A tale of two???

It really was déjà vu all over again.  Baseball legend and unwitting humorist Yogi Berra’s statement came true again last night.

Reference a previous post (scroll on down) to my big, black Lab-mix Manny’s bark marathon about a month ago.  He barked and barked.  I banged on the window.  He barked and barked.  I raised the window and yelled.  He barked and barked.  I brought him in.  It happened again last night, in the same three steps.  Add in, this time, I have a cold and needed all the sleep I could get.  Turns out that was nearly none. 

My grandson, Daniel, turns three this week.  He is bright, intelligent and smart too.  (nod to Yogi, here).  He does everything busy, inquisitive, truck-loving little boys do.  He just doesn’t talk.  He is autistic. 

By coincidence, Manny’s birthday is somewhere about this time too.  He is also three.  He should be more mature.  He digs holes.  He chews things…garden hoses, (déjà vu), dishtowels, my crochet projects.  And he barks. 

I expect you are thinking that I wish they’d trade.  That Daniel would talk, and Manny wouldn’t.  Not so.  The right combination of therapies will unlock Daniel, and he’ll let us know what’s on his mind.  I am absolutely certain he understands everything we say.  He just isn’t ready to comment.  And for Manny too.  He barks in the daytime at things he sees, and people don’t bother me much.  He barks in the nighttime at things he sees or thinks he sees.  And I feel safe.  Sleepy, yes, but safe.

Happy birthdays, boys.

I have a little garden…

Isak Dinsen had a farm in Africa.  I have a little garden on the side of my house.  Not a vegetable garden, not a flower garden, but a private little garden with an assortment of things I like.   Growing as best they can…hydrangeas in pots (my very, very favorite), ferns, elephant ears, begonia, ivy crawling up a trellis and a pitiful attempt at herbs.   There are stone cats and frogs and turtles peeping through the foliage. 

This garden is in that usually wasted space on the side of one’s house where no one ever goes.  It begins even with the front of the house and ends at the back with gates to the front and the backyard where the heathens play.  We enclosed the space as a private place for Clemmie, my elderly and blind dachshund, when we put the pool in.  Turns out she was the first one in the pool anyway.  But it’s Clemmie’s garden.  Clemmie is gone now and two pretenders to the throne occupy that space… and me.

Inspired by the Pier One commercials last summer for “Wonderland,” I have been diligent in trying to keep the garden going.  The drought hasn’t helped.  The herbs have died and been reborn more times than I ever expected.  But the garden is the one place I have faithfully watered.  The grass patch grows well there, the ivy that was down to one small sprig after last winter’s brutal cold is back and thriving, the fern’s tiny fragile frond screamed at me on the way to the trash can and showed me by reviving itself.  Encouraged by nature’s industry, I brought in a wicker loveseat, table, wrought iron trellis.  It’s a pretty place. 

I worked outside today.  My backyard is a series of gopher holes courtesy my large lab and his companions.  The cinch bugs have formed their crop circles.  My lackadaisical approach to watering shows.  It’s not Home and Garden.  But as I opened the gate to the garden, the sense of calm and serenity was physical.

There’s a lesson here.  We can be neglectful and lazy or just too busy.  We can be extreme in our tempers as Nature has been with us this year.   But there is in us, a tiny spark, like the sprig of ivy and the fern frond, that will endure.   We must be careful not to give up too soon or throw it away.  A little love, faith and water can work miracles. 

A little rain would help too.

While my heart tends to wander…

While my heart tends to wander, Jesus always finds me.

I’m a thief.  I’m also a Facebook freak.  I love to look at random people’s pages and see what they have written about themselves and look at their photos.  People I don’t know, but who know someone I do know.  Thereby, there’s a connection, of sorts.  That’s where I came across this statement.  It was this person’s religious view.  And it was so true, so to the point and so real, I had to steal it.  And, of course, since I don’t know the person, it didn’t seem appropriate to attribute.  So I’m a thief.  Hopefully, God understands why I had to do it and forgives.  I’m sure He does since it applies so forcefully.

My heart does tend to wander.  As does my attention.  (Yes, I’m the person who stopped emptying the dishwasher to go clean the mailbox.   The same one who pulled down the attic stairs on my head because I was watching something in the street.)  But back to the wandering.  I have all the good intentions in the world.  I come out of church every Sunday full of plans for the week, the month, my life.  They disappear like vapor after lunch.  Oh, I remember them and regret.  Sometimes I make lists because I like to cross things off.  All too often they just get transferred to other lists.

Lucky for me, Jesus does always find me.  And I try again.  And I get one thing, maybe two, done -- things that are for Him, things for someone’s benefit.  It keeps me going.

Thank you, Jesus.