A Tragic Doggy Tale

We have three dogs and two lovely new couches. I bought the couches last week and I’m very proud of them.  But the world is not the same not in our home.

I’m only going to write about two of our dogs today and I’ll change their names. I don’t want them to be upset by my story about them.

  1. Bert is a white dog with brown spots.  He’s some sort of pit bull mix, which is funny because I always swore I’d never have a pit bull. But God has a sense of humor. Bert showed up in our yard a few years ago. He’d been so abused he wouldn’t let us touch home for two or three weeks.  Bert is an uncomplicated dog and now so happy with his life. His thick white tail wags constantly and thumps joyously on furniture and our legs. He sleeps on his back, untroubled by serious thought, and snores like a freight train.
  2. Hamlet is a brown boxer mix who Lex rescued from starvation several years ago.  He’s an exceedingly handsome dog with expressive ears and six toes, that kind of freak me out.  He is hopelessly in love with Lex and I suspect he has rather complicated thoughts.

When the new couches were delivered all the dogs were very excited and sniffy.  They watched as we tried out different positions, trying to discover “the perfect spot.” Then they all returned to their doggie lives. Except for Hamlet.

For several days he’s been very unhappy and out of sorts. He paces back and forth in front of the couches, annoyed that he’s not allowed to curl up on them.  There are lots of other comfy places for the dogs, in the house.  Rugs and doggy beds.  They can even snuggle with Sandor in a real bed. But Hamlet doesn’t care about those places any more.  He only wants to be on the new couches.

At night we literally have to put shoes and chairs on the couches to keep him off.  If I walk into the kitchen, he immediately jumps into my spot. I tell him to get down and he moves very very slowly, obviously annoyed with me.

Sure, Bert made a move for the couches a couple of times. But we yelled at him, so he got down and has moved on.  He doesn’t even care about the couches anymore.

Bert rolls and wiggles on his back, cheerfully scratching a hard to reach spot, while Hamlet sulks in front of the couches.  Bert happily pesters me for a treat in the kitchen, while Hamlet stares dolefully at the off limit couches.

Bert and I have both tried to get Hamlet to play, but he refuses. I sit on the floor, looking into his handsome eyes and scratching his favorite spot. He ignores me. Hamlet is obsessed with the couches he can’t have. He has the Garden of Eden and all the delicious fruit, but only wants the forbidden apple.

The moral of the story? I don’t think God planned on all of us having everything.  We each have different gifts and wonders to enjoy. Love what you have, add to your world, make it bigger and better if you want. But don’t lose a single day being jealous of those who have what you do not.

Be a Bert.

 

 

 

 

A Miracle on Central

Yesterday while listening to Alan Alda discuss his Parkinson’s diagnosis and I remembered a miraculous story from a long long time ago. If you fact check this story I’m sure it’s loaded with inaccuracies but it’s a true story.

My grandfather, Dr. Jack Stell, was a surgeon in Hot Springs, Arkansas. He studied at Ouachita Baptist University and Tulane, then opened his practice here, between 1915 and 1920. As a surgeon at St. Josephs’ , he was loved, even adored by his nurses, who were all nuns at the time, because it was a Catholic hospital.

As a Baptist in the early 1900s my grandfather was not a fan of the Catholic church and he did not approve of the Pope’s power or position. But he loved, respected and needed  his nurse-nuns.

During the early 1940s something started happening. Many of the local surgeons were enlisted during WWII and working to put soldiers back together elsewhere. So, there something of a shortage of surgeons in Hot Springs. Daddy Jack (the grandkids name for him) was extremely busy.  He and his habit clad nurses worked almost constantly.  But, Daddy Jack started noticing that something was wrong.  Tiny tremors in  his fingers then hand hands, began frustrating him. At first, no one noticed. But he knew something was terribly wrong.

After a year or so he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s . But Hot Springs and the hospital still desperately needed his surgical talents.

When I was a little girl, in the 60’s, my mother, and ancient withered nuns, would tell me stories about my grandfather. Old nuns in  dark  heavy habits , would  take me into their offices, give me ice cream or pudding from the hospital kitchen and tell me stories.  The one repeated to me so many times was simple and beautiful.

Daddy Jack told his nurses about the diagnosis. Together, they decided before each operation, they would all kneel, on the cold tile floor in the operating room, and they would pray, as one, for his hands to be steady and true. The Baptist doctor and Catholic nuns joined hands and asked for a miracle.

God listened. For almost two years Dr. Jack Stell and his nuns prayed and continued with the life saving surgeries.

Once Hot Springs was repopulated with a few more surgeons, Dr. Jack Stell retired to his home on Prospect avenue.

As a little girl, I would eat my pudding, listening to the old nuns as they wiped their eyes with handkerchiefs they miraculously produced from their sleeves.

Today, I understand the power of their faith, love and conviction. Back then, I only knew I had to sit and listen to their stories in order to get any goodies.

 

They Tapped My Daughters Phone! For Real

My daughter Mary called and said emphatically, “I think my phone is tapped, Mom.”
I smiled and wondered if she was off her medication because this has happened before. Then in my smarmy, patient Mom voice I said, “Why would anybody tap your phone honey?”
She took the bait. “Ok, consider this. I work with Middle Eastern refugees and I’m studying Arabic.”
“Yeah, but look at the stuff you teach your students. How to shop and use coupons, how to rent an apartment and fill out a job application, that’s not crazy or dangerous.”
“I know, Mom, but they don’t know that. they just know I spend a lot of time with Middle Eastern refuges.”
I nodded. “Ok.”
“Because my students are from the Middle East, I study a lot of Middle Eastern websites so I can understand where they are coming from. I check out sights from Syria, Iran,Eritrea, Congo, Somalia, you know.”
“yeah, I get that.” I say, seeing the pieces of the puzzle come together.
She continued, “Andy and I work with the ACLU and go to a lot of protests. And I took a pretty long trip to Uganda this year.”
I sighed, “Yeah, I forgot about that. ”
“And technically I work for a Chinese corporation. I mean, that’s who writes my checks.”
That’s when I grimaced. “Man, you do check a lot of boxes. If I was the CIA or something like that, I’d totally be checking you out. I think our tax dollars are being well spent.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, and a lot of my friends have told me my phone makes funny noises right before I pick up.”
I grunted, “That’s not good. Ok, if they interview you you just need to tell the FBI or CIA, who ever that you are Episcopal, and Episcopalians don’t get radicalized. We play golf.”
Mary laughed, “Good point.”
“Ok, and honey, there’s a whole list of words and phrases you probably need to avoid on the phone. But I can’t tell you what they are.”
The truth is Mary, my beautiful daughter is super patrotic, loves America and wants to save the world. But if you call her….you probably need to be careful what you say.