Evidence of the fall

Dave had a great suggestion for a blog post today.  He thought I should post a photo of my destroyed gloves and entitle it, "Evidence of the Fall."  I would do it in a moment except for one fact: I have misplaced my camera.  And that brings me to last weekend.

Dave and I went camping last weekend.  We crossed the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and explored the Mora Valley on their eastern slopes.  It is a beautiful, if poverty-stricken, area.  We had a fascinating time at Fort Union National Monument, and mused about the fact that without men, such a place would never have been built nor thrived (women are eminently too sensible to undertake such a thing!) But somewhere between taking pictures in the mountains on Friday and going to Fort Union on Saturday, I misplaced my camera.  So, there are no photos of the mountains, nor of the Fort.  There are no pictures of the beautiful Morphy Lake, nor the amazing road from the Mora Valley back up and over the Sangres via Angel Fire and Taos.  Suffice it to say the scenerey (and the company) were beautiful and fascinating.  It was a relaxing weekend.  Except for the camera. And that, too, is evidence of the fall, I guess!

And speaking of the fall, I must report that I am stiff and sore in places I have no recollection of ever having felt before. But I am well, with no serious injuries evident. But I digress...

So, for the time being, Gentle Reader, the photos on this blog will all continue to be my own, but they will not be current (except for photos sent to me of Emma by her mama, of course!)  And I hold on to the hope that if we open the camper this weekend and hunt for it, we may yet find my precious camera.  It's not worth that much money, but I do miss its companionship, and being able to share photos here.

"Wee, wee, wee," all the way home

This morning I drug myself out of bed at 5:30 am and left my cozy house to jog and walk.  I usually walk for 5 minutes in the chilly dark (carrying my trusty flashlight for the really dark bits) and then begin my series of jogging/walking intervals as the sky lightens and day dawns.  It has occurred to me that as it is darker and darker at this time, I might have to brave the heat of the sun and do this after I teach my morning classes.  But I have been loathe to burn in this high plains desert sun, so I keep dragging myself up and out early.

This morning I had barely started my first interval of jogging and was almost directly under a street light when it happened.  I must have caught a toe on some uneven spot and before I knew what was happening, I was flat on my face in the sidewalk.  I took the brunt of the fall on my hands and knees and chest, and partially knocked the wind out of myself.  And this is where I realized that I am no Dave Finnegan.  When Dave falls, as happens occasionally, he gets up, finishes his run, and usually forgets to tell me about it.  Me?  I cry like the proverbial piggy all the way home, and tell my sad story to the world since he is not here to offer me sympathy.

Now that I am home and in the light, my knees are only slightly scuffed, and I feel slightly banged about, but the only real injury is to my pride.  I guess I should be grateful it all happened in the dark, early enough for no witnesses. I'll have to replace my little gloves, which have both palms ripped out of them (better than MY palms, I guess!) And I'll have to start going out when it is light and I can see.

I have a feeling there are huge numbers of spiritual and moral lessons to be learned here.  But right now I'm smarting from my knees to my pride, and I think I'll make myself a cup of tea and wait for Dave to add some sympathy to it.

Wednesday without words

Blessing and encouraging

Every once in a while as a teacher, you need to make one of those calls.  You need to telephone parents, and try to figure out what is happening with your students.  These can sometimes be fear-inducing calls, since not all parents are equally approachable where their children are concerned.  The blessing of those calls, even when they are difficult, is that I have an opportunity to come alongside a parent and offer encouragement. Parenting is the toughest job I know about, and it gets downright discouraging in the trenches. It is a blessing when I get to validate their desires for their children, and remind them that God will be faithful to them. Today contained such a call, and I was blessed and encouraged as well as being able to offer some blessing and encouragement.

I love my job!

Wednesday without words

Thoughts on the NICU

This is an old photo of Emma, wearing the smallest preemie outfit we could find at the time.  See how big the legs are?!  I've been pondering God's blessings to us in that little girl today, as I have been praying for acquaintances in ABQ who have a little NICU (Neonatal intensive Care Unit) baby who is hopefully heading home today.  I pray little M. and his parents will be able to cuddle and relax in their own beds tonight.

Starting life in the NICU is tough on babies, though without this special place many of these tiny ones would not survive.  But as tough as it is on the babies, it is even tougher on the parents. Emma's mom is helping with a project to make hand-knit and crocheted blankets for NICU babies in Tucson.  It will speak volumes to those parents, who cannot help but be exhausted and stressed.  I wish we were closer to a NICU here, because I would definitely volunteer to go in there and hold those tiny ones.  But maybe I'll take a cue from my dear daughter-in-love, and see if we can't do a project here and deliver it there.  Wouldn't small, handmade quilts be fun? 

Sabbath Songs