Flying MY Flag......

 I saw a clip on FaceBook this morning about a man flying his American flag.  I immediately began to twitch, blink and ask my self, "Why?"  I glanced at my calendar to see if I had missed a holiday.  Monday is Labor Day...but that's not a flag-waving day....... and today is just a Wednesday....no reason to mast a flag.   No reason to mast a flag.... No reason to mast a flag???


We have every reason to mast a flag!

Our grandson found a package of small flags and we lined the street with them.  Six small insignificant little flags on a little street in Nowhere Special, USA.   But this was a chance to talk about our flag, and the freedom to post it anytime, on our street and in our hearts.

 It's a symbol of freedom!

The stars remind me that this country was founded ......and is the foundation this country was established on.

The red stripes represent the blood shed in the past and TODAY to protect our freedom.

THEY ARE FIGHTING FOR OUR FREEDOM!

When a group has strong feelings about something, they rally around the flag to bring unity in thought!

I'm glad I can mast a flag any day or any time I feel......
..........Thankful for our country,
..........Thankful for our freedom.
.......... Thankful to the families who have   given  loved ones for us.
.........  Thankful that I can mast my flag on Wednesdays!

Smart, Talent, Skill, or Luck?......

# One -- Yes, I did take this awesome photograph of the clouds. 

# Two – Yes, I took the beautiful photograph with my little cell phone.  (Our oldest grandson, Brendan, bought a new super phone and everyone passed their old electronic cell phones down the family-chain until finally I was finally forced to move into the 21-century with an I-phone …..I think its “I” for “intelligent”!:)


My mother was a outstanding artist and oil painter and art teacher.  But as far as my talent, I was always at my best when the lines are already drawn and numbered…and I could fill in the blanks.  Wanting to see the torch passed down to the next generation, Mom saw that I was trained in various areas of art: sculpting, sketching, mixing colors, shading, staging, arrangements, oil painting, and the one I probably enjoyed the most….was framing a scene. 


 I guess you could say that time was spent training me to be an artist.  But the only time my signature was attached to anything worth money was when I got a parking ticket and the city of Fort Worth was $17 dollars richer.

 I do see things with a trained eye….the same kind of "trained" as I would say, "My daughter's dog has been "trained"!  But her dog does NOT use his training!  You can buy him a cushion.  You can put the cushion in his favorite spot, right in front of the tv. ....but when you leave the room ....... Good Ol' Chance is right back up in the middle of Carrie's chair.

Our granddaughter, Brittany, (who lives with us) trained her three small dogs to run outside to bark.  Irwin  installed a doggie-door near the patio door.  Time was spent in training Harlie, Suzuki, and Pixel to use their doggie-door to EXIT the house to party and BARK….outside!  But there are so many times I can be deep in thought at my computer and Irwin at his carpenter bench, when a strange dog trots down the street and all three well trained dogs will run for the doggie-door at once.  However, these trained dogs will hold their barking until they get right behind my desk chair ....and then they explode with that shrill, panicky type barking....in triplicate!!!!  It frightens me so badly, its known to straighten the curls out of hair.  Then, the real excitement comes when all three dogs run right under Irwin at his workbench or electric saw, and begin to yelp feverishly.  Irwin jumps and yells and throws whatever is in his hand…..very similar to the chaos of Geronimo's sneak-attack on the U.S. Calvary.
 

Trained at something does not always mean that one is accomplished.   I’m amazed at the amount of skill in the photography that comes across my computer screen. My skill is called the law of averages…I just click at something until it is gone and I’m bound to get a good one.  For instance, the picture above of the sun rays.  We were actually traveling down the Interstate going about 65 mph.  I asked Irwin to slow down while I was rolling down my window and getting my brand new I-phone ready. (That’s another story!)  “You’re going too fast; slow down,” I kept yelling at Irwin.

Irwin yelled back, “I can’t slow down; we are traveling on the Interstate that’s posted 65 mph!  I’ve got traffic backed up all the way to the Red River.  We're going to have to keep up with the traffic or be rear-ended!” 

“Honey, you can just smile and motion for the impatient drivers to go around!  There’s 3 other lanes....... this was the exact picture I’ve been waiting for. God has created the sketching, colors mixing, shading, staging, and arrangements,…and I've got a "Smart Phone"!

Tricycles and Sport’s Cream..….

 Just recently, our number-six grandchild, Clark, has literally been obsessed with being NUMBER ONE, to the point of losing sight of the fun.  He thinks he has to win at all the video games (and most of the time he does win).  He tries to be first at buckling his seat-belt in the car.  If we are first to open the front door, he has a melt-down on the porch.  When we race the model cars down the ramp, he wants to move the tally-blocks to his stack whether he wins or not.  Then, in the checker game, he wanted me to put my spoils back until he could jump some of mine!
 In an attempt to teach Clark to be a good sport, Irwin and I try to take Clark to a park for a couple of hours, everyday.  Even the very hot and the very cold days, we go for a brief time.  He loves to make friends and is thrilled to run and play; and the whole time he is giggling and laughing with the other kids. 

 Thinking Clark would get interested in playing at home, some, Irwin bought him a beginner bicycle.  I felt he needed the eye/hand coordination along with the motor-skills of riding a tricycle, first.  He played in the driveway until I felt it was almost cruel to expect him to just continuously go in 20-foot circles.  Besides, he didn’t seem interested enough to ride but about 5 minutes a day.  (I just can’t understand why Clark didn’t prefer the slow, geriatric pace of his 70-year-old grandparents to a playground full of lively, active, energetic preschoolers.  Could it be his grandparents spent too much time breaking to rub Sports Cream on our aches and pains?)  So, I packed up the van with his “Big-Wheel” tricycle and plenty of ice-water & orange Gatorade (plus my large tube of Sports Cream) and we “started off to move the mountain!”  We stopped by the Day-Old Bread Store and purchased a large bargain bag of “bird bread” to feed the ducks (about 10 loaves for 88-cents).  By the time we got to the park, Clark had already eaten nearly half a loaf of “bird bread” and at least one small bottle of orange Gatorade…..but that’s okay, because I knew that he would run it off in no time.

 The “Big Wheel” was such a success that parents were amazed that the kids were so congenial and cooperative.  As weeks passed, the “Big Wheel Track” was getting very popular with more and more kids.  I must say that Clark was doing exceptional as an entrepreneur.  Clark ran around the track with each child just because he loves the fun and he loves to run!

We had a chance to buy another Hot Wheel to take with us to the park.  It was fun until one morning, when an older boy, about 7, came and got in the line to ride.  Clark greeted him nicely and instructed him about the rules on sharing:

·        Sit in line on the brick wall and wait your turn.

·        Ride one lap only.

·        Take a water break between laps.

·        Remember safety issues.

·        Slow down around toddlers, adults, and etc.

·        Arguments….and we put the toy in the car!

All was good until the older boy, riding one tricycle, passed Clark, riding the other tricycle.  Clark didn’t race the boy;  he didn’t even try to challenge him.   Clark slowed to a complete stop and began to wilt.  He dropped his shoulders.  His arms hung to his side as his head bowed.  His chin rested on his chest.  Then in slow motion, he tilted over to one side and slowly melted…. Ending up crumpled on the sidewalk.  I approached him; put my arms around him and asked if he was hurt.  He responded from his prone position, “I’m okay….but that big boy is winning!”

In my most understanding but firm voice,  “Your race is not over, why are you giving up?  Get back on your tricycle; put your feet on the pedals and keep moving toward the finish-line.  “Riding” your tricycle is the fun thing…. You need to keep riding to the finish line!  The “ride” is the most important!”

A week later, I was sitting in the doctor’s office when my doctor told me that my mammogram showed a malignant mass.  I felt my breathing slowed to a complete stop and I began to wilt.  My shoulders dropped.  My arms hung to my side.  My head bowed until my chin rested on my chest.  Then I felt myself want to tilt over to one side and melt… I wanted to crumple onto the floor.  I felt my God’s arms wrap around me and firmly say, “Don’t fall off your tricycle!  The race is not over, why are you giving up?  Get back on your tricycle, put your feet on the pedals, and keep moving toward the finish-line.  The “ride” is the most important thing!”