A Prescription for Any Day.

My beloved and I took in some R+R today, especially since she has been house-bound for the week due to a tooth-pull drama that didn't go so well. We drove the few country miles to Morpeth, our local arty-crafty village downstream. On arrival Sharyn promptly bought some medication to ease her mouthful of unremitting pain.

Although I had a sore ankle, we strolled leisurely and eyed-off oodles of 'stuff'. We absorbed a smothering array of smells, colours and textures, of domestic adornments, trip hazards and artifacts. It is amazing what people can make and what people will attempt to sell as 'feel-goods'. Morpeth is a village oozing with those things people will buy to satisfy their longings and impulses so as to decorate that wall or sideboard or corner at home. Not to be seduced by all this potential and rather expensive, dust-collecting clutter I photographed a door-lock assembly on a century-old barn, and a by-gone child's very rusty yet distinguished dinky. My wife, of course, had other ideas.

It was later that I photographed a partially anesthetized Sharyn with a gob-full of triple-layered, chocolate fudge cake lavishly garnished with fresh cream and strawberries. This was very easy for her to eat (and I am sure it was) because, she remonstrated, she did not have to chew it. And, therein is a lesson for the cafe apothecaries on the necessary effectiveness of self-administered medications of choice -- it must melt in one's mouth, taste absolutely yummy, and make one feel better in an instant. Perhaps such culinary delights should be fully subsidized on the National Health Scheme with no limit to the number of repeats. I was convinced it would repeat anyway.

Come to think of it, it is also quite amazing what people will order in cafes, what they will eat, and what others will photograph. For me, the photographic and written record of such events will serve as a refreshing prescription on some future rainy day for a pair of unnamed, decrepit old fossils all doubled-up with arthritis in their nursing-home beds, especially when the IV drip has dribbled its last. Maybe laughter is the best medicine, but sometimes it hurts to laugh when a joyously convulsing body jolts those stiff, aching and decidedly uncooperative joints.

During our meander along Morpeth's rustic, stone paving of its old-style, roofed footpaths, my aching head and crusty bones smelt the alluring call of that musty fragrance uniquely attributable to old books. This sirenic scent is much stronger and more satisfying than coffee or chocolate, or coffee with chocolate, or double-coffee with triple-chocolate and cream and strawberries. Furthermore, that old-book-smell, administered on-call, is guaranteed to distract the likes of myself, and many like me, from the unpleasantness of life's many ills, and do so for an indefinite period of time. Perhaps it can be put to good use as a cologne or, better still, infused into the air-conditioning of ambulances, nursing homes and hospitals.

And so, it was from the antiquey-bookshoppe that I came away completely satisfied, having had my ailing, historical eyeballs, hypnotically bathed by two ancient 500-ish page hand-written pharmacist's prescription ledgers, both of which now rest upon my bibliographic medicine shelf. Each of these ancient tablatures covers about a year, around 1939 and 1941, for people in this area whereabouts I live. The dusty and, quite possibly, hastily scribbled leaves lists the customer's name, location and delivery address (sometimes), the prescription as filled and its price. While the latter is gibberish to this plebe the other stuff is a shot-in-the-arm for the family historian that I am. So you will appreciate I was absolutely gob-smacked when I found my great-grandfather therein, and many other cousins of varying hues, although none were actually named Hugh.

1940 script registration for Mr. A Taylor, and others.

There they are, hundreds of people, people just like us. They lived and moved and had their being in and around this area, along with a "Mr. G Clarke's Horse" and my 72 year old great-grandfather "Mr A. Taylor, [c/-] Collard's Store". They are all being medicated for their particular ailments with the hope of a redeeming cure. These two magnificent and historic volumes are a registry of both pain and potential remedy; it is all there, implicitly and explicitly. But only a doctor or pharmacist would know what these people suffered as interpreted through these books of 'life-medicine'. We too, by our common experience, also know that they suffered; that they needed treatment for their failing physical bodies; and, that they payed a few shillings for a hoped-for cure.

It is no less the case for our spiritual bodies, too. We are broken big-time. Our pain is real, it is ever-present, and it is deadly. We need that Prescription that is beyond all other scripts, that one that will heal us once-and-for-all, beyond all measure. The Lord tells me in His manual for humanity that He wrote my script for me before the world began. Perhaps it is the same for you. So, I am eternally thankful that I have been cleansed and healed through the life-giving blood of the Lord's selfless act of self-sacrifice, in order that I might live. This same Lord calls on all of us, "to invest in His eye salve so that we might see" (Rev 3:18) and have abundant life. This will be an irresistible call to those who will believe.

Thus, we can be sure, that the Master Pharmacist and Healer has just the right prescription to make us whole and complete. We only have to ask, faithfully and expectantly, and all we need for our healing will be freely given. Our names will be written in His great Book of Life and we will walk His streets of gold. There will be no rainy-days, no more crying, nor pain, or death. There is simply no better prescription for full and complete and everlasting life. This free gift is fully guaranteed by the Anointed One, the Lord Jesus Christ, and will never need refilling.

Question of the Day #5

Can one have too many note books?

Note: As asked me by Sharyn, as I frustratedly fumbled while sorting through my note books to find the one with the note that I was after.

A Tail of Another Kind.

This morning was up at 4:30am and sat out on the balcony for prayerful meditation before the day set in, and before I could get myself into my usual state of unblessed busyness. (I really need to make for positive change in my daily focus; more on that another time).

After about an hour I was pondering the merits of cutting down a certain very tall tree. It was not that I wanted to but that another person suggested it. It seemed to them to 'stick out' too much; or, was it because it 'stuck-into' the view. I like it where it is as it frames the view and accentuates the depth of field and the perspective of the view. It's the tree to the right of centre in the picture, that reaches above the skyline.

Then a wedge-tailed eagle came and perched in it, right smack there in front of me directly across from our balcony. My telescope was in my hand before I knew it -- it was an amazing sight. The Lord knows I love his creation and this was one of those special 'I know where your heart is' blessings. We had only ever seen this bird flying around in the valley, too far away to see with any great detail. We have also had a Goshawk and other delightful birds come perch there. Immediately my decision not to chop down this tree was confirmed--that settles it--it stays!

But there is more to this incident while I was "waiting on the Lord" than I first understood, and the eagle is central. It is through that eagle the Lord reminded me of his word of encouragement to his people: for me to remember that He is not one to forget me or ignore the difficulties I face, ones which have been pressing upon me for a long, long time. Furthermore, He says, He will give me every strength I need to live life as if on the wings of an eagle.

Why do you say, O Jacob [my people],
and complain, O Israel [ditto],
"My way is hidden from the LORD ;
my cause is disregarded by my God"?

Do you not know?
Have you not heard?

The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

... and as it has been said,
"Teach me Lord to wait upon you,"
and so is my prayer.

(Text: Isaiah 40:27-31)

Men in Their Sheds

A Wag of a Tale:

Got to and cleaned out the shed yesterday, a long-awaited yet uninviting job. Most of the stuff hadn't been touched since we moved to Paterson six months ago.

Meanwhile, I’ve been making salutary attempts at educating myself to the wonder and wiles of country life, especially about the birds and wallabies, and the habits of brown snakes. I have learned the latter like to frequent where bush rats make a home, such as my shed, which left me a little alarmed. Perhaps the rats were also the reason why a goanna disappeared under the benching.

Anyway, it’s again nice to see the concrete floor, upon which I can pile the next lot of 'stuff', as men-in-their-sheds do.

During the foray into my personal disaster zone I was unwittingly visited by a pair of Willie Wagtails. Unaware of my presence they flitted in through the large doorway and perched upon a projecting dowel.

At first I was not sure which one was from Venus and which from Mars, as these little, local lovers faced-up for their courting ritual. They strutted their stuff like they were in a ballroom-dancing competition. One of them crouched down and got all serious by broadening "his" eyebrow plumage. The normally fine white strip expanded as he confidently arced his head from side to side and swung his long and glossy rear-end up and about (as men do!).

This fanciful and noisy shindig continued with great vigour as he enthusiastically indicated his desire for some bird-ing and bee-ing. Mrs. Willimena Wagtail, quite impressed with his theatrical advances, teased him along all the more by shamelessly flaunting her desirability for anyone to see. All the while she was getting closer and closer.

Then, suddenly, she fled. Something must have spooked the Mrs, or she was playing hard-to-get. This defiant and deflating act gave Mr. Wag the willies, no doubt, and left him wondering about his swagger. But she didn't return, despite his repeated, punctuated pleas of "chicka-chicka-chick" (as blokes do).

Despondently, the poor lonely and dispirited little fellow flew-off when he finally got sight of me standing amused among the wings. Later, he hung curiously from a wire just outside and gave me the eyeball-treatment. I think he was intimating I might wish to vacate the premises and so give them some privacy in their Lovers' Lookout.

Today they can have it all to themselves, as long as they clean-up afterward.

~~~

Article published in the November issue of Paterson PSST, our village publication.

Question of the Day #4

How come the short word for long is shorter than the long word for short?

Google Desktop Search

Came across Google Desktop Search of your own computer and am going to give it a rip.
Seems like a nifty little device. All I need now is one for the tupperware cupboard, and the pantry, and my sock drawer.

"How to Read the Bible as Literature ...

…. And get more out of it”

“If you want to rightly understand the Bible, you have to begin by recognising what it is: a composite of literary styles. It is meant to be read, not just interpreted. The Bible’s truths are embedded like jewels in the rich strata of story and poetry, metaphor and proverb, parable and letter, satire and symbolism. Paying attention to the literary form of a passage will help you understand the meaning and truth of the passage.” [from the Editorial Synopsis on the back cover].

I am really enjoying the richness of this book by Dr. Leyland Ryken, especially as I have no formal education in English literature, per se. It helps me understand the Bible better, and so God’s message to me and the world. (It also serves as a summary guide to literary terms with examples. These I use for my own general literary education and appreciation, and my efforts at written expression through prose and poetry). The marginal captions identify the discussion in the text at any given point, and this is quite helpful in focusing thoughts and developing summaries for study. Ryken’s book of 200 pages is easy to read. While scholarly it does not burden the reader with oppressive, academic mumbo-jumbo.

Link: Amazon.com

I recommend it confidently to both academic and lay-reader alike. It is reasonably cheap too.

Question of the Day #3

What do livestock think about while they stand motionless in a paddock for hours on end?

Arty-Farty Pics

Boiler Valves on an old steam engine.

A_ustrali_A
in a spin

Digital Art #1

Views from Here

Home -- " X " marks the spot in centre of picture. View from Paterson across the valley 2 kms toward the hillside on which we live. Paterson River flows left to right and under the railway bridge.

Home: Mrs Wallaby and little Joey hanging out of her pouch underneath.

Home: Dining and Lounge, in a lived-in state.
The pictures on the wall are by Lars Knudsen, also here

Home: Along the balcony from right to left are Main Bedroom sliding door, Lounge Room window, Dining Room window, my Study sliding door. Sharyn is on the balcony. View is from the NW.

Cafe for Two

Dad + Daughter

A rare occasion when Keren and I are set loose without our respective spouses. On this afternoon, Sept 30, Sharyn was in 'hopsal' (Kez's childhood term for hospital) while Shamus was busy earning them a living 200kms south. We dined on potato wedges and Greek salad at Cafefusion, situated opposite the old Newcastle Post Office (thru window), with MoKadoR Caffe "brewed with passion" capably served by Samir Ali 'of Egyptian descent'. I like the subtle tones in this picture, just nice, they reflect the pleasing nature of the afternoon.

One of the local tree-huggers

Gordon the Goanna

Gordon, a monitor lizard, Varanus gouldii, is one of our neighbours. Known commonly as a Sand Goanna, at two metres this marvelous alpha-male adult presents a forboding figure as he struts through the bushland. As master of his realm he has several floozies scattered about in logs and under rocks, awaiting his good pleasure. Gordon is diurnal and terrestrial but occasionally climbs trees when spooked by the likes of me, to whom he then directs a very throaty and gravelly hiss as a warning. It's good to have him round and he probably goes some way toward keeping the snakes away.

Operation: Get Back Home ASAP

Today Sharyn and I took the one hour drive in blazing heat to Royal Newcastle Hospital for her appointment at the Orthopaedic Clinic.



The above picture was taken post-op day 3.

THE CONSULTATION: After Sharyn had to remind her hand specialist that she'd had an operation performed by him two weeks ago (duh!), in response to his question, What did we do last? (i.e. he couldn't find it in his notes), he advised the results of her wrist op from memory. While not all that encouraging, there doesn't appear to be any major continuing dramas, mainly much of the same and possibly a gradual improvement over time.

We were then sent to the occupational therapist for manipulation and advice on exercises. She was an American but we didn't mention the war. Sharyn performed a grip strength test: 7 kg force, right op. hand; 13kg force, left non-favoured hand. (I scored 40kg each side, because I like to fiddle with new things).

While there we scoured Sharyn's file for more information as we were not satisfied that she had been told everything by the specialist that she didn't have a reasonable clue about in the first place. Then we discovered the Operation Form, details below, and asked for a copy. If we hadn't we would still be in the dark about certain details of the op.

THE PATIENT:
MRN: set of numbers goes here.
Name: yada yada yada.
Medicos: ditto.
Pre-op diagnosis: TFCC tear of right wrist.
Op. performed: Arthroscopy and debridement of TFCC right wrist.
Operation details follow.

FINDINGS AND TECHNIQUE:
Patient was anaesthetised, IV antibiotics were administered, above elbow tourniquet was applied and the limb was prepped and draped in the routine fashion. A 3, 4 and 6 port hole was utilised to explore the proximal carpal joint. On inspection there was mild synovitis of the dorsal ulnar aspect of the radiocarpal joint and there was a partial thickness central tear of the TFCC. This was debrided back to a stable rim. The inflammation in the dorsal radiocarpal joint was also debrided. A mid carpal port hole was then -made and there was found to be some mild inflammation on the ulnar side of the mid-carpal joint. This was no[t de]brided. The wound was irrigated, local anaesthetic was infiltrated and wounds closed with steristrips. Pressure dresssing [sic] was applied.
[.... of course we know what all this means and feel better for it!]

POST OPERATIVE ORDERS; discharge this evening in high sling [never happened, sling never supplied], dressing intact until review in clinic in two weeks [which was today].

Other discussion from specialist was that the wrist needs to be exercised to strengthen. Activities include, believe it or not...
- dish-washing, especially as warm water good;
- ironing;
- folding washing;
- vacuuming;
- ball squeezing;
- wrist exercises as per O.T. supplied diagrams, including swinging a hammer.

As you can appreciate I concur with the Specialist's on most of these recommendations, and will co-operate as best I am able, however reluctant I may be to surrender the domestic responsibilities which I have grown to love doing. I am also happy to be in the same room for all but one of the above.

Another follow-up appointment made for 11am on 11/11.

Patient and husband are doing well; having discharged themselves for fresh fish and prawn shopping at the Newcastle Fishermens Co-op, followed by lunch at Nana and Pop's place. Nice but slow drive home in the heat, with the necessary indulgence of water icebocks enroute, purchased at Morpeth.

For those interested I hope that fills you in.

PP

Willow and Gopher Wood.

I strolled with Sharyn through Tucker Park down to the river's edge this evening. There we found willows hanging their graceful limbs over the water's edge without a thought to the days when they will get wrenched at and torn apart by a raging torrent during flood time. After it passes they will flop back into their space and hang their boughs in their contented pose, without a mind for what has just passed, and get on with being willows. If only I could do the same with the tensions of life that wash over the soul and rip at its being. The time will come, I am sure, it will come and I will float within such a noahic redemption. In fact, it is already here if I look closely.

Like scales falling from my life

Over the last few years scales have been falling from me, and I can see much clearer now. Scales weigh me down with fear, anxiety and discontent. I've grown them from habit, ie. habitual self-protection and desire for justice in a crooked world where way too many things press upon one's life (and so many are destructive and without an obvious means of escape). But things are changing and I can see, and understand like never before.

"Flat Rock"

“Flat Rock”, named according to Smith tradition, is situated slightly N of W from the house and about 10 metres inside the western boundary of “Mt Horeb”. (When sitting on it, like I am now, one can see the green gable of the house). A monolith of roughly round shape, about 6 – 8 metres wide, this massive concretion of sandstone embedded with a broad range of smooth stones of varying sizes, sits proudly about 5 metres tall on the western face. Its unseen eastern extremities fade into the hillside allowing an easy climb onto its flat top.

From atop one has 180 degree view up the Paterson Valley with Mt. Lee and Mt Brecon in the centre. The village of Paterson nests quietly in the SW, tin roofs signal the habitations of those bare-skinned ones who, unlike wallabies and lizards and snakes, prefer a more structured home designed for creature-comforts that exclude nature-hewn crevasses and weather-beaten shelters encumbered with leaf-litter, dirt, chronic dampness and leeches. There thuds that sound of hammering, carried to me by the cooling breeze, and it tempts me to think another cottage is getting built on a site made barren by bulldozers that scrape away and discard the natural beauty so characteristically ignored by the modern age.

I love the green of the trees and moss, the pinks and taupes of the bush-rocks covered with lichen, the earthy ochres and musty yellows in the sandstone. And I love the negative shapes left by smooth stones fallen from the face of “Flat Rock”.

Long shadows of countless trees now stretch up the hillside, pointing toward home, their bark with its own shadowy form and texture tenuously clings to its mother. Those shadows also splash over four other flat rocks, one with a memorial to deceased family at its feet. There are other rocks, all in line standing gazing over the valley as they lay as a string of natural pearls on the mountain’s décolletage. “Flat Rock” in its own unique and abiding way is mother to them all.

Question of the Day #2

What happens to all those radio signals collected by your metal coat-hangers in your wardrobe?

Voices from Within

Reading personal writings on the internet, by someone unknown (as in: never-seen, never-heard) tends to elicit from my active imagination an invented voice. For example, the 'voice' of one female blogger I read is subdued, with a gentle tone, some inflection, altogether uniform and without any hesitation or impediment whatsoever. It's totally strange that I do this, of course, but I can't seem to read such a thing without somehow hearing it spoken in my head. I can't ever say I hear the likes when reading technical jargon, like a catalogue, or a news page, or whatever. It only seems to happen with personal journals, blogs, writings, and poems, those things which I know a person has put their soul into. Teachers say, "Read quietly to yourself." So, perhaps, after more decades than I care to count, I do indeed do that in such a way as to hear myself, or hear whomever/whatever. It's all rather weird, actually, but I am sure I don't hear voices in my head in the psychiatric sense (at least they tell me I don't). But I do have an excessive amount of WWW40 sloshing around in my melancholic melon (unless they are seed thoughts). That's why my picture is on its side, to drain it all out. By now it has probably dripped right down into the back your screen and drained into keyboard to keep your coffee stains, toast crumbs, deleted letters, navel lint, escaped nose hairs and dermatological detritus in good company. Now try reading that without a voice, or shaking your head in bewilderment.

Joy-Suckers

They come,
From anywhere,
At anytime.
Joysuckers.

They latch onto your soul,
And suck
Clean out of your being
Whatever joy you had managed
To salvage and defiantly cling to.

And they don't use much:
A sudden word.
A glance or turned-up lip. A lie, any lie.
A memory.
Always the unexpected.

They never give a thought,
To your present needs or sensitivities.
They just devour
Whatever peace you have found
Amid the flotsam and the crevasses.

Joy-suckers.
At anytime,
From anywhere,
They come.

____________
(c) 2000 P.L.J.

"Always capable of inflicting a fatal bite"

My scientific inclination to explore the unknown and to collect that curiosity has been tempered by reality. On 19 September I wrote about my first brief and distant encounter with an Eastern Brown Snake, on the property here, and this lead me to consider how I might catch one. Now I must confess the whole conquer-the-world male-bravado-thing was in that idea. However, even a quick perusal of today's library borrowings on the subject show this ain't such a good idea, for they are "always capable of inflicting a fatal bite." Sharyn is quite pleased I have come to my senses which, arguably, needed some serious modification anyway.

Now, it seems these charming, creepy critters have the second most deadliest venom of the world's snakes, and they are known for their aggressive attacks and multiple bites, especially if cornered. They can knock you off in an hour if your bitten badly, and wearing calf-length rubber boots is no security as they can strike high up the leg due to their propulsive method of attack.

And to think we have these happy-little-chappies slithering about the bushes here (in which I am at least pleased to observe there are no corners). But they do like to find a home in sheds, and such, to catch rodents and lizards. Methinks I may have read too much for my own sanity, as I was about to clean out the shed in the next couple of weeks. But maybe there isn't one there otherwise the 4' long goanna probably wouldn't have gone in there early last week.

There are probably female Red-Backed Spiders there anyway, which, relatively speaking, are 'harmless' even though their venom "acts directly on the nerves, resulting in release and subsequent depletion of neurotransmitters." Nasty little ladies with their toxic tongues!

In the meantime I will have to brush up on First Aid for Venomous Bites. Pity about the following, though, "Brown Snake Bites to the head or neck: No first aid for bitten area. Keep the patient still", so they can die relatively peacefully, I guess, without much fuss. Seems the black snakes, taipan, tiger snakes, red-backed and funnel-web spiders will have to wait their turn.

Why am I writing this at 2:30am? 'Cause I have a migrane and can't sleep and have to distract my self with something which puts migranes into the context of life here. Australia for sure is a good place to live... and to die! Always good to know I have my eternal existence sorted for me, as at last reading the death rate is still running at 100%.

I've got his thing about...

... harmony, and it drives me nuts sometimes. Finding visual harmony, or I should say discovering the lack of it is a constant source of irritation. There are some things that I cannot look at, like a power-point on the wall, slightly off centre, or otherwise not in a visually desirable position. And I have this thing where I have to align objects, one with another, say in the distance. Maybe I have to fit one object 'inside' and on centre of another. This could require me to adjust my line of sight until I find that ever-desirable balance.

Too often the lack of visual harmony is only slight. For example, years ago I rented a house and the light fitting above the bed where I slept was rectangular. But, it was about 2 degrees out of square and could not be made square to the room. I couldn't relax there by staring off into the ceiling without a worry. I simply could not look at it, so I took it down. Now I am not saying things have to be symmetrical but they have to be in balance, in harmony, without tension. I can and do have an appreciation for assymmetrical things, mostly architectural, but in those each element has to be in its most desirable position. The worst of all things is to discover something that ever so slightly askew with no hope of remedy. And to think it would have taken no more effort to get it right also bugs me.

And that's a bit of my view from here.

In the midst

I wrote the following, a day or so ago, and left my words at a special place, where they are in good company and not alone...

Talk is cheap... it is said.. and how true. Sometimes I can talk to someone and there is no sense of them being present, like a disembodied voice rattling on. Maybe it is me at times, maybe it is them. What I know is that a sense of their presence is lacking.

Presence for me is all important, so totally beyond all else. Sometimes I can feel a person's presence just by reading their words, for they share something of their spirit. It happens even if I have never met them, or even heard their voice, for it is not as though I render their written words with my memory of their unique sound and appearance. Rather, it is a special feeling of 'them'. It is one of those treasures in which I delight, when it rises on the horizon to shine in upon my life. Only some will know what I mean, though. For them I am so very thankful.

And, then I got to thinking about what Jesus said, "I will be with you always". I need to think on this more, a whole lot more.

Conjoined Bubbles: an analogy for marriage

Recently, a young and respected blogger, whom I enjoy visiting to read her soulish-words, got me thinking about bubbles. After meandering through a mind-field of bubblology I ended up considering just two bubbles touching one another. Eventually I turned to the idea of how (two) conjoined bubbles works as an analogy of a marriage in balance.

Firstly, conjoined bubbles do not destroy each other, rather they are bound together in a mutually supportive manner that requires each to adjust their form to accommodate the other’s presence. In this manner they do not press negatively but they do concede their right to territory that would normally be their own.

Secondly, they reflect the Biblical idea of two becoming "one flesh", insomuch that they function as one entity but their individuality is readily identified. It shows how it is reasonable and desirable to participate in a union that respects the others identity. The bonding face is not two-faces butted together, and just touching, but rather one face that is shared intimately and concurrently.

Thirdly, the form of the bonding face of conjoined bubbles is defined and controlled by physical laws. A marriage doesn’t work unless the rules of 'bubble geometry' apply and that geometry requires a mutually edifying relationship.

Some think that Christian marriage is only about a wife submitting herself to her husband. Well, yes, that is there but it is there concurrent with the requirement that a husband submit himself to his wife “as Christ did for the church”. And what Christ did was to give up his life for the Church, his “Bride”, so that it may live.

What we see in all this is that the joining face between two bubbles is one of a mutually respectful and supportive submission to the other, in unity, so that the whole may exist in harmony. A good marriage requires no less.

Question of the Day #1

Does a new lease on life require the signature of a witness to be legal?