Coffee

Coffee

I didn’t start drinking coffee until I was twenty-one. Come to think of it, that was about the same time I started drinking beer. There may be a corollary there, but I don’t remember. I considered coffee to be an old man’s drink: something you did in the morning to wake up and get the bowels moving. That’s why I stayed away from it for so long; I didn’t have trouble with either.

Now I have a daily habit of one cup of coffee right after I get up. While I am waiting for our dog to finish his breakfast, Purina with a little fish oil in it, I fire up my Keurig coffee maker. One cup with my Bible reading is just enough to get the day started.

I like my coffee dark roast with no sugar or cream. I have tried all kinds of fancy coffee drinks: Cappuccinos, Lattes, Mochas and Expressos. Just plain dark brew is fine with me. Besides being convenient right at home, it is also a lot cheaper.

Speaking of which, there are as many coffee shops in Bozeman as there are brew pubs. Not long ago if you wanted Starbucks coffee you had to drive all the way to Seattle. Now there are at least a half dozen in town. Also, there is City Brew, Cold Smoke, Zocalo, Rockford, Wild Joe’s, Wild Crumb, and Café M to name a few. I have been to them all, but none is as good as my cup of home brew.

I still do a fair amount of visiting at local coffee shops. At least once a week I meet someone to catch up on life or hand out free advice. I know which places have the best pastries and are quiet enough to hear what my friend is saying.

Recently I saw an online quote that sums up my long-standing relationship with coffee. It has the ring of truth to it. “Sometimes having coffee with your best friend is all the therapy you need.”

Well said!

Good Grief

Good Grief

Charlie Brown was fond of saying “good grief” whenever life started going south on him. Whenever he was at logger heads with Peppermint Patty or Linus, this was his mantra.  Charlie Brown became the poster boy for good grief.

Although it’s a little outdated, the phrase is uttered when one is surprised, alarmed, dismayed or shocked at an unexpected situation. For those who have some religious sensibilities it is an acceptable substitute for “good God” or “good Lord.”

There is another meaning. What brought it to mind was the recent news that Maggie, our grandkids cat of many years, died. Those of us who were raised with pets know that they are as much a part of the family as any sibling. When a pet is sick or dies, it is a family crisis and a season of grieving begins.

As a child, I grieved over the loss of my pets. Entering into the life-death cycle at an early age teaches valuable lessons that pay big dividends later. I learned about grieving, the good grieving, at the back-yard burials of Pooka and Bandit, the parakeets, cats, rabbits and gerbils who were my childhood friends.  Experiencing those losses helped prepare me for bigger losses later in life.

No grief is fun. It is the hard reality of living. Whenever I stand over a grave praying for my own or someone else’s loved one, I experience a measure of grief all over again. Grief is the God given emotion that purges the soul when loss comes our way. I have learned to embrace the good grief.

I share the following as a postscript. “Grief never ends. But it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It’s the price of love.” Author unknown.

Autumn

Autumn

This is the most beautiful time of the year in Montana. Oh, spring and summer are fine, winters are a bit long, but autumn is the best. It can be the shortest season of the year squeezed between hot summer and cold winter. This precious time with its warm days and the cool nights are a welcome transition.

With the first signs of the season changing, I start thinking of all the needs to be done to prepare for winter. The patio furniture put away, the retractable awning covered, flower gardens cut and raked, extension cords set up for outside Christmas lights, screens stored, and hoses drained. The list goes on and on.

There are other autumn chores that are more fun than work. It’s time to get my hunting gear organized: clean the rifle, find the binoculars and hunting knife, run to the sporting goods store to purchase licenses. I need to be ready when the snow flies and the deer are in the rut.

My favorite autumn chore is when a friend calls and says the time has come to lay up some wood. He rents a hydraulic splitter and it’s to work we go. Watching that splitter do its job and tossing those chunks of wood and stacking in the garage gives me a sense that all is well. On those cold winter nights with the fireplace aflame, I am thankful for our labor with the splitter.

I can’t forget to mention the beauty of the leaves turning. Aspens changing from summer green to autumn yellow; maples shining bright red. A sure sign that life in Montana is heading for winter. Once the leaves are raked and the snow shovels are made ready, it is time to welcome winter.

Feeling nostalgic about the fleetness of autumn, I came upon a quote that gives expression to this time of change: “The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let things go.”

 I am watching.

Candy Bar

Candy Bar

Now this is a topic where I have some expertise. In previous blogs I mentioned that I have an on-going addiction to all things sweet. Often I have tried to kick the habit but to no avail. I have a recurring excuse to indulge no matter the consequences.

What brought this to mind was what I found in my winter coat the other day. It was cold outside, so I grabbed a heavier jacket. As I reached into the pocket for my gloves I found a Salted Nut Roll. When I put this coat away last spring, I didn’t realize a candy bar was left there. It’s a good thing that roll of sugar and nuts has a twenty-year shelf life.

That discovery made me think again about my addiction. So, I started a list of my favorite candy bars thinking that if I would come clean on my sugar sin, I could be set free. As I began to compile this list just the opposite happened. My mouth started salivating so I headed out to my truck where a keep a stash of Salted Nut Rolls in the jockey box. Sad!

For what it’s worth here is the list I had hoped would bring me freedom: Nut Goodies, Hersey’s Chocolate, Kit Katz, Babe Ruth, Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Milky Way, Butterfingers, Mounds Bar, Nestle Crunch, Twix and Mr. Goodbar.  Wow! Each one of those has a minimum of 148 calories. All of these are readily available at the gas station convenience store. They make you walk through the candy aisle on the way to the rest room.

I know it is a stretch but while writing this blog a scripture verse came to mind. This may be the answer I have been seeking. Often I have read it but never with this application in mind. The psalmist David said: “How sweet are your words to my taste! Yes, sweeter than honey to my mouth!”

Altar Boy

Altar Boy

Growing up in a Catholic family, it was expected that on Sunday morning I would show up in slacks, white shirt, clip on tie, sport coat and shoes shined; standard uniform for church. My sisters wore a dress, white gloves and hat. My escape route for the dress code was to become an altar boy.

For some reason my parents thought I would be an excellent candidate to serve at the altar. At the time I was not a particularly religious person and the thought of having to perform on a Sunday morning send shivers of fear down my spine. Why couldn’t I just sit in the pew with everyone else?

Learning to be an altar boy was no easy task. First of all, you had to have the right attitude. My attitude was an issue the nuns were trying change. I had become the class clown and there was no clowning around at the altar. It was serious business to be that close to the sacred. The nuns knew how to slap that smile right off my face.

Then there was the Latin language. I had a hard-enough time speaking proper English minus the swear words I picked up from my non-Catholic friends. I was given a little book with all the altar boy responses to memorize. Giving it my best shot, I mumbled through those unintelligible phrases. That’s where I learned to fake it.

There was one benefit to being an altar boy. When the mass was over, and the priest wasn’t looking, we could finish off the left-over wine that remained in the cruet. Usually there was only a drop or two left, but it was enough to whet my appetite for cheap wine.

Those days are long gone. Little did I know that in the grand design of life I would graduate from altar boy to priest. The Latin I had to learn back then I didn’t need as a priest because everything was in the native tongue. One thing that hasn’t changed is my taste for cheap wine.

I chuckle when I think of what those nuns would think of me now!

Cookie Monster

Cookie Monster

Back in the days when our kids were small, their daily television entertainment was Sesame Street. I never wanted to admit it, but I liked those Muppet characters who brought smiles to our faces. My favorite was the Cookie Monster. He had a voracious appetite for cookies. His mantra was “Me want cookies!” “Me eat cookies!”

What brought the Cookie Monster to my mind was the aroma of cookies baking in the oven while watching the evening news. Judy is a master cookie maker. She must have got some of her cookie making skills from watch Sesame Street. When she is in the mood, exotic sugar smells pour out of the oven beckoning me to indulge.

The truth is I have an undisciplined sweet tooth. I inherited it from my mother. Mom was a stickler for making sure dessert was part of the meal. I remember hearing her say more than once that the main course should be passed over and move right on to dessert. She was that way to the end of her life. Whenever I visited her in the care facility, she had candy within easy reach.

For years I have tried to convince the ladies in charge of our monthly pot lucks at church to cut back on the salads, fruits, and hot dishes and replace them with desserts. I am convinced you could have all the basic food groups just by serving pie, cakes, brownies and cookies. So far, no luck!

I realize that there is something fundamentally wrong with my taste buds. It is an addiction that I have struggled with all my life (most of the time not very hard). However, like the Cookie Monster, with a mouth full of chocolate chip cookies, all I can say is, “Om nom nom nom.”

Thanks Mom for the sweet tooth. And my dentist thanks you too!

Prepay

Prepay

For several years Judy and I have been trying to get our house in order. We aren’t getting any younger and there are things that need to be done. Our first project was to get our wills updated. The last time we saw a lawyer was when our kids were toddlers. Our concern then was to make sure they were provided for if something happened to us. Now we are focused on who does what and who gets what when we die.

Our next project was to put in writing our advanced medical directives. Our local hospital has a nice booklet that took us step by step in choosing who will make medical decisions for us if we can’t and what kind of medical care we want towards the end. Our doctors and the hospital have copies of these directives. Lots of stuff to do before you die!

This year we have been talking about final arrangements for our demise. I finally made the call to the funeral home asking one of their people to pay us a visit. A nice young lady came and laid out all the details for us: regular burial or cremation, cemetery plots and grave markers. I confess I needed more than one glass of wine after that conversation.

A week later, Judy and I visited the city cemetery to pick a plot where our ashes would be deposited. We have a nice graveyard that is well groomed. It was very strange for the two of us standing in the middle of the cremation section debating which piece of sod would be best for us. The irony of it all is that we won’t even be there to enjoy this expensive piece of turf.

The final stop was to meet the headstone sculptor. I had no idea of the variety of material, design and expense of these markers. After looking at a computerized catalog of stone, I left that decision for another day. I am uncertain as to whether we can agree on the color of granite or the design. That may take a miracle.

When all was said and done, I added up the cost so that we could prepay for our end of life experience. I presented the bottom line to Judy for final approval. She said she would rather take that money and spend a week at an all-inclusive resort on the Mexican Riviera.

Now that’s a tough decision!