They’re gone. All six tiny bunnies have disappeared and I can’t bear to think that they might have been eaten. The hole has been empty for a couple of days now, and the most tragic part is the mother has been looking for them.

I’ve watched her show up and look at the empty nest, and then hop a few feet away and just sit. Waiting. Watching. At one point the other evening she actually laid down on her side on the grass near the garden, like a dog stretches out to rest, waiting for her children to show up.

The mother rabbit was back yesterday checking the nest, but all six babies were still missing. She sat there quietly, wiggling her nose and looking off into the distance.

The bunnies were too young to have all just decided to start their own lives somewhere else without letting mom know. Something happened to them, and it’s almost more than I can bear, even though I realize that this is just life in the animal world. I know that people are starving all over the planet, families are hurting, jobs have been lost, lives are being torn apart. As slightly irrational as it is, I’m so sad for this mother bunny. I may be ascribing more to her “emotional state” than is really there, but it wrenches my heart to have seen her faithfully caring for her young, and now to see that they’re all gone.

I’m glad I didn’t witness whatever it was that happened to them. I kept seeing crows casually walking around in our yard, and I knew they were up to no good. Is a crow ever up to any good? Do you know any crows who are given to kind and philanthropic deeds? I didn’t think so.

I know crows are part of God’s creation, but today I detest them anyway.

I have always liked the writings of Ruth Bell Graham, the late wife of Billy Graham. She was funny, deep, passionate, practical, resilient and wise. I hope to share more of her words in coming months, and someday I’ll tell about how she actually called our house one day and spoke with my husband Michael. 🙂

Here is the first quote on the blog from her:

A happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers.

Ruth Bell Graham

Thankfully,

Last week Sara happened upon a bunny hole in our garden and I wrote about it here. We’ve been watching them since then and recently found that there are six live bunnies, now almost doubled in size, piling on top of each other in the shallow hole. The mother comes at least twice a day to nurse them, but now they’re all venturing out into the yard on their own for hours at a time during the afternoon.

Here’s a photo of them all dozing together in the hole. They’re about the size of an average fist.

And you can make out some cute little ears:

We’re still concerned about the presence of crows who seem to be taking an interest in our yard lately. I hurry out and shoo them away when I see them, but I obviously can’t be out there all the time.

I know the predator/prey thing is part of the grand scheme of things, but I don’t really like it. For some reason it makes me sad. I want the lion to lay down with the lamb now. And the schnauzer to lay down with the squirrel. And the crow with the bunny. And so on.

I’m such a nester, such a homebody, that anyone who knows me knows that today’s title can’t possibly mean I’m a ramblin’ woman in the normal sense. No, it means in the wordy sense. I was born to ramble, and so ramble in print I will.

Yesterday Michael and I drove to the Minneapolis area for an all-day series of medical appointments at The Struthers Parkinson’s Center. We left at 6:45 a.m. in order to make his first appointment, and returned home in the torrential rain last night after dinner.

At the Struthers Center Michael saw his neurologist, Dr. Martha Nance, who prescribed a significant increase in the medication he’s taking. She’s a brilliant, slightly quirky woman we really like and trust, and she said that in spite of the increase in meds he began two months ago, he still looks like “an undermedicated Parkinson’s patient.” I knew what she was talking about; once you know what PD looks like, you can often pick other people out in a crowd and tell they have it by the way they tentatively move, by the lack of expression on their face, the sound of their voice. So he will begin taking quite a bit more of the carbidopa/levadopa this week, which replaces the lost dopamine in his brain (which facilitates basic body movement). The goal is to take enough drugs to restore smooth movement and hence, quality of life, but not to take so much medication that the main side effect, dyskinesia, sets in.

Dyskinesia is the term for the wild, undulating movements that most of us have seen in Michael J. Fox. Parkinson’s disease actually makes one stiff and frozen; too much medication makes one dyskinetic. It’s actually pretty difficult to take just the right amount of medication because there are so many variables. Sometimes a PD patient (they call each other Parkies) will have wonderful results with the same pill, and the next day it’s not enough because they ate more protein, or because the atmospheric pressure is different, or because of any kind of stress. So most PD patients know they can fiddle with their meds and most doctors give them that permission, within guidelines.

We learned yesterday from Dr. Nance that Michael’s PD is more complex than just the kind that causes a movement disorder. His Parkinson’s is beginning to affect his cognition and his ability to retain things that are said to him. Up until now his medication has helped a little. We’re hoping that the increase will help even more.

After we saw Dr. Nance we saw a Speech Pathologist who specializes in Parkinson’s-related speech difficulties. Michael spoke into a microphone that showed us how many decibels his voice level reaches, and it was surprising to see that to reach the decibel level of a normal speaking voice, he had to exert the energy a healthy person would need to project their voice across a large, crowded room. So for him to make himself heard, he has to basically make himself yell, which gets pretty tiring for him. He was a bit taken aback to see on the computer monitor that his normal speaking voice (affected by PD) is at the level of a whisper. What makes it even harder is that PD affects a person’s perception of this – when they raise their voice to what most listeners would be able to understand, the patient himself wrongly perceives that he is yelling loudly. So we have a lot of speech practice and homework to do, along with some breathing strategies Michael will have to learn, so he can make himself understood a little better.

Then we had a lunch break, and we drove to a place nearby called Panchero’s Mexican Grill, where they made their own giant flour tortillas right before our eyes with this huge press that flattened the balls of dough and cooked each one within seconds. We had pulled pork burritos with tangy pico de gallo and black beans, and then we went outside to enjoy the beautiful day. It was warm and breezy and many people were out walking, reading on benches, experiencing the pleasant weather after such a long winter.

Once back at Struthers, Michael’s next hour-long appointment was with a Physical Therapist, who had him walk down the aisle and back several times, and she was able to see that his right side is more affected than his left. He doesn’t swing his right arm much when he walks, and occasionally drags his right foot in stride, although it’s not obvious to an untrained eye. She spent a lot of time teaching him about posture (which deteriorates in PD), turning around in small places without falling, the importance of stretching and spine extension. We learned about “festinating,” which is a strange phenomenon that happens in PD patients, and Michael is beginning to experience this. Sometimes when he starts to walk, or particularly when he is walking through a doorway, his brain misfires and inaccurately senses the narrowed space he’s about to pass through, and he involuntarily steps or shuffles jerkily really fast for a few seconds. He can’t control it, but there are things we learned about that can head off a festination before it starts.

By this time in the day, we were getting tired. There’s so much information given, so many new things that need to be learned about living with Parkinson’s, we both felt a little overloaded. And traveling is always a bit tiring too, and we knew we had the long drive home after his last appointment.

Michael’s last appointment for the day was with a kind and compassionate man named Rick, who’s an Occupational Therapist who specializes in PD issues. This was perhaps the most helpful appointment of the day. He showed Michael how to turn over in bed easier by using a large piece of satin on the mattress, tucked on the sides. He brought Michael a tray of food and had him try out several adapted eating utensils, and what a difference those made. He’ll be able to cut and spear his food much easier now. Rick tested Michael’s strength, his spatial perceptions, his finger mobility, and was honest and encouraging even though the findings were sobering. We left that appointment with a pile of paperwork and a catalog from which we’ll order several items that we’re hopeful will be really helpful in everyday life.

On the way back from The Struthers Center we listened to The Hobbit on CD, read by a man whose name escapes me now but whose deep and rich British accent makes for delightful listening. It poured most of the way home and even with the windshield wipers on high, visibility was minimal. We were so glad to get home safely after such a long and eventful day. On the last stretch of road, about a mile from our house, we thanked God for giving us a safe journey.

Our daughter Carolyn and her husband Jeremy held down the fort while we were gone, serving meals to and visiting with our residents, making sure Edith and Mildred the Schnauzers were put out sixty-seven times, and just generally giving us the peace of mind needed to spend the whole day away at Michael’s appointments.

When we pulled into the driveway in the pouring rain, the lamps in the den were glowing from the window, the house had been picked up and vacuumed, the kitchen was spotless with the dishwasher running, and even the grass had been mowed. I was so thankful for the things Carolyn and Jeremy did for us while we were gone.

Today we have grocery shopping to do, prescriptions to fill, paperwork to complete, meals to make. We’ll also order some things from a Parkinson’s catalog, and now bent forks, curved-handle knives and plate guards will be part of our kitchen. We’ll buy some satin yardage for our bed and perhaps a stretching DVD that we’ll eventually do together several times a week. I know that as we drive along and listen to The Hobbit in the car, Michael will quietly reach for my hand as he usually does. Our individual thoughts may not come out as conversation, but they’ll probably be similar thoughts: we did not sign up for this. Who knew that Parkinson’s Disease would be a part of such a vigorous, active, strong man’s life? Who knew that my husband would be forced to become slow and inactive, prisoner to his own stiffening muscles?

But I’ll tell you what we did sign up for, back on June 28, 1981. We signed up for each other. We signed up for years of faithfulness and service to each other. We signed up for forgiveness and patience. We signed up for “better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health.” We promised each other, our family and friends, and God, that we would take whatever came, with His help. If I am to be perfectly honest I must say that Michael has honored these vows much more graciously than I have. But God’s kindness and patience with me makes me want to do better and better. I want to learn to love lavishly, as He does. I believe He’s teaching me, and He’s astoundingly merciful with such a willful and stubborn child.

In spite of all these trials, I know that God is good. I’m so glad that His ways are higher than my ways. I’m so relieved I don’t have to understand what He does to trust what He does.

In His grip,

Our youngest daughter Sara has a week off from her job as a floral designer, and on Monday she decided to weed, clean and plant a good-sized flower garden we have in our front yard. We were thrilled – it was overgrown and needed a lot of attention. It took her eight hours, but she says she enjoyed it because the weather was so nice. Michael went out and joined her in the work they both think is so satisfying.

Right before noon I looked outside to check on her progress, and was just in time to see her quickly fling something aside and then rise from her knees and run off to another part of the yard, arms up and mouth open, as if frightened. Two thoughts came to me: that Sara had encountered some kind of underground hornet’s nest and was running from being stung; or that as she dug, she had happened upon some giant rabid rodent with long yellow front teeth and a thick long tail. In other words, a rat.

Then a slight movement caught my eye, and I saw that whatever she had flung had landed on the grass and was slowly inching itself along. From where I was inside the house, it looked like a mouse. Oh great, I thought. Just what we need, a mouse nest in our front yard, to add to the myriad chipmunks, squirrels and deer who make our property their own.

I went outside and Sara told me she had been digging around and clearing old leaves, and had inadvertently grabbed a handful of moving, brownish fur. Her first thought was “Rat!” and she automatically cast it aside and ran. I have to say, it was pretty funny to see her do that.

We cautiously made our way to the part of the yard where this small creature was slowly moving, and groooaaaned when we saw it was a newborn baby bunny. Sara had found a rabbit hole and there were four live babies there, eyes closed and ears back. The mother wasn’t in sight. What could we do? We knew we shouldn’t handle them, but we couldn’t very well leave the bunny out in the middle of the yard, away from its little brother and sisters, could we?

So while I ran in to get my camera, Sara gently picked the teeny creature up in her garden-gloved hands.

After I took a photo, she placed it back with its litter, gently recovering them with leaves and the plucked fur from their mother, as they had been found. They wriggled together and tried to burrow further under the earth a bit.

We were not happy that just a few minutes later a crow appeared, sometimes circling around our yard in the air, sometimes just walking nonchalantly around in the neighbor’s yard across the street. Have you ever seen a crow trying to act nonchalant?  This one did. Could he have possibly seen this group of bunnies in that short a time? We didn’t want to think about it.

I’ve looked out at that part of the garden many times since then and haven’t seen a crow there. We haven’t checked back to see how the bunnies are – we wanted to leave them be. We’re hoping they’re okay and that their mama is tending to them, even though when they grow up into adult rabbits we won’t appreciate the way they eat everything in sight.

It doesn’t matter what kind of creature it is, there’s just something irresistible about a newborn.

(Note added on Friday, May 15: very early this morning I saw Mama Bunny cautiously approach the hole in the garden, thump on the ground with her front paws, and at least one baby came out and spent time at her belly. I assumed the bunny was nursing, because Mama was very still while he seemed to be pushing himself closer to her. She sat like this for at least ten minutes. I didn’t see the babies return to their burrowed spot, but I’m sure they did, because Mama then rearranged the entrance to the hole with her front paws, tamping the earth rapidly and fluffing the leaves. She laid over on her side a bit, groomed her belly and then hopped off to a distant part of the yard. We were glad to see she’s still tending to her babies. Maybe we won’t be so glad when they’re grown and eating all our plants, but today this brought a smile.)

A Pharisee is hard on others and easy on himself, and a spiritual man is easy on others and hard on himself.

A.W. Tozer

Ouch,

Random.org did not have to strain very hard to choose a winner from only three numbers today. Carolyn, Savannah and Rob left comments on What Not To Read, and the Random generator chose #1, which was Carolyn!

Carolyn has won a CD by Chris Rice called “Run the Earth, Watch the Sky” and I hope she enjoys it as much as we have.

I’m already thinking about June’s bloggy giveaway – candy? A book? A gift card? A pair of socks? A package of pencils?  I’ll think on it for a while.

Here are some new blog posts coming up: Winning Over Grandma Oma, Need a Smile?, When Oprah Came Calling, and Seeds of Hope.

As always, thank you for reading…

I would much rather read a good book than watch television, but when I do watch TV, I get a kick out of TLC’s “What Not To Wear.” So please join me today as we consider “What Not To Read.”

I’ve already written several times on this blog about books I love, and a few days ago my friend and neighbor Rob F. gave me an idea for a participatory blog post. He sent me a link to a blogger who shared about books she hated, and she invited others to tell of their rotten book lists as well. It was pretty interesting. Especially because I liked some of the books others despised. 🙂

So for this month’s bloggy giveaway, I invite you to leave a comment and share a book you disliked, or even detested. If you can think of more than one title, list them all! Perhaps there’s a children’s book you know of that you would never read to a child – which one is it?

Here’s my “don’t waste your time” list of books:

1.  The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver – the only book I have ever thrown directly into the garbage after reading. Don’t get me started on why.

2.  Brave New World by Aldous Huxley – a truly depressing read.

3.  The Haj by Leon Uris – I learned important things about the Middle East in this book, but having to slog through everything else made it torturous and maddening to read.

4.  Beloved by Toni Morrison – The critics say this Pulitzer Prize winning book is “magnificent, superb, brilliant, haunting, glorious”, etc. I never got it then and I don’t get it now. Oh well.

5.  The Blue Sword by Robin McKinley – People I respect adore this book and I really tried to like it, wanted very much to like it. I forced myself to read ten pages a day in order to get through the book, hoping it would get better, but it never did.

Now it’s your turn. What book have you intensely disliked? Or maybe you can think of more than one. Why didn’t you like it?  Just think of the public service you’ll be providing to your fellow readers who’ll appreciate a heads-up about what not to read.

Comments will be open until Monday, May 11th at 12:00 noon, and the winner of this month’s bloggy giveaway will be announced later that day.

Happy persnickety reading!

Well, what do you know? Most of you saw the same thing I did in our bathroom hand towel – a lion – and I’m a bit relieved it was obvious to so many. I especially liked Shawna’s comment because she shared what I thought – this quirky lion hiding in the swirly print could be a roaring Rorschach inkblot. Roarschach – get it? Okay, let’s move on…

Did you also see Leo’s other details? I think he’s a male lion with “mane issues” – for some unknown and probably tragic reason, he has wispy, feathered bangs and a bit of a spiky pageboy haircut on the sides. He has a tiny little crown on his head with a teardrop of a jewel hanging from it, and a small Elizabethan ruff at his neck.

If you really use your imagination you might be able to see that he’s got his elbows akimbo and is curling his front paws inward almost under his chin. And he looks a little worried and slightly humiliated to me.

I wonder if he’s upset about what they did to his mane.