Old Amish Saying

The ground temperature is about -4 degrees, and the wind chill is currently at -21. No one can tell me that dogs do not understand time. I have caught myself examining my dog's forearms, to see if they are wearing a watch. No matter what I am doing, they are more than willing to interrupt me with their assessment of 'time.' At six o'clock every morning, it is 'time' to go outside, for the walk. This is my punishment for inserting dogs into my life. And it has taught me a lot about compromise, within relationships. In the 'old' days, many religious orders followed a daily prayer schedule. Morning prayer, mid-day prayer, evening prayer. If I believed in reincarnation, I would have to say, my two dogs have returned from the monastic life. With the cold weather here to stay, I have tried to roll over in bed, and put a pillow over my head. Monk, who weights 140 pounds, then sits on me. This is so intense, I begin to fight to remove him, but can not move him. I am trapped. In the wrestling that proceeds, I have fallen out of bed twice, to the floor. The end. I am officially 'up.' So I am making this work for me.
And it is working.

"You can't tell a gift how to come."

We took to the ice this morning. The snow is thin on the ice. It is a smooth walk, no bumps and humps of drifted and iced snow. Sometimes, when I am with them on the morning prayer walk, I wonder why I am not wearing those Eskimo glasses, with the narrow slit. I was so blinded by the glare, the tears were running down my face. But I know why I don't want to wear sunglasses, or much face cover. I like having my face seared. For in that, over the years, lines have appeared around my eyes, mouth, and cheeks. And I wear those lines like Native
American face paint. Read my face, and you know who I am. All of my life is there, the journey of my wounds, and the journey of my healing.

In the article, "Getting To Know Your Inner Child," basis for the paper I am writing, the author presents several theories on the point and purpose of the inner child. This has been good for me. Especially the Jungian approach, where the child part of our personality is an archetype. Not something to get rid of, or grow out of, or cure, or repress, or bury, or deny. But a valuable and important part of who we are, from which all imagination, creativity, courage, playfulness, hope, flexibility, and strength is offered. The child archetype, this part of who we are, is also the physician. Those early childhood wounds, bitter and burdensome, now in the hands of the wildly enthusiastic and indomitable spirit that accompanies us through life.

"You can't tell a gift how to come."

It was clear to me, on the ice this morning, I was not going to last long. Before I called it, and tried to get them to load up, we discovered a pile of deer bones. A carcass. Very well picked. However, there were two hoofs left. Monk and T.T. Marie grabbed them quickly, and headed immediately to the van, top speed.

"You can't tell a gift how to come."