Chores

 

Chores

 

Taking the full garbage bag from underneath the sink out to the garbage can in the garage, I was struck by the thought that I’ve been doing this for seventy some years. Why that random thought? Well, some of the things I do, I do on auto pilot. The daily routine of household chores is an integral part of my life.

 

As I write these words, I hear my mother’s commanding voice, “Daniel, how many times do I have to tell you. Take out the garbage!” Not that doing it took such exertion. It was such a bother to be told you had to do this or else. Little did I realize that the routine of garbage handling was a building block of my character.

 

The truth is I continue to do many of the chores from childhood. Cleaning up after myself, hauling my dirty clothes from the bathroom to the laundry room, making the bed, hanging up my clothes, clearing dishes from the dining room table and putting them in the dishwasher to name a few.

 

Yard work chores haven’t changed much either. Even though we live in an HOA community, I am still raking the lawn, hand mowing a small patch of grass by the patio, trimming the hedge and my favorite: picking up dog poop. All those domestic skills I learned as a child under the watchful eyes of my parents.

 

Although I tried to pass the discipline of chores unto my children, I don’t know how successful I’ve been. Nobody seems interested in picking up dog poop anymore. When the grandkids come over for a visit, I invite them to help me in this yard chore, but I get no takers. I wonder what their back yard looks like.

 

A big thanks to mom and dad for teaching me the discipline of daily domestic chores. Those daily jobs are no longer chores. They are integral part of life. I have to say, my wife and dog are grateful. What else can one ask for.

Smart Phone

 

Smart Phone

 

How did I survive without one? I’m old enough to remember life before technology birthed this handheld instrument that transformed the way the world communicates. The ugly black desk phone with a rotary dial morphed into the sleek princess with push button dialing. It even came in assorted colors. Now they are relics in the antique store.

 

My issue with a smart phone is that it’s smarter than me. Owning one assumes I have more grey matter than all those little connections on the circuit board. The learning curve to operate one is an experience. It is humbling to ask my grandchildren to show me how to download or delete an app. They look at you and in a blink of an eye they’ve got it. What is intuitive to them is mind boggling to me.

 

Now I have numerous apps. In order to be a techy hospital and hospice chaplain I need a minimum of five apps. More include: Mail, Facebook, Merriam-Webster Dictionary, Microsoft Word, Calendar, Camera, Photos, Bank, Social Chess. I can’t forget the app for my hearing aids that function as a hand’s free device. Life has become a touch screen ritual in staying connected.

 

Here’s a short poem that says it all: Ode To Cell Phones

 

Cell phone, oh cell phone. With all your smart little keys, bright light screens and caller ID, I can take you wherever I please….

 

Cell phone, oh cell phone. With you, I am on time. Dates, clock, calendar and alarms and the list can go on.

 

Cell phone, oh cell phone. Entertainment is your job. Music, pictures, videos and more, with you, nothing is a bore.

 

Cell phone, oh cell phone. I need you for sure. Without you I would be lost even more.  (Anonymous)

 

The question is: What happens when the electricity goes out?

 

 

 

Meds

 

Meds

 

My father was a doctor. Growing up, I was exposed to things medical. From dinner conversations to seeing my father despair over the loss of a patient, medicine was part of life. On more than one occasion I tried to fool my father so I wouldn’t have to go to school. He would say “take two aspirin and we’ll see how you are in the morning.” I couldn’t outsmart the resident doctor just because I wanted to play hooky.

 

This morning in the middle of my ablutions, I opened the medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink and was shocked at the rows accumulated medicine bottles. Being in rather good health, I only take a few prescriptions. I have shelves of half empty plastic pill containers. A reminder of less healthy days. A wakeup call that life is fleeting and there are no meds to keep me from the inevitable.

 

As I stared at those potions of medical marvel, a verse from the Mary Poppins movie ran through my mind: “A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down in a most delightful way.” I chuckled recalling that I inherited my mother’s sweet tooth. I don’t take my meds with sugar but I am not opposed to the idea.

 

I am thankful for the medications prescribed by my physician. Taking them are part of my daily routine. Alongside daily exercise, healthy relationships and a spoon full of sugar, I’m in good shape for the shape I’m in.

 

A word of wisdom from the Old Testament book of Proverbs: “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength.”

 

It’s time to clean out the medicine cabinet and find some sweets!

Obituaries

 

Obituaries

 

It was my father who encouraged me to read obituaries in the newspaper. I know this sounds rather morbid. At first, I couldn’t figure out why he would suggest that I pay attention to the death list. Reading about people who are no longer alive is not my idea of entertainment. Little did I realize that his suggestion would introduce me to an essential fact of life, death.

 

You can find the obits in your local paper. They are listed after letters to the editor and just before the sports section. Some are short with just basic facts while other take up several columns including a photo of the deceased in better days. It’s expensive to have an obituary printed in the newspaper. Editors have found a never ending source of income in death announcements.

 

One thing stands out about obituaries: they never say anything bad about a person. Not that they should but to read some you would think that the deceased was one step short of sainthood. It makes you wonder what this person was really like. I remember reading an obit of an old acquaintance feeling ashamed that I had such a different opinion of him in life.

 

It’s Easter week. Reading the gospel account of the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus, I’m reminded there is more to life than an honorable mention in the obituaries. An angel at the tomb told the women “Why are you looking for Jesus among the dead? He is risen!”

 

We sang this chorus at church on Easter Sunday: “Jesus is alive and well! Jesus is alive and well! Tell everyone you see, tell them for me. Jesus is alive and well.”

 

Good News that should be on the front page.