Bataan Death March. Have you forgotten yet or did you even know?

The Bataan Memorial Death March is a challenging march through the high desert terrain of
the White Sands Missile Range. The memorial march is conducted in honor of the
heroic service members who defended the Philippine Islands during World War II,
sacrificing their freedom, health, and, in many cases, their very lives.

The New Mexican

“A common lament of the World War II generation is the absence today of personal responsibility ”
Tom Brokaw, The Greatest Generation


(Batan Death March, American Prisoners 1942)

My cousin just got back from a trip to New Mexico.

No, she didn’t go on a ski trip or vacation.

She actually went to participate in a commemorative march.

Big name walks and marches, such as the March of Dimes, the Susan G. Komen march
and even the Relay for Life are marches most of us are familiar with.

They are marching money raisers for various good causes.

But what about a commemorative death march?
What might that benefit?

Perhaps it, like other marches, benefits our future.

Perhaps it is the commemorating of the past which in turn benefits our future…

What a novel idea.

Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl shares in his memoir Man’s Search For Meaning that
“it did not really matter what we expected from life,
but rather what life expected from us.”

So what exactly does life expect from us?

Does Life expect that our idiotic politicians run about willy nilly telling children
that life, as we know it, will end in 12 years?

Does it matter that our pathetic politicians keep screaming “the Russians are coming,
the Russians are coming” when they were never coming in the first place?

Does it matter that we have youthful arrogant imbeciles, for the lack of a better word,
in leadership positions trying to play government while running around screaming
that we all need to be embracing Socialism just so we can level life’s playing field.

Yet did anyone catch the memo that life isn’t, nor will it ever be, fair?

Or what about the politicians screaming for some pie in the sky, far fetched,
new green deal that rings in at a price tag of 93 trillion bucks.

Mo Money…

Your money, my money…all God’s little children’s money…

Don’t they know that nothing in Life comes free—as in somebody will have to pay…
and that my friends will be you and me—the thinly stretched middle core of America.

However, one thing they, those far-flung left thinkers, fail to understand is
that life expects more from us than a left or right leaning or the embracing of
some uber new think…

Ben Shapiro in his new book The Right Side of History:
How Reason And Moral Purpose Made The West Great, notes that
without individual moral
purpose granted by a relationship to a Creator,
we seek meaning instead in the collective, or we destroy ourselves on the shoals
of libertinism.
We live lives of amoral hedonism,…

“if we do not pursue that purpose, we pay a price; we serve foreign gods,
which cannot provide us any sort of true fulfillment.
Lasting happiness can only be achieved through cultivation of soul and mind.
And cultivating our souls and minds reqiures us to live with moral purpose.

Something our politics and politicians cannot achieve for us.

My cousin told me that during the course of the commemorations surrounding the
The Death March of Bataan was that she had the opportunity of listening to a
98-year-old veteran who candidly expressed his deepest fear in life…

That being that these current generations and those following generations,
those generations that no longer have members of his generation, will simply forget.
They will forget the sacrifices made on behalf of the betterment of the free world.
They will forget the moral purpose and responsibility that we are all
held to in order to maintain the freedom of man.

That freedom is indeed not free.

Below are two excerpts explaining the Bataan Death March and why it is
so important that we never forget.

Taken from the Bataan Museum information page
bataanmuseum.com

The infamous Bataan Death March was one of the greatest atrocities of
World War II.

Approximately 1,800 men from the 200th and 515th Coast Artillery Regiment deployed
to the Philippines in September 1941. When the Regiment reached the Philippines they
immediately moved to Fort Stotsenberg, 75 miles north of Manila. Over the coming months,
they would train under simulated war conditions. By December things would change drastically.

On December 8, 1941, Japanese bombers made their appearance and the war was on.
It was the 200th Coast Artillery (Anti-aircraft) — the original full Regiment —
who is credited as being the “First to Fire” on December 8, 1941.
That night, the 515th Coast Artillery (Anti-aircraft) was formed from the ranks
of the 200th.
The Japanese landings on Luzon began on December 10, 1941,
with more Japanese forces landing on December 12, 1941.

The 200th and later the 515th could not do much damage as their powder train fuses
only had a range of 20,000 feet and the bombers were flying at 23,000 feet.
The main Japanese invasion forces landed December 22,
1941 and the decision was made to withdraw the forces into Bataan.
The 200th covered the retreat of the Northern Luzon Force into Bataan and the 515th
for the South Luzon Force. They were able to hold the Japanese air and ground
attacks back, thus saving the bridges –
and the North and South Luzon Forces found a clear, safe passage to the Bataan peninsula.

For months the American and Filipino troops fought bravely as the war situation worsened.
By April 3, 1942 the Japanese received sufficient reinforcements and began to drive down
the Bataan peninsula. Four days later, the Japanese broke through allied lines.
After holding off the Japanese from December to April – four long months –
the battle for Bataan ended on April 9th

Following the fall of the Bataan Peninsula, on April 9, 1942 the United States
surrendered to the Japanese and instantly, more than 75,000 U.S. and Filipino soldiers
were forced to become Prisoners of War. The POWs were soon forced to make the 65 mile trek –
with no food or water – to confinement camps throughout the Philippines.
Thirsty and exhausted, those who attempted to steal a sip of water from roadside streams or
collapsed along the way – were shot or bayoneted on the spot by their Japanese captors.
In total, 10,000 men – 1,000 American and 9,000 Filipino –
died during the Bataan Death March.

Those that survived the march would spend the next 40 months in horrific conditions in
confinement camps. Most were transported to the Japanese man island aboard “death ships.”
Many did not survive the voyage. Given very little food,
water and even clothing, the men were tortured, malnourished and riddled with disease.
Two-thirds would die from disease, starvation, horrendous conditions,
and beatings or were murdered. More than 11,500 American soldiers died during
the three plus years in confinement.

It wasn’t until late summer of 1945 that these prisoners of war would see freedom.
Survivors were diseased, frail – emaciated, skin and bones, some blind,
others unable to walk. Sadly one third of the former POWs would die of complications
within their first year of freedom.

Of the 1,816 men 200th & 515th Coast Artillery men identified, 829 died in battle,
while prisoners, or immediately after liberation.
There were 987 survivors. See the “Casualty Report” attached.
The attached report is the result of 12 years of research and is a must read.

UNITS

The 200th Coast Artillery was inducted into federal service on January 6, 1941,
for one year of active duty training.
Unit designations and home stations at the time of induction were:

Regimental Headquarters – Deming
Headquarters Battery – Deming
Regimental Band – Albuquerque
Medical Detachment – Albuquerque
HQ & HQ Battery, 1st BN – Albuquerque
Battery A – Albuquerque
Battery B – Albuquerque
Battery C – Santa Fe
Battery D – Gallup
HQ & HQ Battery, 2nd BN – Clovis
Battery E – Clovis
Battery F – Carlsbad
Battery G – Silver City
Battery H – Taos

SURVIVORS

There are currently (69) 200th & 515th Coast Artillery survivors living today.
Not all of the 200th & 515th Coast Artillery men made the Bataan Death March.
At least 100 were sent to Camp O’Donnell by truck; some were immediately assigned
to details throughout the Philippine Islands and did not make the Death March.
A handful of men were patients at one of the field hospitals on Bataan and were
eventually moved to Old Bilibid Prison in Manila, never making the March.
(107) 200th & 515th Coast Artillery men were ordered to evacuate to Corregidor
on April 8, 1942, or made their way to Corregidor by any means possible,
never making the March. Some of these Corregidor men did begin the March,
escaped, and then made their way to Corregidor. At least 14 men are known to have
escaped to fight as Guerrillas with only a few of the 14 beginning the
Death March before making their escape into the mountains

The 200th & 515th Corregidor men’s experience is worth taking notice.
Initially, they endured the hunger and disease on Bataan while in action
against the enemy for several months. When Bataan fell,
the Japanese turned their attention to Corregidor, and the island was subjected
to constant shelling for the next month.
Many of these men were absorbed into other units on Corregidor and continued
the fight until Corregidor was surrendered.
Many soldiers, now prisoners of war, were held as
hostages while the Japanese coerced General Wainwright’s cooperation to convince General Sharp
to surrender on Mindanao. The prisoners of war were held in the open,
exposed to the elements with little water and only the food they could steal from the food
stores the Japanese denied them. Another way the prisoners of war got food was to volunteer
for burial details. After about 10 days, the prisoners were loaded into boats
and taken to a stretch of shoreline south of Manila, near Paranaque,
dumped in the water short of the beach and made to wade ashore.
They were then marched up [then] Dewey Boulevard [now Roxas Boulevard],
past the University Club where General Wainwright and his senior officers were being held.
General Wainwright watched his men in their misery paraded through the streets in
what has come to be known as the “Gloat March” to Old Bilibid Prison.
They were held at Bilibid for about five days, and then marched to the train station,
loaded in to the same 40×8 type boxcars as those who made the Bataan Death March.
These men experienced suffered through the same conditions as those on Bataan:
extreme heat and humidity, filth, and extreme overcrowding with at least
100 prisoners to a car box car meant to hold only forty men or eight cattle.
They were unloaded at Cabanatuan City and then marched about 20km
(or about 12 miles) to Cabanatuan prison camp.

Two 200th Coast Artillery men were awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action on Corregidor.

Nationwide, there are less than 1,000 Bataan & Corregidor survivors.

There are, that we know of, two men who made the Death March, one who was surrendered
on Corregidor, and one who was captured at Java,
who were attached to other units, not the 200th or 515th, living in New Mexico today.
There may be more.

——-

New Mexico survivors fear Bataan Death March will be forgotten
By Robert Nott | The New Mexican

Evans Garcia used to tell his daughter Margaret that freedom is not free.

He and hundreds of other New Mexicans — as well as soldiers from other
states and native Filipinos — learned this lesson 76 years ago as they made a valiant
stand to stave off a superior force of Japanese invaders on the Bataan peninsula
in the Philippines.

Their four-month defense bought America and its allies much-needed time to
organize forces and derail a Japanese plan to invade Australia,
among other places. But it also resulted in one of the most infamous and brutal events
of the early years of World War II: the Bataan Death March.

The Battle of Bataan, the first major military campaign of the Asian theater
in World War II following the Dec. 7, 1941, Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor,
took a huge toll on New Mexico. Of the 1,800-plus New Mexico soldiers who fought
in that battle, only half survived. Many returned home physically,
mentally and emotionally scarred after surviving the 65-mile Bataan Death March and
subsequent incarceration and inhumanity in Japanese prisoner-of-war camps.

Just over a dozen of those soldiers are believed to be alive today.
As they and their descendants prepare for another annual commemoration of that
campaign in Santa Fe — 11 a.m. Monday, April 9, at the Bataan Memorial Building
on Galisteo Street —
some wonder if their story will eventually be overlooked as those survivors pass away.

“We descendants are often concerned that the legacy and sacrifices our fathers,
uncles and other family members made on Bataan will be forgotten,”
said Margaret Garcia, whose father died in 2011.
“So many people in society today, especially our youth,
do not appreciate what our World War II veterans fought for.”

Consuelo “Connie” DeVargas, wife of Valdemar DeHerrera,
a 98-year-old survivor of the march who lives in Alamogordo, agrees.
Two of her grandchildren came from Colorado to take part in the annual
Bataan Memorial Death March commemoration hike of up to 26 miles
on White Sands Missile Range in late March.

When they returned to their school the following Monday,
replete with stories about the march and materials pertaining to the 1942 campaign,
the other students and teachers “didn’t even know what they were talking about,”
DeVargas said. “I think it will be forgotten.”

But others, including historians and history teachers, disagree.
They say that as long as the story of the “Battling Bastards of Bataan,”
as the defenders were known, remains in the textbooks, they and other
educators will continue telling their story.

“It’s one of the state standards [for education] set by the state’s legislators,
many of whom knew the people who were involved with it, and who see it as an important event,”
said Capital High School teacher Steve Hegmann, who incorporates the story of
the Bataan campaign into his New Mexico history class for ninth-graders.
“It would take a long time for it to be forgotten, at least here [in New Mexico].
Most teachers in the state realize that New Mexicans were involved in the campaign.”

Stephen Martinez, a professor of U.S. and New Mexico history and
Western civilization at Santa Fe Community College, agrees.
“It’s always a sad chapter in the story when we lose the survivors,”
he said. “But New Mexico is very proud of its history,
and it’s a very long history, and because of that,
I think their voices and stories will never be lost, even though they pass on.”

Both Hegmann and Martinez said they blend coverage of the Bataan campaign
with other New Mexico-related events tied to World War II,
including the story of the Navajo Code Talkers and the creation and detonation of the atomic bomb.
In Hegmann’s case, he also uses the Death March and its aftermath as a way to discuss
the issue of war crimes, a still-relevant topic.

“I can tie it to current atrocities … and the idea that there are rules that society
has decided are not acceptable in wartime,” Hegmann said.
“The question my students often ask is,
‘What were the consequences of violating the Geneva Convention code of conduct
[regarding prisoners of war]?’ ”

Jon Hunner, a professor of history at New Mexico State University,
puts the battle of Bataan and the ensuing tragedy into the context of the Japanese Bushido —
or samurai — code of conduct. To a Japanese soldier in World War II, Hunner said,
“If you surrendered, it was so dishonorable that you could not be treated like a human,
so it was perfectly justifiable in that Japanese code of war to treat your
prisoners as less than human.”

He said many historians overlook the actual battle of Bataan and focus on the
Death March and the atrocities “because it is very tragic; it shows the inhumanity of man.”

Capt. Gabriel Peterman, who runs the New Mexico National Guard Museum
in Santa Fe, agrees.

“We always talk about the surrender and the Bataan Death March,
but we don’t talk about the four-month battle that those men fought,” he said.
“They were low on ammunition, low on food, low on supplies. …
They shut down a lot of plans the Japanese had to take over Australia and other islands.
I don’t think it’s too much to say that their defense helped us win World War II.”

He added: “If we don’t maintain the annual Bataan ceremony and the tradition
it was built upon, there is a fear that we will forget Bataan.”

Hunner said he thinks that with the passing of each Bataan veteran,
as well as the passage of time, there is legitimate concern that the
story of Bataan could fall by the wayside.

“As generations get away from the time of any historic event,
they lose sight of it because other historic events that are recent become more
relevant and they can find someone living to talk to about those,” he said.

As such, he said, these history stories “are like a ship sailing over the horizon.”

humble thy self—if you really want to understand…

“This is the great work of man:
always to take the blame for his own sins before God and
to expect temptation to his last breath.”

St. Anthony of the Desert


(artwork by Marcel van Luit)

“My daughter, love has brought Me here, and love keeps Me here.

My daughter, if you knew what great merit and reward is earned by one act of pure love for Me,
you would die of joy.

I am saying this that you may constantly unite yourself with Me through love,
for this is the goal of the life of your soul.

This act is an act of the will.

Know that a pure soul is humble.

When you lower and empty yourself before My majesty,
I then pursue you with My graces and make use of My omnipotence to exalt you.”

St. Maria Faustina Kowalska, p.244
An Excerpt From
The Diary of St. Faustina

sinners beware

“The depravity of man is at once the most empirically verifiable reality
but at the same time the most intellectually resisted fact.”

Malcolm Muggeridge

“Men will allow God to be everywhere but on his throne.
They will allow him to be in his workshop to fashion worlds and make stars.
They will allow Him to be in His almonry to dispense His alms and bestow his bounties.
They will allow Him to sustain the earth and bear up the pillars thereof,
or light the lamps of heaven, or rule the waves of the ever-moving ocean;
but when God ascends His throne, His creatures then gnash their teeth.
And we proclaim an enthroned God, and His right to do as He wills with His own,
to dispose of His creatures as He thinks well, without consulting them in the matter;
then it is that we are hissed and execrated, and then it is that men turn a deaf ear to us,
for God on His throne is not the God they love.
But it is God upon the throne that we love to preach.
It is God upon His throne whom we trust.”

Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Humans never cease to amaze me.

I imagine we never cease to amaze God either…

However, I imagine He already knows what it is that we do, be that good or be that bad…

So perhaps amazed He is not….nor is He bemused…
but perhaps rather, dare I say, He just might be dismayed…

In this age of all things politically correct,
all things hashtags, all things of movements and isms…
why should I be surprised over the ever growing attacks happening to those more
conservative among us?

If you are a conservative, a Christian Conservative at that…
be it as a journalist, entertainer, actor, musician, sports star, politician, ad infinitum…
you best be prepared because those who loathe your conservative Christian values and nature
are coming after you.

They will dig up everything and anything you ever once did or said—
things and words that are now perceived ever more vile, heinous,
irreprehensible or merely, dare I say it, sinful than when you first did or said such things.

Because our culture has deemed all past faux pas, stupidity, youthful arrogance,
and yes even hurtful actions…irredeemable.

No Grace, no Redemption.

And yet who among us is without sin?

Who among us has not said or done things we, as our older and now hopefully wiser selves,
regret?
Things that were done and said which were the cause for remorse and shame due to the harm
inflicted to not only ourselves but particularly to others?

And yet were we not afforded the gift of confession, followed by salvation—
allowing for moving forward from having learned from the pain and error while striving
to do better by, not merely ourselves, but especially for that of our fellow man?

So perhaps we can then agree that no matter if we were either young or old, we have
most likely committed some hurtful or even egregious act.
Something that now brings us the deep feeling of shame or remorse…and yet
a joy that has been found in the Grace afforded to us and our error.

It’s something that is sadly part and parcel for our humanness—
that of our sinful nature.

However, in all of this talk of past sinful acts, it’s just that some of our acts
didn’t seem so egregious at the time…
in large part because of the time.

Because we were living in a time long before the time we now find
ourselves living…a time that finds us living in the age of saintliness.

Yesterday our dear friend Kathy over on atimetoshare.me wrote a post regarding
the Biblical story of the woman who had spent a lifetime hemorrhaging—
the constant internal bleeding that made itself manifest to those who saw her—

( https://atimetoshare.me/2019/03/19/she-touched-his-hem/)

This constant bleeding labeled her as “unclean”—blood carried heavy connotations to
the ancient Jewish world.
And those who were labeled to be “unclean” were to be avoided by one and all
as they were considered ‘less than.’

This poor woman had heard of the young Rabbi who was to be teaching and preaching nearby.
She sought his presence.
Not a meeting, not an appointment…but rather simply his presence.

She believed, without a doubt, that just His presence would be enough.

However yesterday when I first saw Kathy’s post, my mind actually went straight
to the story of the young adultress who was condemned to stoning for her sin…

Never mind her sin was not a sin of one…but actually a sin of two…
yet she was, however, the woman and obviously the temptress.
Therefore, given the time and culture in which she was living,
she was the lone guilty party.

There is little doubt that her sexual partner was a part of the crowd of men who
circled around her as they lifted the stones.

And yet here came, once again, the young Rabbi.

He calmly posed a single question to the execution party.

A very applicable question posed to each of us today.

“Who among you is without sin?”

And so in this time of a rabid culture that claims pious saintliness,
as it races to condemn and stone each and every conservative,
conservative Christian or Jew, or those who are morally driven to seek truth over falsehood…

Be reminded…not one of us can cast that first stone…

as we are each blessedly offered the same Grace…of forgiveness, redemption and salvation.

The scribes and the Pharisees *brought a woman caught in adultery,
and having set her in the center of the court,
they *said to Him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in adultery, in the very act.
Now in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women; what then do You say?”
They were saying this, testing Him, so that they might have grounds for accusing Him.
But Jesus stooped down and with His finger wrote on the ground.
But when they persisted in asking Him, He straightened up, and said to them,
“He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”
Again He stooped down and wrote on the ground. 9 When they heard it,
they began to go out one by one, beginning with the older ones, and He was left alone,
and the woman, where she was, in the center of the court.
Straightening up, Jesus said to her, “Woman, where are they? Did no one condemn you?”
She said, “No one, Lord.”
And Jesus said, “I do not condemn you, either.
Go.
From now on sin no more.”

John 8:3-11

accommodating whom?

“If you accommodate others, you will be accommodating yourself”
Chinese Proverbs


(The Mayor helping emptying the dishwasher / Julie Cook / 2019)

Ok…so I’m still struggling between feeling better and being zapped of all energy…but that
didn’t seem to keep my mind from racing from thought to thought during the course of the
past week.

I’d see this or that irony or idiocy and would make a mental note that a
future post would be in order.

Then I’d feel the fervery chills again or the Mayor would be racing off willy nilly toward
something alluring, putting her life at risk, and those thoughts would quickly dissipate.

But the passing of a rural church’s sign last evening helped to jog my memory.

However, let’s back up a tad.

Let’s consider a word.
The word being–
Accommodating

A word that means a willingness to please: that of being helpful, obliging.

Obliging, in turn, meaning indulgent.

Indulgent then in turn meaning a willingness to allow excessive leniency.

I think we see where this is going…

It is going to the notion of making life, or that of another’s existence, as easy peasy as possible.

It is something our culture is honing to a high art form…

Making everything easy peasy…while offering leniency for all as we indulge everyone and anyone.
Matters not your desires nor choices…

Oh, no wait….it does matter…
It matters only if you are a Chrisitan, a Jew, a conservative or a moralistic individual…
because we simply cannot accommodate those who hold such mindsets…
But if you want anything outside the circle of a Judaeo /Christian mindset, we’ll accommodate you til
the cows come home.

And this thinking came from a drive last night when I passed by a sign outside of a church
that proclaimed “We Now Have Saturday Church”

At first look and read, that little advert seems great.
Saturday Church for those who can’t “make” Sunday Church.

But this seemingly benign offering got me thinking.

How much has The Church—each and every denomination of the Christian Church,
gone in order to accommodate the masses?

Praise rock bands to draw in the young.
Coffee house settings to draw in the casual laid back.
Video theatrics to show our cutting edge use of technology.
Gay clergy to make the fringe members feel accepted.
Preaching openness and love to show our all-embracing nature.
Removing the ideas of sin, hell or consequence from our actions because we are love and love only.
Gay marriages to express our inclusion.
Petitions to change the wording of the Bible to show we are progressive…
God as the God-dess.

On and on we go because the numbers show that the Church is losing.

It is losing to a deeply divisive yet progressive secular culture that
has no room for what Christianity has stood for over the past two thousand years.

It hasn’t helped that the clergy has almost singlehandedly cast a heavy
veil of mistrust…with many heinous acts of predation, across denominational lines,
leaving many of the faithful with deep wounds and now disgust for the Church as a whole.

So in desperation, The Church lets out all the stops.
Desperate to accommodate any and all…
just please don’t go…
please just come…
back…

And yet it is The Bridegroom who has never changed.

He, the Godhead, has remained the same since the creation of our existence…

He was before such and He will be long after such…

He will never change, be changed, bend, beg, accommodate or oblige.

He gave everything He could give on a fateful day of betrayal and death…
He offered redemption.
He offered hope.
But He will not bend nor will He be changed…
despite our bending over backward for anything and everything other than God.

God is not human, that he should lie,
not a human being, that he should change his mind.
Does he speak and then not act?
Does he promise and not fulfill?

Numbers 23:19

An unexpected interruption, the question of shot or no shot and finally, the wisdom of Mary Poppins

“Everything is possible,
even the impossible”

Mary Poppins


(Emily Blunt and the always enchanting Angela Lansbury in the new Mary Poppins
movie as seen on our son’s TV)

Ok, so where was I…??

Ok, so maybe the question should be… where in the heck have I been?

When we were last together, I think I made mention that we were off to see the Mayor…
bringing her home with us for a few days…

Well…we did…sort of…….

A week ago Monday evening, late, we got a call from our son.
Or someone who was supposed to be our son who was sounding very puny, croaky and cloggy.

A pained voice informed us “I’ve just gotten back from Urgent Care and I have the flu
so you’ve got to come get the baby NOW!!!
The doctor told me not to be around her.”

“Ok” I’m thinking.
Your wife is 8 months pregnant, your 13th-month-old has been right there—
you’ve all been together in very close proximity up until now—
so if anyone is getting the flu…
well, that ship sailed days ago when you first started feeling bad.

That’s how viral things work—they make the rounds before you even realize
they’re at work making the rounds.

“We’ve planned on coming tomorrow …
I don’t think the night is going to alter the course of viral destiny”

I calmly respond to a panicked first-time dad.

“We’ve had the flu shot.
We’ve all had the flu shot…
even Autumn had the flu shot…”

He practically wails apologetically with deep lamentations.

“Oh well” I quip a bit caustically.

For you see, at this very moment, I too was oddly not feeling well.
I felt chilled and suddenly zapped of all energy as well as slightly nauseated with a headache.

“Buck up,” I hear an inner voice commanding from someplace deep inside my head.

The satellite Woobooville office was all set-up and good to go—
awaiting our return back home with the Mayor.

‘We are to be on a rescue mission’
I defiantly proclaimed while trying to dismiss what my body was now feeling.

“I don’t feel well” I heard myself tell my husband…
“I’m going on to bed”

“But it’s just 9 o’clock”

“I can’t help it, I’m freezing”

About an hour later I was running a frighteningly odd yet very low-grade fever,
all the while I was violently shaking.

I asked for some Motrin.

And it was just about this very moment in time when my husband began complaining
about having the same symptoms.

This made for a very long, sleepless night of misery.

And yet we were still having to drive over to Atlanta bright and early to rescue the Mayor,
I was more than fretful.

That’s when I noticed how badly my left arm was hurting.

Hummmmmm…

For you see… I’ve failed to share with you that is was on that Monday
(last Monday as you read this today), that both my husband and myself went to get a shot.

A preventative vaccine mind you.

Similar to the preventative flu vaccine our son had gotten.

It was the Shingles shot.

When we went to our pharmacy on Monday Morning, in order to get the shots,
I explained to the pharmacist that we were planning on getting our
13-month-old granddaughter the following day…
so would she be ok with our getting the shot?

“Of course no problem.”

HA!

By Tuesday morning my arm was in full-blown shingles mode.

A burn/bruise-like area the size of a large eggplant covered my arm—
but not at the injection site.
It hurt terribly on a deep level yet was itchy on an up top level.

Eyes now rolling in my head.

My husband had no rash but redness at the injection site along with a
horrific headache, fever and chills.

We struggled to get ourselves up and dressed…
Yet we loaded up the car and headed off to the Mayor’s.

Our son was to be out of town the coming weekend and desperately was trying to
make that still happen—
he stayed home the day we arrived but went on into work the following days
as not to miss any more work.

In the meanwhile, the Mayor came home with us.

They had fretted how she might be feeling.

The Mayor, however, was having none of this as she felt great.
In fact, she was feeling so great, she was actually a live wire—
albeit a live wire with a
very runny and snotty nose.

The next day, I noticed I now had a sore throat and a very cloggy snotty nose
and a headache…
still with my eggplant looking “faux” shingle rash.

The Mayor’s aides were more than puny.
And keeping up with a live wire when feeling puny makes for a tough go.

I called the doctor telling the nurse what was going on.

She calls back the following day.

“Yeah, we’ve heard this shot has had those sorts of reactions…
but as it’s a two-part shot, you’ll need to follow up with the booster
in a couple of months.”

“And get the very viral infection I was trying to avoid in the first place
for a second time??!!”
I incredulously announce rather than ask.
“Thanks but no thanks,” I reply before curtly hanging up.

A week before we picked up the Mayor for her visit, our daughter-n-law informed
her OBGYN that her baby daughter, aka the Mayor,
had gotten what was thought to be Fifth’s Disease.

Such a name comes from the all-knowing medical folks who simply ran out of things
to say when telling everyone
“oh, it’s just a viral infection– you’ll simply have to wait it out”

They decided to give the latest “wait it out” illness a name.
Fifths Disease.

Now if you count Sunday day one in the week…then this disease was named on
Thursday…the fifth day of the week.
But if you’re like most working folks, you count Monday as the first day of the week,
which in turn makes Friday the actual day Fifth’s Disease was named—-
and Lord knows we couldn’t
name a random disease after everyone’s favorite day of the week…
hence the name–Fifth’s Disease.

After having blood drawn then processed, the nurse calls to inform our
daughter-n-law that she is actually immune from Fifth’s Disease.

Who knew one to be immune from a virus?!

Kind of what I was hoping to be from the Shingles.
Immune.

Go figure!

Should the Mayor come down with the Chicken Pox,
knowing I’d eventually be a helping nurse,
I didn’t want to, in turn, get the shingles—
since I had the chicken pox at age 5.

So it turns out that all I had to do was to get the preventative vaccination
and I’d in turn, get the virus.
Kind of like our son and the flu.

Is this beginning to smell of something fishy—
like a little pharmaceutical racket???

Ahh, but I digress.

And so a very rotten puny me headed back to Atlanta Friday,
following the torrential downpours,
in order to take the Mayor home and to spend the weekend with our daughter-n-law while
our not so well son went on out of town as planned.

That had been the plan.

The plan before all the shots made everyone sick.

Our daughter-n-law’s faculty friends were giving her a baby shower for the new baby
(aka the new sheriff in town) on Saturday—
I was to go along with her and the Mayor.

We eventually did—and it was a lovely gathering…
A great bunch of Catholic Parochial school teachers.

Yet all the while… I had a Shingle’s arm and flu-like symptoms from
what our son must have passed along via the Mayor.

Did I mention that we, as in my daughter-n-law, the Mayor and myself
were having to dog sit?
As in a friend of our son’s was leaving his boy dog in their care.
As in an unfixed boy dog that is actually a herding dog…
as in a herding sheep sort of dog?
A herding sheep sort of dog that is oddly being made to be an indoor
pet named Alf.

All the makings of a worst case scenario.

He is a nice enough dog that is wound up like a nervous ninny–
hence the suppressed need to be herding…

And so it fell upon the Mayor to be the chosen item for herding—

despite the Mayor’s wailful protests.


(The Mayor and her watchdog Alf / Julie Cook / 2019)

Think indoor chaos.
Indoor chaos for a sick chief aide and an 8-month pregnant overworked teacher and an impatient
13-month old Mayor.

Note, the Mayor’s actual dog Alice is on a long term vacation due to the arrival of
the herding indoor non-fixed sheepdog.

I was actually supposed to stay until tomorrow, until when our son got home—
however, I was slowly dying and desperately needed to head home as soon as possible
so I could simply crash and burn in the comfort of my own home…

But before I do so… crash and burn that is—
allow me to briefly share with you about our having watched the new Mary Poppins movie
with the Mayor Saturday evening.

Now back in 1964 when the original Mary Poppins movie debuted, I was 5.
My dad, a big kid himself, made certain to take me to see the movie in the theater.

Granted I’ve rewatched the movie throughout the years ever since that year of 1964…
yet I have oddly never been a huge fan.
I liked it well enough as a child but found it to be somewhat odd and boring.

Maybe I just wasn’t a musical loving child at the time.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve always loved Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke…but the movie
didn’t do much for me when I was a little girl.

However, while I was there helping, or more like dying–
whichever way you’d like to look at it,
my daughter-n-law suggested we watch the movie.
She told me she thought I’d love this latest new version.

They had just gotten a new television and I must confess, not being a huge TV
nut like our son or even like my dad had been, I have to admit,
the picture quality was indeed amazing.

And yes I really did enjoy this new version versus that classic version
of my childhood—
Which is really quite something given the fact that I am never a huge fan of the re-makes.

Maybe it was because I was feeling poorly…very poorly.
Maybe it was because Dad will have been gone now 2 years tomorrow.
Maybe it was because there we were in what had been his house, dad’s house, and my house
and now their house…
all the while watching a movie whose story merely picked up 25 years past the original story…
picking up where the original movie’s children were now grown up with their own lives of bluster,
loss, and need—much like my own life.

But Mary Poppins, this enigmatic figure, who mysteriously yet magically appears in the most
timely of times, arriving out of a burst of stormy winds,
all at the singular moment when one is at their most dire times of need—
albeit one who has no idea of the depth of that need…
A time when one is in great need of her eclectic whimsy and almost militaristic regime
of peculiar order…

She arrives for the person who needs to be reminded that nothing is ever truly lost.
She reminds her charges that those things, which at first glance appear to be impossible,
are never really that way at all but are actually possible all along…
for it’s all just a matter of one’s perspective.

And so I found my thoughts dancing over to the idea of our relationship with our loving Father,
the Great I AM…

He who comes not in the earthquake or the fire, or the storm…
but the One who rather comes to us in the stillness of a whisper…
always reminding us that with Him, nothing is ever lost nor is it ever impossible.

So thank you Mary Poppins…maybe it was the fever talking, but thank you for reminding me
that with God, nothing, in particularly me, is ever lost… and no matter what I do,
with God’s help, all things are indeed possible…

Oh, and when “they” tell you to get the shot…run like hell the other way.

But Jesus looked at them and said,
“With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Matthew 19:26

We’re off to see the Mayor…

Grandchildren are the dots that connect the lines from generation to generation.
Lois Wyse


(an unhappy Mayor / Abby Cook / 2019)

Just look at that face.
It’s like I told someone…if looks could kill, everyone in that hair salon would be dead!

Yet the Mayor needed another trim in order to get that hair out of her eyes.
Woobooville needs to be run by a mayor who can clearly see what is set before her…
none of this fuzzy governmental mess for our Mayor!

And so on that note, we’ve scooted over to Atlanta and will be bringing the Mayor home with us
for a couple of days…for some needed R and R while working out of the satellite
Woobooville office.

Between haircuts, time changes and the gearing up for the arrival of a new brother …
the Mayor is just doing her best to hold it together.

But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of,
because you know those from whom you learned it,
and how from infancy you have known the Holy Scriptures,
which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus.

2 Timothy 3:14-15

heartbeat

Listen to your heart when he’s calling for you
Listen to your heart there’s nothing else you can do

Lyrics to Listen to Your Heart by Roxette

The heartbeat…the rhythm of life…or….when it stops without restarting,
becomes an ending…an ending that results in death.

The stopping of the heart is the sole signal to all present that life has passed from
that of the brief to that of the unending.

And so why might it be important that doctors tell us that a baby in the womb,
a fetus’s heartbeat, can be detected by six weeks old?

Would that mean that life, life as we know it, begins at a mere six weeks following inception?

Just a month and two weeks old inside the womb, a baby’s heart beats on its own.

Making this being a separate entity from that of the mother.
Two as one and one as two…

For centuries prior to modern medical technology, those in the know, be it
physicians or priests would be the official determiners of the passing of a life—
They had the final say as to whether or not there was a detected heartbeat.
Much like the attending physician or the coroner today—
they are the ones who sign off on the official death certificates, they were and remain,
in essence, the harbingers of death.

The notion of a heartbeat determining life dates back for centuries…
going back to the ages long before the birth of Christ.

Gilgamesh, the hero-king in the Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh uttered the following lament on
the death of his best friend in 2600 BC:

“I touch his heart but it does not beat at all.”
Gilgamesh, c. 2600 BC

The passage is thought to be the earliest reference to pulse-taking indicating that,
as early as 2600 years BC, man understood that the heart beats and can be palpated.

The National Library of Medicine

Be it ancient Mesopotamia or ancient Egypt, man appears to have long understood the correlation
between the beating of a heart and that of life:

So perhaps it should come as no surprise that the idea of a heartbeat is to be a deciding
factor in regards to a baby in the womb…a heartbeat determining whether or not the unborn
baby is truly a living entity vs that of a simple mishmash of cells and fluid.

Georgia’s House Bill 481, which would ban abortions once a doctor can detect a
heartbeat in the fetus, was put to a vote Thursday evening.

The bill passed… but not without issue.

WSB news reported that:
In a remarkable show of defiance, House Democrats turned their backs on the Acworth lawmaker
sponsoring the so-called heartbeat bill before it was introduced.”
Acworth lawmaker Ed Setzler did continue,
explaining why he believes Georgia should ban abortion after six weeks, instead of 20 weeks,
as under current law.
“It seeks to recognize that the child in the womb that is living distinct from their mother
has a right of life that is worthy of protection,” Seltzer said.

But even as Setzler spoke, some Democrats walked off the floor.

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported that the response of some Democratic members…
“This is what women will be relegated to,” said state Rep. Park Cannon
outside the House chamber.
The Atlanta Democrat held a hanger with the names of Republican supporters
of the bill, hinting at the tool some women used to end their pregnancies
before abortion was legal in the country.
AJC

Today there have been growing protests outside of the state capital with more defiance planned as
opponents and Democrats have pledged to rally in order to fight this bill before
the Governor signs it into law.

My question, because I honestly don’t understand, is why do a majority of Republicans
and Conservatives believe in life while a majority of Democrats and
Progressive Liberals believe in death?

A heartbeat is the telling sign of life.
Why then would anyone argue otherwise?

May we as a Nation choose life…

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my
portion forever.

Psalm 73:26