Another Way for week of May 8, 2020
What I Learned from King David, and Mom and Dad
I was reading again the story of David, Bathsheba, and Uriah in the Bible, 
but this time written as a novel. The poetic and powerful author Walt Wangerin, Jr. wrote The Book of God: The Bible as a Novel (Zondervan, 1999). I’m not going to write about the adultery part. (We know it was common for a king to have a whole harem of wives who took turns coming to his bed, so the problem here was David coveting what he didn’t have, and basically forcing Bathsheba into bed with him.) When Bathsheba ends up pregnant, David arranges for her husband Uriah to be conveniently killed in battle. Then the prophet Nathan confronts David with a story subtly reminiscent of what David has done. David quickly responds, “Anyone who can do such a thing deserves to die.” He then confesses his sin and cries out to the Lord for redemption.
It is always easier to see someone else’s mistakes and faults than your own. No where is that truer than in marriage and families, where we live in each other’s faces day in and day out, especially during this “lockdown.”
I was fussing at my husband for misplacing the strap of Velcro we’ve been using to secure ice pack holders when wrapping them around his knee after exercises (for knee replacement surgery March 10). The dandy holder they gave us is looking a little tattered after twice a day home therapy. (He also goes twice a week to a therapy office.) Stuart came up with the idea of using a short strip of Velcro to keep the ice pack from unrolling around his knee. I won’t go into here how many times he’s misplaced his best set of keys (currently missing for weeks), or how often I’ve helped him hunt for tools in the workshop.
Do I really NEED 3 jackets of the same type?
It was not long after I read this story of David (and others where David recognizes his own grave sins and failures as a father) when I remembered that I left my jacket that day at the therapy office. I hung it on a hook and by the time we left, it was warm enough that I never thought about wearing my jacket. So it was me, not my husband, who had again misplaced or forgotten something.
I had also left a different jacket in Indiana after our trip out there in February. So, two misplaced jackets should equal missing car keys and a Velcro strip. Guilty. I told Stuart that I had forgotten my jacket at therapy and was guilty of the same lack of attention to where I’d put my things that so frustrates me about him at times. After almost 44 years of marriage, these things are easier to take in stride and keep in perspective. Usually! Especially when we know the peccadilloes go both ways.
My parents had a love story that carried them through more than 60 years of marriage, even though the last years were especially difficult as Mom took care of Dad as increasing dementia affected their relationship. Here I want to do a Mother’s Day salute for the love and attention Mom gave Dad, and the affection they showed each other. She demonstrated how love gets you through the times when you dislike your spouse, and how being kind and generally peaceful and patient keeps you going. Us kids often talk about the example they gave us, cemented by a big hug and kiss as Dad left the supper table to go watch the news, or relax after a long and often hard day farming. We kids mostly took turns doing the dishes. Later in life, when Dad retired from farming, he took over washing the dishes.
Together they illustrated that it is more important to learn to love one another, and worry less about being loved. Philosopher/psychoanalyst Erich Fromm wrote in the classic The Art of Loving (1956) that love is a skill to be honed the way artists apprentice themselves to the work on their way to mastery. Growing in our love takes both knowledge, effort, and steady practice. I’ve edited slightly to modernize his words: “Love is not a sentiment which can be easily indulged in by anyone, regardless of the level of maturity reached … all his/her attempts for love are bound to fail, unless he/she tries actively to develop his/her total personality … it takes true humility, courage, faith and discipline.”
I’m still growing and learning on this journey.
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What have you learned in the journey of marriage?
What have you learned about your own flaws in other relationships?
For my free booklet “Secrets of Long Marriage,” send $1 for shipping to me at Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834. Or if you have comments, email me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of May 1, 2020
Go on an Adventure with These Books
Yours truly at the port of Haines, Alaska.
When I started writing this column back in early February, I had just finished reading three memoirs, two by women who lived in Alaska as far back as the 1930s. A third is currently a resident of Haines, Alaska who blogs, writes obituaries for a local paper (which lead to books), and has been a correspondent for NPR.
I had very little in common with the two older, now deceased adventurers, but their books left me with an awe and admiration for our beautiful and still wild 49th state. I admired their ability to rough it, work incredibly hard under extreme conditions, eat mundane diets and understand that plane accidents, drownings, and avalanches too often claim loved ones or people they knew.
You may recall reading here about our long-awaited visit to Alaska last summer with four others. This year, you couldn’t get me on a cruise, so we’re doubly thankful we made the trip last year.
My sister-in-law bought two books while there which she shared
with me. Tisha: The True Love Story of a Young Teacher in the Alaskan Wilderness, by Anne Hobbs Purdy, (as told to Robert Specht) was captivating. “Tisha” is the name Alaskan natives called her (think “teacha, as said by a child). First published in 1976, it covers the journey of a 19-year-old teacher to Alaska when it was not even a state. Some children had no school at all if local leaders couldn’t find a teacher willing to come and live in the primitive but fascinating wilderness.
The story, as compelling as any novel, had me on the edge of my bed numerous times as “Tisha,” adopted two indigenous children who were orphaned when their mother died. The prejudice of white settlers towards the original peoples is fairly startling, at least to this reader—and to Tisha.
Two in the Far North by Margaret E. Murie, is not as well written, but again gives readers rich insights into what life was like in Alaska before cruise ships started making tourism one of Alaska’s main industries. Margaret first lived in Alaska as a young girl herself. She finished college in the “lower 48” and then went back north and eventually married a biologist, Olaus. Together they spent many years documenting, researching and preserving much scientific information there: animals, flowers, trees, rivers, tundra lichens. His research showed that caribou, for instance, seemed to know when the lichen they munched on was getting scarce and needed time to grow. The caribou then traveled in great herds to new ground to find fresh food.
The most amazing part about Murie’s book was how she and her husband had their first child and took him along at 18 months on one of their summer-long research projects in the wild. They had to guard constantly to not only keep their son from sliding off their boat, but also protect him from the swarms of mosquitoes that make summers difficult in the backwoods of Alaska. (How do you feed a toddler when mosquitos zoom into his mouth?) Olaus and Margaret became champions of preserving the remote landscape of Alaska and elsewhere, to keep as much of the territory and now state in its natural condition.
Finally, I heartily recommend the books of a current author, Heather
Lende. If You Lived Here, I’d Know Your Name is inspiring and life-affirming. Currently she’s sharing readings on YouTube of another of her bestselling books, Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs, for people to enjoy during this stay-at-home time.
Now it is May and we’re three months into this pandemic. I can identify very much with a comment lifted from Murie’s book. A man who originally came from Vermont and moved to Alaska talked about living where sometimes he didn’t see another human for months:
“You get so you don’t care [about how you look]; there’s nobody to care if you do care; you get in an awful rut … and after a while the life up here gets a hold of you so you can’t fit in anywhere else.” (p. 147)
Most of us can identify with this man. But reading any of these books or a multitude of others will surely lift us out of a rut, help us learn from other times and places, and survive this period of quarantine. And when I think I just can’t do something, I think about these women who survived excruciatingly hard circumstances, and grit my teeth and dig in.
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What takes grit for you to get through it?
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Which of these women’s adventures sound the most exciting to you?
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What book has taken you on an adventure?
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Read more about our Alaska adventure last summer here.
Comment here or write me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of April 24, 2020
Selling the Faithful Old Family Minivan
It didn’t really seem old to me. Why, it was a lovely 2000 year model, the first new vehicle that I’d ever owned. And the year 2000 still seems like a “new” century to me. Okay, so I need to wake up, Ms. Rip Van Winkle.
Never mind that 20 years had passed: 20 years of carrying daughters and their belongings to various state colleges. And home again after grad. Years when I rushed in the middle of the night to the labor rooms of two daughters having babies. Hauling friends and family. Trips to the beach and the northeast and many many to Indiana where my family comes from. Over 220,000 miles on the dear old van. But unlike some of my daughters who name their cars, I had never actually given that mini a moniker. Still, our memories of good times and bad rode with us in that van.
It had sustained only one very small smash up that required a bit of body work and paint by a friend. I’d kept seat covers on the seats and extra plastic mats on the carpet mats (back in the day when there was no WeatherTech or Husky mats). I faithfully tried to clean up my coffee spills as they occurred which were, admittedly, numerous. Embarrassingly numerous. The day of reckoning came.
In early February, we finally found an affordable 2017 minivan in almost pristine condition, and bought it. I could probably write a whole column about how buying a car is different in 2020 than 2000. We were so rusty and blown away by the technology. Both the new-fangled ways of operating a vehicle (cars that park themselves?) and the buying process itself had us whirling. At one point I felt I was on Star Trek or one of those modern detective shows. As the guy finished all our “paperwork,” he did so on a huge computer screen that was essentially his whole desk top. We signed endless forms with our finger tips on that screen, and he finally handed us the legal records on a thumb drive. No folder of paperwork.
Next we wanted to get our old Dodge Caravan ready to sell (we knew it wouldn’t have brought much as a trade-in). We went to a store specializing in products for cars to make them shiny and new again—and bought a spray carpet cleaner guaranteed to get out vomit, dog doo, urine and any odors thereof. I must give a shout out to E & M Auto Paint “Carpet Cleaner and Deodorizer”. The coffee stains were my biggest concerns and while not every stain came out, after the carpet shampoo and hours of scrubbing, I felt like keeping the dear old van myself.
Before scrubbing.
Same floor, after scrubbing. No perfect, but so much better.
What I liked about the spray was applying it to
the floor, you could keep pressing a rag or towel into the carpet and it kept seeping up stains and residue. You didn’t have to keep spraying more spray. To me, the old van looked almost new. Yes, the ceiling fabric was hanging down in one place, there were a few scratches on the dashboard, there was a corner on the front seat that was starting to unravel a little, and a few patches of peeling 
paint outside. As I sadly removed three college decals from a side window, I was happy we never put on bumper stickers.
Selling a car yourself these days is made somewhat easier online. However, you have to get wise to the scammers and the false inquiries. One man looked at it who would have mostly used it for a work van. And yes, with the seats out, we agreed it would make a fine work truck. But no sale. Several weeks went by.
Then a young woman began texting us regarding our ad on Craigslist. Her husband called to talk to my husband. Gradually we learned they had four small children, and they really needed the space our minivan offered. When they came to meet us at a city parking lot, Mimi was visibly excited about seeing it. “Oh, it’s just what I wanted! The kids will love it!”
That was like music to our hearts—to hear that someone wanted our family van. We made plans to meet up the next day to complete the purchase. Later she followed up with an email: “It has been wonderful, my children absolutely love it! They don’t want to go in their dad’s car at all anymore. I can’t thank you enough.”
And that, my friends, is how we sold our 20-year-old minivan. With tears of nostalgic happiness. We hope it serves this family very well.
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Your own story? Memories of favorite vehicles?
I remember my sister talking to one of our vehicles, long ago, when she said a fond farewell to it. Anyone else talk to your car?
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Comment here or send to me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of April 17, 2020
Stone on his 18th birthday.
When Senior Year Ends Suddenly
Guest Columnist Stone Kemp
Stone Kemp is my guest columnist this week, a great nephew. Stone was a senior at White Pigeon, Michigan this past year and grew up in this small school where all 13 grades total under 800 students. Stone initially wrote this as a Facebook post and gave permission to share it here, in honor of all the seniors who are missing so many end-of-the-year festivities due to COVID-19. He has been accepted at University of Michigan.
Now that school is officially over [announced April 2], I wanted to just share my love for White Pigeon these past 13 years. White Pigeon, you’ve done so good for me. I’ve loved every aspect of it.
I started off in preschool with Mrs. Crespo. I remember hanging out in the “play kitchen” with my friend Blaine and we had contests of who could burp the loudest. I never won.
Then came Kindergarten with Miss Kincaid. So fun. I remember being nervous about going to school, and not wanting to leave my mom. But I made friends to help me along the way. I grew more comfortable through time.
I got to first grade and had Mrs. Hershbach. Honestly, I don’t remember too much about that grade. For second grade I was lucky enough to have Mrs. Crespo again and I began to have a “girlfriend.” It was a good time.
For third grade I had Mrs. Gray and I remember all the drama between the boys and the girls, especially when Kobie and Karey broke up. Oh boy, the whole class was divided then. Ha! Fourth grade I was with Mrs. Miracle and I remember she would always read books to us in her very fun pirate accents. I remember the spelling tests every Thursday and how my mom would take us “advanced spellers” to the lunch room and we would do quizzes and get candy if we did good.
Fifth grade was the golden year. I had Mrs. Vicki Chupp DeMeyer and we had so much fun in that class. During recess, it would always be DeMeyer’s class versus Schmeiling’s class playing football in the yard. We usually won. We also went to fifth grade camp as a class, and I remember getting pranked by our two teachers.
Sixth grade began my middle school life with the awkward moments, the raging hormones, the stinky middle schoolers (deodorant anyone?). It was a good time though and we went to Chicago on a field trip. That was so fun!
Stone, as a middle schooler, enjoying conversation with his Great Grandma Miller on a beach vacation.
Seventh grade year was a breeze and eighth grade got a little tougher. Claycee West and I got moved up to high school Algebra I, so we got a head start on “high school life.” Freshman year was wild. I missed the first week of school because my family had a vacation planned before Labor Day and that’s when the school decided to move the start date before Labor Day. I remember I quit football that year to run a Bible study. It was such a good, good time. I was dating a junior at the time and I was just a little freshie so I thought I was pretty cool. Sophomore year I got chosen for homecoming court and ran cross country, and did my only year of track.
Junior year was one for the books. Coach Shawn Strawser convinced me to come out and play varsity football and it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. We had such a good year and beat Mendon High for the first time in 20 years and made it to the playoffs. I also had to do the SAT but scored a decent 1250 and was proud of myself for that. Also they picked me prom prince which was so awesome.
Senior year. Oh where to start? I got homecoming king with Reyna Fielis and that was really cool. My football season was cut short due to a knee injury, but it worked out I could play basketball. Senior year was full of so many lasts. So it was very difficult to comprehend our senior year suddenly being over. I’m just now realizing how hard it is going to be for a little while.
I remember we seniors planned to skip school on Friday, March 13. We wanted to all go out to breakfast and do fun stuff. Well I remember waking up that day and saying that we should be at school because we would be getting three weeks off due to COVID. So I dragged myself out of bed and went to school. I remember that we weren’t doing hardly anything that day so I and a couple others left school during fourth hour. We went to Rachel’s and had lunch. I’ll never forget that.
So I skipped part of my last day of school, never thinking we would miss the rest of the school year. But here we are and it will be okay. God has a plan for everything. But like I was saying, thank you, White Pigeon. Thank you to all the teachers and staff and parents and lunch ladies and principals and coaches and janitors and endless speakers we had. And thank you to my peers, my best friends, my teammates, my WP family. You forever hold a place in my heart, White Pigeon. You’ve done good for me, now it is my turn to make a name for you guys.
Stone and his great grandma enjoying a boat ride along with Stone’s sister, Megan.
God bless and I hope to see everyone, hopefully, at graduation.
Your thoughts or responses to Stone’s post?
Do you have kids in your family graduating from high school or college this year?
What do you remember about your senior year of high school?
What teachers do you remember and celebrate from your elementary school days?
Comment here and share your responses to Stone’s essay.
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Or send them to me and I’ll make sure Stone gets them. Send to me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
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This isn’t the first time I’ve written about the village of White Pigeon, Michigan. See this fun story about my parents’ love story and how a small nut shop there was a special place.
Stepping up, stepping down. His bandage stayed on the first two weeks post-surgery.
Another Way for week of April 12, 2020
Stress in Relationships Stalks Us All
Time to talk about the other malady we are feeling across the world: the stress, ugliness, arguments, and discord a pandemic of these dimensions can produce. This ailment, stress, will affect 100 percent of us unless we keep it in check. It can be as damaging to relationships as a deadly virus.
Because of the virus, my husband and I had to do physical therapy at home for the knee replacement surgery he had on March 10. He was able to go to one week of appointments with a trained physical therapist. Then, with little warning, all outpatient therapy at the nearby retirement complex was scrubbed. We felt gut-punched.
Our homemade way of measuring the progress getting bend into his knee. The dog, as usual, supervises.
When one spouse is in acute pain from the bends and stretches being flexed on his new knee, and the other spouse is occupied two hours a day supplying him with the various tools needed (stretch bands, squeeze balls, icing of knee, rulers and yardsticks to measure progress, notebooks to document the quarter inches gained), well, you can guess that there were some hurtful words and tearful times for both parties.
I have probably written about stress at least a dozen times over the years of publishing a weekly newspaper column. Let me be clear. I’d much rather have the stress ailment than Covid-19, but I lament the difficulties most of us are having in our families even across the miles—by phone or Facebook or texts. It isn’t easy to hibernate in our homes and apartments and (likely most difficult of all), in mobile homes. Cabin fever: yes.
Homemade cards from grandchildren help to brighten the day.
Thankfully, we were able to find another therapy place that is open and very helpful, but he still has to do much therapy at home, of course. At least we have more guidance. I’d much rather be the helper for his therapy than the patient. I’m also glad I don’t have to add the two hours of therapy onto an eight-hour work day, plus cooking, housework, and walking the dog. I’ll admit it doesn’t take a quarantine to bring out arguments, but after 44 years of marriage, we know we will survive the current fray and kiss and make up.
The Harvard Business Review recently posted an article, “That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief,” an interview with grief expert David Kessler. He says the stress we’re under is a form of grief. Because none of us know who will get sick, who will become a caretaker of the sick, who will get well, how things will pan out—the anxiety we feel is a form of anticipatory grief. The advice they give, briefly, is to try to get back to the present—and not spend too much time worrying over what we cannot change or control. (Of course, there is much we can do to help avoid illness: washing hands, not touching face, physically keeping a distance from people, staying home, and more. You know the list.)
But as you are able, trying focusing on the present. Kessler suggests: “Name the things that are in the room you are in. There may be a computer, a chair, a picture of the dog, an old
rug, a coffee mug. Breathe. Realize that in the present moment … you’re okay. You have food. You are not sick. Use your senses and think about what you are feeling. ‘The desk is hard. The blanket is soft. I can feel the breath coming into my nose.’ This really will work to dampen some of that [anticipatory] pain.”
They also encourage us to let go of what we can’t control, and “stock up.” Not on toilet paper or eggs or whatever is in short supply in your neighborhood, but give each other grace, good will, and share love. Let’s pray for and appreciate all of those working in health care, who are suffering some of the worst brunt of all this frustration, uncertainty, and even rage. Let’s share as we are able with those who are out of work, spending long days alone with toddlers or preschoolers who have little grasp of why their worlds have been upended with schedules changed and no seeing their friends.
It’s okay to feel grief, anger, and frustration, but don’t let those loom over your spirit and 
take over your household. I do hear many of us focusing instead on the beautiful colors of spring flowers, the return of green to the earth, newborn chicks or lambs, a celebration of Easter as we perhaps have never known it: no (or few) services in actual houses of worship, connecting with family and friends via Zoom, Facebook, Google Hangouts, or good old fashioned Ma Bell (phones). Maybe hiding Easter eggs in your own yard—no mass scramble in parks, at churches, or White House lawn.
I do pray for all of us a sane and healthy Easter, with God’s abundant love for all.
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How are you staying sane, if you are?
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What daily routines are a new enjoyment?
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What have you learned about yourself?
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Finally, if you need help, do reach out. Do not harm yourself or your family.
Call for help.
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For a free booklet, “Secrets of Long Marriage: The Six C’s of Marriage” plus a bookmark with “101 Ways to Manage Stress,” send your request to me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of April 3, 2020
A Long Hard Week
It was a hard, tough week for us. You will likely recall your own circumstances of whatever week, day, or time when the corona virus began really changing your life, your outlook, your state of mind. For sure, the virus was out there much earlier, on the news, in other countries, and then bam. Things started really closing down, and we were told to stay home.
On top of that, four people we knew well died all in that same week: not from COVID-19, but they were taken from us just the same.
It started on Sunday, March 8, with a startling announcement after worship at church. One of our longtime members, a coach who began the football program at the local now large university, passed away in his sleep. We collectively drew in our breath: that sucking-in sound that signals surprise, dismay, sadness. Challace was not quite 78. His memorial service later that week was massive for our moderately sized church, and the hugs we gave and received from his family were likely the last hugs we will have for a long time (from someone other than a mate).
On Monday I learned that a sweet member of my water exercise class at our wellness center had also died on Sunday. Ruth was in her 90s. Her husband participated in the same class, and on Monday he came to class anyway. I imagine he desperately needed to do something normal, to get out of their apartment. They had been married over 72 years. Later I figured out I had worked closely with their son about five years.
On Tuesday I learned that the housekeeper at my former 
office, Doris, had died. In her early 90s, we knew she had cancer, so it wasn’t a surprise. I had written about her in this column, about her long career working into her 90s. In fact, she did light cleaning at the local credit union until cancer made that impossible. I mostly rejoiced that Doris’ suffering was over, and went to the family viewing on Thursday night.
On Friday a dear cousin, Joyce, also went to her heavenly reward. She had “coded” (rescue slang for a cardiac arrest event although not a heart attack) the Friday night before in the yard at her home. Her daughter, a trained safety staff person at work, tried to revive her mother, performing CPR until the rescue squad got there. Joyce was put on a ventilator and chilled into a hypothermic state to save her organs. Her family spent the week faithfully by her side, praying for a miracle to overcome what had surely caused brain damage. Reluctantly they said their goodbyes and after much medical consultation, removed the ventilator. She died peacefully on March 13 at the age of 72. That’s young in my book.
That Friday the 13th in March, was the day many of us had our lives affected personally with restrictions on no gatherings of more than 10 people, keeping away from even our loved ones, locked out of nursing homes, closing of schools, daycares, restaurants, recreation, and gyms. Not a good Friday for anyone, but particularly devastating for all those who had already suffered the loss of a loved one. Bad luck superstitions aside, it was not a Good Friday.
This coming week of course in Christian circles is Holy Week. Jesus had a disaster of a week 
some 2000 years ago. I’m sure the disciples found that particular week a whirlwind of emotions as well: to go from the triumph of Palm Sunday to their world falling apart. The closeness of Thursday night’s last Passover meal with Jesus, and later that night, Peter and Judas’ wretched betrayal of Jesus.
Then came the cross of “good” Friday. I guess we call it good because of Jesus’ willing sacrifice of himself—even though he knew how incredibly painful and ugly and gut wrenching it would be. His gift made it possible for the rest of us to grab onto the rays of hope which his birth, life, death, and resurrection give us. We can clutch his hand even amid the prolonged disruption and fear this virus has caused.
And praise be, the tomb was not the end for Jesus: his resurrection gave us the promise of the same raising to eternal life.
Look for those rays of hope and snag them for yourself: the love of family, friends, and colleagues which stretch beyond the borders of sidewalks and windows and closed doors. And don’t stop praying for those suffering grief, panic, pain, loneliness, and fear. We owe abundant thanks to those who provide their care.
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How has your life changed since March 13, 2020?
How do you plan to celebrate Easter?
How are you?
Share or comment here or privately, to the address below.
Connect with me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of March 27, 2020
Help! I Can’t Get Up
So, in the middle of all the worry and response to news of the coronavirus spreading, what happens when you or someone you love needs to be hospitalized for routine health issues in the middle of a pandemic?
As I look back over the past month, the worldwide panic, fear, and pandemonium has spread so far and fast that it all swirls together in my mind and memory.
Mom having her spirits lifted by a therapy dog, the day after surgery while receiving a pint of blood.
About five weeks ago now we were called in the middle of the night with a message that many baby boomers fear regarding their parents: “Help, I’ve fallen, I can’t get up.”
Let me back up a second. My mother is 95, lives in a retirement complex in an independent apartment. Thanks to the good Lord and my sisters, Mom had recently gotten one of those arm “Mobile Help” callers (after the retirement complex quit including it in their package of services because of the expense). Mom fell in her bathroom around 12:30 a.m., realized she was in great pain and couldn’t get back up, and summoned help with the beeper. Within 20 minutes “there were men [rescue squad guys] all over me.” Helping of course.
My sister Nancy, a retired RN, called me about 3:30 a.m. with the news as she sat waiting with Mom in the emergency room. Her husband said, “Maybe you ought to wait until morning to call” but she responded, “If I’m up in the middle of the night, they can be too.” Honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted Nancy to wait. I began immediately plotting our next steps. How soon could we leave? My husband had an appointment that day with an orthopedic surgeon that we had waited months to get. We should surely keep that appointment. Who would take care of our dog? As I lay there worrying, I also held up my mother and sister in prayer for comfort and good decisions from medical staff. That was Feb. 19. The coronavirus was of course a concern to everyone but most of us had not yet begun to imagine the ramifications for our families and basically the whole connected world in terms of economy, travel, jobs, depression (monetary and mental).
Heading through western Maryland, we pass a ski lift making snow.
My husband and I left for Indiana the next day. When we walked into Mom’s apartment and the bathroom where she had fallen, the sight of her shower door knocked completely off its track punched me in the gut. The reality of her lying on that floor in pain, panic, and darkness hit home.
We headed to the hospital. Mom’s surgery had gone well in spite of it being risky because of thickened valves (also known as severe aortic stenosis). The doctor used as little anesthesia as possible as he pinned her femur to her pelvic bone in less than 15 minutes.
Mom doing well in physical therapy several days post-op.
She was in good spirits (still on pain killers from surgery) and I felt grateful we could travel so quickly. My other sister was unfortunately delayed because of ice at the Charlotte, N.C. airport, and had to return home to try again the next day.
When Pert finally got there late in the day, we caught up with each other visiting around Mom’s bed. By Saturday the doctors released Mom to the rehab unit of her retirement complex. We enjoyed helping settle Mom into her new temporary room.
On one of the days following Mom’s surgery, Pert and I took a walk 
in the healthcare section (separate from rehab) to see remodeling and updating they’d done since we’d been there last. It looked amazing but apparently it was an unwise move on our part. We opened several closed doors. Even though we were generally very careful about using hand sanitizers, after we left to go home, a total of four family members were eventually struck with a stomach bug, with a lingering unsettled feeling for two to three days after. But we were lucky. No quarantine, no weeks of isolation at that point. Rather, we soon began to feel better with the simple comfort of chicken noodle soup, crackers, and ginger ale.
My heart goes out to all individuals and families dealing with seclusion, staying away from family, friends and normal routine—or worse, a scary illness and loss of a loved one. We also lost, in one week’s time, a dear cousin on my husband’s side, a church friend, and a former coworker—not to the virus, but other causes.
Mom requested our “normal” Sunday evening meal: popcorn and balony sandwich. She loved it!
We must pull together, share our resources, and hold each other up in love and prayer. World strong!
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What food sounds good to you after being ill or post surgery?
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Share your best “pick me ups” during this time of quarantine and keeping a friendly distance between humans!
For a free booklet, “Praying When You Are Depressed,” send your request to me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Painting of bygone days in rural Rockingham County, by David Huyard.
Another Way for week of March 20, 2020
When Should You Help?
I had been lost—bunches of times—on the very back roads we now live on—when my children were younger. They had friends who lived on back roads and when they were invited for birthday parties or overnights and the best navigation help we had at that time—no computer help at all—were directions usually given over the phone, well, the result was that I often ended up frustrated, anxious, and even wailing. I did my best to write out the directions, including watching for landmarks: if you come to a stop sign with a tree 30 feet off the road, you’ve gone too far. Really? How many crossroad descriptions does that match?
So, I had and have empathy for other lost folks. But of course, you’ve got to be careful. And wise.
Recently I was heading out to take my husband a vital piece of his chain saw at his friend’s wooded acreage. I noticed a woman in a car, with her emergency flashers on, at a crossroads. She looked about my age. What did she need? Mechanical help? Directions? She appeared to be looking down at her lap. But I knew my husband was waiting for his part. If she’s still there when I come back, I said to myself, (judging it would be no more than a five-minute errand), I would help her.
Didn’t she have a smart phone? Who ventures out to find a place without a phone or GPS these days? It looked like she was trying to call someone. Maybe help was on the way.
When I returned from completing my errand, she was still sitting there, but another woman, also similar in age to us both, was out on the road obviously trying to help her. I recognized the other woman, a neighbor who moved to this area about five years ago, who I knew through work connections and also a fellow blogger and Facebook friend. This made me feel safer in deciding to stop and help.
The “lost” woman said she was trying to find a new-to-her CPA who lived in a brick home for her tax appointment. She had some directions written on paper, but her phone was not working in our neighborhood. No surprise there.
Art by David Huyard.
The house was supposedly visible from a church not far down the road. I volunteered that I knew where that church was and she could follow me to the church and we’d see what we could see. So the other fellow blogger/Facebook friend—who I’m guessing was on her way to a dog training class—took that as a nod I could probably help better than she could.
But. When we got to that church, a house matching the description was not immediately visible. I plugged in the address she had on my phone. From my “Google Maps” it became obvious to me that the brick house was over across the hill and .3 miles away. Bingo. She also used my phone to call the CPA’s number. The woman was overjoyed and would be only a few minutes late to her appointment. She thanked me profusely before hurrying to the CPA’s house.
Would I have helped if the person lost would have been of a different race or language group than me? I hope so. I thought about our trip to Alaska last summer where we were told about the general practice that if it was below zero and there was a hitchhiker or someone needing help, they were obliged to stop and assist or else face a fine. I’ve been unable to document that it is a law, but the common understanding of locals is that you must help.
Second cousins at an impasse.
What if she had appeared drunk or unkempt or out of control? By what standards do we make quick judgments about whether it is safe to help? Time of day? Age of car? Is it safer just to call the police if you don’t know whether to help or not? I know that many have sat and waited an extended length of time when needing help and car after car passes you by. I think many of us assume that everyone has cell phone help at their fingertips, but we also know how those devices can fail us at just the wrong time.
Bottom line: be wise (I would not have stopped for a man) and maybe keep your distance from a car, or call for help from your own vehicle. I do know it is a great feeling to be of help when someone is in distress, and nice to still practice the Golden Rule.
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What are your own safety rules of when you help or don’t?
How do you decide?
Your own stories?
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Comment here or send to me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of March 13, 2020
How to Shine Every Day
(Editor’s note: Tenth and final in a series on physical, mental, relational, and spiritual health.)
Our last word in this ten-week series of dynamic action words found on my favorite cereal box is “Shine.” One of the first things to spring into my brain with the word shine is a song we used to sing in Sunday school: “Oh let the sun shine in, face it with a grin; smilers never lose, and frowners never win.”
Or this: “Heavenly sunshine, heavenly sunshine, flooding my soul with glory divine.”
Or this, from more recent years: “Shine, Jesus, shine, fill this land with our God’s great glory. Blaze, Spirit, blaze, set our hearts on fire.”
Each of these church songs are inspiring and uplifting to me but I doubt those were the images and lines the marketers for the Kashi cereal had in mind. But that’s ok. I hope the song snippets flow with you through this coming week as we all face challenges brought about by the world-wide virus crisis of 2020. [I actually wrote this about two weeks ago, before the U.S. got down to business in dealing with the coronavirus.]
Shine is a bright invigorating word that, especially if the sun is shining, gets most of us going in a very good way. It can be harder to crawl out of the covers on a dark, dismal, rainy (or snowy) day. We’ve heard, or know firsthand, about seasonal affective disorder and the depression and negativity that can settle over one’s spirit during a season of shorter, darkened days. In regions of the world where people experience very long nights (such as northern Arctic regions), they sometimes have increased issues with alcoholism or depression—just because of the dearth of sunshine in winter.
Throughout history, light from the sun has given life and hope and existence to not only humans, but animals, nature (think flowers, growing things), and indeed sets the pace for daily routines: for life itself. From the early stories of how the world came to be, in Genesis 1:3 we read, “And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.”
But what does it take to shine in our inner spirit and in our relationships with others [even as we practice social distance!]? We may not be as bright as the sun or stars but certainly some people radiate brightness with their very being.
Betsy and her red hat given to by her friend, Jamie.
Isn’t the hat just too cute?
When I think of people who shine I must name Betsy, who is a new friend I’ve met since I retired. We met at a wellness center in a pool exercise class. Betsy is almost always smiling, a remarkable achievement I have never been able to manage, but I’m working on it. She almost glows. Her eyes sparkle and she has a beautiful smile whether with teeth showing or closed. She is in her 90s but still swims almost every day. She dons a bright red hat on a dull day and looks ready for Fifth Avenue shopping.
Betsy reminds me of another woman I knew decades ago at our church, Katherine. She almost always had a smile and it seemed genuine. Such folks lift my own spirits. She was one of the prime movers behind a robust Weekday Religious Education organization in our county, where children are still invited to come and learn from the stories of the Bible, which should be part of any well-rounded literary education. Obviously, parents and children can choose whether they participate in it, conducted off school grounds.
I also must give a plug here for a children’s Sunday school, nurture, or faith formation curriculum, Shine: Living in God’s Light, because of its name. Shine is under the auspices of the publishing/media organization I retired from last March, and is used and recommended by a number of Christian denominations, although published by Mennonites and Church of the Brethren. Find more at shinecurriculum.com.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this series. It has been both a challenge and helpful to have these word prompts for ten weeks sparking ideas. Thanks to many of you who have added your thoughts online. The secret to shining every day? Think positive thoughts no matter how glum your spirit or current situation, and as so many have said, take things one day at a time. Reach out to others if you are the one “standing in the need of prayer,” and return the favor when friends and loved ones are in need of your help, as many are in these difficult days. Keep the internal—and eternal light of love—shining.
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How do you plan to keep shining, even when you are feeling bum or depressed or anxious? Share stories or comments here!
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Please let me know what inspired you most through this series? Was it too long? About right? What was your favorite, or the most “meh” of the titles. I love to hear any feedback.
If you’ve missed some columns in this series, I can send you the complete series by email. If you don’t have email but would like a copy, I can print and send it for $2 Contact me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834. Or download the entire series in this PDF: Go. Rise. Play.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of March 6, 2020
10 Ways to Learn to Love Someone You Have Trouble Loving
Or, What the World Needs Now
(Editor’s note: Ninth in a ten-part series on physical, mental, relational, and spiritual health.)
The people who compiled the list of ten inspiring action verbs found currently on my favorite cereal box, “Kashi,” put a really hard one on their list. At first glance it seems easy: well of course I actively love others. A no-brainer.
But this word is so often sung about, written about, talked about. So what new is there to say? Why would they include it on their list with words such as spark, play, rise, go, wander and more?
I think it is because the underlying purpose of the list is to get people not just enjoying love as a romantic state or divine love from God. Or family love that offers bonds of protection and stability. But rather to stretch ourselves and perhaps actively love where we haven’t tried to extend love before.
There’s the rub: love someone who isn’t very lovely or loving in return? Who is it that takes some effort for you to love? Of the opposite political persuasion? Perhaps it is someone you know at school or church or work who has a personality quirk and grates on your nerves? Maybe someone of a lower income group or hard-to-understand accent? An in-law that rubs you the wrong way? What would it take to actively love them?
- Decide you need to try.
- The second step is getting to know them better. Stereotypes and preconceived notions about the person often fall apart as you get to know him or her: why they are the way they are.
- List their good and positive traits.
- When you are having trouble loving them, think about their best feature.
- Ask God for help to truly love them.
- Recognize (perhaps make another list) your own negative habits or traits that might make it hard for someone to love you.
- When you find yourself looking judgmentally at someone, look at their face and recognize that some mother or father loved that person (at least we hope so).
- Those who have not been truly loved in their childhood often become very difficult to love as adults, but all the more in need of a loving friend.
- Sometimes it is hardest to truly love those closest to us, because of all the daily irritations that come from living together.
- If after all this you don’t find yourself liking that other person, perhaps you can still love them in a spiritual sense.
Perhaps you remember the singer and songwriter Burt Bacharach who wrote:
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of …
No, not just for some but for everyone.
They were always game for a smooch.
That brings to mind my own father, who preached the doctrine of love: to kiss and make up after a fight, to love the unlovely. And of course, he not only preached it, but lived it: visiting literal orphans and widows as part of his (volunteer) job as a church deacon, or working to improve distribution of food to the “hungry peoples of the world,” inviting many international guests into our home. With an eighth-grade education, he sometimes got his words and especially the pronunciation of difficult Biblical words mixed up, but he longed to teach those around him to use the power of love to make a difference. “Why can’t we all live together in peace and harmony,” he would
Mom and Dad looking all coy and innocent after their deep smooch.
say. Sometimes I thought he was being too simplistic or idealistic, but it’s a question to ask ourselves, at least with maybe that one person you have the most difficulty loving or appreciating.
Are you ready to try to expand your circle of those you love?
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What have you learned about love in your years on this earth??
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Send your comments or confessions or stories to me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834. If you’ve missed some columns in this series, I will make them all available by email (and online as a PDF) at the series’ conclusion. Just let me know.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
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