Tag: famoly ties

Ripple in the pond

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Nine lives, ninety-nine petitions

Psalm 27:14 “Wait on the Lord. Be courageous and wait on the Lord.”

There are days our hearts wake up heavy. Those days thoughts are not about self or the duties of the day. The mind wanders constantly. Distraction almost keeps us from doing our chores and forgetfulness of the present often leads to slicing a finger during the meal preparation. Today is one of those days for me.

I woke up thinking of the petitions that I needed to bring before my Lord. The supply that others are lacking. The need for God to intervene and lend us His supernatural aid.

1 The first person on my mind is my sister. Her recent bout with the influenza virus though undetectable by tests has led to complications. The weakness and fatigue that she feels has everyone who knows her concerned for her health and well-being. Times like these bring families together. Even if it is in distant messaging and phone calling. We are all pulling for her and desperate for God’s intervention on her behalf. Knowing what illness discouragement is like, makes me ache to shower her with love.

2 And because of her, I am drawn to the relationship of sisters. So my heart aches for my sister-in-law and her sister. Her sister has been battling cancer for four years now. Yet she courageously battles on. She lives each day viciously enjoying every detail in it.

3 The thoughts pull me towards relatives who have had to say goodbye recently. My cousin’s son has lost a half-brother in an unfortunate gun accident. The little guy was only three. Tears come quite readily when I think of this little one and his fifth-grade brother. My cousin’s son had his own brush with death just a year ago. Pinned to a fence by a fallen horse, he lost his spleen. Because of the rupture, his life will never be the rough and tumble boy-hood that a typical child lives.

4 Typical life, makes me think of my husband’s physical struggle right now. Dealing with neck pain and numbness that travels down his right arm, has nearly debilitated his work pattern. Working a typical ten to twelve hour day has not been easy. The pain has kept him from good night’s rest and from comforts of all sort. Living with pain on a twenty-four house basis led him to seek medical attention. He really hates doctoring and such.

5 There are those whose lives are constant pain yet they manage to reach out to others anyway. My mother’s neighbor is one of those. Ex-military man, Mr. Red, (mom can’t remember his actual name, this is his nick-name) fought in Iraq and has had complications ever since. Deafness, and other illnesses have followed him ever since. Tomorrow they remove one of his kidneys because of cancer. He has no close family so a distant cousin will be his stand-by. She is a retired nurse. So many requests.

6 Distant relatives turns me to my calendar prayer list. Every day I pray for the people that have birthdays that land on the number day it happens to be. Today my sister-in-law is alone on the list. Yet as a young mother of three and married to my brother adds four more names to my pettioning. She is such a sweetheart. Planning for her sister’s first baby shower moves me on to more “first” moment prayer concerns.

7 My daughter is expecting her first this spring and the excitement has all the auntie-Bee’s a buzzing! Getting busy on that afghan I planned to crochet gets me to thinking this blog better get done and my fingers ought to get busy with that.

8 Bunny trail thinking takes me back to the cute pictures that my sister-in-law has sent of her littlest one. Considering nephew thoughts leads me to two other nephews of mine who need the Lord’s direction and guidance. The first nephew that was born in our family has a birthday the eighth month of the year, so that would be my sister’s boy. She is the one with the flu complications. He is so worried about his mother. And plans to fly back for her docto appointments. Though he is far away his desire to take care of his mother is very honorable.

9 The oldest nephew on the other side of the family has decided that his dear little ones need more family near them. So he has decided to take a job back in the area. The challenges of house hunting from a distance has them recalculating all the costs of their decision. Moving is not as easy a process when one has a family and responsibilities.

These nine people have a ripple effect of petitions that could keep me on my knees all day. But there are chores to do. One of my favorite Bible characters is Esther. Study of her life in the book of her name in the Old Testament is one of my favorite things to do. She had a passion to save her people. So rather than hiding in a closet for three days before she went to the King with her plea, she fasted and prepared a meal of epic proportions. Her prayers, plans, and petitions worked. The King accepted her request to attend the meal she was preparing and her plea to save her people was heard. Being active while we pray is perfectly okay. So while I go out to cool down my geo-dome greenhouse on this warm sunny day, may God hear my prayers for theses dear people.

This project I did last fall after my rib was broken, is the start of a favorite pattern study. It is called “Ripple In the Pond.” Every person that ever exists has a ripple in the pond effect on all the people who know them, and on some who don’t. Yesterday my daughter’s boss was sharing with us the book that he recently read about Hugh Glass. His life had a huge ripple-in-the-pond because of his life as a sea captain, military service, and exploration of the Old West (early 1800’s). It brought this crochet pattern back into my mind as I considered these nine people.

Every one has their own list of family, friends, and acquaintances. May you have such a ripple blessing on the pond of their lives.

Five fingers and toes

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A pinch of pink to come

This last week we were blessed to learn that our new little grand baby will be a girl!

While we overdid the pink thing with her mama some 24 years ago, the “Mama Llama” has informed us that a pinch of pink will be just enough.

Sunsets, and sunrises are the closest thing we have to ocean waves. Waves of grain. Mountains of corn and beans.

And the nursery theme for the little loved one has been chosen as baby whales.

In South Dakota? This land locked state? Taking a peek into the family lineage might give a clue as to why baby whales would be an adorable theme. There are Island genes from Hawaii, Japan, and Ireland. There is Viking blood, Norse blood, German Blood and English blood. Perhaps whaling is in this grand-daughter’s future!

The last five minutes of one day in December I finally caught a glimpse of the sun that was suppose to shine all day according to the forecast. Waiting for the sun to shine can seem endless when the days keep getting shorter.

thank goodness the days are now on the lengthening side.

While everyone else has been enjoying the fancy moon these last few days, I was sleeping in trying to chase away a sore throat. Either the sleep or the hot-salty water did the trick. I was thinking a lot about the ocean and whales each time I gargled. Though I have never seen a whale, the videos from planet earth and the BBC have been a big help. Trying to crochet a little whale has proved to be another challenge altogether. The above gem was trial number 20! God did not have to try twenty times on me or my daughter or her pinch of pink to come. He gets it right the first time!

Five fingers and toes on each little hand and foot could already be counted on the sonogram photos that we saw. Though perhaps all that she hears sounds something like “whale speak,” we know that somehow she will know the difference between mommy and grandma even at the earliest days. The photos don’t do here beauty justice as we anticipate what she will look like. No matter what, she will be absolutely beautiful. Psalm 139:13 says, “For You formed my inward parts; You crocheted me together in my mother’s womb.” Yes I know the actual word is knit, but since I am a crochet enthusiast, I prefer crochet. My mother would probably prefer quilt. That’s all beside the point. My prayer for this beautiful little soul is that she will know her creator from an early age. And that she will be happy with the way that He chose to put her together.

Ode to Chivalry and Stupidity

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When not to stay home

Yep, my husband is a re-born Knight from the Middle Ages. Nothing will stop him in his tracks. He is like a bloodhound on scent when he is on a mission of kindness.

As a young lad, he and his brother out-foxed the coyote, the deer, the pheasant and the snowstorms. There wasn’t a school snow day that they didn’t go hunting. Rather playing in the outdoors was not a sport as seen in the winter Olympic. Weather, wind, snow, and ice were just an excuse to trap some poor animal trying to beat the elements.

Not to be called an anti-hunting activist, I am thankful that my great white (snow covered) hunter can save my pets from preying beasts.

Knighthood and kindness has not been killed. This is proof that chivalry still exists every time old-man-winter tears his ugly head. The blowing snow has never been a foe to my beloved.

Until last Monday night.

Stupidity

Stupidity and chivalry really are synonymous.

Okay, maybe that was a little to blunt. Like the edge of that fish fillet knife buried in the tackle box in the closet. In all of our married years, i don’t think it has ever been out of it’s leather sheath. Oh, well. If there were no mosquitoes in the fishing world maybe fishing would be more appealing. My poor dear really hates mosquitoes. That’s why winter sport hunting has been more fun.

However, the last time there was a license on the table was for the Canadian whites that come through. And if I had any patience for soaking the wild meat longer and making it more taste worthy, perhaps my love would have brought more bunting home for his little ones.

So there, you have the old hunting fail stories. He and his brother used to have a lot fun going after critters. When livelihood comes into challenge because the critters are after the livestock, suddenly it’s not so fun anymore. We have lost lambs, ewes, ducks, geese, chickens, pigs, piglets, and kittens to wild coyote or fox. There just aren’t as many young teen males interested in late night rendezvous to go after a coyote or wild dog. There are times we can hear the coyotes calling to each other over their food.

So we took the blizzard warning quite seriously. Until it quit snowing. Then it just seemed right to go help scoop out the elderly and the invalid. Not in that order of course. The only reality in the whole thing, is that after scooping himself out of the snow bank, my dear hubby was feeling quite elderly and invalid!

There is a little book that we bought many years ago that was one of the girls favorite winter reads. The title is “The Snowplow.”

An ode to the evenings true knight in armor would definitely involve the sound of a Diesel engine and the impressive sound of the snow being chewed up and spewed out like a dinosaur-ish volacanic monster!

These last few days recovering from the shoveling has taken longer that it did years ago. I use to shovel out my own foxhole in a snowdrift just for fun. Now it took me three days to get an adequate path to my greenhouse that doesn’t include snow in my toes by the time I get there. Recovery to me is never about just resting and watching television. My preferred mode is crochet and a book to listen to while sitting with a warm buddy next to me. Thank goodness with Honey’s sprained toe/paw, she has been more willing to help keep me warm.

The above project is one that began nearly four years ago. I finally decided to just finish it as a set. Fingerless mittens, visor hat with buttons, and a turtle neck warmer should come in handy for the next blizzard event. Perhaps, Monday nights events will keep us closer to the cabin next time..

Casting shadows

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Second glance at second looks


recently, a friend of ours relayed to us a happenings to him at a funeral visitation that we had both attended. While walking across the room to give his condolences, an elderly women exclaimed, “Why you haven’t aged one bit. How are you these days>”. He did not have the heart to tell her that he was not his father and that he had not indeed gone to night school with her. She had glanced at him and saw her old high school friend. While his second look at her reminded him just how elderly his father really was. This second glance at her second look towards him had not made him feel good because he had not aged. In reality it had made him feel old if he must look like his father.

There is nothing more defining in one’s life than finding out that one is soon to be a grandma.  The expectation of the little child for the first time brings out the raw emotions of pride, joy, hope, and humility.

There is a pride that puffs up one’s self-esteem in a very raw manner.  Pride of life and love for the expecting and for the expected.  As we anticipate the generations to follow and the brag books and the boasting power.  So many thoughts that bring about a healthy pride of life that is more joy than pride.

There is a joy that threads its way into all of life when one is going to be a grandparent.  Children bring energy and joy to the faces of the aged.  They also define one’s age in a telltale way that only hits the heart of the beholder in sudden reality of mortality.  So it was with that defining of who I am that drove me to pick up my Grandma Mildred Meeder’s handwritten genealogy.  It’s pages were copied by the xerox copy machine and the lines thus faded, led me to thinking of so many things.

The hope of a little one to do things for and with pulls from me a meandering thought pattern that is surreal.  Was this the kind of hope that kept my grandparents going from visit to visit?

Just down the road from us lies a neighborhood cemetery.  In that internment are the bones of some of my husband’s relatives.  His grandma once planted two small pine trees next to the graves of her parents. For nearly 80 years those trees marked the corner and the view of them signaled an ‘almost home’ feeling that kept us alert the last few miles of the drive home.  One dog that we had felt the emotion so strongly that it would succumb to sleep the last few miles as the peace attended his body.  When the windstorm in 2015 toppled those tall trees, our hearts were saddened by the loss of our relatives touch into our everyday life.

The two trees, their shade,  their shape on the horizon against the sky, the casting of shadows in to the future or rather the fingerprint of the past on our lives is now gone.

Yet  the physical traits of the past generations live on in the family that I now know.  There is a general tendency to proclaim likenesses upon the faces of infants.  Sometimes those traits aren’t even there. But the resemblance of the generations carries into the future on each little face.  To the point that this casting of shadows is fascinating to me.

Casting Shadows

While the rising sun behind me gets

the long list of names and lineage begets

A student of lines that my grandmother wrote

Of histories and births and death she note

The ages etched in my fingers and face

Past and present sent forth in lace

Were I like her in all that beauty

Were I like them in honour and duty

Their lives of dust now blots of ink

My shadow cast into a future ink

Look there, now gone the sun bids fade

Behold what lies beneath the tree of shade

_-Yvonne Clark October 30, 2017

Chasing leaves

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Why does the wind get to have all the fun

The other morning when my daughter and I shared breakfast table time, she began laughing our loud and proclaimed, “that little black kitten is chasing leaves.”  I was amused by her joy at the cat’s expense.  


Chasing leaves might be an endless game this time of year.  With the high wind warnings on the weather radar, this week brought the new carpet to the backyard quite quickly.  I was amused to catch a glimpse of our five month old golden-doodle chasing a leaf today also.  Not so amused to be aroused at sunrise with her ferocious  barking at the deer in the yard through the picture window in the living room.  Chasing things must have been “in the wind” today as a neighborhood black doodle came through the front yard later after said-same deer!

Chasing leaves is how I feel about cleaning this time of year.  The crumbles, and dusties of fall find their way into the house as readily as those pesky little Asian beetles.  Once the harvest begins the little imposter ladybugs must find a new home.  Mine seems to be the best, I quess.  Once the leaves get blown across the township, maybe the cleaning will let up.  But I hear snow might fly first and then it won’t be so easy to remove the soggy mess.

Chasing leaves right out of fall and into winter reminds that there are some decoration changes to be had soon.  While my sister’s have fall birthdays and enjoy putting up all of their fall what-nots our early in September, my birthday is in spring.  So having a “forever-spring” greenhouse is far more fascinating than rearranging all of my surfaces to make room for a seasonal decoration theme.  However, I have always loved playing in the snow and my snowman collection will have to come out soon.  The law of flat surfaces is alive and well in my home, so there will be a big cleaning festival before the collection can find its winter place on those spaces.

Chasing leaves back into their pile might be fun as a child when the joy of scattering them as one jumps into the mound, but as an adult getting the unruly back into submission is less captivating.  Today as I observed my puppy’s lack of restraint when greeting newcomers it occurred to me that perhaps it might be easier to put the leaves back on the tree than to get her to sit when every ounce of her being springs forward at excitement.  We set up class for her and I for the next six weeks.  We will soon find out of getting her to obey is something like trying to gather leaves into a pile with a northwest gale!

So while you consider the change of the seasons, find a few leaves to kick around.  Be a child for a few minutes as you kick up some joy.  Imagine yourself stronger than the wind as you puff at the pile!

The long mile

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Road trip memoir

While walking the section today with our overly energetic golden doodle Honey, my thoughts fell into rhythm with my steps.  We are the only residence on our section.  There are two neighbors that live next to us, one to the west and one to the north.  So excepting the harvest activity it is rather a quiet walk.  Two grain trucks, one pickup and one combine greeted us.  Okay their drivers did.  Because our house lies in the middle of the section mile, the first corner is an easy jaunt.  The trek to the next corner southeast of us is also easy, because of the creek bed that breaks the walk up with its rolling terrain.  The long mile is the one in the middle.  Heading north on the east gravel road always gets me a little down.  It seems so long because there is really nothing to break up the distance in topography.  Looking off to the west the view of our acreage never seems to change.  It is a long mile away as the bird flies for the whole corner to corner march.  I find that my mind tends to be plagued with thoughts of “have I missed the turn” and “where is that hayfield anyways?” and “just put one foot in front of the other.”

The long mile is the one in the middle.

With the first suggestion of a road trip to Ohio and Pennsylvania to see my niece and nephew (my two elder sister’s first children) my anxiety over the trip nearly caused me to say no thanks.  I am not the best traveler for various reasons and sitting prolonged periods of time is not usually my favorite thing.  Crochet helps the sitting seem less endless.  

Then when my rib healed in it’s allotted timeframe, I decided I had no excuses.  Besides it would give me a captive audience for my entertaining mindset.  As a child I clearly remember mealtime as the opportune moment to crack jokes and tell stories.. I was always the final person to leave the table.  I took my role back immediately upon the first meal break from the vehicle.  While it was mentioned that perhaps the best suit for a birthday party was a birthday suit, I quipped in response “One must live life with no regrets, and that might be regretful.” Whereupon the eldest of daughters at the table nearly choked on her sandwich in laughter.  We had decided that what was spoken or confessed in the vehicle ought to stay in the vehicle.  The accountant in the family quickly proclaimed that the “birthday suit” conversation had not happened in the vehicle.  Bummer.  The whole scenario of four women traveling together soon became family “trip-tweets” (group messages) that divulged the whole secrets of women in the same family taking a road trip together.

The tattle tale was the child in the middle.

Collecting things has always been our mother’s joy on journeys.  Whether if its rocks, leaves, acorns or maps, she can always find something to collect.  Because the trip was an ‘on-a-mission’ trip to see the first and second grandchildren, and the first great-granddaughter, there was no time for the number outs antique malls, state parks, river views, or shopping establishments that we sped past.  However, because a driver so loves backseat navigators, my mother had to collect a map from each state that we entered.  At one point on the road when the rest stop did not have a map, there was a half purposed visit to the rest area on the return trip, “Because maybe they’ll have a map of this state here.”

Geography was fun for me once.  But these days the maps are mostly in my head.l My eyesight doesn’t make it very easy to view the map, so the visual just remains in the modem..And because I never drive anywhere I refuse to learn my google map app on my phone.  It saves me the trouble of having to watch for things that I can’t see anyways.  Like street signs and road signs that aren’t boldface type!  At one city during the ride, my eldest sister, who did all the driving, asked sister number two in the front passenger seat to pull up her phone navigation so that she would have a second set of directions.  My mother thought that it was quite vascinating that though there had previously been four women in the car, now there were six women.  And add to that the fact tat these last two entrants, Ms. Garmin, and Miss Google couldn’t seem to agree.  Later in in the drive through Pittsburg, she declared them to be fighting and our trip had been so peaceful until that moment of disagreement.  Well, we thought it was all pretty funny except for the downtown slum passageway out of the city.  


The best part of the trip was the middle.

Visiting the niece, nephew, his wife, and the grand-niece proved to be quite worthy of the effort.  The stories of our adventures will be told and retold through the years to come.  The joy of the nieces lives and the zest for busy-ness with a two year old will keep the tales going.  When you have four generations in one room it is always the youngest that gets the most attention.  And her busy little mind can make all the adults suddenly speak “toddler!”

The long hours of visiting and the baby of the family joining by face-time will not be forgotten.  And though the long miles of the the middle days were hard on the body, the comrade rice of family togetherness was worth the sore backs.  Having common bonds makes the togetherness even more vi….  Our family has been blessed to all be of the same mind in Christ also.  The daily devotions, prayers for meals, and safety, and the conversation that kept our minds on things above were special moments.  Though we took all interstates, highways and avoided toll-roads, this poem that I wrote to music a number of years ago seems to fit this memoir of our trip.

The Road Less Traveled

There;s a road less traveled, And yet it leads to more.

A journey full of blessings, and the end so much more.

Jesus, Lord, and Master, Savior, King and Friend,

I will follow when you call me Knowing eternity has no end.

Oh, the road less traveled  Is narrow and unsure

Difficult the passage. Of those who’ve gone before

Jesus, Lord and master, Savior, King and Friend

I will follow where you lead me. Knowing eternity has no end.

The journey has a Shepherd. Counselor and Lord

My Shiled and My Comfort. Deliverer and more

Jesus, Lord and Master, Savior, King and Friend,

A know that You are with me on this journey that has no end.

There’s a road less traveled And yet it leads to more

The journey full of blessings And the end so much more

—Yvonne Clark, October 29, 2993


Back to the drawing board

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What is normal?

The day when writing a letter was an option again, found me listing all the things that I had not been able to do for the past six weeks. Raising my right arm into a chicken wing position to write letters was one of them. 

Normal  has a definition. “Conforming to the usual, typical or expected” is what most dictionaries quip.  One’s standard of normal however is often self-relevant. In other words, my normal is not your normal. Anything measured has a standard normalcy. But about the only thing measured in my life this last month is how many pain pills were needed to make it to the end of the day while remaining upright. 

So now that normal is approaching, behaving so that the rib can have it’s goal healing time is far from normal to me. Doing things the old-way is so easy until it suddenly is not 

Writing letters to dear ones comes easy at times. Words for those closest to me however seems lost. With the conveniences of phone calls and texting, the pen and paper are no longer normal. What more is there to say I tell myself as I sit before the empty pages. 

Other mothers or fathers have done such a thorough job of imparting their wisdom. A brief look at the list of “letters to my daughter” on the search engine proves my point. I’m really not sure at this time in our lives that I have anything new to write to my girls. 

Then I come across a list of what parents are to impart to adult children, failure finds my eyes sweating profusely. Step up to the image of good parent and the measurement seems quite lacking. What is normal -I find myself in the category there. Perhaps this checking out normal is a bad decision. 

Writing is only for the few. Normal is only relative to one’s own expectation.  Thank goodness my girls live in the day of easy phone calls and conversations. Thank goodness I can create a new normal any day I so choose. If perhaps I can figure out what to say on part to my adult children then maybe perhaps I will behind writing. Until then there are thousands of books to comb through.  Somebody has already written a few million words to their child. 

I will just keep doing my normal letter writing. And normal does not have to be re-defined for me. 

Phew! At least I talked myself out if that one! I love my daughters and son-in-law; thanks for not expecting a usually typical letter from your mom.

From head to toe and now ribs, oh no!

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The daily surprise of RP

Everyone loves surprises, right? Well if you are talking about birthdays or gifts of course. If you are considering accidents and natural disasters NO!  

Living with retinitis pigmentosa involves an element of surprise that for the most part includes chaos and a lot of spilled milk!  The first body parts to suffer are the toes and the head. Unless the person with RP wears  steel- toe boots there’s a sure factor that there will be some broken toes.  

The funniest broken toe problem that I had was when I grabbed to left shoes to wear at church and didn’t check them until church. On top of that we were headed to take our eight year old to camp after that. So it was a Kmart stop on the way to Des Moines for a pair of flip-flops so that little toe could be free to be fat as it pleased! I remember walking through Kmart barefooted and wondering if they would kick us out!

RP loves foreheads, faces and noses. The greetings to those unsuspecting places can occur daily when one is tired. The not so funniest moment for me was when the teeter totter kissed me right between the eyes!  The whack could be heard throughout the whole acreage.  I had picked up a snake and was going to scarce my husband with it when the end of the see-saw bit me pretty hard. I flew back and landed on my back knocking the breath out of me. Should have been on video. We could have won with that one!  I broke my nose that time.  

Kitchen cabinets should roll up like roll-top desks. Who ever decided hinges were a universal cabinet feature did not have RP.  Every time we moved to a new house I learned by the school of hard-knocks about the cabinet doors. When will we ever learn to shut those doors right away?  If you have RP and live with someone that does not-the kitchen can be a war-zone of dishwasher doors and such. I have a permanent dent in one shin from the dishwasher door.  Uffda!

I use to claim that I never broke any bones. Well it just wasn’t as noticeable. The toe or the nose doesn’t get a cast for your friends to sign. My sister broke her arm going down the slide as a child. I remember helping her get dressed. That was the era of girls shirts that buttoned in back. Really we had to help each other before the casted arm. Not sure why I remember it especially as a casted arm thing. 

My grandmother was the first family member to have the degenerative eyesight. I don’t remember that she ever broke anything until her age related osteoporosis began to affect her life.  However I have an uncle with the disease that broke his leg during his career from a stair step fall. It was a pretty bad break.  The story helped me to be quite cautious of stairways. His hanging back two steps behind other walking companions has kept him from further accidents. He has not adopted a trusty walking-cane yet. Never understood why. 

My father also inherited the disease. His numerous broken bones began quite early in his twenties. But his cowboy behavior was the beginning of many woes. The more dangerous approach for him has been using a cane, a GPS device and walking in an old community with various pitfalls and oddball curbs. His favorite saying is “Concrete doesn’t give!” (Meaning budge, move, or dent.) Bones are no match for concrete. The hard cement wins every time.  We are all a little glad his GPS will not hold a charge anymore. The hospital doesn’t need anymore of his hard earned money. 

So how did this rib-thing happen anyhow? I was headed back to bed when the doggie gate I had placed in front of the door greeted me and the rug under my left foot slipped backwards. My ribs hit the gate with full hug force.  The blow took away my breathe and the rest is history that I don’t want to repeat. Needless to say, I have already planned to give the gates away. My memory doesn’t serve me any better than my eyesight, so tripping triumphs can’t exist in my home anymore!  

The puppy that caused me to think that I needed the gates in the first place has been spending more time outdoors. She may have learned something about compassion from the whole experience. Gentle, and sit NEXT to me are now part of our vocabulary. 

Those eyes! Usually what people say when looking at a gorgeous baby. Or blue eyes that are deep pools of water. Well, for those of us with RP those eyes are sometimes not very helpful. So getting a dog that will truly be a “watch” dog is a great goal of mine. Teaching “those eyes” to be my eyes might just break me-literally!  I sure hope we can learn from our mistakes and keep my home a safe-zone from now on.