Living the dual reality....

Like a lot of folks in the UUniverse, I imagine, I tuned in yesterday to "Fresh Air" on NPR so that I could listen to Terry Gross interview Forrest Church about his most recent book Love & Death: My Journey Through the Valley of the Shadow. The interview itself was no great shakes, although, in all honesty, I SO admire Forrest and the quality of the work he has done over the years that it would be very difficult for me to be any more impressed than I already am. And there was at least one part of the interview that I liked so much that I jotted it down, although I'm sure I've heard it before and it came almost as an aside -- when he described God as a "life force, that which is greater than all, and yet present in each." To which I would add "and in whose presence we are reminded, and made to realize once again, that we are part of a greater whole, and still whole within ourselves."

Hearing Forrest's interview came at the tail end of a pretty long day that also included my own monthly medical check-up earlier that same morning, and the rather distressing news that I have gained ANOTHER 15 pounds in the past four weeks, and for the first time in my life now tip the scale at over 300 lbs. This is getting ridiculous! Any yet...

Well, part of the problem really is body image. Because unless I really concentrate, when I look in the mirror I don't see this:



or this:



or even this:



What I DO see are these other guys down below -- the guy that I was BEFORE I got cancer, and suddenly had to accept the limitations that life imposes as honest-to-God realities, and not just in the abstract. It was easy to gain this weight: the food is free, it tastes real good, there's plenty of it and not much else going on in my life to keep me entertained at the moment. Add that to the fact that I get virtually no exercise, and...well, four pounds a week is about an extra 1600 calories a day. So I really have been eating for two!

Sitting on my scrawny rear and showing off my youthful curls, c. 1975

Parker was still a puppy, just before my 40th birthday

Helping my nephew Michael figure out Windows (or maybe he was helping me). Michael is now a student at Washington State University, where he plays clarinet in the marching band.

At least I did see the Nutritionist yesterday as well, which was a small help -- although (as I told her) I already KNOW HOW to eat more healthy than I do. So it really is mostly a matter of making up my mind to do it, and then taking that commitment seriously and sticking with it over time. Make, Take, Stick...there's GOT to be a better mantra than THAT!

The Luxury of a Free Saturday

And it's not the extra free hour on Sunday that makes a week out of the pulpit so refreshing. It's the extra 14 hours+ I get back on Saturday, not to mention the time during the rest of the week when I don't have to think about what I'm going to say on Sunday morning. Try as I might to change the habit over the decades, I have always been a Saturday sermon writer...and no matter how early in the week I begin the task, it seems as though I am almost always still working on my manuscript right up until the last minute anyway. I suppose part of the reason for this is that preaching in my mind is very similar to journalism, and to the daily work of journaling I try to practice as an informal spiritual discipline. Almost all my sermons seem to have their start in my diary anyway. And you certainly wouldn't expect people to sit patiently and listen to someone read to them from a month-old newspaper.

Of course, the other metaphor for preaching is "feeding the flock." And that understanding also lends itself quite conveniently to the understanding of fresh ingredients freshly prepared. But lately I've been working back in the other direction as well. Because good writing is generally the product of diligent re-writing, my writing teachers always told me. The ingredients may be fresh, but the recipe can always be tested and tweaked through practice and experimentation until it is "just right." And what I've realized is that I have a unique opportunity right now to return to some of my favorite material, and give it the kind of polish and scrutiny that the hectic press of preaching every week AND doing all the other things that Parish Ministers are called to do has always prevented me from doing in the past.



Meanwhile, last night I dreamed again of Parker. Not the frail, uncomfortable failing Parker of her final days, but Frisky Parker who chased balls tirelessly and ran flat out with the big dogs across the mud flats at Juniper Beach -- my little Boston Terrorist, who feared nothing, and refused to back down to any other dog no matter how intimidated she should have been. In fact, she often frightened me with her stubborn courage. But the thing I'll miss most about Parker is that she made friends easily, and that almost everyone who met her seemed to love her almost immediately. Or to put it another way, Parker was a babe magnet, who could elicit all sorts of oohs and ahhhs from attractive, desirable strangers who would never give ME a second glance.

Porcupine Balls

And because of my busy schedule yesterday, I had to delay until today my special birthday meal here at the Assisted Living cafeteria. It's the practice here to cook the birthday boy or girl whatever they want on their birthday -- a policy which (when I first was informed about it a few weeks ago, so I could make a decision about what I wanted to eat) seemed an awful lot like the last meal of a condemned inmate, but is actually a very nice personal touch in an environment that always flirts with the danger of becoming just another impersonal social institution.

And who knows? I don't mean to sound morbid or anything, but around here it is not an entirely unjustified assumption to believe that ANY given birthday might actually be one's last. And this is true even for someone like me, who (yes, counting this birthday) is STILL 41 years younger than BOTH of the gentlemen with whom I share a table at mealtimes! When I realized this, I decided that maybe I wanted to make a little bit bigger deal of celebrating my birthday this year after all. Which means I'm going to KEEP on celebrating it all the way through the weekend, rather than just letting it fade back into obscurity.

Because I know you're curious, the meal I requested was Porcupine Balls, with fresh French cut green beans and a white birthday cake with raspberry filling for dessert. These were a great comfort food from my childhood, and to my great surprise they came out just the way I remembered them. The green beans were a big disappointment though -- actually, they were MIA entirely, and replaced by broccoli that was barely recognizable as such, and had certainly seen much better days. But the cake was magnificent! Good healthy slices for my messmates and myself, and one for my fridge for later -- then I cut what was left into much more manageable pieces, and wheeled myself around the cafeteria serving out slices to whoever wanted one. Worked out a little like the loaves and fishes -- and was able to serve the last person in the room the last piece of cake.

And while I'm on the subject of birthdays, I was reminded again today that I actually share a birthday with another very famous (or should I say Imfamous?) Tim, who celebrated his last birthday over a dozen years ago now. Here's a little something about him that I wrote at the time.

"THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN AMERICA"

ENJOY!

Early Dawn

***


And it always seems to be those first few early moments in the morning, or the last few hours of the day, that give me the most trouble and cause me the most pain, and leave me feeling more isolated, vulnerable and alone than I do at other times of the day. And perhaps it is because I AM more alone, and isolated, and vulnerable in those moments -- so that NOT to feel that way would be out of touch with reality. Life doesn't always need to be that complicated.

Meanwhile, for some reason this painting has come to mean a lot to me over the years -- it's part of the collection of the Art Museum in Portland, Oregon, and I used to drop by to view it whenever I could, although ironically at the moment I can't even conjure up the artist's name. I think what I like best are the expressions on the three faces: the pondering, contemplative gaze of the sleepless man, and the innocent yet trusting vulnerability of his sleeping lover, and of course the trusting innocence of the dog sleeping peacefully at their feet...so perfectly camouflaged by the blanket covering the couple's legs that at first s/he is barely discernable. The dog's loyalty is unconditional: s/he is innocent, s/he is safe, s/he trusts. But the woman's sentiments are a mystery. Who knows how she will feel upon waking? And so her lover watches relentlessly, seeking a clue to her ultimate fidelity, or perhaps even weighing his own. A night of ecstatic passion -- but in the early dawn, how much suffering will follow this experience of standing outside of one's self in order to become at one with the other? No wonder the poor guy can't sleep! Maybe we all should be a little more like our dogs....

The 22nd of October (today) was/is my 52nd birthday. Tried to keep it pretty low-key, and for the most part I've pretty well succeeded. There are some years when I really do feel like making a big deal out of it, and maybe I'm being a little bit selfish not to feel that way more often...because frankly most years I would just as soon spend my birthday by myself, or perhaps in the company of one other special person. But this year that wasn't really an option, so I just kind of went with the flow: breakfast here, 10 am staff meeting at the church, monthly noon lasagna lunch with the ROMEOs (Retired Old Men Eating Out), then a couple of hours in my study at the Eastland with my computer guy, as we updated, upgraded, and backed up some of my old computer equipment there. And then finally, back to church for the first of our new mid-week "Eventide" services. All very nice, every comfortable -- especially the couple of hours in my study surrounded by my books. It inspired me once againto get them cataloged and in order, so that I can read to my heart's content on any subject that catches my eye that day.
This is what it looked like the LAST time I did that.

Meanwhile, if there's anyone out there who is still feeling fortunate after loosing (and gaining and loosing and gaining again) obscene amounts of money (on paper) these last few weeks, and wishes to express their gratitude through a random act of extreme generosity, I still wouldn't mind receiving something like THIS for my birthday.

OK, it was just a thought. A completely random thought....




Hummm. And is that the dawn, or the sunset out there?

A Dog for All Seasons

The Adorable Parker: Queen of all She Surveys...

She always enjoyed it when I came home from Red Bones after ordering the beef ribs. One of her favorite treats.

Parker on a VERY cold January morning.

She enjoyed this time of year much, much better....
he

Nosy Parker

Cosy Parker

effin clowns...

***

Another UU cancer blogger, Lizard Eater, posts this poem at her own site.

***

No Comment

I'm tired of feeling scared.

I'm tired of being so effing fragile that the least little thing makes me cry.

I'm tired of losing my temper over small things.

I'm tired of feeling helpless.

I'm tired of weeping.

Tired of crying.

Tired of sobbing.

Tired of holding it in.

Tired of my heart hurting hurting hurting.

We're at the end of it and I'm so full of fear that we're not at the end of it, that this is just another pause before it all starts all over again. Again.

I want ... just once! ... to look at her sleeping and just think, "Awwwww," rather than

"Please God Please God Please God Please God."

I'm tired of being a drain on my friends, my family. Doesn't the universe understand that I'm supposed to be the comforter, not the comforted???

I'm tired of feeling self-centered and self-focused and self-ish.

I'm tired of feeling guilty for not being more appreciative, more thankful.

I just feel so fragile. And it's unfamiliar. And I hate it.

And I'm tired of having to stay up late at night because the only way I can go to sleep is if I push myself to complete exhaustion.

So tired ... but I can't sleep, the clowns will eat me.

***

I know these feeling too, L. E. Not the exact same feelings that you're feeling right now, of course. But close enough: close enough that I recognize in my own gut that same visceral sense that words alone will never be enough, and empathetically suffer an angry, bitter, tired, guilty, helpless, self-conscious fragility of my own...like I've walked over some of this same territory myself in my own bare feet, and am left now with scars that I will never fully be able either to share or to escape. And I'm still not out of the swamp yet either too. Not by a long ways.

But a good night's sleep will help, when it comes. And it will come. Have no doubt about it. So sleep as soundly as you can. We've got your back with the clowns....



Justin Case, from the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey "Boom a Ring!" circus troupe.

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

Parker's puppyhood

Mondays are supposed to be my "day off," so I guess I shouldn't feel so bad that I squandered most of it just trying to get organized enough to know what I still need to do (posting more regularly to this site being close to the top of my list). At least I was able to get my sermon from last Sunday, Here There Be Dragons posted to the web.

People tell me that I'm looking and sounding stronger every Sunday. And now I get three Sundays in a row where I don't have to preach at all. Which should be a great help in getting the rest of my life just a little better organized before the snow flies....

Anyway, the reason I'm up so late tonight is that I drank WAY too many diet Cokes tonight out at Bingas playing trivia with my younger brother and one of my parishioners. We came in third, but tonight that was still good enough to win Erik a ball cap...which was the one prize he said he'd wanted when we went in.

And, of course, I'm still missing Parker -- and both feeling the hole that she has left in my life, while at the same time how much of my own life-energy was expended trying to keep her "whole" when she was no longer really here. And it's strange, even weird -- because there are times when I feel as though I can sense her presence in the next room, or hear her dogtags jingle against one another as she shakes her head before settling back down on the pillow again.

Our new puppy, on one of her first nights in her new home. I hate to admit it, but in many ways this little dog was a lot like the child that MFW and I never had together.



Parker's first bath. It was nice to have a kitchen sink large enough that she could fit in it. Later on, when we had to start bathing her in the tub, it was never quite as satisfactory. This was one of those activities which she learned to tolerate, but never really learned to enjoy. I always appreciated her a little more when she was freshly washed and smelling like a dog, JUST like dog, and ONLY a dog...and not like everything else she'd sniffed and decided to roll in over the past few weeks (or months)....

Parker was often very helpful when I was working as a Graduate Teaching Fellow, and need to mark a lot of papers in a hurry. How many teachers can honestly tell a student that their dog ate YOUR homework?

And she also helped me with my own writing. Mostly sermons though; for some reason she just never seemed to find my more academic writing much to her taste.... (too dry, I'm guessing)

One of Parker's favorite places of all -- walking along Juniper Beach in front of my mom's cabin on Camano Island. If you look very closely, you can see her leaping up off the ground in the proper "heel' position, just to the left of MFW et moi.

Doggie Dharma

And once again, the outpouring of public support over Parker's passing has been truly overwhelming, and so emotionally gratifying. It certainly takes the edge off of my own grief, and helps me recognized just how truly blessed I was to have this animal in my life.

Buddhism teaches that life is suffering because of our attachment or "thirst" for the things of this world which come into being and pass away. Thus life by it's very nature is on some level destined to frustrate and disappoint us, because of its impermanence and the pain and suffering we experience in loss. But there is a way through this suffering, through a noble 8-fold path of right actions, right attitudes, and right ideas that allows us to navigate through these attachments to a place of enlightenment, "in the world but not of it."

Christianity actually professes a very similar set of doctrines, only they are focused around the idea of "sin" -- essentially misdirected attitudes and actions which lead us astray from the path that leads to reunification with God, our Creator and Loving Parent. At-One-Ment comes through "repentance" or (in Greek) metanoia -- literally a "transformation of mind" in the same dramatic way that metamorphosis is a transformation of shape or form. To "repent of one's sins" sounds very stern and moralistic, but all we are really talking about here is giving up our aimless wandering and returning to a path that leads us toward something both sacred and divine, and infinitely larger than ourselves, yet to which we are intimately connected.

I believe that dogs are "persons" because they clearly have personalities, and I also believe that dogs have souls...because how could they not? What I'm NOT sure about is whether or not dogs are capable of sin. Meanwhile, I've been told that some Buddhists believe that the reason dogs watch us so closely is that their next incarnation is as a human being.

But what if it's not? What if it's really the other way around?

It's a dog's life

Picked up Parker's ashes Saturday morning at the Vets, and paid off the last two hundred and change of that bill...and was already feeling relieved that I'd decided to change topics and preach about Parker rather than Cristobal Colon, because even though I had a fantastic title ("To Cross the Wide, Wild Ocean") and a fantastic theme, I think I would have pretty much been at a loss to talk about anything else. Saying goodbye to Parker was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, but it really was her time to go -- and the longer I sit with my decision the more convinced I am it was the right one. I know she would have done and endured just about anything I asked her to -- but she was in an awful lot of physical pain (a lot more, I think, than I was willing to admit at the time), and now that I have been free for awhile of both the physical and the emotional burden of caring for her, I'm starting to appreciate just how heavy that burden really was on both of us.



She hated the indignity of wearing the diaper; she hated the fact that she had lost the use of both of her hind legs, and had developed terrible open pressure sores on both elbows from trying to scoot herself around (sores that simply wouldn't heal no matter how carefully I tried to doctor them)...and when I start to spell it out like this, I realize just how deeply in denial I truly was. Every morning when we got up she would give me this sad look that seemed to say -- "Please make this better, but don't hurt me again." It just got to the point that putting her to sleep really was the best that I could do. So even though I've always hated that euphemism, in all honesty that was EXACTLY how it felt...like she had just gently fallen asleep in my embrace. And having witnessed that, no doubt when my time comes close, I'll be moving back to Oregon so that I can also take advantage of my right to "die like a dog."



And she hasn't gone far. Not only are her ashes only a few feet behind me (on top of a bookshelf in front of my model sailboat and beside my Patrick O'Brian novels), I can still feel her presence in me and all around me -- not just in my heart but here in the room and by her crate and in the round pillow at the foot of my bed where she slept these last few weeks and months of her life.... Such an amazing influence she has had on my entire existence over the past 13 years. I am literally a better human being because of my relationship with this dog. And that's kind of odd and funny in its own right. But comforting too. And now even from beyond the grave, she still brings me joy and solace....God love her.

Yes, yes, yes...she was amazing: they are ALL amazing. And whether or not I ever have another depends a lot more on the state of MY health than it does any concern about risking the grief of loving (and losing) once again. In the meantime, I am planning to be quite promiscuous about loving other people's animals, and look forward to petting quite a few in days and weeks and months to come. I feel as if that entire period of my life has now come to a full and comfortable conclusion, and I am free both to embrace the memory of it with both joy and sorrow, and also to begin moving forward to whatever awaits me next. Do dogs have souls? Absolutely! And the consuming grief we feel in mourning the passing of an animal has to do with the fundamental intellectual inequality of that relationship, which leaves us to do so much of the thinking and mental "processing" of the experience, while our critters look up to us with those big trusting eyes that seem to say "make this right, make this right" and then count on us to do the right thing. It wasn't easy, but I know that I have done the right thing...and I will sleep peacefully with that decision at least, even as I selfishly miss her company.

Regnbuebroen

"The Rainbow Bridge"

For anyone who has ever lost a beloved companion animal, and just feels like a good cry.

(For extra fun, you can read this in 15 different languages by using the links across the top of the site).

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Ladies & Gentlemen, Children of All Ages...

Welcome to "The Greatest Show on Earth." And it's hard for me to believe that these folks have been in business for over a century and a half -- and P.T. Barnum's career as a showman stretches back even farther than that. But this is how I spent yesterday afternoon, and frankly it was even more fun than I expected it to be. It's been at least 40 years since I'd last been as a child, I especially enjoyed the trained wiener dog (ok, dachshund) act -- although the tigers and the elephants were both impressive as well. I know the animal acts are still very controversial, but they are so much a part of the circus tradition I can't really imagine what it would be like without them. And I think in her youth, Parker would have very much liked to have been a circus dog. But instead she had to settle for a little Agility training, chasing a tennis ball, and jumping on the furniture....

The clowning in this circus was very refreshing as well -- none of that tired old Bozo-like white face with a big red nose. Instead, two Russian clowns, Stanislav Knyhozkov ("Stas") and Vasily Trifonov ("Vas") did most of the physical clowning around; while Justin Case (who describes himself as an "Eccentric Extraordinaire) did some amazingly amusing bicycle tricks, and provided a lot of the narrative "glue" which holds the show together, and gave continuity to the fine assortment of acrobats, aerialists,, jugglers and other performers who comprise the rest of the show.

But I didn't come here this morning to review the circus.

When my former wife was a little girl growing up in Chicago, her family had a rule: only one circus per year. And her brother always wanted to hold out for the "big" circus -- three rings, dozens of acts, hundreds of performers, plus a side show and all the rest. But Margie's rule was "always take the First Circus." And her logic was impeccable. Not only do you get to go the the First Circus right away, by the time the second circus (or the third or fourth) rolls into town, your parents' attitude might have softened a bit, especially if they had a good time the first time. And if the First Circus turned out to be a disappointment... well, you could always argue for a "do over," and so on and so on.

But the real point of the First Circus is that it is almost always simpler (and preferable) to navigate the possibilities of the here and now, rather than speculating about the probabilities of what yet may or may not be. The "First Circus" may very well turn out to be the last circus -- so don't be shy about seizing the moment and making the most of it. Because some day the day does come when there won't always be another circus. And that day may well be sooner than we think.

The Rainbow Bridge

And at the end of the day, it was not so much some profound revelation from the somber depths of the Dark Night of the Soul, as a quiet insight gleaned in the wee hours of the morning while listening to her snore peacefully at the end of my bed as she had so many nights in the 13 years we have been together.... Such an amazing animal, who would have tried to do anything I asked her to, even though I could tell she was in almost constant physical discomfort, and often in great pain.



And yet despite the pain, she could also still experience great joy...along with the indignity of needing to wear a diaper, and the frustration of WANTING to do the right thing and not being physically able to deliver. In the end, she had ugly open pressure sores on both her rear elbows from trying to scoot herself around without any real use of her hind legs (and which despite my best treatment were not really going away), and her backside wasn't holding up all that well either. I had to ask myself which which more selfish of me? -- the desire to have as much time with her as I can, even though I know it prolongs her own ordeal? Or my own desire NOT to have to witness her sad and painful decline, but to let her go peacefully sooner rather than later?



And then there's always the most troubling question of all: what if I wait too long? I really wanted Parker's last day to be a "Good" one, and not just the final indignity in a long ordeal of decline and suffering.




And I honestly feel like I met that goal. Parker spent most of yesterday just hanging around the house, eating up the last of the dog treats and enjoying both the full attention of everyone who dropped by to visit, and also the luxury of being able to escape the Pampers for a time, and rest on her bed the way that God intended her to. This morning we slept late, and I even let her back up on to my bed for awhile...which is something she had always enjoyed, but hasn't really been an option for several months now. Our appointment was for 10:30 AM -- we met up with Parker's two long-term dogsitters (who had cared for her during my long hospitalization and rehab stay), and all went into the room togther. I know Parker was a little confused and upset by all the emotion she was witnessing in us, but we all took turns exchanging final pets and kisses, and then it was time. I know it sounds like a cliche, but when Parker gave up the ghost it was literally as if she had simply fallen asleep in my arms.



Now that it's over, at least give me some comfort to think that once Parker has crossed over that "Rainbow Bridge," she will in some way be united with Calvin and Luther and Foster and Daisy (and Chester and Emma and Adolf...) and all of the other remarkable animals who have given so much love to so many of us over the years. 10-15,000 years -- maybe more. Humanity's first truly domesticated animal, who made so much of the rest of human society possible, from hunting and herding and "domestic security," to all of the various tasks they perform today.

But these are topics for another occasion. Today, it's all about my grief -- a grief I can barely express out loud, or in words without the filter of this keyboard. Dear God -- I loved that dog, and I love her no less now that she's "gone" than I did when she was a puppy. She enriched my life in so many ways, and I feel so fortunate to have had the privilege to have been her companion.



In days to come I will no doubt find ample opportunity to write more about this remarkable animal who gave me so much, and who helped me to learn so many important lessons about trust, loyalty, fidelity, caregiving, joy, playfulness, and unconditional love. So many stories to tell, so many pictures to share, so many memories to hold in my heart and let inspire me to greater and greater levels of dogged devotion and committment.... Thank you Parker, for the great gift of your companionship. "We shall remember while the light lives, And in darkness we shall not forget."



THE ADORABLE PARKER JENSEN-WEDDELL
(JAN 11, 1995 - OCT 4, 2008)

Midweek Update

Good News today on the medical front -- last week's CT scan once again shows stable, arrested tumors with no additional growth or metastases -- which translates into another four week "vacation" from the Doctor, and (assuming no dramatic symptomatic changes in that time) another CT scan four weeks after that.  Which is about as good a medical report as I might have expected.  For miracles, I'm going to have to look a little closer to my own profession.

Meanwhile, I also received a referral to a new nutritionist who specializes in cancer, and started back to work with a new psychotherapist as well.  I've gained 21 lbs as a cancer patient, and (even more annoying) my neck size has increased by 4 inches, mostly (my Doc thinks) because of the steroids I've been taking to help with the pain in my spine.  I wasn't a skinny guy to begin with, but all the advice I was given in cancer class tended to be the same: chemo is going to make you nauseous and wipe out your appetite, so keep comfort foods on hand and eat as much as you can, so that you don't just waste away like...well, like a cancer patient on chemo.  Anyway, that was all the encouragement I needed...but now the chemo is over (at least for the time being), and I really need to start working with someone who knows what they are talking about when it comes to balancing living with cancer with sensible nutrition and a reasonable weight loss plan.  Plus, it lets me feel like I'm still doing something pro-active to fight my disease, rather than just sitting around watching and waiting for it to make the next move.  The psychotherapy is obviously a lot more personal, but mostly has to do with issues of anticipatory grief as I work out some of the larger ramifications of this illness -- especially if and when things stop going as well as they have so far.

Just feeling well enough to be back in the pulpit though has been a big morale booster.  Didn't climb all the way into the High Pulpit this past week, simply because so many people told me it made them nervous or uncomfortable to see me "struggle" up those stairs.  Personally though, I like it up there -- I feel much more comfortable preaching from my new stool instead of sitting in the wheelchair, plus the view is a lot better: both my view of the congregation, and their view of me.  In any event, I have this next Sunday off, and then will be preaching the following two Sundays in a row, so I may preach on Columbus Day from my stool down on the lower chancel (just to see what THAT looks and feels like), and then climb back into the pulpit again for the sermon on October 19th.

Last Sunday's sermon was about Banned Books Week; had a small congregation because of the rainstorm, but spirits were still good despite the bad weather, and folks seemed to enjoy my message.  Because of the narcotics I'm taking for pain control, my emotions always seem very close to the surface these days, and it doesn't take much to choke me up.  I've pretty much gotten over feeling embarrassed by that (or at least have accepted that it's going to happen and that there's not much I can do about it); still, it's hard to feel comfortable with the loss of control, or the feeling that I'm just not at 100% the way I should be.  The congregation tends to interpret it as a sign of my authenticity and sincere engagement...which I suppose is also true, and comforting in it's own way.  I just hope that given a little more practice, I'll be able to preach a sincere and authentic sermon without reaching for the tissues half-a-dozen times. 

Last big subject on my mind this past week has had to do with the health and future of The Adorable Parker, my faithful companion animal of 13 years, who is literally on her last legs and counting on me to do the right thing.  But anything I can think of to say about this situation simply sounds like a cliche; I just keep telling myself that she'll tell me when the time is right, and try to balance my own selfish desire to have as much time with her as possible with my equally selfish desire NOT to have to witness her inevitable (and unavoidable) decline.  I know that her days are numbered, and are starting to feel like an ordeal to her, but I also know that she is still capable of experiencing joy and pleasure, and that she will try to do anything I ask her to, even at the price of intense physical pain.  And I guess my biggest concern is that I will wait too long.  I want her last day to be one of her best days, and not just long-overdue relief from a discomfort that should have ended long ago....

My favorite prayer (at least these days): "Dear God -- Please help me to become the kind of person my dog thinks I am...."