Old age seems to have hit with an “Ouch!”.....

The last two weekends (and the five days between them) I helped our daughter Carrie move her four offices from a two story building into their own not-too-ready office building.  It took us one whole day just to pack and move the supply and old file closet.  It looks great but I have used muscles that I haven’t used in a long time.

Then,  ALL 17-days of this week, I played basketball, soccer, golf, football, and baseball with an enthusiastic sports-nut three-year-old.  

(Excuse me while I go do another RAIN DANCE, snow, or  I would even take a dust storm so I could lie on the couch, prop up my feet, and watch some Disney movies!)

This precious child is such a blessing is really so much fun...it's just me being 68 that's so tough.  We enjoy him all  
                                                                       day, every single day.   But.........

Clark loves all sports, and really, really, really loves baseball!  And since I was so tired and wanted to recuperate from such a tough couple of weeks,  I thought a great way to wear his energy level down was to my speed.  I pitched the ball very slowly, so as to let him make contact with the ball MORE…and stay up at bat MORE.  I was slow to retrieve the ball when he hit it so that he would get MORE time to run the bases and therefore, stay at bat longer.

Then, I encouraged him to run and touch all three bases that I had drawn on the driveway/patio.  I tried to help him hit lots of home-runs so he could stay at bat. This child genius remembered every detail of the Ranger game we took him to two months ago……and he called his own balls and strikes…and outs…..accurately!!!

IF ANYONE else tells me that keeping a young child, in my old age, will keep me young, I an going to hit them with my crutches!

Concert At The Car Wash…......

On one of my mad dashes to the grocery, I TOLD God that I had to have a parking space close to the door so that I could get in and out of the store, and back home before my appointment time.  I saw one just as I drove up….and not just  any old space, but this parking space was a prime space.  It was under a big shady life oak and only two spaces from the front door….and.. I really was there first before that big white SUV.  I didn’t even look in the direction of the SUV, just in case he was going to look angry at me.  Then, I told God thanks and made a run for it. 

When I returned, my little red Vibe looked like a flock of Grackle-birds had taken target practice all over my car. I frowned; kicked at the ground; and said, “Oh, thanks a lot!” as I looked up in the tree, at those birds!  Then, when I got in the car and cooled off a bit,  I apologized to God for being so greedy and taking that space away from the SUV... and for getting angry and yelling at his birds.  But….Next time, I will have to remember that there’s a reason those “prime” parking spaces aren’t taken. 

On my drive home, I remembered preacher Rick’s message, recently, that when “poopy” things happen, it could be part of God’s plan…THAT BIGGER PICTURE  (Well, maybe Rick didn’t use those exact words, but that was the general idea of his sermon.)

When we had been riding over a week with dive-bomber-dobbins covering our car, I planned to wash it on Saturday.  We got busy and today is Wednesday, and there is still a layer of “poopy” stuff all over our car.  So….I waited for Clark & Granddaddy to take their afternoon nap and I made a dash to the nearest car wash (which was a do-it-yourself car wash). 

I also, decided to run it through the car-wash instead of one of our family fun time car wash in the backyard.  The last time, I had so much help that it took me twice as long to get the job done.

  

The closest car wash was the one that does not have an attendant on duty… but when I drove up, I had it all to myself.  The weatherman said it was suppose to rain within the next couple of days so, I just gave it a really quick wash & rinse….  I just wanted to remove the poop!  Then I proceeded to the next lane to the vacuum.

The CD player was on in the car….(we keep Clark’s children’s songs playing when we pick him up and take him home.)  NOT being electronically inclined, I didn’t know how to change the CD or even remove it…so I just left it playing…I even turned the volume up so I could hear it over the vacuum…but there was no one around to disturb with my loud music.

When vacuuming, I always leave all four car-doors open to hasten the job pulling that long  vacuum hose through the car.  I was actually enjoyed cleaning and singing, “Jesus calls them two by two…” & “Jesus Is The Sweetest Name I Know.”

I had not noticed that 3 very muscular young men with lots of piercings and gold chains, in athletic tank-tops and bloomer britches, had pulled in two bays down.  I looked around when they opened their doors and the “boom-cha-ka-boom-cha-ka-boom!” music shook my car and registering a magnitude of 6.5 on the Richter scale.   The words on their radio, that I could understand, were not part of my vocabulary.  Even though they were laughing really hard and looking my way, I figured they may have heard a couple of new songs and learned a bit about Clark’s Jesus with a different message!   And I can truly say, “Thank you, Lord, for the special parking place at the grocery store and  even the “poopy” things that happen that could be part of  God’s plan.” 

Following Another PURPLE SHIRT......

A-L-E-R-T....ALL purple shirts in Tarrant Co. are in the laundry today (because ALL 40,000 were at the game yesterday). Our first college game in 35 years and it was lots of fun.....aside from the fact that Carrie (our daughter/chauffeur/tour-guide) said, "Follow Me!" through the concourse of TCU stadium. I felt like child/parent role-reversal. I couldn't tell you how many times I got lost following another PURPLE SHIRT! Still lots & lots of laughs! Thanks, Carrie!  

Then, Daughter (Kim) shared with us our first Tail-Gate experience!!! Wow...At first I thought it was a giant Trunk-or-Treat! A we were making our way through the parking lot, I started to pick up a plate and fill it with smoked babyback ribs, chicken, sausage & porkchops. Thanks for a great time, precious girls

TCU Game October 2011

Fun!!! :)

Photos By: Carrie Coleman Kennedy

Those Famous High School Reunions….

I have been on “the high school reunion committee” for the past (#*%) years.  I love the planning; the picking; the choosing; the details in planning the reunions.  I have catered parties, weddings, banquets, & functions as such for 28 years and it has never lost it’s thrill.  This year was our 50th…..a very big milestone and we would try to include everyone at one or both events.  However, (my husband) Irwin and I have the love-assignment of taking care of our youngest daughter’s three-year-old son, Clark.  During the planning meeting, Clark shared his flu-slobber kisses with me…and just a few little baby flu-germs.  Then, both of us were running 102-degree temperature.  Needless to say, I did not meet with the group.

The committee decided that we would have a casual gathering on Friday at a local country club and the big social event on Saturday evening on the 28th  floor at the Petroleum Club.  Regrets…Irwin and I had another engagement for Saturday evening.  But most all the class was planning to attend both and I was excited.  Our daughter, Carrie, came to our house and gave me a pamper day…massaged my very tense feet, painted my nails, worked on my hair, gave me a pep-talk and a kiss and left for a meeting for her job.

The usual pattern for this country bumpkin has been this on-going sequence of events leading up to this special 50th reunion day……
About a year or so ago, while changing a soiled diaper on our precious grandson, Clark, his leg slipped from my hand and his white high-top shoe caught me right in the mouth…actually squarely in the front tooth (later to find out that it was cracked…the tooth,, not the shoe!)  Sever months later, half of this tooth dropped out of my mouth while I was eating lunch.  My dentist, and very good friend, deduced that due to lots of circumstances beyond our control, the tooth was not salvageable and we agreed that he should pull it.  In our post-extraction conference he packed my mouth full of gauze, asked me to bite down, and then he explained that we would have to allow the gum to heal and the swelling to recede before fitting me with a partial.  He said that I should return about the middle of October to begin the next procedure.  I excitedly sat straight up in the dentist chair and began yelling right at his face, “Huh, huh, hah, hah, hah, huh, hah, huh, huh, hah!!!” ….which translated, “I can’t wait till October to get this tooth replaced …I have a class reunion to go to!

 My good friend and dentist, gently pressed me back into a reclining position and tenderly explained,  “It’s okay, we can take care of whatever your fears are.”

“Huh, huh, hah, hah, hah, huh, huh, hah, hah, hah, huh!!!” I came back in a much more excitement and animated gestures, ….(I’m NOT afraid or worried about hurting, I’ve got to go to our 50th high school reunion!!)

“It’s okay, I can give you pain pills to make you rest!” he explained, again as he pressed my shoulders back into the chair.

I sat up right into his face, pulled the gauze from between my gums and cried,  “I’ve got my 50th high school reunion in the FIRST week of October and I have got to have ALL my teeth!!!”

Well…during the next few weeks, I did learn to talk and smile without showing the huge gap!
I even practiced tilting and turning my head away from the camera.  However, it really didn’t matter because now, no one was even going to look at my toothless grin.  My medical doctor changed my dosage on my medication about 6 weeks back and I became ravenous for the whole month of September.  I put back on the 26 pounds I had lost for the reunion, plus 12 more.  Then, my precious daughters talked me into getting a perm for the reunion.  I had not had a perm in over 6 years and didn’t know how my hair would react now that I’m completely gray…but I have to agree with my daughters that my gray hair was uncontrollably wiry and surely nothing could look worse…except… after we finished giving the perm, I remembered that you should give a special, more gentle perm for gray hair.  Six days before my reunion, I looked like a cross  between a very old Shirley Temple and Harpo Marx!

Oh, but that still wasn’t the worst…there was the big red sore (caused by the perm lotion) that came up, yesterday, on my eyelid that wouldn’t let me open my eye all the way, …but, I know that most people are not going to be starring at the toothless grin when the one-eyed, overweight boob in a Halloween fright wig walks in following a huge wart that came up on the end of my nose because of the “tomato-salsa diet” I was eating to keep from gaining so much weight.   But that still wasn’t the worst thing….
      Another large sore came up behind my ear, not letting me hook my glasses all the way down behind my ear giving the appearance of a head-on collision.  The fact that I couldn’t straighten my tri-focal glasses was the reason that I couldn’t see to…
(1)  …pluck my uni-brow (you ladies know what that is and mine needs servicing every week or so.).  Anyway...when I had finished it was plucked too much in a couple of spots causing my forehead to say something in Morris code! (Dot-dash-dot-dot-dot-dash-dot!)
(2)..nor could I see the tiny hole to put on my pierced earrings and I ended up puncturing a new piercing in my ear-lobe that immediately began to swell and turn beet-red with little trail of blood streaming down the front of my neck.

Now, I ask you, “Who’s going to notice my toothless grin?”

Rolling Out the Barrel……...

 

It was one of those Saturday mornings you dream of…..dreaming!  Being young parents, we had cousin company until well after midnight and everyone had a truly fun time; lots to eat and lots of laughs.  The kids are finally old enough to play on their own and leave the grownups to their Dominos and their own conversation.  The relatives were up just as late as us and had gone home just as tired.  Surely, that would mean no early phone calls in the morning.  We had no events on the calendar and there was enough leftovers from the party to feed us without additional cooking….even donuts for brunch.  Irwin and the girls pitched in for a quick 10-minute pick-up session while I did a job on the kitchen.  Maybe, just maybe “manana” was going to be one of those mornings you dream of.

 Oh, how I love that first cool-snap of Autumn when the temperature will allow you to sleep with the windows open and even be able to pull up a blanket about 3 or 4 in the morning.  I did make a cover call about that time just to see that our girls were snuggled in….then trotted back to my own huddle.  My mind was as clear as my calendar which allowed me to fall quickly back into oblivion.

Suddenly, a burst of growling and barking jolted us all… and me from horizontal to vertical in one second flat…before I had a chance to get my eyes open!  It made the “racket that made such a clatter” from The Night Before Christmas seem like a ballet.  In unison, Irwin and I shouted, “What???” …..and as if by bat radar, we both made a bee-line for the girls’ room.  I don’t know what we thought the noise was coming from, but we both had the same thought, “Get it….and kill it!”  It would have been better if….

(1) … we had stopped to turn on a light.

(2) … we (Irwin and I) both ran at the same speed.

(3) … the hall did not have so many 90-degree turns.

(4) … the girls weren’t running in the opposite direction.

(5) … and they didn’t scream so loud that they could hear us yelling!

Oh, yes….and  (6) now we make sure the girls completely empty their bladders before going to bed.  We didn’t slip all the way to the floor because we had not gained full speed back after Irwin ran over me trying to run in the dark.   All, this and we still had not killed the “dragon”!

The growling had turned to barking.  Now, they (who’s ever, whatever) was barking furiously trying to get into the seasonably open screened window at the girls’ bedroom because of all the noise, banging, and yelling INSIDE the house.  Irwin took a very large bucket of water outside to throw on the “monsters” while I heated up a pot of cocoa to calm the nerves and tremors.

To break the fear-thoughts, I smiled one of Mommy’s favorite “I’ve got a great idea” smiles, “Let’s have a donut with our hot cocoa!”  About that time, Dad made his re-entry wearing as much water as the new neighbor’s dogs.  When he saw that the dogs had been dumpster-diving in our garbage cans, he had reached around for the broom beside the backdoor and upset his bucket of water.  He said that as he approached the angry dogs armed only with enough water to make them angrier, he thought that perhaps the broom would scold them a bit more severely.

Well, now that the girls were full of all tomorrow’s donuts and cocoa…..and our new neighbor’s dogs are full of our garbage….and daylight has found its way to Greenlee Street…. and the sound of the newspaper hitting the front door has captured Irwin’s attention; the alley cat has headed to the shower while I put on our early Saturday morning coffee.

The following Saturday, completed a full week of dining and entertaining the new neighbor’s dogs, plus there was a daily cleanup and re-bagging of our own nasty garbage. We had tried the water treatment, information exchange (with my sweetest smile) with the new neighbors, with no success.  Even contacting the animal control department (who said that we would have to catch the animals. Then, and only then would they come pick them up).  Wrapping them with a satin bow was my sarcastic addition.  I borrowed my brother’s toy B-B-gun, not intending hurt or harm to the dogs….just wanting to sting them into fear.

Our unfenced backyard had a gentle slope from the right to the left….giving enough height to get a good shot from behind the big Chinaberry tree if they returned.  NO! Not if they returned…but when! 

About 4:45 A.M., I heard the rumpus begin with the garbage cans and the two dogs quarreling over which one would get the prize pieces.  I immediately emerged at the back door with the mindset and appearance of Rambo.  Un-noticed by Grizzly or White Fang, I crossed from the backdoor to the Chinaberry tree.  A nip in the air had reminded me that in my haste I had neither remembered my shoes nor my robe….(Rambo never stopped to put a robe over his pajamas!) …after all, this couldn’t take longer than a couple of minutes.

“My precious little girls had to be protected!  My loving husband had to get his rest from these pests!” I whispered as I tried to convince myself that what I was doing was my civic duty as an upstanding citizen of Tarrant County, and of the United States of America! (….I didn’t have enough hands to carry a B.B.-gun and wave the American flag!)

By dawn’s first light, I planted my feet firmly and placed the gun in the fork of the lowest limb.  One of the dogs had both front paws over the edge of a metal trash can while the other already had his bag drug out of the can and was dragging it around the yard strewing garbage four feet on both sides of him as he slung the bag from left to right.  The dark one (which we called Grizzly) had his teeth in the bag ripping it into shreds….however; he was not yet proficient enough to pull the bag from the can.  Both were at an angle where I could not get aim at their rumps, not wanting to endanger their heads.

Judge stays inside his own fence....and I do love dogs.

As the sun’s first rays merged over the trees, I was still focused on the mischievous dogs, determined to ward off these two pests.  Finally, White Fang moved around to begin a second course, giving me a clear shot.  He lowered his head just inside the top of the overturned can and I squeezed the trigger hitting him square on the rump under the tail.   He jumped!!!  The angle of his head was so that the momentum of his jump took him into the can.  He was so frightened that he began to yelp and howl….INSIDE the garbage can.  He had no place to go and began to try to get out.  This thrust was enough to jolt the can into motion….downhill!   The can bumped across Grizzly back, frightening him into a tailspin.  He, too, began to howl, jump and yelp.  The can picked up momentum into a rushing rolling bulldozer…..a rushing rolling screaming bulldozer! 

The can bounced off the curb with a crash onto the paved street and kept rolling faster and faster with the dog running inside the can around and around; jumped the curb across the street; rolled across the neighbor’s yard; and down the next street.  White Fang was frantically chasing and barking, in hot pursuit of the big round “monster” that hit him on the rump.

My smile was back!  I turned to go back into the house and noticed that all the commotion had alerted every neighbor, in every direction.  Now, I had to transform this barefoot Rambo in pink pajamas, back into a sweet innocent Doris Day complete with singing “Que Sera, Sera” until I could cross from the Chinaberry tree all the way to the backdoor.

We don’t ever go back to our old neighborhood any more.

October Fields (chapter 2): The Neighbor’s Outhouse…….

     Cousin Oma’s large two-story white East Texas house was as cheerful as a postcard.  A full covered and raised porch went all the way around the house.  The windows were open and white lace curtains flagged in the gentle breeze.  There were at least 20 (I looked like a hundred) rose bushes right out in the playing part of the yard and they were all in full bloom….a rainbow of colors.  There wasn’t any grass, just sand with fresh rake marks making neat designs all through the sand.  Then, there was the clean white picket fence that skirted the edge of the yard, with a gate that opened onto a flagstone walkway that led right through the rose garden up to the steps to the porch.  There was a roof covered water-well between the house and the root cellar.  The well was taller than the cedar tree that stood next to it.  A narrow wooden trough ran from the bucket attached to the well, high over the rose garden, the picket fence, the dirt road and down to the barn; bringing fresh cool water to the livestock.  The cellar was about 6-feet underground with wall to wall seedlings,        cuttings, sprouts and plants for planting next Spring.  The                  Wedding photo of Granddad & Grandma
seedlings consisted of tomatoes, bell peppers, onions,
cucumbers, cantaloupe, watermelon, pansies, daisies, and 6 three-ft. tall Ponderosa lemon trees.  The cellar was covered with a couple of old glass paneled doors to allow in light for the plants but protected them from the freezing weather in the winter.  The doors were propped up and open for ventilation during these first cool days of October. 
       Before Granddad, Grandma and I could unfold our legs to get out of the car, Cousin Oma had pushed her way through the screened front-door and was pulling the strings of her apron…tucking it under the pillow-cushion in the wicker rocker on the porch.  “Cuzin’ Perry and Cuzin’ Ethel, you are a sight for these sore eyes.”  She grabbed and hugged each one of us, not letting go of one before adding the next. 
     A doll house with adult-size furniture welcomed us into Cousin Oma’s large, open parlor.  There was an array of hand crocheted doilies delicately placed about the furnishings with a lamp on every table.  The smell of bread baking filled the room.  “Sit down and get comfortable.  I’m going to fetch some lemonade.  Then we can do some catchin’ up on the past eight years.”   Cousin Oma vanished through the doorway into the kitchen.
       “Remember, Anne, if it’s not yours don’t touch it!” came a warning just above a whisper from Granddad, as I tip-toed about the room making my first general assessment of this new world.  A fascinating elaborate pump organ reaching almost to the 10-ft. ceiling, sat against the wall near the natural stone fireplace.  In the absence of city bustling was complete silence interrupted by the ticking of the ornate old family mantle clock seated in its rightful place. …then came the sound of tinkling of ice bumping against the glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade.  I made my way to a footstool at the front of the chair where Granddad had definitely “made himself comfortable.”
As Cousin Oma pulled up a dining-chair between Granddad and Grandma, the conversation began with the ‘almost scriptural’ run-through of the names of all the kinfolks and how they were doing.  It was amazing to me that all three adults could talk at the same time and still glean a healthy knowledge a generation of comings and goings….a gift gained from years of practice!  There was a bitter-sweet few moments when remembering those who had passed on.  Then the exchange moved on into a more lighthearted conversation reliving the memories of antics and some mischievous adventures of kids growing up in the country.
“Yo thar, Cusin Oma!” Blurted in Oma’s sister’s kid from the house down the lane, sticking his head in the door.  “I just dropped by to tell you that the visiting circuit preacher-feller will be at Sunday meetin’.  Word is that he’s really good.”  The awkward, tall, lanky kid turned and looked at Granddad, Grandma, and me with a startled look, stopped and whispered,  “Oops!  Pardon my blunder, Cousin.  Didn’t knowed ya had company.”
       “Hershel Woodard Walton!  Don’t lie to me here in front of my city-kinfolk!  You knowed we had folks come in from out of town….’cause I seen ya lookin’ at their new automobile and smearin’ yer nose all over the winder-glass.  And furthermore..…you did NOT drop by to TELL me NUTHIN’!   ’Cause I twer the one who told you about the new preacher-feller a comin’ to Sunday meetin’.  Now, mind yer manners, and come on in here and speak to yer Cusin’ Perry and his family…. But…first.. kick off them dirty work boots o yours before yer dirty up my clean floor…….And then  yer can go home and tell yer maw that if she wants to know who’s visitin’ at my house, she should come down here and take a look fer herself!”
       As the stories passed between the kinfolks, I hung onto every word.  It was fascinating to be a witness looking back into time before I was born.  And I am visiting the very roads where they grew up, played, worked, lived, …and died.    Like bringing an old photo album to life page by page.  The conversation volleyed back and forth like a ping-pong game.  It was a thrill to see them laugh until they sometimes doubled in half.  Tears from laughing that often turned to the sad ones.  It’s no wonder that Cousin Omi was so excited when we drove up….that she ran to us from the house with
open arms.                                                                                                    Cousin Oma's son and cousin in the Rose Garden
Not missing a word, Cousin Oma retrieved her magical apron from the wicker chair, swiped a little dust from the lamp table as she passed then tied her magical all-purpose apron around her waist and motioned for us to follow her to the kitchen.  “Guess you folks must have thought I wasn’t never gon’na feed ya dinner.”  (For those who didn’t grow up in Texas, that would be the time the family gathered for the evening meal.)  I followed Cousin Oma toward whatever had filled the house with that awesome smell baking in the kitchen.  Sitting on the windowsill was two beautiful pies topped with enough meringue that made them look like a couple of dishes filled with white clouds.  She opened the oven and lifted out a large pan of hot rolls, padding her fingers with her magical all-purpose apron, and set it on top of the stove next to a platter stacked high with fried chicken.  She nodded for us to sit around the big round kitchen table next to four big windows that overlooked the back yard where she had her wash (laundry) hanging out on the close-line.  “Oops!  Don’t let me get to gabbin’ and forget to bring in the fresh sheets fer yer beds.”  We had home grown green beans with new potatoes and chicken gravy to go with the hot rolls and fried chicken.
       As she began dishing up the lemon pie to take out to the front porch for serving, I asked, “Before dessert, may I use your restroom?”  Cousin Oma took me by my 5-year-old shoulders and ushered me to the back door where she pointed to a sweet little yellow house surrounded by beautiful cotton-candy pink oleander bushes, down a path that led through a gate.  I remembered the outdoor restroom earlier at the grocery in the little town.  Reluctantly I started down the much longer lonely garden path paved with picturesque flag-stone.     
       "Wow!"  Now, I was alone in a strange place.  This was so fearful to me.  This was actually my first time ALONE!  I was a middle child with two older big brothers and a brother 14 months younger.  I could not remember EVER being ALONE before.   Our family of six lived in the country in a two bedroom, 1,00-sq.ft., brick house.  All four children were in one bedroom with two sets of army surplus bunk-beds.  We all did our chores TOGETHER. We were a one car family and Dad took it to work.  If we needed anything we waited until Saturday night when Dad got off work and drove into downtown Fort Worth to do our grocery shopping….we ALL went together.  (In recent years, my preschool grandchildren have travel over a thousand miles across several states, alone in an airplane.  Also, kids today can order any meal and have it delivered to the front door and pay for it with his own credit card.)
It really helped that I could remember my bible school teacher telling about David in the Bible (1 Samuel 17^th chapter) who spent most of his time, as a young boy, alone in the fields caring for his father’s sheep.  The young boy carried his harp with him and sang to God.... “Maybe it would help me to sing to God!” So I began to sing and watching my steps on the beautiful stones ….completely oblivious of our omnipresent God. 
       (Reminds me today of a song the comforting words …”I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses…And the voice I hear falling on my ear the Son of God discloses…(chorus) And He walks with me, and He talks with me,  And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there, None other has ever known.”)
       The gate in the fence was a unique PPT gate (a people-pass-through in the fence)  that led into the next door neighbor’s field.  The PPT was installed as a convenience due to Mr. Jefferson’s “good neighbor” theory.  (At home, we call this Christianity!)  The County Health Department had ordered Cousin Oma to relocate her outhouse 20 yards downhill from her water well.  Her property line would not allow her to do this.  So, her next door neighbor, Mr. Jefferson, not only allowed her to move an outhouse onto his property, but he dug the latrine and brought his equipment over to move her outhouse over to his property.  Cousin Oma said, “He’s a quiet man with a big heart.  Sometimes he preaches when visiting preacher can’t make it.  He not only knows his bible… he lives it!”
       (“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”  - James 1:27 )
       (In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: “Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.  ⁸ And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself  by becoming obedient to death—  even death on a cross!” ~ Philippians 2:6-8)
       (“Do everything without grumbling or arguing, ¹⁵ so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.”  Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky ¹⁶ as you hold firmly to the word of life. And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain.” ~ Philippians 2:14-16)
       So, as I began to focused on the shapes of the stepping stones, I was not aware that this strategic location for the outhouse in Mr. Jefferson’s field was also the home of two donkeys, about 8 goats, and one very large bull who was not fond of strangers….(that would be me in my bright red dress!)  I had just passed through the PPT gate when Mr. Bull decided to investigate the bright red dress approaching his domain.  Hearing the snorting of Mr. Bull, this young city kid did not demonstrate her most intelligent move, which would have been to retreat behind secure line (the fence).  I sprinted 15 yards ahead, straight down the lovely garden path paved with the shapely flag-stones, right to the sweet little yellow outhouse surrounded by oleander bushes.  It took a few minutes before I could catch my breath and was relaxed enough to do what I had come for.  Then, when I opened the door to leave, I saw Mr. Bull waiting with all four hooves planted right on the lovely garden path paved with the shapely flag-stones.  My mother had been told more than a few times, that could be as stubborn as a bull….now I know what she meant.  I slammed the door and began to consider my plan of escape.     
       Now, with no obvious plan, I sat back down on the only seat available and picked up the reading material left as a convenience… (around Christmas time we called this the Wish Book.  Needless to say, I had time to make out my complete Christmas list….praying I would get home in time to post it.)
Meanwhile, aside from the reminiscing, Granddad had noticed that my lemon meringue pie was still waiting on the serving tray.  He asked Grandma if she should go check on me.  She walked to the edge of the porch and announced, “Your neighbor’s bull is rigidly focused on your pretty yellow outhouse!” 
       Cousin Oma briskly marched straight down the flag-stone path, waving her magical apron as she scolding Mr. Bull.  He literally  wilted and backed away.  Cousin Oma yelled that it was safe for me to come out of the little yellow outhouse surrounded by beautiful pink oleander bushes.


(….continued down the road..)

October Fields: Doc Bill’s.....

I traveled with my granddad and grandma to visit his good ole Cousin Oma in deep East Texas.  She lived about 5 miles east of Bullard (literally a wide spot in the road).    Granddad stopped at a "gas station/post office/grocery/hardware/dry-goods/feed-store/doctor's clinic" cabin in Bullard to get directions to the old family homestead and farm.  "Let me get Pops," answered the little barefoot, freckled face lad as he ran out the back screen door.

"How ya doin', Sir?" greeted a short white haired, bearded pleasant gentleman, "Ya'll must be lost.  'Cause ever-body else knows their way 'round here!"

 "No, we're here on purpose!" Granddad answered as he leisurely reached out to shake hands.  "We're looking for the old Roper homestead.  It's been a long time since we've been back here.  Brought my little granddaughter to show her where I grew up.  Things have changed a bit from the way I remembered it."

 "You related to Ole Roy?  You know he's dead...been dead about 15 years...mule kick him in the head...really liked him...Roy, that is.....he was ornery from the start.....the mule, not Ole Roy.... he was as gentle as a new born kitten, Roy, not Bill...."
 "My granddaughter, here, needs the restroom," politely interrupted my granddad.
"His boy and mine grew up together....great family!  Oma finished raising those 6 boys and making that farm pay....mighty hard if Ole Roy would have been to help.  She had those boys up and going at first light ever' day sept Sunday.  Then she had 'um dressed in meetin' clothes, in Ole Roy's buckboard on their way to meetin'.  Plus Oma had a fresh lemon pie takin' to the preacher ever week....her contribution, ya' know!"

"Excuse me, could you point us the direction?"  Granddad interrupted, again.
Doc Bill jerked his shoulders up in embarrassment, placed his hand across his mouth, chuckled a little, “Oops, so sorry, Sir.  Sometime I ramble and forget to take a breath.”  Quickly made his way to the front door; pointed down the road, “Take a right at that dirt road.  ‘Bout a mile take a left….”
A little louder Granddad announced, “Bathroom!  My granddaughter needs the bathroom!  Could she use one here?”
Doc Bill trotted through the store to the back door, pointed to an outhouse down a stone path, “Two-holer in the little yellow building!”

I bit my lip, took a deep breath, looked up at Granddad as to say, “Way down that path…..by myself….alone?”

Granddad gently patted me on the head, held open the screen-door, winked our special signal, said, “Right here!”  Turned to Doc Bill and said, “I’ll take those directions to Roy’s place, now, if you will, please…and could we get three cold Cokes?  I’ve got trade bottles in the car.”

“Buster!!  Get these folks three cold bottles out of the ‘fridge, please.  He’ll be back in 30 seconds…guarantee!  He gets the cold ones out of the wife’s house…never put a fridge in here. (with a twinkle) …gives me an excuse to get a little sugar from my sweetie!  …..That’ll be 15 cents, Sir.  And no charge for the directions and history lesson!” Doc said with deep chuckle and a great big grin.


(…continued down the road..)

We MUST take the time to tell the children.....

We (parents, grandparents, son, daughters, aunts and uncles) must take the time to tell the children about the men, women, mommies, and daddies who paid for our freedom.  Freedom paid with time away from their families. Paid for with their lives.  Paid with injuries that changed lives into struggles with endless pain.  Go ahead....tell our nation's youth that these gallant people knew that there was a great possibility that they would not return home to their families in the same condition they left...or not even come home at all!  Not coming home would not be the worst thing in these lives....but possibly the worst thing for their loved ones would be America, if no one came to the war.  

 

I will be the first to admit that my heart languished as each of my two brothers and a grandson signed up with Air National Guard; plus one grandson and a great nephew signed up for the Navy.   Even though none of them have had to leave this treasured land, they were proud to step to the front.  My chest swelled with pride for their courage and bravery.....as all families have done all the way back to when 12-year-old Little David (armed only with five smooth stones to fit a sling-shot) walked to battle a 9-ft. Philistine named Goliath dressed in full battle armor.

There's not a dad (of any family I know) that would not capture the full attention of their children (of any age) while they tell of their own experiences; of foreign wars; of this land's civil wars; or of amazing battles like found in God's word (the Bible).  My grandfather, brothers, and uncles captured our attention as families crowded around the telephone with breaths held in anticipation for a story true life incidents.  Letters were passed around until tattered and we lived through their details of battles.  Then, when they came home, we gathered around the supper table hanging on every word of every episode.

 

We never miss a chance to shake the hand of a veteran; or acknowledge our troops; thank our policemen and introduce our children to them.  We wave "Old Glory" at all the parades.  I pray that our children and grandchildren can KNOW the real America.  Know America as told by the real Americans and those who walked the paths of our freedom.  Our children need to hear how freedom takes the contribution of every soldier (whether behind a desk, on foot, on horseback, on board ship, in a plane or helicopter.)  Each soldier doing his particular job or holding his position till death......and how important they are.  And, please.... we must take the time to tell the children about the God who continues to Bless America!

A Change of Scenery...........

Irwin & I prayed for God's guidance over a leisure outing on a gorgeous October day, last Fall.  I just wanted to completely forget about this week's stress & housework.  In the forefront of my mind, I really thought that I should stay and finish my work  instead of frolicking about the countryside.  Ha!  Finish!  Housework is never finished!  Irwin was right, though, we just wanted to get away and have a change of scenery.

We drove to First Monday in Weatherford… except this wasn’t first Monday… this was second Monday and we had missed First Monday.  However, we did see an old peddler’s place which looked really interesting.  First thing near the front gate of a peddler’s yard was an antique galvanized washtub. Then up on the wooden porch was a wringer washer….electric!  I was so quickly reminded of how hard wash-day was for our parents (when we were kids in the country – 1940’s).  Mom’s wringer washer was flanked by three galvanized #3 washtubs; each was a rinse cycle.  It took three rinsings to get the soap out of the clothes.  And none of today’s aisles and aisles of detergents….”Spring Scented”, “Ocean Breeze”, “Sunshine Bright”, “Lavender Blossom” store-bought HP low sudsing soap.  I remember helping Mom and Grandma make soap.  Mom & Grandma’s home-made soap was one flavor, boil in a big black cast-iron kettle over an open wood-burning fire lie soap.  When she finished the last load of wash, Mom would pour bluing in the final rinse tub and run the white clothes back through the rinse tubs again.  And, of ‘course, she would have to put the clothes through the ringer again to squeeze out the water.   I came close to a “wringer manicure” by allowing my fingers to kiss the roller….I sure everyone did this once!

This visit to the past reminded me of when I was about 4-years-old, standing out in the sun anticipating the moment Mom would pick up the wet bed sheets out of the laundry basket and lift them to the clothesline.  My youngest brother, Jon, just 15 months younger than myself, standing in my shadow, his bare feet just dancing in place in great anticipation; his small fingers pressing along on to the back hem of the blouse I was wearing; then gently tapping me on the shoulder urging me in a rushed whisper, “Ask her, Anne.  Ask Momma if it’s O.K. if we make a tent while the sheets are drying.  Go ahead and ask her!”  I hesitated deeply and then pushed the words out so quickly, “Can Jon and I, please, play with the sheets while they dry, Momma?”

As anxious as we were to play, Momma way ready to keep us out of her way for a little while, “Don’t touch them dirty….just don’t even touch them at all!  Momma reached up and tugged both sheets across two clotheslines and secured them with a wooden clothespin.  We drug a couple of vegetable crates into the shade and began building our fort.  (Jon called it a fort and I went along with his insistence….but in my heart we were building a four-bedroom play house!)

The weather doesn’t play as big a part in the efficiency of today’s laundry as in 1940’s and before.  When Grandma had a week of rainy days, the wash was done however and then the wet clothes were draped over chair backs, over the tops of the doors, and across the head and foot rails of the beds.  I remember the excitement of the big new at church when Mr. Coker put in a wash-a-teria with five wringer washers and one family size gas dryer.  It cost 10-cents per load; 5-cents for bluing; and 20-cents for a load of dryer (which Mr. Coker had to operate because none of the little ol’ housewives could operate that big electrical machine.

 God's reminder..."Continue to think about the things that are good and worthy of praise.  Think about the things that are true and honorable and right and pure and beautiful and respected." (Phil 4:8)

When Irwin and I got home from our big outing, I started my laundry in my 2006 Deluxe High-Efficiency Front-loading washer (& dryer).  Boy!  Are they fast and quiet....no work...no bending or stooping…no sweat….just put the dirty clothes and “Lavender Bloom” detergent in and the washer does all the work.  Thank you, God, for the little trips back in time;  for letting me experience such a special time; and for letting me see You in so many ways, today!  I wonder what will be in our grandchildren’s lives that will cause them to look back at 2011 and say, “Wow!  What a great memory of the good old days!

"Ducks, Heads up! Ducks, Heads down!"......

Clark thought that he was directing the ducks in synchronized swimming.  As he moved his arms, the ducks would pop their heads up and then dive down under the water (feeding on his cereal)!  This went on and on as long as Clark shared his Cheerios!

Tractor Demonstrator.......

Maybe our 3-year-old grandson, Clark, should be a tractor demonstrator when he grows up.
I'm sure he would definitely be happy to show Everyone, EVERY button, on EVERY tractor.....because he had already pushed them all while we were waiting on Irwin to shop for a couple of tools at the home improvement store.  Then, our world turned upside down when a customer came along and asked Clark if he (Clark) would take him for a ride on the tractor.

Oh!  Dear, me!  He should not have done that.  Until then, Clark was perfectly happy climbing!  He did not have a clue that the tractors had a motor...... or that they even moved.

Now, "Mr. Butt-in-ski Customer" is at home, kicked back in his easy-chair, with a Big orange drink, punching remote buttons, watching the Brickyard 400 race....and this poor old grandmother is trying to distract a 3-year-old from "Starting His (tractor) Engines!"

Monster from the Deep......

I've been doing some daily swim therapy, for my back, at my nearby brother Bill's pool.  I have set my goal at 20 full laps a day....hopefully I will exercise off a few inches and even more pounds (nice).  Of  course, we have our three-year-old, Clark.  We decided that this would be a great time to introduce him to the pool; teach respect for rules around the pool; begin to teach him to swim; exercise away from the computer; and hopefully wear him down enough to take a good nap.  Irwin is wonderful to offer to "occupy" Clark while I do my laps.

This "occupancy" lasted about 5 minutes, and then, Clark wanted to tag along with GrandBan (that would be me) on my laps.  He wears his arm floaties for safety....his and mine!   As we swam, Clark kept up with me stroke by stroke (at a much reduced pace).  I gave him instructions much like the "pacer" deep in the galley of the Viking ships.  I figured that I would make it strict enough that he would be learning but would give up after a little while and go back to play with Granddaddy.  After about 8 FULL laps, Clark was picking up the pace and laughing most of the time.  He was even mimicking my chant, "Reach!  And pull!  And reach!  And, pull!  Kick!  Kick!  Kick!  Kick!  Kick!"

In my brother's pool, is a mechanical pool sweeper named Oscar.  My brother suggested that we could take Oscar out of the pool while we swam, even though it is not working while we are exercising.  Oscar keeps the edge, sides, and bottom of the pool spotless and Bill's diligence keeps the clarity of the water like crystal.....really a pleasure!  So, I just pulled the lifeless sweeper contraption, and it's 15-ft. hose, to the South edge of the water and we used the North side....never having any kind of a clash.  However, Monday, we did go to do our therapy a little earlier in the morning before it got too hot.  After about 15 minutes in the water, I thought I heard the compressor start.  So, I just kept one eye on the hose that floats along behind Oscar; one eye on my laps; and one eye on Clark.

As I approached the end of the pool to "touch and turn" for the next lap, I noticed a dark shadow between me and my pivot point.  Not wanting my feet to get tangled in the hose along with the describable fear of getting sucked up into the (6" x 14") sweeper, Oscar, I tried to reverse engines in "mid-stream."

Did I mention that I am, by NO stretch of the imagination, a proficient swimmer?  I learned to swim at the age of 6-years-old, when my grandfather pitched me out into the middle of the Brazos River.  I thrashed for it seemed like at least 15 minutes in the direction of the bank.  The commotion was similar to what happens when trollers throw fresh meat into a school of piranha (until my hysterically laughing audience of grandparents, parents, and siblings, sent my oldest brother to put my feet on the bottom of the 4-ft. deep water.)

From his peripheral vision, Irwin noticed my thrashing, coughing, and spitting.  He had to make a split-second decision to save me or Clark (who had just jumped to him from the bank of the pool.  He quickly secured Clark with his right arm, and reached in my direction with his left arm and gently but firmly, again, pushed my feet to the bottom of the pool, at only 5-ft. deep.

As I went about regaining semi-composure,  I breathlessly attempted to explain my fear of the monster.  Irwin confirmed that Oscar laid lifeless on the bottom of the pool, and the dark spot was the diving board casting a shadow in the water.

My hysterically laughing audience, this time, was my grandson who patted Irwin on the shoulder and said, "Granddaddy!  GrandBan was splashing funny!"