Category Archives: Writing

`Seeking Miracles? See Miracles! Prose

As my father reaches his earthly life’s end, I often find I’m seeking miracles. Can he last long enough to see my new-born granddaughter (his great-granddaughter)? (Yes, he did!) Can he recover to eat and drink enough to get stronger? Can he get strong enough to get back home to Wisconsin and watch another sunset over Lake Winneconne, as he has always wished? Will he live long enough to hear the purple martins feed their young? Those are all miracles I — and others — hope for. But we’re not in charge.

Seeing The Miracles Given

As I hope for and wish for all those miracles from a loving Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ, I’m suddenly struck by a recognition that I’m being ungrateful. How? I’m not recognizing — and giving praise and gratitude for — the miracles They’ve already given my Dad, the miracles that — while not being maybe what I might want — are still amazing.

Here’s just a few miracles that, if I think about it, I can recognize:

  • Dad demanding, against all logic, that he come out to Arizona in mid-December, instead of going to Arizona later. (If he would have stayed in Wisconsin, it’s likely the septic sickness he probably already had would have killed him with nobody around)
  • Because he stayed with my sister in Arizona, she heard him fall, and recognized he was in trouble
  • My brother-in-law had the wisdom to demand calling 911, which took him to a hospital, which diagnosed him as being septic. Waiting even a day or two longer probably would have killed him
  • Getting him into a close-by rehab, where family members in the Phoenix area were at least able to visit him. (Yes, even though he hated being there, that was a miracle!)
  • It was a miracle and tender mercy that a nearby granddaughter had the impression to make his favorite (from his wife’s recipe even!) lemon meringue pie and boiled raisin cake. He’d been “verklempt” and in pain for days, not eating, but he wanted to eat that. Guess what!?! Things moved! And he was VERY grateful!
  • While my sister was out of town, worried about him, two grandsons and their families visited on separate days. One gave him a Priesthood blessing of comfort and health that greatly helped him.
  • Last summer, a couple visited my Dad’s church congregation in Oshkosh. I had the impression (as I often do) to turn around and introduce myself. Turned out that they happened to be from Arizona. Turned out that they happened to be from my sister’s congregation, and good friends with her and her family! They were able to come out, meet Dad, and I took them for an afternoon canoe trip up Mud Creek. While my sister was out of town, the wife — who “just happens” to be a nurse — was able to stop by and visit my Dad, assess how he was doing, and give my sister a report that calmed her
  • As we looked at long-term care options, our niece — his granddaughter — had a bed open up in Tucson, at a nice group home facility she owns, and where several relatives and friends work
  • Interestingly enough, last year on our visit to Tucson, we felt strongly to drive by the facility and visit my niece. Because we had been there, it made it much easier to imagine the place Dad might be going to. AND it helped “pave the way”, because Dad was able to imagine the place, and he knew — and said — “Her place is a REALLY nice place!”
  • As Dad got worse, the Phoenix Doctor refused to release him on the day we were going to take him to Tucson. Miracle? Nobody told the on-call caregivers. As a result, when my sister and I came to visit to tell him he was NOT going to Tucson, he was already dressed, sitting in his wheelchair, telling us “get me the #*$(#& out of this place!!” Then, he reminded us that, against doctors’ orders, he had done a jailbreak with his wife, taking her out of a similar situation years before. The doctors said she might live three or four days. They had three more years together at their lakefront home
  • My sister and I realized that, in his condition, we could not transport him in our car. Miracle? A wheelchair van transport company I’d cancelled on two days before was called, and “just so happened” to be leaving for Tucson with her own father an hour later. “If you had called even a few minutes later, I wouldn’t have answered.” But she did answer, and he was on his way!
  • Getting down to Tucson was amazing. His granddaughters and great-granddaughters who run and work at the place were all over him, hugging him and licking his bald head as they had for decades. You could see the joy in being around family
  • Decades before, my cousin (Dad’s sister’s son) and his family had moved to Tucson from Thailand. Their home, which they kindly allow me to stay at, is less than 15 minutes east of where Dad’s new place was. Miracle? You should have seen Dad’s face light up when they came to visit!
  • Staying at my cousin’s also meant I was minutes away from the Tucson LDS Temple, which I was able to visit multiple times during my stay. This gave me a great deal of peace, and was, for me at least, a personal miracle. Any time I’m down, or feeling sad, or just needing a mental or spiritual break, I can find sweet peace and respite in The House of the Lord
  • In addition, I’ve been able to attend the Mesa Temple with my sister (less than 10 minutes from her house!) several times, and have talked about thoughts of eternity with her in sacred space. I’ve also frequented the Gilbert Temple, 15 minutes from my son’s home and 25 minutes from my other sister’s home
  • The work we do at the Temple(s) is for our relatives who have passed away, so they have a choice of accepting the saving ordinances of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. As the line between my father’s life and eternity gets more thin, it’s comforting to know (and I do know it!) that these relatives — many of whom were “found” in Bavaria and elsewhere because of Dad’s encouragement will be on the other side to meet him
  • As I rushed to be at my Dad’s bedside (because we didn’t think he would make it), there were several traveling miracles that happened to get me from my home to Atlanta (both in the throes of a rare snowstorm) to Phoenix earlier than I’d planned
  • My sister and her family have been warriors in taking care of Dad, organizing his care, and taking care of him. What a miracle that he happened to be staying with her when all of this happened, and that she has the knowledge and wisdom to coordinate his care in a logical and hands-on way
  • My daughter, her husband, and my new granddaughter were able to fly down from Seattle and introduce Dad to his newest great-granddaughter. He and I were able to give her a naming blessing, while my daughter held her. Dad had so much joy in seeing yet another one of his wonderful grandchildren
  • His other grandchildren and great-grandchildren, as well as other friends and relatives — many who live within an hour or two of his new place — are able to regularly visit him and shower him with love and affection
  • In fact, my two nieces own and work at the facility. Most importantly, ALL of their children, grandchildren, in-laws, and friends — most of whom know Dad — live within a short drive of where he is, and they’ve already visited him several times
  • Because of technology AND that Dad knows how to use it (a huge miracle), he is frequently on video chats with friends and family thousands of miles away
  • Working with excellent caregivers — including his loving granddaughter who owns the facility — Dad is getting his pain meds and other living processes in order. My niece’s goal has been “to make Grandpa comfortable.” He has become “more comfortable than I’ve been in months.” If end-of-life is near, having Dad be, finally, comfortable, with hospice available (another miracle), surrounded by dozens of people who love him and care for him, is one of the biggest miracles of all

I’m certain there are other miracles that I’ve missed, and others yet to come. None of these may culminate in the miracle of getting him back to Wisconsin, but maybe that’s not in God’s plan. Laying out these miracles has helped me realize that, no matter what we might want, recognizing God’s Hand in all things is a worthwhile and worshipful exercise.

No matter what the outcome, as Dad has often said, “I’ve had a good life.” And that’s the greatest miracle any of us can hope for.

Mid-Winter Cold Preparation: Free-Verse Thoughts

At nearly noon,
it felt like early morning.
Or perhaps late afternoon,
so dark and gloomy were the skies.

The wind and temperature
didn’t help much,
cutting through my jeans and sweatshirt
as if to say: “Your warmth serves no purpose here.”

Yet in spite of its mocking
I laughed, and sat down.
Cold? It’s above freezing
in late December, Northwest Georgia.

I’ve laid down and made snow angels
in sub-zero now-that-is-REALLY-cold cold.
I’ve sat on cross-country skis and eaten lunch at +1 degree
on a sun-swept Utah mountain peak.

THIS is not cold. It’s hardly even uncomfortable.
Yet I do not linger long in the woods this day.
Micro-garbage plastic, blown by the stiff breeze,
dances past my feet.

It reminds me: I must clean
and prepare,
and sanctify,
and make this property ready
for that time when warmth, love, and Light
shall banish and sweep away
all this grey cold
and darkness.

The Morning Before Peace

Our hand-cut cedar tree, decorated,
glows green, gold, and red
with lights, globes, and ribbons
(not, as some might say, toilet paper).



The early-morning sun shines,
gold and red,
through the gently-frosted kitchen window.
Its light matches the tree’s glow.

In this peaceful morning before,
cup of hot chocolate warming my hand,
I sit and listen to Crooners Christmas Classics.
No one is up yet. This is my time before chaos.

Yet tonight, Mr. Como reminds me, is Oh Holy Night.
When I think of Him, the Son and Light, I’m always at peace.

Outdoor Musings Like Thoreau: ConTEXTing Prose

December 17th 2024 3:30 p.m. Banks of the West Chickamauga, Spirit Tree Farms, NW Georgia
How much did Thoreau write? Did he take his pencil and paper out with him when he sat by the pond? Did he draw? Scratch a few notes and then expand them later on by the fireplace?

It had been my objective to keep a copious record ever since I came here in 2017 (or was it 18?) To take daily notes, to see what I’ve observed and write about them. But those objectives now seem to have floated past like the dead leaves swirling in the high-rising water of the creek after rain.

I can sit here and drone on and on, as I watched the currents bubbling and surging, as I hear the water splashing against the fallen tree downstream and wonder if negative ions are more powerful upstream or downstream? Or does it matter? I can look at the singular white sapling’s reflection in the creek, steady and constant as everything else flows by. I can wonder why this creek, now at least 15 ft deep and 50 ft wide, is called a creek when so many rivers out west are so much smaller?

I listen to the gurgle of my stomach and wonder what I ate that made me so gassy and bloated and if I have diarrhea, then why isn’t my condition diuretic?

I don’t realize how still it is here until a jet from an airport 20 miles away flies overhead on its way to Dallas or Birmingham or Orlando or Atlanta. But soon the roar of its engines fade and then I’m left to listen to the squawking of the woodpeckers and the chirping of the wrens and the cardinals.

A beer can catches my attention. Three-fourths submerged, it flows slower than the rest of the flotsam and jetsam and spins in Long slow circles as if captured in its own dance, its own rhythm. For a moment, I forget that it’s trash, and it becomes some sort of found art object. Then, as it fades downstream into the distance, I notice that it’s slowly sinking and soon will be out of sight not only to me, but to everybody else, until the next drought and covers it embedded on the creek bank somewhere farther down.

Outoor Writers Bathroom Breaks

I have to go to the bathroom. Did Thoreau or Longfellow or Whitman or Muir ever write about such problems or concerns? Or did they simply drop trou in the woods and let fly. I wonder if they ever worried about getting any on their pants, or were they so adept at positioning themselves that it always went where it should and never where it shouldn’t (or is that shitant?

I wish I could relieve myself, but the corn husks and corn cobs and oak leaves are all wet and brittle. S***. Literally. This is uncomfortable.

I make it about 50 yards. The red Harbor Freight bucket beckons, and although I discover too late it is perilously close to a wild blackberry stick, and its edges will probably put permanent creases in my buttocks and thighs, the cool plastic provides unexpected yet welcome relief.

Again the question comes up: What am I eating that is so stomach sickening? Or was it the drink I took out of the puddled rainwater when maybe a deer or raccoon or Beaver or possum had previously stuck their head? Or the chunk of rainwater ice I sucked on? Or was it the cheese? Certainly not… the salmon mousse. 

The other question arises: How long can I sit here with this hard plastic pressing into my flesh? And is it possible, because there was already 6 in of rainwater in the bottom of the bucket, to fill up the pail? It certainly feels like it could.

While I’m sitting here and doing something that rhymes with sitting, I look around at the pawpaw saplings that I have carefully placed six to eight feet apart in a row next to the shadows edge where, in three to five years they could be six to eight feet tall and producing wild pawpaw. Or will this just be another failed attempt of mine to force a man’s ideas nature instead of just letting it go? But I want more pawpaw, and more blueberries, and more beauty berries and more wildflowers. And when things to grow and flourish. I want to heal the land.

I think my neighbors are coming out to their hunting blind. I will soon see them if they are. 

Crap.

Family Tree Limerick

As we research, travel, and see

Our far-flung family pedigree,

It’s not just through random chances

That we get to add more branches

To our growing family tree.

AncestryFamilySearch