Leap Year

I was born on a leap year, which doesn't mean much unless you're born on February 29. I was born on the 27th. I often wondered if there were many people who were born on the 29th. I found one in Lancaster County, PA over 30 years ago who was a fellow USDA poultry inspector who worked across from me. Sorry, I don't remember his name. He told me he celebrated his birthday on March 1 in the off years.

Then I met another one at the Center the other day. John is on dialysis like I am and when February 29th rolled around we found out about it. He told us he celebrated his birthday every four years. He is 15 leap years old.

When I was 25 my brother Dave and a couple sisters and their spouses took me to a dinner theater in Philadelphia, PA for my birthday where a delightful comic opera, The Pirates of Penzance by Gilbert and Sullivan, was playing. Frederic was an apprentice, born on February 29th and apprenticed to a life of piracy and then he was asked to change his career. But because he was technically only 5 leap years old he was told he had to wait out the apprenticeship until age 21 which would be 84 regular years.

There is an Honor Society of Leap Year Babies on the internet.

And don't forget Anthony, Texas, "the Leap Capital of the World."

Mall of America

I did some traveling in July 1993 where I flew alone to Minneapolis and spent a long weekend in Minnesota. I stayed at the Wasie Center of the Abbott Northwestern Hospital for two nights. On Saturday, I attended a conference at the Minneapolis Children’s Medical Center. It was a conference dealing with children born with medical conditions similar to what I had to deal with. When I arrived, someone asked me about my child. I said, "I'm the child." I was the then the center of attention to a few people who met me, who realized I was a survivor. There were a few speakers and when they asked for questions or comments from the audience, I had a few suggestions to offer.

My flight back home wouldn’t leave until Monday evening so I had two days to kill. I rented a car so on Sunday morning I headed north. The Mississippi River was overflowing its banks in nearby St. Paul, and roads were flooded here and there in southern Minnesota, so northbound was the best bet for a decent addendum to my vacation. I headed for Duluth. I would visit the Mall of America on my way back.

Duluth is right on the tip of Lake Superior. A small city of ships, granaries, and ore docks. I toured the S.S. William A. Irvin, a 610-foot steam ship. Then I took a cruise on a tour boat on to Lake Superior for a trip to Superior, Wisconsin, past the docks and factories, being narrated all the way. It was refreshingly cold for July, temps in the 50s or 60s.

At the end of the day I stayed at a motel in town and headed south to Minneapolis in the morning. It was 42 degrees and cloudless. You could see for miles and miles. I stopped at a small restaurant along the way for breakfast for beef hash, scrambled eggs, and sourdough bread. Pure heaven! I even stopped at the Grand Casino in Hinkley, Minnesota, prepared to lose $10, which I did. I escaped before I would go to the next $10. I’m not much of a gambler.

On the way I listened to Talk Radio which discussed the bombing of Baghdad in retaliation for the plot against President Bush. Most thought it was a bad move on President Clinton’s part. If we want to have a reputation as a peace-loving nation, we shouldn’t resort to aggression like that. One caller suggested that they should have taken the Kuwaiti policemen that discovered the plot, brought them to the U.S. and gave them well-publicized commendations, to show to the Iraqi people, and the world, that we indeed are an honorable country. But maybe we’re not so honorable these days.

I just had to visit the famed Mall of America, the largest shopping mall in the country. It wasn’t far from where I had rented the car so I traveled the 150+ miles back to Minneapolis and Bloomington and parked on one of the decks of the huge parking garage. I locked the car and headed inside. I walked all over the place—stopped here and there to buy something, but just mostly looked around. It is an interesting place. There were a few courtesy desks here and there.

About three hours before flight time I got tired of walking and headed back to the car. I put my hand in my pocket for the keys…and they weren’t there! I searched all my pockets for the keys…at least twice! I didn’t really panic for I could probably contact the rental agency who might have another set, but I wanted to find those keys.

I went into the men’s room. Not there. To Camp Snoopy, the adventure park, and the place I bought a taco salad. Not there. To the place I bought some post cards. The manager said there was a Lost and Found but he was rather cynical about it. “You better hope they don’t have them, you’ll have to sign your life away to retrieve them.” I really didn’t understand his logic.

I went to one of the courtesy and asked if anyone turned in any car keys. A lady showed me a set. They weren’t the ones. It would be only one key. The lady asked the supervisor who came along. She said she remembered seeing a key at one of the other stations. She called and checked. By golly, they were there! On the other side of the mall. She told the person someone would be along to claim them. I walked over to the south side and got the keys. I didn’t have to sign anything. You can believe I held onto those keys tightly as I headed for the car.

The 6:15 flight was delayed, wouldn’t you know! The announcer told us four flight attendants for this flight were still coming in on another flight. We would depart as soon as they got here. Later, it was announced that a couple of airline managers were aboard the flight and agreed to help in boarding the passengers, which would then take off as soon as the attendants arrived. Then we sat about 10 minutes in the plane until the flight attendants scrambled aboard and we were off.

As soon as we took off and leveled off at 37,000 feet, the Captain announced that that there would be some heavy weather enroute to Philadelphia so they were taking a more northerly tack over Wisconsin, Michigan, and then south over Harrisburg and southeast to Philadelphia. We can expect a bumpy ride here and there. And bumpy it was. I could feel the plane crabbing a little (being pushed a little sideways) when hit by a crosswind. It took only 2 hours flying time but it was after 10 p.m. when we arrived in Philadelphia safe and sound. I was glad when I finally got home at 11 p.m.

Bicycling

It was May 1993. I lived in Merchantville, New Jersey at the time. I endeavored to take a bicycle journey—going a longer distance than ever before. Friday was a perfect day—quite warm, and Saturday promised to be the same. In the middle of the night sometime, I promised myself I’d get an early start in the morning and ride as far as I could. Maybe even down to the shore. This was about 60 miles away.

I arose at 5 a.m. and by 5:20 I was out the door into the cool morning air. It was just light enough to see and be seen but the sun wasn’t up yet.

The birds were warming up their vocal chords for their daily songfest, and it was a bit brisk as one traveled along. I was dressed in a green long-sleeved sweater, assured that later I would have to shed it n the exertion of pedaling.

I knew the route I wanted to take; the only question was if I could take it for the whole day or fade along the way. Route 38, just a mile away, runs east for about 18 miles to Route 72, which goes to points south all the way to the shore—to Ship Bottom if I crossed the bay to the outer island. Would I be able to make it? I had traveled to 72 before but had turned around from the growing exhaustion. It was almost halfway to the seashore. The distance from Merchantville to Ship Bottom is about 56 miles.

I had 10 gears to keep me occupied on the grades and levels of the route. My idea was to stop here and there along the way for some refreshment. About 4 miles along the way, I came upon a Texaco station and had a meager breakfast of a bologna and cheese sandwich and cranberry juice. I was becoming more aware of unused muscles that hadn’t seen much action for quite awhile but the refreshment and short relaxation gave me new strength. I continued on toward Mt. Holly. Traffic was light and I was able to speed along at 10 miles per hour or more.

I became pleasantly aware of the fragrance of the air. The fresh clean smell of grass, of newly plowed fields, was in itself invigorating. On the other side of Mt. Holly the fragrance decayed to the faint odor of a landfill. On my left was a huge mound that spread over half a mile well outside of town. In the middle was a power station that supplies electricity from within the bowels of the thousands of tons of refuse that lies buried. The landfill is closed and sealed.

The road was rather smooth traveling. The shoulder was wide enough to travel without fear of being sideswiped by a passing car. I kept my ears open and the rearview mirror was useful for analyzing the situation behind. One had to be careful.

Although New Jersey is relatively flat, you could easily sense the lay of the land by the upgrades and downgrades. The gentle slope of the route by Mt. Holly attested to the fact that surely Mt. Holly is indeed a mountain. You could tell I was not too used to long rides yet; my second wind hadn’t kicked in yet. But I had 10 gears to choose from, like I said, and I therefore was able to continue the cadence without difficulty.

It must have been at the 12-mile mark when I came to a Cumberland Farms mini-market. I needed more refreshment to sustain myself. But when I got off the bike I really felt the strain of the miles I had already traveled. My legs felt rubbery. Clearly I was not going to be able to accomplish what I thought I might set out to do. Every 100 feet I traveled was another 100 feet I would have to retrace so I became more conscious of how far I was going.

Route 38 ended at a turnoff to points toward the seashore, and Route 72. I had traveled this route before but I didn’t remember how many miles it was to Route 72. However, the route was quite pleasant and I passed a blueberry field with bushes ablaze with blossoms in the morning sunlight. Somewhere to my right a bobwhite called. I imitated it and it answered back. I was fast becoming attuned to nature.

Farther on was a swamp and as I passed by, from somewhere within came the unmistakable resonant sound of bullfrogs. Maybe they were answered the mating call of my bicycle chain softly clicking in the sprockets.

But I was beginning to tire. I had more second thoughts about going too far. I would have to retrace the whole route back so it would not do to travel too far. Then it hit me! Breakfast! I hadn’t had a substantial breakfast! I probably had long ago drained out all the nutrition (if indeed there was any) from the bologna and cheese sandwich I had earlier. I hoped there’d be a place to stop along the way now, but I was getting into no-man’s land. The state forest was all around me—the Pine Barrens, they call it.

But I eventually came upon a restaurant in the middle of the forest. Not having a lock for my bike, I parked it by a window to keep it in view from inside. It was a rather small place, made of logs. It was now about 9 a.m.

Another couple was also entering the restaurant and another couple was contentedly feasting on their breakfast—but not a waitress in sight. It was small dining room with a decided frontier atmosphere. We waited.

A couple of waitresses finally appeared. “My goodness, there are more people here!” Typical of country humor, someone remarked in return, “That’s what happens when you keep the door unlocked.”

They hurriedly distributed the menus and poured the coffee. It’s surprising (maybe not so surprising) how much addiction is prevalent in society. Most people need—no, demand—a cup of coffee to get started in the morning. I declined. I don’t drink coffee and that was the time I didn’t drink caffeinated sodas. The last time I was in the hospital, I went cold turkey off of caffeine. It was a miserable couple of days of withdrawal but I hadn’t drunk any Pepsi or Coke since about seven months before, which is a record. I remember drinking Pepsi years before, sometimes a 6-pack a day.

The menu prices were quite reasonable. I picked the eggs-over-medium with sausage for $3.75 and orange juice and waited. Every once in a while I glanced out the window at my bicycle.

Waiting for the order, I took advantage of the time. I got up to use the restroom and was chagrined to find out I could hardly lift myself off the chair. I wasn’t sore, but almost paralyzed it seemed. Hurry up with that breakfast!

By the time breakfast was over, I was more relaxed. I could feel my legs returning to normal. And it wasn’t long before I was out the door again. But my mind was made up. I would take Route 70 west toward home as soon as I came to the Route 72 circle.

By this time the day was quite warm. The sky was cloudless and flowers were in full bloom here and there. The Pine Barrens was on either side of me, the Red Lion Circle (New Jersey still has circles at many intersections). I was approaching Medford Lakes where my sister lives.

I could not envision finishing the final 15-20 miles of the run so at the Evergreen Dairy Bar just outside Medford I called my sister Jane. She borrowed Dad’s station wagon to pick me up and we went to her place. I had traveled 34 miles. Later Dad took me home to Merchantville. Everything was still intact—I wasn’t the worse for wear.

I felt good after that…more invigorated. I had ridden my bike before in the mornings before going to work and it always set the tone for the day, full of energy, even after a 5- to 10-mile run. I never did ride bike to the shore.

Jonathan

It was around 1989 or 1990 when I attended my niece’s high school graduation in Souderton, PA. And afterwards we had a party at my brother Ron’s house. One of their neighbors was invited over and the party didn’t really liven up until they got there. They brought their son Jonathan, an inquisitive, talkative five-year-old who was smartly dressed up in suit and tie. The first comment he made when he walked in the door was, as he looked around the room, “Mom, thewe awe no othew childwen hewe.”

“No,” his mother replied, “this is a graduation party. Just behave yourself.”

Jonathan did have the run of the house and yard, but his mother kept a constant vigil on his whereabouts. “Jonathan, what are you doing?” … “Jonathan, don’t spill it on your clothes.” … “Jonathan, don’t go beyond the fence.” … “Jonathan, didn’t I tell you not to go beyond the fence?” … “Jonathan, come here. Now look into my eyes and promise you won’t go farther than the fence. It’s dark out there.”

Thanks to Jonathan’s nature, he apparently wasn’t too intimidated by his mother—he obediently complied, and promptly forgot. The exuberance of his own curiosity and outlook on life won out. But his mother began to realize the scenes she was creating for the rest of the group. Even her husband had a look of chagrin on his face. She was becoming the center of attraction although we were sitting out on the patio away from the main group. So she explained it to me.

She married late, is over forty, and Jonathan is her only child. And frankly she wasn’t accustomed to how to raise a child. She felt he was so fragile, and didn’t really know his limits, or what limits to set for him.

I then decided to help her with my own perspective. I told her that I remember when I was six years old, and Ron was five. We climbed 50-foot silos, whether empty or full—in the dark, to catch pigeons. As I described it to her (quite descriptively, I admit) she began to be affected by my story. I could see her getting a little pale as she listened transfixed.

She exclaimed at one point, “Weren’t you afraid of falling?” I told her we were conscious of the danger, but we were careful.

“Did you ever fall?”

“Yes,” I replied, “when I was eight years old I climbed the silo to throw silage down for a herd of 40 cows. In the process of checking how much I had thrown down, I slipped on a rung just as I was starting to climb down and fell hind-end-to all the way to the bottom—about 30 feet I’d say. Fortunately, I wasn’t hurt.”

It was too much for her sensibilities and she bolted to another topic of discussion.

Trip to Columbus

On Monday, February 4, Lucy and I went for a scheduled trip to OSU Medical in Columbus. I was being re-evaluated for a kidney transplant. It was not a pleasant trip.I had some misgivings about the trip, mainly because the 1994 Ford Econoline E-150 van started acting up. It started out by making extraneous noises which I couldn't place. Lucy also heard it and commented on it. I hoped it wasn't the transmission but I don't know enough about cars and trucks to make an educated guess. There was one point where I thought of taking it to Monro to get checked out, but I didn't feel good so I didn't follow through. It would have been better if I had made the effort.

Anyway, going out the door, at 6 a.m. it was risky because I was walking with crutches and there was slick ice everywhere, and dark. I gingerly walked out to the van and backed it around closer to the house so Lucy could get on on her wheelchair. Going out the lane, there was a little noise in the direction of the transmission but it wasn't too pronounced and soon went away as the van warmed up. We took off and headed for Route 30 East and then south on Interstate 71. The Route 71 entrance is only a couple miles from our place. According to Mapquest, our destination was 71 miles away. Our appointment was at 8 a.m. The van was running OK.

We arrived early and waited about 20 minutes for the doors to open. Others had arrived early too, and waited in the lobby. When the doors opened I signed in and waited. When my name was called I gave them needed information and was told to go to Room 135. It would be a full day.

There were a few other kidney recipients and donors, and I had my own donor, who arrived a few minutes after the office was opened. Esther is Lucy's cousin and she offered to donate a kidney after she saw my plea for a kidney donation in a Christmas letter over a year ago. I had been to Columbus in October 2005 for an evaluation and was encouraged to try to get friends or relatives to donate. It's not easy to ask for someone's kidney, but there are kind people around who are willing to go through the process to aid a friend. Otherwise, you can wait several years for one--from someone who passed on.

I started getting severe headaches as the process went on. Chalk it up to tension, or in need of chiropractic treatment, but I did not feel good because of it. I didn't have a chiropractic treatment for several weeks, ever since I broke my leg on December 7. But I slogged through the day and was glad we were finished around 12:30 instead of the 3 p.m. that they forecast.

We went scouting for lunch afterwards. We found ourselves onto Northwest Boulevard and then came to a mall which had a cafeteria. MCL Restaurant which we never saw before but decided to investigate. It was worth it because we had the best food you could eat at a restaurant since it was touted to be homemade. The display was magnificent. We spent more than we intended to but we learned that there are value meals which are less expensive. Most of it was sold ala carte.

I got a little lost on the way of out Columbus but eventually found Route 315 and the Interstate 71 north. It was then that I started feeling the vibrations and the sluggish driving. I thought maybe a tire was low so I stopped at a rest stop and checked. All the tires were OK.

But I was starting to get worried. I don't know that much about vehicles. I have a 69 Datsun years ago and worked on it, but now cars are too complicated and I let the mechanics work them over--at a price.

As we drove north it started to get foggy, and at 2:30 in the afternoon! Unusual. It added to the anxiety I experienced and I prayed to get home safe and sound. I kept it on 60 mph which helped assuage the added noise, but it was slow progress anyway. Every time I was climbing a hill the noise increased somewhere.

Lucy, meanwhile, didn't say anything. She sensed that I was not keen on entertaining a back seat driver this time. I don't know if she was reading or sleeping, or having enough sense to not add to my concern. We finally made it home and was I relieved! No breakdowns; of me or the van.

A couple days later I mentioned it to Jason and he took it for a test drive, and determined that it might be the universal joint. And a couple of days later I drove it to Monro in Mansfield and they also took it for a test drive, and determined that it was the universal joint, which was a relief because I was half afraid it was the transmission.

Another client asked if they had any coupons to deduct from the bill, so when my bill came I asked if they had any coupons or AAA discounts. He deducted 10% off my bill for the AAA discount. It pays to ask.

So all my worry was half needless. I should have taken the opportunity to get it checked out when I thought of it before the trip. It might not have saved me a headache but I would have had a nicer drive. My headache disappeared when I had an overdue chiropractic treatment a couple days later.

Two Doves

Sometimes you wonder why things happen when they happen. You think you're trying your best and suddenly the bottom unexpectedly drops out. We had that experience a few years ago when Lucy had a stroke, after I had my own dilemma of needing medical care. We were both in hospital at the same time in May and June 2004. (see Nov. 27, 2007)

We spent our 10th wedding anniversary recovering at home from our ailments and glad we got that far. But it is rather lonely to reminisce over the past and wonder why. But I already knew why. It was part of our lot to sit back and review things for spiritual growth. That's the way I take it, and the way things can turn out to be true, once one validates the experience.

One night, not long afterward, I woke up and saw a pinpoint of light up near the wall on the other side of the room. The room was dark and as I watched, the light grew larger and closer. Intrigued, I sat up in bed. The light came real close and suddenly blossomed into two beautiful doves of light, with their wings fluttering in flight, as if to land. By their light I could see my hand, and I moved it toward them. One of the doves landed on my finger. I even felt it as it touched. The spot I offered was a small scar on my forefinger that I acquired in the line of duty over 30 years before. The other dove suddenly changed course and flew over and landed on my wife, who was sleeping soundly by my side.

I was astounded and enthralled, and thinking about the meaning of it all. It happened so fast, and they stayed only a few seconds, but enough for me to feel blessed by the experience, and determined to take the experience to heart as an elegant response to the afflictions we had to go through months before.

Such experiences are more and more prevalent these days. In spite of the apparent worsening conditions of weather, politics, domestic upheavals, there is more light being shed on those who stay the course, stick to the path they were set out to take, and endeavor to spread the light of truth to others. In spite of seeming failures, there are recompenses which make life worth the struggle. We can only keep those things which we experience, go ever onward, and ignore the skeptics.