for a long time.  I shed tears at his passing, and I send forth smiles at the knowledge that has woken up in a better world.  One day we shall meet again, Michael.  Little brother, I have written this poem for you.

My Brother's Journey

Life's journey is a mystery,
Winding path to heaven's love.
Our lives are each a story
Which ends far up above.

My brother's path led downwards,
Down to years of pain.
His steps were merely shuffles.
The road  was dark with rain.

Yet deep within his spirit,
His fire was carefully kept.
His love, his passion, glowing,
His brilliance merely slept.

Today his eyes do sparkle,
His mind is filled with fun.
He walks that world where all shall go,
The paths of angel-land.

    Patrick Alan Rose,  Nov 25, 2008

Originally published Nov. 25, 2008.

Sinuses and Foreign Heads of State

Last week I went to an ENT for a problem with a sinus infection  As I walked into the office of this new doctor, I was blithely unaware of the potentially international significance of my two innocent-looking nostrils.  Soon, though, I was asked to sign the Notice of Privacy Practices of this Ear, Nose & Throat Clinic.  Listed were the many circumstances in which they would be permitted to release my Individually Identifiable Health Information ((IIHI).  Yes, you may have guessed it!  They are allowed to release information about my nostrils "in order to protect . . . foreign heads of state."

Nostrils may be small seemingly insignificant orifices.  They may produce unpleasant discharge (sinuses not overly terrific, or S.N.O.T).  But who would have guessed that they have their own small place to play in international affairs?

Originally published Nov. 25, 2008.