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PowerBerries

PowerBerries

Today was an awesome day.

It was the first full day of Spring.

It rained.

But before it rained we may have had the longest stretch of non-precipitation that we have had in a long time.  I was actually able to do some yard work over the weekend and walk across my back yard without sinking.  Today, however I could have used my kayak.

I had the Powerball.

My two Sugar Mountain”Kalinka” Sweetberry Honeysuckle Honeyberry Vitamin Berries Potted Plants that I ordered on Amazon were delivered today.

I started off my day with my protein drink for breakfast as I have done for the last couple of weeks.  It’s made with “milk” made from almonds and cashews and is nondairy.  Well at least that’s what it said in big bold letters at the top of the container.  But the first time I tried it I had to hesitate a bit.  With my first big protein experience in hand and heading for my mouth, I noticed the smaller not so bold letters at the bottom of the carton that admitted it was actually made from almonds, cashews, and pea.  Now there is something about realizing that the beverage you are about to take a big gulp of is made of pea that stops you in mid movement…even if it is pea with an “a”.  After a few moments of thinking rationally through the issue,  down she went.

Then, I mixed my Elderberry with Aronia, Honey and Green Tea Syrup into a glass with eight ounces of water and topped off my almond, cashew, and pea protein drink to complete my morning ritual.

I know,  I am living the dream over here!

Don’t hate.

A few weeks back Kim was researching the benefits of elderberries and ordered a couple of bushes to plant in our yard.

That same weekend we met Kent Marrs of the Village Winery in Waterford, Virginia.  Kent is the owner, winemaker, cider maker, juice maker, syrup maker, self-mocking “snake oil salesman,” and host extraordinaire of the winery that includes a small tasting room off a historic old barn. He is charming, humble, and smart as he has begun to carve out a niche business in producing, promoting, and selling the nutritional and health benefits of the syrups and juices of elderberry and aronia that are alleged to boost immunity, fight cancer, repair organs, and help diabetes. So he has been so successful is his new niche business that he is moving away from wine in a big way.

Kent is very convincing and he has a slew of anecdotal stories from a growing base of loyal customers who swear by his syrups and juices and who now return on a regular basis to restock up on his products and give testimony on why.

On a recent return visit by Kim and I to restock up on our Elderberry, Aronia, Honey, and Green Tea syrup, Kent shared his new venture Honeyberries. Information I found on the internet supports Kent’s excitement saying  “researchers found blue honeysuckle berries to possess the highest content of phenolic acids compared to other berries tested… in summary, the Honeyberry is a nutritional powerhouse!”

Thus the explanation for the delivery of my two Sugar Mountain”Kalinka” Sweetberry Honeysuckle Honeyberry Vitamin Berries Potted Plants from Amazon earlier today.

My honeyberries are going to go head to head with my wife’s elderberries.  We will see who has the bigger immunity.

So on the way home from work I dipped into the grocery store to turn in my winning Powerball ticket, and to pick up some potting soil and some larger pots to replant my new honeyberry bushes.

Like my lottery winnings, my honeyberry plants are currently small (I only matched the Powerball so I let it ride on a couple more for Saturday).

But I am optimistic the future will be bright and will bear fruit.

In the mean time I will drink my liquids made of cashews, almonds, elderberry, aronia and pea; and live this dream.

Who needs the Powerball, I’ve got Powerberries.

 

If you live in Northern Virginia and need something to do on a weekend, take a ride out to Waterford and visit Kent at the Village Winery.  He is very entertaining, interesting to listen to, has a great tasting presentation, and is just fun to hang out with.  And he is very passionate about his berries.

Here is a link to his website

 

Let me know what you think.

Dear God, What a Mess!

Dear God, What a Mess!

Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”
Abe says, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on”
God say, “No.” Abe say, “What?”
God say, “You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin’ you better run”
Well Abe says, “Where you want this killin’ done?”
God says. “Out on Highway 61”

From Highway 61 Revisited by Bob Dylan

The story retold and modified in these lyrics, are of Abraham and his son Isaac, from the Bible in Genesis 22.  God tests Abraham by telling him “Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah.  Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about.”  Abraham proves himself to God and Isaac is spared.  To Abraham, only God had that right to ask to take the life of his child.

Recently Kim and I volunteered to facilitate a small group study based on the book by Jacob Armstrong called God’s Messy Family: Finding Your Place When Life Isn’t Perfect.  The book uses Abraham’s family story in Genesis, to help us make sense of our own families when life isn’t perfect.

Life is not perfect as we were reminded of again with the recent decision in New York to pass their Reproductive Health Act.

I am not a supporter of abortion.  I am sure many of you are and I respect that.

And though I am a non-supporter, I am realistic enough to know it is not going away, it is part of a world health initiative and it is here to stay however imperfect some of us as individuals may feel that is.

I get that.

It’s just that at my age and my current state of getting old, crotchety, and more conservative; as a father of three girls, grandfather of three grandsons, and a part a family who has lost a child…sometimes I just want to say “phooey” again.

Oh sure, there was a time in my naïve, young, counterculture life when I probably landed on the supporting side of this issue as well.  Then again, I was probably on the supporting side of many issues that I can look back on now and say… “What was I thinking?”

Life’s experiences change a lot of things.

Experiences like hearing the heartbeats of my daughters before I even had a chance to hold them or hear them cry.

Or having photos of my grandsons held with magnets on the refrigerator, or downloaded to my cell phone’s photo gallery, and even having shared them in my writing.  And these images are not the traditional school photos, these are sonogram images created by ultrasound equipment allowing me to see them before their introduction to the world. I was just as excited about them being my grandsons then, as I am now.

Or grieving a child whose heart not only beat, but was shared with many as a son, a brother, a friend, and a mentor.

 

 

So I have to ask, what is it about terminating a life that is worth the joy and celebration exhibited in New York?

One article I read said that Cuomo was exultant sporting a pink tie, and that on Tuesday night, the governor ordered the top of One World Trade Center to be lit up pink.

And why pink?  Pink is the revered color associated with Breast Cancer…And why One World Trade Center and not the Planned Parenthood on Bleecker Street? What were you thinking?

And those with him in the photo were just as exultant, big smiles, very pleased with themselves.

I wonder how many of those smiling, exultant faces have the personal experience of losing a child.  I wonder if any grieve a lost child terminated by the decision to abort; or lost by miscarriage; or by sickness, accident, or act of war.  They are all lost children regardless of their age at time of death.

And how many of those who aborted now regret that decision? How many wonder what their child would be like today?  How many of those decisions were driven by the boneheads who fathered those babies, thus protecting their right to continue to reproduce as often as the urge struck.   I have heard anecdotal stories of men who have fathered as many as three maybe even four babies, all conveniently aborted.  Or maybe it was a parent’s decision to protect their daughter from the “shame” of a teenage pregnancy, or maybe that protection was extended to themselves more.

If a law like this must be made, at least give this imperfect decision the level of soberness it is due.

You can’t have a daughter and be that exultant about the opportunity you just created for her to terminate your grandchild.

Or maybe, as in the Governor’s case, you can.

We just have to hope for a world where more people believe only God has the right to ask for your child back.

And given the opportunity, those little heartbeats be allowed to bring joy to those who want to love them.

exultant, big smiles, very pleased with themselves
The Holiday Chronicles: The New Year, Epiphany, Hope, and Rain

The Holiday Chronicles: The New Year, Epiphany, Hope, and Rain

It’s windy.

I woke up this morning to find a Christmas tree rolling around my back yard.

I knew it wasn’t my Christmas tree because I didn’t put one up this year.

But I have one now.

And I am guessing I also have at least one happy neighbor who I am sure had been stressing over when that tree on his curb was going to finally be picked up.

Now his stress is over. Now I can have that tree on my curb and I can stress over how long it’s going to be there and when it is going to be picked up.

 

We are already over a week into the New Year.

The New Year’s celebrations have come and gone.

And like every year on New Year’s Eve as the day slips into night, and I go to sleep, I wake up with the new dawn in the New Year having some renewed spirit.

An epiphany.

Like something is sure to change…

This year, will be, unlike any other year…

This is the year I am going to … (fill in the blank).

I have passed Go, collected my two hundred bucks and I am ready to go around again, only this time…this year,  maybe I will land on Broadway.

I get another chance to do it better. Maybe forget some pain or unpleasantness from the previous year, because that was yesterday this is today.

And for some reason, today… feels different.

 

Hope.

I wrote about Hope a couple of years ago at a time when I thought I needed to be reminded and maybe we all needed to be reminded that it was going to be okay.

But I think it may help sometimes to have these transition days like a New Year’s Day to metaphorically wipe the slate clean and start anew.

Taking a thought from Hope, I don’t know for sure if God has already revealed what is in store for me.

But here is my New Year’s epiphany…

Maybe He has?

Maybe I was right when I proposed in Hope that that I might be living my rewards already. Maybe the truth is I landed on Broadway twenty years ago and I am already living those rewards I worked hard for and prayed for.

And though I am still going to have those days when I wake up to random Christmas trees rolling around my yard, it’s okay.

This is it.

This is the year I am going to…realize that this is it!

And it is just as it should be…

 

As I thought about trying to wrap this up it occurred to me if I had to summarize 2018 in one word it would be rain.  Rain that destroyed my grass and turned my yard into mud, and kept my tomatoes from turning red.

So while at the gym this evening I listened to rain songs…Lowen and Navarro, the Jayhawks, John Hiatt.

And I settled on Hiatt to sum it up:

 

Batten down the hatches
But keep your heart out on your sleeve
A little bit of stormy weather, that’s no cause for us to leave
Just stay here baby, in my arms
Let it wash away the pain
Feels like rain

 (from Feels Like Rain, John Hiatt)

 

And once again, let our dreams continue undimmed by change, tragedy, conflict, and the tears that may be shed as a result.

 

And let it be, a happy new year.

 

 

 

The Thanksgiving Day Massacre

The Thanksgiving Day Massacre

Her body was green and she had two vicious jaws
She polished her mate as she kissed him with her claws
She bit off his head so he would not feel the pain
She wanted his body so much she ate his brain

From Don Dixon’s “Praying Mantis” 1985

 

“Curt come here quick, what is this?” my wife yelled from down the hall.

One of our bedrooms has, over time, been converted into a year round plant room, though this time of year it was also filled with plants that had been recently moved from the deck to winter inside.

It was Thanksgiving morning, we were about to leave for Pennsylvania, Kim decided to check on her plants before hitting the road.

On one of the plants was a tan and orange cocoon like thing that Kim called me to look at.

As I was focusing on the nest- like structure, Kim blurted,

“Look! There are ants all over the leaves!”

I shifted my focus now to one of the long leaves and the “ants.”

Finding the leaves covered with insects I responded,

“Those aren’t ants… those are praying mantises!”

 

As a kid growing up in New Jersey I was always told it was illegal to kill a praying mantis.

And I grew old, never having any reason to challenge that.

Therefore, now standing in my spare bedroom, surrounded by plants, in the presence of my wife, and facing hundreds of praying mantises, in my mind I was looking at ten years to life…but I had to make a decision.

I lifted the plant and carefully carried it down the stairs and out on to the deck.

It was a cold morning.

In a short while, I looked again, they were all dead.

Mantis bodies littered my deck.

 

We threw our suitcases in the car and like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde we headed for the Pennsylvania border.

We were on the lam.

With me driving the get-away car Kim got on her iPad and did some research.

It turns out, a praying mantis is pretty scary.  They are carnivores, and there are some larger species that will hunt small birds, lizards, and mammals! They have triangular heads that they can turn 180 degrees, two compound eyes with a few extra regular eyes in the middle just because.  Their legs are equipped with spikes for pinning their prey.  But mostly in the US, they just eat other bugs.

Sort of.

They are also cannibals and will eat their siblings!

And the real kicker, the female will eat the male after mating!

Okay that’s enough…this is what Dixon was singing about.

“What about the protection…are they protected?” I asked as we left Virginia and entered Maryland.

She read from the internet site Snopes/Fact Check:

The belief that it is illegal to kill a praying mantis (a crime carrying a $50 fine as a punishment) has been floating around since the 1950s, and we have no idea where this bit of insectoid legal apocrypha came from:

“When I was growing up in New Jersey, I used to find praying mantises in our driveway and back yard every once in a while. It was illegal in NJ to kill a praying mantis, as I remember.”

There is not (and never has been) any federal or state law proscribing the killing of praying mantises.

No.

We were in the clear.

No Jail time.

No $50 times a couple hundred dead bugs fine.

Okay, okay so I am sure there is something your momma told you that you still believe too.

And besides, like that guy in the Snopes internet post, I’m from Jersey too where we have the Jersey Devil, Bigfoot, and Jimmy Hoffa.

What’s the moral of the story?

Love and trust your mother… but verify.

And check your plants before you carry them in the house, spring comes early indoors.

The Holiday Chronicles: Thanksgiving

The Holiday Chronicles: Thanksgiving

Some traditional Thanksgiving images at a country store in Springs, PA.

“That this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

It’s Thanksgiving week.

Monday, November 19 as I began to make some notes, was the day Abraham Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg address, one hundred and fifty five years ago. The day Lincoln said “The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here.”

Lincoln got a lot of things right, but that wasn’t one of them.

And what about Thanksgiving?

I watched a TV drama on Tuesday, it was their Thanksgiving episode.   One of the characters expressed his struggle to get through the Thanksgiving holiday each year.  I have heard that before, sometimes from people very close to me. It is true, not everyone has those warm fuzzy feelings at Thanksgiving.

 

When I was a kid we made Pilgrim hats, turkeys, and Native American Indian headdresses out of colored paper. Then we draped the classroom with chains made out of paper rings of brown, orange, and red.

Our characterization of Thanksgiving is attributed to a description in a letter by a Plymouth, Massachusetts settler named Edward Winslow in 1621.  More words that established a legacy.

But some argue that the actual first Thanksgiving occurred 60 years before that in Florida when the Spanish fleet came ashore and planted a cross in the sand.  They gave thanks for God’s providence and celebrated their safe arrival with a feast with the Native Americans they encountered.

Someone I love dearly said recently wouldn’t it be nice if you could pick your own Thanksgiving Day?  Celebrate and give thanks on a day when you or your family had something special to be thankful for.

Maybe there is something to that.

You pick your own day to plant your cross in the sand.

 

And it’s not just those emotional struggles.

Because look what we have done.

Like so many other things we have screwed up.

Thanksgiving is now all about TV deals at Walmart.

Colored paper and pilgrim hats replaced with colored ad circulars, coupons, and doorbusters.

Since now on the day after Halloween stores seem to go right to Christmas, someday Thanksgiving may just be part of the fifty shades of Black Friday.

“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here” said Lincoln of his words to help dedicate a cemetery at Gettysburg.

Someday as it pertains to the traditions of our Thanksgiving, the world may little note nor remember …what we do here.

 

Now as this Thanksgiving week comes to a close, whatever challenges we may have worried about are behind us.  Having spent my Thanksgiving in the farmlands of western Pennsylvania, it somehow felt more Thanksgiving like, more traditional. And the only real struggle I had was not reaching for the turkey since for me it was my first self-imposed pescatarian Thanksgiving.

And I hope yours was exactly how you wanted it to be, your cross in the sand, like you picked it yourself, without any struggles.

One to be thankful for.

Near Meyersdale, PA
Veterans Day Musings

Veterans Day Musings

My dad with his brother Ted during the Korean conflict

He blesses the boys
As they stand in line
The smell of gun grease
And the bayonets they shine
He’s there to help them
All that he can
To make them feel wanted
He’s a good holy man

Sky Pilot
Sky Pilot
How high can you fly?
You never, never, never
Reach the sky

Sky Pilot.

A song from 1968 by Eric Burdon and the Animals.

Though the term dates back to the late 1800’s, Sky Pilot is a slang term for a military Chaplain.

Lately, in my quest to reduce some unnecessary stress, I have been avoiding listening to or watching the news as much as I can. On my XM radio I have discovered Little Steven’s (Steve Van Zandt) Underground Garage.  If you have any appreciation for rock music and its origins, this is the station for you.

Last week on a trip out to visit my parents I heard this song.

 

It was the early 1940’s and the World War II was raging on.  Rumor had it, the British were taking fourteen year olds as sailors on their Merchant Navy ships. At fourteen years old, there was no other option to get into the war.  So a couple of kids from Jersey made the trip up to New York City, eager to get involved anyway that they could and serve their country in any way they could.

Sailors in the British Merchant Navy were classified as civilians. Germany had declared that every vessel of the British mercantile marine was to be regarded as a warship, meaning that the sailors of the Merchant Navy faced tremendous risks. An estimated 30,248 merchant seamen lost their lives during World War II, a death rate proportionally higher than in any of the armed forces.

Unfortunately or fortunately, for these two young teenagers, the rumor was not true, and they were turned away.  Disappointed, the two boys returned to their home town in New Jersey.  They would be left out of this war.

It’s Veterans Day.

I spent some time while I was with my parents last weekend asking questions as I typically do.

My grandfather, my father’s father was born in Norway.  He entered the United States illegally in the early 1900’s.  He was a sailor who jumped ship in New York and headed for Norwegian communities in the mid-western US.  In spite of how he entered the country, he served in the United States Army during World War I in France as a motorcycle messenger.  Though my father thinks he may have been discharged early, but honorably, due to his inability to speak English well enough.  I remember as kid seeing his discharge papers hanging on the wall.

When World War II broke out, living on the New Jersey coast, my grandfather was trained to identify enemy aircraft silhouettes and manned the coastal spotting towers along the beaches.  Some of those towers still remain today.

My mother’s oldest brother Bill served in the Seabees in the south Pacific in World War II.

My mother’s other brother, my uncle Bob, was a sergeant on a mortar crew in the Korean conflict.

My father’s younger brother Ted served in the Navy during the Korean conflict.

My dad, after returning from that ill-fated attempt to join the British Merchant Navy with one of his Oceanport buddies in World War II, found another way to serve his country at home.

It was estimated that by the end of the war more than 6 million men had left farm work to go off to war.  The USDA’s Farm Corps was a solution to that problem.  It employed 2.5 million patriotic teenagers who wanted to serve in some way.

USDA official Meredith C. Wilson wrote at the time that “manpower for agriculture is of equal importance with manpower to produce combat weapons for our fighting men.”

And farm worker recruitment materials from the Office of War Information insisted that “bread is ammunition as vital as bullets.”

It may not have been as exciting as crossing the Atlantic dodging torpedoes from German U-Boats, but at least it was something.

During the Korean conflict, my dad served in the US Army and his unit was assigned to coastal protection and he was stationed at posts in Brooklyn, Long Island, Rhode Island, and Connecticut.

My parents were married while my dad was in the Army and they looked for places to live in Brooklyn so my mom could be closer to my father stationed in New York.  But after being turned down as tenants, she returned home and lived in an apartment in my father’s parent’s house in the Hillcrest neighborhood of Oceanport. My mother didn’t think people wanted to rent to young GI’s at the time.

 

 

On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, an armistice, or temporary cessation of hostilities, was declared between the Allied nations and Germany during my grandfather’s war, World War I.

In 1926, Congress passed a resolution that the “recurring anniversary (of this day) should be commemorated with thanksgiving and prayer and exercises designed to perpetuate peace through good will and mutual understanding between nations.”

I like that.

Thanksgiving…I am kind of thankful the British Merchant Navy didn’t take fourteen year olds.

Prayers for peace, good will, and mutual understanding between nations.

And maybe those same sentiments amongst ourselves as well so I can take my head out of the sand and go back to watching TV news again.

Happy Veterans Day.

Thanks to all those who have served!

You’re soldiers of God, you must understand
The fate of your country is in your young hands
May God give you strength
Do your job real well

(from Sky Pilot, by Eric Burdon and the Animals)

My dad in the Army with his mom and dad
My Three Little Chickens

My Three Little Chickens

I guess I should be a little embarrassed.

Approximately a year and a half ago I was celebrating National Meatball Day.  I didn’t miss that one.

But this week I apparently  missed National Daughter’s Day.

National Daughter’s Day, how could I have not seen that one?

I blew a perfectly good Dad opportunity.

Because you know, I have three of them.

Daughters that is.

Maybe I should have known, but since I haven’t been paying too much attention to social media lately when I did, I saw all these nice photos with my friends praising their beautiful daughters.

So I felt guilty.

I had no photos…I had no praises.

I do love my daughters…even more than I love meatballs.

Therefore I thought it only fitting to give them some blog space too.

So I had to Google this Daughter’s Day thing.

And apparently National Daughter’s Day is:

 

Celebrated September 25, but some celebrate it on the Fourth Sunday in September. In some countries it is celebrated on October 1, and World Daughters Day is September 28.

 

Okay so after reading that I think I am good.  I don’t really think I messed up at all because it sounds like you can pick any day near the end of September and call it Daughter’s Day.   So in my world, today is Daughter’s Day,  I am going to celebrate it today.

 

 What is the reason this day was created?… In developed countries Daughters Day is a day to celebrate the joy and wonder of having a baby girl and raising a daughter.

 

Though sometimes I wonder lately if I live in a developed country, I have definitely experienced this joy and wonder thing with my daughters.

Like the time I wondered what one of my daughters was thinking trying to go out dressed like she was?

And all the nights I wondered why they weren’t home when they were supposed to be or why they weren’t in the place they were supposed to be?

And sure there were joys too.

Obviously so many joys it’s hard for me to list them here because that would take a book.  And I am sure all my joys are also being celebrated this week by Bank of America and Citibank who recognize the importance of my daughters in our lives and in theirs.

I particularly liked the:

How to celebrate: Dads should consider taking daughters out on a date, whether to a park or for a meal. Moms should share words of encouragement and wisdom. Every parent should make their daughter feel like a princess or the little angel they are! Of course, moms and dads can spent joint family time together with the goal of celebrating what makes daughters so unique and special in a family.

Yes of course, the little angels they are!

Moms sharing words of wisdom and daughters listening? Hello…Is there anybody out there? This is the real world…I don’t think that part of the country has developed yet.

I also liked the idea of dad’s taking their daughters to a park.  Maybe I could relive the experience of trying to teach Alexa how to ride a bicycle on the W & OD trail that ended with me literally throwing the bike into the woods in frustration after multiple attempts of having her peddle while I was pushing her and then as soon as I would let her go she would stop peddling and fall over just like the routine on the show “Laugh In” over and over again.

 

I often have fun writing about my kids and I have said before they are all good sports.

The truth is my daughters have taken their share of lumps in life but they continue to rise up.

They have had some life experiences probably shared by many daughters.

And then they have had some I hope no child ever has to go through.

They have lived through their own marital and relationship traumas and in some cases abuse.

And they have lived through the death of a brother.

Yet they are resilient.

They are women now, some with their own kids (though no daughters thank God).

And they are happy.

And they are princesses.

And I suppose they are angels too, though maybe not so little anymore.

And unlike the rest of the daughters out there, they have to put up with me.

And they do a pretty good job at that too.

So happy National Daughter’s Day to Alexa, Hayley, and Savannah…my three little chickens.

 

I love you more than meatballs.

 

Cloudy

Cloudy

What are those things?

I am not sure…they look like funny looking glasses…let me google them…it says they are called sunglasses.

Oh…what are they used for?

It says they are supposed to keep the sun out of our eyes.

Oh…why would we need those?

 

From Cloudy, a song written by Simon and Garfunkel:

 

Hey sunshine.

I haven’t seen you for a long time.

Why don’t you show your face and bend my mind?

 

Yes please, bend my mind.  I am ready.

I miss the sun.

I am sick of clouds. I am sick of rain.

And while I complain, clouds of disaster are working their evil in the Carolinas.  A report I heard this morning talked about a river that was considered at flood level when just 3 to 5 feet over normal.  They were expecting the level to reach 62 feet.

 

In spite of our seemingly never-ending clouds and showers, we had an awesome weekend.

We rode our bikes, we hiked at Great Falls.

Great Falls National Park has a startling reminder of disasters from the past that puts flooding in perspective.  A tall post with signs from years past marking the water levels of previous floods that have lifted the Potomac River to unimaginable heights in that area.  Hard to imagine as you look down at the rapids below from the overlooks, that the water level could be six or so more feet above where you are standing.

 

Our sermon this morning at church was a continuation of a series called The Wilderness, Growing in Faith When Life is Hard.

The Wilderness, a metaphor for difficult times, and how hard it is sometimes to find your way out.  And this morning’s message specifically… isn’t it amazing how God brings people into our lives at such times to help us through.

Isn’t that the truth, I could write a book about that, or maybe more accurately my wife and I live that every day.  I might already be writing that book.

And the scripture this morning was from Numbers with Moses and his party three days into the wilderness and “the cloud of the Lord was over them by day when they set out from the camp.”

The “cloud of the Lord.”

I have never thought of God in the clouds.

Maybe I am being too hard on the clouds.

Maybe God is in my clouds too.

 

I have written before of my friend Joe who passed away earlier this year and that he had a box full of vegetable seeds which were divided up amongst friends to keep the Veggie Joe legacy alive.

My first attempt earlier in the season didn’t go well but the later seeds did take and finally, I have some tomatoes.

But they are green tomatoes.

And without the sun I am afraid they may never see red.

 

The forecast is for a couple more days of rain from the remnants of what was Hurricane Florence finally reaching our area.

 

So God,  forgive me for always assuming evil in the clouds.

And I pray you put people in the lives of those affected by hurricanes, rain, flooding, and other wilderness situations just as you did in the lives of Kim and me.

I pray that you show your face and bend my mind.

And please if you would, turn Joe’s tomatoes red.

Amen

Jesus…We Are Busy!

Jesus…We Are Busy!

This past week one of my Florida grandsons in the first weeks of his new Hollywood Hills United Methodist Church preschool (he is three),  video called me to share his project from preschool that included a working set of “lungs” (on a poster board) complete with baggies for lungs, straws for bronchi and a trachea.  It was awesome.  He is three!

Having had a background in Respiratory Therapy and pulmonary medicine it made me proud, and a little sad I had given that up that work some years ago.

It’s Labor Day.

And it is about work.

Though I had an awesome week, it was one deserving of a three day break in my opinion.

I work at a church.

Some people might think that working at a church isn’t really working.

Kind of like the Dire Straits song:

“That ain’t workin’ that’s the way you do it
Get your money for nothin’ get your chicks for free”

Well I certainly don’t know anything about getting “chicks” anymore and don’t want to and to the best of my knowledge working at a church doesn’t make for chick magnets anyway.

But I get work.

I like to work.

And let me tell you something, after finishing one of my busier weeks working at my church… working for Jesus is tough.

Jesus is busy!

And though sometimes I think my “to do” list is out of control, Jesus has to have a “to do” list beyond belief.

I have a hard time getting to all the things on myto do” list, sometimes it takes me weeks, maybe an occasional month even to get to some things.

So I get it.

Two years ago today, I wrote on my Musings of an Aging Nobody, My Prayer for Hayley.

Hayley is one of my daughters.

At the end of My Prayer for Hayley I wrote, “And so my prayer for Hayley is that God answers my prayer for Hayley the same way he answered my prayer for myself some years ago.

And may she never look back.”

 

This week my prayer for Hayley was answered.  It took two years.

So Jesus, c’mon man, I know I am busy…

But it’s okay.

Because I know you are busier!

And I understand that it might take two years to get to my prayer.

I do get it.

I just hope that those that I work with are as patient with me getting to those things on my “to do” list.

This week I feel particularly blessed.

I am blessed to have a grandson in a pre-med pre-school, another starting to talk and walk, and another down the hall right now pushing his Mimi’s buttons and having a great time doing it.

And Jesus thank you for keeping me so busy.

But especially thank you for answering my prayer for Hayley.

And just like the analogy I like to use for my life…just like Secretariat winning the Belmont by 31 lengths, and never looking back,

“may she never look back.”

Again.

Christian’s lung project!
Bell Bottom Blues Revisited

Bell Bottom Blues Revisited

That’s me on the left in those WT Grant Jeans circa 1973.

My August 29, 1969 copy of Life Magazine came in the mail today.

The summer of 1969 was a significant one.

The Who released Tommy.

I watched Easy Rider at the Eatontown Drive-In without a car.

I watched with my immigrant Norwegian grandfather, the first man walk on the moon.

The New York Mets began their comeback that would ultimately make them World Series Champs that Fall.

Sharon Tate met Charles Manson.

The United States Gulf Coast met Hurricane Camille.

Woodstock.

And for me maybe the most important thing to happen that summer,   I got my first pair of hip hugger, bell bottom blue jeans.

WT Grant was a department store in Little Silver, New Jersey back in the 1960’s.  Little Silver was the next town over from Oceanport across the small bridge over the Oceanport Creek, then a short hop through the Army’s Fort Monmouth, and across the Little Silver Bridge.  Little Silver had Mike’s Toy Store, the Dairy King drive up ice cream, and a small WT Grant department store.

On one of those trips to WT Grant late in August, in the summer of 1969,  before school started the following week and I would begin the eighth grade,  I convinced my mother to buy me a pair of bell bottom blue jeans.  They were a little big but I didn’t care, I had my first pair of bell bottoms.

In addition to my bell bottoms that day, I also convinced my mother to buy me a copy of the Life magazine that I had picked up from the magazine rack. The one about Woodstock, with Norman Mailer on the cover, and the Manson murders inside.

I remember the ride home, flipping those pages and absorbing the photos.  Once home I spent hours in that magazine reading and imagining…me in my bell bottoms at Woodstock…the horror of the Manson murders and the beauty of Sharon Tate.

Life Magazine back in the day was big with many photos and stories.

The world as we knew it was changing in the 60’s, there was lots of turmoil, tragedy, social unrest, and scientific advancement.

Those bell bottoms signified a change in my life too.  Later that school year those jeans (along with my handmade macramé belt) would get me some trouble and would keep me out of my eighth-grade graduation until my sister could bring me new clothes.

I would wear that same pair of bell bottom jeans through the four years of high school that followed with a little help that they were big when I bought them, eventually cutting the threads out of the seams at bottoms to make them longer, and the fact that I just plain didn’t grow much from the time I was 13 until I graduated high school.

 

The world was different then, but probably really not so much different.  We still have turmoil, tragedy, social unrest, and scientific advancement now.

But back then we had magazines, now we have Facebook and Instagram.

And I don’t have hip hugger bell bottom blue jeans anymore.  But at my age and with the size of my belly I wish I did.  They would have a more practical application for me today.

 

The realization that the sun is setting sooner crept over me as I finished my ride and headed back to my truck last evening.

Just like the lift the extra daylight was in the spring that seemed so liberating,  the impending darkness as the days get shorter is signaling a change that will soon be limiting.

The summer of 2018 is coming to an end already.

But just as fast as I think this summer went, the winter months will go by too, and before I know it the days will be warmer and the sun back out longer.

Because unlike that long lazy summer of 49 years ago, that is how it seems to be now.

Time seems to move faster.

I don’t know why that is, it just does.

 

“Bell bottom blues, don’t say goodbye.
I’m sure we’re gonna meet again,
And if we do, don’t you be surprised”

(from Bell Bottom Blues by Eric Clapton and Bobby Whitlock)

Sharon Tate