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.