The Bear Report

By Bear

Hi Everyone, it's me Bear.

It's been a while since my paws have graced this keyboard. I have been doing my job watching Daddy and playing football with him. That's right; football. Daddy bought me one and I love it. It even has the team colors of our favorite team - the Chiefs.

Daddy has been doing a lot of work with the TV's and speakers. He gets the ladder out and disappears on top of the roof. I hate it when he does that because I can't go up there with him. I can hear him on the ceiling and I get upset. Sometimes I just sit around and howl until he comes back down.

When Daddy comes back in the house he is soaking wet and dirty. I think he found a good place to swim and roll, but he doesn't look like he was having fun.

Sunday, he put a piece of furniture together. It was a TV stand for the front room. He is always doing something with his tools. Some of them make lots of noise. Sometimes he makes noise, like when he hits his thumb with a hammer.

LJ has been home all summer and he throws the football for me some. He will be going back to school in about a month. I like it when people are around. Before I know it though, I will be alone all day again, sigh.

I have had some fun. On the Fourth of July Mommy and Daddy ran in a race at the park. After the race, Daddy came home and got me and we went back to the park. I got to eat hot dogs and chicken from his jambalaya. There were other dogs there too and I got to play with them some.

For the last three weeks, Daddy has been watching the Tour de France. It finished yesterday and Floyd Landis won the yellow jersey. That means an American won the race 8 years in a row. I couldn't imagine riding a bike 2,200 miles. Come to think of it, I couldn't imagine riding a bike at all.

I better end this so Daddy can take me for a walk. I don't want to keep him waiting.

I hope you have a nice Monday.

Bye for now,
Bear

One small step . . .

On July 20, 1969 I was 12 years old. I was at Boy Scout camp in the Kansas City area; Camp Naish.

That evening the campers huddled in an outdoor shelter and gazed at a small black and white television. We watched in amazement the grainy video as Neil Armstrong stepped from the lunar module to the surface of the moon.

I was a little boy, but I believed my country could do anything. That made me believe that maybe I could do anything too.

Man is incredible in that he can do magnificent good and yet unimaginable evil. If a large group of us embark on a mission and employ selflessness and single mindedness we have very few limits.

Man's potential is largely untapped because of bickering and selfishness. As one preacher put it, "We are like millionaires writing ten cent checks."

I am not giving up on us just yet however. If we could walk on the moon that long ago - what could we do today if we set our minds to a task?

That night was 37 years ago. Were you alive then? What were you doing?

Here's to potential.

Until the next time
John Strain

A tattered business card

Sometimes in my line of work you encounter someone who grabs your heart. Today was one of those days.

We take care of people with chronic mental illness so we see them again and again. Some of the patients have pretty good support. They have families or someone in their lives that look out for them. Others are less fortunate.

One of those less fortunate, I will call Rusty. Tuesday afternoon I got a call from the receptionist. She said there was someone up front who was asking for me and said he needed to come into the hospital.

I walked up front and saw Rusty sitting in the lobby. He was a mess. His clothes were dirty and drenched with sweat. Rusty was talking rapidly in short choppy sentences. He was shaking and his legs were wiggling and he could not sit still.

Rusty had been the victim of a crime. I won't go into just what and where, but it involved abuse of a physical and sexual nature. He was hurt and scared. I asked him if he had told anyone about the crime and he said no. "I kept my mouth quiet until I got hear because that is the best thing to do."

In his own simple words Rusty told me what had happened to him. He had been victimized by some brutal animals in human form. He kept repeating himself and I tried to give him comfort and assurance.

At 45 years old Rusty is not a child, but his mental age is. He has led a difficult life and has burned all of his bridges with his family. His mother is simply unable to manage him. To protect herself, she had to put him out. Believe me when I say, she tried but she really had no alternative.

Rusty hasn't stayed in group homes or anywhere very long. The right kind of place does not exist for him. The best place in recent times is a small camper / trailer in the woods on some land his boss owns. Rusty does some work performing manual labor and he seems content in his setting.

Unfortunately someone with schizoaffective disorder and mild mental retardation is an easy mark for low life predators. Three hell bound men had their way with Rusty and I am sure their cruelty will leave scars unimaginable.

Their time will come.

As I talked with him writing down the details of what happened and assessing him for injury, Rusty reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He dug around in the billfold laying cards and pieces of paper on my desk, then he said, "I still have this that you gave me."

He handed me one of my old business cards very tattered and torn. It was soft and worn from years in his billfold. It was barely readable and the corners were worn away. On the back of the card I had written down his mother's name and her phone number, but some of the numbers had been rubbed off from wear. “I can’t call my mother because the numbers are gone,” he said.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was who he came to when he was in trouble. For Rusty and others, I may be all they have. I say this not just about myself, but other healthcare workers as well. If we do not help them, who will?

I felt a lot of feelings this afternoon. I felt sad for Rusty and had compassion for him. He seemed like an abused puppy. I felt anger toward the people who hurt him, but I know God will handle up on them. I felt proud and honored to know I was who someone would turn to in a time of crisis. I felt a renewed responsibility and importance for what I do.

We sent Rusty to the emergency room to get checked out. He will return to us and we will get him back on his feet.

I still have the tattered business card. I gave Rusty a new one. I think I will frame the old one and put it some place where I will see it often. Those tattered edges and faded words will be a call to action for me and a reminder that there are people depending on me.

Until the next time
John Strain

PS: Today is my 3rd Blogaversary

Kenny Chesney

Kenny Chesney is playing a concert in New Orleans this Thursday night. Guess where I will be?

Until the next time
John Strain

Beating the heat

A fact of life in Louisiana is the heat. Complaining about it is like griping about snow in Alaska. When it comes to running though, heat is more than an annoyance, it can be dangerous too.

My next marathon is Labor Day in Tupelo, Mississippi so I have to run long distances in the heat. It wouldn't be so bad if I were to get up and run at 5:00 AM or even 6:00 AM, but lately I have been getting out the door around 8:00 AM and 8:30 AM on the weekends to do my long run.

Yesterday was one of those late days. It was 9:00 AM and the temperature was already 90 degrees. The heat doesn't just make you suffer, it hurts the workout. I have been struggling just to finish my long runs, much less do the proper pacing; speed up as you go.

So instead of broiling in the hot sun, I ran the mile to the gym and put in my 12 miles on the treadmill. The treadmill offers a cooler environment, but the boring factor goes way up.

The bank of television sets in front of the line of treadmills are too far away for me to see, so I usually just run and look at the same old never changing scenery. It is a different kind of struggle that is really a toss up. Do I want to be bored out of my mind, or do I want to roast?

I opted for the boredom yesterday. Only this time, I took the iPod. I never have listened to music while running. One reason is I can't see very well so I depend on my ears to alert me to cars and bicycles coming my way.

That wouldn't be a problem in the gym. If a car runs over me while I am on the treadmill on the second floor of the gym, then it was my time and being zoned out on Jimi Hendrix wouldn't be the reason for my demise.

Another reason I have resisted the iPod is I like to just be outside and listen to what is there. Birds, barking dogs, children playing, and the sound of my feet hitting the pavement is my playlist.

It was an interesting experience. The music really cut into the boring factor. Time seemed to pass more quickly. Some songs were motivational and gave me a boost of energy. I actually enjoyed the 12 miles and my pacing was good. I slowly sped up over the hour and a half and finished fast.

Something else. On my way home, I just walked the mile instead of jogging easily. I kept the iPod on and it was interesting walking hearing the music. It was like watching a movie. I had a soundtrack playing for the sights I was seeing.

I don't think I am going to start running with the iPod, but when I don't get out the door early enough on the weekends, it will be easier to go to the gym and endure the treadmill as long as I have my music machine with me.

Keep cool folks.

Until the next time
John Strain