Just because I have not posted a blog since January 30th is no indication that I have not tried. I throw out at least half of my attempts. However, there is nothing like writing for a specific date (in this case, a birthday) to outdate my efforts almost before they are published.
I have misplaced an important journal and spent much of yesterday, once again, searching for it. Quite naturally, that led to clearing my book shelves. Now that my youngest grandchildren are learning to read, about one fourth of my accumulated literary treasures would hold no interest to anyone except me. Of course, with a new grandbaby on the way, I'll hang onto most of those books.
Scattered haphazardly on the floor of a seldom-used room were books from various reading stages of my life. Lassie Come Home and coverless Cinderella as well as Hurlburts bible Stories and Aunt Charlotte's Bivle Stories are the only tomes that have survived since childhool.
There is one book that really haunts me. When John and I lived in Beaumont, Calfironia, there was an elderly christian lady who would stop me on a weekly basis and insist that I should read the best piece of literature ever written. Eventually, she brought me a copy of A tree Grows in Brooklyn. I have no idea how many times over the years I have tried to read this novel. I have never made it past the second chapter. I do not know why it has never held my interest; what little I have read was well written and even interesting.
Once again, I removed the book from my bookshelf where I keep books for loaning to people; although this book has never been loaned. Once again, I place it in the stack to take to the used book dealer's shop to trade in. And, once again, I remember the lady who loaned it to me over 40 years ago. And...once again...I place it back on my shelf. What am I feeling? Guilt? perhaps. Motivated? no. But maybe one day I will get around to reading it.
I wonder if others hang onto books or things, not really knowing why?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
UNDERSTANDING FOOTBALL
I know it is not football season but...
After one and one-half hours of composing a masterpiece, I needed only to wrap it up and post it. When I hit the "enter" key on my computer, everything disappeared...never to be seen again. So, I resurrected an old unpublished article. If you are desperate for reading material...you've got it!
Everyone is talking about football these days, and I got to thinking about the influence that sport has had on my life.
I was in junior high in Andrews, Texas, when I went to my first football game. There are two things I remember about that experience. 1) The band major was a full-blooded Seminole Indian. It seems to me that there was some controversy over a boy in that position. and 2) The junior high boys teased me because my hair kept falling in my eyes and, to avoid being conspicuous about the dilemma, I would stick out my bottom lip and blow it back.
We moved to Tucson between junior and high school. Of course, high school football was far more educational in the big city high school. I attended most of the THS home games and never missed a Thanksgiving rivalry game against Amphitheater; that game was played near our house at the University of Arizona stadium. What I recall most about high school football is my wardrobe. Without fail, I always wore red and white every Friday, My favorite outfit was a white blouse and a full skirt (red with huge white polka dots) poofed out with numerous crinolines. I remember most of the cheers: T-T-T-u-c; S-S-s-o-n and We are the Badgers, Mighty Mighty Badgers. Who can forget First and ten; do it again. Harder! Harder! Yessiree, I sat on the front row in front of the marching band and yelled my little heart out, It was not hard to identify me as a real fan though I hadn't a clue what the cheers meant, No one ever bothered to educate me; and, truthfully, it never crossed my mind to ask.
The year I started college was the last year Pepperdine had a football team. I may have attended two or three games. Early on, I learned how many players were supposed to be on the field. Apparently, this was a piece of information that had alluded our team.
In our years in Juneau, football was not a part of the school sports program nor even community sports. With the advent of cable TV, and eventually the addition of a daughter-in-law whose brother is a college football coach, at last I was (somewhat) educated about the game. So, when asked if I watched the Super Bowl, my answer was "The last 39 seconds."
"Well, then, you did not miss anything." has been the standard reply.
Somehow, there must be a message here about life.
After one and one-half hours of composing a masterpiece, I needed only to wrap it up and post it. When I hit the "enter" key on my computer, everything disappeared...never to be seen again. So, I resurrected an old unpublished article. If you are desperate for reading material...you've got it!
Everyone is talking about football these days, and I got to thinking about the influence that sport has had on my life.
I was in junior high in Andrews, Texas, when I went to my first football game. There are two things I remember about that experience. 1) The band major was a full-blooded Seminole Indian. It seems to me that there was some controversy over a boy in that position. and 2) The junior high boys teased me because my hair kept falling in my eyes and, to avoid being conspicuous about the dilemma, I would stick out my bottom lip and blow it back.
We moved to Tucson between junior and high school. Of course, high school football was far more educational in the big city high school. I attended most of the THS home games and never missed a Thanksgiving rivalry game against Amphitheater; that game was played near our house at the University of Arizona stadium. What I recall most about high school football is my wardrobe. Without fail, I always wore red and white every Friday, My favorite outfit was a white blouse and a full skirt (red with huge white polka dots) poofed out with numerous crinolines. I remember most of the cheers: T-T-T-u-c; S-S-s-o-n and We are the Badgers, Mighty Mighty Badgers. Who can forget First and ten; do it again. Harder! Harder! Yessiree, I sat on the front row in front of the marching band and yelled my little heart out, It was not hard to identify me as a real fan though I hadn't a clue what the cheers meant, No one ever bothered to educate me; and, truthfully, it never crossed my mind to ask.
The year I started college was the last year Pepperdine had a football team. I may have attended two or three games. Early on, I learned how many players were supposed to be on the field. Apparently, this was a piece of information that had alluded our team.
In our years in Juneau, football was not a part of the school sports program nor even community sports. With the advent of cable TV, and eventually the addition of a daughter-in-law whose brother is a college football coach, at last I was (somewhat) educated about the game. So, when asked if I watched the Super Bowl, my answer was "The last 39 seconds."
"Well, then, you did not miss anything." has been the standard reply.
Somehow, there must be a message here about life.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
THIS IS THE DAY...
THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE LORD HAS MADE; LET US REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT!
10 - This is the last day of all of our family birthdays, and we still have a "leftover" day.
9 - Two more days, and we can change the calendar. A quick peek reveals the February photo is a picture of ice formations in Juneau, Alaska. Now, there's an original idea!
8 - The last of the inventory sales helps me prepare for 2008 baby showers. Hopefully that number is the year and not how many showers there will be this year.....though one can never be certain.
7 - Can seed catalogs be far behind?
6 - The United States Postal Service actually answered their phone with a human voice, took copious notes about the lost package, and said they'd get back to me today.
5 - My new dishwasher does all that the manufacturer promised -- quietly.
4 - Wednesdays are always my "marathon day" with a study of Proverbs mid afternoon and a gathering to study "Truth" later.
3 - My children rise up and call me Blessed!
2 - This is the day that we celebrate the birth of our youngest, who has brought us so much joy!
1 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GEOFFREY!!
10 - This is the last day of all of our family birthdays, and we still have a "leftover" day.
9 - Two more days, and we can change the calendar. A quick peek reveals the February photo is a picture of ice formations in Juneau, Alaska. Now, there's an original idea!
8 - The last of the inventory sales helps me prepare for 2008 baby showers. Hopefully that number is the year and not how many showers there will be this year.....though one can never be certain.
7 - Can seed catalogs be far behind?
6 - The United States Postal Service actually answered their phone with a human voice, took copious notes about the lost package, and said they'd get back to me today.
5 - My new dishwasher does all that the manufacturer promised -- quietly.
4 - Wednesdays are always my "marathon day" with a study of Proverbs mid afternoon and a gathering to study "Truth" later.
3 - My children rise up and call me Blessed!
2 - This is the day that we celebrate the birth of our youngest, who has brought us so much joy!
1 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GEOFFREY!!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Shopping Spree
The challenge came in an email as I was heading out the door for a class on Proverbs, so I dashed off this answer. And, after reading it over, I decided I should not waste the opportunity to share with others.
THE CHALLENGE: I'm doing a survey. What's the longest shopping spree you ever had - and you can tell me a few details, if you want.
SHOPPING SPREE
Truthfully, I have not been much of a shopper since high school days. When we lived in Alaska, I had to have all of my shopping done by catalog by the end of October or the catalog item was sold out. The children were not even allowed to hum a Christmas tune until after Thanksgiving. So, playing Santa, I had to be pretty creative to get the kids to ask Santa for what I had already purchased. It did not always work out so great. To this day, we do not even mention Chatty Cathy in Patty’’s presence.
So…now that I think of it – my biggest shopping spree would have to be the Summer of 1976 when our family took about a 6-week vacation to visit folks in California. My parents lived in a single-wide mobile home near Modesto. I hit Mervyn’s with a vengeance for school clothing for the three kids and my hubby.…there is nothing that compares to the adrenalin rush of finding winter jackets on sale in 100+ temperatures, knowing there is no competition while shopping. There were even ads in the newspapers declaring things on sale, unheard of in Juneau.
After we “did” southern California family and theme parks, we returned to my folks for a few days to gather everything for transport via Alaska Airlines back to Juneau. Lo! And behold! If Sears didn’t have a linen sale going! Who could possibly say “no” to towels for $1.99 or sheets and mattress pads for under $10. Why! I was able to get two new blankets for every bed in our house. Then, the truth hit me. I had been stuffing all of my purchases in the storage shed. When I started reducing the bulk of packaging, it only caused my loot to expand. How was I going to get this all home? I had anticipated needing extra luggage for clothing and fresh fruits and vegetables, but the linens alone filled our sleeping quarters. The Stockton red onions and beefsteak tomatoes my father had lovingly grown just for us went as carryons; The clothing stuffed into our limit of luggage, but what to do with the linens?
Mother suggested it was time for her lovely cedar “Hope chest” (better known as the family’s despair barrel) to be passed onto me. My husband built a crate for it, but not before we made sure all of the purchases could be accommodated. It took some muscle to get it all in. Next, we took it to the airport and shipped it air freight. I hate to think what we paid for that means of transportation.
But, at least, John never found the snow plow he had shopped for!
THE CHALLENGE: I'm doing a survey. What's the longest shopping spree you ever had - and you can tell me a few details, if you want.
SHOPPING SPREE
Truthfully, I have not been much of a shopper since high school days. When we lived in Alaska, I had to have all of my shopping done by catalog by the end of October or the catalog item was sold out. The children were not even allowed to hum a Christmas tune until after Thanksgiving. So, playing Santa, I had to be pretty creative to get the kids to ask Santa for what I had already purchased. It did not always work out so great. To this day, we do not even mention Chatty Cathy in Patty’’s presence.
So…now that I think of it – my biggest shopping spree would have to be the Summer of 1976 when our family took about a 6-week vacation to visit folks in California. My parents lived in a single-wide mobile home near Modesto. I hit Mervyn’s with a vengeance for school clothing for the three kids and my hubby.…there is nothing that compares to the adrenalin rush of finding winter jackets on sale in 100+ temperatures, knowing there is no competition while shopping. There were even ads in the newspapers declaring things on sale, unheard of in Juneau.
After we “did” southern California family and theme parks, we returned to my folks for a few days to gather everything for transport via Alaska Airlines back to Juneau. Lo! And behold! If Sears didn’t have a linen sale going! Who could possibly say “no” to towels for $1.99 or sheets and mattress pads for under $10. Why! I was able to get two new blankets for every bed in our house. Then, the truth hit me. I had been stuffing all of my purchases in the storage shed. When I started reducing the bulk of packaging, it only caused my loot to expand. How was I going to get this all home? I had anticipated needing extra luggage for clothing and fresh fruits and vegetables, but the linens alone filled our sleeping quarters. The Stockton red onions and beefsteak tomatoes my father had lovingly grown just for us went as carryons; The clothing stuffed into our limit of luggage, but what to do with the linens?
Mother suggested it was time for her lovely cedar “Hope chest” (better known as the family’s despair barrel) to be passed onto me. My husband built a crate for it, but not before we made sure all of the purchases could be accommodated. It took some muscle to get it all in. Next, we took it to the airport and shipped it air freight. I hate to think what we paid for that means of transportation.
But, at least, John never found the snow plow he had shopped for!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
time continues......
Just an update on my last blog. That watch still reads 1:52. John took it to the store where it was purchased and even took his own set of tiny screwdrivers to open the back to replace the battery. It took a bit longer than anticipated for him to get the back open, but when he did, the clerk pulled out the old battery and found a replacement for it. Only problem was it did not work. Oh, I am told that the light now would illuminate the watch's face, but the time did not change.
This morning when looking through my jewelry for a certain stick pin I came upon five watches, three of which have been bought in the last 20 years. One of those three was absolutely identical to my 1:52 watch. One watch had been my mother's. Without looking, I could tell you the brand name because my parents were real believers in the quality of Bulova watches. When studying this timepiece, I could see it, too, contained a battery. I put it on my wrist and whacked it a couple of times and the second hand took right off as though it had just been stirred from sleep. Mother died in 1990, and that watch had not been worn since her death.
I knew I had her mother's Elgin watch which does not have a wristband so I hunted it down and wound it up and it keeps perfect time now. Mammy (my maternal grandmother) died in 1953. Both of those heirlooms still run. The one engraved to my grandfather in 1939 needs a good cleanng, but I'm thinking it would probably be wiser to clean them both than to purchase another watch made to today's standards.
This morning when looking through my jewelry for a certain stick pin I came upon five watches, three of which have been bought in the last 20 years. One of those three was absolutely identical to my 1:52 watch. One watch had been my mother's. Without looking, I could tell you the brand name because my parents were real believers in the quality of Bulova watches. When studying this timepiece, I could see it, too, contained a battery. I put it on my wrist and whacked it a couple of times and the second hand took right off as though it had just been stirred from sleep. Mother died in 1990, and that watch had not been worn since her death.
I knew I had her mother's Elgin watch which does not have a wristband so I hunted it down and wound it up and it keeps perfect time now. Mammy (my maternal grandmother) died in 1953. Both of those heirlooms still run. The one engraved to my grandfather in 1939 needs a good cleanng, but I'm thinking it would probably be wiser to clean them both than to purchase another watch made to today's standards.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
A TIMELY REMINDER
When I woke up yesterday morning, my watch read 1:52. All of the clocks in the house said it was closer to 5:30, but my watch said 1:52. As a matter of fact, it still reads 1:52.
I have a friend who writes each and every Sunday. He always begins with "I am reminded this week..." and the rest of his email message is always thinking positive and being the Christian you would like to meet -- helping others, not complaining, always positive, etcetera. He always ends with a scripture.. .usually a proverb.
Just over a year ago, he added a paragraph between his message and the quotes; that message began "This week, Jane..." For, you see, his wife faithfully went for her routine annual physical, feeling fine, and because of a "mass" sent a lot of us to our knees in her behalf. It has been a challenging year for many of us as both breasts were removed and her hair fell out. and the chemo made her so ill.
I spent a little time with Jane Saturday evening, and she looked radiant.I thank God.
Today, one of my dearest friends enters a hospital in another city for a "biopsy." She is single, and I pray fervently that God removes any blight that would cause her pain or illness. "Please, God, just make it go away."
Another lady, a widow, enters the hospital tomorrow. Her cancer has returned. And a very close brother in Christ continues to valiantly fight against one pain and another caused by cancer.
At the same time, Geoffrey and Dana will be at the doctor's office having a sonogram, possibly learning the gender of their baby.
Above my computer station is a recently acquired pendulum clock that ticks away the seconds and bongs on the half hour. It is a constant reminder of the passage of time. But my watch says it is 1:52.
Saturday, we will wish our oldest child Happy Birthday, and we will rejoice in remembering his goodness and the pleasure he has been in our life.
My heart is full of prayers for the Love God has placed in my life. I am thankful for the lives with which God has touched my life. Of course, there is a remedy for a watch that says 1:52 all of the time; I will probably get a new battery today. No, life did not stop just because one timepiece failed to function, and it did not speed up just because I asked John three times in two minutes what time it was.
It did, however, make me painfully aware of how much I rely on timepieces and to think about ETERNITY.
I have a friend who writes each and every Sunday. He always begins with "I am reminded this week..." and the rest of his email message is always thinking positive and being the Christian you would like to meet -- helping others, not complaining, always positive, etcetera. He always ends with a scripture.. .usually a proverb.
Just over a year ago, he added a paragraph between his message and the quotes; that message began "This week, Jane..." For, you see, his wife faithfully went for her routine annual physical, feeling fine, and because of a "mass" sent a lot of us to our knees in her behalf. It has been a challenging year for many of us as both breasts were removed and her hair fell out. and the chemo made her so ill.
I spent a little time with Jane Saturday evening, and she looked radiant.I thank God.
Today, one of my dearest friends enters a hospital in another city for a "biopsy." She is single, and I pray fervently that God removes any blight that would cause her pain or illness. "Please, God, just make it go away."
Another lady, a widow, enters the hospital tomorrow. Her cancer has returned. And a very close brother in Christ continues to valiantly fight against one pain and another caused by cancer.
At the same time, Geoffrey and Dana will be at the doctor's office having a sonogram, possibly learning the gender of their baby.
Above my computer station is a recently acquired pendulum clock that ticks away the seconds and bongs on the half hour. It is a constant reminder of the passage of time. But my watch says it is 1:52.
Saturday, we will wish our oldest child Happy Birthday, and we will rejoice in remembering his goodness and the pleasure he has been in our life.
My heart is full of prayers for the Love God has placed in my life. I am thankful for the lives with which God has touched my life. Of course, there is a remedy for a watch that says 1:52 all of the time; I will probably get a new battery today. No, life did not stop just because one timepiece failed to function, and it did not speed up just because I asked John three times in two minutes what time it was.
It did, however, make me painfully aware of how much I rely on timepieces and to think about ETERNITY.
Monday, December 24, 2007
The Day I Met John Wayne
I feel I need to preface this by explaining that my father was a preacher. The preacher's residence was always next door to the church building and always about the size of a cracker box. It was not uncommon to be awakened during the night by total strangers seeking refuge for themselves or their children. Folks migrating from the "dust bowl" of Oklahoma and Texas would come to our house needing money or food, desperate enough for assistance they would sell any of their goods they treasured enough to pack for the journey. Others sought us out for Daddy to help seal the bond of marriage of an eloping couple. Mostly, these people were strangers to us...people we met only once in this life. This description of my family life has little to do with John Wayne except to introduce you to my father. Now, on with the purpose of this tale. The names have been altered to protect the forgiven guilty parties.
We were living in Tucson, and it was the middle of the night when the phone call came. It was Mrs. Jones, a single mom struggling to launch her attractive teenage daughter Rhoda into life with the fewest number of scars. There were six or eight "thick as thieves" teenage girls in our congregation. For the most part, we were a screaming, talkative '50's pack, crammed into one car, all talking at the same time. Rhoda was a couple of years older than most of the group and the only word I can think of to describe her is voluptuous
Rhoda had gone to a party that night and returned home well beyond the limitations of curfew and rip-roaring drunk. Her mother called my father first, then the police. By the time my parents arrived on the scene, the police were already there. Mainly, the police put Rhoda in one room and her mother in another while they tried to calm both. One of the responding officers moonlighted as a security guard at Old Tucson, a tourist attraction in the desert, used mainly for making cowboy movies. Once the hysteria was calmed, that officer assured Mrs. Jones that her daughter was not a bad person, and after they had time to get a good night's sleep, they would need a day of good memories to overcome this night. If they would come to Old Tucson the next day to a certain gate, he would introduce her to John Wayne and Ricky Nelson. My parents were invited to join them, and "Certainly...bring your daughter, too."
At the appointed time, we picked up Mrs. Jones and Rhoda and drove through the countryside to Old Tucson. The guard was at his station. He took a break to accompany us to the setting for the bar. There, seated around a rickety table was John Wayne, Ricky Nelson, and Dean Martin. The female lead walked through, and I remember not wanting her autograph because she was an unknown -- her name was Angie Dickenson.
We watched them film a shootout scene. It took hours to get it right. When the movie came out, the portion we watched in the making equaled about 20 seconds of the actual movie. We posed for photos and gathered autographs and "dust from Ricky Nelson's feet." What I remember about John Wayne was that he was bigger than life with enormous hands. He and Ricky talked to each other during the photo session, discussing their upcoming scene.
The photos snapped that day never made it back from the drugstore developer. We always expected them to show up in some movie magazine; but if that was the case, we missed it. "What happened to the autograph?" you might inquire. I sold it to a man at an antique show for $150. Now, this blog is all I have to show for it.
Can you guess the name of the movie?
We were living in Tucson, and it was the middle of the night when the phone call came. It was Mrs. Jones, a single mom struggling to launch her attractive teenage daughter Rhoda into life with the fewest number of scars. There were six or eight "thick as thieves" teenage girls in our congregation. For the most part, we were a screaming, talkative '50's pack, crammed into one car, all talking at the same time. Rhoda was a couple of years older than most of the group and the only word I can think of to describe her is voluptuous
Rhoda had gone to a party that night and returned home well beyond the limitations of curfew and rip-roaring drunk. Her mother called my father first, then the police. By the time my parents arrived on the scene, the police were already there. Mainly, the police put Rhoda in one room and her mother in another while they tried to calm both. One of the responding officers moonlighted as a security guard at Old Tucson, a tourist attraction in the desert, used mainly for making cowboy movies. Once the hysteria was calmed, that officer assured Mrs. Jones that her daughter was not a bad person, and after they had time to get a good night's sleep, they would need a day of good memories to overcome this night. If they would come to Old Tucson the next day to a certain gate, he would introduce her to John Wayne and Ricky Nelson. My parents were invited to join them, and "Certainly...bring your daughter, too."
At the appointed time, we picked up Mrs. Jones and Rhoda and drove through the countryside to Old Tucson. The guard was at his station. He took a break to accompany us to the setting for the bar. There, seated around a rickety table was John Wayne, Ricky Nelson, and Dean Martin. The female lead walked through, and I remember not wanting her autograph because she was an unknown -- her name was Angie Dickenson.
We watched them film a shootout scene. It took hours to get it right. When the movie came out, the portion we watched in the making equaled about 20 seconds of the actual movie. We posed for photos and gathered autographs and "dust from Ricky Nelson's feet." What I remember about John Wayne was that he was bigger than life with enormous hands. He and Ricky talked to each other during the photo session, discussing their upcoming scene.
The photos snapped that day never made it back from the drugstore developer. We always expected them to show up in some movie magazine; but if that was the case, we missed it. "What happened to the autograph?" you might inquire. I sold it to a man at an antique show for $150. Now, this blog is all I have to show for it.
Can you guess the name of the movie?
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