Category Archives: Writing

The Puppy in the Memory Care Center

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Barclay, the 6 month old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, walks on his leash in the pastor’s hand down the long first floor hall of the memory care center. People stop and smile. Barclay paws at their legs, scaring a few, but mostly arousing greater desire to touch his soft, fluffy fur.

This is Barclay’s first experience in the memory care center. It’s also his first ride on an elevator. We take the elevator to the second floor.

I knock on the door. We walk in the room to see a parishioner who loves dogs. She’s always had a dog before she lost her independence. Barclay goes to the bed, puts his paws on the side of the bed, and begs to be lifted to say hello to Susan. Susan’s eyes open wide. “Oh, my!” she says. Her face is beaming. I lift Barclay to meet Susan. She reaches out to touch and is delighted by his softness. He licks her face, kisses her mouth, brings her to the rapture only a puppy can at this point in her dying life. There is no time. Time disappears. There is no then. No there. No anywhere but here, no time but now in puppy time on the second floor of the memory care center where Susan doesn’t know she is.

There is NOTHING in this world like a puppy. He just loves everyone the same whether or not we know our own names. Is it a coincidence that ‘dog’ spelled backwards Is ‘god’?

Barclay is watching from the floor. His “owner” is doing something with Susan. “Dad” tales Susan’s hand. They’re holding hands. They close their eyes. Dad is talking in a peaceful tone of voice Barclay hasn’t heard before. It’s very quiet in the room. Susan’s face relaxes and is at peace. Long after Dad has stopped talking, Susan’s eyes stay closed. They hold hands for a long time in the silence. She is at peace. Maybe Susan has gone to be with dog.

The Elevator in the Memory Care Center

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She rides the elevator in the memory care center every evening after dinner, hoping to get to the 3rd floor. There’s a button for the 3rd floor but, no matter how many times she pushes the button, the highest she gets is the second floor. (The third floor is locked off in the memory care center.)

She gets off on the second floor, greets the two men sitting in the chairs in the alcove, and shuffles down the long hallway. At the end of the hall, she does an about face and returns to the elevator, greeting us again as though she’s never seen us before. She mumbles something about the third floor. She pushes the elevator button. Elevator opens. She gets on. Elevator door opens. She gets off, greets us, mumbling something about the third floor, and repeats the pattern. Over and over again.

The two men in the alcove are consulting about their loved one in a room on the second floor who’s suffered a stroke, a TIA, or a heart attack. We don’t know which. All we know is that she has taken a turn for the worse during lunch. Our loved one is resting quietly after her pastor’s visit. She she had taken his face in her hands with clarity of mind enough for a smile and bantering humor. The prayer has taken her deep into some place no one can touch, come place of comfort the world cannot take away, some place maybe on the third floor.

Verse – 2 Too Clean Limericks

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My friend Steve reads way too widely sometimes. The following are rated R or at least PG.

An Old Roué’s Laments

There are no extra-marital thrills,
My ardor grows hot and then chills,
For my wife is quite sly,
She forbids me to try,
And she counts all my little blue pills!

On computers, I never watch porn
No memory makes me forlorn:
My passwords are long gone,
I can’t get my log-on,
Drinking buddies all hold me in scorn.

– S. Robertson

Note from Steve: I pass these on, in spite of their semi-scurrilous content, because the news these days is mainly depressing and I needed a laugh and thought you might, too.
– Steve Shoemaker

Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Earth Crammed with Heaven

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Earth is crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees
Takes off his shoes –
The rest sit around it and pluck blackberries.

– Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Join the Call to Artists to take off your shoes before climate departure leaves us with no blackberries to pluck. Read yesterday’s post: Before the Planetary Requiem

Before the Planetry REQUIEM

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If scientists are right (see Nature), by 2020 the first effects of Climate Departure should already be a part of the human experience.

In light of both science and faith, Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church in Chaska, MN is issuing this invitation in anticipation of Earth Day, 2020, in hopes it will catch on. The Call is conceived by visual artist and scientist John Lince-Hopkins, a member of Shepherd of the Hill:

EARTH DAY
Wednesday, April 22, 2020

A GLOBAL CALL TO CREATIVE PEOPLE OF ALL TYPES TO CREATE, PERFORM, AND DISPLAY THEIR BEST WORKS:
COMPOSERS,
MUSICIANS,
MUSICAL GROUPS,
RECORDING ARTISTS,
AUTHORS,
POETS,
VISUAL ARTISTS,
PHOTOGRAPHERS,
VIDEOGRAPHERS,
FIBER ARTISTS,
PERFORMANCE ARTISTS,
DANCERS,
…AND THOSE UN-NAMED.

JUST SEVEN SHORT YEARS TO CREATE SEMINAL WORKS ABOUT THE STATE OF OUR PLANET AND OUR REALIZATION OF THE INEVITABLE CONSEQUENCES OF OUR CLIMATE TO ALL LIVING THINGS AND THE ECOSYSTEMS THAT SUPPORT THEM.

Think Globally, Act Locally!

Illinois Tornadoes

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God did not send the tornados.
Evils come from nature just like
Blessings. Gentle rain, tomatoes
Sweet corn, food for all the livestock
(Beans and field corn), also come from
Mother Earth–we need look no
Further.

……….Of course, there is now some
evidence from science: we know
Homo-less-than-sapiens cause
Causes of the storms as well as
Food. Will we be able to make
Changes, or will we try to take
No responsibilities as
Eden’s ungrateful gardeners?

-Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, Illinois, November 18, 2013

Editor’s Notes:
1) Steve lives on the wide-open plains of Illinois.
His home is a sitting duck.

Steve's prairie haven - home of the Urbana "Morning Chorus"

Steve’s prairie haven – home of the Urbana “Morning Chorus”

2) The Editor wasn’t able to accomplish the original
form of the poem. The ten .s were added to bring the
spacing into conformity with Steve’ poem.

The Pianist (an acrostic)

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Jowls quiver before he will play a note,Raise arm now

Each beat and accent felt inside his frame.

In a swoop, the sounds will float,

Enter the air above the piano–same

Mozart motions when he directed, played:

Yes, fellow genius, centuries apart…

Drums, trumpets, strings, a dance, a dirge–all made

Entirely one, unity from the start.

No score for pianist. Eyes are often shut

Keys are played from memory, mind…and heart.

BACKGROUND:The San Francisco Symphony, Directed by Michael Tilson Thomas, played tonight at Krannert Center for the Performing Arts. The Mozart Piano Concerto No. 25 in C Major (1786) was performed by Jeremy Denk, who in September received a MacArthur Foundation “Genius” Grant. He is a writer for the New Yorker & has a blog recently selected by the Library of Congress Web Archives.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Nov. 15, 2013

Climate Change and the Nations

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Haggai by Giovanni Pisano, Sienna, Italy.

Haggai by Giovanni Pisano, Sienna, Italy.

“The Philippines envoy to the UN climate change conference has issued an emotional announcement that he will go on hunger strike unless talks lead to a “meaningful outcome”. Click HERE to read the whole story in The Independent.

Naderev “Yeb” Sano is not the only one who’s fasting. So is a dear friend in Pennsylvania. Carolyn and I were in kindergarten together. Our families were best friends. We grew up in each others’ living rooms. We went to the same church. Went to Sunday School and Confirmation together. Graduated from high school together. Our parents retired to the same retirement community in Cornwall, Pennsylvania where one after the other they each came to the end of their lives concerned about the shape of the future. Carolyn and I come by it naturally, I suppose, and the Kidder DNA and the Stewart DNA, although different, is like the DNA of the entire human species: essentially the same.

What happens to the human species if the scientists have it right? How do we care for each other across the planet – ONE species in the Philippines, Poland, the Netherlands, Argentina, and the USA – facing the daunting changes that are coming? If we believe that we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, what changes will we make individually and together to exercise that responsibility?

Carolyn and “Yeb” Sano have decided to fast until the meeting in Warsaw leads to a meaningful outcome. Fasting is not for everyone, although I can’t help wonder what impact it would have if there were a fast across the world that spoke louder than words to the national representatives gathered this week by the United Nations in Warsaw, Poland.

In place of fasting this morning I looked again at the strange little book of Haggai in Hebrew Scripture, and what did I see? A civil leader named Zerubbabel and a religious leader named Joshua trying to lead their people during a time of colonial occupation. We, too, live under colonial occupation – the occupation of international greed and neglect of the planet, its people, and the environment itself. Perhaps Carolyn and “Yeb” are like the prophet Haggai, whose term of ministry BTW was less than four months. “The word of the LORD (the word is in caps because it refers to the reality that is beyond all human naming and controlling, “YHWH”, which is no name at all) came a second time to Haggai on the twenty-fourth day of the month, ‘Speak to Zerubbabel, governor of Judah, saying, I am about to shake the heavens and the earth, and to overthrow the throne of kingdoms; I am about to destroy the strength of the kingdoms of the nations… On that day, says the LORD of hosts, I will take you, O Zerubbabel, my servant,… and make you like a signet ring; for I have chosen you, says the LORD of hosts.” (Haggai 2:20-23).

The climate shaking that has driven “Yeb” and Carolyn to fasting is no respecter of nations. It knows no national boundaries. Nationalist thinking has outlived its time. There is only one people. Only one human species in a wonderful diversity of geography, culture, color, religion, and language. The “kingdoms of the nations” are gathered today in Warsaw, and one of their representatives from the Philippines is shaking the presumption of all of the thrones. The national delegates bear the equivalent of the king’s signet ring to sign and seal agreements and documents on behalf of the modern equivalent of their kings. Sometimes in life a person IS like a signet ring for a new order, a man for our time like Naderev “Yeb” Sano.

A Tribute to Hope

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In memory of Abigail Salyers
B.A, Math, 1963; PhD, Nuclear Physics, 1969.
(An Acrostic)

All A’s were on her report card,
But because she was pregnant she
Is told in 1959
Graduation will not be
Allowed. But her English teacher
Is on her side and fights to see
Learning will continue for her.

She stays in school. Mrs. Baker
Also helps her go to college
Late though it is in pregnancy.
Yes, she works, keeps her baby,
Even gets Phi Beta Kappa,
Receives “Honors” on her degree.
Serves others as a Professor.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, November 10, 2013

Abigail Salyers Obituary

Abigail A. Salyers died at 11:56 PM in Urbana, Illinois, Wednesday, November 6, 2013 at the age of 70. She was known worldwide as a research scientist, author and professor at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. Abigail attracted students from all over Illinois and the world. They appreciated her mastery of science, her intellect, her skills as a lecturer, mentor, and her unique sense of humor.

Abigail was born on December 24, 1942 in Louisville, KY to Robert K. and Loretta S. Salyers. Survivors include her life partner Jeffrey F. Gardner of Champaign, IL; a daughter Georgia E. Will of Seal Beach, CA; a brother Robert K. Salyers, of Louisville, KY; and sister Martha J. Salyers, of Ashville, NC.

Abigail began at Illinois in 1978 after an undergraduate degree in Mathematics (Phi Beta Kappa) in 1963 and a PhD in Nuclear Physics in1969 from George Washington University, Washington, D.C. After four years of teaching, research and tenure at St. Mary’s College in Maryland she switched fields by taking courses in Biochemistry and Microbiology and secured a second post-doctorate position in Biochemistry and Microbiology from Virginia Polytechnical Institute. She studied, taught and did research at VPI from 1973 to 1978.

She became the first female tenured professor in Microbiology at Illinois in 1983 and a full professor in 1988. While at Illinois, Abigail was named a University Scholar, Faculty Member of the Year in the College of Medicine, a member of the Center for Advanced Study and an Affiliate in the Institute for Genomic Biology. She received the Pasteur Award for Research and Teaching, the All-Campus Award for Excellence in Teaching in the University of Illinois Medical School and the Golden Apple Award for Medical School Teaching three times. She was named the G. William Arends Professor in Molecular and Cellular Biology from 2004 until she retired in 2012.

Among the books she authored are Bacterial Pathogenesis: A Molecular Approach, (by A. A. Salyers and Dixie Witt) first published in 1994 and now in its Third Edition. Bacterial Resistance to Antimicrobials, (by A.A. Salyers and co-authors) first published in 2002 and is now in its Second Edition. Revenge of the Microbes, (by A.A. Salyers and D. Witt) was published by 2005. It was a popular treatment of the latest scientific information in the fields of microbial pathegenesis and antibiotic resistance. It was intended for a broad audience.

Abigail was assisted in her research and publications by Research Associates Nadja B. Shoemaker, Gui Wang and over 30 Graduate Students working on their Ph.D.s and Masters Degrees in Microbiology at Illinois. Her 5 books, over 200 peer-reviewed research articles, reviews and chapters in books edited by others, were read by fellow microbiologists and biochemists everywhere. Her papers were cited widely (received over 600 citations) by other scientists.

Abigail was President of the 40,000 member American Society for Microbiology in 2001-2002. Her research was supported by the Department of Energy and the National Institutes of Health. In recognition of her standing in the scientific community she served several terms as a member of National Institutes of Health panels that reviewed research grants. She was awarded an an honorary Doctorate from ETH University in Zurich, Switzerland in 2001. One of Abigail’s main interests was the diversity of microorganisms on the planet. She was Co-Director of the Microbial Diversity Summer Course at the Marine Biological Laboratory in Woods Hole, MA for the Summers of 1995-1999. Abigail and her co-director, Ed Ledbetter, modernized the course. The course was extremely popular and attracted graduate students and even university faculty members with a wide range of backgrounds from all over the world. Students performed field work to enrich for and isolate a diverse array of microorganisms. They also used state of the art laboratory technology to study the biochemistry and genetics of the microorganisms isolated from the field.

Abigail was a committed teacher and taught classes in both Liberal Arts and Sciences and in the Medical School at the University of Illinois. She was awarded the 2009 National Graduate Teacher Award in Microbiology. She was also committed educating the public. For example she met with local postal workers to educate them about risks of anthrax during the alarm in 2001.

When asked about her own most influential teacher in an interview at an ASM meeting, Abigail surprised her radio questioner by saying it was a Wakefield High School (Arlington, Va.) English teacher. Mrs. Baker kept Abigail from being kicked out of school for being pregnant and helped her get into college. At that time, pregnant teenage girls were not often accepted by college administrators.

Memorials may be directed to the Development Office at the Marine Biological Laboratory, 7 MBL Street, Woods Hole, MA 02543 to establish an endowed lectureship or student scholarship for the Microbial Diversity Course in her name.

The school bus driver

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The white cane moving back and forth in front of him belongs to seven-year-old Sam. The little guy moves cautiously, as the blind must do, hand-in-hand with a young woman I presume to be his mother, on his way into the Artist’s Reception.

Many of the people here on this Friday night are school bus drivers for District 112 School District. I’m wondering if perhaps Sam’s mother is a school bus driver.

Turns out that the featured artist, John Lince-Hopkins, is Sam’s school bus driver. John has invited Sam to see “Morning has broken: a Celebration of Light”, the collection of oil painting that now hangs on the walls of the Gathering Space at Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church in Chaska where I serve as pastor.

It’s an evening of revelation about a very special group of people who know their passengers by name, quietly welcome each child every morning, say good-bye to them in the afternoon, and watch to be sure that children like Sam with his white cane make it safely across the street no matter what dark clouds may cross their paths that day on their slow, daily journey toward adulthood.

Most of my teachers’ names are long forgotten. But I remember my school bus driver. Why we called Mr. Thompson “Tommy” is a sign of the time in which I grew up when, sadly, school bus drivers did not command the respect that lawyers and doctors do. “Good morning, Gordon.” “Good morning, Mr. Thompson.” All these years later Mr. Thompson stands out in my memory. Bus drivers are special people. Perhaps because they call no attention to themselves, they stand out in our memories as signs of light.

John welcomes Sam in that special way some bus drivers have. “Would you like to see a painting?”

John, whose art has sold for thousands of dollars in Texas, Alaska, New Mexico, Wisconsin, and Minnesota, is inviting Sam to do what most landscape artists most dread. He’s inviting Sam to touch his paintings, to “see” the only way Sam can: by touch.

Lifted high so he can touch the oils of the cloud formations and the light of “Morning Has Broken: a Celebration of Light” Sam reaches out his hand. Very carefully he runs his fingers over the dry paint that allows him to see the light and contours of the clouds and landscapes of his bus driver’s paintings, more raptly attentive to the art than those of us who presume to see what we are viewing.

On this night John’s art is a bus ride into the light of morning breaking into the darkness of night. A seven-year-old boy named Sam, whose eyes have never seen light, gets to touch it for himself.

“Morning has broken like the first morning, blackbird has spoken like the first bird. Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning! Praise for them, springing, fresh from the Word!”