tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168408192024-02-06T23:18:51.957-06:00The Blogged SinkSINK=Single Income No Kids. See first post for detailsJudy Rahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07936753473456463277noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16840819.post-77706359846995098872010-05-23T10:52:00.008-05:002010-05-23T11:44:04.469-05:00On The Bus<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNpApvQNPzhM02qJ2LbnaIKQeHrgvWFBVIGj4WC1Mu71jj4YnnQ0esrKljtJOSqPfPKwasB1f-r5uf6IUXrwobHpfumrurWwsIvxHywesfk8ezbBuSKoexAv8MadoAuACJb16/s1600/baby+goldfinch.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 120px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474501950883510578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNpApvQNPzhM02qJ2LbnaIKQeHrgvWFBVIGj4WC1Mu71jj4YnnQ0esrKljtJOSqPfPKwasB1f-r5uf6IUXrwobHpfumrurWwsIvxHywesfk8ezbBuSKoexAv8MadoAuACJb16/s400/baby+goldfinch.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">In the city</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">on a bus</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">stopped in traffic.</span><br /></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">I look out the window.</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">A bird sits atop a parking meter</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">singing its best for</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">all those who would hear.</span> </div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">An unusual bird</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">perhaps a young goldfinch.</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;"><span style="color:#996633;">I feel a sense of wonder</span>.</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;"></span></div><div></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">Such an urban place,</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">if I hadn't been on the bus</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">I never would have noticed it.</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">I felt blessed by its presence.</span></div><div> </div><div></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">You see, I have this thing about birds:</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">some times they seem to appear to me</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">in the oddest places and times. </span></div><div></div><br /><div><span style="color:#996633;">Like the ducklings playing in the water left</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">in muddy tire ruts- </span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">in a city backyard.</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">Or the goslings taking their time</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">crossing the highway in front of my car</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">when I'm late for an important interview.</span></div><div></div><br /><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">Birds come to me to as a sign</span><br /></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">of reassurance or provide</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">a change in perspective.</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">To make me laugh-</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">to brighten my day.</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">To help me step out for a moment</span></div><div><span style="color:#cc9933;">and see things differently.</span> </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">I turn to the person across the aisle and quip:</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">'I wonder if it put a quarter in the meter?'</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">He looked for a moment and replied:</span></div><div><span style="color:#996633;">'Or if someone put a quarter in the bird?'</span> </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color:#663333;">Those around us laugh.</span></div><div><span style="color:#663333;">Thank you, God.</span></div><div><span style="color:#c0c0c0;">copyright 2010 thebloggedsink</span></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>make room for sunny days.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#009900;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">With thunder the heavens heave.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">Rain and lightning bring forth Summer Leaves.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#3333FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We find time to lolly-gag 'midst our helter-skelter,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#3333FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>From Summer's heat, beneath these leaves</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#3333FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>we seek relief from the sun's swelter.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#3333FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC6600;">Autumn winds undo Spring's efforts, </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#CC6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>its breezes swirling round</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#CC6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>bring Spring's leaves and Summer's shelter</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#CC6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>down to ground.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666666;">The trees stripped bare---</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">now Winter's breath chills the air.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;">Dead leaves beneath Winter's fallen snow, </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">waiting once more for Spring's wind to blow.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';color:#999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">copyright 2010 thebloggedsink</span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Judy Rahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07936753473456463277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16840819.post-44386469044855465372008-07-22T19:57:00.003-05:002008-07-26T19:56:32.069-05:00Poems I wrote in 1975While looking through a box of stuff last week I found a note book with some 'vintage poetry' from the summer of 1975, when I was headed into 11th grade. I attended a special sort of summer school called Twin Cities Institute for Talented Youth (TCITY). These two poems which were printed up in a booklet at the end of the session:<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#000099;">people</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">beware of </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">this lake.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">it will</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">steal any</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">thing you happen </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">to be throwing</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">around.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">our family </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">and friends</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">have </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">lost</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">two frisbees</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">one shoe</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">four tennis balls</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">three nerf footballs</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">and one volkswagen key.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">people </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">beware of </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000099;">this lake.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#009900;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#000000;">----------</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#006600;">memories of a lost tennis shoe</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">my tennis shoe</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">you were my favorite shoe</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">you never gave me a blister,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">like my new shoes do.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">You were okay</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">even if you were ragged and</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">unpadded.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">i'm sorry</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">but i couldn't stop my brother</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">when he picked you up</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">and threw you out</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">so far in the lake, </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">where you floated for a while</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">and then sank</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#006600;">before i could reach you.</span><br />7/15/1975<br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#009900;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Judy Rahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07936753473456463277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16840819.post-45433194777975309332008-06-10T09:07:00.011-05:002008-07-26T19:58:10.645-05:00B is for Bruce, part II<span style="font-size:78%;color:#666666;">note: this post developed from Creative Writing. The prompt given was 'catalog', the thesaurus entry reads: (noun)</span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-size:78%;">a series of names or words, printed or written down;</span></li><li><span style="font-size:78%;">list, register, roll, roster, schedule. see also: remember</span></li><li><span style="font-size:78%;">(verb) to register in or as if in a book;</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="color:#666666;">book, enroll, inscribe, list, set down. see <strong>remember:</strong></span></span></p><ul><li><strong><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666666;">Remember:</span></strong><span style="font-size:78%;">to renew an image or thought in the mind:</span></li><li><span style="font-size:78%;">bethink, mind, recall, recollect</span></li><li><span style="font-size:78%;">reminisce, retain, revive, think.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:78%;">IDIOM: to bring to mind.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:78%;">to care enough to keep in mind</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-size:85%;">My brother Bruce was seven years sober when he died last July. He was aided in his sobriety by many friends/co-addicts at the Twin Lakes Alano Society in Brooklyn Park, MN. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">Bruce was on the governing board and very active. When he died, we actually held two memorials- one in the afternoon for family, friends and relatives; and one that evening at Twin Lakes- well attended by about 100-150 of Bruce's bowling and golfing team mates, former classmates and co-workers, a cousins that live out that way, and many, many friends from Twin Lakes and Minneapolis Inter-group. When the chaplin at Twin Lakes had asked earlier in the week if anyone would like to share their memories of Bruce. More than 15 people indicated they would like to do so. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">Twin Lakes is a small AA community, with a core group of about 30 people. They have their own building-a converted elementary school. Being such a small group, the frequently hold events to raise funds for repairs and to pay utilities. On Saturday May 17th, I attended one of these events, a garage/rummage sale. As soon as I was noticed, four of my brothers best friends (now they are also my friends) came up to me and gave me hugs and asked after myself and my father--especially about my Dad- they are concerned for his health, well-being, and <em>sobriety</em>--like them he is a 'recovering alcoholic' with more than 30 years sobriety. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">It was good to see them, but very hard and emotional at the same time. I was repeatedly asked how I liked the Saturn, which is actually in my Dad's possession right now. It was a beautiful day, and I dutifully wandered amongst the clothing racks and tables before the area that <em>always</em> gets most of my attention at any sale: <em>the books and other media!</em> In the past they have always had a good selection of books and used music, and this time was no exception.... I found a couple of cassettes (car stereo) and a boxed set of Erma Bombeck humor paperbacks. I was almost done when I spotted it. And it immediately brought tears to my eyes. </span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">"It" is a hardback copy of Listen to the Warm, by Rod McKuen. It is a collection (the second published) of Rod McKuen's poems/lyrics. When I was in Junior High, and Bruce was in the Navy, he sent me a copy of this book--which I have long since lost. That I found a copy at this time and <em>this location</em> still brings tears to my eyes. I don't know how that book got to the sale- who donated it or what. But I am sure Bruce had a hand in it being there for me to find!! <em>Thank you again, Bruce, for this book!</em></span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0cYtzC88RTQHo3JUq39kmg91262OCFfMPy4LEJiVmQ3qpsmgUtRi6fQ50BNM9IF1zAFWuzcdNob2Kj7pmiVmWyREMh91agIL_CWnLrUKONldwx4zRtGeu7uUEg1-Q4mtFrdB/s1600-h/listen+mckuen.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210275857073029714" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0cYtzC88RTQHo3JUq39kmg91262OCFfMPy4LEJiVmQ3qpsmgUtRi6fQ50BNM9IF1zAFWuzcdNob2Kj7pmiVmWyREMh91agIL_CWnLrUKONldwx4zRtGeu7uUEg1-Q4mtFrdB/s200/listen+mckuen.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#666666;">(from page 56--titled <em>Thirty-six)</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">grrr-someday I will figure out how to indent when using blogger the italic lines are indented in original form-grrr</span><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#666666;"></span></p><p><span style="color:#666666;"></span></p><span style="color:#000099;">I live alone.<br />It hasn’t always been that way.<br />It’s nice sometimes<br /></span><span style="color:#000099;"><em>to open up the heart a little<br /></em>and let some hurt come in.<br />It proves you’re still alive.<br /><br />I’m not sure what it means.<br />Why we cannot shake the old loves from our minds.<br />It must be that we build on memory<br />and make them more than what they were.<br /></span><span style="color:#000099;"><em>And is the manufacture<br /></em>just a safe device for closing up the wall?<br /><br />I do remember.<br />The only fuzzy circumstance<br />is sometimes where-and-how.<br />Why, I know.<br /><br />It happens just because we need<br />to want and to be wanted too,<br />when love is here or gone<br />to lie down in the darkness<br /></span><em><span style="color:#000099;">and listen to the warm.<br /></span></em><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="right"><em></em></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Judy Rahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07936753473456463277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16840819.post-56398579438548560232008-01-20T14:53:00.000-06:002008-01-20T15:34:59.229-06:00"To write it out is to let it go." --Rod McKuen<span style="color:#000099;">When I was in junior high (what they now call 'middle school' locally) there was an commercial on television featuring those clear body Bic ball point pens. The ones they now call Bic Cristal. There were several variations on the same theme, but the one I remember most went something like this: There was big mechanical arm with a Bic pen clamped to it. The arm was poised above a huge writing tablet, on which it wrote in large swirls and circles with the pen-- like a giant Spirograph. In walks a scientist and his assistant. The scene shifts to show us a close up of the pen clamped in the machine--said pen is almost out of ink! Where upon the scientist breaks out in an exuberant dance and happily proclaims, </span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"> "At long last! My life long goal will be fulfilled! I will be the first ever to have retained a Bic pen from the first time it wrote until it ran out of ink!" Just then the doorbell rings and someone is delivering packages for which he needs a signature. They sign for it with the pen from the machine. You hear the sound of the truck driving off and the scientist turns back to his machine.... and of course the pen is gone! Oh no! he used the pen to sign for the package and the deliver man kept the prized pen! Ahhh!! He has to start all over...</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#330000;">The point (no pun intended) of the commercial was that Bic Pens lasted along time, were reliable, and were cheap to replace.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#006600;">I, however; took the goal of that commercial to heart. My goal and purpose in life was to hang on to a Bic pen until it ran out of ink. I became obsessed with it. I quickly figured out that medium point pens go through ink a lot faster then their fine point counterparts. I also thought blue went faster then black ink, but that might have been an illusion. I shared this goal with several of my classmates who just laughed. One teacher heard about my goal and said, 'Why not? A goal of any sort is a good thing.' </span><br /><span style="color:#006600;"> Like the scientist, I found out it is difficult to hang on to those pens until they go dry. My quest continued into high school, by which time it seemed like I was the only one who remembered that commercial, and I got some strange looks from people insisting the had my 'special Bic pen' and they had to give it back! </span><br /><span style="color:#006600;"></span><br /><span style="color:#006600;"> I finally reached my goal during my senior year. And in time had not one, but several EMPTY Bic pens. I kept them like trophies in a drawer in my dresser. I don't know what ever happened to them. I suspect one day my Mom was looking for a pen and discovering that they no longer wrote, threw them out as trash. </span><br /><span style="color:#006600;"></span><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">So then, having achieved my life goal, I was goal-less. I was just thinking I haven't had that kind of goal in a long time--one that I put consistent energy into. Several people over the course of the years have told me I should 'do' creative writing. And I've made attempts to write and/or journal in the past. I did take Creative Writing and poetry seminars and classes in junior and senior high school. so I have decided to give it another try. This is the first effort.</span><br /><span style="color:#006600;"> </span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Judy Rahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07936753473456463277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16840819.post-71375450490246975782007-08-24T21:53:00.000-05:002007-08-24T22:48:37.567-05:00About the death of my brother, Bruce--sure to be the first of many postingsBruce played cards-(500) with a group of my Dad's friends once a month. He started as a substitute player, and then became a pretty much a regular. The group meets at various places for brunch, and then goes to someones house to play. They were going to play on July 14th, so my Dad called Bruce several times, and getting no answer, left messages for him on the answering machine. It was really not like Bruce to not return phone calls, so my Dad started to get worried. He called the Twin Lakes Alano Society where Bruce attended meetings. He talked with one of Bruce's friend Harlen (Harley), who had not seen Bruce recently and said he would ask some others if they had seen/heard from Bruce lately. <em>Please keep in mind, this is summer--many people travel, take time off, etc. It was quite likely one person to not have seen my brother, and think that someone else had. </em><br /><em></em><br />After asking around, it became apparent to Harley, and Bill T., that no one had seen Bruce since the end of June, when several members were at his house to help him paint--he was preparing to sell the place. Harley and Bill decided to do a "health and welfare check". Unfortunately, they found Bruce dead. He was sitting up in his recliner, with head back, as though he went to sleep and never woke. My Dad got a call from the Brooklyn Park Police at around 11:30, Friday, July 13th, to inform him his son was dead... Bruce was 52. My Dad called me at 6:30 the next morning to inform me. I was mad, and still am ticked with him--why did he wait until morning. "Well, I knew I wouldn't sleep, and didn't want to disturb yours..." <em>sheesh!</em><br /><br />Anyhow, Bruce's body was 'significantly decomposed.' The Medical Examiner had to use fingerprints for a positive identification. It is now thought he died around 7/1; although he put 7/13/07 on the death certificates. And I used that date on the funeral brochures I made up--because at that time, we didn't know the actual day-- and to our minds, he lived until my Dad got the phone call.<br /><strong></strong><br /><span style="color:#333399;">Bruce had several health problems<strong>.</strong> When he was 40, he had double coronary bypass and aortic valve replacement surgery. He always struggled with high cholesterol. Although he was successful in his battle against drugs and alcohol, he was never able to completely stop smoking. A few years ago he had a blockage in ah, I think it was a groin region artery if memory serves (which it may not!). Then last September, he was at work one day and he leaned over to pick up a pencil from the floor, and woke up in the emergency room at a local hospital. Tests showed he had 90 percent blockage in one of his carotid (neck) arteries. He had surgery to open and insert a stent there.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#333399;"> He had also was experiencing progressing muscular weakness in his thighs/legs. He had a lot of tests, and a biopsy was done on muscle tissue from one thigh early last Spring. No cause was found. The doctor called it 'Idiopathic Myopia'--a catch-all phrase which basically means 'muscular loss due to unknown origins. </span><br /><span style="color:#333399;"></span><br /><span style="color:#006600;">On Sunday, July 15th, the Old Testament reading at church was from Leviticus 18:1-5, 19:9-18 (ESV). My attention was taken by verses 19:9-10: </span><span style="color:#003300;"><em>When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap your field right up to the edges, neither shall you gather the gleanings after you harvest. And you shall not strip you vineyard bare, neither shall you gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard. You shall leave them for the poor and for the sojourner. I am the Lord your God.</em></span><span style="color:#006600;"> I wrote in the margins of the bulletin (a habit from when I had to take sermon notes for Confirmation class, many years ago): When God reaps, he does not strip us bare- he leaves gleanings for us-- thoughts and memories of our loved one. He leaves gleanings for the poor, and those who are still sojourning--we are those who still travel this weary world. He as 'reaped' Bruce, and taken him home. Our memories of our son, brother and friend- are the gleanings. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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