In My Secret Garden

The Portugal Adventure - Inquiring Minds Want to Know !

2012-02-06T13:56:00.000-05:00

Stopped on the Autobahn

I'm fairly certain that the German chickens were still asleep the day we boarded our vehicles and turned southward to the Iberian Peninsula. We were heading right out of Germany on the Autobahn. You can go pretty doggone fast on the Autobahn, and it's legal. The only thing holding you back is how fast your car can go. Or, whether or not your vehicle gets a flat tire.

Yep, it's a flat tire!

Stopping on the Autobahn is discouraged by law. (See the link above,) But, driving with a flat tire on a road that has a top speed of 240 Kilometers per hour (150 mph) would be frowned upon.

How long will it take?

Everyone exited the van and removed all of the luggage so they could access the spare tire Then, we waited. And, waited.

When we got back on the road again, we headed for the Swiss border. We began to zip through Switzerland on a toll road. The trouble began when we arrived at the first toll booth where the legal tender was the Swiss franc. The toll collector spoke French, Italian, and German. Harry spoke English, Portuguese, and had studied (and forgotten) French and Latin in high school. Since we came in from Germany, the collector tried talking to us in German. Harry then tried English, and Portuguese without success. As seems to be the custom in these situations, both parties tried speaking his native language with increasing volume in the vain hope that louder will be more comprehensible.

Then, Harry remembered that I had studied German in high school, and asked if I could help. Put on the spot like that, I was certain I would not remember anything useful. I mean, I remembered a song about Augustine and the chorus had a lot of ja, ja, ja, ja! in it. But, then it happened. A couple of German phrases came running to our rescue, and were modified for the occasion. "Wir haben keine Schweizer Franken. Wir haben Deutsch Mark." (We have no Swiss francs. We have German Marks.) That proved to be a negotiable proposition, and we were soon back on the road.

We arrived at the Bible Institute in Barcelona late at night and spent the night there. I stayed agan with one of the American missionary families. I was so tired, I forgot to lock the bathroom door when I was bathing. Suddenly, the doorknob rattled, and the missionaries' two-year-old son came wandering in to have a conversation with me. I ducked down below "see" level, asked him to stay in the doorway, and enjoyed a lovely (loud) chat with him until his mother heard us and fetched him out.

Sunbathing on the Mediterranean Sea

By the sea

The next day we went to the beach. The one on the Mediterranean Sea. It's funny, you know? You study about all of these things in school, but it's an imaginary excursion at the time. When you are standing in front of, and swimming in the sea that has touched so many nations down through history, the reality of it is almost overwhelming. One of our Portuguese chaperones proposed taking a picture of Harry and me together in that historic location. We stood, side by side, smiling and waiting for him to snap it. Then he looked over the top of the camera, and told us to stand closer. He checked the camera, and looked over again. This time he instructed Harry to put his arm around me. Isn't he adorable? Does he look bashful to you?

The next morning my hostess grabbed my arm as we were getting ready to leave. She took me aside, and asked me, "What is going on with you and Harry?" I told her, "I have NO idea what is going on."

Next week: the plains in Spain again.

If you are reading this story for the first time, you will find the first post here, and there are links from each post to the next.

The Portugal Adventure - Beautiful Bavaria: The Waiting Lady

2012-01-30T11:32:00.000-05:00

The days melted away like a snow cone in summer. There were plenty of things to do at camp when we weren't sight-seeing. Harry was busy, and though we talked as often as possible, by the last day at camp I still hadn't heard the words that I was waiting to hear.

On that day, we read a devotional together, and prayed. Then, we talked. Harry said that he sure would like to date me. I responded enthusiastically. He then said, "It would be pretty hard to date with you in the states, and me in Portugal. I felt rebuffed.

What did he mean by that? I was on tenterhooks all day. Every time I added everything up, it did not seem like it should have been a "goodbye, nice to know you." But it felt like it.

In the afternoon, I wandered around the campground watching the various activities. The castles were on Lake Starnberg, and some of the campers went swimming. Though it was August, the air was too cold in Bavaria for me to want to test the waters!


Lake Starnberg

Some campers played tennis.

Others played volleyball.

Harry and I went to see the sunset on Lake Starnberg.

There were swans.

We took pictures of each other.

Then, we went to get ready for the closing night banquet. Never ever tell me that it takes women longer than men to get ready. I was dressed up, and ready awhile before Harry appeared.

All of my dorm mates asked on a regular basis what was going on with Harry and me. I told them I would like to know that answer to that question, too. That evening, when I was getting ready, they asked again. Remembering the remark of the morning that I did not understand at all, I burst into tears. They gathered around me, and helped me with my hair and makeup, and were so affirming and encouraging that I was able to face the evening with a smile.

Harry appeared in his Portuguese suit. If he wasn't so tall, he could have passed for a Portuguese man any day of the week. I searched his face, but he wasn't giving away anything as far as I could tell.

The banquet food was delicious, and I enjoyed our last dinner in Bavaria. The next day, we would begin our journey south back to Portugal.

What would come next?


...and the lady waited...

The next post is here.

The first part of this story may be read here.

Cycle Guy has a good post

2012-01-26T11:09:00.000-05:00

If you are interested in the state of the church, check over here for a great post.

"Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed? In Greenland?"

2012-01-20T14:39:00.000-05:00

Well, it's not exactly Greenland, it's Florida. And, it isn't me. It's my dearly beloved. No, not the picture, my unemployed husband. It's amazing how you can take things for granted over a long period of time. Like income. You know?

He went in to work on January 2, and was immediately sent home. His boss found somebody who would do the work on the cheap. Then, my husband had to train her over the phone. Fun? You betcha. NOT!

I'd like to tell you that I've reached a plain of spirituality here, where I could take it all in my stride and meet each day with a smile. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Some days I'm really ticked off. Other days, I morph into something vaguely resembling Miss Piggy with a rock in each hand. I guess we're still working through the grieving process.

There is a long list of things for which I am profoundly grateful. One of them is our kitten, George Bailey. He was part of our feral cat colony. We formally adopted him during the week between Christmas and New Year's Day. He has an endless capacity to to make us giggle and guffaw. I've never seen a cat chase his tail by doing somersaults and back flips in vain attempts to get hold of the thing!

But, near the top of the list are my encouraging friends. They listen to Jesus, then they pass along His wisdom added to love. Sometimes, they just listen. Other times, they make me smile or laugh. Or cry. Some of them are going through more difficult passages than I am, and have been going through them for a much longer time. I am thankful for each of them.

How about you? Have you been through or are you going through a tough time?

How do you cope with it? Leave a comment!

My Kaleidoscope Week - Good Enough

2012-01-14T21:42:00.000-05:00

This has been one of those weeks that make me think of a kaleidoscope. What made this week so interesting was that I was wearing so many "hats." A few years ago, a week like this would have knocked me silly for at least a week. I would have worked hard to be perfect and to please everyone in every section of the "kaleidoscope." God has been so gracious. He is teaching me that, in any given situation, just doing the best I can at the time is "good enough."

Monday was filled with laundry, changing sheets, and trying to cook ahead a bit because the end of the week would not allow for much time in the kitchen. I had plans to bake some brownies, and make some bread. Oh, yes, and take down the Christmas tree and put the Christmas decorations away until next Thanksgiving. Some of it got done. A lot of it did not.  Our living room is trapped in December 25, and the stockings are still hung by the chimney with care. I felt the anxiety trying to lift my hair off of my head. Then, I remembered: I did the best that I could, and it was good enough.

As Wednesday approached, I felt the strands of anxiety trying to wrap themselves around my head. I had written my story about my religious addiction for a pastor and fellow blogger to post on his blog. The first draft of that document left me shaking, but I knew I was supposed to do it. So many who read it responded with compassion and grace that supplemented the healing that God had already begun. And no one even mentioned the typos that got past my vigilance and glared at me every time I read it. But, I did the best that I could, and it was good enough.

You would think that by Thursday, I would have thrown off the mantle of anxiety, wouldn't you? I was going to substitute teach for two days in a private school where I had taught from January 2008 to June 2009. Teaching is challenging under the best of conditions, and it was one life event right after another the whole year. The case might be made that trying to make a wedding gown for my daughter might have made things a tad more challenging - and it was, so much more than I could have foreseen. Once I was in the classroom, though, I felt at home. I had fun with those middle school students, and I did my best. It was good enough.

Today, I expected to be exhausted, but I had slept an unprecedented ten hours, which left me feeling a bit groggy. I needed to get some groceries, and felt a bit anxious. My dearly beloved husband volunteered to help me, and together we did our best. And even though I forgot to put foil on the list,

it was still good enough.
How do you handle those kaleidoscope weeks?

The Portugal Adventure - Beautiful Bavaria: Linderhof Castle

2012-01-09T16:07:00.000-05:00

Linderhof Castle, Bavaria, Germany

Ludwig II

The last of the sight-seeing trips we made in Germany was to a castle. Bavaria has some beautiful castles and palaces, and Linderhof has to be one of the prettiest. Ludwig II built it to be his "hunting lodge." Built in a secluded area, it was the only castle that Ludwig actually finished. He completed it in 1878, eight years before he died. It is small, but lavishly appointed.

I loved walking through part of Bavaria's history. School history textbooks can be so dry and boring. If one picture is worth a thousand words, being there is worth an entire volume of words.

Dining room

Ludwig II acceded to the throne at 18 years of age. He knew next to nothing about politics or even about life, though he was popular with the ladies. Ludwig was a a shy man who valued his privacy, and his solitude. While he was alive, no strangers were permitted in his castles. He even had a kind of dumb waiter made so that he did not have to see his servants; the entire table went down into the kitchen where it was filled with food and sent back up to the dining room.

Ludwig reigned during the "German War," during which his uncle, King of Prussia, conquered Austria and Bavaria and they became his vassals. This triggered his need to have a "fairy tale" life where he was ruler over all he surveyed. In fact, he overspent on his various dwellings, and was being dunned by foreign banks for their money before his death.

The Grotto

One of Ludwig's fantasy projects was his grotto. He built a lake inside of it, and had a boat shaped like a shell from which he, an audience of one, enjoyed performances of Wagner's works. Ludwig had brought Wagner to Munich in 1864 when he became king. By 1865, Wagner had gotten into trouble with the government with his anti-semitic remarks, and had to leave.

King Ludwig was religious, and felt keenly the weight of sin in himself. He had an ongoing fight within himself to be free of sin, and to be pure before God. In his castle Neuschwanstein, renamed the Castle of the Holy Grail, he designated the throne room The Hall of the Holy Grail as a reminder of the mystery of salvation for the world.

One of my favorite rooms in the castle is the famous Hall of Mirrors. When you stand there, it seems as if that room goes on into infinity.

The Peacock Room, and the king's bedroom are two other places that tourists find interesting. You can take a virtual tour of these two rooms without having to fly to Germany.

The King's Bedroom

The Peacock Room

Our week in Bavaria was going by quickly. We kept busy, but I did wonder from time to time if . . . .

Link to the first Portugal Adventure

Link to the next Portugal Adventure

Portuguese Cuisine - É Canja ! (Portuguese Chicken Soup)

2012-01-02T00:00:00.000-05:00

Have you ever said, "It's easy as pie."? If you've ever made a pie from scratch, you know it isn't as easy as it sounds. The Portuguese saying is, "É canja!" It's as easy as making chicken soup. I think making chicken soup is much easier than making a pie from scratch (let alone one made from flour, shortening, and all the rest). It does, however, take time to do it right. This is not a microwave recipe. But it is good. Additionally, a popular proverb states: "Cautela e caldos de galinha nunca fizeram mal a ninguem." ("Caution and chicken broth never did anyone harm.") This is a basic recipe. Most cooks have their own signature touches they put in their Canja.

Ingredients:
1 large stewing hen (You can make chicken soup with a fryer, but it does not come close to the rich flavor of a stewing hen.)

2 quarts of water
1/2 cup of rice
Salt to taste
Italian parsley

Wash the hen in cold running water. Remove the eggs, liver, gizzard, and heart, and reserve them on the side. Put the hen in a large pot, and add the chicken's feet, the water and salt or other seasoning you may like. Bring it to the boil. Turn the heat down and simmer until the chicken is tender. This may take several hours. Skim off any foam that forms.

When the broth has reduced to 1and 1/2 quarts, put the gizzard, liver, and heart into the broth. After 10 minutes, slowly add the rice. Cover the pot, and let it simmer for approximately 20 minutes, then add the chicken's eggs and cook ten more minutes.

Take out the gizzard, heart, and liver, and mince them with a knife. Put some in each soup plate along with some of the egg(s) and some minced parsley before you add the broth and rice. Serve with fresh bread.

The Portuguese often use a soup as the first course of a meal, so there is no need to have the meat in your soup, though if you want it for a main dish, you may certainly add more meat. Or, you can use it to make something else.

For many of the older Portuguese women that I knew in Portugal, having a chicken was a rare Sunday treat under Salazar's rule. That being the case, one would wish to make it stretch as far as possible. I never actually ate any chicken feet, but some consider them a delicacy.

Do you have a special recipe for chicken soup? Is this recipe easy?


Canja de Galinha

A Merry Portuguese Christmas

2011-12-30T10:11:00.001-05:00

Harry and I have many happy holiday memories from our Portuguese Adventure. For me, though, our second Christmas stands out over all the others. We were members of the Igreja Evangélica de Algés at the time. Although Americans attended there, it was a Brethren church that had been planted by British missionaries, and was now wholly run by the Portuguese. Irmão Fernando Resina was one of the teaching elders. He and his wife invited us to eat supper with their family on Christmas Eve.

The adventure began when I asked Harry what time we would need to be there. He said, "Around 21:30." I've always been a morning lark, and that made me blink. But, such a delightful invitation, offered in love was irresistible.

Christmas Eve we had a snack around 6 p.m., and began to get ready to go. We borrowed the ministry van since it would be too late after supper to find public transportation. I had been feeling a bit queasy for a few days, but not enough to give up the supper.

Presepio de Natal

We arrived around 9:30, right on time, but the party was not in full swing yet. The Resina children had put their boots by the stove for Pai Natal (Father Christmas) to put presents in at midnight.The tree was beautifully decorated. I learned that evening that Evangelical Christians had trees and Pai Natal who brought gifts; Catholic Christians had manger scenes, and the Christ Child brought the gifts.

Bacalhau Cozido

Around 10:30 p.m., our hostess called us to the table. There was the traditional Bacalhau Cozido. That is dried, salted cod fish, reconstituted and boiled. There was cabbage, boiled potatoes, and broccoli on the side. It was my first Bacalhau Cozido, and I really enjoyed it. As we finished the bacalhau, family members began clearing the table. I was comfortably full, and it was around 11 p.m.

Galo assado

Then, they brought in the galo assado, a roasted fowl that once upon a time crowed at sunrise. There was a salad, and homemade potato chips to accompany it. I had slowed down on eating, and was hoping that queasy did not happen. It didn't.

Following the fowl, bowls of canja (chicken soup) appeared on the table. It was good, but I couldn't eat much, and was hoping that no one would be offended.

Bolo Rei

When everyone had finished, we were directed to the dessert table. It was groaning with attractive sweets from rice pudding to Bolo Rei (King Cake). I'd never seen so many kinds of different pastries and puddings in my life. I nibbled a little here and there, and they were amazing. It was truly a feast fit to honor the King of kings. And no queasy all night.

We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Around midnight the children got their boots, and opened their presents. Soon after we got into the van and drove back across town to our neighborhood.

On January 20, we learned that the queasiness would be over some time in August - we were expecting our first child.

Happy New Year to all of you.

Honestly?

2011-12-24T10:54:00.000-05:00

Can you go to church dishonestly?

From a Facebook status update:

SO . . . how many of you will HONESTLY be in church this CHRISTMAS morning?? or will you open presents meant for YOU and not really celebrate HIM??? comment if you actually plan to worship HIM on HIS birthday (and not celebrate yourself or others)

I listened to this and similar manipulative horse hockey for over 20 years.

Year in, and year out. It was my "normal."

It sucked the life and joy out of me as I tried to live up to what was presented as biblical exhortation; in reality it was a human attempt to control.

**In my opinion attending church on Christmas, or any other day, because of being guilted is dishonest.**

It violates God's intention that people would worship Him because they love Him, and want to live in relationship with Him. Pressure may get people's bottoms into a pew on Christmas Day, but will the underhanded tactics open their ears and hearts to the Holy One? Or will it produce resentment?

I am going to church tomorrow. (Without posting a comment on Facebook.) But no one has guilted me to go.

Jesus doesn't manipulate us to come to Him. He invites us.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Some Thoughts on the Christmas Wars

2011-12-22T07:04:00.001-05:00

Bruce: God doesn't take vacations. Does he?...

God: Did you ever hear of the dark ages? from Bruce Almighty

Torquemada

"Deus vult!" (God wills it)

This was the cry of the Crusaders in the dark ages. They were on what they believed to be a holy mission to take back Jerusalem from the Seljuk Turks, who took over the city in the eleventh century. Pope Urban II sent the Crusaders on their way with his blessing, and the promise of absolution, remission of sins, and wealth and happiness if they died "in the service of Christ."

Seven Crusades and 196 years later the Crusades ended. They had been a miserable failure; they had not permanently conquered the Holy Land, they created a resurgence of anti-Semitism (that Torquemada accelerated and sharply defined in his Inquisition), and fostered a deeper schism between the Muslims and Christians where before had existed a certain amount of tolerance (a blunder for which we are still paying). In fact, the only "benefit" derived from the Crusades was the increased power of European kings, and the Pope.

They Will Know We Are Christians....

I've been puzzled for a number of years by the "battle stories" of Christians who have taken on the task of crusading for the greeting, "Merry Christmas" in place of "Happy Holidays." I don't understand why something that does not have deep doctrinal significance has become an annual crusade. I think we can do better than trying to rain on someone's parade at Christmas.

First, "Holiday" is derived from "Holy Day." The last time I checked, most Christians consider Christmas to be a holy day - a day set apart for a special purpose. Some even observe the holy season from the first Sunday in Advent through January 6. In this context, Happy Holidays seems appropriate.

Second, the majority of Christians I know believe it is important to let Jesus shine out of their lives, and to share the joy that He gives them. Consider the possibility that when you "scrooge" someone who wishes you Happy Holidays, you slam a door in their face. How well will that work if you try to share Christ with them later?

Third, Christmas is a difficult season for many people. Some become depressed, and many are over the top stressed and busy preparing hospitality for family and others. Tempers flare easily. If someone stops long enough to smile and wish you Happy Holidays, why would you critique their intention of good will by correcting it to Merry Christmas?

Jesus calls to the overworked, and overwhelmed to come to Him. He chastised those who made people's burdens heavier, and who misrepresented who he is. Reflect on the fact that Jesus said that we would be recognized as His disciples by our love for one another, not by how we use the "right" greeting in December. May the season be bright and joyful for you and yours.

Please feel free to leave your thoughts - respectfully.

The Portugal Adventure - Bavaria: Bad Tölz

2011-12-06T19:14:00.144-05:00

On the Alpen trail

No words.

Someone is about to get a snowball down their neck.

Yes, that is me bending over, playing in the snow in August.

Alps

On top of the world!

So far on the trip, Harry was friendly, but not making any declarations. I figured that if nothing else, I was making friends with the Portuguese girls in my dormitory, and if the worst thing that happened to me was a trip through Europe, I would have a blessed life. So, I decided to enjoy every moment of every day. Then, we visited Bad Tölz.

Bad Tölz is a fairy tale town with the Alps for its background. We visited the town, then drove to Blomberg Mountain. In the winter, it is a ski resort, and it has a bob run for the summer visitors. The bob run is 1250 meters long with 40 very sharp twists and turns, and 17 steep curves. The summer bob has a lever in the middle that lets you control (at least somewhat) the velocity at which you descend. It's all good as long as the person behind you sees you around one of those sharp twists before they are in your bob.

If memory serves me, we took the ski lift part-way up, then hiked to the top of the Blomberg. I was in pretty good shape at the time, but with the altitude, and steepness of the slope, it was challenging. Half-way up, the path steepened. Harry held out his hand to help me get over the steep place - and evidently decided that I needed his hand to get the rest of the way up. I was not averse to the assistance, and we arrived at the top together.

On the way back down, we took the summer bob. What fun! One of those sharp curves dumped both of us over the edge of the track. I'm not sure you could get me on one today, though.

This post is mostly photographs. The photos do not do justice, but they are better than words.


Village of Bad Tölz.


Bad Tölz


Bad Tölz


Ski lift at the Blomberg

The summer bob!


Where the hike began


Field director's wife climbing the Blomberg


On the way down to the summer bob Next week: Linderhof Palace

The Portugal Adventure - Beautiful Bavaria: Munich

2011-12-05T15:34:00.000-05:00

(If you are reading The Portugal Adventure for the first time, you may wish to start with the first post, April Fools.)

McDonald's we visited in Munich

Bavaria was more beautiful than I could have imagined. Breath-taking mountain views followed by sparkling lakes, all bigger and brighter than life. I thought I knew a lot about Germany after two years of high school German, but Bavaria surprised and delighted me. They have a history that is older than their centuries old palaces, and new as the McDonald's we found in Munich. Where beer was served and hamburgers were (at the time) about five dollars each.

Munich

Each day we had a meeting with all of the campers. We sang together, and it was my first experience of a multilingual singing time. I remember feeling that our hearts were being knitted together into one heart of praise. It was amazing. The Bible study each morning was translated via headphones. Afternoons we could join in various activities. Several days we went sight seeing.

Munich

Munich was on our list. In addition to lunch at McDonald's, we walked around downtown. There is nothing like visiting European cities to make you feel like a newcomer!

Downtown Munich

Much of Munich was damaged during World War II; they took 71 bombing hits over a six-year period. After the US occupation in 1945, Munich was carefully rebuilt on her pre-war street grid.

On the Marienplatz in downtown Munich, we stopped to gaze at The Rathaus (town hall) with the famous Glockenspiel, a clock with full-sized figures that displays two famous scenes from Munich's history. It plays three times a day. The top half reenacts the marriage of Duke Wilhelm V, and the lower half is the dance of the coopers, which allegedly took place during 1517, a plague year in Munich. This is said to have affirmed their perseverance and support for the authority of the duke. We arrived just in time to watch and listen that day. Here's a YouTube video of the Glockenspiel. Turn your sound up!

Rathaus and Glockenspiel

The Glockenspiel at the Rathaus

We were a tired group when we arrived back at camp for supper; cold cuts with all kinds of delicious breads for supper. In fact, everywhere we went in Europe, the bread was extraordinary; it was artisan bread, and you can't make that in a factory.

Next post: Bad Tölz!

Singing for the German campers. One of the tall Americans, I am in the middle in the back row, and Harry is on the right. With the bigode (mustache). I have to say, I wasn't much help in singing Portuguese at that point, but it was fun.

Next installment is here.

Pausing Before the Jingle Bells Rock

2011-11-21T10:54:00.000-05:00

Okay, yeah, I know. The jingle bells have been ringin' and singin' since November first. (Earlier in some places.) If that's your thing, that's okay. But, Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, and this week is Thanksgiving (hint: it comes the day before Black Friday).

At My Grandmother's House

Grandmother getting everything ready.

We lived with my grandparents in their little two-bedroom bungalow for a number of my growing up years. My grandmother in the kitchen always = spectacular meals. Thanksgiving was no exception. Since their preferred meal time for holiday meals was noonish to 1 p.m., she was up early to put ol' Tom in the oven to give him enough time to cook. The filling was made the evening before, stuffed into ol' Tom, and he was relegated to their enormous walk-in refrigerator. (AKA the attic)

Grandmother's stuffing was the pièce de résistance. It was drowned in butter in which onions had been sauteed, and broth from the pans where the celery and giblets were simmered. The giblets were chopped finely, and mixed into the stuffing . Grandmother always made extra filling to put on turkey sandwiches later.

One of the trimmings was black olives. The entire family had a thing about them, and would walk through the kitchen a number of times, and use some sort of sleight of hand and end up with a hand full of black olives. It was a wise cook who had some extra black olives so there were some left for the dinner - a tradition that continues to this day.

Grandfather getting ready to carve the turkey

My job was to set the table. I was under five years old, but my Grandmother had patiently taught me how to fold the napkins, put the fork on the left, and the knife and spoon on the right. Then, I had to find something quiet to do until the feast was ready - usually coloring.

When the feast was on the table, we thanked God for our blessings, and then fell to. Grandfather always piled his plate up at least twice, and complained good naturedly that he needed a plate with sides to get everything on it. About the time the kitchen was all cleaned up, everyone was filtering back into the kitchen for turkey sandwiches (with stuffing and cranberry sauce on them of course) and Pumpkin Pie.

In Portugal

The Portugal Thanksgiving that stands out in my memory is the first one we celebrated there. We were newlyweds (I hope that doesn't spoil any suspense for those of you who are enjoying my regular Portugal posts ;) ) Since Harry had bought a large table with extra leaves to stretch it out, it fell to us that year to host the meal. Each of the team members was to bring their favorite Thanksgiving side dish.

We had all of the usual things: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, candied yams, celery sticks, and so on. The thing that rendered that particular Thanksgiving unforgettable, was the side dish that the team member from Miami brought. I later learned that it was not an unusual Thanksgiving dish in the southern states, but 32 years later, I can still remember the cognitive dissonance I experienced when she put stuffed eggs on the table.

Thanksgiving 2006

Due to the beneficence of my sister, we had an Amish-made table with ten leaves that year. We used to always have some friends come to share our Thanksgiving dinner, and I believe there were 22 of us of all ages seated at the table on that Thanksgiving. One person was brand new to our gathering. My daughter had graduated with her A.S. in Office Systems Technology or something like that, and was hired by a local church. One of the other employees had no plans for Thanksgiving, so we invited him to eat with us. Just before the feast day, he clarified to said daughter that he was interested in dating her. You may imagine that we were anxious to meet him.

Though a quiet man, he had girded his loins and braved a room full of strangers except for my daughter. He brought two bouquets of flowers, one for my daughter, and one for me. At one point in the meal, my napkin fell on the floor, and when I reached down to pick it up, I noticed that they were holding hands under the table. No, I did not drop it on purpose to spy, but I might have if I'd thought of it. Seven months later, he met her at the altar where they pledged their troth.

How about you? Do you have any memories of a particular Thanksgiving Day? I'd love it if you shared it with me.

Portuguese Cuisine - Sopa à Portuguesa (Portuguese Soup)

2011-11-16T01:49:00.010-05:00

Soup is a comfort food, and the Portuguese have many ways to make that comfort food. We raised our children on the Portuguese soup recipe I am going to share with you. It's versatile; you add or subtract items as the seasons come and go. Since the soup base needs to be pureed, you will need a food mill, or an immersion blender. The Portuguese were way ahead of us with the immersion blender, and it works like a charm, but the food mill works just as well: you just have to work harder.

Sopa à Portuguesa

Soup base: how much you use of each ingredient depends on how much soup you want to make. It's good left over, so if you find you like it, make a big batch.

2 -3 potatoes

3 - 4 carrots

1 large onion

garlic to taste

1 turnip or more (I prefer rutabagas)

any other root vegetables you may like

1 cup or more of pureed pumpkin (can used canned)

olive oil

***********************

Choose one: turnip greens, spinach, cabbage (or some other kind of green leafy vegetable) or Italian-style green beans
rice (if you like it)

Parsley and cilantro, minced

Peel the potatoes, turnips, onions, garlic and carrots.Cut them into small cubes. Chop the onion, and mash the garlic. Put them all into a large pot, and add the pumpkin. Barely cover with water. Add a spoonful of olive oil. (I usually drop a few chicken cubes in, or use broth.) Bring to a boil, and simmer until the vegetables are tender.

Puree the vegetables with an immersion blender. (Or use a food mill, and put the puree back into the broth in the pot.)

Rinse the other vegetables. Leafy vegetables should be shredded or torn into small pieces. If you have green beans, they should be kitchen sliced into pieces about 1/8 of an inch long. Add them to the puree along with a half cup or so of rice and bring to a simmer. Simmer until the vegetables are tender, and the rice is cooked.

Stir in some minced Italian parsley, and cilantro to taste. Add salt and pepper if you like.

Sopa à Portuguesa

The Portugal Adventure - Willkommen in Deutschland

2011-11-14T01:48:00.000-05:00

The Bible Institute in Barcelona, Spain

Barcelona

It was late when we arrived at the Bible Institute in Barcelona, and it was a short visit. The next morning we piled into the vans and cars and headed for France. From Barcelona, Spain to Lyon, France it is about 500 Kilometers. With the differences in culture between those two countries, it might have been more like 5000 miles - with no shared border. It takes time, crossing the borders in Europe. I got a taste of what the United States may have been like if some of our Founding Fathers had gotten their way. Those would be the ones that wanted each state to be an independent country the way the European countries

The street in front of our hotel in Lyon.

Portuguese at sunrise by the river in Lyon.

France

We stayed in Lyon overnight, and enjoyed our continental breakfast in the morning. If you are used to the "continental breakfasts" that are served in American motels, you cannot compare them with the European style breakfasts. There was none of that bland, made in a factory white fluff. Not even any of that square stuff allegedly made with whole wheat flour. The freshly baked bread and pastries served with café au lait was a "feast of fat things."

Switzerland

Our next stop was at the border of Switzerland. The Swiss are punctilious about any official duty, and there was a long wait while they made sure everything was in order. After all, it isn't every day that an army of Portuguese, Americans, and Canadians travel all together. Aside from that, Switzerland looked exactly as I expected.

I think that the Swiss must get up before breakfast each morning to sweep their front steps, they were so clean. There was no trash on the ground, and every neatly appointed home boasted colorful flowers in the windows. The Alps. I have lived in Colorado, and Wyoming, and have hiked up in the Rocky Mountains. Out there we customarily dismissed the Appalachian Range as "not real mountains." But the majesty and beauty of those snow capped giants looming in the distance left me bereft of words. I nearly expected to see Heidi and the Grandfather walk into town at any moment.

The Alps.

Germany

Once through Switzerland, we took a quick "hop" across Austria, then into Bavaria, the largest, and most southern of the German states. The population is made up of mostly original settlers rather than people who have emigrated to Germany. According to one source, Bavaria "is basically a free state." The cleanliness of Switzerland and Austria carried through into Germany. I was convinced that it would have been safe to eat off of the ground.

The folks who started the German branch of the mission organization we were part of had a beautiful place for camp. Located near Munich on a lake, they had a 99-year lease on two castles that they used as dormitories for the campers. If the trip across Europe had not been enough of a dream fulfilled, I slept in a castle during our time in Bavaria. In a room otherwise filled with Portuguese women. Most of whom spoke very little, if any English. But, we got along fine by pooling our English, Portuguese, and Spanish. I can't remember ever enjoying camp more. There was only one thing I wanted to know, and the only person who could tell me wasn't talking.

One of the dormitories in Bavaria

"My"dormitory

First post in this series can be found here

Book Reviews - Lisa Samson, Author

2011-11-12T14:05:00.001-05:00

Lisa Samson is a Christian author who rocks Christian fiction. No two of them are alike, but all are thought-provoking. Samson's books give readers the opportunity to explore whether their faith impacts how they live,all the while delivering a cast of people and grace-filled stories the reader will not easily forget. Samson also creates visual art.

Embrace Me: believing is seeing

Embrace Me was the first of Samson's books that I read. I did not immediately like it, or understand what what going on. What can you make of a story where the first character you meet is a former evangelical pastor who walks into a Catholic church to confess his sins? Two of the other main characters include a "lizard woman," a woman with no arms or legs who are part of a traveling circus's freak show. In fact, each person in this story is one of the "outsiders," odd inside or out, or both. All desperately need grace.

The characters grew on me, though, and before I realized it, I had come to care about all of these apparent misfits. When I was done, I read it again, and found that I belonged with those odd folks, and was deeply in need of God's grace as well.

Quaker Summer

I envy Samson's gift of turning her life experiences into a great fiction story. This one caught my heart in two ways: 1. The title. I had a great aunt who was a Quaker, and she was the bomb. 2. The theme. It was about a woman who absolutely could not stop filling her home with more stuff even though she was a woman who had almost everything.

With humor and grace, Samson challenges her readers to find the joy in simple living. She invites us to discover knock down the status quo, and find contentment, and to live purposeful lives following Christ's example of giving of Himself. Definitely one of my favorites!

Straight Up

Samson is not shy about tackling what would, for some Christian writers, be tabu subjects. In Straight Up, she tackles two at once. In this book she tells the tale of Georgia, who had great potential as a jazz pianist. Georgia does not reach her potential because her alcoholism gets in the way.

One night she drinks too much, and ends up in a coma. In many stories, this would be the end, but not this time. The conversation of life continues for those waiting for Georgia to wake up, and those that Georgia experiences in her coma.
God's mercy and grace are abundant in this book. The tough topics are well written.

Resurrection in May

This book is the latest one (so far) that Samson has published. It is also the longest one I have read. It is filled with current topics, and challenges to the Christian community.

May Seymour who is the main the protagonist, is a new college graduate. Claudius, and elderly farmer and nurturer of the earth, and the animals finds her staggering drunk on the road one day, and takes her home to take care of her.

After a time of healing, May takes a trip to Rwanda, and lands there in the middle of the civil war. The situation over-tasks her strength, and leaves her physically wounded depressed, and broken. Eventually, she was rescued and sent home. She went back to Claudius' farm to recover. She no longer knew who she was, or what she was to do.

There are some heavy subjects covered in this book such as rape, capital punishment, and genocide, so let the reader be aware. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. It kept me on the edge of my seat from start to finish.

Portuguese Music - Fado

2011-11-11T01:56:00.000-05:00

Portuguese Legends - O Galo de Barcelos

2011-11-10T01:17:00.003-05:00

Galo de Barcelos

If you visit Portugal, you will see multiple variations of these colorful roosters nearly everywhere that you go. One of the popular (but unofficial) Portuguese symbols, the story of the Cock of Barcelos goes so far back in history, that it would be difficult to discover the exact origin. Some place it in the 16th century. There are several permutations of the story. This one features a Spaniard from Galicia, who had come to Portugal to make a pilgrimage to a shrine. Given that any truce between Portugal and Spain at that time was, at best, an uneasy one I can imagine something like this happening.

A Spaniard from the province of Galícia, Spain, was making a pilgrimage to a Portuguese holy shrine. He stopped in the village of Barcelos to rest from his journey during the heat of the day.

That afternoon, a horrible crime was committed: one of the prominent men of the village was murdered. The alarm went out, and during the search, they found the Spaniard resting in the shade in an out of the way corner of the village. Since he was the only stranger in the village, they immediately put him under arrest, and took him before the magistrate of the village. He was found guilty, and condemned to die the next morning.

During the evening, the Spaniard poured out his heart to God for deliverance. Then, he begged, and pleaded with the jailor to take him once more before the magistrate, that he might try to persuade him of his innocence.

His request was so eloquent that jailor took pity on him, and took him to the magistrate's home. The magistrate was eating supper, and not pleased to be disturbed, but he gave his assent. The Spaniard was taken into the dining room, and the magistrate gave him permission to speak. The man from Galícia made his defense passionately, but he saw his doom in the eyes of the magistrate. Just then, he noticed that there was a roasted rooster on the supper table. In desperation, the prisoner pointed at the rooster and said, "If I am innocent, that rooster will stand up and crow when you take me to the gallows." Then the jailor took him back to the jail.

The next morning, just before sunrise, the Spaniard was taken from jail to the gallows. The executioner checked the rope while the magistrate stood nearby with the rooster on its platter - perhaps to mock the prisoner, or maybe to discover if he had told the truth. The executioner put the noose over the prisoner's head, and tightened it around his neck. The sun peeped over the horizon, and suddenly the roasted rooster stood up and crowed. The prisoner was set free, and gave thanks to God and the saints for his vindication.

Portuguese Cuisine - Frango Assado no Forno (Roast Chicken)

2011-11-08T19:38:00.001-05:00

Roast chicken is a favorite food in Portugal. I've eaten chicken marinated and grilled, roasted whole in the oven, in soup, and in Chinese food. Someone in Portugal gave me this recipe. It is simple, but yummy! For reasons that will become obvious, we nicknamed it Frango Suppositorio. Don't let that put you off, though. It's good.

Time required: about an hour and a half

Ingredients:
One young fryer chicken

Frango assado

Four chicken bouillon cubes
One fresh lemon
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Turn oven on high - at least 450 degrees F.

Clean the chicken, remove any organs (save them for the chicken soup) and the neck. Then, pick off any pin feathers that might be on it. Wash it inside and out.

Use a fork to poke holes all over the lemon, and place the lemon in the chicken's body cavity. Put two chicken cubes in the neck, and two under the piece that went over the fence last. Tuck the wings under the back, and tie the legs together.

Place chicken in a Pyrex casserole dish. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and place in the heated oven. Roast until done. (Use a meat thermometer to make sure it is done.) Depending on the size of the chicken, it may take up to an hour and a half to cook it thoroughly.

Remove from oven and let cool for about 15 minutes. Remove the lemon, carve and pour the sauce that will be in the casserole on the carved chicken. Serve with oven fried potatoes, a salad, and fresh fruit for dessert.

The Portugal Adventure - Bienvenido a España

2011-11-07T15:36:00.002-05:00

A map of Europe so you can "see" our journey. We began in Lisbon, Portugal.


Map of Europe Click on link to find free maps.

On the Road Again

At last my lunch arrived, and since everyone else had already been served, I ate hurriedly. In addition to the everlasting lunch wait, the rest rooms were the worst I had ever seen. I was not sorry to say "adios" to the café.

That first day was long. One of the young Portuguese, Tó, spoke English relatively well, and he rode in the same van with Harry and me, ostensibly so that I would not feel completely cut off by the rapid Portuguese conversations. The teens' discourses were almost constantly flowing and ebbing in the vehicle.

The translating began well, but when you don't use a language on a regular basis, it is exhausting to sustain a conversation in it. Tó did valiantly, but as he and Harry became involved in some of the other interactions, I found myself listening to a lot of Portuguese. They translated in short hand from time to time, which was just enough to frustrate me because I wanted to be able to join in the conversations, and could not.

Madrid

(You can find Madrid approximately in the middle of Spain on the map above.)

The next stretch of driving ended around 9:30 p.m. in Madrid. We stopped at a restaurant for supper where we exited the vehicles, stretched our legs, and waited to see if the place was open. After some "conversating" with the management, they agreed to open early for us. Yes, in Spain 10 p.m. is an early supper.

We were seated, and the waiter gave us menus. I was determined to avoid another omelet situation, so I kept away from the "tortillas," which is what they are called in Spain. (If you feel confused, imagine how how this morning lark [me] was handling supper at that hour - and dealing with three languages.) I found something on the menu that I recognized: pollo. Yes, chicken! I ordered it. Orders made, the Portuguese asked me what I was eating, and that was how I learned that they say, "frango" (frahn' goo) for chicken. Two languages so similar to each other had two wildly different words for chicken!

In the long interval between ordering, and eating, the Portuguese tried valiantly (and successfully) to converse with me. They were indefatigable. Finally, someone asked me, "How are you?" slowly, and in Portuguese. I dredged up my high school Spanish and responded, "Estoy cansada." (I am tired.") My interrogator instantly came back with something that the folks around us found hysterically funny. She repeated it again slowly in Portuguese: "Estás cansada, ou casada?" I thought that I was getting a Portuguese language lesson, and that in Portuguese "casada" = "cansada" in Spanish. But, from the tone of the laughter it occasioned, it had nothing to do with a vocabulary malfunction. It was more like they were laughing at a joke kind of hilarity, and it was contagious.

I looked to Harry for help, but would you believe the man was still laughing his head off at this joke that I did not understand? Finally, he caught his breath, and told me: "She asked you if you were tired, or married." A few more words of explanation, and I got the word play: casada = married and cansada = tired. I laughed again with them. After some thought, I realized the humor was the right hand of fellowship. I knew then that I could love these people. Who else did I know who could make me laugh even when I didn't know
what was so funny?

We finished eating around midnight, and went outside. I was amazed at all of the people milling around downtown Madrid - including even very young children. Harry told me that is because they take a three-hour siesta from 1 p.m. till 4 p.m.That is a cultural idea I could seriously get into. Except, maybe, the part about being up till midnight.

On to Barcelona

(You can find Barcelona on the eastern border of Spain by the Mediterranean Sea.)

It was quieter on the ride to Barcelona. We stopped there at the Spanish branch of the mission, and they put us up for the night. I don't remember much that happened after dinner, but I do remember how grateful I was for the growing friendships, and that I had a bed and a pillow at the end of that long, long day.

Next installment is here

Introducing Elizabeth Esther

2011-11-05T14:09:00.001-04:00

I enjoy reading Elizabeth's blog posts. Her ENFP personality makes me smile, and it evidently gave her a great idea. Once a month, she sponsors her Saturday Evening Post opportunity where she invites other bloggers to link their favorite post from their own blogs from the previous month, and link it to her blog.

It is a great way to meet new (to you) bloggers, and to share your thoughts with others. Come one, you know you want to do it. Here is the link to her blog. Have fun!

Book Reviews - Any of these would make a good Christmas present for someone.

2011-11-03T12:18:00.000-04:00

My tutoring student is down with the flu today, and having a large pile of books that I have promised to review, I will use some of this serendipitous time to begin.

Winter by Keven Newsome

Can a person be both Goth, and a Christian? Some people might argue that the two philosophies are not compatible, but in his book, Keven Newsome makes a strong case for harmony between them.

The protagonist, Winter, a young believer, is headed for a Christian college - and not all of the baggage that she takes to college is packed in her suitcases. Her faith is relatively new, and untried. Summer, Winter's roommate, is the antithesis of Winter, and their dorm room reflects just how different they are.

As Winter accustoms herself to being in a Christian environment, she realizes that not everyone approves of her choice of individuality. One of her professors sees her Goth appearance as a sign of rebellion. Other students who are more conventionally dressed stare at her from a distance.

Then Winter begins to have visions. Terrifying visions. Bad things begin to happen on campus, and Winter sees a connection between her visions and the incidents at the school. The action amps up into crisis mode, and Winter's life is at stake.

Newsome has done an awesome job writing about Winter's spiritual gifting, and in presenting the dark side of the world of the occult from a thoroughly biblical point of view. I enjoyed reading this book.

**************************************************

Alpha Redemption by P.A. Baines

What kind of a man would knowingly accept the job of traveling through space to Alpha Centauri alone? Well, perhaps not totally alone. He travels with a state of the art computer that is responsible for his welfare. Brett Denton is that kind of man.

Brett is in a dismal state of mind, regretting choices that he had made, and things he wished he had done differently. He had given up on God. When he was offered the position to explore Alpha Centauri, he took it. Jay is the computer who was to look after him, but he is more than just a computer. Jay has the capacity to modify his instructions as the story unfolds, it is apparent his abilities include spiritual understanding of God's gift of salvation.

This is a fast-paced narrative that captivated me from the beginning. The two key characters kept the story line moving as their interaction deepens and broadens. The only thing I would change would be to find a way for the conversion to Christianity scene to be handled more subtly. In my opinion, it felt like it had accidentally jumped over from a different book. The rest of the book is outstanding.

*****************************************************************

Here Burns My Candle and Mine Is the Night

by Liz Curtis Higgs

These two companion books are based on the relationship between Ruth, and Naomi in the book of Ruth, and they are set in Scotland in the 1700s.

Both books are "can't put it down you'll have to get takeout" kind of books. Every detail of this history of the Jacobite Rebellion was carefully researched. The descriptions are detailed, and make you feel as if you were there. The writing is superb. You feel the heartache of Elizabeth Kerr when she loses her husband. You can connect to her struggle to find God, and the tension between her and her mother-in-law.

The second book, Mine is the Night seamlessly picks up Elizabeth's story, and realistically brings it to the good (but somewhat unexpected) ending. The relationships that are built among the characters, and the historical tidbits make you wish there was more to come. The story just flows naturally, and beautifully. I believe if I were to meet any of these characters on the street, I would recognize them immediately.

I've been reading Liz Curtis Higgs' books for a number of years, and she has been growing in and mastering her craft more with each book she has written. These are great Christian historical fiction books.

Portuguese Cuisine - Arroz Doce

2011-11-03T09:23:00.000-04:00

When we were on furlough from our ministry in Portugal, supporters and others often asked about Portuguese cuisine. What was it like? Was it hot and spicy? What were some of the things we ate? So, I thought that I would put the recipes of some of our favorite Portuguese foods. I'll start with a traditional Christmas confection (though it is popular at any time of the year):

Minho is in the north of Portugal

Arroz-Doce Minho (Rice Pudding made in the manner of Minho)

(It takes approximately 45 minutes to make this dessert, which serves 6.)

Ingredients:

2 cups of short-grain white rice

2 cups of sugar (I generally use less)

4 egg yolks

1 and 1/2 quarts of milk

salt, grated lemon zest, and cinnamon to taste

Add the rice to a pan of boiling water, seasoned with a little salt, and after the water comes back to a boil, keep it on the burner for 5 more minutes. Drain off the water.

In another pan, pour in the milk, and the grated lemon zest, and bring it to the boil; add the drained rice. Cook it at a very low temperature. Add the sugar, and cook for ten more minutes. Take it off of the heat, and let it cool a little while. Take a little of the rice mixture, and put it in a bowl. Add the egg yolks one at a time, mixing them well. Then add the rice in the bowl back to the rest of the cooked rice. Cook the mixture with the eggs without boiling.

Divide the cooked rice pudding among some small dessert bowls. Let cool. Decorate with cinnamon as you can see in the photo.

WARNING: this rich dessert can become addictive! :)

The Portugal Adventure - The Rain in Spain Falls Mainly

2011-11-01T13:25:00.007-04:00

(Disclaimer: this is by way of being a memoir. After 33 years, memories tend to get a little fuzzy around the edges. If you notice something that you remember differently from me, please don't disillusion me. Thank you. :-) )

Start at the beginning: 1

Will he, or won't he?

Believe it or not, Harry insisted on drinking his accidental concoction! At that point, I knew two things: it was quite possible that he was almost as crazy and stubborn as I am, and that I would never have to wonder if he'd take a dare! He admitted some time later that a sure-fire way to get him to do something would be to tell him that he couldn't. Just for the record, he was right.

To sleep, perhaps to dream - Shakespeare

After breakfast, the field director's wife led me past the puppies to the apartment beneath hers. It belonged to a family who were missionaries with TEAM. They were on leave in the states, and had agreed to let me sleep, perhaps to dream, in their apartment. I was tired but wired. My internal clock was ticking when I was tocking. the events of the past few days skipped and jumped on a kaleidoscope in my brain. Eventually, I drifted off into a light sleep for about six or seven hours.

The bidet: every home should have one.

When I woke up, I saw that I had time to shower quickly before Harry finished work and came to collect me. I knew that I had seen the bathroom before I went to bed, but I evidently hadn't taken in all of the furnishings thereof. I found myself looking at an unfamiliar object similar to the picture on the left. I examined it. Then, I turned the water on and off. I looked around in the vicinity. It was less than an arm's length from the fixture with which I was more familiar. I had my suspicions, but I wasn't going to ask. Resolutely, I turned my energy toward getting ready to go out to dinner in Lisbon.

Putting on the Ritz

Harry arrived a little early, of course, and to his surprise, I was ready. (It was a rare event. My dad spent quite a few years of my life telling me, "Hurry up, Susan."). The man who sent me roses was armed with the loaned car, and gentlemanly attentions. He held the doors, and made sure I was comfortable. I admired the way he held his own with the other drivers that I was certain were in training for the Daytona 500.

Cristo Rei, Lisboa

We drove around Lisbon a little before we went to eat. Harry pointed out more landmarks such as the statue of "Cristo Rei" (Christ the King) near the 25th of April Bridge (identical to the monument found near Rio de Janeiro, Brazil).

The name of the bridge in itself is a monument of sorts. It was originally called Salazar Bridge, named for Prime Minister António de Oliveira Salazar, who served from 1932 to 1968. Though Life Magazine called him the greatest Portuguese since Prince Henry the Navigator, many of the Portuguese differed. He was, in fact if not in title, a dictator. On the 25th of April, 1974 the military initiated a coup, which eventually returned democracy to Portugal, and the bridge got a change of name.

The Four Seasons Ritz in Lisbon

Soon, Harry pulled into a parking space outside of a large building. It was the Lisbon Four Seasons Ritz, where he took me inside for dinner. He helped me order from the Portuguese menu. We each had a bitoque. A bitoque (prounounced bee-tok) consists of a grilled or fried tenderized steak topped with a fried egg. They serve it with a helping of rice, and French fries. Fortunately, I am an adventurous eater (especially if someone else is buying). I liked it.

We sat there talking for a long time before Harry took me back to the apartment where he dropped me off. He told me what time to be ready in the morning, and I really did sleep this time. Jet lag is for real.

Harry talking through the window to António Figueira (Tó) on the trip.

Mañana

On the morning that we left for camp in Germany, everyone met together to caravan in several vans. We pointed our noses east and began to roll. It was a short trip to the border of Spain, but the next leg of the journey would be much longer.

We stopped at a Spanish café around 1 p.m.for some lunch. Since time was of the essence, I ordered an omelet for my meal. It took over an hour and a half for all of us to get our meals, and mine was one of the last. Who knew that making a simple omelet could be so complicated?

Next installment

Punished for Buying Only One

2011-10-26T07:49:00.003-04:00

I have been shopping at a health food/supplements store for a number of years. One of the things I've always appreciated has been the great customer service. Another thing has been the 10% off on their products on Tuesdays. 

Yesterday, after work, I went to pick up my calcium supplement, Calm. I went yesterday, because it was Tuesday, and I was expecting a 10% discount. 

The cashier told me that the Calm was "buy one get one half price" this week. I thought it over, but I had budgeted for only one, and did not have enough money to get the second one, even at half price.

I told this to the cashier, and asked her just to give me the usual 10% discount. She said that "Corporate" would not give me the 10% because they consider that Calm is a sale item this week, and they don't give the 10% discount on sale items. 

I have to say that this is the first time I have been penalized for not allowing myself to be manipulated into spending more money than I can afford for something I don't want two of in order to get a second item for half price. And, yes, it is manipulative and a penalty when "Corporate" will not give the 10% discount to a customer who pays the regular full price, and who expects the regular 10% Tuesday savings. This is not good customer service.

Then when I was pulling out the paper currency, and dropping it on the counter, the cashier accused me of throwing it at her. Yes, I was unhappy. But seriously, throwing the money at her? 

I feel disappointed, and angry about "Corporate's" choice to use punitive measures on a customer by withholding the discount because I did not want purchase a second Calm even at a discount.

And, yes, I do see the irony in this story. :) 

The Portugal Adventure - I Love Coffee, I Love Tea

2011-10-24T09:00:00.005-04:00

(Previous Portugal Adventure Posts: One Two Three )

It may have been the seven-hour flight over the Atlantic, plus the early/late hour. Maybe it was my reaction to being in a place where my ability to speak English fluently was of minimal benefit. Perhaps the shock of a handshake instead of the expected kiss factored into it, but the whole situation felt surreal.

Arrivals at Lisbon Airport

How different the air smelled in Portugal! It went beyond the ubiquitous diesel fumes, but was not unpleasant. It was just something of which I had no olfactory memories. If you were to blindfold me, and open a mayonnaise jar full of Portuguese air under my nose, I would immediately recognize it. Portuguese language reverberated in my ears. It sounded like a merging of Spanish and French. The conversations mingled with the busy sounds of the airport. The golden orb in the azure sky gently warmed the morning without the harsh summer blast to which I was accustomed in the states.

Harry interrupted my revery to ask if those two suitcases were all there was of my luggage. When I admitted that they were, he grinned and said, "I've never known a woman to travel with so little luggage." Score? I thought I had brought a lot. It had seemed more than enough as I had dragged it through Kennedy in New York. I was trying to work out if that was a compliment when we arrived at the car. It belonged to one of his coworkers, loaned to him in honor of the occasion.

Traffic jam in Lisbon

As Harry put the key in the ignition, I noticed the pattern - or perhaps the lack of pattern - of the traffic. The cars were small, and zipping along like King Kong was close on their trail. Small because diesel fuel cost around $5 a gallon (it's currently more like $7-8/gallon), and fast because you were either quick, or dead. We drove around the Christopher Columbus monument at the airport. Suddenly, we were in the flow. Harry took me on a somewhat roundabout, but short sightseeing jaunt of which I remember little apart from my white knuckles. Then he announced that we needed to get moving; we were having breakfast with the American members of the Portugal team.

The field director and his wife lived in a charming little town called " Queijas" (pronounced KAY-zhis) Their apartment was up a flight of steps, and as we climbed them, I heard puppy noises. On their veranda a litter of delightful black and buff Cocker Spaniel puppies tumbled and rolled about with abandon while their mother oversaw their activities. The door opened to a warm welcome.

The field director's wife had prepared an attractive continental breakfast which was reposing on the table. After introductions, and thanking God for the food, we fell to. Now, nothing renders an introvert more incapable of conversation than a room full of new acquaintances whose curiosity is killing them. But Harry came to my rescue with a diversionary tactic. He put a teabag into his mug, then picked up the coffee pot and poured it over his teabag.

Next installment: here

The Portugal Adventure - Into the Wild, Blue Yonder

2011-10-17T13:46:00.002-04:00

(If you missed the earlier posts, you can find them here: one and two.)

Any hesitation in making a decision to fly to Portugal in the summer of 1978 lay in the necessary financial commitment on my end. VISA credit cards were still somewhat of a novelty, and I was certain that the airline would not accept my Strawbridge's credit card. When you make around $6000 per year (before taxes), even in 1978 the necessary expenditure was an impossible commitment. I nearly had to say "No." Then, my dad stepped in and offered to lend me enough to supplement my budget. He said that I could pay him back when school started back up in the fall.

I went to a travel agency in town which took care of my passport photo, and my travel arrangements. I had never flown anywhere on my own, and was all in a dither getting things together. No one wanted to drive me to New York City, (go figure) so I reserved space in an airport limo.

In late June, or early July my whole family spent two weeks at the beach. Someone my dad worked with had a cottage on Fenwick Island, Delaware. We had been going for several summers. Our routine included cooking meals ahead, and keeping it simple when we were at the cottage. Another ritual included my mom putting together a jig-saw puzzle, and my oldest brother taking one of the pieces and hiding it. My oldest brother had joined the army by that summer, so someone else had to carry on that tradition. I can't quite recall who it was. ;) Mostly, we just kicked back and enjoyed sun, surf, and sleep. We kept the possibility of one more family member missing by the next summer in the back of our minds.

TWA Flight Center

Somehow I managed to keep both feet on the ground until the day of departure. The sad puppy eyes that my dad used when he looked at me might have helped that. When the airport limo arrived, it looked nothing like what I had pictured. But, the driver did his job well, and we arrived with time to spare before I needed to board the plane.

The direct flight to Portugal left in the early evening. As we queued up for takeoff, I had time to ponder Harry's last letter. It was full of the detailed information I needed to get through the airport, and customs. He could not come in and help me get through, but his directions lacked nothing. When I got to the exit, he wrote, he would be waiting for me. He added that I should try to sleep on the plane, because it would be a long day after I landed. Right. At the end of the letter before his signature, he wrote: "I love you" with no further explanation. That pretty well freaked me out. But not enough to keep me from going.

Lisbon at sunrise

The flight was about seven hours. I wasn't thrilled about being in a jet hovering between sky and water for seven hours, let alone doing that while trying to sleep, but I tried. I passed the hours reading, thinking, watching the inflight movie, and eating. Shortly after our on-board continental breakfast, the sun came up over the horizon, and we were circling over Lisbon. It was about 7 a.m. Lisbon time.

Even though I knew no Portuguese, Harry's instructions were clear, and I had no problems. I was a little stressed when I didn't see him immediately upon passing through customs, but it was only a short moment before he walked in the door with a big smile on his face. He walked over to me, reached out his arm, and shook my hand.

Next installment: here

Iconoclasts: Adopt One Today!

2011-10-16T18:14:00.000-04:00

Definition from the Free Online Dictionary

i·con·o·clast (-kn-klst)

1. One who attacks and seeks to overthrow traditional or popular ideas or institutions.

2. One who destroys sacred religious images.

Iconoclasts can be uncomfortable to have around. They like to challenge the status quo. At times they can be downright annoying.

In my 20th Century British Literature class in college, we read Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw, an Irish playwright. You may know it better by the musical that was made some time after the book was written, My Fair Lady. Much of what Shaw wrote dealt with social problems, especially the exploitation of the working class.. He used his plays to not only address social issues, but to "illustrate his criticism of the English stage." Shaw was the only person who received both a Nobel Prize in Literature, and an Oscar. His online biography states: "Shaw's radical rationalism, his utter disregard of conventions, his keen dialectic interest and verbal wit often turn the stage into a forum of ideas, and nowhere more openly than in the famous discourses on the Life Force, «Don Juan in Hell», the third act of the dramatization of woman's love chase of man, Man and Superman (1903)." Shaw was an iconoclast - he upset the potato bin. Not everyone loved him, but it was hard to ignore him.

Iconoclasts are important to any culture or community. These are the people who encourage us to evaluate the things that we do, and the things that we believe. If what we do, think, and believe cannot stand up to scrutiny by an "image breaker," we are in danger of becoming stagnant. Some of our ideas need to be broken down, examined. The "we've always done it this way" need to be confirmed - or, in some cases - discarded.

I have an eclectic list of blogs I read on a regular basis. Some of them definitely come under the heading, "Iconoclastic." Why? Why do I read things that sometimes make me flinch? Why do I look at posts that I may disagree with? There are a number of reasons why I read them. Sometimes I find they make me laugh at myself. Other times they hold up a mirror in front of me. Some of them affirm things I've thought but never said out loud. Always, always they make me think, examine, and they stir up the stagnant waters. These things strengthen my faith, and I've come to the conclusion that a faith that cannot weather an iconoclast is on shaky ground to begin with.

So, here's to the iconoclasts: thank you. Keep up the good work!

The Portugal Adventure - My Laddie Lies Over the Ocean

2011-10-10T13:30:00.002-04:00

(If you missed part one, you can read it here.)

Oddly enough, at age 25, I was not looking for a romantic relationship. I had been disillusioned by the dating game, and was content with my job at the Christian school. My delightful fourth grade students (27 that year) were more than adequate substitutes for having children of my own. I had some friends with whom I could hang out, and was mostly independent. Yeah, well, I still lived in my parent's home. With my gross salary around $6,000 per year, it was a viable option. And yet, those beautiful red roses perfumed the house even as I resisted their implication.

On Monday, I took a rose or two and put them in a vase on my desk. The students noticed and asked questions, of course. But there was little to say about them at the time. Full time teaching leaves little time for daydreaming and speculation.

I wrote a letter to Harry thanking him for the roses, and told him that they were beautiful. Then, I added that they had arrived on April Fool's Day, and waited.

Email was not widely used at that time, so our correspondence always went snail mail. Air mail, to be more exact. Harry's reply came in short order. He was, in fact, a tad miffed with whoever was responsible for delivering the roses on April first. He explained that he had asked that they be delivered a week earlier, for Easter. On March twenty-fifth. It was an explanation that didn't answer my real question. But, then, I hadn't asked my real question. He had signed off on the letter, "Love, Harry" -- for the first time. So, then I had two questions. Given that the whole of my senior year in high school when we were dating, Harry had not used more than maybe 250 of his words at most over the course of the year, I might have made an educated guess. But, I wasn't quite sure I was ready to know the answers.


School is over, oh! what fun!

Anyone who teaches (or has taught) school knows that once April Fool's Day is past, the school year runs down to the end in a blink. Achievement tests are added to report cards. Students are already feeling the euphoria that the freedom of summer will bring; it all contributes to the general mayhem.

Harry began writing more frequently, and always signed his letters: "Love, Harry." I enjoyed hearing about life in Portugal, and continued to reply to his letters. They seemed to be coming more often. Sometimes I'd wonder where he had been keeping all of those words the year that we dated. Occasionally I'd catch my dad looking at me in a forlorn tone of "voice." After the roses arrived, he, at any rate, had no doubts whatsoever about what Harry meant! And he was feeling a bit depressed about the whole thing.

In early June, I opened a very thin, light envelope with a letter from Harry in it. He wrote that the missions team would be taking a group of Portuguese teens to Germany for camp, and asked me to come along. He said that he would pay my expenses while I was there, and asked me if I could buy my airline tickets. (His salary was also bare bones.) It was my turn to have no words. But I had the feeling we might be getting closer to the answers to my questions.

Next installment: here

The Portugal Adventure - Prologue: April Fools

2011-10-02T20:12:00.004-04:00

April First fell on a Saturday in 1978. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day. After a winter of serial snowstorms, blizzards, and numerous "snow days" at the Christian school where I taught, we were so ready for some sun. My sister Mary and I shared one thought: beach.

We decided to go to Atlantic City. They had begun to build the casinos, but it was still a beautiful beach, and I had some happy memories of going there with a friend's family in the sixties. Shortly before we got out the door, the doorbell rang.

Mary and I were busy packing what we needed for the drive, and someone else got the door. When I looked up, my dad handed me a florist box. I was surprised - not expecting flowers from anyone. I wasn't even dating anyone at the time.

When I opened the box, I found a dozen red roses. I dug through the paper to see the card. Harry (an old flame whom I had not seen for several years) had wired them from Portugal where he was serving as the business manager for a missions organization. By then, I was truly perplexed.

Flash back seven years. Harry and I had been dating for awhile - maybe close to a year. He was in his first year at Drexel, and I was about to graduate from high school. He had invited me to the senior banquet at church the year before, but I had already accepted an invitation from a friend to a senior banquet at another church. A year later, then, I invited him to take me to my senior banquet. He accepted.

The Sunday before the banquet, he stopped me after church to talk. He had gotten involved with InterVarsity Fellowship at Drexel, and they were having a picnic that day. He apparently wanted me to go to that event instead of the banquet. All I actually heard at the time, though, was that he was not escorting me to the senior banquet. He claims that the tire tread marks on the street outside the church from me peeling out in a fit of anger have never faded. All I felt was the humiliation that was driving me while I was driving the car. I also remember learning that it is pretty well impossible to find another date that close to an event. (I ended up going with Harry's sister and her friend, and we did have a great time anyway.)

Our family moved to Coatesville shortly after that. I didn't see Harry or talk to him until one day when we passed on the sidewalk in Philadelphia, where we were attending different colleges. Then nothing for a long time. After I graduated, I took a job in Denver, Colorado as an editorial assistant (fancy name for proof reader). I heard via the grapevine that he had gone to a Bible Institute in New York where he later joined the team from there that was starting a ministry in Portugal.

I had forgiven him, but he was heading for Portugal, and I lived in Colorado. I crossed him off my list. I wasn't even sure where Portugal was located. Meanwhile, in Colorado, I was engaged for a short time to a man I met at a class on Modern Fantasy Liturature that I was taking at a small private college. Harry heard about the engagement, but he didn't hear for a long time that my fiance and I had gone our separate ways. Moreover, he wasn't quite sure if it was safe to get in the water again.

Some time passed, and we began an intermittent correspondence as old friends sometimes do. I moved back to Pennsylvania in 1976 to teach at a Christian school. Harry was still in Portugal, and I was in my second year of teaching when the roses arrived..

While putting the roses in a vase, I pondered the possibilities. But, the day was fine, and I had no patience with the puzzle. Finally, I shrugged. Then, my sister and I got in the car, and spent a glorious day enjoying the sun and the surf.

Next installment: here

Dirt Under My Fingernails

2011-10-02T14:00:00.000-04:00

We had some bracing weather yesterday - at last. Our dogs felt frisky, and I was energized, and wanted to be out of doors enjoying it. One of my weaknesses has always been to overdo projects, and in aid of not driving everyone crazy, I am learning that sometimes good enough is truly good enough. Reaching for the stars is okay, (but insisting on not giving up until I've actually licked one) tends to weary those around me. And generally speaking, those projects end up abandoned due to my fear that I can't finish them perfectly.

So, with my garden, as well as with my housekeeping, I am learning moderation, and finding projects are much more enjoyable. I have several small raised bed boxes, none of which were planting ready yesterday. I did, however, have some tomato plants, a friendly offering from one of our neighbors. My first thought was, we need to get all of the boxes worthy of having things planted in them. Stop. We only needed one for yesterday.

We drove to our local hardware store, and bought some top soil, and Black Kow manure. It didn't even break the bank. This "good enough" philosophy is not only less stressful, it's cheaper!

My husband dumped the ingredients into the box, and we spread it evenly the length of the box. Then, I tucked the seven hardiest of the tomato plants into their new bed. The feral cats found this inexhaustibly fascinating - at least until I got the hose out and they discovered that I might be a little overzealous with the watering.

All in Good Time

2011-09-17T16:29:00.001-04:00

Almost three years ago, my husband asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told him that I wanted a gift card to Lowe's. He thought it was odd, but he did get the gift because even when he thinks I've totally lost it, he still loves me. I had planned to use it as seed money (pun intended) to give my garden a jump start.

Well, it was a good idea, but it never took root. My mother's Alzheimer Disease had begun with the beginning of the end, and our family blossomed with three new members over the course of that year: two grandchildren, and a much beloved son-in-love. It was somewhere around October when I recalled that I had been going to start a garden in the spring.

For a month or more, I practiced digging and planting some rather old seeds in the garden of some nearby friends. It had overgrown, and it took quite some time to work the soil and get the seeds in even though I had enlisted a young friend with a certificate in horticulture to help me. It was not a bouquet of roses. Partly through neglect, but mainly because the soil was poor, our yield was minuscule. I still had some pots of herbs around my doorstep, and used them often in my cooking until a horde of kittens decided that they made a nice place to curl up and sleep. The sage was the only one that survived.

In 2010 someone introduced me to square foot gardening. It sounded doable, but other cares choked that out before the venture was well begun. I decided that I would dig in the next spring. The thorns in the spring of 2011 again defeated my good intentions.

Happily, Florida has three growing seasons, and I had planted my gift card in a safe place that I remembered. Today it looked at me hopefully when I took it out of the safe place, and it was not disappointed. I took it to Lowe's and, in the interest of not digging in too deeply all at once, got some hanging pots with which I hope to confound any kittens looking for a place to nap. I have the herb seeds, all I wanted except for thyme, and I have dirt. Maybe I should plant some catnip some distance away from the house.

One of the nicest things about a garden is that it is merciful: each year is a new beginning. What kinds of experience have you had gardening? Do you have any suggestions or advice?

September of 2001

2011-09-12T12:24:00.002-04:00

First My Dad

On September 9, 2001, my dad, who had been in the hospital for some time, passed away. I had only just returned home on Friday, September 7 from a flying trip (from Florida to Delaware) to see him. Dad had become an unhappy, disappointed, and angry person by the end of his life. Our last earthly goodbyes consisted of me reading Psalm 46 to him, and praying for him before I left the hospital. I had seen the telltale necrotic tissue on his back where he had undergone surgery - unnecessary surgery in my opinion - but the surgeons had scared my mother with the prediction that without it he would never walk again. As it happened, the surgery simply hastened his death, and he never recovered enough to even try to walk.

Mom found him gone when she entered his hospital room the morning of September 9, 2001. I cannot begin to imagine how she felt when she realized that he had left his earthly tabernacle. Dad had dedicated his life to smoothing the way for Mom as her father had done for her before my parents were married. Mom was ill prepared for life without someone to cushion the bumps and disasters along the road.

I was devastated, (though not really surprised) on that Sunday afternoon when my sister called with the news. It was just difficult to get my head wrapped around the thought that Dad had died. We had always connected all through my life, my dad and I. One of the last things we shared before I got married was me reading The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings to him. I felt bereft indeed.The what-ifs and the whys crowded my mind, and overflowed into my heart for many long months.

I wasn't even sure I could get to the funeral - it just wasn't feasible financially. Then, my brother who lives a couple of hours south of us called and invited me to ride up to Delaware with him to the funeral. My brother was recovering from sinus surgery, and his doctor told him that he should not fly. In fact, the doctor wasn't overly happy about him taking a road trip at that point. But, it was his dad as well as mine, and we both wanted to get to the funeral and connect with family.

Then the Twin Towers

My brother was supposed to pick me up around 11 a.m. on September 11. A little after 10 a.m., I took my thirteen-year-old son to stay with friends until my husband could pick him up after work. When we walked into their house, the television was on, and I watched the twin towers collapse. I simply could not process well all of that on top of my dad's death. Then, I realized that we'd actually be driving into the war zone.

It was around three o'clock when my brother arrived at my house. We drove part of the way, and stayed at a motel in South Carolina. There was no phone or cell service due to the national emergency, so we couldn't talk to our loved ones - not where we were headed, nor from where we left. There was an surreal feeling as we watched the TV news, and saw the twin towers fall over, and over again. The only thought that kept going through my mind was relief that my dad had not lived to see what was happening in our country.

The next day, on our way to Delaware, we reached Washington, D.C. As we drove around the beltway, we saw the smoke still rising from the Pentagon - a sobering scene indeed. Finally, we reached my other brother's home in Delaware. He had Mom with him, and I shared a bed with her for two nights while my Florida brother went to a motel since the house beds were all full.

The Funeral

At this point my memories play hide and seek with me. I remember a viewing with relatives, and friends present (a proceeding that I do not intend shall happen when I die). The funeral was held in the chapel at the Delaware Veteran's Cemetery, and I recall giggling hysterically with my sister-in-law afterward over something said by the pastor who had the funeral sermon. He was eulogizing, and was talking about how wonderful he thought Dad was, and that he had never heard him complain about anything. Really? I remember pictures with my siblings, and going to the church for a quick lunch before my brother and I got into his Jeep to drive back to Florida. Talk was divided between stories about Dad, and the shock of what happened on 9/11 - and we used the Bay Bridge to avoid D.C. this time around.

On the Way Home

My brother was in a lot of post-surgical pain at this point. I knew it was bad when he let me drive! We did not go far on Friday night, and took it fairly easy on Saturday. By Sunday morning, my brother was beginning to hemorrhage. We stopped for lunch at the Cracker Barrel in Savannah, and right after he ordered his food, he left the table for the men's, still hemorrhaging, and leaving a pile of napkins he had already used up trying to stanch the flow. Our food came, and he still had not returned.

I had lost my appetite by then, but knew that I should try to eat. But, I was done quickly. My brother finally came back, and paid for lunch. Then he picked up his food, and we headed out to the Jeep. He had me pack his nose with tissues to try and stop the bleeding, but that was of little help. We decided it was time to find a hospital and get some help.

We exited I-95 as soon as we saw one of the blue hospital signs, then drove for about 45 minutes to get to it. It turned out to be a clinic, and after examining my brother, they gave him (legal) cocain to stop the bleeding (it worked) and Neosynefrin nasal spray in case of emergency. The spray had the effect of constricting his blood vessels and stopping the bleeding for the duration.

My brother being somewhat incapacitated, I drove the rest of the trip: about four or five hours to my house, where we got my husband to follow us down to my brother's home - another couple of hours. We dropped Brother off at his apartment, and then headed back to our Forest home. After getting turned around once or twice, we got out of the city, and drove home with me glad that hubby was driving. It was after midnight, and I was fairly numb when, by God's grace, we finally rolled into our driveway. But I was a long time trying to process both the national, and personal tragedies. And it was a few years before I could bear to eat at a Cracker Barrel again.

Gardens - Secret and Otherwise

2011-09-05T17:42:00.001-04:00

The Florida sun is not kind to gardens. Admonitions on seed packages instructing one to plant in full sun make me laugh. The full Florida summer sun will scorch everything in less than a day. It can also give a person an unforgettable sunburn.Yet, the sun is good, and neither plants nor people can do well without it.

My grandmother introduced me to gardening when I was quite small. She took me to a small flower bed in the yard, and we planted marigolds. I remember being impressed that those beautiful yellow and orange flowers came from those seeds that did not resemble the flowers in the least.

Likewise, my grandfather had his bit of earth where he planted his tomatoes and squash each summer. He was a carpenter, and I remember him coming home on hot summer afternoons, and picking some tomatoes from the vines. He brought them into the house, got two slices of bread, mayonnaise, and a knife to make a tomato sandwich.

Most places where I have lived, I have had a garden, a flower bed, or at least some plants. I can't keep my hands out of the dirt! Growing things entertains me. In Portugal, I had a huge jade plant from which I learned that jade plants produce beautiful little flowers in January - if it is on the veranda in a Mediterranean climate. One year in Lancaster County, I planted a large garden where a doe rabbit made herself a nest in the middle of the pea patch, ground hogs made free with the produce, and I was introduced to potato bugs.

I have to confess, though, that I have not yet conquered the poor, sandy soil, and the extreme heat that challenge a Florida gardener. I've tried raised bed gardening, container gardening, and herb gardening. Some have been somewhat successful, but needed more attention than I had time or energy for for awhile. I was always busy doing. Gardening requires unhurried time, some doing, and a lot of being. It's not enough to throw a plant into a pot, or the ground, and not look at it again for months as I had tried to do. Moderation was lost from my vocabulary, and the loss carried a heavy fine personally, and garden-ly speaking. Recovery required learning to stop at enough - a hard lesson for a first-born to learn.

And, like the first green shoots of the crocus after a northern winter, I find I am sprouting thoughts like a gardener again. I'm looking at my raised bed boxes and thinking of fall vegetables. Weed cloth to put under the boxes is on my mental check list. I have found a spot that seems to offer a balance of sun and shade. Last year someone introduced me to square foot gardening. I've slowed down my pace and I'm in the process of learning how to listen and hear when to be doing, and when to be. I have hope again.

When Devious and Ignorance Collide Part 3

2011-08-30T17:32:00.006-04:00

Sometimes bad things DO come in threes

Shortly after receiving the letter from the law firm, another collection agency's name began turning up on our Caller I.D. For a long time, they just called, and left no message, but one fine spring day, they called and left a recorded message on our answering machine.

If you've ever gotten a collection call, you will never forget the eerie sound of: "This call is for (insert your name). If you are not (insert your name), please hang up." There are several variations of it, but there was no mistaking that somebody had gotten some collection software, and that someone with a spooky voice was calling my name.

I was still working my way through some effects of a different form of trauma, my mother's death, and from becoming an empty nester when these events arrived on my doorstep. My blood pressure skyrocketed, and I started to shake every time the phone rang. I had made a request for a hearing about the first collection agency's claim, and totally tanked in the courtroom after the dressing down from the judge on behalf of law and justice and getting a job and paying my bills. (Actually, at the time, I was waiting for my paycheck to clear at the bank so I could send them the money that I really owed to them, which they had not yet figured out).

What to do

In addition to crying out to God for help, I scoured the internet to see if there was any hope of help anywhere. I found Bud Hibbs' Top Ten worst collection agencies in America. I researched the particular agencies who had nailed me. Stephen King has nothing on them when it comes to horror and suspense. It was an education. And, while you may read a lot of horror stories, you will seldom find cases that the consumers have won because, apparently, the collection agencies make it a part of their settlement agreement that you don't give away their trade secrets. That's why you won't find any of the details in my posts.

Another thing I discovered were two laws that I had never heard of before. One of them was the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act, and the other was the Fair Credit Reporting Act. These were passed in 1977, I believe, but very few consumers are aware that they exist, and that collection agencies violate them every day. There is a $1000 fine for each violation.

I also acquainted myself with Consumer Attorneys who work FOR people who are victims of violations of the two acts cited above. Some of them even work on contingency - no money up front, and the bad guy pays the attorney fees. I sent information to about four or five. Three actually called me, and encouraged me, but had full dockets at the time. Finally, one group came to my rescue. But that was only the beginning.

The Susan Fights Back

Finally, I screwed my courage to the sticking place and purposed to answer the phone no matter what. When I did, I was told that I had an overdue bill, and they wanted to help me make arrangements to pay it (standard fare, btw). I disputed the claim that I owed them money. They demurred. I asked for written verification, and requested that they only communicate through the US Postal Service. They said they would send a debt validation letter, and agreed to communicate only by mail.

The letter came (very incomplete for a "validation") and it turned out that the four numbers of the redacted SS# was not mine. I communicated this by return mail, and told them to cease and desist all collection activity regarding that debt. They stopped.

Not Again!?

One evening my husband and I returned from a walk with the dogs, and the answering machine was blinking and beeping. It was yet a third collection agency, West Asset Management. This one also has a bad rep, but isn't on Bud's list. I had never heard of them before. I tried to talk to them for a couple of weeks, but they never left a message. I even picked up a couple of times, but they never responded. My research discovered that they had just had a 2.something million fine slapped on them for violations of the Fair Debt law.

Eventually, they found their own software with the Spooky Message. The first day it showed up, I could not well decipher what name they put into the Spooky Message, but it didn't sound like mine. It wasn't. They were looking for a Linda Jean Price - no one that I know. They never did talk to me, but I sent them a letter anyway telling them they were barking up the wrong phone number. And they went away.

All's Well That Ends Well

I'm no richer than I was before, but I'm no poorer, either. And there's much peace in being content with what I have. If any of you, or anyone you know is facing collection bullies, don't let them beat you down. You have rights, too. The last installment will be some practical tips.

Amistad - Movie Review

2011-07-30T13:43:00.001-04:00

Occasionally I wander through Netflix in search of a good movie. NF is always ready to tell me what they think I will like, but they only hit the win button about 15% of the time: I'm not married to any one particular genre. Sometimes I check to see what films some of my favorite actors have made besides the ones I've seen. When I find a movie with a favorite actor and a gifted producer like Stephen Spielberg, I can't resist. Amistad is one of those movies. The story was so good, I watched it twice.

The Amistad, which means friendship in Spanish, belonged to the fleet of the Spanish slave traders. When the story began the ship was en route from Cuba to the southern states with the hold full of kidnapped West African Mendi people. One of the slaves, called Cinque by the Spaniards, led the Africans in a revolt. They killed the cook, and the captain, and the other two sailors jumped overboard. The Africans then demanded that the two Spaniards who were left take them back to Africa.

During the daylight hours, the Spaniards sailed toward Africa, but at night they changed course to head back to the southern states, or perhaps Cuba. Where they actually ended up was Long Island, NY. They were taken by a Federal ship, and towed to Connecticut where the Africans were put into prison.

One of the main issues dealt with the revolt and subsequent killing of the Spanish captain and the cook. The other was whether or not these Africans were born slaves sold to the Spaniards in Cuba, or if they had been captured illegally in West Africa by the Portuguese and then sold to Cuba where the Spaniards purchased them. If it was the former, they could legally be sold as slaves in America. If not, it would be illegal to sell them as slaves. And, how could you find out from the Africans if they spoke no English or Spanish?

There ensued long, intense legal arguments for and against freeing the Africans. Weighing in on the side of the Mendi people was 72-year-old John Quincy Adams who had done much for the abolitionists. The Amistad is viewed by some historians as an important milestone in the endeavor to end slavery.

The movie is rated R for some nudity and violence.

When Devious and Ignorance Collide Part 2

2011-07-27T15:33:00.010-04:00

The Stipulation

There were several parts to the stipulation that we signed so that we could make payments on our debt. One of them was that we were to use payment coupons, which we would need to ask for every six months. Another part dealt with how much we had to pay, and when it had to be at the law office that was handling the business for the out-of-state collection agency. Someone - possibly our lawyer - had added in that if we should fall into default, the agency would give us 30 days grace to make it up (with added interest, of course). The one thing I should have mounted in a frame on the wall was that if I defaulted, it meant an automatic judgment on my credit report. If you follow the link, you will note that a judgment is given when a person loses to a creditor in a lawsuit. Here you can read in last week's post that my lawyer had gone to court, but the creditor's lawyers never showed up. There never was a lawsuit.

Pawpaw, Meemaw, and Sam

Bubba

From September 2006 through November 2009 we paid, and paid on time. Let me put a parenthesis here to add in a bit of family history. From 2006 through 2009, all three of our children got married, and two of them had children. In July of 2009, right before our daughter's wedding, my father-in-law passed away. My beloved Bubba dog died in December as did a much-loved cousin. Then, on March 24, 2010, my mom went Home.

"Honey, they didn't cash our check."

We missed our December payment date. The law office called us, and my husband authorized an electronic funds transfer, and asked for more payment coupons. We asked for the coupons twice more, but never received any from that point on. We missed the January payment as well, and authorized another electronic payment for January and February. At that point, I put a payment reminder in my Outlook, and kept track of the dates. But my husband noticed that the collection agency was not cashing all of our payments. He asked me what I thought about it (translated meaning what he should do about it) but my brain barely had enough room to take in the fact that my mother was dying. If I thought about it, I figured that an accountant could probably figure out something. I didn't understand that an accountant thinks that if you send someone a payment, they will cash the check. Who knew?

Being unsure of what was going on with the payments, Harry began calling the law office in March, and asking how much we still owed. If either of us had been able to think at that point, our 20/20 hindsight shows we should have been digging through bank statements and having conversations with the "gentlemen" in the law office.

In May, the law office dude told Harry that one more payment of $150.00 would do it. He gleefully wrote the check in June, then called to see if they had it. They said they had it, confirmed it was the last payment, and they would send a statement "as soon as the check clears." We moved on with our lives, and yes, it was stupid, but we did not follow up on that phone call. We talked about it, but we were woefully ignorant in the ways of collection agencies, and unfortunately assumed that no news was good news. We never got the statement.

Surprise!

One fine spring day this year, I went to the mailbox, and found a letter addressed to me from the law firm who was handling the business for the out-of-state collection agency that held our stipulation. It contained the news that I had defaulted on our payments as of May, 2010, and that they had petitioned the court to put a judgment on my credit report. A week later, I got the court document that the judge had approved the judgment, and that we now had to make up the payments we missed and pay all of the original interest that they had waived in the stipulation. It all came to about $9000.00.

To be continued

When Devious and Ignorance Collide Part I

2011-07-20T16:12:00.003-04:00

In 1990, we left Portugal where we had lived and raised our children for 11 years. My husband was the business manager of a missionary organization in Portugal, and it was a sad day when we boarded the jet that took us from our beloved Portugal flew us back to the United States. We had sold most of our belongings. (I kept a sharp eye on the kids at one point because I was afraid my husband might sell them, too.)

My husband got a job for a non-profit religious organization, and we moved to Lancaster, PA. The salary would have been a great plenty in Portugal, but for a growing family that needed to set up housekeeping all over again, well, the money didn't stretch. We floundered and blundered financially, and were barely keeping our heads over water. I worked at various part time jobs, and had we known Dave Ramsey, things might not have gone from bad to worse.

Then, we made another poor decision. My parents helped us buy a house with an in-law suite, and moved in with us. It lasted nearly four years. I won't go into the details except to say that it was complicated, and after they left, our marriage was shaky, and our children were in severe distress.

In an attempt to salvage our family, we moved to north central Florida in 1999. Neither my husband nor myself had a job when we arrived, and it was about seven months before my hubby got a job. In the meanwhile, we used our credit cards for the necessities.

When my husband got the job, the salary was low, but it was all he could get at the time. By 2001, the credit card debt had snowballed, and we were getting ugly phone calls. Although we offered to pay the original creditors what we could afford on a monthly basis, they did not want to be bothered, and sent our accounts to collections. We finally hired a lawyer to file bankruptcy, and for awhile we referred debt collectors to him. We never got enough money together to pay the rest of the lawyer's fees to actually file. Meanwhile, the credit card companies charged off the debt, took a tax deduction on the loss, and sold the debt to third party collection agencies.

In 2006, it all caught up with us, and I was served a court summons. I was employed at that time, and we hired a lawyer to go to court. She got there, and the collection agency never showed. Nevertheless, we signed a stipulation that we would send a down payment and then pay a monthly amount until we had paid off the stipulation. No one told us what a precarious position in which this left us, and we had never had to deal with such a situation before. Someone should have warned us to watch the collection agency like a cat watching a mouse hole.

This is not the end, but the beginning. I can't tell you the end yet because the story is still going on. I can (and will) however tell you some of the things I've learned along the way in the hope that others may profit.

Until the next post...

Raven

2011-07-18T19:55:00.002-04:00

My friend, Diane Graham gave me permission to post this on my blog. Bring a box of tissues.

She didn’t have much of a chance for life. When I found her on the side of the road her bones jutted out in odd angles and her skin hung like loose drapes. A puppy, but months beyond fat and adorable. She stood vigil in the same spot for three days, I hear, waiting for her owner to come back. But they had left her for dead on a mountain road. Fleas and ticks sucked her nearly dry.

I made Quinton stop. One look at this frail black wisp and my heart melted. Her distant eyes focused on me when I squatted down next to her. Her tail flopped once…twice, and light shone deep in her brown irises. I offered, ever so slowly, my hand for her to sniff. She licked it and her tail dusted the ground like a helicopter’s rotor-blade.

I turned, pleading to Quinton. I couldn’t leave. She would surely die if another hour went by. I knew he would say yes, not that I was really asking. It was more for confirmation of my decision. And so, I wrapped my arms around her, being careful not to apply too much pressure. It felt as if her bones were made of glass. I placed her in the back seat. I expected her to tremble in fear, but no, her tail waved hello and she viced my heart harder.

It was as if God had told this girl what I would look like, smell like, taste like. I was her new human and she knew it. Before we even made it a half-mile down the road, I knew her name was Raven. I asked her if she liked it and she wagged her tail harder.

The kids squealed when we brought her in. We bathed her and fed her. Eventually we taught her how to play fetch and go to the bathroom outside. She was so dang cute when she ran. She’d be going along when all of a sudden her legs would go out from beneath her, reminding me of a newborn calf. It took Raven no time to fit into this crazy house.

She is by far the most loving and loyal dog we’ve ever had. Always ready to fetch a ball or snuggle a side. When we go for grocery day, she waits at the top of the road for our return, hours at a time, praying we won’t leave her like the people did before. Best riding dog ever.

So today, it grieves me more than you will ever know to say I killed her. I didn’t mean to and if I could go back a few short hours, I would make sure she was shut safely inside. But you can’t take it back once it’s done.

I was on my way out to go shopping with the girls. Raven followed us up the hill, wanting to go. But it’s hot and she wouldn’t be safe in the truck for all that time. So, I tried to outpace her on the road. She was closer than I thought and her legs tangled under the tire at 15 mph. I heard a yelp and stopped. Looking in the rear-view mirror I spotted her down and flailing. The girls were screaming and crying and all I could think was I am a murderer.

There wasn’t any blood but I could see she was hurt badly. And she looked at me with those always trusting eyes. I could almost hear an, “I love you” as her tail flapped once…twice…then not at all. We shuffled her into the truck and hurried to the vet. She panted half the way and then a calm came over my Raven. My girls kept saying she must be fine because she wasn’t yelping. But I knew her eyes had told me good-bye.

I carried her limp body in to the vets, careful not to put any undo pressure on her shattered bones. She was alive, but just. Her neck was broken and she was paralyzed. Her hip was shattered and possibly more. She didn’t respond at all to pinch tests. I had to decide if I should let her suffer longer or put her to sleep.

I called Quinton and cried. My girls sobbed. They couldn’t watch the shot that would stop her pain. I killed this beautiful creature that had only given love and joy. I owed her. I stroked her silky fur until her last breath.

I am so sorry.

Thank you, God, for the love of a dog.

Peace, love and God’s will.

About Diane Graham
Diane Graham lives in the mountains of eastern Oklahoma with her husband and five children. She is an avid reader and lover of all art forms that encapsulate imagination and goodness. With her novel I Am Ocilla, she was a winner of Marcher Lord Press Premise Contest 2009.

A Mother's Memoir of Two Sons

2011-05-11T05:00:00.005-04:00

(Warning: if you are, or have been, a victim of abuse, this may trigger memories.)

Sexual Abuse in the

Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) Church

Part 3 of 3

Written and Illustrated by Nancy Bicknell

Shining a bright light on abuse

When I heard the Tina Anderson story on the national news, I knew it was time for our family to also contact the Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) Cult Survivors and their Supporters on the internet to get help and support like Tina had. We all, including Scott, told our stories. Scott’s classmates found his posts on the site. They were sorry, but they were never told the truth by MBBC. They were told that Scott had been sent away to a boys’ school for being bad. Doug's classmates also reached out to him and we felt validated at last. The IFBs were extremely angry about the posts even though Doug's alleged abuser was never named Mrs. Jones came on the site and posted an apology to Scott calling herself “Scott's rapist” We forgave her.

The reaction

We were shunned and discredited by the MBBC system again. I thought I would be able to go to my favorite Sunday school class. But when I asked the professor who teaches my class, and who had been my dear friend, he yelled at me for putting gossip on the internet. He told me I was beyond hope, and that I could come to the class, but that he would not talk to me or acknowledge me in any way. He was a deacon and I knew the shunning had been invoked again.

I was informed that the meetings that Calvary Baptist eventually had concerning our family had determined after an IFB “internal investigation” that there was no such bad incident during Doug’s spanking. Pastor Lincoln said that I was mentally ill (based on my hospital stay) and the other pastors agreed that Doug was an alcoholic who was lying or mistaken about the abuse.

One of the pastors knew of Doug’s surgery. Part of it was to repair the damage Doug states occurred during the abuse, which had resulted in scarring that had to be removed and repaired. The pastor we lovingly called Pastor Luv never asked about Doug nor came to the hospital to pray with him.

Many in the MBBC system have told us also that Scott was not 16, but 17 or 18 despite the fact we have shown his birth certificate and knowing I was in the room when he was born. We were told by the IFBs that Scott's abuse was not a statutory rape, but that he had chosen to be a relationship with Mrs. Jones. They alleged that Scott had fornicated with another man's wife. Therefore he needed to apologize to the church publicly since he caused the church scandal. That is where things stand today in the IFB: all they offer are rationalizations of how all the IFB abuse was the fault of our family, or never happened.

Not alone

I have continued to give and receive support on the IFB internet sites. It has been a long journey through emotional, physical, and sexual abuse in the IFB church. God has never left me and guess what? God is in nature and I didn’t find God in the IFB church after all. I had found God as a child in the Kickapoo Valley. “Seek, and ye shall find.”

A Mother's Memoir of Two Sons

2011-05-10T05:00:00.019-04:00

(Warning: if you are, or have been, a victim of abuse, this may trigger memories.)

Sexual Abuse in the

Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) Church

Part 2 of 3

Written and Illustrated by Nancy Bicknell

Aftermath

I now knew not to talk about my feelings. I needed to appear cheerful because we were IFB faculty. I put on my blinders, and my happy face. Eventually, I graduated and started to work as an MBBC faculty member teaching art and drama. They recognized my talent, and that was enough to allow me to teach college classes with only an undergrad degree. Hiring was based on character, not education level.

Trapped on IFB Island

We were isolated from the community, and indoctrinated into the inflexible IFB life style. But, one day an event started me thinking independently from the IFBs. My pre-teen son, Doug, came home from school looking pale. He stared at me with hollow eyes, and I asked what happened. He said he had been spanked at school. When I looked at his bare butt, he had welts with blood droplets where he had been beaten with a board. I talked to my husband and told him to never ever let them touch our boys again. I was disillusioned but we were trapped on an IFB Island.

Family Portrait

My 16-year-old son, Scott, was doing well in the MBBC academy until one day he came home complaining. He said that there were some serious problems with the judgmental thinking at MBBC, and he was unhappy with the rules. A month later he got ill with extreme anxiety and panic attacks, and eventually he came down with Mono. He was immediately put under strict doctor's care. He stayed home from school to recoup. A kindly teacher, Mrs. Jones, volunteered to tutor Scott. She came faithfully two or three times a week.

After a couple of months, Scott was well enough to return to MBBC. The first day of classes we were called to come to Dr. Wineger's office. He was the president of MBBC. He told my husband and me that he had just discovered that our 16 year old son had been dating and kissing his teacher, Mrs. Jones. My first thought was how is it possible that a 16 year old could date and kiss his married adult teacher?”

Well, the teacher was fired, and Scott was expelled from school and banned from the youth group activities at Calvary Baptist Church. Pastor Lincoln decided Scott should make a public confession, which was to be read in church the next Sunday evening. Pastor Lincoln wrote the confession for Scott and read it in front of the congregation. It was short and not-so-sweet. Scott had sinned. Pastor Lincoln demanded that Scott be sent to Lester Roloff's home for boys.

I refused to send Scott away, so Lincoln had us drop Scott off at the church in the morning, where he locked Scott in a room in the basement with his Bible and his lunch. Lincoln checked on him occasionally, and prayed with him. My son was locked in the basement room with from 8:00 until 3:00 during school hours because according to the MBBC system, a “bad kid” like Scott could not be around any other IFB kids to prevent him from tainting the good kids. He was in the church basement for 2 weeks before Pastor Lincoln decided we should home school Scott. One day, Mrs. Jones contacted Scott. He was caught at her door by Pastor Lincoln, who then fired my husband from his job at the end of the year.

Shunned

We were shunned and discredited at the IFB church. Eventually, we left the IFB feeling angry and ashamed for being compelled to follow the IFB dictates concerning Scott. I began an art business, and got my masters in counseling from UW Whitewater so I could help other victims.

Our marriage fell apart due to the stress of the IFB secondary abuse, and having to reenter into the community; we were divorced. Later I remarried and began working as a therapist.

I could still hear the IFB drums calling from the IFB Island. I still felt that perhaps they did have the true God, and I gradually started attending a few things at the same IFB church. I thought things were different now. I was counseled to forgive and forget the past, and I tried to fit back in to the IFB.

Then, the sharks attacked again. Doug, who had never recovered mentally from his beating, had become depressed and an alcoholic. Nevertheless, he had married and had a child. I loved being a grandma, and helped him with the baby. One day when he was in his early 30s, he came to me crying and sobbing like a little boy. Choking and sobbing, he asked me if I remembered the spanking he got at Calvary. I had never forgotten that little boy’s face. “Yes” I said feeling ashamed, “you could not sit down in the car and you said your butt was bleeding. Yes, I remember the beating Doug,”

Chilling memories

He then told me what had happened to him during the spanking as a child. I can't repeat it, but imagine the worst and you have it. He had physical scarring and issues which he said occurred during the spanking that were causing him medical issues and triggering his PTSD. (That scarring had to be repaired with surgery this last year.) I used my counseling skills to calm Doug. He had finally spilled the beans after so many years of holding the terrible secret, and using alcohol to dull the pain.

Eventually we worked through his fear enough to talk about the abuse and we went to the IFB pastor to report Doug’s abuse because Doug’s alleged abuser was still in the church. The pastor acted loving, but he never confronted the abuser. We were asked yet again to forgive and forget

After a year, I confronted the alleged abuser myself at church. He defended himself saying “I spanked those boys because I loved them.” I then went to a higher authority, Dr. Phelps, who is the current president of MBBC. When I told him about Doug’s abuse allegations, he said I could take Doug to the police, but that he had no authority in the church to help us. He denied knowing about Scott's abuse in MBBC's history either. No one would help me, so I went to the head of MBBC counseling program. I thought he would help me after hearing my boys’ stories of abuse since he had specialized in abuse as a Christian Counselor Educator. He never called me.

A Mother's Memoir of Two Sons

2011-05-09T08:21:00.002-04:00

(Warning: if you are, or have been, a victim of abuse, this may trigger memories.)

Sexual Abuse in the

Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) Church

Part 1 of 3

Written and Illustrated by Nancy Bicknell

Early Years

I was raised on a small farm in the Kickapoo Valley, and had a yearning to learn about God before there was a teacher to tell me about God. I was given a special gift and interest in observing the nature found the beauty of the Kickapoo Valley in Wisconsin. I learned to draw and paint at a young age, and my family nurtured this gift. My sensitive spirit that nurtured the gift of art also fostered complications with anxiety and depression.

I searched for the comfort of God to soothe me, and God gave me that solace in the nature around me. Despite all this beauty, at age 15 I was in a diagnostic hospital to protect me from harming myself. During my extended stay in the hospital God gave me the gift of counseling and empathy for others who also suffered with life’s trials.

I left the psychiatric hospital feeling strong and ready to face the world again with a new, little piece of information in my pocket that helped me see the world in a more focused way. In the final session my psychiatrist said “Nancy, you do know there is something wrong with your mother.” I was surprised to hear that, because I had thought there was only something wrong with me. With this information, I was able to better determine what part was my problem, and what part was someone else's problem with depression or anxiety.

College and Motherhood

I entered college at age 17. I was intellectually ready to study education and art, but emotionally I was too young. Being unable to set good sexual boundaries, I became pregnant, and we were married immediately. I loved being a mother to baby Scott and at times it seemed as though we grew up together.

Doug came along in the next two years, and I felt completed somehow. I continued my studies, and played with the babies through the art. We painted and created endlessly with clay. When I was 20 my sister, Joy, brought me a new creative idea about God from an IFB church. The idea was that God had certain things that had to be done correctly in order to be with Him in heaven. Salvation and separation from the world were two of these ideas. These were a strange concept to me since, as a child, I had tried to be connected to the world to find God. Joy invited me to the IFB church, and I heard that I was for sure going to hell. Well, I couldn't go forward fast enough at the invitation. I made sure my parents, and my husband did the same so we could all be together in heaven.

Maranatha Baptist Bible College

My sister wanted to serve God full time, so we all went off to Maranatha Baptist Bible College in Watertown, Wisconsin to study education further. My husband was immediately offered a teaching job by Pastor Lincoln at Calvary Baptist Christian School. I was completing my undergraduate degree.

Things began to go wrong immediately when a professor who noticed my gifts and the rest of my body, took an interest in me. I was suddenly depressed and anxious again thinking I was causing him to have lustful thoughts. Depression set in, and eventually I overdosed while at MBBC. I was taken by ambulance to the hospital, where my stomach was pumped and I was put in a hospital room.

When Pastor Lincoln came to my room the next day, I thought I would tell him about causing the professor to lust. But he never asked me what was wrong. Instead, he asked me to have my medical records changed to have the over dose information removed from the chart. He said it looked bad, and I wouldn't want something like that on my record or on the church’s insurance records. It was then that I realized that overdosing and depression was considered sin in the IFB churches, so I followed Pastor Lincoln’s direction. I denied the attempted suicide to the doctor, and refused his recommendation for psychiatric treatment. Eventually, I checked myself out.

I Miss Her

2011-03-24T16:07:00.000-04:00

One year ago today,

my mother went home to be with the Lord. I miss her.

"A mother holds her children's hands for a while,

their hearts forever."

Japan, Judgment and Natural Disasters

2011-03-15T12:11:00.001-04:00

Whenever there is a disaster, There are a variety of responses from the Christian community. I admit that I am one of those who is reluctant to jump up and shout, "This [...] is a judgment from God on [...] as though it were a personal vendetta. Unless God tells me in a specific situation that it was His intention to so do, and that He wants and expects me to pass that message along, I don't. Which in this case, He hasn't. Aslan only tells me my story.

"His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus' reply turned the disciples' world upside down: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him."
John 9:2-3

There are two main messages in this incident. The first is that we should not presume that we know the mind of God in any given situation unless revelation indicates otherwise. The other message is that if we ask God why in these situations, He may very well tell us the answer if it will serve His purposes.

Luke 13:1-5 "There were present at that season some that told him of the Galileans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And Jesus answering said unto them, Do you suppose that these Galileans were sinners above all the Galileans, because they suffered such things? I tell you, No: but, unless you repent, you shall all likewise perish. Or those eighteen, upon whom the tower in Siloam fell, and killed them, do you think that they were sinners above all men that lived in Jerusalem? I tell you, No: but, unless you repent, you shall all likewise perish."

Jesus says here that not all calamities are personal judgment from God. He then adds that since all men and women are sinners, there is a judgment coming on those who do not repent. As my daughter, "Undone: Stepping into Simplicity", said, "Why would God single out Japan for harsh judgment more than anyone else?"

The story of Job tells of an individual who suffered from one hideous catastrophe to another until he had lost everything and everyone he loved except for his wife. His "friends" insisted that Job must have committed some horrible sin for God to punish him so severely. They were so wrong. God never did tell Job the why; He just showed Job that unless he could understand the mind of God, he had no business even asking why.

In Romans 8, Paul speaks of the fact that all of creation continues to to suffer due to the corruption of sin working in the world. I understand that these "natural disasters" are the result of this corruption. God may certainly use them in whatever way He will. In the absence of any other indication, I believe it is an opportunity for me to pray, a reminder for me to "examine myself" so that my life is right with God. Second, I should be praying for God's mercy and grace on the survivors of a catastrophe, that they might experience God's loving kindness, and find life and peace in Jesus.

"Do you not realize that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?" Romans 2:4b (emphasis mine)

So, what is your response to natural disasters? Other views than mine are welcome as long as they are stated respectfully.

The idea for this blog post was sparked at ILJ Boards

Dirty Foreheads

2011-03-09T04:00:00.197-05:00

What is that black stuff on your face?

I did not grow up in a church tradition that observed Lent. All I knew about it as a child was that the children from St. Joe's went home from school with "dirty foreheads" on Ash Wednesday. No one ever explained. As I grew older, I discovered that for some churches, Lent was an opportunity to, at best, point out the futility of the traditions of dead orthodoxy. At their worst, they mocked people that they said gave up one kind of candy bar, but made the "sacrifice" of eating one that they did not like as much.

What is the purpose of Lent?

One day, I discovered Girl Meets God: On the Path to a Spiritual Life . Lauren Winner's memoir captured my attention and my imagination. Lent, I learned, is season we walk through on the way to Easter. It is the time to do some spiritual spring cleaning. The Lenten disciplines are intended to help us keep focused on what Jesus did to pay the cost for our sins. We ask the Holy Spirit to point out to us areas where He wants to do a work. It is a time of self-examination, repentance, prayer, fasting, and self-denial. This is not a gimmick to gain points with God, but for us to remember. It actually kind of sounds like what evangelical churches used to call an old-fashioned revival time to me. The best part is that at the end, we have the joy of celebrating His resurrection.

So, what about the candy bars?

Does everyone take it seriously? Not everyone does. It is there for those care to take advantage of it, and it should be something meaningful to them. It doesn't have to be fasting from food. I know of people who have fasted from caffeine, and some who have fasted from television. One year I fasted from recreational reading, and another time from desserts. (That was a lot tougher than I could have imagined.) Every time you practice your discipline, you remember the sacrifice that Jesus made for you. Last year I could not think of something to give to Jesus before Ash Wednesday rolled around. Then, as Lent began, my mother became ill with the pneumonia which eventually took her life. That was the sobering experience for my Lenten journey last year. We held Mom's "Life Celebration" the day before Easter - a powerful reminder that I will see her again when we both sit at the feet with the nail prints in them.

If you are interested in further exploring the season of Lent this year, Bread And Wine: Readings For Lent And Easter has some good thoughts to lead you along.

My Birthday Ebenezer - Part II Getting the Pharisee Out of Legalism

2011-03-07T04:00:00.002-05:00

Rules and Routine

Children are born loving routine and regularity in their days. They like knowing what each day is going to bring. It gives them a certain security. Knowing the rules gives the illusion of being in control. If you can count it, measure it, or nail it down it takes a huge burden off of your shoulders – at least temporarily.

How Do People Get Pulled in to Unhealthy Groups?

Unhealthy churches may seem at first like a strong refuge to people who have been through major trauma or who have been abused in some way. The security offered by the rules of legalism is appealing when your life seems to be crumbling. Just the feeling of certainty that you now know What Makes You a Good Christian gives you the sense of peace - at least for awhile. You are sure you have arrived at a Safe House where everything is done decently and in order. Add to that the great warm welcome you received and you feel your weary journey has ended. You’ve found the place you can call “home.”

Don’t Let Your Guard Down

Jim Jones and David Koresh are the extreme examples of unhealthy groups. Realistically, you may not immediately recognize an unwholesome community until you have spent some time there. It is imperative that you keep your spiritual ears tuned in to the Holy Spirit at whatever church or group in which you may land. In the glow of the warmth with which you were welcomed, it is easy to begin to depend on the group leader, and brush off the quiet warnings from the Holy Spirit that should make you stop and think. Truthfully, any group or ministry has the potential to become unhealthy. Sometimes it begins with leadership, but it may come from members of the group. I have been in three different churches where a godly pastor was abused by their deacons or the official board. Two of those pastors were destroyed; they gave up pastoring altogether. Here are some web sites that list the things that should put your spiritual antennae on alert. These sites do not cover all of the possibilities, but they are a beginning. A Google search will turn up many others. Spiritual Abuse and Tips for Spotting an Unhealthy Church

What if You Do Find Yourself in a Situation?

Always take it to the Lord first. Lean on His understanding. There may be some whom God deems strong enough to stay and fight the wrong. God may tell others “get out of Dodge” soonest. If you find yourself addicted to the Kool-Aid as I did, God may have to drag you out kicking and screaming.You see, I had arrived at a place where I leaned on the leader's advice for so long without seeking God's point of view, that I had to learn all over again how to listen to Him.

Coming soon: Part III Getting the Legalism Out of the Pharisee

My Birthday Ebenezer - Part I

2011-02-21T11:23:00.001-05:00

I was raised in

a performance-based household. As a compliant first-born, and a people pleaser, I worked hard to live up to my parents’ expectations. Sometimes I achieved that, but woe unto me if I failed.

If that were not enough,

I was raised in legalistic churches. Legalism has suffocated and bruised me for most of my life. Sometimes it came from without; sometimes it surfaced from within me. Every so often, I thought I might be close to understanding and defeating this enemy of my soul, but legalism, is a slippery but sticky rogue.

Simply put,

legalism is a performance-based system where a person tries to earn acceptance by following prescribed rules and formulas. Religiously speaking, it is someone who tries to earn God’s forgiveness and approval by doing something to gain favor with Him. Often, the church leader is looked up to as God's representative, and such a leader thus becomes the focus of someone's hopes of gaining good will. As long as a person feels he has succeeded, the euphoria will carry him on to the next expectation. This can keep a body adding to her works, and maintaining her course for some time in order to try and earn more approval.

Unless you are the Energizer Bunny,

at some point you will get to the end of your endurance. This will happen sooner or later. At that point, you may be “encouraged” to attend more church services to get right with God, or urged to take on more “ministries” because your problem is that you don't have enough to do. It is possible that even when you have nothing left to give, you may be urged to take on more ministries because there is a need. Or,you may lay yourself open to a rebuke, and/ an admonition along the lines of how disappointed God is with you.

At this point,

you can walk away from a given situation, and start over again elsewhere. Unfortunately, though I walked away and started over more than once, I was still preoccupied by the false dogma of legalism, and felt I was only on the right path if I was performing my religious duties and gaining acceptance from whomever was in charge.

To be continued…

Feelin' Groovy

2011-02-18T12:00:00.000-05:00

 I'll be the first to admit 

that I have allowed my life to get overcrowded. I chronically overbook myself, and end up exhausted, or disappointing someone I care about because of, as my dad used to say, trying to fit twenty pounds of crap into a ten pound bag. At some point, I get the desperate feeling which makes me think about finding a cave, and hiding in it for an undetermined amount of time. This creates an incredible amount of stress in my life. Well, it's time for me to get off the Bullet Train, and climb aboard a slower, gentler vehicle. Last week, I found that my blood pressure is at an unhealthy level; something has to change. 

Oddly enough,  

I was always the one with the really low blood pressure. But, to a series of stressful years, add life changes that come with the lengthening years, and my hopes of beating the family weakness were dashed. 

So, I did what any self-respecting firstborn would do: 

research. I'm going the route of lifestyle change to see if it can be managed without medication. Diet came first (please tell me I won't miss the salt after awhile), and exercise came right after that. Included is daily time to just be still, and listen in case God has something to tell me. I plan to get my daughter's bike out, fill up the tires, and start riding again. They say you never forget, and I hope that is true. And, slowing down. Finally, I have what I can allow myself to accept as a legitimate reason to just say "no." 

Yesterday afternoon,  

I spent some time with my daughters and granddaughter. It is such a blessing to have them all nearby. My granddaughter has a gift for making me smile, laugh, and she encourages me to act very silly. 

I chose to destress by driving home 

by back roads where the speed limit never exceeded 45, and generally moseyed along at 30 mph. I could feel the tenseness in my muscles begin to relax. I love the Florida wilderness where we live, and you never know which of God's masterpieces you may see along the way. One morning three years ago, a Florida black bear ran across the road in front of me in the dawning light. Often in the half light we see deer along the highway. This evening, the sun was kissing the tops of the trees goodnight with the sweet rays of somewhere between light and twilight. I passed farms, groves, rustic homes, and one lone steer out in the field grazing. 

At home, 

our feral cat community, our own deaf seal-point tortie, and our dogs greeted me with great joy and hunger. The perfect end of the day.

What works best for you when you need some down time?

Are there Gates of Hell Constructed of Religious Programming?

2011-02-16T09:52:00.000-05:00

In my rush to finish this post and finish getting the Bible study together for Wednesday evening, I neglected to give credit here for the original idea for this post. Please accept my apologies - it was unintentional.

There are always those who resist change, whether for the better or for the worse. When I was in Bible college, a parody of a verse of the hymn, "Onward Christian Soldiers" was making the rounds. It went like this:

Like a mighty turtle

moves the church of God

Brothers we are treading

Where we've always trod...

Religious broadcasting has been around since radio and television began transmitting.To the chagrin of a number of people, Internet churches are the newest resource for teaching and fellowship. Are there any benefits of electronic religious programming? Drawbacks? Will it some day replace the little house in the Wildwood - or others?

What is a church?

A church is a local gathering of believers who are a community of believers who support and encourage one another in their relationship with the Lord Jesus, and who reach out with the Gospel to the larger community in various ministries. (All local assemblies are part of the Church Universal, which is made up of all believers in Christ through the centuries and around the world.) No church body is perfect - they are all composed of fallible humans. But,

when a church works the way God intended that it should, it's a taste of Heaven on earth.

When a church forgets what her mission is, it can be a taste of Hell.

The Pros and Cons of Religious Broadcasting

I think TV "church," Internet "church" and radio "church" are a boon to those who, for some reason, cannot physically attend a local church.

Ideally, there should be a local church that keeps shut-ins in their prayers, and who have folks who regularly visit them, and offer them an opportunity to take communion. My grandmother had that kind of community. Of course, she faithfully attended service at the physical church building for many years before her health did not permit actual appearances.

Electronic church services can be a powerful ministry to folks who are limited to home, or a care facility.

The downside of that is that you may find everything from soup to nuts on the TV and radio settings. Some of those teachers may be feathering their nests on the gullibility of lonely and elderly shut-ins. (All the more reason for local churches to minister to invalids.)

The electronic preaching services are equally useful for people who have been bruised and scalded by unhealthy church situations, and by uninformed or unscrupulous leaders or even those who may be, for various reasons, in transition. Caution should be employed by those recovering from abuse. Electronic communication can be easily misunderstood. Sometimes "the worst of" memories may be triggered for these wounded spirits.

Advantages of Worshiping Locally

The local assemblies, though, are where the best (and maybe the worst) of community happens. God created us to live in fellowship with Him, and with one another. I do not think that electronic "church" can do that as well as face to face caring can do it. When the worst does happen in a local church, there is a greater opportunity to work through the issues the way God intended we should; there is no place to click "block" in this situation. And, that's a good thing. Even though sites such as Facebook, and others lay claim to community, in my opinion, they will never take the place of a a genuine Spirit-led community for the majority of the members of the Bride of Christ.

Do you have any thoughts on the subject?

Is It That Simple?

2011-01-08T16:31:00.000-05:00

For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel:
In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.
But you refused - Isaiah 30:15

 Life is full of storms. Occasionally, there is clear weather for a spell, but the storms are always waiting out there, ready to pounce. No matter how hard we try to avoid conflict, (and, trust me, I hate conflict and have done everything possible to avoid it along the way) it will eventually come find us, and try to wear us down.

The storms seem to kick us when we are already down. I don't deal with the stress and conflict at all well. (Have I mentioned that I hate conflict?) My heart rate increases, my ears ring, I shake, and begin to cry. Being an introvert by nature, when conflict hits, I am unable to address the issues in a logical fashion until I have time to process it s - l - o - w - l - y. Meanwhile it consumes me. I feel stupid.

Sometimes I create my own storms. My overly sensitive conscience, which has been honed and sharpened by legalism, can create storms in my spirit.

My mother passed away last March. She died of Alzheimer Disease and pneumonia. Her body had betrayed her and after she lost her two best friends within several months, she just plain gave up. But, for me, it wasn't over. I was her appointed Personal Representative, and had to deal with her estate.

It should have been easy. She had very little estate after four years in a nursing home because Medicaid takes everything but $35.00 a month. Sometimes if the medical crew do something extra, that has to come out of pocket. But, her cousin predeceased her, and left her a small bequest. In order to administrate her estate, I had to jump through legal hoops, which cost a bundle. By the time Mom's bills were paid, and her earthly house was laid to rest, there was not much left.

Mom's will stated that if there was anything left after all of her obligations were taken care of, and she was buried, whatever might be left should be divided among her four children.

Meanwhile, one of my siblings began insinuating, and then came right out and said it. He thought I had mismanaged Mom's estate, and he thought my lawyer was a crook. He was certain that Mom had not signed the codicil to her will that made me her personal rep. When I refuted his statements, he called me a liar. Oh, how my inner peace wobbled and fell.

Have I said anything about how much I hate conflict?

asked

two dear friends

for prayer

and

one simply prayed,

"Lord, shut his mouth."

And, He did.

Susan<- makes a mental note about conflict.

Family Feuds

2011-01-08T15:18:00.001-05:00

For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel:
In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.
But you refused Isaiah 30:15

Digging Out

2010-12-28T17:08:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not talking about snow! It's been cold here in north central Florida, but no, the cold wet stuff hasn't shown up on our steps - yet. I'm talking about going through the "stuff."

I've been following the FlyLady off and on for years. She says that you can't organize clutter, you can only get rid of it. If you don't, it will strangle you. And, I'm beginning to get it, and today I have done several of FlyLady's "27-fling Boogies."

I opened drawers, and closets that I have ignored for years, and realized that part of my reluctance to "woman up" and face them was all of the emotionally charged memories. There were projects that I had worked on at a church I attended for nine years - that last half of those year became increasingly painful as I tried to keep up with homeschool, care giving for my mother, and a full time job as well as the many church ministries (because I was taught that you can never stop doing a ministry once you begin it). I organized the paperwork related to caring for my mother before she passed away last spring - bittersweet memories, those. Then I shredded numerous files from the job that wore me out from which I was fired from because I was trying to "do it all." Papers from homeschooling, graduations, showers, weddings, new grandchildren have all been fluttering around. Not to mention the long lost owner's manuals for various appliances - some of them long gone to wherever defunct appliances go - just in time for me to see how the self-cleaning oven works on the stove we were given five years ago.

My filing cabinet drawers now close all the way (though there is still stuff in there that I need to fling). The person who takes the trash to the recycling place will have a few choice things to say about it, I'm sure. But my spirit feels lighter. It's debilitating to have to say, "I know it's in here somewhere, but I have no idea where it is." Sometimes you just gotta do one of those 27-fling boogies before the "stuff" chokes you to death. I'm sure I can apply this in other areas of my life. FlyLady was right. Sometimes you just need to let go.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-25T09:56:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas!

God bless us every one!

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered.

This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.

All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David.

He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.

While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child.

And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger,

because there was no place for them in the inn.

The Christmas Wars

2010-12-24T07:46:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I hear people say things that trouble my spirit. Seldom can I immediately pinpoint the cause. It is like having a vague itch that you want to scratch, but every time you think you've nailed it, the itch has moved about three-quarters of an inch away from its original place of irritation. Eventually, though, it clarifies itself.

Shortly after Thanksgiving, two of the clergy of our church carried the Christmas Wars into a local branch of a national bank. (Please know in advance that both of them love Jesus, and care deeply about reaching unbelievers with the Gospel.) I One of them had walked into the bank to take care of some financial matters. At the end of the transaction the teller cheerfully, but unfortunately, wished the clergyman "Happy Holidays." Unfortunately, because it triggered the clergyman to open fire in yet another battle of the Christmas Wars by challenging the teller's mode of holiday address.

The employees of this particular bank had been instructed to avoid offending people who might be offended by a "Merry Christmas." The clergyman allowed that he had been offended by the "Happy Holidays" greeting. He, and another clergy person from the church, encouraged by the cheers of a good number of church members, took on the national office, and mentioned that they were offended, even to the point of considering taking their business elsewhere.

In the end, the ministers won the skirmish. The question, though, is how did it affect the spread of the Gospel? I can't help thinking that Jesus might have had a more productive plan.

Here's a link to someone who is like-minded. Christian Protection Racket

Don't They Teach Logic Anymore? Deconstructing a Facebook Status

2010-12-20T12:55:00.000-05:00

A rash of reposted status "updates" regularly flood Facebook. Many of them are relatively benign, some are silly, and others are mystifying. There is a certain type of post, though, that makes me feel manipulated and bullied. Take this one, for instance:

Why do we sleep through church but, stay awake for a 3-hour movie? Why is it hard to pray but so easy to curse? Why is it so hard to repost a godly bulletin but easy to repost the mean ones? Why can people worship a celebrity, but not God? Gonna ignore this? Afraid to get laughed at? I bet 80% of you won’t repost this. The Lord said "If you deny me in front of your friends, I will deny you in front of my father."Why do we sleep through church? Actually, there are reasons other than the disrespect that is implied in this question. Some people work night shifts, and decide to attend church before they attend to their own need for sleep. Perhaps depression is making someone nod off. Or, maybe they need to find a different church. I know someone who consistently fell asleep in nearly every church service for many years. Then this someone found a church that preaches the Gospel without a side serving of shame and condemnation, and hasn't fallen asleep in church once since. I've never fallen asleep in church myself, but some services I probably should have. ;)

As far as sitting through three-hour movies, really? I have never sat through a three-hour movie without getting up and visiting the little girls' room. Sometimes I have to get up and move around after an hour at a movie. And that person who so often fell asleep in church? Yeah, that person also falls asleep during movies.

Why is it hard to pray? Seriously? I guess it depends on how complicated you think prayer might be. For me, it's talking to my Abba, the Person who loves me more than anyone else does, and to Whom I owe my life in the now and in the hereafter. Talking to Him isn't hard. The listening, however, can be a challenge. Being still, and waiting to hear from God is not the great American pastime, but it can easily be learned.

Why can people worship a celebrity, but not God? Good question. Here's another one: Why do you think that posting bullying, manipulative FB status updates will draw people to the Lord Jesus Christ? I've been through the Bible a number of times, and never once found Jesus manipulating people into obedience - if you can call being bullied and threatened into reposting a status update obedience.

I don't have any trouble posting God-honoring updates. I just choose to ignore stuff that strikes me as vain repetition. There are more productive, God-glorifying ways to spread the Gospel if that is your goal. If you listen carefully, He will be always telling you what they are.

The Baking Bug Bites Again

2010-11-16T18:53:00.001-05:00

Someone asked me for the recipe for the vegetarian mincemeat filling that I made, so here it is.

Vegetarian Mincemeat Pie Filling

8 ounces of dark raisins
8 ounces of currants
4 ounces of golden raisins
1 large, firm apple unpeeled, cored, and diced
2 ounces of candied orange peel chopped
4 ounces of Crisco, cut into small pieces
1 cup of packed brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon each of ground cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and allspice
zest and juice of one lemon, and of one orange
3 tablespoons of brandy

1. Mix ingredients well

2. Heat on low on the stove until the Crisco is completely melted and the mix is well heated.

3 Remove from heat, cool, then stir in the brandy.

Put it in a covered container in the refrigerator. Best when stands for a couple of weeks before you use it. Kept cold, it can keep for a year, or you may can it with a pressure canner.

The Baking Bug

2010-10-23T15:44:00.000-04:00

Autumn always infects me with a baking bug! I find myself arduously churning out apple dumplings, homemade breads, cookies by the six dozen, and sticky buns. If you like sticky buns, but feel daunted by the work, try this Easy Sticky Buns recipe that I got from my sister-in-law and which I made today.

EASY STICKY BUNS

2 loaves of frozen bread dough, thawed (or 2 pounds of plain white bread dough made in your bread machine)
1/2 cup of raisins or nuts (optional - I generally use half on one side of the baking pan, and half on the other side of the baking pan)
1 cup brown sugar
1 six-serving box of vanilla pudding (the kind you cook)
1/2 cup of unsalted butter, melted
1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon
2 Tablespoons of milk
1 teaspoon of vanilla extract

Butter a 9x13 pan. Sprinkle raisins or nuts in the pan. Break one loaf of the dough into approximately 1" balls, and place in pan.

Mix the brown sugar, pudding, butter, cinnamon, and milk together, and pour over the dough balls. Break the second loaf into balls and place over the first group of dough balls. Let rise until doubled (One to two hours depending on how warm the dough is when you make them.)

Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 30 minutes. Prepare a tray or baking sheet by lining it with foil. When the sticky buns are done, place the tray foil side down over the buns, then flip both pans. Leave the pan you baked the sticky buns in upside down for five minutes, then remove, and let the sticky buns cool.

After they are cooled, cover tightly until serving.

For Mom - One of the Strongest Women I Know

2010-03-29T12:38:00.000-04:00

My creative writing teacher told me that the two subjects about which it is most difficult to write well is one's dog, and one's mother. Writing about one's dog too often becomes maudlin, and writing about one's mother triggers too much conflict. I went ahead and wrote about my dog awhile ago (yes, it was sentimental) and today I propose to write about my mother.

Mom was the late-in-life only child of her mother, and her father's only daughter. She had three older half-brothers, the youngest of whom was 12 years her senior. To put it mildly, she was pampered as much as a parent could indulge a child during the depression. Mom made friends easily, and loved spending time with them. She was 10 when her niece, Karen, was born. Theirs was a lifelong relationship that extended to Karen's offspring. Karen's daughter still remembers the delightful times she enjoyed with Aunt Edna.

My mother graduated from Girl's High School in Boston; it was one of the many stops this born-in-New Jersey girl made throughout her lifetime. Her dad was a jack of all trades, and moved from place to place to find work. Mom took a secretarial course, and ended up working at an insurance company in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. When she and her friends wanted to treat themselves, they inevitably wound up at a soda fountain where Mom's favorite sweet was a brownie topped with chocolate ice cream and chocolate sauce.

Mom never lacked for the company of the opposite sex. Not only was she beautiful, they always saw her as a young woman who needed to be looked after and cared for. One evening she went to a party with one young man, met my father and asked him to take her home. He did, then invited her to come watch TV with him and his parents. Mom and dad were married on June 3, 1950. Her mother cried buckets of tears when she left home.

Dad had tried to join the service after he graduated from high school, but due to his bad eyesight, he was 4F. The Air Force did take him, however, during the Korean Conflict. After he was stationed to San Francisco, Mom took the bus out to California to be with him. My grandmother gave her some motherly advice: "Don't you go out there and get pregnant."

I was born in February, 1953. Dad was stationed in Colorado Springs at the time. Mom was a bit overwhelmed with a newborn, but I suspect she did pretty well. Not long after that, Dad asked for early discharge so he could go to school to be a preacher.

They moved into my grandparents' home near Philadelphia. It was a two-bedroom, one bathroom bungalow. Every day Dad went off to school, and a part-time job, and Mom went back to her insurance company job, thus earning her Putting Hubby Through diploma. My grandmother took on the responsibility of civilizing an 11-month old baby: me.

With his diploma in hand, Dad moved the three of us out to our little parsonage on the prairie in southeastern Colorado. Mom made a home for us there in "Pleasant Heights." We lived 40 miles from town, and dust storms abounded. We had a storm cellar in case of tornadoes. The church was on one side of our house, and the one-room schoolhouse was on the other. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for her to be uprooted from among her friends and family, and put down way out in the middle of nowhere. Before we left there, I had a baby brother.

In a short amount of time, we moved to another location on the prairie. This one wasn't as barren as the first. We were near enough to town that my dad had a part-time job to help eke out his salary. Mom again made a home for us in the parsonage. I remember baking cookies with her at Christmas time, and planting bachelor's buttons (which, to her everlasting embarrassment I insisted upon calling "bachelor's bottoms"). She made dresses for me, and after my sister was born, Mom made look-alike dresses for the three of us.

After I finished first grade, Mom again had to pack up all of our stuff. We moved back into my grandparents' home again. The small bungalow began to look crowded. Dad went back to school to earn his degree, but Mom stayed home and tried to help my grandmother keep house. A lot of her stress came from dealing with my grandfather who was an unhappy man. She also had to cope with a sickly me, when I was diagnosed with leukemia (which after much prayer they changed to being anemic - who knows?), and spent time in the hospital. Then there was her husband who was going to school full time, and working part time.

Dad was called to a small Baptist church in Philadelphia. We lived in Philly about five years - the longest we ever lived in one place. Mom set out to and succeeded in making our small row house a home. Soon, my younger brother was born, and we were six family members to be fed and clothed on $100 a week. I"ll never know how Mom made it stretch, but we were never hungry, and we always had clothes to wear. They always welcomed all of our friends into our home.

The western states had always appealed to Dad, and he jumped at the opportunity to pastor a church in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Mom packed up, and unpacked again in the church parsonage. In less than two years, we were headed back to that little bungalow where Mom once again had to try and take care of her family under that critical eye of her father-in-law.

Mom moved ten more times before she died, and she made friends wherever she went. She had a heart for people who were in need, and for the underdog, and loved to help people. It was her great sorrow in the past couple of years that she was unable to help people as she used to do.

She kept old friends, and made new ones. Her listening ear was always ready to hear someone who needed to talk.

Mom opened her home to her grandchildren for long and short term visits. She made two trips to Portugal to visit the ones born there. Dan remembers with fondness the two-week trip we made to take Mom up north to visit friends and relatives a few years.

Mom cared for Dad throughout his last illness, and was in the hospital room with him when he passed.

One of Mom's idiosyncrasies was mixing her metaphors. One of our favorite malapropisms was when she said, "He sure got the wind knocked out of his feathers." You didn't want to mess with her ice cream, either. One time she had put maraschino cherries on everyone's dish of ice cream. Her's got buried in the ice cream when she turned her head, but she bopped my brother, who was next to her, because she thought that he had stolen it. She always loved babies and little children. She taught them in the children's programs at churches. Mom loved her music, and she played the piano well. She and Dad often sang alto/tenor duets in church services, or in the car on long trips.

Mom had the heart of an evangelist. She thrived on sharing the love of Jesus with others. One of the things she worried about toward the end of her life was whether everyone she loved would be in Heaven. I have heard her say after the last few moves in her life, that the next time she moved, it would be straight up. She finally did.

I don't know why it never occurred to me until Mom was gone just how strong of a woman my mother was. I do know that she would give the credit to the Lord.

The Gardening Virus

2010-03-16T10:41:00.000-04:00

Last fall I began cultivating the soil in a large garden belonging to some friends of ours. It went along well for quite some time, and I planted some squash seeds, green beans, beets, and lettuce. I was excited at the prospect of a fall garden, and fresh vegetables. Additionally, it helped alleviate my depression to be out-of-doors in the sunlight doing physical labor.

The weather was not conducive, however, and the cut worms were multitudinous. The problem with gardening in a place over a mile from home is that, well, it is a over a mile away from home. You're not there when the first sprouts begin to green the garden rows. It's easy to forget, 0r put off going over to water the garden. When the cut worms chew, you may be out grocery shopping. The beets poked up a few sprouts, then withered for lack of attention. In short, you are not there to nurture and protect your investment.

This week I've been looking at the container garden I had last year. The blight gripped the tomatoes some time in August. Cut worms voraciously worked the sweet peppers over - but since I was on site, I was able to intervene, and we ate peppers until the unusually frosty winter weather attacked them. Most of my herbs are still healthy (in spite of our feral colony of cats nesting in the pots) because I was nearby to cover and care for them.

With spring peeping around the corner, the gardening virus has attacked me once again. Our Florida soil is pathetically poor, and a prime candidate for raised bed gardening. I have one small raised bed, but it is too small for my imagination, and the wood and construction are beyond my capacity.

Enter: a new neighbor who has inspired me. He used cinder blocks for the sides of his raised beds, liberally fed the poor soil with lime, and added top soil. Eureka! All I need now are some blight-resistant tomatoes.

The Wheels on the RV go Round and Round

2010-03-15T11:29:00.001-04:00

Every time I've gotten to the end of a 20-article RV writing assignment, I heave a sigh of relief. Currently I'm coming to the end of month four of writing about RV-related topics - that's 80 articles when they are done, folks. Every time I finish a 20-article package, I am certain that there is nothing left in me to write about RVs again. Yet I have begun over again three times.

It's my understanding that this is a recurring package. In my worst nightmares I can imagine that it will haunt me from now until I keel over with carpal tunnel and can type no longer. I now dream about traveling and living in an RV - which may be more nightmare than dream given that I live with the King of Pack Rats. Its beginning to feel like Groundhog Day (the movie).

This is not what I imagined freelance writing would be. I'm not sure exactly what I expected, but it was definitely more romantic and fulfilling than of having to scrape the bottom of the barrel of RV topics for 1.8 cents a word.

I guess a lot of things in life are like that. For instance, so many of us see marriage as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Then we discover that to be successful it requires hard work and giving a lot of ourselves. Maybe it's our dream job that is the pot of gold. To be successful it requires a lot of hard work and giving of ourselves. Some see having children as a golden opportunity - and make no mistake, it is just that. Again, though, it demands a great deal of giving of ourselves, and after several nights of insufficient sleep, the third dirty diaper in an hour, and the howling pain of teething, this dream might seem more like a nightmare of Orwellian proportions. At any given time, nearly everyone is going through a hard time.

Why is life so difficult? If you ask a group of ten people this question, you may get ten different answers depending from where they are coming. Speaking for myself, I begin to see this as a measure of God's grace working to complete the work He has begun in me. I know this is a process that will continue until I die. I also know that I can expect the Lord's support in getting through each cycle of difficulties.

The Wheels on the RV go Round and Round

2010-03-15T11:29:00.000-04:00

Every time I've gotten to the end of a 20-article

After the Rain

2010-03-13T10:17:00.000-05:00

This morning I awoke to see faint light outside the window. After two days of rain, one of them torrential, flood-causing rain, to promise of sunshine lifted my spirits. I'm thankful for the respite in weather, and in life today. I know that there are rugged days ahead, but today I am determined to live in this moment that God has given me.

I'm working my way through my fourth round of RV articles. It's not such drudgery anymore. So far, I'm keeping up with the milestones (even though I still forget occasionally to click on the milestone on the Divas website). Someone suggested that I take my articles to a local company to show them what I can do, and ask them to let me test drive some of their inventory. That might not be a bad idea.

We watched Tuesdays with Morrie last night. I put it on our Netflix queue awhile ago. Hubby and I both shed some tears at the end - that's a first for my husband. Now, I want to get my hands on the book since my experience with movies is that they leave out (by necessity, I suppose) a lot of the things that make books worthwhile for me.

Breakfast this morning at the Dam Diner. Why do I enjoy writing that so much? ;)

Anger and Forgiveness

2010-02-02T10:12:00.000-05:00

"In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood." Hebrews 12:4

Every family, I believe, has its own passed-on burdens of unregenerate weaknesses. In my family, there is a tendency to "shoot from the lip" and let the pieces fall where they may. Or, as Stephen Covey of the "Seven Habits"would put it, the tendency to be reactive rather than proactive. If I were to assess the amount of damage (direct and collateral) that I have left strewn about in my past, I daresay I would crawl into the nearest hole, as my mother occasionally threatened to do herself, and pull the hole in after me. This is a very public offense, and I know that God is working on it, and I am learning - slowly - but, nevertheless, learning.

More damage, though, is done by getting angry, and trying to put a cork in it and ignore it. A person can go on for many years, seemingly functioning well, stuffing anger down, and pretending everything is all right. Sooner or later, however, the corks will blow. The only question is if they pop one at a time, or all at once. This is one of the things that God has been particularly attending to in my life in this sabbatical year (which, oddly enough, is beginning to resemble more of a jubilee year as we go on).

Last night we had a special church service. I would call it a revival service, but the format was quite unlike what I have come to expect at revivals down through the years. Our church is a member of the Anglican Mission in America, and our "up line" is in Rwanda Province. The speakers were one of our Rwandan bishops, Augustine, and his wife, Claudine.

Augustine spoke clearly of what Jesus means to him, and talked about how for many years he had a grudge against the clergy due to an incident when he was younger. He talked of giving that burden of forgiveness up, and being forgiven, and how God called him to the ministry after the genocide in Rwanda. He spoke of how he lost his first wife to a brain tumor, and left him with two little boys.

Then, he called Claudine up front. Claudine's first husband was brutally murdered in the genocide, and her three daughters were angry, and rebellious. She was angry for a long time, and suffered from headaches, and other physical symptoms. Then she learned that Jesus had already borne the burden of her grief, and was able to let go of her anger.

Bishop Augustine, and Claudine, already with five children, took in more to raise who were orphaned as a result of the genocide, and God blessed them with two more of their own.

The message was from Isaiah 53, and Augustine exhorted us to forgive as Jesus has forgiven. He and Claudine radiate the love, and peace of God. They have resisted even through bloodshed.

Blue Christmas ?

2009-12-23T09:13:00.001-05:00

This time of year is difficult for many people. There is so much oppression, and from many sources. Even churches can contribute to the oppression by adding more expectations to all of the ever present false expectations that are commercially generated. It's quite easy to be so busy at church that one forgets for Whom these things are supposedly being done. Those who try to buck the system get labeled "Scrooge" and are made to feel it is a crime for having exited the Christmas Autobahn where others are going 100 mph.

This year the expectations of merchants have not been fulfilled because many people who had jobs last year are now unemployed--and some are nearly at the end of their unemployment compensation. Many who are employed have had salaries cut back, and will have no Christmas bonus--and thus the expectations of consumers remain unfulfilled.

Oppression quickly becomes depression. Then, even every small unmet expectation balloons into major disasters. It's all too easy to withdraw into oneself, and to long to go to bed and stay there until April. Those who throw themselves into the festivities frequently suffer a mammoth crash when they are over.

Things were hectic the year that Jesus was born. Caesar was taxing everyone. It was crowded, noisy, and people were shoving their way through town. Likely enough cursing could be heard over the noise of the animals. The inn was full of travelers, and no one there was giving up his accommodations even for an obviously VERY pregnant woman. She got shifted off to the stable to have her baby. It was not the pristine Little Town of Bethlehem of Christmas carol fame.

If Joseph had been wealthy, he probably could have bribed someone to give up his place to Mary. The couple were at odds with the rest of the travelers because they focused on the baby that was about to enter the world. In that stable, surrounded by the animals, Mary gave birth to the Son of God.

Meanwhile, some other poor, humble people were addressed by angels. The shepherds had no expectations of such glory that night, and were surprised, and frightened. Not so frightened, however, that they did not get the message. They hurried to see the glorious Desire of nations, Who was lying in a manger. They rejoiced, and went to spread the news.

Eight days after Jesus was born, Mary and Joseph presented Him at the Temple. Two humble, elderly people were there that morning with few expectations left in life but to see their Messiah. Simeon and Anna, focused on God's promise of redemption, recognized the infant in Mary's arms as the Savior of their people.

So many people in Bethlehem that year made choices. Many of them missed the whole thing. They had expectations that precluded attending to the newborn Prince of Peace, though every one of them would have been the better for it if they had.

Ellis Island

2009-11-12T08:05:00.000-05:00

About 40 percent of Americans can trace their roots back to Ellis Island. This institution began in 1892 to process the overwhelming number of people who wanted to emigrate to the United States. When Ellis Island was closed on November 12, 1954, more than 12 million immigrants had passed through its doors; those "huddled masses yearning to breathe free."

Ellis Island

The details of the sad, weary structures came into focus as the ferry drew near and docked at Ellis Island. The buildings bore testimony of the official, functional government architecture of the late 1800’s. They were sparing of those eye-pleasing, attractive touches that make a name for the architect. The history of many Americans is entwined in the history of the Island, and irresistibly draws the sensitive spirit.

Debarking from the ferryboat, the crowd stopped to examine the exterior of this tangible bit of the past. They pursued the path trodden by those who arrived in our country years ago. Then they wandered off to discover what traces they could find of those immigrants.

The halls were twilight dark, and vaguely musty. Placards filled with bits and pieces of information posted on the walls were to reassure the thousands of bewildered refugees who might have appreciated them if they had been able to read them. Heaps of worn luggage leaned tiredly around the main lobby. There were well-worn boxes and suitcases, which had once been secured by the hopeful grips of their owners. In a corner where few visitors walked, it was easy to imagine the assemblage who had expectantly arrived from the arduous journey.

Whole families had spent weeks in the ship’s bowels as they hoped for a better future. Their voices blended many languages into a continuous murmuring babble of anticipation mingled with the apprehension that someone would find them unfit and deport them by return ship. In another spot, the immigrants were required to part from their ethnic family name in exchange for an American rendition more easily pronounced by unlearned tongues.

Display cases—full of heirlooms brought from the old country—give visitors a glimpse into the newcomers’ lives. Was that samovar a link to the old country in a Russian immigrant’s home? Did the wedding dress, hopefully and gently packed in some young woman's trunk fulfill its mission? Were the books in Hebrew, Russian, Czech, and many other languages—books

carefully preserved—been donated to the museum because the new generation could no longer read them? Where were the children who wore those articles of clothing?

From the deck of the ferryboat as it re-crossed the sound, the old buildings receded from view. Many members of those “huddled masses” are no longer alive to see their descendants enjoying the fruit of the new beginning that started on Ellis Island. Countless descendants take for granted the freedoms that those families came to find.

This is Ellis Island: a place where history lingers wistfully.

My Little Bubba-dog

2009-10-29T09:01:00.001-04:00

Bubba is a Shih Tzu who was rescued from the street by a friend of mine. He loved my friend with a singleness of heart and with deep devotion. His "mama" passed away after a long, hard battle with pancreatic cancer. She left Bubba to Harry and me because Harry (who wasn't even sure he liked dogs) had fallen hard for Bubba when we cared for him while his mama was in the hospital, and had offered to take Bubba on as a foster child. It wasn't long before Bubba became a full-fledged adopted "child."

Bubba is a dog with a really big heart, and has always had a great joy in living. He liked to play, and run. When he runs, his little white poofy tail bounces up and down. And, he can always pack away the groceries--a prodigious amount for a 14-pound dog.

When he came to live with us after his mama died, he was like a lost soul for about a year. He had so many adjustments to make including the fact that an alpha male dog already lived here and wasn't about to step down and let Bubba (who had been the alpha male at his mama's) take over his turf. Eventually, they came to the point where they agreed to disagree with only a few mild skirmishes.

A couple of years ago, Bubba somehow ended up with a ruptured cornea (Shiz Tzu are prone to this). The vet tried to patch up the cornea, and failing that he removed Bubba's right eye. Bubba quickly made the transition to Bubba the Pirate (minus the patch), and mostly learned to compensate for being partially blind even in his remaining eye. And it didn't affect his love of his groceries.

About six months after the eye surgery, Bubba developed congestive heart failure, and the vet put him on water pills, and a heart muscle strengthener. Bubba slowed down a bit. He was more tired more often. He still liked to play, though, and it wasn't a good idea to forget to feed him, or neglect to give him his treats.

Through all of this, somewhere along the road, Bubba gave his whole heart and undying affection to me. I tried to not get too involved. We already had two dogs, and two cats, and I still had my three children at home. I thought I didn't have time for another dog. Bubba disagreed. He followed me all around the house. He wanted to be right up next to me when I sat down. He got depressed when I went out without him. Nothing mattered to him except to be where I was, and to be allowed to sit on my feet. Sometimes he even left his food if I left the room while he was eating. When I moved, he moved; when I stopped he was right there with me. His dogged determination prevailed, and I fell like a ton of brick.

Yesterday, I noticed that Bubba was acting a little funny, but I figured the heat and humidity were getting to him. By mid-afternoon, I realized that it was more than heat. He was walking into things, and refused his dinner. He was drinking, but I had to take him to the water bowl. Then, I noticed he was walking around and around in circles. After a bit of research on the 'net, I realized he had had a stroke.

Evidently, there's nothing that can be done to help a dog who has had a stroke. Often, the articles all said, a dog will come through it and, with tender loving care, be able to function again. He's not incontinent, and he doesn't seem to be in any pain. It does appear that he's lost most of whatever vision he still had in his left eye, and he's still not eating.

Given that basically all that a vet can do at this point is to run up a huge bill to make sure it is a stroke, and given our current financial status, all we can really do is pray, take care of Bubba, and wait to see if he will be able to function again, or if we need to do the last loving thing we can for him. Fourteen and a half years is a respectable age, but whenever we say goodbye, Bubba is going to take a part of my heart with him.

Photo Essay of my Walk in the Forest

2009-09-16T11:45:00.001-04:00

Peaceful coexistence in the Forest--palm tree and fern living together.

Step through into the mysteries of the Forest. Be surprised by nothing.

Ginormous succulent. Stay away from the teeth.

At least the mailbox version doesn't get obnoxious with you!

Nestled in the neighbor's front yard, blooming and blissfully unconcerned about winter.

Spanish Moss: eerily fascinating.

The plant that was despised, and cast out blooms ever more beautifully.
(Ginger)

Many have planted, but few have gathered in this year. The soil is poor, and the sun is hot.

Look at the berries, but don't touch. Don't hang your clothes nearby, either.

Molly G: cat sentry extraordinaire of our home.

Abigail, my Golden Orb Spider. You probably don't see any males. They usually don't survive the mating process. She's outside my morning room window, and fascinates me.

Here you can see how they got their name, "Golden Web" spider.

Beautful web, beautifully maintained. God does all things well, even in teaching the spiders to spin.

Post 9-11 Ramblings

2009-09-12T08:45:00.000-04:00

We recently watched the movie about Flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania that day, and it brought back to me all of the grief, shock, uncertainty, and horror of September 11, 2001. I first learned of it in my friend's living room where she had it on the TV when I went over to drop my son off. She was going to care for him because my father had died on September 9th, and my brother and I were driving from Florida where we live to Delaware where my dad's funeral was to be held.

That felt like a never-ending week. The quiet of no planes flying. The sense of loss on so many fronts at once. The smoking Pentagon as w e drove by it. Inability to contact loved ones because the phones were unavailable.

I'm not sure what we may have learned, and what we are learning. Life as we knew it is over. We live in a more suspicious, less trusting culture. Getting on a plane to travel has become a complex, complicated procedure. Our privacy has been compromised in the name of "security."

It's very difficult now to find an employer who will talk to you face-to-face when you are applying for a job. More often it is an online application, and there is no way to talk to HR to plead your case. If your stats are reasonable, you may get a phone interview. Maybe. If they are not, you might get an email telling you "Sorry about your luck."

In fact, I'm not certain that the Internet has not changed our lives more profoundly than 9/11. People socialize via "social utilities" such as FaceBook, blogging, online communities, and Twitter. If you can call that socializing. You can order whatever you want online and have it delivered to your door. You can read the news, watch movies, play virtual games with other people, "attend" church, send cards and gifts, listen to the radio, online; via Google World you can almost stalk or spy on people anywhere in the world.

Somehow this interaction, (more like lack of interaction) imho, is not at all satifying on a personal level. Somehow, I feel as though Jesus has something better for His beloved.

Rehoboth

2009-08-17T09:19:00.000-04:00

Rehoboth means, "roominess." It comes from Genesis 26:22 "And he removed from thence, and digged another well; and for that they strove not: and he called the name of it Rehoboth; and he said, For now the LORD hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land."

I like that idea. My son and daughter-in-love lived in a tiny, one-room apartment when they first got married almost two years ago. How small was it? It was so small that you had to step outside to change your mind! It was a tight fit for even the handful of possessions they had. Now they have a two-bedroom apartment which is roomier (and they have a delightful infant son with whom to share it.)

There's an old cowboy song, "Don't Fence Me In" written by Cole Porter. The first two lines are

Oh, give me the land, lots of land
Under starry skies above
Don't fence me in

Cowboys could roam the prairies for days without running into anyone else. They perforce had to love the wide open spaces as a survival tool.

The past four plus years have not felt very roomy for me. As an introvert, I recharge in solitude, and there was not enough of that when I went out to work, while all three of my children graduated from various schools, and followed that act up by getting married--all three of them--and had babies (two of them). The past year has been very short on roominess, time to reflect and be silent in the presence of the Lord. Full time teaching, for me, ran 50 to 60 hours a week. This put a strain on all of us, and when I wasn't working, it seemed like people were standing in line waiting for me to resolve various, um, difficulties, and to give them wise counsel. Most Friday evenings found me sitting in a chair in a catatonic state, myself in need of wise counsel.

After much discussion, dh and I decided that I could not work full time. The latest wedding behind us in July, and some furniture having followed the last exiter, I found at last some roominess. Unfortunately, my roominess itself is restricted. We had planned that I would find a part time job so that we would not fall completely into a financial shakedown. I don't have to tell you what the job market is like at this point. I suspect that there is some great, eternal plan at work here. There is plenty to do to keep busy, and I'm trying to find motivation to organize and plan my days. And I'm trying hard not to pout.

I found this...

2009-08-14T15:06:00.001-04:00

Here's one of those meme things that I did a long time ago. Enjoy!

True, or False?

Guess which of the following statements are True or False?
Answers below but no peeking!

1. Apples, not caffeine, are more efficient at waking you up in the morning.

2. Alfred Hitchcock did not have a bellybutton.

3. A pack-a-day smoker will lose approximately 2 teeth every 10 yrs.

4. People do not get sick from cold weather; it's from being indoors a lot more.

5. When you sneeze, all bodily functions stop, even your heart!

6. Only 7 per cent of the population are lefties.

7. 40 people are sent to the hospital for dog bites every minute.

8. Babies are born without knee caps. They don't appear until they are 2-6 years old.

9. The average person over fifty will have spent 5 years waiting in lines.

10. The toothbrush was invented in 1498.

11. The average housefly lives for one month.

12. 40,000 Americans are injured by toilets each year.

13. A coat hanger is 44 inches long when straightened.

14. The average computer user blinks 7 times a minute.

15. Your feet are bigger in the afternoon than the rest of the day.

16. Most of us have eaten a spider in our sleep.

17. The REAL reason an ostrich sticks its head in the sand is to search for water.

18. The only 2 animals that can see behind themselves without turning their heads are the Rabbit and the Parrot.

19. John Travolta turned down the starring roles in "An Officer and a Gentleman" and "Tootsie".

20. Michael Jackson owns the rights to the South Carolina State anthem. (I guess it should read, "owned."

21. In most television commercials advertising milk, a mixture of white paint and a little thinner is used instead of real milk.

22. Prince Charles and Prince William NEVER travel on the same airplane, just in case there is a crash.

23. The first Harley Davidson motorcycle built in 1903 used a tomato can for a carburetor.

24. Most hospitals make money by selling the umbilical cords cut from women who give birth. They are reused in vein transplant surgery.

25. Humphrey Bogart was related to Princess Diana. They were 7th cousins.

26. If coloring weren't added to Coca-Cola, it would be Green.

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ALL OF THE ABOVE ARE TRUE

Don't you just love number 16?

Susan Price

Chainsaw massacre

2009-08-13T09:55:00.000-04:00

Of tree limbs only if you were concerned.

Florida is subject to hurricanes, and tropical storms, and even tornadoes. Because of this, insurance companies are not always convinced that home insurance is profitable for them. Our heretofore insurance company is moving out of Florida, having ascertained that Florida insurance in general is unprofitable. They are certain that even though hurricanes cause damage, and furthermore that their home insurance allegedly covers those damages that it's unfair of the purchasers of such insurance to expect them to ante up when it happens.

We might have just let it drop and trusted in Providence for safety. It would have suited our moth-eaten wallets at this point. The mortgage company, however, having invested in our little homestead, insists upon home insurance.

My dear husband (hereafter known as dh) found another company who was glad to insure our vehicles and our home. But, oops. Wait a minute. They did not like the looks of the grand old live oak tree next to the house. It has two great big heavy limbs shading the north end of the house, which may be capable of causing more than a little damage should they unexpectedly divorce themselves from the main trunk.

So, dh spent a couple of days trying to find someone who fulfilled the requirements: they would remove said tree limbs, cut it up into firewood, be insured, and be willing to come to where we live (not that anyone offered to do it from a remote location). A couple of days ago dh instructed me to be home this morning as he had found a tree lopper and they would be showing up early. Also, aforementioned tree lopper needed gas money, so dh got him to dig up one of the palmettos, and to grind up a long dead stump in exchange for gas money.

They showed up this morning, and put me in mind of Jed Clampett's kin. The first thing they asked for was a ladder so they could get up on the roof??!!??!!!! "It'll be real noisy," said the man in charge. "It'll sound like we're taking the roof off, and crashing through, but everything'll be okay." I checked his insurance papers.

It's noisy. The dogs are going crazy. The outdoor cats have disappeared for the duration. The indoor cat is deaf and doesn't give a rip. The man in charge needed some sweet tea (something I had to contrive because no one here drinks it sweet). It has sounded like Armageddon crashing in on us. Looking out the window makes me feel like MacBeth as Birnam Wood advances.

Ah, the joys of living in the Forest in Florida!

Susan Price
[Cross posted on Domystique]