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Monday, July 29, 2013

Eat, Drink And Be Merry!

    Saturday the weather wasn't great, but it was passable. A little on the cloudy side but at least it was dry. woke up a bit before 10 am, had a guick shower and headed for this restaurant that Herb said was a great place ro have breakfast. As 1 srood inside the door looking the place over, 1 heard my n缸口e being ca11ed out. 1 looked and over in the corner sat Bobby with a cup of coffee waiting for his order. 1 went and sat down and the waitress came and rook my order and scurried off. Bobby was a soft spoken man, tall and 1anky, but not too thin. We made small ta1k. H e had driven up from Alabama and was happy with the truck he had recently come into possession of. The model escapes me but he had gotten it with 10w mileage at a real good price. He pointed it out to me. "Hey Bobby" 1 said, "the saucer is yellow!" Saucecer,It comes from a running joke in the chatroo111. Bobby is refer1'ed to as the alien from another planet. Ah, 1 thought you had lostyour mind. Not completely,are you sure the endorphin levels are where they should be? Oops, I gotta go see you later. Bobby chuckled when 1 to1d him 1 cou1d tell folks I've seen the saucer and it looks like a banana. We finished breakfast and when 1 went ro grab the check, Bobby snatched it up. 1 protested. "Give me that." 1 said. ''Not this time.it was Bobbγs rep1y. "See you later at Herb's." i suppose on the next road trip we've going to  drive thourgh Alabama so you can buy Bobby dinner.
Are you reading my mind again? Well from in here 1 can't help it,it's right there in front of me.
    After breakfast 1 went back to the mote1 and channel surfed the tv for awhile, then it was time to head up to Herb and Lacey、Everyone from the night before was already there, and a few others would show up later. Herb was getting ready ro barbegue a few clllinary delights. Lacey had made a couple different kinds of salad, and there were assorted beverages on hand. Herb brought out some app1e flavored moonshine. 1 rarely drink, but 1 decided to take a swig in honor of the occasion . HOLY COW!! This stuff had more than a little kick, it was more like a wallop with a baseball bat. 1 fould it a little difficlùt to breathe for' a few seconds. You could have put that stuff in the gas tank. Yeah ,and it probably contained more octane than the gas. After my bodily functions returned to a somewhat normal state it was time to chow down. When everyone was full we started the regular party routime ,music, etc. One of Herb's neighbors
even brought a g山tar and entertained us for awhile. AlI in a11 it was a great part.And even though it was only the first year wedding annive1sary , Herb and Lacey had already been together for a few years, which goes to show that relationships that begin online, contrary to some of the people that say they never last, actually can end up working out for the good.

Monday, July 22, 2013

LET THEM BE A CHILD

Santa thought of the children,
and the burden some must bear.
Just because their paren ts,
of them will not take care.
He looked up to the heavens,
and a star shining bright.
He thought of the Christ Child,
who was born this Holy night.
He knelt in his sleigh,
as he flew into the night.
He asked to find these children,
and make their burden light.
Take the burden they carry,
and on their parents it be piled.
Give them hope and love,

and let them be a child.

Joan always slept with her grandma in her big sobed. She carried her overnight case into Grandmàs bedroom and ever so carefully took the little angel out she had made for Grandma. She carried it into the kitchen to put on the refrigerator door. Her Grandma watched as Joan
ever so gently placed the angel on the door. Joan said.
    "Remember now, you and 1 have to watch over Grandma for
Grandpa."
    After lunch, Joan asked her dad to walk with Wag and her to the back forty. She had something special to hang on the shade tree where Grandpa always rested while Wag searched for Grandpa.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

The Call

    Over the next weeks, I watched Luke transform in front of my eyes.
Where once stood a rough-around-the-edges construction worker, I
now found a softened gentleman. Where turmoil had churned, peace
now reigned. A thirst for the world was replaced by an unquenchable
longing to drink up every bit of the Word that he'd neglected for the
past years.
    I'm in no way suggesting that a called minister is on a plane
above any other Christian, but what I will say is that even in my own
spiritually immature state, what I saw happening in Luke seemed to
be so much more fervent than what I saw in other men. And as for
my own walk, Luke's desire made me long for more. If I can be so
biased, Luke was special an opinion I still hold.
    And God was saying, "Ya think?" while restraining Himself from
knocking our foolish heads together.
    Luke hesitated contacting the school to request information
because he had no hopes of getting in. What I've not yet told you
is that he didn't graduate high school. What dropout had any kind
of chance to go to college? He finally mustered the nerve to call,
and we scheduled a visit. We still didn't know for what. Both of us
realized we wouldn't be able to go right away but thought maybe the
school could give some pointers on what Luke could do to become
a student someday.
    We traveled to the college and were in love at first sight. The
campus was set in the mountains and was absolute lush, peaceful
perfection. Arriving there felt like coming home, which at the time
was heartbreaking because we knew this place couldn't possibly be in
our near future.
    The following day we met the director of admissions, Jay. He was
and remains one of the most boisterous, joyful, encouraging people
we have ever known. Luke explained his full situation particularly
the part about not having a diploma. Luke expected to hear, "Sorry,
son, but you don't belong here. Come back in a year or two when
you are good enough." Instead Jay chuckled and said, "No problem!"
    No problem? How is not having a high school diploma not a
problem?
    Brother Jay enthusiastically went on to explain there was a special
program in this college for men who did not have a high school
degree. They would take regular college courses and also be tutored
for high school in the freshman year. Students had two semesters to
pass the GED, at which point they would have official student status
and all classes would count toward a fully accredited degree.
    And just like that, there was Neon Sign Three, and it blinked
wildly, ''Road Open!"
    Our patient, gracious God gave us three signs in an overwhelming
answer to our many prayers and they all pointed toward our
new home. (One of the homes AI built, no less!)

Friday, July 12, 2013

Shoes for the Shepherd

    IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON THE NEXT day before Michah returned. He
carried in his arms a fairly good -sized lamb its woolly hide shining
in the sunlight.
    Jubal took the lamb from the boy who released it reluctantly,
holding on for a brief moment before letting it go. The old man held
the lamb gently out of respect for the sacrifice it was about to make
and in an effort to let the boy understand that he also understood the
unspoken pain Michah was suffering.
    Jubal knew the skin of this lamb would be soft and supple after
tanning and would be a comfort to any foot wrapped in its leather.
The boy had brought him a perfect animal and he would see to it
that the end result would be a masterpiece, beyond the sandals he
had made for the priests.
    The old man ran his fingers through the wool again, turned to
Michah and asked, "You say these sandals are for a rabbi? If they
are so important then perhaps we should have the lamb blessed. You
know I make shoes for the temple priests; would you be willing to
go with me to Jerusalem and ask one of the priests who is my friend
for that blessing?"
    ON FRIDAY THE BOY CAME early just past the time when the sun was
at its highest, for the six miles of dusty road they would walk would
take time and they would need more time to wash their feet before
entering The Temple.
    Michah slipped the rope he'd brought around the neck of the
lamb slung the bag with the challah loaves his mother had wrapped
in clean cloths over his should and he and Jubal began their trek to
the city.
    The road to Jerusalem was wide and many travelers were met
or followed along its straight course. Merchants from Hebron and
Beersheba pulled carts with goods from their cities. Holy men dressed
in the skins of wild animals passed quietly, their pace quickening as
the walls of the great city and temple came into view the better to
be nearer their God.
    The hours drifted by as the two travelers walked slowly for there
was no need to hasten. They had allowed the time for a more leisurely
walk. Occasionally they would stop to rest and allow the lamb to
graze what little grass there was along the roadway.

Monday, July 8, 2013

Anchors On Layaway



    Although Poppy doled out nickels and dimes for this and that,
we kids found ways to earn money. My brothers had paper
routes and did chores for neighbors: shoveling snow from walks,
mowing lawns, raking leaves, cleaning up after summer storms,
or scooping ashes from furnaces and loading in more coal. On
the morning after the County Fair carnival left town in the night,
the boys arose early and raced to the fairgrounds to search for
money lost by attendees and the gypsy carnies. During the war
the boys sold scrap iron they'd collected along the railroad tracks
or other sites. Gary and his pals had a business enterprise going
with the troop trains that stopped at the depot. When the trains
arrived, and the troops noticed the nearby creamery, they threw
open the windows, money in hand. The boys scrambled back and
forth, filling orders for white milk, chocolate milk, buttermilk,
and earning generous tips from Uncle Sam's Gis. When the train
pulled away, each boy had a pocketful of disposable income.
    I suppose girls could have done some of those things, too,
but we didn't. At least I didn't.
    They had no hair but for
a painted curl on the forehead. What's that rhyme-"There
was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her
forehead. When she was good, she was very good indeed, but
when she was bad she was horrid." This doll was by no means
horrid, but she wasn't the doll I'd chosen from the Sears catalog.
My disappointment must have shown because Ma raved over
the dolls and said Santa didn't always have the toys shown in
the catalog.
    At age six, a playmate, Kathleen DeVries, shared her Penny
Dolls with me. These bisque miniatures were available for a
penny or two in dime stores. About three inches high, the dolls
had solid heads, bodies, and legs, but the spindly arms were
movable. Kathleen and I made simple dresses for the dolls.
Using a snippet of fabric, we cut tiny armholes and fastened the
material in back with a safety pin. Kathleen's mother told us to
be careful with the dolls, that they were breakable. I must have
wanted to test her warning or felt defiant that day because I
deliberately let a doll slip through my fingers onto the sidewalk.
It shattered. I was sent home.
    One year Santa got it right, again leaving identical dolls
for Shirley and me. Made of composition, the arms and legs
were jointed. They wore pink dresses and pink bonnets,
white underwear and white shoes and stockings. Still no real
hair; their curls were painted on their heads, but they were
adorable.
    Perhaps Shirley and I were hard on dolls and they didn't last
long in our care, for by summertime we were in the market for
new dolls. We made hollyhock dolls, an old technique that Ma
taught us. We picked a blossom and a bud, leaving a stem on
the bud. Then we gently poked a hole in the hard part at the top
of the blossom and poked the stem into the hole. There we had
ballerina dolls to dance across a stage.
    


Thursday, July 4, 2013

CLEOPATRA AND THE GRAPES OF WRATH



    As I grew older, I became more aware that money was scarce. I
accepted this as fact and observed that money was scarce for everyfamily in town. There was no such thing as "instant gratification" in the Depression years. I understood this very well because in 1933, at age eight, I asked for a bicycle for my birthday. I didn't get one so I asked for a bicycle for Christmas. Christmas came and there was no
bicycle by the tree.
I had developed a mantra by my ninth birthday. I knew exactly what I wanted, "a twenty-six-inch blue and white Elgin bike with balloon tires, a basket on the handlebars and a light." My ninth birthday passed with no bike in sight. My mantra was included in my prayers at night. When wishing opportunities came up, such as splitting a turkey wishbone or finding a four leaf clover or the "first star I see tonight," I repeated my description starting with, "a twenty-six-inch blue and white Elgin ... "
In November ofl934, my sister, Mildred, planned a magnificent surprise birthday party for my mother. Mildred was twenty-three years old and had a job as a secretary. All the aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors and special friends were invited. The house was packed. There must have been one hundred people milling around, laughing and talking. My sister was very busy seeing that everyone was having a good time.
    My cousin, Shirley, and I looked for something to do to amuse
ourselves. The grown up conversations held no interest for us. I
looked at the dining room table. It was decorated beautifully and
Mom's best dishes were being set on the sideboard in preparation for a buffet. In the center of the table was a great tray of fruit. Polished apples gleamed in the candle light, and perfect rosy pears peeked out from artistically placed grapes. Suddenly, I had an idea.
"I know! Let's play Cleopatra!'' "How do you play that?" Shirley asked. "I'll show you. Just follow me," and I picked up the fruit-laden tray and carried it to my parent's bedroom, thinking they won't need it for a while, and I'll return it when the buffet starts. Handing Shirley the grapes, I threw myself on the bed and declared that I was Cleopatra and Shirley was my slave. "All you have to do is wave that paper fan at me and drop grapes in my mouth, one at a time."
    Shirley was a sweet girl, very acquiescent; and, because she was younger than me, it was easy to get her to follow my instructions. She dutifully dropped the grapes in my mouth and waved the fan while I, Cleopatra on her barge, enjoyed the luxury. This went on for quite a while until Shirley was tired of her role as slave. "When's it going to be my turn to be Cleopatra?"
I dismissed this request with an impatient wave of my hand. "Just keep feeding me the grapes. I'll tell you when it's your turn."
"But the grapes are a 1m ost gone.
"Well then," I ordered, "Give me one of those pears."
Eventually, Shirley had been compliant long enough. She dropped
6 HoLES IN MY ShoEs the fruit on the bed and went in search of my mother. "Alice won't let me have a turn to be Cleopatra!" My mother and Mildred came into the bedroom to see what Shirley was complaining about. Mildred took one look at the skeleton grape vine and the fruit all over the bed and gave me a look I will never forget. She turned and stomped out of the room and my mother shook her head at me as she gathered what was left of the centerpiece.
The next morning my mother told me, "Well, you've really done it this time! Your sister has been saving her money all year to buy you a bicycle for Christmas, but after your stunt last night you can just forget about it."
So, Christmas of 1934 came and went, and no bike was by the
Christmas tree. I really didn't expect to see one. July 1935 came. I
made the same wish as I blew out my birthday candles but my blue
and white Elgin didn't materialize.
    By Christmas of 1935, I had given up all hope of ever getting a bicycle. I descended the stairs on Christmas morning and there, in front of the Christmas tree, stood my twenty-six-inch blue and white Elgin bike with balloon tires, a basket on the handlebars and a light .. The Christmas lights reflected on the fenders. My mother and father, sister and brother were smiling at me, and I screamed and jumped with joy. My dreams, my prayers, my wishes had come true. I dressed quickly and took my bike out in the melting snow to show my friends. Such a long wait and such utter happiness!
    The long wait for a bicycle was not in retribution for the Cleopatra debacle as I found out many years later. The money that had been saved for my bike was used for unexpected family needs and it took another year to save enough for my gift.


Tuesday, July 2, 2013

PIGS

 
   'Is that your car, Sir?'
I looked on as the slightly overweight police
officer made his way across the petrol stationforecourt
towards me. As I sat behind the wheel, I
observed the officer's nervous steps; the steps were
matched with a tense but determined facial
expression. I had always been very observant.
Especially when I was irritated, and I was very
irritable, and the sight of this, late thirty-something
year old, round-faced, red-cheeked, white police
officer, made me feel extremely irritated.
    'Excuse me?' I replied, pretending to be
confused. Pretending that I had never been in this
situation before.
    'Is this your vehicle, sir?' The police officer was
now close enough to me and my car that he didn't
have to walk anymore but still slightly out of a
sitting-punch distance. I imagined opening my car
door with force, slamming it into the policeman's
mid section as I did so. The next sequence in my
brief fantasy saw me hop out and kick the officer in
the groin, before grabbing his head and slamming it
against one of the petrol pumps.
    'Sorry, what?' I responded, twisting my face to
illustrate my disgust. I wanted the officer to see that
I was insulted. That he made me feel sick. That I
thought he was a fucking, ugly, low down dirty pig.
I was very good at this. I was used to controlling
my emotions. I was equally adept at writing my
exact feelings on my face. At that precise moment,
as well as feeling disgusted and insulted, I was
feeling a cocktail of anger and familiarity. Oh yes,
familiarity. I had been in this wearisome situation

many times before; it was a case of same song,
different stereo or to be more precise, same
question, different officer.
    One second seemed like a lot longer, probably
more for the nervous police officer as I looked
around the brightly lit forecourt. I observed the
young white male who was standing in front of me
in the petrol shop a few minutes ago. This man had
paid only 'twenty-quid mate, number four' in
contrast to my 'seventy-pounds please, number two'
(after all, I drove a BMW 645ci convertible, in
contrast to the white male's Golf. Hideous,
burgundy Golf). I watched the white male enter his
car and sarcastically wondered to myself why the
police officer hadn't stopped this white man who
left the shop just before me. I privately asked myself
why the police officer hadn't asked this white man
whether he owned the ugly Golf. The answer was
so obvious that I chuckled to myself slightly.
    'Sir?' This time the police officer spoke in a
• more ser1ous tone.
    As I was about to speak, another officer
appeared. 'Is there a problem?' he asked as he
stepped out of the patrol car parked at a pump. He
was white.
    Great, another pig.
    'This man is refusing to step out of the vehicle,'
the round-faced officer said to his approaching
colleague.
If it wasn't for the self-control I had always beenproud to possess, I would have acted out my
fantasy and beaten this liar around the forecourt. It
took a lot of self-restraint for me not to grab the
overweight bastard by the throat and throw him
out of the forecourt into the night.

    'I'm not refusing to do anything. I just don't
know what this man is talking about.' I jabbed my
finger towards the heavy policeman.
    'Please be calm, Sir, there is no need to make a
scene.' This second, more confident officer removed
his hat and revealed his receding hairline. He was
around the same age as his counterpart and he spoke
in a relaxed and patronising tone. The way I used
to speak to some of my employees. I hated being
spoken to like this. I hated this probably more than
anything. How dare anybody speak to me like this?
I thought. I am sitting in sixty thousand pounds'
worth of machine. My suit is worth ... I looked down
at my attire; I was wearing a tracksuit. Shit, I've just
come from the gym, I remembered. I suddenly
didn't feel as professional but didn't let it stop me.
I jumped out of my car.
    'Whoa, whoa,' the fat- yes, I had now decided
that he was fat- officer stepped back as he gripped
his baton.
     '"Whoa" what?!' I exclaimed.
    There was a middle-aged white lady filling up her
car at a pump nearby. She quickly averted her eyes
when I looked at her. Despite it being night time and
fairly quiet, I felt like I was being watched. It began

to feel like the petrol station forecourt was a well-lit
stage and that the surrounding night street was filled
with an audience. I imagined it was press night at a
West End play, and that I was the lead character
whose performance was being judged by critics
who looked nothing like me.