My Time with COVID

First, I will admit that I thumbed my nose at COVID.  I have diabetes and stage III kidney disease.  I was told I should be vaccinated.  But I made the conscious choice to not do it.  I was angry at the restrictions they were putting in place.  And it was because of those restrictions that I reluctantly agreed to get the vaccine.  My wife and I were planning a weekend trip to New York in October 2021.  The city of New York made it impossible to do anything without a vaccine.  So, I scheduled my vaccine, and received the first dose of Pfizer on August 26.  That was a Thursday.  The following Monday morning, I woke with a scratchy throat.

I thought little of it because I tend to deal with allergies every year around this time.  But then came the fever.  It was slight; below 100°.  I received a positive COVID test result on September 2^nd.  That was Thursday, exactly one week after my first Pfizer dose.  And for the first week, I was fine.  Yes, I had a slight fever and cough.  But I was not feeling badly at all.  Maybe the first dose had helped lessen the symptoms.  And maybe, just as I had suspected, COVID wouldn’t be that big a deal for me.

On the afternoon I received the positive test result, I contacted my doctor.  Because I am a higher risk, I asked if there was anything I should do.  The answer was get lots of rest and drink plenty of fluids, and if I have chest pains or difficulty breathing, I should go to the ER. 

Then it hit.  The fever climbed, and the cough got worse.  GI issues kept me close to the toilet.  And when I went to bed at night, I could hear and feel the crackle down in my lungs that told me I was in danger of pneumonia.  As I said, I get allergies every year.  And most years, it tends to settle in the lungs, and I end up with an upper respiratory infection that requires a couple of doses of steroids and anti-biotics to clear. 

My wife brought an oxygen sensor home from a friend.  I put that on my finger a lot, and carefully monitored my oxygen levels.  I was taking Tylenol to help with the fever and taking Nyquil at night to quell the cough and try to sleep.  My daughter called in a steroid pack and some anti-biotics.  I started taking them and, for the next two nights, had an experience I had never had before, and hope to never have again.

I’ve woken up sweaty plenty of times.  But those two nights were so much more horrible than any other time before.  The sheets above and below were completely soaked.  I could have wrung cups of sweat from them.  As I pulled the sheet back to get out of bed, it was peeling off my body, stuck not just here and there, but all the way up and down my body.  I have NEVER sweat that much.  And it wasn’t like normal sweat.  There was an…odor to it.  Not a sweaty, salty smell.  It was almost an astringent smell.  It would have been bad enough to sweat that much.  But the odor truly disgusted me. 

I tried to figure out what the odor reminded me of.  I thought of peroxide but that didn’t seem quite right.  The next day, I typed “Night sweat smells”, and got dozens of results for “Night sweat smells like vinegar.”  That was it.  Several of the pages I read said the vinegar smell can come from diabetic ketoacidosis or can be due to kidney disease.  I had found out a year previously that I had stage III kidney disease.  But this was the first time I had ever experienced sweating like this, especially with the odor. 

It happened again the following night.  This is honestly one of the grossest things that I have ever experienced.  Mild compared to throwing up in bed, or worse.  But just the unnatural smell and the amount of sweat.  I weigh myself every morning.  The morning after the first sweating, I weighed 167lbs.  I drank some water and took my medicine.  Before I ate anything, I weighed again.  I was 170.  It wasn’t surprising to lose three pounds of water weight, considering how much I had sweated.

A few times, my oxygen level dipped down into the upper 70’s.  And a couple of those times, it took several seconds to climb back into the upper 80’s before finally making its way back into the 90’s.  It was that way on Thursday, September 24^th.  And as I watched it, waiting for it to climb, my heart began fluttering.  My wife was at work, and I was just about to decide I might need to call 911 when I had to cough.  Once the coughing began, my oxygen began climbing, and my heart settled down.  I wasn’t sure if the heart flutters were due to low oxygen, or if I was stressed about the readings, and that made my heart skip a few beats.  Either way, I knew it was time to get more serious.

That evening, my wife took me to the ER.  As I told them all of what was going on, three of them asked me, “Why did you wait so long to come in?”.  They told me it was too late to give me the antibodies.  So if my doctor had sent me to the hospital (or anywhere else I could have received medication), I might have began feeling better a week previous, skipped the hospital visit, and been on my way to recovery. 

At the ER, my fever was gone, and the oxygen looked good.  Chest x rays showed acute pneumonia and I was prescribed antibiotics and an inhaler.  The doctor warned me the inhaler was going to be rough.  But I needed to get the fluid cleared from the lungs so I could begin breathing again.  I was sent back home, and my wife picked up the medication the next day.  And, just like they warned, the inhaler was a horrible experience.  It took several days to feel ANY relief at all.  But every six hours, I would take two puffs.  And I would spend the next several minutes coughing.  Not a normal cough-cough, let’s get rid of some fluid.  But a deep, grinding cough that would completely exhaust my entire body.  I had to hope it was doing some good because it was far worse than only being able to take short breaths. 

After several days, I noticed I was able to breath just a little bit deeper. 

As of this writing (a little over three weeks from initial symptoms), I am breathing at about 95%.  I still get winded walking up and down the stairs.  I climb the stairs (slowly), and I’m done for a bit.  I feel like I’m 90.  I feel so far from “normal”, and, even thought it’s only been a couple of weeks, It seems I’ve got so far to go to get back to being able to participate in a normal day’s activities.  But I also feel I’ve come quite a way from where I was less than a week ago. 

As a Christian, I’m to always be thankful.  And despite what has been going on, I’ve been so very thankful.  So many people I know have been in ICU, on ventilators, and have been told to get the family together.  Mine has been mild compared to them.  And I have found comfort in the little things through it all.  I had no problem thanking God for His mercy to me.  I’m here in Texas, where when I get a chill, I can curl up in my comfortable bed, and pull soft blankets up around my neck.  I’m not in Nairobi where a bed might be a piece of cloth on the cold hard dirt.  I’m thankful that when the GI issues flair up, I can go sit on a toilet in the air-conditioning.  I’m not stooping on the ground and using leaves or dirt.  I was able to go to the ER in an air-conditioned car and receive care from some of the best medical hands in the world.  Yes, there is plenty that I’m thankful for. 

COVID19

As I began writing this, we were in week 5 of being told to isolate, and avoid going out if at all possible.  Grocery stores were open, and people were still going.  Few had a mask, and only a few stores were limiting how many people were allowed in at a time.  Restaurants were open, but only to those who wanted their meals delivered, or would pick it up.  No one was allowed to dine out.  Churches were told they were not to have congregations inside their buildings.  Our church, thankfully, has their services broadcast live online.

Now, we are seeing restaurants and shops open back up.  More people are wearing masks when they go out.  And we are caught in a debate.  We were told it wasn't safe to go out unless absolutely necessary.  Nothing has changed.  There is no cure.  There is no vaccine. But now, we are opening back up to try to prevent the entire economy from crashing.

It is a time like no other.  With so much fear in the world, and uncertainty about our future, there are a couple of things that I find comfort in.  We as humans have banded together.  A story a couple of weeks ago talked about China sending respirators to the US.  We are no longer American, Iranian, Chinese...we are in this together.  Don't get me wrong.  I know that won't last.  As soon as this threat begins to wane, we will once again focus on our differences.  Wars will continue, and the hatred will resume.  But for now, we are facing a common enemy.  And if we don't work together, we all suffer.

As I look around at what is happening, I find more comfort than ever.  Not in humanity, in spite of how we are working together right now.  I find my comfort in God alone.

I turned 54 this year.  And each year brings me one step closer to the end of this journey, and into the next.  And each year, I find less and less in this world that I can trust in.  And I truly believe, if God came to me right now, and offered another 50 years of relatively healthy life, or to take me home today, I know what I would choose.  Not because I have lost my joy.  Not because there aren't a hundred things I still want to see and do.  But because I think about what joys this life has to offer.  And although SO many of them are wonderful, they simply can't compare. And as we struggle through the unknown post-COVID world, I find less joy here, and more there.

The GREATEST comfort I can find is in knowing that GOD is in control.  You aren't.  I'm not.  President Trump isn't.  The World Health Organization isn't.

Psalm 94:19 - "When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul."

My Day in Court

Writing as a Christian, I know I have accepted Christ's blood as a payment for my sin.  I have been accepted into His family, without spot or blemish.  Christ has made payment for my sin with His atoning death.  It is faith in Him, and what He has done for me that help me get through so many trials in this life.  So what happens at the end of my life?

I'm in court, and I'm accused of all kinds of crimes.  The prosecuting attorney is a being by the name of Lucifer.  And he's good.  He somehow knows everything I've ever done.  He approaches the judge with evidence of every crime I have ever committed from the time I was born.

I know I'm guilty.  My attorney knows I'm guilty.  The judge and jury know I'm guilty.  There is no refuting the evidence that has been shown.  My mind races with excuses.

"But my mother was mean to me.  I was bullied.  At least I wasn't as bad as...."

It's no use.  There are no excuses.  I knew what I was doing.  And so many times, I had that little voice, telling me not to do it.  But I didn't care.  In that moment, I wanted to disobey.  There had been something exciting about being bad.  And here I was, on trial for so many things.  I don't dare look around the room.  I keep my eyes on my fidgeting feet.  I don't want to see the anger and hurt in everyone's eyes.

My attorney puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me everything will be okay.

How can he say that, I wonder.  Everyone knows I did all of those things.

"In light of the evidence," continues Lucifer, "I submit that this man is worthy of the death penalty."

Gasps spread throughout the courtroom.

"And," he continues, "he is also worthy of incarceration in a place created for the eternal punishment for all who are guilty of such crimes."

Death.

The word hits a lot harder than I expected.  I'm not really sure why.  I knew that's what he was going to try for.  My attorney had already told me that, and "prepared me" for the outcome.

How could I be prepared for this?  

Death.  

I know I deserve it.  

Death.  

Why did I do all those stupid things?  If I had only....

My attorney looks at me and manages a small smile.  But I can see the pain in his eyes.

Lucifer pauses, as he looks at me for a moment.  There is a small smile there as well.  And there is a gleam in his eye that cuts through my very soul.

Panic wells deep inside, and I can feel myself losing hope.  The hot, prickly sensation starts around my eyes, and quickly spreads to the rest of my face.

He's got me.  He knows it.  It's over.

"The prosecution rests," Lucifer says, and he sits down smugly.

He's won, I think to myself.  My attorney told me to trust him.  He said it would all be okay.  I had told him about the things I had done.  He assured me he would take care of it.  But the prosecution had brought up things I had not told my attorney about.  Things I had never told anyone.  Things I had forgotten I had even done.  

I had disappointed so many people.  I had hurt so many people.  I had failed the one chance I had been given at this thing called life.  And now I was about to hear my attorney plead my case.  But what could he say?  There was no excusing my behavior.  I had known better.  Sure, there were the little white lies that had been told.  So what?  And there were countless others that I had excused because "everyone did them."  But some of the that were brought out into the light in the courtroom were so hideous, I just knew everyone there must hate me.

The judge looks at me for a moment.  Is that contempt in his eye?  Pity?  Disgust?  Wrath?

My attorney rises.

Here we go.

"Father," He begins, "this is my child.  I have chosen him.  You have chosen him.  He is ours.  And I have already paid the price, and taken the punishment for his sin."

"Objection, Your Honor," Lucifer interrupts, quickly standing.

The majestic Judge looks at Lucifer.

"Overruled," He says.  

"But Your Honor," Lucifer tries again, "he also..."

"Silence!" The Judge says.

His voice fills the courtroom with the sound of a thousand thunders.  Like sitting next to the speakers at a too-loud concert, the deep resonance vibrates every cell in my body.  Suddenly, I see The Judge surrounded by an aura of light that I had never even comprehended.  It fills the courtroom with such magnificence that it must be shining right through the walls, and filling the entire universe.

The Judge looks at me, and suddenly, I understand the look in His eyes.  It isn't pity or wrath, only... it is.  And it was every other feeling I had ever known.  And they are all bundled together, and wrapped up completely in love.

I suddenly understood what I had heard, but never knew until that very moment.  His contempt was for the sin, not for me.  His wrath was against the disobedience I had lived.  But right then, when He looked at me, I could see that love had conquered the sin.  His wrath had already been expressed.  It had been poured out on my Attorney over two thousand years ago.  The love is so deep and so true, I can no longer stand.

I'm aware of my body going prostrate before Him.  Although it seem involuntary, I wouldn't fight it even if I thought I could.  As I glance over, I see the entire room has joined me.  Including the prosecution table.  But their reactions are different.

Deep growling sounds now leave the mouth of the sharp dressed attorney.  He looks at me, and the hatred in his eyes sends a shudder down my spine.   Guttural hissing sounds are thrown my way, and I would be terrified if it weren't for one thing.  My Attorney stands between me and the horrid creature being forced to his knees by an unseen force.  This Attorney had been so calm through everything, I often wondered if He would be tough enough to do me any good.  And in this wonderful, terrible moment, He still stood so calmly, and serenely.  It filled me with a peace I have never known.

And I understand.

It had been explained to me many times.  That God was a judge, requiring me to be punished, and Jesus came and rescued me.  God sent Jesus to pay the price.  God loved me.  He isn't a terrible being, hoping to crush us, and only allowing grace because of what Christ did on the cross.  He is a loving, merciful God who wants us to spend our eternities in the beautiful place He has prepared for us.

Don't misunderstand...He is also a just God.  And sin will not be tolerated.  Without the blood of Christ, who offered Himself as a sacrifice to atone for our sin, we are lost.  Separated from God for eternity.

But this trial wasn't for God to judge me.  It wasn't for a jury to decide if I was guilty or innocent.  Everyone knew I was guilty.  It wasn't to decide on a punishment.  The punishment was already decided.  Eternity in Hell.  Separated eternally from the loving God who had created me.  But that price was paid when Christ died on the cross.  He endured the wrath of God as a punishment for my sin.

This trial wasn't even for me to see how much God loved me, or show His mercy.

This trial was to once again put Satan in his place.

My eternity is secured.

Your day in the courtroom is coming.

Who is your attorney?

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Here we are again, celebrating another Christmas.  How many of us have celebrated year after year, without giving much thought to what it all really means?

Almost everyone knows the story, if only from "A Charlie Brown Christmas".  But have you ever really thought about what that first night was like?

First, let's agree that December 25th was not when Christ was born.  Shepherds watching their flocks by night tell us that it would not have been during the winter.  The truth is, we don't know the date of Christ's birth.  But we can be relatively sure it was in spring or summer, not winter.

In spite of paintings we see, there was no halo of light surrounding Jesus (or Mary).  Jesus came to be born like us, to show us the way.  Yes, He was God.  But He was born as a human.  He was born with the same weaknesses any other baby is born with.  If Mary and Joseph had left Him there, He would have died of starvation and exposure.

Why did God need to be born a helpless child?  How else could He truly understand all of our pain, suffering and temptations?  He had to live life from the beginning to show us that He knows our needs.

But couldn't God have made a different way?  Why did He have to come to die on a cross to provide salvation for us?

There were two men I used to listen to on the radio years ago.  If I could remember who they are, I would give them credit for this.  They painted a picture of God the Father and Jesus talking before the creation of the world.  They wanted to make man to fellowship with.  But They knew that man would choose to disobey, and there was only one way to redeem us from that point.  God the Father said, "If we create them, we will have to redeem them."  Jesus loved us so much that He chose to pay that price so that we could enjoy fellowship with Him.

Mary has almost been deified for being the mother of the Christ.  And Joseph is too often just another character in the story.  But what was it like for him?  To love this girl so much that you are willing to stand by her as she delivers a child you know isn't yours.  To raise this child as your own, facing the jeers of those who thought either this child was from another man, or that you and Mary were together before marriage.  Either way, it was a tough walk for Joseph.

Yes, the angel had told Joseph about Jesus, and how He was from God.  But, being a man, Joseph most likely wondered if he had imagined it.  Or if God really meant what He said.  By faith, Joseph chose to accept it.

This Christmas, we need to remember the story behind the gifts, trees and celebrations.  We need to understand that, while Jesus was relying on Joseph and Mary to care for Him, He was their only hope for an eternity with God.  Even as a newborn Baby, He was the Alpha and Omega. 

Our accepting Jesus is not what makes Him LORD.  He was LORD as He lay helpless in the manger.  He was LORD as he played with the other kids around.  He was LORD as he began his ministry with 12 men who were seldom sure what they were doing.  He was LORD as He was flogged, and hung on a cross.  He was LORD as He lay in the tomb.

It is up to each of us to accept Him as our LORD, and to accept His Lordship over our lives.  Only then is He our LORD. 

This Christmas, there is no greater gift you can accept.

Jeep JL Wrangler Rear View Mirror

After having my JL Wrangler Rubicon Unlimited for almost a year, there is really only one thing that has been a nuisance to me.  The rear view mirror blocks a portion of forward vision. 

BEFORE:

I'm not tall, so I thought others must be experiencing the same issue.  The picture above shows how the mirror sets in my way.  If I were taller, it would be worse.  Sure, the seat could be lowered, but I tried that as well, and it is still in the way.  And I like to have my seat sitting comfortably for me.  So I began searching for a way to resolve the issue.  

I found a couple of posts on the Jeep JL Forum, where others had "flipped" their mirrors upside-down.  Several said the mirror came off the mount, and had to be pushed back onto the clip.  Most of them said it was doable, but pretty tricky.  I was afraid of breaking my mirror mount, and just being out of luck.  

But a couple said they were able to just rotate the mirror to be upside-down.  It was a ten-second operation, two of them said.  So I decided to try.

By slightly pushing up on the plastic panel above the mirror, I was able to rotate it, and gain about 2" of vision under the mirror.  

AFTER:

One of the best upgrades I've done (and it was free)!

My Jeep JL Wrangler

I have been in love with Jeeps since junior high school.  We went to Sedona, AZ, and took a Jeep ride, and I was incredibly impressed with where it was able to go.  In spite of always wanting one, the first time I actually shopped for one was when I was in my 20's.  I bought a Mazda 4x4 pickup instead.

Through the years, I have owned trucks, but always looked with awe at the Jeeps around me.

When the new JL Wrangler was introduced, I was skeptical.  The JK has been the leader for several years, and I was concerned Jeep had made a mistake by trying to improve it.  But reading a lot of reviews, and watching a ton of videos, I saw the new JL had improved on several things that Jeep owners complained about the most.

• Hood flutter - JK Wranglers suffer from a condition known as "Hood Flutter", where the hood is bouncing up and down from the amount of air in the engine bay when driving at highway speeds.  The JL placed a vent behind the front fenders that allows the air to flow through, eliminating the concerning issue.
• Fuel Economy - Years ago, I drove a Dodge Ram 4-door 4 x 4 with 38" mud tires.  It got around 12 mpg.  But I didn't care.  Most Jeep owners understand they are not driving an aerodynamic vehicle, and mileage is just a slight nuisance.  The JL hood is raked back at the top, and the windshield is raked 14° more than the JK. This increases the mileage by 2-3 mpg.  
• Rough Ride - Again, most Jeep owners understand they are driving one of the most capable off-roaders ever built.  As a result, they are willing to give up a little in the comfort department.  The JL is longer and wider, so the ride is much smoother.  Reviews claimed it drove as well as a regular SUV.  

So, for my first ever Jeep, without seeing one, or test driving it, I bought a 2018 JL Unlimited Rubicon.  It was more than I had ever spend on a vehicle.  But I know this will be my long-term driver, and it will hopefully last longer than any other I've driven.  Mine has the cold-weather group (which includes heated steering wheel and seats), and LED lighting.  It did not have the steel bumper, which is winch ready.  But at $995, I knew I could buy an after-market bumper, AND the winch for less.  

One drawback is the lack of parts available for the new JL.  It is getting better, no doubt.  When I first bought my JL, there were no aftermarket bumpers to be had.  Now, there are several options, running from just under $300 to over $1000.  

I have had my JL for almost a year now, and love it every time I drive it.    It will go far more places, and do far much more off-road, than I will ever ask of it.  It is one of only two vehicles I've owned, where I didn't drive around, see other vehicles, and think, "I wish...".  

Chase, and the Clan Gordon Pipe Band

Let me start by saying I'm only 1/4 Scottish.  My mom was 1/2, and tried to instill a sense of pride.  I was impressed early on, but lost connection as a teenager.  There was always something about bagpipe music that stirred something inside, but I never let it go very deep.  I'm guessing that was due to issues with mom, but those are my issues. 



A year or so ago, Chase made an off-the-cuff comment about learning to play the bagpipes.  He taught himself to play guitar, bass, and piano.  So, while I dismissed the comment, I knew he could if he decided to. 



One day he sent me a picture of a set of pipes he had purchased.  It seemed to be a lot of money, but he was determined.  Two months later, he was with the Clan Gordon Pipe Band out of Tacoma, WA.  He texted a couple of weeks ago that their quartet, of which he was a part, won first place.  While I still find it amazing, it doesn't really surprise me.



When he was learning bass, I walked by his room one afternoon, and he was listening to YYZ by Rush. 



"I'll never get this," he said.



It was two nights later, he was playing along with the music, and keeping stride note for note.  I wonder if Geddy Lee was that way.



This weekend, watching Chase play, I found feelings of pride awakened.  Not just that my son had become an incredible bagpipe player in such a short time.  It was a deeper feeling.  I found myself tearing up at the notes, and the thoughts that accompanied them.



Bagpipes get a lot of teasing.  The style and sound is certainly not for everyone.  Maybe if I had not been exposed to it from an early age, I would hate the sound.  And maybe it is something that only those who share the heritage can appreciate.  But there is something solemnly beautiful about the melodies from a lone bagpipe.  And when an entire band plays, it is so powerful.  Put that together with the drums, the flair, and the tradition, and it can stir your very soul.



Whether or not it means anything to me; or whether or not it should, or shouldn't, mean anything to Chase; my mother would have been incredibly proud.  And as I shot the video, and took the pictures, I struggled to keep the tears at bay. During the breaks, I wandered through a shop or two.  I purchased a little booklet about the Mackay clan.  Once again, I'm interested in learning about that part of my heritage.  I didn't choose my lineage.  And for almost 40 years, I've tried not to care about it.  But suddenly, I find myself dealing with feelings of pride, and, possibly, a touch of lost years.  Maybe it's being over 50 now.  Maybe I'm just getting sentimental in my older years. 



Or maybe it is the heritage, once again being awakened. 

Love Story

There is an old legend about a man who was very much in love with a woman. He told her of his love, and asked her feelings about him. She told him that she liked him, but she felt that his love was not really true. He promised her his undying love and devotion, and told her that he would do whatever it would take to show her his love.

"I would move the mountains for you,” he told her one day.

"If you really love me," she said, pointing to the largest mountain around, ''you will move that mountain to the other side of the road."

The man looked at the mountain and looked again at his love. He wasn't sure she was serious until she turned without another word and walked away. He decided to show her of his love, and went to the mountain immediately to get started. He began to move the rocks that had fallen to the mountain's base. He would pick up a large rock, and carry it across the road, laying it to rest at the future sight of her mountain. Several of the rocks were far too big to pick up, and he knew he should go home to get a sledgehammer to break them into smaller rocks that he could carry.

He returned to the mountain a few hours later with his sledgehammer and wheelbarrow and began to break up the larger rocks. He worked all through the night without even sitting down. As he took his first break, he looked toward the mountain's new home, and could not even tell he had done any work. After a short rest, he began to work even harder. After all, if he was to complete this work, he would have to give it everything he had. He worked until late in the evening before exhaustion forced him to sit down again. As he looked across the road toward the mountain's new home, he could barely see anything had changed.

He decided that he would work from the time the sun came up until the time the sun went down every day until he had moved the entire mountain. Each day, he would leave his house an hour before sunrise to go to work.  He would work non-stop until it was too dark to see in the evening. Within a couple of weeks, he left his house for good, and slept next to the mountain because he was too exhausted to walk back home. After a month of working, he began to see a small hill where the mountain was being reassembled. The excitement made him work even harder.

"Next time she walks this way," he thought, "she will see what I am doing, and she will

not doubt my love."

Every day, he would work so hard. And each day, he would hope she would walk by to see what he had done. Each time he would see someone coming ever the horizon, his heart was gladdened. Each time it turned out to be someone else, however, and his disappointment soon began to sting. Still he worked as hard as his body would let him. From first daylight to after dark, he would carry rocks and dirt across the road to add it to the mound he had made.

Soon after the young man had made the promise to the young lady, she had forgotten his words. She had not really been interested in him at all, and she thought her words to him had told him of her feelings. She went on with her life, and soon was being seen in town with another young man who she did like. As she would spend her days in the house, helping her mother with the chores, the young man was moving the mountain for her. As the days went on, though his body grew more and more tired, his love for her only grew deeper. The harder he worked, the more he loved her. The more he loved her, the harder he worked.

As the years went by, her mountain was being moved piece by piece. The man worked every day, all year long, in the hot summer, and the cold winter. Being outside all the time, his young body aged, and his skin grew hard and tough. Still, he labored every day, always giving it all he had. Each night, when it was too dark to see, he would collapse  exhausted, and not wake until the next morning.

Word got around that there was a man moving a mountain, and people became interested.

Some people knew that it was being moved because of love. Others simply thought this man must be crazy. He was arrested twice for the work he was doing.  After all, the mountain belonged to everyone. What right did he have to move it? He would spend some time in jail, hoping his love would come to see him. Though he was in jail a couple of weeks, his love never came.

When he got out of jail, he went right back to the mountain to continue his work. People lost interest in the man, and soon no one paid attention anymore. As more years passed, the strain began to take its toll. He became sick, and could not get better. But no matter how bad he felt, he would work from before sunup to after sundown, every day.

Each night, he would collapse. Each morning, he would hope that his love would come see him that day. He knew however, that he would work until he died to prove his love.

The man collapsed one night, forty years after he started the work for his love. He never woke up. Next to the man was a note that simply read "For my love".

By now, his love had married, and moved to another town. For his love, he had moved the entire mountain. He was laid to rest next to his completed work.

Several months after his death, the lady and her husband came back to visit the town. As they reached the edge of town, she noticed the mountain on the other side of the road.  It was only then that she remembered the promise of the young man, made so many years before. As she approached the base of the mountain, she read the board that marked the man's tomb. Simple like the note he had left, it read "It was for his love". Legend has it, the lady died later that night of a broken heart.

The lady was buried in a small town several miles away. Even after his life, the man was left alone. The name of the man has long been forgotten, as has the name of the lady. But the legend of this mountain continues to be told from generation to generation. There are still some people alive today that swear they have seen pictures from when the mountain was on the other side of the road. Though its name is not recorded on maps, the locals know it as lonely mountain. Strange sounds can be heard there just after sunset every night. They say one of the sounds is the man groaning as he collapses after a long day. Another sound is the sound of his heart breaking as he collapsed for the last time, finally realizing that his love would never come.

Sweet Sadie

Back in the Summer of 2007, my wife and I stopped by Petco after lunch to pet the puppies.  Fireplug rescue was there, and they were having adoptions.  We had no intention of getting one, but who can resist the sweet faces?

There, in a crate, was the sweet face of Birdie.  Something about the white eyelids caught my heart.  I opened the crate door to just pet her a little.  She stepped out, and put her front paws on my shoulders as if to hug me and say, "You've finally come to rescue me."  

We both knew instantly that she was ours.  We renamed her Sadie, and began a new life with her.  

We had a few trials along the way (she was storm-phobic).  You can read more about that here: Our Dogs

She ran away more than a few times when we lived in Grapevine.  We usually found her at the nearby park, happily standing against the base of a large oak, after treeing a squirrel.  Once, when Dawn was walking her, she got out of her collar, and ran into a horse pasture, where she happily rolled around in.....well, you know.  After several years (about the time we decided if she ran away, we would just wait to see if she came home again), she stopped trying to get away.

We have watched through the years as her health has had issues with fatty tumors.  She had one the size of a softball on her side that we had the vet remove.  Soon afterward, she began growing them everywhere.  They never seemed to bother her until recently, when her throat would make her cough and gag.  Years ago, that was once every five or six months, usually after eating something from the yard.  In the last year, she has started doing it three or four times a day.  

Her legs have weakened as well, and she is finding it harder to get up and down the stairs.  Since all the bedrooms are on the second floor, and she is not one to just stay downstairs alone, I knew it would eventually become an issue.  Yesterday morning, her left front leg once again acted as if it had a mind of its own.  She didn't tumble, although how she avoided it is a mystery to me.  

Over the past year, the eyes that were once so full of life have dimmed.  She can't see much, and her left eye is full of cloudy grey.  She can't hear much either (unless it is thundering).  So much of her time is spent looking around, wondering where her people are, even if we are just a few feet away.

And there are the accidents in the house.  It's not like she needs to go urgently; but more like she just really has no idea what is going on.  Cleanup has become a daily event.

So, it is with a heavy heart that we will take her to the vet tomorrow to say our last goodbyes.  

This afternoon was hers, with a trip to the park for a little picnic, and a half of a bacon cheeseburger from Sonic.  We walked around and let her sniff all she wanted instead of pulling her along.  We took some pictures with her.  Not so we will remember her.  A dog like her will live with us forever.  

After the thousands of dollars of damage she caused in her storm-fueled panics, and the countless sleepless nights trying to console her during a storm, it is time for her to find her rest.  To go to her home with no more storms, and no more pain.  A place for her to run free; like the happy, playful dog she was when we got her.

Tonight, I will make my bed in the floor with her to give her (and me) a few more hours together.  And tomorrow, we will accompany her on her last journey here.  Knowing that dogs have only a few years here, and that this is just "the way it is" doesn't provide comfort.  But if I live to be a hundred, I will always remember Birdie, who became our Sadie.  And her unique personality will be a part of our lives forever.