New beginnings

I'm officially moving to this new blog site, since I've damaged my other one beyond repair, then I lost the email address of the help guy. It's a long story.

Gradually, I'll transfer over the archives from the old one, but they will be missing the interesting comments that they orginally generated. Anyway, sending out emails to let people know about the new blog caused people to email me that I haven't heard from in many months, weeks, or years. One positive blessing already! This new format is also much easier to use, which helps when you're as "computer accident prone" as I am.

Senior Moments

A few minutes ago, I was headed down the hall of the nursing home where I work. A very old gentleman was propelling himself in his wheelchair in the opposite direction. He rarely ventures from his room and even more rarely initiates conversations, so I was surprised when he stopped me.
"Do you have a minute?" he asked.
"Sure. How can I help you?"
He pointed to the back of his wheelchair. "I'm kind of worried about where I'm going to fill this thing up."
My response was a blank look.
"With gasoline. So it will go faster," he explained.
"You're in luck, Joe. It's not a gasoline powered wheelchair. Much cheaper," I responded.
"Oh, okay. That's good. Thanks." And he continued down the hall.
So now there's one guy not bothered by high gas prices.

eulogy for a baby bird

In my job and in my family life, I've become quite familiar with death. Unexpected and awful death, gentle and longed-for death, tragic death, peaceful death. I work with people who are ill or very old, so nearly each week I lose a friend to death. Some are ready and I rejoice for them. Some are fighting to the last. I've learned how to mourn appropriately and move on. But this morning, I found myself in tears when I reached work and found the baby bird from our aviary dead in the bottom. He'd had an accident last week, and I've been nursing him along, hoping he'd make it. I don't even really like birds, so I'm not sure where all of this emotion came from. Probably exhaustion. The twelve hours I worked yesterday have combined with coming in early again today to produce a numbness that is only thawed by large quantities of Diet Dr. Pepper. So here I am. Teary over a baby bird. My friend Edna, who is turning 100 this month, watched me from her wheelchair as I removed the baby bird from the aviary . "That's a terrible responsibility," she said. Perspective came washing over me as I looked into her serious face.

Matthew 10:29-31 "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows." (or even zebra finches)