Stuffing Ourselves

Um (gurgle gurgle)....I don’t think I want to eat again for a long time....a very looooooong time!  Take a look at this traditional hors d'oeuvres New Years Eve spread and you’ll see what I mean.

Beyond Limitation

“But what if the One we wish to know knows us and wishes to be known by us?  That is no idle fancy but the startling claim that Judaism and Christianity make: it is an assertion of a fact.  Such a God either exists or he does not.  There is no third possibility.  And if he does exist?  Suddenly and with a fearful abandon he may free us from our resigning and comfortable limitations.  He may knock loose the iron fetters forged by what we think we know and what we think we cannot know.”

-from Ironies of Faith by Anthony Esolen

May I Have This Dance?

I opened the door.  “Hi!  I a bahl-ler-EEN!  It was Josie in a pink Cinderella-type dress that puffed out bouffant-style from beneath her puffy pink winter coat.  Pink snow boots peeked from beneath the hem of the dress.  She was holding a floppy white bunny wearing a smaller pink tutu.

“Yes, I see!"  Surely this was the REAL sugar plum fairy!  "Want some music?”

“I do!  FAST music!”

Soon a CD of a very jazzy Tuxedo Junction filled the house.  The white rabbit (who look vaguely as if it had jumped from the pages of Alice in Wonderland?) shed the smaller sequined tutu which then was slipped onto the willing, if not eager, bahl-ler-een protégé: baby Ellie.  TWO fairy-ish sugar plums!

The rest of the story is best told photographically….

Native American Indian Flute

I love the flute I got for Christmas - one patterned after those used by native American Indians!  After only 3 days in my hands it has produced some beautifully inspiring music for me – mellow, earthy sounds somehow reminiscent of the wind playfully traveling through cattails, pine trees, waves, valleys and mountains.

The instrument itself is 18” long and 1 1/2” in diameter.  It is so lightweight it seems to allow my fingers to lie at rest rather than work while holding it. 

As far as technique, I’m finding the trick is in breath control.  The more steady the flow of air, the more penetrating and resonant the sound.  My flute came with an instruction manual and CD, so I’ve had plenty of inspiring practice material.

Here’s a picture of this beautiful piece of wood that has been crafted to become an enchanting and expressive tool of soulful music:

Ice Skating

Today was the first skate of the year!  Grampa and I were excited to discover the lake was smoooooth  and glassy (you never know how it bumpily it will freeze).  Katie struck out in her classy new skates that her hubby gave her 5 years ago...FOR THE FIRST TIME!  She’d not had opportunity to try them until now since they’ve been living in hot-and-sultry TEXAS.

Josie brought along her new tiny little Christmas doll she’d named “Niney” (who knows where that name came from) and made sure this miniature plastic dolly with the bright yellow hair had some thrill-rides across the ice.  Baby Ellie stayed snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug in her new Christmas infant seat cover!

Oh...yup, that's me in the last picture wearing the snazzy ORANGE insulated (hunting?) pants!  I took a spin in Katie's new skates before we called it a day.  This was the first time I'd been on blades since my nasty fall 2 years ago, and it felt pretty good!

"Twas the Night Before Christmas

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that….

Hey look!  Saint Nick’s already been here!

Beyond Just Bread

This evening I made Christopsomo (pronounced hree-STOHP-soh-moh, translated “Christ’s Bread”.)  The ingredients included such novelties as crushed anise seed, brandy, and red wine. 

Historically, this bread is a sacred Christmas tradition in Greek Orthodox Christian homes.  The excellent quality of ingredients and exquisite care with which the bread is made is said to reflect the blessings of God in the year to come.

Christmas Sun-Bather

Me (craning my head out the door):  WHAT are you DOING?

Fritz (lounging bare-chested on the snow-covered deck): I’m getting my vitamin D.

I dubbed him the Christmas Bathing Beauty.  I only wish I’d asked him to put on the floppy red Santa hat before I took the picture! 

By the way, the sunbathing lasted about 5 minutes – no, maybe only 3. 

Remember…this is the person recently diagnosed with congestive heart failure who had a horrible case of pneumonia the week of Thanksgiving.  CRAZY MAN!

Recapping the Day

As I chomp merrily through my brightly-colored bowl of salad - spinach and assorted chopped veggies topped with pumpkin seeds, olive oil, and raw apple cider vinegar – the Christmas tree grins (if white tree-lights reflected in glass ornaments can be said to smile and even wink) from across the room as if to say, “See, I told you so!”

This morning the to-do list seemed a bit daunting.  When should I do thus-and-so, or would Fritz do it, or how should I anticipate making this-or-that challenging decision, or would he?  And what about shopping for Christmas Eve and Day groceries?  I typically am a better lone-wolf in the grocery store since I think-on-my-feet and am easily distracted when someone else is with me.  This scrambles my train of thought and I end up forgetting things or making rash decisions I regret later. And yet today we were going to be out-and-about together so it made sense to be in tandem for the Big Haul of the turkey-and-all-the-trimmings.

Good news at the end of the day: the to-do list got “mostly” checked off with minimal overlap, misunderstanding, or frustration – even grocery shopping! Now my assignment for the evening is to compose a last-minute FaithWriters entry for this week’s topic: “communication breakdown.”  Well now.  Did anything happen today that would qualify as fodder for this particular gristmill?  Hmmmmm….let me see.  Nah.  We communicated PERFECTLY all day long.  Believe me?? 

In reality, the communicative success of the day (any day, really) can be chalked up to both ends having open and forgiving ears and hearts to receive, rather than challenge or deny, input.  This is the “back side” of communication that is so often overlooked in favor of focusing on more self-focused output (i.e. talking).  I think our cheery little Christmas tree knew that all along, and just wanted to make sure I remembered, and that I stopped to appreciate the day's successes.

Christmas Preparations

It is past midnight (on Sunday, Dec. 19^th), and the entire house smells like CHRISTMAS – chocolate-y, fruity, sweet-and-spicy Christmas!  I started baking this evening and will continue tomorrow with sample-sized loaves of various breads that will become gifts for neighbors and friends.

Although it’s been a long time since I’ve done mega-baking, these aromas remind me of those we used to generate at Baker’s Peak.  I easily remember not only the smells, but also the happy faces that showed up at our bakery case looking for special treats to enhance special holiday gatherings.  Bakery ownership was a difficult challenge for me in many ways, but the rewards were obviously great in a relational sense.  I am grateful I had that opportunity.

But back in the present, I also finished addressing 200 Christmas cards this afternoon - no small task!  I consider this a great opportunity to stay in touch with people who otherwise might slip through the cracks of everyday life. 

For me, the Christmas season is always one of different kinds of connection – some obvious and practiced, but a few not-so-predictable.  I will see all of my kids and grandkids at some point in the coming weeks.  I also hope to visit a neighbor down the road I barely know who has been through the mill with multiple surgeries the last several months, and there’s a long-distance friend who is struggling with depression that I want to reach out to. 

The most poignant relational anticipation, however, comes in actively watching for the wonder and mystery that seem to compound annually as Christ becomes more real and active in my heart.  Each year I don’t overtly expect anything new, but I am always overwhelmed anyway by ever-increasing measures of His grace and mercy…and HIS PRESENCE.

Sewer Celebration

There’s nothing quite like relishing the luxury of new sewage disposal - as opposed to barely co-existing with a grouchy 5-decades-old septic system that barely worked. 

We’ve owned this house on the lake for over 10 years.  But after last week’s hook-up to the new sewer line that was laid last summer, today was the first day ever to run the bathtub luxuriously FULL (and not feel guilty when all that water glug-glugged down the drain), flush the potty as OFTEN as desired (and not worry that it might start gurgling with its I’m-gonna-back-up-on-you talk), and generally bask in the glory of modern sewage disposal.  Surely this is cause for celebration.

Benign

We’re finally back in Michigan, enveloped in soft Christmas music while our sparkly little tree stands in the corner hovering over a growing pile of wrapped gifts.  It’s small, warm, and cozy here, and we’re glad to be home.

As I think back on my two recent extended visits to Lafayette, a variety of different memories float to the surface – many that are bitter-sweet.  In reviewing them, I can find reason for both sadness and celebration.  It feels like we’ve left a million times – and returned just as many - as this transitional phase of life has drawn out now for not weeks or months, but YEARS.

But anyway, amidst a potpourri of memories/thoughts/hopes/dreams/concerns swirling through my head tonight – from evaluative to overwhelmed to expectant - I sat down to write this blog and kept coming back to one rather silly thing: a cute marquee I noticed this week in front of a place of business on Sagamore Parkway in Lafayette.  I can’t help but wonder about the creative mind that authored it. 

BENIGN: WHAT YOU BE AFTER YOU BE EIGHT!

Resolved

This afternoon a skimpy flurry of lazy snowflakes wafted like feathers loosened from some leaky pillow in the sky.  The crisp air was still, without any wind, so each flake stayed its course until it softly joined so many others to form a white blanket on the country road and bare tree branches bordering it.

I tromped along with midget-like steps to insure control on the ice, and yet felt exhilarated that I was even out there, breathing cold air, feeling my muscles tense with each step to meet the challenge.  I clicked off two miles relatively quickly, and hated to stop and come inside to fix dinner.  I could have easily walked another two, or more!

Not everyone in their 60’s has this luxury.  Family and friends of similar age with failing health surround me.  Life has taken its toll, habits have had their way, and the physical body has succumbed to disease and breakdown.  It seems the pervading reality among my peers.

With this said, I am motivated more than ever to be intentional and pro-active about maintaining my current level of health.  The snow and cold, and the sight of my breath evaporating in front of me as I walked energetically in the wintry elements, convinced me.  I’m resolved to do what I can.

Nostalgia

Whenever I come back to Lafayette to visit, old familiar comforts crowd around like an outspoken throng of well-wishers to remind me that change – even good, desirable change – is often hard. 

I like it here.  I like knowing where to shop, how to find my way around without having to think about getting lost or navigating unknown one-way streets.  I like having customer cards for discounts at my usual grocery and drug stores.  I like the rootedness that comes from knowing my parents lived on Purdue’s campus in the 20’s, I was a Boilermaker in the 60’s, my husband has been a Boiler professor for the last 30 years, and our four kids have followed in the Boiler tradition.  I like the comfort of knowing community and campus traditions, resources, and amenities.  I like feeling that I belong here.

Tonight we had dinner with a dear friend of 30 years, and afterward repeated a well-practiced tradition he initiated just as many years ago: viewing Christmas lights.  We drove to our two favorite displays, just as we’d done so many times before, and relived the memories of other Christmases when the kids were small – years when we drove around and gawked at the lights, and then returned to our friend’s house for his traditional homemade cookies, candies, and 8-track Christmas music.

It all seems dreamy, bitter-sweet, and so very nostalgic.  Maybe this is what happens when you get older: the simple but precious things become sweeter, ever sweeter, when seen through a lens of gratitude born of recognition that change is sometimes painful, but also inevitable, desirable, and profitable.  Letting go is challenging but also gratifying and enlarging.

Oddly, I know that life back in Michigan will also feel “right.”  I am ready to return in a couple of days and enjoy the rest of the Christmas season there as new traditions are forged…ones that someday will seem just as sweet as those revisited tonight.

Von WHAT?

"I, Baron Von Whobble, crown you princess Zora!  Start the music!  Let the dance begin!" 

-from The Frog Prince

That (Exemplary) Child....

The following reprints are used by permission by my daughter (thanks, Katie!).  The first is her blog entry of December 6^th, and the second is her follow-up on the 7^th.  The thoughts here are nothing less than inspiring.

_____________________________ 

Josie’s Prayer

I put together a rudimentary advent wreath using a plate, some potpourri for decoration, and a few candles I had stored away. Oh, and the very important addition of a small gold angel covered in glitter (Josie’s favorite part). She rests against the middle “Christ candle” but comes down for frequent visits with toddler hands. We may get fancy and add an actual WREATH at some point (arguably a critical feature), but for now we’re making due with what I could find at home. (Taking 2 children out to a craft store, which is 30+ minutes away, when there’s 8 inches of snow on the ground is no small task!)

So, though our “wreath” is simple and doesn’t follow all the correct specifications, hopefully the heart behind it will please our Lord and do the intended work – to prepare our hearts for His arrival.

But this blog isn’t REALLY about the wreath – it’s about Josie’s prayer during dinner after we lit the first candle.

Usually her dinnertime prayer goes something like this: “Dear God, thank you for this food, and these plates and our forks….amen.” Sometimes she thanks God for all the people at the table, and sometimes she thanks Him for all the people she can think of – “…and uncle Bitz, and Big Ellie, and Nana, and Uncle Dick…” Occasionally she thanks God for something that happened that day – “Thank you that Nana turned on the video for me.”

After the advent candle was lit, she prayed:

“God, thank you for this life and this food. Thank you that God is coming tomorrow – we lighted the first candle – and thank you for Daddy, Mommy, Ellie, ……..”

The “God is coming tomorrow” comment is in reference to our expectation of Christmas. Jesus is coming – and she says this often, in random toddler-esque song or playful shouting – but I think it says something that her prayer tonight was “God is coming.” I learn so much from Josie. Yes, maybe she simply jumbled the words in her head, and so instead of saying “Jesus” she said “God.” But the thing is, she wasn’t wrong. GOD came down and dwelt among us – Jesus was both fully man and fully God. I recently learned that in Greek Orthodox Christianity, Mary is called the “Theotokos” – the “God Bearer.” What a weighty title! The rest of us may be tempted to see a cute little plastic Jesus hanging out in the quaint little plastic manger, but in her innocence our sweet toddler isn’t fooled: He is God. What a great reminder!

And she said he is coming “tomorrow” – again, we could laugh. He’s not coming tomorrow! Christmas isn’t for several weeks! And the second coming isn’t happening tomorrow – surely – because our schedules are too full for that….

But when is “tomorrow?” It’s a time yet unkown, a time in the future, a time for which we can make plans and set paths, but which is completely out of our control. The Lord directs the future. And when will Jesus come again to reign? In the future – perhaps tomorrow! Do I wait expectantly for His return? Can I mirror Josie’s words in my heart: “Thank you that God is coming tomorrow”…?

This morning, Josie found my Bible, opened it up, and started “reading.” She said, “I’m reading a story out of this Holy Bible” -  she emphasized the word “Holy” – “About God, and Jesus. And Jesus is coming! Hooray! Jesus is coming!”

It was incredibly sweet. I’m understanding more and more why Jesus said that unless we become like little children, we will not enter His kingdom. Adults can be too academic for the simple childlike joy resulting from simple childlike faith. When we first started talking about how we were going to celebrate Jesus coming as a baby, Josie’s eyes got just as big as if I had told her we were going to dunk her in chocolate and let her eat her way out.

It’s nice to have a small one around to set me straight occasionally. =)

(Maybe I can write a book called “the Prayer of Josie” and make a fortune…just kidding….how about “Tuesdays with Josie”….or even “Everything I needed to know in life I learned from Josie”…..ok enough geeky book references!) =)

 __________________________

Theology by Josie

As a tag-along to my previous post, here are some of the things Josie’s been going around saying after attending BSF Bible Study with me on Tuesday mornings (where she goes to her own 2 year old class)…

- “Jesus is LIGHT!”

- “Jesus is GOD!”

- “We read about God in the HOLY Bible.”

- “God is going to come back and show his powder.” (To which I asked, “His powder?”) “Yes – show his POWDER.” (I Finally figured out she was talking about how Jesus would return and God would show his power to all people – which goes with what we’ve been studying in Isaiah.)

- “That big fish spit Jonah right out on the beach!” (This is the only part of the story worth telling, apparently, when you’re two.)

And a little bit translated from what we’ve talked about at home:

- “Mary puts Jesus in the manger while Joseph is outside.” (Not sure why this is – maybe because Nathan is usually out in the living room while I put Josie to bed?)

- “Angels are REAL. Monsters are TEND (pretend).”

- “God keeps me safe.”

And, my personal favorite,

- “Mary is a nice lady.”

Diakoneo

“Diakoneo” is a Greek word meaning “to serve.”  It has been translated into our contemporary word, “ministry.”

So often in our current vernacular the word ministry is used only to refer to those in vocational ministry, such as pastors or counselors, when in reality it is so much broader.  Diakoneo is the loving response of any child of God to divine love – it is God’s work in and through us as we touch others, heart-to-heart, with compassion and mercy.

Diakoneo is a lifestyle.  It is not limited by a particular pursuit or occupation, and, in fact, shows up most poignantly in the relationships closest to us.  Perhaps the home is where we have greatest opportunity to become selfless in our ministering, for there diakoneo is potentially non-stop: day to day to day, every hour, every minute.  There we are tested, tried, refined by the grit of adversity and struggle.  It is where we learn to submit to God practically as well as intellectually.

I see this more clearly than ever now.  Life is all about ongoing, constant reactions, initiatives. and motives.  Diakoneo has a lot to do with availability and humility.  Any other focus is futility.   

Matthew 20:26 – “…whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant…”

I Peter 4:11 – “…If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ…”

Teacher's Touch

A recent FaithWriters topic was "body language."  I tried a breathless free verse poem with gripping emotion that landed a 4th place: 

_________________________


Teacher’s Touch

With sixty seconds left in class
I crouched to whisper at his desk
Until he rose and stumbled behind me
Into the school’s deathly dark hallway.

I leaned my body against the wall
Appearing unlike authority
But rather an older friend
Who could be trusted behind his wall of fear.

While intentionally striking this non-teacher pose
My eyes compassionately studied
Such a raggedy young man with splintered soul
And slouched body weighted with emotional pain.

He cringed as if awaiting a judge’s sentence
And turned from my querying look
While I fought an urge to reach out
And pull him close to my heart.

Strands of greasy brown hair
Framed a drawn and pinched face that said
Despair lived inside those eyes
Of bleak and empty hopelessness.

And yet I must not merge compassion
With a professional teacher-stance
That demanded distance and artificiality
Or else I might face my own harassment charge.

He twisted a white plastic shopping bag
In dizzy circles until it
Tightened around his wrist
Like a desperate tourniquet.

A few rejected cookies hung in the bag
As leftovers from those he distributed
During our poetry reading
Just minutes before.

He’d passed out an offering
Of cheap oatmeal crème pies
As a last supper with wary disciples
To celebrate his poem about suicide.

Without a single tear his forlorn spirit oozed
With decaying lifeblood and
Retreated before me to wither like the purple hand
Hanging beyond the twisted handle of the bag.

I cowered inwardly and wondered what to say
As he spun the noose-handle
Tighter and tighter and tighter
With deliberate delight in the resulting pain.

“Why did you write that poem and
Was it about someone you know?”
I asked with mercy-laden voice and
Dimmed eyes downcast to match his own.

His words came quickly
Like machine-gun fire rat-a-tatting
A direct and pointed message:
“That’s-where-I-am-most-of-the-time.”

His right shoulder slouched
As if the weight of the crème pies
Might dismember his arm from its socket
And hasten the process of destruction.

The bag kept twisting
As his hand stiffened
And turned a deeper blue
To resemble an icon of death.

I instinctively reached out
To loosen the knotted bag
That choked his stiffened wrist
In a sort-of death-grip.

Instead, my fingers touched his own
With a lingering brush
Of compassion and
Politically incorrect love.

In that elongated second
Something supernatural passed
From my heart to his
As a surge of mercy leapt forth.

Like an electrocuted statue
He stood frozen in place
With baggy jeans hanging from his thin hips
And eyes searching mine.

The bell rang hard and long
And his palsied hand withdrew
As the bag of oatmeal pies unfurled
In dizzy spins until it dropped at our feet.

“Those are for you,” he called over one shoulder
While lurching away
Into the stream of students
Plowing down the hall.

He frantically leapt away
Like a threatened wild animal
To take refuge amidst the familiar camouflage
While the cookies lay in a heap of ruins.

“Thank you,” I called with cupped hands
Even as I knew there was so much more
I should be and say and do
If only there could be a way.

I opened wide the suffocated bag
And invited life-giving air to enter
While staring into its depths
Thinking somehow his presence still lingered.

In the bottom lay only a gathering of
Mechanically wrapped cookies
Left by this disillusioned child
So terrified to become a man.

I stood on tip-toe to peer down the hall
And recognized his bouncing head
As he hurried frantically to escape
Among so many others forming the crowd.

With the bag of cookies in hand
I turned toward my door
And numbly greeted the students
Streaming bug-like out of my classroom.

A shuffling girl with furtive eyes stopped
And scrutinized the bag of cookies wordlessly
While sadly shaking her head
In memory of his death-wish poem.

I entered the room and shut the door
With limp marionette arms
And gratitude for an hour of prep time
Guaranteeing time alone.

The cookies fell with a crash
As my wobbly legs gave out
And I dropped to my knees
Crushing them with my weight.

The refined, lifeless white filling squished out
Of those demolished brown bodies
As a sob-filled prayer poured from my crumpled self
In utter agony for this child in pain.

Helplessly I fought back tears
And cradled my head
In the hand that so recently
Touched despair with a promise of hope.

Strength and Song

The following is a meditation inspired by Isaiah 12:2 (from A Quiet Day by Francis Dewar):

PSALM OF TRUST

You are my strength and my song, my God

I trust in you and I shall not fear.

My heart is dancing, if not my feet

before I even think of you, you are my creator;

it's you who sustain me on my journey

wherever I go, you are there before me -

you are my strength and my song

I trust in you and I shall not fear.

It's your sun that warms my limbs

your wind that chills, and sharpens my feelings.

You care for the simple blackbird

your love for me is sweet and powerful.

God says: “I love you, you are precious to me

just as you are, you are my friend and partner.”

For you are my strength and my song

I trust in you and I shall not fear.

Fence-Jumpers

I’ve been thinking about the cultural norm, and how the expectation is often to live life politely and peaceably within our own fenced corrals.  Although this is the land of opportunity, people carefully mark their personal boundaries – earned through the pursuit of their respective American Dreams, or earmarked out of protection from those who might infringe. Within those enclosures that supposedly provide freedom for personal identity, we converse with those in adjoining pastures.  We may periodically visit our neighbors, and they may interact with us, as desire and convenience allow.  All nice and well-defined.

How utterly revolutionary it is, then, when trials come to an individual's corral and true advocates choose to jump the fence, sometimes even without invitation - when they plunge willingly into our own personal murky circumstantial mud - when they not only join us there but stand firm, cry out in faith to the Almighty God with us, and literally hold us up.

This is not just well wishing.  Rather, it is active, compassionate love.

I used to think advocacy was about wanting the best for someone in the midst of a trial or struggle.  The actual help could come from anywhere – perhaps from a source much more qualified than myself.  That’s partially correct, any yet the definition is woefully deficient. How comforting when we begin to realize that we all have the ability to serve each other – that simply by virtue of offering our PRESENCE we can divide and share the pain.

One part of the challenge in this kind of advocacy is doing it (being the one who cares enough to risk taking the plunge as a fence-jumper) and the other part is receiving it (being willing to let others get that close without chasing them back out of the corral).

At the moment, some of the fence in my corral is much less intact than it used to be, so access is slightly less encumbered.  Also, challenges are digging holes in my corral, and I’m stumbling around a little bit. Fortunately, advocates like this are showing up everywhere, climbing in and out of trenches with me as we jointly herald the Lord of life and look to Him.  It’s not a matter of solving the unsolvable.  It’s about unity.

Today I want to publicly praise God for my supportive, fence-jumping earthly children and larger extended family of faith.  I am not alone, but am surrounded by those who love me: “God with skin on."

"The Tablet of the Heart"

It’s been an interesting several days since coming down to Lafayette from Michigan – hardly typical or average, but rather busy, involved, and deeply introspective.

Today I visited a dear friend, someone I’ve known for the past 55 years.  We grew up together, were Brownie Scouts together, and walked to and from school together from 1^st through 12^th grade.  She had a hysterectomy a week ago, and the follow-up pathology report held some shocking news that left her emotionally winded.  Life will never be the same, and yet I’m convinced some of our most important/vital living occurs in these kinds of desert times.  We talked about that.  She agreed.

I urged my tough-it-out, stoic German hubby to contact our primary care doctor again today, even as he waits for a CT scan on Thursday.  Fortunately, the doc squeezed him in, and I was not surprised to learn his EKG was abnormal.  (Symptoms were pointing that way.) We’ve been down a similar road before and were challenged, stretched, surprised, transformed, and ultimately strengthened by that journey.  I feel a similarly important page has just turned.  

Now the goal must be keeping a right focus: love and faithfulness.  Proverbs 3:3, 5, 6 comes to mind:

“Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart…Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

Snowball Fight!

 (Copied and pasted from a friend's facebook post - love it!)

¯`❄.¸(░)`O.¸¸.¸.o´¯`❄.¸(░)`O.

❄。¨¯`*✲ ´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄*´*。✲O.¸¸.¸.o´¯`o.

¸(░) `O.¸¸.✲.¸.o´¯`¸.o´¯`❄¸(░)`O.¸¸

.¸.✲´¯`o.¸(░) `O.¸❄。`O.¸¸.¸.o´¯`❄。¨¯`*✲....¸

.o´¯`o.¸(░) `O.¸¸.¸.o´¯`❄.¸(░)´*。✲´*。.❄¨¯`

*✲。❄。*。¨¯`

....and the winner is....????  (splaaaaattttt......)

Sour Grapes

Last week the topic at FaithWriters was “on the telephone” and I entered a poem that received generous accolades from several other writers on the site.  However, the judges didn’t agree (bah humbug), soooo I will post it here for my default audience!!  No sour grapes.  Really.

Remember: “on the telephone.” 

Sour Grapes (and Raisins)

Jan called me on the phone just now;

Her voice reflected furrowed brow.

At groc’ry store her produce bought,

But once at home found rot uncaught.

However I had not a clue,

And knew not of this rot so true.

Instead I goofed – misunderstood.

 My hearing loss messed me up good!

“My DRAPES have mold,” I thought she said,

(But really she said GRAPES instead).

She sounded ultra-mega-sad,

As well as downright hoppin’ mad.

In a split sec I formed a plan –

A way to help, to cheer my Jan!

“’The Works’ is good, or ‘Lime Away’ –

Why not try those?” I dared to say.

A speechless Jan did not reply;

I cleared my throat for one more try.

“These products, they are both quite strong -

With either one you won’t go wrong!”

“On GRAPES?” Jan screeched with doubtful fear.

“You’ll kill us all, now do you hear?

Such stuff is quite inedible;

Your plan - it’s too incredible!”

Inedible??? Who eats their DRAPES?

I wasn’t talking about crepes!

Her mind was strange; it made no sense.

She must be weird, or else quite dense.

But then, again, I stopped to think -

To figure out the missing link.

Jan’s not a fool, I knew quite well.

So what had she just tried to tell?

I pressed the phone receiver tight,

(My hearing oft’ was not quite right.)

“Try me again – WHAT did you say?”

(I wished for a less stressful way!)

Jan caught the blip, the glitch absurd;

I’d simply goofed – messed up a word!

With her sweet thoughtful heart of care,

She prompted me with wordsmith flair.

“You know those purple roundish fruits?

The ones the color of your boots?”

Jan laughed out loud with childish glee

While hoping to encourage me.

I stuttered, stammered, then broke loose

And chuckled hard like Dr. Seuss.

“I got it now!  Your GRAPES are bad!

Your DRAPES are FINE!  AND I’VE BEEN HAD!”

Our laughs shook all of cyber space;

I rocked and rolled; tears swiped my face.

“So what’s your plan, Ms. Grape-Gone-Fuzz?

Return the grapes to prove what was?”

Jan crowed with caws that mirrored mine;

We sounded wild – both free and fine.

In truth our mirth, like little girls’,

Refreshed our souls and bounced our curls.

“It’s no big deal, it’s really not!”

Pitch out those grapes! Toss out that rot!

It’s funny now you’ve laughed with me!”

I beamed with joy she could not see.

“I’m glad I called,” Jan gasped at last.

“Good therapy, and super-fast!”

We said good-bye, and I clicked “end,”

With gratitude for my good friend.

Then I spoke out – a soapbox trick –

With phone in hand, like pointer stick.

I lectured my four walls with tones

Like ringers in old telephones.

“Sirrrr Alexannnnder Graaaaham Bellll,

I don’t doooo telephonnnnes too wellll.

But thaaaat’s okaaaay, I do not caaaare,

When friennnnds, through phoooones, can burdens shaaaare!”

And so I have one final thought,

About bad grapes so freshly bought.

Don’t gripe when things seem sour and bad –

There might be raisins to be had!

Welcoming the First Snow of the Season

Welcome, winter!  Welcome, snow!  Welcome, childlike delight in the mass profusion of soft flakes flying wildly across the lake to finally accumulate here on our deck!

Welcome howling wintry wind, aromatic soup simmering on the stove, logs blazing in the fireplace.  Welcome bold sock-capped son-in-law (and his friend from Texas who has little previous snow exposure) languishing in the hot tub surrounded by wintry elements!

Welcome season of dormancy and shorter days, indoor contemplation, and renewed appreciation for the cycles of life and many and varied their lessons.  Welcome, challenges and unknowns and yes, even trials.  Welcome serenity born of faith that gives them meaning and purpose.