Scott

A Gift from God?

The living are so busy…….

My wife and I were invited this year to Florida for a tropical Christmas with our son and family there.

Non-stop reports of the voracious Covid virus had us wondering if we should even leave the house. We might catch the virus, or state restrictions could strand us or hinder our travel. What if we made it to Florida and were unable to return home because of restrictions that might be decreed right after Christmas?

We decided to chance it. We prepared for vacation, loaded the Yukon and drove through eleven states (twice!). It was an adventure that included:

**a truck lit up like a Christmas tree**

**a drive around a lake – IN THE LAKE!**

**a flaming skull looking out from the fire**

and more! If a picture is worth a thousand words, I’m saving about an acre of web space by offering more highlights here.

After three weeks, three days, and over 8,000 miles of paved highway, we quietly steered the dark gray Yukon back into our driveway in familiar, 2:am, Oregon rain.

There’s nothing like getting back to your own bed! Unpacking the next day, we began our return to normal.

My key chain is actually two, with a connector. While packing to leave, I reasoned that on the road, I would not need the keys to the Fiat, the Chevy, the shop, or the house. I detached eight keys from the Yukon keys and sat them aside.

In my memory, I tossed them into a top drawer – someplace out of view, but to be easily found when we return. Now back home, I couldn’t find them. Even after looking three or four times in every place that made sense, and a few places that did not.

My good friend, Jon, asked in a text if we were settling back in. I answered yes, but told him about the lost keys. He suggested I ask his wife, Cher, to come over, saying she is gifted at finding things.

Jon and I became friends as sophomores in high school. He and Cher have been missionaries in Africa for many years (and they have fascinating stories!). They are currently living here in town, awaiting a new assignment.

Cher stopped by the next day and offered to help me find my keys. She humbly told me she has a gift from God for helping people find lost things. She told about a brother-in-law who thought he lost his wallet in a parking lot. She found it in his freezer.

Another time, she helped find a diamond that fell from a ring. She found it on pebbly ground near a fountain. Giving all glory to God, she explained that she doesn’t see where the lost things are, she just feels led to them.

We prayed before she began walking through the house. I told her my primary suspect area was my top desk drawer, and every step away was a little less suspect, but still a possibility.

I hovered nearby for most of her search that included our house, garage, shop, and the GMC Yukon.

After an hour or so, Cher had an appointment who’s time was approaching. The location of the keys would remain a mystery. As she got into her car to leave, she told me to be sure to look in the black, plastic toolbox she noticed in the back of the Yukon.

We didn’t look in the toolbox because I would have had to negotiate the crowded obstacle course protecting the overhead garage door latch from anyone who might wish to put hands on it, manually raise the door to gain access and make room to open the Yukon liftgate – all the time knowing the keys would not be there anyway.

The next day, with the Yukon out in the driveway, I looked in the tool box, certain the keys would not be there, and they weren’t.

Near the tool box we keep a blue, zipper-top, soft bag that contains napkins, Band-Aids, little flashlights, a knife, tweezers, a glow stick, an energy drink, and more – your typical, catch-all travel emergency kit.

Zipping it open, I was as certain the keys would not be in there as I was they would not be in the tool box, but like an elaborate magic trick – THERE THEY WERE!

**My intention was to not take those keys with us on the trip.**

How could I have put my keys in that bag, thinking – this is a good place where I’ll easily find them when we get home?

Months would have passed before I might have had reason to open that bag.

I’m a believer – Cher does have a gift from God.

Laser Eye

A kid shot me in the eye with a laser.

He said he was a doctor.

I was taking my bedtime pills. I tipped my head back with the last swallow of water, and when I returned to level, I thought someone had thrown a live veil over my face. Looking at the kitchen cabinet doors before me, I saw hundreds of tiny black spots floating around larger, dark splotches with black paint-like swirls mixing in.

I told my wife what happened – in case I were to wake up dead. The worst of it quickly faded. I messaged my ophthalmologist and told him what happened.

His office called the next day and said I should come in to check my eyes. After eye drops, dilation, and bright testing lights, he said, “I’m sorry to tell you that you have a little hole at the edge of your retina that could cause it to detach – causing loss of vision.” He prescribed a laser repair right away.

Although this was a not happy diagnosis, I told him, “I’ve had three cancer diagnoses – and this is not cancer. That’s good news.”

He got on the phone with the laser specialist and asked me, “Can you make it to the retina clinic in Salem before 5 pm?” That gave me about an hour – “Yes” I answered. “Then be on your way,” he said, “You’ll need someone to drive you.”

I got home and checked the retina clinic address for directions. They were 45 minutes away – I would need to leave right now to make it by five. My wife was not available to drive me. I called a retired friend who might be. She said, “I’ll be right there!”

I got in her Prius and gave her the clinic’s address. While she programmed it in, I called the clinic and said we might be late – “Should we make the drive or reschedule?” They said to just get there asap, they would wait.

We passed a “35 MPH speed limit” sign on the edge of town. My driver slowed to what felt like a walking pace. She said, “My sister was just pulled over – right here for speeding – I don’t want to get a ticket.” “Man,” I said, “It feels like we’re crawling!” She agreed but held steady at the posted speed: 35. Traffic was lining up behind us.

After a moment she said, “Oh…… see if you can spot the button (on the dash) that switches the display from Kilometers Per Hour to Miles per hour. I think it accidentally got pushed.” We were going 35 KPH (about 20 mph), thinking it was 35 MPH.

When we arrived at the retina clinic, my driver’s wish came true – that we would wait for these busy people instead of finding them waiting for us.

That’s where a kid shot me in the eye with a laser. He said he was a doctor, but looked like he might have graduated high school just a year or so ago. He explained that laser retinopexy is done to decrease the chance of progression to a retinal detachment.

Cross my heart and hope to die – stick a needle in my eye! He suddenly had a syringe in his hand. “I’m going to give you a shot,” he said. “In my eye!?” I blurted in surprise. “Not actually IN your eye,” he answered. I don’t know where that needle went, if not in my eye. Maybe the corner of my eye is not technically in my eye.

He explained that “The risk-benefit ratio with this laser procedure is very good. The only thing that could go wrong would be if you move.”

I was reclining in a chair similar to a dental chair. “Turn your head this way,” he told me as he put the laser gun (that looks like an ink pen) to my eye and said calmly, “Don’t move.”

A green laser beam began blasting rapid-fire until the vision in that eye was nearly gone. The laser damages the eye. It’s the healing that does the intended repair.

I Now Pronounce You…..

I continue scheduled testing, doctor visiting, and pill taking. Stable is good (I can live with that), life is busy, and once in a great while, a new experience comes along – like officiating.

My goddaughter asked me to officiate her wedding. I have never done such a thing and was not confident I could. I’ve never attended a wedding where the minister shouted, “Cut! Let’s do that part over – Take two!”

I have loved her since she was a gangly little girl. Our relationship has always been easy. I never had to exercise parental authority and send her to her room or threaten to ground her.

There was a season when I picked her up weekly and drove her to an appointment. While waiting in the car to take her home I would and pray for her and her family.

There was a time we thought she might come to live with us. It didn’t happen, but we would have welcomed her.

I felt honored when she asked if I would perform her wedding ceremony, but I was hesitant to agree because I was getting choked up simply thinking about it. I don’t know why.

I could see myself starting out like…. “We gather here today to join in holy matrimony……” and bursting into tears – “bwahaha, waaaaa.” Wedding attendees would ask, who is this guy? What’s his problem? Is there a minister in the house who can finish this ceremony? We’re here for a wedding – we don’t have all day!

I didn’t want her wedding to be remembered for that.

Why would I be incapacitated by emotion? My working theory considers the promise and potential of this young bride and groom, the years I watched her grow to an adult, and the joy they have waiting for them in their new life together. Seeing them, I remembered a secret – my wife and I were once as young and beautiful as this bride and groom are today.

Those thoughts trigger memories of my bride, our wedding, our love story, and the many years we’ve enjoyed together. Mix in feelings about years slipping away, add the wisdom that comes with age – and, there may be tears. Should they escape, they might be bitter sweet.

The wedding took place under a cloudy sky, in a lush, garden oasis surrounded by acres of pear trees. I was able to complete the ceremony without causing a distraction, due mostly to rehearsing it again and again with my wife. When it was over, I didn’t feel the need to apologize. Like any landing you can walk away from – I’ll call it a success.

Repeat Questions – Duplicate Answers

The hospital gate keepers stopped me from entering. It was time again for my three-month oncology appointment. They must have tired from asking over and over, the same Covid-19 and Social Security questions. Frequently returning patients like me have long tired of answering with the same multiple No’s on every visit.

They greeted me instead with a small sign board of printed questions. Smiling and pointing, they present it and ask if you answer YES to any of these. Wow – one simple shake “No” of the head – instead of No again, No again, No again, No again, No……

The Admin assistant checking me in was asking again those two critical ID questions: Name? Scott. Birth date? “It’s tomorrow” I answered. Well, I see it is, happy birthday! But I still need the year.

The Oncologist began our visit by asking her usual list of questions – any new pains? Any new medications? Unusual or suspicious growths? Any new cancers?

I was reciting the usual answers when I stopped to tell her that talking through my mask made it difficult to express myself. I felt buffered. And I didn’t like not seeing the expressions behind her mask.

I pointed out that her eyes could be suggesting a hidden smile, or they could look exactly the same with an “Eeeeew – that’s sick!” expression.

“FANTASTIC!” she said to sum-up my blood test results. All your labs look fantastic!

I said that was good news. I didn’t think I could ever do better than stable – no change; and I could live with that.

She explained that my results were stable, no change. But she said Fantastic to be a little more expressive and compensate for the communication suppressing masks.

We’ve been working on our kitchen, remodeling again after 40+ years. It’s been in our plans for a while now as previously mentioned here. You can see more progress photos here.

We’ve been leveling floors and moving walls. It will be nice to progress to the next phase.

That’s me preparing to rebuild the floor under the designated refrigerator parking space.

My age-odometer has indeed clicked up to 68. That’s within striking distance of 70 (really?). Getting old is a slow adventure.

At my age, I wish I had a bar scanner to help me count my blessings, that would save so much time! Most of them are directly associated with my primary blessing – my wife, Diane. After 47 years of marriage, and a couple years of rehearsal before that – we’re still practicing love (and I love it!).

I remain thankful to God.