Meatballs & .....

Boy, is it cold today or is it just me? I get the chills while sitting in the house. I even invite the two cats into the foyer when it gets this cold.
I reinforced the bunny hutch against the wind and cold. I run the heat lights all day with temperatures like these. I took the nest boxes out a few days ago based upon the age of the babies.
I cooked meatballs and angel hair pasta for my two sweethearts (my big one and my little one) and also for the big man. I bought that specialty Italian bread shaped like a bowl – I cut it up, buttered with a little sprinkle of garlic salt in the broiler for a few minutes – it was a hit! And to think, I almost cooked chicken! I (we) got the girls some chocolate and roses and tulips. Purple tulips.

I have always held telling the truth/being honest as one of the chief virtues. So, I am going to be honest – here it goes.
I have been feeling funky all week, well, maybe for the past several weeks. Sleep is evasive and sporadic. I don’t feel like eating most of the time, but I do still have an appetite, so I just eat less when I do eat. The shoulder pain is about 30% less this week which is good, but the abdominal/rib pain is still aggravating – and somewhat more persistent. The pain meds help, but it’s just a miserable way to live. I have never been one to like to take pills, even when I feel they are warranted. Yesterday, I went all day without any pain meds until around 2 am – I just couldn’t handle it anymore. One hour you feel like #@&$* and then the next you feel a little better than that, which on a relative scale – better than what? I have been praising God in the midst of it, throughout the day. Realizing that God is my comforter - not up there like the Greeks thought of their gods, manipulating humans like lab rats – and He does comfort and encourage me through the Word and through people. But it gets to the point of, “what is the point”? I also ask Him how is this going to serve a greater purpose? If this is a test intended to teach me something, just tell me what You want to teach me and let’s move on. You get real practical over a long time dealing with this stuff – it wears you down. It can steal your joy and zest for life – if you let it. You get more of a ‘let’s cut to the chase’ attitude.

Being ‘younger’ and having a family does serve as a motivation for me. I can see how some people who are elderly just say ‘my time here is over’ and they give up and die. I do feel that I have more to live for and more to do. I have yet to start ‘bargaining’ with God, you know, ‘if you let me live, l’ll do such and such’. Not that there is anything wrong with that because I know several people who came to that point in there lives – God met them in the middle and they in turn kept their end of the bargain. I told my wife today that she and the kids were really the only reason I am hanging around. My parents, her parents, my brother and his family and my other extended family, too. I always thought that I would be the last man standing, being here to help take care of others in my family, not the one being taken care of. I was telling the kids at supper time about Ross Perot’s presidential running mate. Do ya’ll remember that circus? “I’m all ears” and “look at this here chart”. Anyway, this man was an Admiral I believe. I cannot remember his name, but his story is that he had been a Vietcong prisoner of war (POW) for years and made it out with his life and his sanity. He went on to do great things with his life. He died in his 80’s. How did he do it? How does anyone hang on under those circumstances?
So, I sometimes think I am just a whimp. People have it (and have had it) much worse than I and yet handle it so much better. You want to know how I think they made it?
To be continued tomorrow.....so as not to wear you out with this long blog . . . .

I know, it sounds like I have been reading the first few chapters of the Book of Solomon. But, no I have not. You just have to remember that, 'His ways are higher than our ways and his thoughts are higher than our thoughts'.
more later, George