A Little Spark of Madness

Hope is Faith's Twin

2012-02-14T22:36:00.000-06:00

The Bible passage in The Upper Room today is

John 20:24-29

20:24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.
20:25 So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."
20:26 A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you."
20:27 Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe."
20:28 Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!"
20:29 Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

Faith IS believing when there is no tangible proof. Sometimes faith is not believing what you can see – refusing that tangible proof. Satan will manipulate God’s words in an effort to thwart Christians, so it is important to make certain that we keep faith with God and listen to His message.

This passage reminds me of several pieces of literature, but the one that immediately comes to mind is Hawthorne’s, “Young Goodman Brown.” Young Goodman Brown leaves his Faith at home and ventures into the dark woods. In the tangible sense, Faith is his wife, but she symbolizes his faith in God. When Brown walks away from Faith, ever so briefly, his Faith is corrupted by evil. It is unclear whether or not Faith is truly corrupted or if Brown experiences a hallucination that is the work of Satan. It matters not whether or not the corruption of Faith is an illusion because Brown believes it and turns his back on Faith. The rest of his life is a bitter and miserable existence.

I think many of us falter in our faith every once in a while. That doesn’t mean that we don’t believe in God. The real danger is turning our backs on faith because of an experience that causes us to falter or question God. Faith IS believing when there is no tangible proof. Jesus does not condemn Thomas because his faith is weak. He uses the moment to strengthen Thomas’ faith. God forgives those who falter, but there is no hope for those who turn their backs on Faith.

HOPE is FAITH’S twin, and they are inseparable.

Spiritual Music by an Arkansas Native

2012-02-13T22:56:00.000-06:00

I did not think that I would ever watch the remake of True Grit. I did not even want to watch it because the original is one of my favorite movies. How can you improve upon John Wayne? What Arkansan wouldn’t feel a certain loyalty to Glen Campbell? Who doesn’t think of Kim Darby and Little Blacky when True Grit is mentioned? No. I did not mean to watch this movie.

For some strange reason, I decided to watch it tonight. No reason really. It popped up as recommended for me by Netflix, so I let it play.

The music caught my attention more than the film. When I heard “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms,” I had to stop and listen. Then I “rewound” it and listened again. I know that voice singing this beautiful hymn. I immediately thought of the music in Songcatcher, which is another one of my favorite movies. I ran a quick Yahoo search and discovered that the beautiful and distinctive voice belongs to Iris Dement. Another search confirmed that she also sang in Songcatcher.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6ArylRGWME

I was surprised to learn that Iris Dement is an Arkansan who was born in Paragould. She has a several albums, including one she did with John Prine. She is popular enough to include international destinations in her current tour. I think we need to get her back home to perform in the Fowler Center!

“Leaning on on the Everlasting Love” is a good gospel song to sing around the house.

What a fellowship, what a joy divine,
Leaning on the everlasting arms;
What a blessedness, what a peace is mine,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.

Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms;
Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.

Oh, how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way,
Leaning on the everlasting arms;
Oh, how bright the path grows from day to day,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.

Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms;
Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.

What have I to dread, what have I to fear,
Leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.

Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms;
Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.

Here is one last song I found by Dement. It was one of Nanny's favorite hymns.

Iris Dement website and jukebox: http://www.irisdement.com/biography.html

The Antidote

2012-02-12T15:40:00.002-06:00

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that crushed it.

~~ Mark Twain

Bruce Tippit spoke about revenge in his morning service today. I won’t quote him because I probably will not be accurate, but an almost quote is: Revenge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

What a powerful statement that is! Bitterness and the desire for revenge is a poison that can quickly smother the love that is a defining characteristic of Christianity. When your heart is consumed with bitter feelings of revenge, it diminishes the capacity for love. It can cause you to behave in a manner that is uncharacteristic of your personality. It can permanently stain the way others see you, like an oil spot that starts small and spreads across white fabric. The center of the spot is dark, but even the light edges mar the fabric permanently.

I wish I could say that I have never had the bitter desire for revenge in my heart. I have been guilty of clinging to thoughts of revenge so tightly that no good thoughts could enter my mind. Usually, I find that the person I wanted to hurt so badly was suffering a pain far worse than I could imagine.

When my brother was stabbed in the heart and left to die, I wanted his wife to suffer the way my brother did. I will never forget how my brother lay in bed crying, unable to communicate with us, as the doctor said that his condition would never improve. Even though my brother did eventually recover, I can still see his eyes and the tears rolling down the sides of his face until they were caught in his tangled hair. They lay there glistening like the sharp edge of a blade. His pain ripped a gash in my own heart that was filled with a bitter despair and desire for revenge. When his wife went to trial for the stabbing, we learned many things about her past that were horrifying. As far as I could tell, she had never experienced love in her life and had suffered abuse from others as a child. I wanted her to experience the suffering of a brother who could not speak or respond to the world, but she had already suffered that much as a voiceless child who merely survived in a world that was full of pain and void of love.

I went to my pastor and God that time and asked for help in purging my mean spirit, and those prayers were answered. I am ashamed to say that I have not always been so quick to turn to God when that bitter seed of revenge was planted in my heart.

Last year my son suffered a divorce, and I do mean suffered. His wife kept my son from my grandson and step-daughter, and I felt that was an unforgivable sin. As I listened to my son literally cry himself to sleep on the phone, the seed of bitter revenge began to grow in my heart. That seed sprouted when my son called me at work crying so hysterically that he could not function at his own job because of the pain he suffered from seeing, holding, and loving his children. The many events that took place while we were waiting for the divorce and the months following the divorce tended and nourished that seed profusely. My actions after the divorce are detestable. I struck out against my daughter-in-law and engaged with her in a war of words. Both of us were hurt, as were my grandchildren. A great thorn tree grew in our family, and I was the person who planted and fed it.

I wanted my daughter-in-law to suffer, and that was the poison that I drank. It took a lot of praying for me to get to a place where I could sincerely pray for her happiness. I know that God has forgiven me for my actions and bitter hate, but I can only hope that someday my former daughter-in-law will forgive me.

If revenge is like drinking a poison and waiting for the other person to die, forgiveness is the antidote. We need not look far for this antidote.

God holds it in His hands and administers it freely.

Dr. Bruce Tippit is the Senior Pastor of First BaptistChurch in Jonesboro, Arkansas.

Rejoice in the Day Our Lord Hath Made

2012-02-10T23:17:00.000-06:00

Most mornings I go into work groaning and carrying on like that is the last place that I want to be. We have two new people in the office who offer up a perky, “GOOD MORNING!” as soon as they hit the door. I usually snarl a “whatever” or “who said so” at them. While there are some mornings when I just do not feel well, most of the time I am just carrying on with them. They laugh. I smother a snicker. The day begins. It is a game we play.

Today I had the occasion to think about a man I used to know a few years back. I was working at a little country grocery store, and this fella came in every day for a bottle of water and a snack. Every time he walked in the door he asked, “Isn’t this a beautiful day our Lord hath made?” It might be storming. The sun might be shining brightly. Sometimes it was so hot the air conditioner was freezing up. Sometimes the flowers were in bloom and the birds were singing. It made no difference to him. He appreciated every single day that our Lord gave us. He always smiled with genuine sincerity.

I don’t know just exactly when I became the grumpy one in the office. Not so long ago I offered up a chirper “GOOD MORNING” at the beginning of every day. While I am just teasing when I groan and snipe in the mornings, I am usually serious when I complain about the weather. It is always too hot, cold, windy, cloudy, humid, dry . . . whatever. I want to be more like the fella who is always thankful to God for the day. I don’t know who is going to be the grumpy one in the office, but I am flipping my happy switch, and I will start thanking our dear Lord for the beauty that He creates every day.

Hunger

2012-02-09T21:22:00.000-06:00

World Hunger is a serious social concern for our generation. I would argue that it is an even larger concern than terrorism, nuclear arms, drugs, and global warming. After all, does destroying the planet really mean anything to the people who are starving? There are more hungry people in the world than the combined populations of America, Canada, and the European Union. ONE in SEVEN people will go to bed hungry tonight. For me, that is a number that I cannot even wrap my head around. I wonder if people who are starving become so tolerant of the pain that they cease to notice it? Many young people in the cities where I live work and play are dependent upon the school lunch program for most, if not all of their food. Some of their lives are touched by good people who donate food to stuff in the backpacks that these kids carry to school. A jar of peanut butter might be their only sustenance over the weekend, but it is nutritious and most children like it.

As I sit here in my warm house that has a freezer and cabinets full of food, I wonder how many people also suffer a hunger for God. Lack of food nutrients results in death, and I imagine that it is a painful way to leave our carnal world. Lack of spiritual sustenance results in eternal death – one that is most certainly filled with pain and torture that never ends. I think Church is like the school lunch program. It feeds our hunger to some degree, but it is not enough to keep us from starving. How do we feed the hunger for God? Does it come from within or without? Do people who are starving for God build up a tolerance that masks the pangs? I think perhaps this is true. Otherwise, it would not be so difficult for me to make God a part of every decision I make throughout the day. I know I need a LOT of extra spiritual calories, but I have not quite figured out where they come from.

All I know to do right now is open my heart and pray, “God, please feed my hunger. You and Your Son are the only ones who can stuff my backpack.”

Rescuers Free Tangled Orca Whale

2012-02-08T21:05:00.000-06:00

Rescuers Free Tangled Orca Whale: ABCNEWS.COM - Video from New Zealand shows the trapped whale "calling" for help.

This killer whale instintively knew that the diver who joined him in the water was there to help. His family was nearby, and he could have sent out a danger call. Instead, he told them help has arrived. He trusted the stranger in his waters.

The orca made an intentional choice, which resulted in a positive outcome. It is not often that I have to make a life or death choice for my own life – at least not in the mortal sense. However, I am challenged with choices and decisions that impact my eternal life on a daily basis. I have made many negative choices in the past, but I pray that God will guide me in the future. I want to be His orca with an instinct to always know the best direction to take in order to follow His will.

2012-02-08T00:02:00.003-06:00

When I was a child,

I learned to pray.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray thee Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

I learned how to repeat

The Lord's Prayer

From the heart.

I never learned how

to TALK to

God.

I am a child who

is learning to

PRAY.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray thee Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Lord, I prayed
without understanding
as a child.
I never thought I
would die in my sleep.

Now I think that
would be a
marvelous way to go,
as long as YOU
catch my soul.

Lord, cradle my soul
while I sleep.
Give me purpose
in the dawn.
And if I die before I wake,
I pray thee Lord my soul to take.

Amen

God Renews My Spark

2012-02-06T23:02:00.000-06:00

I haven’t blogged in a while because I have been a bit depressed. I have been feeling that my life is insignificant. When I die, no one will notice. Sometimes I even wish for death. Everything I have ever tried to do has resulted in failure. I wasn’t a good daughter. I wasn’t a good mother. I am not a good friend. I am not really good at anything. Success for me is like a mirage of an oasis. My life is worthless, right?

Today’s message in The Upper Room slapped me right in the face. God gave me a little shake and told me to pay attention. I realized that it is a sin to think that my life is insignificant. I was crafted with love by the Greatest Artist there is – our Heavenly Father. I don’t know what my purpose is. I don’t know if I will be remembered when I am gone. But I do know that God crafted me as an individual, and it is a pain to him for me to think that is insignificant.

I beg forgiveness for my sins and hope that I can approach each day with a better attitude. Thank you, God, for giving me life and renewing my spark.

http://devotional.upperroom.org/devotionals/2012-02-06

Snow Dance

2011-01-10T06:32:00.000-06:00

Bright white snow dancing on the pitch black night.

Photograph from The Loop at www.KAIT8.com

Grandchildren Country Christmas

2010-12-13T22:32:00.000-06:00

Stoning the Happy Meal

2010-11-09T23:19:00.001-06:00

San Francisco’s Board of Supervisors made a bold move today and placed a ban on toys for children’s fast food meals that do not meet specific nutritional guidelines. Debate over this issue has been a hot topic for the last few days. Some folks are firm believers in this movement and hope it sets precedence for a nationwide ban. Other folks believe the government is too much of a presence in our private lives. Some people want to point the judgmental finger at bad parenting. Parents shouldn’t visit fast food joints, and they are irresponsible when they buy their children video games. Why aren’t those children playing outside?

Opinions and bans do not really address the problem, though. One woman on a local news station suggested that parents will simply purchase adult size portions as the American Family begins the mourning process for the death of the Happy Meal. I am not certain that will be the exact response, but I am fairly certain that the response will not be the one that San Francisco’s Board of Supervisors aimed for. We need to look beyond the Happy Meal to the real source of the problem.

How did we become a Happy Meal society? There was a time when many (if not most) families had a “stay at home mom.” Mom had time to cook nutritious meals for the family. I am sure that we had the occasional fast food fare when I was a youngster, but I do not remember them. I do remember fresh vegetables right out of the garden. I remember piping hot cornbread and the smell of something simmering or stewing on the back burner. I remember fried chicken and smothered pork chops. Oh! I stand corrected. I do have fond memories of the occasional trip to White County with Daddy, where we picked up Kentucky Fried and had a picnic on the farm.

The point is . . . Mothers had time to cook. The 21st century Mama works – sometimes more than one job. She is frequently a single parent and has after school and extracurricular activities for her children AFTER working at least 1 and maybe 2 jobs each day. She doesn’t have TIME to cook, so she pulls into the window at McDonald’s on her way home from the music recital or church event that she attended after working 13 hours and grabs a Happy Meal. Heaven forbid!

What about those accusations that parents should get their children off the couch and outside? The days of sending your children out to play with a cheerful, “be home in time for supper,” are long gone. Our children are not safe anymore, even in our own back yards. It takes less than a minute for a child to disappear. Mom doesn’t have time to cook supper, so you can bet she doesn’t have time to supervise backyard play.

On a positive note, Happy Meal toys do encourage imaginative play. Little Susie can sit in front of a screen and punch buttons without much real thought. Mostly that is reflex or reaction. Playing with little dolls and little cars requires a little brain power, doesn’t it? It is called IMAGINATION!

No one will argue that obesity is not a growing problem (pun intended). It is a social problem, not a parenting problem. The ceremonial Death of the Happy Meal is not going to correct the problem. Mom still has to work 13 hours. Little Susie still has Girl Scouts and study groups after school. Removing the toy will never be an effective deterrent for consuming fast food. It only takes a tiny bit of happiness out of what sometimes is a not so happy life.

I APPLAUDE people who want to fight childhood obesity. I pray they find success. A public stoning of the Happy Meal, though, is not the answer. Let’s roll up our sleeves and find a solution that really addresses the problem!

Off to see the Wizard!

Behind a School Bus

2010-09-28T23:42:00.000-05:00

I got behind a school bus on the way home today. My first thought was, GREAT! It was a mistake to come this way today. What a silly fool I was to think it was a mistake. Have you seen a child get off a school bus lately? They are happy and EXCITED about going home.

I watched as one little girl about 5 or 6 years old got off the bus to her little sister running across the yard to meet her. Mom and Dad stood on the front porch watching as the two girls embraced in a hug of love. The two girls joined hands and ran across the yard to greet Mama and Daddy with big smiles.

Another little boy seemed to fly off the bus. When his feet hit the ground, he was already in a run for the front door, backpack flapping his back. What waited on the other side of the door? Mama with an afternoon snack of homemade cookies and cold whole milk? An older sibling who would let him play video games for a little while before Daddy gets home? A ball game with the other boys from the neighborhood? Whatever activity was planned for the afternoon, the little boy’s excitement showed in his speedy race for the door.

I was in a hurry this afternoon, too. I was not sitting on the edge of my seat with the excited anticipation of hitting the ground running when the bus stopped, though. When did life become all work and no play? I believe it is time to ride the bus home and hit the ground running again. October is National Walking month, and I have already signed up for the national walking program at www.walktober.com. I am determined to hit the ground running in the afternoons and walking at least 30 minutes every afternoon. This is a good time to listen to the birds! What is it they are saying to me? Did I hear a chirping song of “It’s Time to Catch the Bus?”

My Mother's Scissors

2010-09-12T20:58:00.001-05:00

My mother was a very talented lady. I don’t think I understood that when I was a child. She did not work outside the home until after I was grown. Children do not recognize domestic engineering as a job because it is simply the result of love, right? How can expressing love in cleaning, cooking, reading, teaching, sharing, gardening, sewing, and laughing be work? Children just don’t understand. Sometimes adults don’t either.

Mama made a lot of my clothes. She could sew AND knit! I remember a few items more than others. Remember koolocs? I couldn’t wait for Mama to finish an orange pair she made just for her little girl. Oh! I had the most lovely poncho. I loved that poncho as a girl and would love to have one like it now.

In the last few years, I have worked at picking up sewing. WORKED at it! Sewing is not easy! I bet I spend just as many hours ripping out as I do stitching up! Mama made it look so easy. I’ve seen Mama lay out newspaper on the floor and make a pattern. Seriously! I can barely get a printed pattern out of the package without a mishap. Every item I have sewn has little mistakes. I can tuck most of them in and hide them from the world, but some of them show. I guess that is fitting because I do the same with my personal blemishes. My sewing never looks professional like Mama’s did, but I enjoy it just the same. Well . . . . when I am not ripping out, pricking my fingers with a pin or needle, and cursing like a Sailor I enjoy it!

Mother’s Toolbox

Wooden Spools

Yellow Measuring Tape

Silver Scissors

Sewing Box

Thimble

Seam Ripper

Unconditional Love

Last week I had a conversation with a friend about her mother’s scissors. She was purging and found that she just could not bring herself to let go of her mother’s scissors. Even for someone who doesn’t sew, a Mother’s sewing tools are too intimate to part with.

I don’t know what went with my mother’s scissors. I don’t remember seeing them after she moved back to Colorado. I have a lot of Mama’s things, but not her scissors. I guess it is just as well because I also don’t have her talent. I hope one of my children will treasure my own scissors someday as much as I treasure the memory of my mother’s scissors.

Thoughts on Whole Milk

2010-08-29T19:55:00.000-05:00

Elsie the Cow

Makes your mouth say WoW!

Whole milk has become a delicacy,

One that I must indulge in from time to time.

Phoenix Rodeo

2010-08-24T23:22:00.002-05:00

I had a date with my son last weekend. My “Baby” and I went to Brooks and Dunn’s concert in Little Rock – The Last Rodeo. Brooks and Dunn hit the top of the charts when Roger really was little more than a baby. He was only 5 years old when “Brand New Man” and “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” hit #1. I wanted to go to a Brooks and Dunn concert way back then, but I was busy raising a family. I had two opportunities over the years to see the dynamic duo, but life got in the way. Fast forward to 2010. My “Baby” is 24, and Brooks and Dunn are riding in their last rodeo.

Raising children is a bit like a rodeo. You feed them and pet them when they are little. When they become teenagers, they are like broncs and bulls that are constantly bucking against you, if not bucking you completely off, as they struggle to find their own way in the world. Sometimes adolescents see their parents as a rider with spurs who is trying to tame the spirit right out of them. I suppose, in some ways, we are. I never wanted my children to lose their spirit, but I would have tamed them if I could. They grow up and mellow out. When they do, it is time for them to go to pasture and live a rich and full life. One at a time, the children leave the rodeo. The truth is that Roger reached that pasture stage some time ago, but we never have really recognized it.

On the way to the concert, Roger commented, “I can’t believe you are letting me drive your truck!” He made a valid point there. I know he drives big trucks sometimes – in some scary situations that I do not want to know about. I know he has driven in the city. Still, I am not comfortable in an automobile to begin with. If I HAVE to be in one, I prefer to be the driver, and my optimum speed is 45-50 miles per hour.

Roger was driving on the interstate and in some pretty bad traffic when he made that statement. It is really an innocent enough statement, but it is the one that made me realize that my Baby is now a MAN. Of course, he has been for a while now. After all, he is a mighty fine father in his own right. My mind knew he was all grown up, but in my heart, Roger was still a baby. He has seen his last rodeo as a buck and will be at pasture until he gets to ride the ride with his own children.

The Last Rodeo concert was awesome and well worth the 19 year wait. Miranda Lambert opened with an energizing show. Of course, she made me cry when she sang “The House That Built Me.” That song speaks to

my soul, but that is another blog for another day. Miranda’s music invokes a full range of emotions from sweet to sad and struggle to strong. Isn’t that exactly what Brooks & Dunn’s music represents? She was the perfect opening act.

I expected Brooks and Dunn to begin with their earliest hits and bring us up to the latest. I told Roger that their last song would be one of my favorites, “You’re Gonna Miss Me.” I was surprised when that was one of the first songs they sang. I revised my prediction to their last song would be “Brand New Man” because it seemed like they were going in reverse. I wasn’t quite right about that one either. That was the first encore. A lot of songs made me laugh, smile, and cry along the way. “Believe” and “Red Dirt Road” remind me of who I am and what is important, and they make me cry. “Play Something Country” makes me want to howl and stomp around. “Husbands and Wives,” “Brand New Man,” and “My Maria” bring back fond memories for a variety of reasons.

Oh yeah, and in addition to the music, Kix Brooks is the hottest thang since melted butter!

The end of the night was bittersweet, as they ended the night with “Boot Scootin Boogie.” Roger did not get it because it is just a song. He was 5 when that song exploded in country music. He did not know that it was more than a song. It was iconic. It became a dance. People sang it all the time. The personal ads in the newspapers was full of folks wanting to learn how to boot scoot and others giving boot scootin lessons. People started buying boots and wearing them to the clubs. For my generation, “Boot Scootin Boogie” was a rodeo in itself, but it had been to pasture for a long time when Roger began to enjoy music. For Roger, it is just a song.

The Last Rodeo ended with a bittersweet note. I did not mind getting bucked this time. It was a great ride.

And the rodeo is reborn in this little bronco . . .

FOX Love

2010-08-18T23:20:00.003-05:00

I arrived at work an hour early today and thought to myself, I need to get inside Trey Stafford’s head. It is really tough to second guess Trey AND Jim, but Jim is busy with the Community Breakfast. Surely I can think like one of them. I made me a list of questions that that Trey might ask about Brooks and Dunn and put together a nice word document with every possibility I could come up with. 1st #1. 2nd #1 . . . all the way to 5. How many number ones? Which song is celebration of the birth of Ronnie’s daughter? Which one is a Roger Miller remake? You get the idea . . . and the very first line of my cheat sheet was full names and birth towns.

Did you guess that I am trying to win concert tickets to The Last Rodeo Tour – Brooks & Dunn, featuring Miranda Lambert?

Now that I have my list of answers researched and ready, I sit and wait on the chance to dial. They are taking Caller 5, and they have to know the entire names for both Brooks and Dunn. When that chance finally comes, I am the 3rd caller. My heart sank because I knew I could not possible get back through. I kept on dialing long after I knew there had to be a winner because every once in a while, the caller doesn’t know the answer to the question. I dialed and dialed and dialed. I was just thinking it was about time to stop when I heard a ring instead of a busy signal. My heart jumps right up in my throat, and I am not sure I am actually breathing. Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring . . . I am thinking, “3 rings? Something is wrong.” Then I hear, “Heeeeeeeeey FOX!” Oh my gosh! I am not even sure what I said. Hello? Good morning? I KNOW THE ANSWER? Gimme the tickets? What DID I say?

Caller 5 did not know the answer to the question. I am Caller 6, AND I know the magic answer. OH OH OH! Who knows what happened the rest of the day. They tell me I was screaming and acting like a mad woman at work.

Roger, who learned from Blake Shelton it is okay to be called Baby, has never been to a concert. I promised him that I would give him the tickets if I ever won again. My handsome son is taking me out Saturday night to see Brooks and Dunn’s Last Rodeo. Few mothers are so blessed.

We are both so excited that we cannot think about anything else! Woo Hoo! We cannot get any work done for talking about it. And the bonus . . . Miranda Lambert opens! How cool is THAT????? I drove to work today, and I do not even remember the drive home. I guess I stayed on my side of the road, but all I could see were visions of Saturday night. I try to work, but my mind wanders. I won’t be fit for shootin next week!

And guess what? Roger and I are not the only ones blessed with the FOX tickets! It is a little known fact that Kix has been looking for a woman like me all his life. Seriously! He is finally gonna get his chance to meet me! LOL So when he sings “Brand New Man, “ you know it will have a new meaning after Saturday. LOL

All joking aside, we are really blessed today. Yes, it is great to win the tickets, but those tickets would not mean nearly as much to me if I won them from another source. Oh yes, I would be excited, but not as much as I am now. Anyone who listens to Fox Country will tell you that the experience is more than listening to the radio, enjoying music and sharing a laugh. The FOX Folks are extended FAMILY. FOXFANS know the FOX Folks families. We cry when one of them loses a dear parent. We cheer at the birth of a child. We teach their children (Jim’s son told me where the bodies are buried!) We raise money for Make-A-Wish and Children’s Hospital together. Our FOX leaders motivate us to reach out to our neighbors who suffer a natural (or not so) disaster. They teach us to LOVE and to share our love.

When I was 16, Nanny wrote me a letter. At then end of it, she told me to “keep on smiling and spread your love around. That’s what life is all about.” The FOX Family does just exactly that. They bring out the best in all of us. They can make a “brand new man” out of the best of us. Winning concert tickets from The FOX constitutes winning LOVE. They are spreading it around because that’s what life’s all about.

Listen to FOX Country at http://www.thefox1049.com/

Am I Responsile For the Oil Spill?

2010-06-06T11:11:00.004-05:00

It seems like everyone is angry with BP, and some people are angry with the President. I, personally, am furious that the President has not gotten involved. You know who I am most angry with, though? ME

We have been assigned the task of caring for Earth, but sometimes we are more concerned about what we WANT than what is good for Earth. I don't know how we can fix this, and I fear that it may already too late to fix. We can reduce our consumption, though. If you can walk instead of drive, WALK -- or BIKE! CARPOOL to work! Shop with a buddy in ONE car. Make lists, so you can shop less frequently.

STAYcation! STAYcation! STAYcation!

Enjoy the beauty of your own back yard,
while we still have one to enjoy.

Amanda Kay Norton Danberry

2010-05-30T14:10:00.000-05:00

Taste of Home Cooking School

2010-05-12T22:43:00.000-05:00

Mama loved the Taste of Home magazine. I think she must have gotten the very first issue because the magazine was only around for about a year before Mama passed in May of 1994. Later that same year, about a month before Christmas, I got a card in the mail from Mama. That was an eerie feeling because she had been gone for so many months. I guess she loved that magazine so much that she wanted me to share with me because she sent me a gift subscription for Christmas. She had to of ordered no later than early May. Naturally, I always think of Mama when I see anything related to Taste of Home.

Since I have never attended a cooking school before, I did not know what to expect from the Taste of Home cooking show. Boy Howdy, did I have low expectations. All I can say is, you GOTTA GO! Go to www.tasteofhome.com/ and find out when a cooking school will be nearby. Make sure you get good tickets right down front. Oh, and by the way, tickets were only $12.00. Maybe $12.50. Extremely reasonable, AND you get more than that in “goodies” when you walk in the door. Go with a close friend because you will really have a good time that you can discuss for months to come.

When we first went in, we got a goodie bag with coupons for food, magazines, calendar, chip clips, Ziploc bags, crafting goods like shaped scissors . . . . lots of fun stuff. The bag itself is nice, too. 2 local caterers were set up with samples of wings, dips, sausages, egg rolls, and cheeses. Whole Hog BBQ was selling sandwiches at a very reasonable cost. LOTs of venders where there. Most of them had a box to sign up for a drawing. Right off the top of my head I can think of a nice garden bench, candles, spa treatment, cookbooks, BIG basket of goodies from flip-flops to towels and books, and of course FOOD! As we made our way around the vendors, we found more foods: cheese, nuts, cookies, and Andy’s frozen custard. Mmmmmmm We spent about 2 hours just making our way around all of the vendors.

The show itself was engaging. Jamie (our culinary expert) and Rick Christian (our host and local radio personality) were an awesome match. You would have thought they had been traveling together for years. There was a lot of funny thrown in with the learning.

We had seats directly center stage on the second row. Jamie stood behind the island, so we could see her and watch her hands, but she also had a camera pointed directly at the dish from above. Two big screens were set up on either side of the stage to show the dish from that angle. I think she made about 12 recipes from one of the magazines in our bag. Every bit of that looked yummy, too. She plated everything on fabulous dishes, and at the end of the show those dishes were given to folks from the audience.

You want to talk about prizes? We all turned in cards with our information at the beginning of the show, and they drew names all throughout the nearly 4 hour event. Cookbooks, cookbooks, and more cookbooks. Oh how I wanted one of those! Ziploc had a big package to give away, as did Velveeta, Jimmy Dean, and Gallo wines. I guess they gave away 25-30 bags of groceries. Lots of gift cards. LOTS of food gifts. Gifts from the vendors. I would guesstimate that about 1 hour of the show was just calling names for prizes. The two largest prizes were a side by side stainless steel refrigerator and a trip for 4 to Memphis. The trip included two rooms at the Madison Hotel on the river ($250 each) and 4 seats for a day at a cooking school in Memphis.

The big prizes were impressive, but I really had my eye on some of the smaller ones. Now mind you, I did not win anything. That doesn’t matter. I laughed and laughed, and when I finished, I laughed some more. I learned some little tricks that I did not know. I picked up a couple of “I gotta try that” recipes. I probably would not have ever cooked one of them, even if I saw the recipe in the magazine. Smelling it and seeing it in person hooked me.

The cookbook that really caught my attention is the Comfort Food Diet. Imagine learning how to eat comfort food in a healthy way! I am going to treat myself to a cookbook. I hope you do, too!

Waiting to Sprout

2010-05-09T20:35:00.001-05:00

When Mama died, someone gave me a poem that I carried with me for a long time. I am ashamed to say that I cannot remember her name. I see her face. But I don’t remember names. She might even be on one of my teams.

I lost that poem a few years ago, and I have searched everywhere for a copy of it. That is difficult because I do not know the name. The basic concept will live with me forever. The poem compares the mother to the redwood tree. The seeds of the daughter trees live in the roots of the mother tree, and the mother must die for the daughters to live. The comparison suggests that we can never become women in our own right until we have lost the women who gave birth to us.

I am still waiting to sprout.

My Sprouts

The Shameful Panties

2010-05-02T08:37:00.000-05:00

I have a thing for denim jumpers. Really, I guess I like jumpers in general, but the denim ones are my preference. Since I never throw anything away, I have jumpers in a variety of sizes around here. Yesterday it occurred to me that I might have lost enough weight to wear three of my jumpers. The last time I tried they were too snug across the back end. The back end is not much smaller, but they were only a little snug. Maybe it is time to dig them out.

That mind boggling thought was early in the day – forgotten ten minutes after that breeze whisked through the cavernous recesses of my brain. It barely even disturbed the delicate lace spider webs.

This must have been much more important than I thought because it popped up in my dreams last night. I was wearing my favorite denim jumper. Behind me I kept hearing that funny little munchkin laugh. Why? Because there were holes in the back of my dress – right across the sitting area. AND I was wearing hidious PLAID underwear. I don’t even want to think about what that might mean.

Still, I cannot shake the dream. I have this lingering feeling that my underwear is showing, and it is hideous. I think it is because I have had some really petty thoughts lately. I don’t know where that comes from. I have not said or done anything to insult or hurt anyone. But my tongue has been the tiniest bit catty once or twice. I made a couple of “innocent remarks” that were not really all that innocent. Not mean and hurtful, but just catty enough that I knew it would rub someone the wrong way.

I suspect that this dream is a direct message from God that my ugliest underwear is showing when I behave this way. Moreover, I was strutting along not even realizing that it was showing.

I am ashamed.

I will dig out the denim jumpers, but I am also digging out the white lace panties.

Accomplishment

2010-04-20T11:23:00.000-05:00

Accomplishment

Proverbs 13: 12

12 Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.

13 He who scorns instruction will pay for it,
but he who respects a command is rewarded.

*********

Proverbs 16: 3

3 Commit to the LORD whatever you do,
and your plans will succeed.

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

After half a century of thought on the subject, I still do not know what my purpose is. I have thought a lot about it because I know we are all supposed to have one. For a long time, I equated my passion as my purpose, but I am not so sure now. My passion is teaching, more specifically, I get passionate about working with students who are transitioning to the new environment and still need a little nurturing and direction. I have come to understand, though, that the education machine is a broken with corruption. Students and parents come in with a sense of entitlement and expect to get a quick and easy "drive-through" product for their money. I am not sure I even want to be here anymore. Sometimes I feel like I have been raped of my integrity.

On the other hand, I know it is not about what I want. I have to trust in the Lord that if HE doesn't want me here, HE will drop another opportunity in my lap. I certainly would not know what to pursue at this point.

Patience is the most difficult lesson for me. If I could work that one problem out, I imagine all of my answers would come to me easily enough.

I hope you have found and live for your purpose everyday!

(Art by Tom Seirak)

Abundance

2010-04-19T12:48:00.003-05:00

Joel 2:23

23 Be glad, people of Zion,
rejoice in the LORD your God,
for he has given you
the autumn rains in righteousness.
He sends you abundant showers,
both autumn and spring rains, as before.

24 The threshing floors will be filled with grain;
the vats will overflow with new wine and oil.

25 "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten—
the great locust and the young locust,
the other locusts and the locust swarm —
my great army that I sent among you.

******

It is all too easy to get caught up in the frustrations of every day life and neglect to notice the abundance of blessings that God has showered upon me. I have a great family and have always felt loved. While I lost my mother many years ago, I am blessed to have Daddy living nearby. I have never had a child or grandchild suffer from a life-threatening disease. I have a pretty good job. In a society where so many people are laid off and losing their homes, my job is a great one. It is all about perspective.

I struggle with making good choices for healthy living, but lack the perseverance of our ancestors who suffered without even shelter sometimes on the promise and faith in an abundant future. If I could learn to bend to God's will a bit more, my grain stores and wine vats would overflow. Until that day, I am sustained by the faith that my stores and vats will be in abundance in the next life.

As for this life, I am thankful for the many blessings God has bestowed on me and mine.

Ability

2010-04-18T11:53:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it is difficult to find time to post, but I want to keep this blog live. Hopefully, it will grow some day. I have been writing in a journal called A Spiritual Refreshment for Women: Everyday Blessings Journal (Barbour Publishing, ISBN 978-1-60260-445-2). I got my copy at Walmart.
=======================================================================
The journal provides a daily topic with 2 short scriptures and plenty of room across 2 pages to journal. As an attempt to keep this blog going, I will start posting some of the scriptures and brief thoughts on the topics here. A great place to look up the scriptures in context or in a different translation is Bible Gateway at https://biblegateway.com.

Abilities

Romans 12 : 6-8

6We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his[b]faith. 7If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; 8if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.
******

I Timothy 4 : 14-15

14Do not neglect your gift, which was given you through a prophetic message when the body of elders laid their hands on you.
15Be diligent in these matters; give yourself wholly to them, so that everyone may see your progress.
******

There is an organization in Jonesboro called Abilities Unlimited. This organization provides services to and assists so-called disabled people live independently. The title of the organization challenges our idea of what “disabled” means. Everyone has some sort of ability. Abilities are unlimited. An individual’s potential abilities are unlimited. The Bible tells us that we ALL have gifts (special abilities), so the people who are stereotyped as “disabled” are not really disabled at all.

It is easy to SAY we all have a gift of a special ability. It is even easy to BELIEVE we all have a gift of a special ability. I can easily spot these gifts in others, but I am confounded when it comes to identifying my own. It doesn’t seem like I am very good at anything. The people I work with tell me that I am a nurturer, but I think my children would disagree. I try to nurture, but I am not very good at it.
I used to feel like I was pretty good at helping students survive college, but I have come to understand that the only thing I really need to teach them is where to find the appropriate person/office to send complaints. My job is no longer of any real value.

The only thing that I am really good at is making people laugh. I can encourage, comfort, and teach with laughter. Sometimes that means poking fun of myself, but that is okay.

If YOU are smiling, my ability is unlimited.

Imagine each of the daffodils in the picture represent an ability. Which one is YOURS?

The Leprechaun Chronicles, v03: Jumpin Juice

2010-03-18T00:22:00.020-05:00

The Jumpin Juice

Leprechaun Chronicles, Volume 3 (2009)

I got me a real late start this year. I let March slip up on me, and I had not even been down to bait a trap. Twixt the ice storms and the snow storms, the weather has just been too nasty to get down there. Then the ice storm debris is still everywhere, and I had to find a different way in to Daffodil Hill.

I almost didn’t go on the Great Leprechaun Hunt this year on accounta I have been sick, and really ain’t hardly had time to get ready. But then I got to thankin, what the heck else ya gonna do on a Tuesday night? Crap. Ain’t nothing on the television to watch. Might as well pack up and go a hunting. Sides, this year I got me a secret weapon!

Even though we had snow on the ground less than a week ago, the weather was right nice today. The air is warm, but it wisps a gentle cool breath from time to time. The earth is just beginning to green up all scraggily. Ole Moma Nature will need a hair cut soon. There is so much to see in the changing landscape that I got a little distracted on my drive to Daffodil Hill.

I stopped at the county line and stocked up on leprechaun bait. You might well remember that I try my best to abstain from the green spirits, but it is necessary to imbibe if I am to catch the Little Green Dude. It wuz right tough on me, but I forced myself to drink a couple of them beers on my way to the Land of the Leprechauns. You know I am outta practice and all. I needed to warm up jest a little afore I got down to business, and I needed a couple of near empty cans to use for bait.

I should have known the minute that I turned off the highway that I was in for a long night. I had already figured out that this part of the country had been hit hard by the ice storm because miles and miles of highline wires are still down. The poles laid out in fields and ditches resembled the playground of giants, strewn with broken and discarded Lincoln Logs.

After I drove about 10 miles down the gravel road, I pulled onto the dirt road to Daffodil Hill. I did not get very far, though, before I pulled up on a big tree down acrosst the road. Well CRAP! Like I have time for that. I got out and scoped out the situation. While I was searching for a solution, I drank another beer on accounta it helps me to think better. Now ifen I had me a 4 wheel drive, I could of probably gone around the tree, but I was scared to try it under the circumstances. Night was upon me, and there are no houses out that way. Plus, I might get on one of those lines that still be down if I had to walk in the dark. No Sirree. I decided to turn around and come in the back side of Daffodil Hill.

If you have ever seen me drive, you know that I don’t do so well in REEverse. Okay. Okay. I don’t do all that great going straight forward, either. Backerds is a real challenge for me. I guess I had to back up about a mile afore I came to an old cemetery where I could turn around. I was pretty uptight by then, so I figured I should have another beer . . . . just to settle my nerves. It is about 12.623 miles around to the gravel road that comes in the back side of Daffodil Hill. I lost my radio signal about 3 miles from the cemetery. Well, now, I must admit that it took another beer just to help me tolerate the sound of my own singing. My voice ain’t no music of the spheres. It’s more like the noise tires make when they lock and tar up the highway. That beer wuz just for medicinal purposes cuz my ear were a hurting purty bad.

I haven’t taken the back way in to Daffodil Hill for years, and I wasn’t real sure I was on the right road. Nothing looks right with all of the trees down, and it was very dark. Who told me we had a full moon? I finally got to the hill, though. To my great surprise, a fire was smoldering on the hill. I smelled it before I saw it. There weren’t nobody around, though. So I threw some of my wood on the smoldering embers and got a good fire going again.

Whew! That is hard work! I decided I would have me a big glass of tea and maybe something to eat before I set the bait. Can you believe that I FORGOT to bring my tea? I must have Parttimers or something! So there was really nothing for me to do but have another beer on accounta I was pretty thirsty after all that work.

After that, I spread out the blanket by the fire and set a few near empty beer cans for bait. I had to suck down a couple of beers hard and fast cuz I wuz 2 cans short.

Then I sharpened me a stick to make a Spam spear. You ever had Spam on a Stick afore? Spam roasted over an open fire? Mmmmmm MMM! Now that is good stuff. It is really better if you taken some pineapple slices and stick them to the Spam with toothpicks before you start roasting. That is really a bit much for a Leprechaun Hunt, though. I speared me a can of Spam and began to roast it over the fire. Drops of fat from the Spam sizzled and popped on the flames. I crunched on a crisp celery sticks while the Spam roasted, and started humming those old song lyrics,

Spam chunks roasting on an open fire,
Jack Fog setting on my nose,
Lepretide carols being sung by squirrels,
and folks dressed up like Spring gnomes.

I never can remember the rest of the lyrics to that song, so the singing did not last long. Sides, all that celery made me thirsty . . .

I started fixing a plate of finger food to go with the speared Spam when I thought I heard a faint voice in the woods . . . .

. . . the old man in grief pined away.

Then something about a child. I could not quite catch the voice.

The delectable smell of Speared Spam distracted me from listening. It was perfectly roasted, so I took the Speared Spam off the spear and put it on a paper plate that I had already arranged with pickled beets, boiled quail eggs, a chunk of hoop cheese, and celery sticks. This was truly a spectacular culinary feast before my eyes. Just as I was about to slice the speared Spam, I heard laughter off behind me. I turned around and to my surprise out walked the Little Green Dude with a Little Green Dudette and 2 wee Little Green Dudies. Well, now I am here to tell ya that I did not know what to think.

The Little Green Dude must have been terrible distracted cuz he stumbled right upon me. In surprise, he put his hands on his knees and laughed as he exclaimed, “Well curl my tail and call me a pig! If it taint the wee Lassie! Er it that time a year again already?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Well, now the Little Green Dudette and the Little Green Dudies must not of never heard that expression before because their laughter tinkled like the blue bells done come to life. Those two little girls fell upon the ground and giggled until the Little Green Dude got plumb tickled himself.

After they finally quit laughing, the Little Green Dude took off his new green hat and waved it to whiff up a little breeze and flourish the crimson plume that adorned it. With a bow and a grand gesture, he said, “Mee Lassie, let me introduce ye to Lacy Leprechaun!”

I am sure you can understand that I was completely speechless, which is quite a feat for me . . . . um or is that feet – as in foot in my mouth . Anywho, it was quite a feat for me, but I was speechless because all these years I was led to believe there were not another leprechaun in the country but for the one. I was so shocked I lost my balance and fell backwards. I would of rolled plumb down the hill if the tree hadn’t broken my fall. I am not sure you will believe the rest of this story, but it is true. Every word of it.

The Little Green Dude helped me sit down. Actually, it was more like he propped me up against the tree. Then he summoned up the Little Green Dudette and the two Little Green Dudies.

“Lassie, this here is me daughter, Lacy. And these youngins herin be Lucille and Lucinda. They er leprechaun twins. Mind you that is quite a rarity. Why in all of my 85 years, I don’t know as to I ever did heered of leprechaun twins afore.” Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Magnifee Cent! is what I say!

Naturally, I offered my hand, and Lacy was happy enough to shake it. The girls were shy, though. They hid behind their mother’s skirts.

I asked Lacy, “Was that you I heard singing in the woods?”

Lacy blushed and lowered her luminous emerald eyes. “Why, yes, yes it was. Did I disturb you?”

“Oh NO!” I exclaimed. “No Lacy. Your voice is beautiful. Please come sit by the fire and sing some more.”

Lacy blushed crimson and said, “perhaps just one song. Girls will you help Marmee sing a song for this nice lady?” The little girls giggled and nodded as they held hands and gathered around their mother who sat on the remains of a mighty oak that was felled by ice just a few weeks ago. The Little Green Dude stamped his feet with delight, and he encouraged the trio. “Sing “Lacy’s Song! Go ahead now.” Lacy began to sing and the two little girls chimed in to add a desolate note to the key passages.

Lacy’s Song
(The Little Green Dudies harmonized in the bracketed lines.)

On a cold winter's night
As the winds blew across the wild moor
Poor Mary came wandering home with her child
'Til she came to her own father's door

[ Papa oh Papa she cried
Come down and open the door ]
Or the child in my arms
Will perish and die
From the winds that blow across the wild moor.

But the old man was deaf to her cries
And not a sound of her voice did he hear
While the watchdog did howl
And the village bell tolled
[ The winds blew across the wild moor ]

Oh how the old man must have felt
When he came to the door the next morn'
And he found Mary dead
[ But the child yet alive
Clutched close to her dead mother's breast ]

Now the old man in grief pined away
[ In grief he pined away ]
And no one they say
Has lived there to this day
[ And the cottage is left to ruin ]

Now the villagers point out the place
Where the ivy grows over the door
Saying there Mary died
Once a fair village bride

[ From the winds that blew across the wild moor
From the winds that blew across the wild moor ]

When they finished the cheerless song, Lacy Leprechaun and Lester Leprechaun I spied sparkling dampness on the cheeks of the Little Green Dude and the Little Green Dudette.

Now by this time I was just about to burst with curiosity. Blimey if I hadn’t done plumb forgot why I came to Daffodil Hill to begin with. Seriously.

I was just about to ask where the Leprechauns of the female persuasion had come from when I noticed the little girl leprechauns eyeing my Spam on a Stick. “Are you hungry,” I asked. Twin heads nodded enthusiastically.

“Have you ever had Spam on a Stick?”

The girls turned to their mother, who answered for them. “We’re visiting from the Motherland, and I’m afraid we don’t know what type of animal Spam is.”

Well, I have to tell you that got the Little Green Dude all stirred up. He waved his hat in the air and stomped his foot. “WHUT? Ye nuvuh heerd of Spam? Well, curl my tail . . . . “ With that, he grabbed up the speared Spam and whipped out his little knife. Before I knew what happened, he had fed my supper to those children. Humph!

Luckily for me, I always keep a can of Spam behind the seat of my truck, just in case of emergency. While I was fetching the second can of Spam, I noticed my secret weapon behind the seat and suddenly remembered what I was a doing there to begin with! I slyly slipped the secret sauce in my pocket.

When I made it back to the fire, the Little Green Dude had gotten into the cooler and helped himself to a beer. Quick before I forgot again, I threw the blanket over him. Oh the cursing was loud and long. The eyes of the Little Green Dudies got big as mushrooms on a hot summer night.

“Father!” shouted the Little Green Dudette. “I must insist you leave off that language around the children!”

“Father?” I asked. “Father?”

From under the quilt I heard, “Alright. Alright. Ye caught me, Lassie. Let me out and I’ll be a splainin to ye.” I let the soft material fall away. “Lassie, this here be me own child, Miss Lacy, and she come from acrosst the Big Ditch to visit us.”

“She’s from Tennessee?” I asked in awe.

“No. She ain’t from Tennessee fer Tarnation. Land’s Sakes, Lassie! Ye think that old Mississip er be the biggest ditch there er? There be another un TWICE the size of the Muddy Missy, and they be a calling her the A Lantik O’Shun, after ourin cuzzins, the O’Shuns. Yessireee. It er TWICE the size a Ole Missy. Maybe even clost to thrice.”

“Well . . . where are you from?” I looked at the Little Green Dudette.

Before she could say anything, Lester spoke up. “Miss Lacy be borned right down thar on the Cache River, but her mother took her away from here. All the ways to ourin Motherland. They be a callin it Ireland. Miss Mary Leprechaun be er mother. Ah . . . Mary nuvuh loved me. She onlyst married me to git outta marrying Hurley Burnideste Leprechaun. A deesgusting little creature he was. Mary’s farther wanted her to be a marrying Hurley right away because he went and caught his little wildflower walking with a gnome. Well, that made Mary’s fadder pop a 3 vessels, as I’m sure you can imajun.”

I was thinking of the sad sad song that Lacy Leprechaun had been singing a bit earlier. I turned to her and asked, “the song ?”

“Yes marm,” she nodded. “That old song be about me own marther. She be a gittin sick on the big boat that crosst Big Ditch. Her ad a fever when we got to me grandpapa’s. And her died in short order. Ye know, I were but six year. Marther’s death kilt my grandpapa, and I was sent to live with my heathen relatives. Lived in the cow pastures. Didn’t even have enough sense to git clost to the water, much less git a beaver fir purrtekchun. Et nothing but taters and dranked MILK fer cryin out LOUD. Not a one of em would help me find my way back to my own farther cuz they did not like the American relatives. It tooked me many a yar to find me way home to mee on fardther. It done be around 43 yar.” With that she walked over and hugged the Little Green Dude.

“Nuff of all this cent tee MENTAL hogwast!” interrupted the Little Green Dude. “This be St. Patrick’s Day. Let us have anorthar beer and sing some songs.”

“How about us have another beer and go after my gold, “ I countered. With that, my leprechaun friend grabbed three beers and gave the rest of the celery and beets to the children. When he wasn’t looking, I slipped a little of my secret weapon into the leprechaun’s beer.

You see, I have been on the puny side this March. March of the Punies. Well, what do you think I found in the back of the cabinet? Weren’t nothing but an old bottle of “the good stuff.” You know that cough syrup with cocaine in it that is so hard to get a script for? Well, I got a big bottle of that special sauce, and I gave the leprechaun a hefty dose of it. You know it makes you very sleepy and very happy. THIS YEAR I am gonna make it home with the gold.
“Drink up, old man,” I said, as I reached for the last egg. “We got work to do.”

The trip into the leprechaun forest should have been easy for me. After all, it is not the first time I went into the woods. I know what to expect now. And I finally understand that I will be safe in the woods as long as I stick close to the leprechaun. I started out feeling all safe. Then I got to noticing how many of us were there together. The key to safety was to stay CLOSE to the Little Green Dude. There wuz two kids and a lady leprechaun betwixt me and him. That wuz not making me feel all warm and fuzzy.

The forest did not look familiar and the path was completely gone. The damage from the ice storm drastically altered the landscape here. We often had to climb across large trees or go around piles of limbs too high for us to go over. I fell many times, but the gang of nimbly leprechauns never seemed to lose their footing.

It was such a nice warm day, and I expected the evening to be warm as well. It WAS warm by the fire! The deeper we went into the woods, the colder I got. The world did not seem just exactly right, either. Sometimes it felt like I was walking in slow motion while the others scampered off away from me.

I called out to my leprechaun friends to slow down, but they were laughing and deep in conversation. All of the sudden there was a succession of thunder slaps coming from the way of the river. Something scared the beavers. Suddenly the noise of the frogs, crickets, and birds came to a dead silence. The leprechauns crouched near an old tree and blended into the scenery, but I could not make myself move. My legs felt like lead, and my heart was racing. The sharp shrill of the painter scream broke the silence, and I turned my back to the river . . . . searching the woods for the painter. Then my world went dark and musty. I could not see. But I could sure smell, and whatever the hell was on my head smelled like it had been drug around by a family of skunks.

“SKUNK!” I screamed. The only reply I got was another round of thunder slaps as the beavers sent up another warning from the river. Then I felt the severe pain of something piercing the skin on my arm and making a long, but not deep, cut. Was that laughter behind me? It must be the leprechaun. He was trying to get out of paying up the gold. The third round of thunderslaps from the beavers unnerved me, though. I was skeered, but I just could not focus on all of the noises around me. It sounded like some sort of a fight, and the painter was still screaming in the woods.

From the darkness, something grabbed me and started dragging me through the woods. The way was rough, and I was dragged over many piles of limbs that scraped the hide off my backside. The hide off my backside . . . is that a country song? I felt myself shoved into a tree hollow, and the skunk-smelling sack was yanked off of my head. As I scarfed up a deep breath of fresh (well at least fresher) air, I looked around to see where I was. The Little Green Dude stood near. He leaned close and whispered, “lizzen to me good now, Lassie. You gots to stay here and you got to be quite. It’s dagblasteed Hobnobbins what got aholdt of yee. I nevuh evuh thought we’d see them thar varmints in this part of the country again, but here they be. You sit still and be shush! Maybe we will all live through this.

He LOOKED sincere, but . . . .

SERIOUSLY . . . .

Do you REALLY expect me to believe in HOBNOBBINS? Seriously! Do I look like I wuz borned yesterday? I don’t believe in such nonsense as hobnobbins.

I started to leave the hollow of the tree when the Little Green Dude quickly shoved the children inside the hollow with me. The look on his face told me that I needed to stay put, whether I believed in Hobnobbins or not. He might be trying to scare me away from the gold, but he was in FRONT of me when that sack was slung over my head. At least I think he was.

I hunkered down in the tree hollow with the children. They thought it was a grand adventure. I was terrified.

The forest was suddenly a cacophony of sounds. There was a clanking that sounded like metal against metal. Birds stopped singing and started squawking. The ole painter still screamed, but it was not as close as it was before. Grandfather Hoot Owl flew by the hollow every few minutes. I thought about running, but where would I run to? And I felt like the world was moving so slowly around me.

You might have a hard time believing what happened next. I mean, it doesn’t seem believable at all, but it really did happen. Grandfather Hoot Owl landed on the ground right in front of the hollowed out tree. Very very slowly he turned his head around backwards and looked at me. Then he whispered to us, “Who, Who, Who will follow me?”

Now I never had THAT happen in the woods before!

The little girl leprechauns got right up and motioned me to come with them and Grandfather Hoot Owl. What are my choices here? Sit in the tree hollow by myself with all that racket around and a painter looking for me or follow the children and their “Grandfather” Hoot Owl? Decisions. Decisions.

I followed the owl. We ran through the woods to the river. We were running away from the racket in the woods. When we reached the slough that led to Leprechaun Lair, I immediately recognized it. I have spent hours walking the river in this stretch of the woods looking for that slough. Now it appears almost as if by magic. How in the . . . .

I paused a little too long, and Owl circled close to my head, urging me on. When we got to the place where the path becomes narrow, 2 large beavers came out of the woods. One stepped up onto the path, and Owl nudged the children to fall in line behind them. I stepped up to the children and cautioned them to be quiet on the path. “We know,” they chimed in unison. “We have been this way lots of times. It is dangerous, so we must be perfectly quiet.” I nodded at them, amazed at the wisdom in those young eyes. The second beaver stepped up on the path behind me.
Out of the darkness came the blood curdling howl of a coyote. The beaver behind me stood up on his hind legs and gave me a push with his front paws. We all followed the lead beaver down the path as quickly and quietly as possible. There were many briars along the path that reached for my arms and legs, tearing my clothes and cutting my skin. Bats swarmed the area like blackbirds on a wheat field. I could hear whispers in the woods, but I could not quite make out the words. I thought I heard “hairy hobnobbins” in the whispers, but that could not be.

First of all, I don’t believe in hobnobbins (of course), and also, have you EVER heard of a hairy hobnobbin? Everybody knows the mythical creatures are supposed to have but 3 hairs on their head: 1 black, 1 silver, 1 red. I don’t know what those whispers were, but it couldn’t have been THAT.

After a few minutes, we made it safely to the end of the path and stepped into the gentle glen of Leprechaun Lair. The girls ran to the fire, and each snuggled up to one of the beavers. I found some wood to add to the fire. Then I crouched next to a tree and tried to figure out how the heck I got here and what the heck my plan was.

Well, you know it was cold and all, so I figured I better look around and see if the Little Green Dude had any antifreeze. Sure enough, I found a big tub of beer on ice. Might as well have one while I study on what to do . . . or two.

The girls and the beavers were hungry. I admit that my stomach was making noises, too. I said, “well, let’s go below the tree and find something to eat.” It was clear from the look on the girls’ faces that they knew not to take me near the gold. Instead, one of them ran behind the tree and came back with two little pans. She gave one to me and one to her sister. Then she got a nice little pile of sapling wood for the beavers to munch on. I tasted the funny looking dish. It was a bit greasy, but tasty. I was about to ask when the second little girl chimed, “ I just love bear with possum gravy. Don’t you?” My mouth was full. It took a lot to swallow.

At some point, I dozed off. The children and I slept while the beavers stood watch.
I woke to the mostest awful attempt at singing that I EVER heard!

We're Knights of the Round Table.
We dance whene'er we're able.
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impeccable.
We dine well here in Camelot.
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.

We're Knights of the Round Table.
Our shows are formidable,
But many times we're given rhymes
That are quite unsingable.
We're opera mad in Camelot.
We sing from the diaphragm a lot.

In war we're tough and able,
Quite indefatigable.
Between our quests
we sequin vests
and impersonate Clark Gable.
It's a busy life in Camelot.
I have to push the pram a lot.

I sat up and saw the Little Green Dude swagger into the gentle glen with his daughter and 7 more leprechauns! They were all singing . . . . well they were making noise in unison. They seemed mighty happy, too. They didn’t even notice me, as they went straight to the beer on ice. I watched them drink and sing for a while.

The Little Green Dudette had noticed me, as she went directly to her sleeping children. The others partied loudly until I stood up. The seven Little Green Strangers all screamed and ran to hid behind fallen trees. The Little Green Dude hiccupped and began to swear, “well I be snuffagalblastuptanuffatreealous! I firgit all bout ye, Wee Lassie! I er . . . . I . . . well, I guesst I figured you woulda headed back to the Hill. Why did ye foller Owl and the beavers? I never took ye ta be a wantin that gold bad enuff to come this fir by yeeself.”

I let loose a low growl of my own before I hissed between my teeth, “do you REALLY think I would leave those children in the woods alone? This had nothing to do with the money! I cannot BELIEVE you think I am that shallow!” You know how I get. Once I start losing my temper, it is a terrible dangerous slide that can quickly turn into an avalanche.

I guess the Little Green Dude musta realized that he was treading some pretty thin water because he jumped up and ran to the tub of beer. He grabbed a nice cold one and offered it to me with a sly smile, “Come on now, Mee Lassie. Ye jest needs to rest a minute. Here now. Take ye a drank of this nice cold beer.” Well, I did not want to be unsociable.

“LeRoy! Larry! Liam! Lafe! Lamont! Darryl! Daryl! Come here! I gots somebody I want you to meet. It’s okay. She be alright! And she usually brangs beer!” The seven Stranger Leprechauns came running out of the woods to the beer tub. I really did not like the way they were gawking at me, like I was the one who wuz unusual or something.

After a few minutes, one of the little men grabbed up a frash beer and offered it to me. As I took it from his small hand, he said, “Hi. My name’s Larry. This is my brother Darryl and my other brother Darryl. Darryl don’t talk much.” Then he began to point to the others, one by one, “This be my nephew LeRoy. LeRoy’s mother, my dear departed sister, be departed.”

“She died,” I asked.

“Naw. Her didn’t DIE. She just departed,” answered Larry. Then he continued, “Lafe is Darryl’s oldest son.”

“Which one,” I asked.

“Lafe,” answered Larry.

“I mean which one is Lafe’s daddy,” asked I?

“Darryl,” answered Larry. Both Darryls were grinning at me in a goofy kinda way, so I decided to let that one go. They coulda been loony leprechauns for all I know, and you don’t want to mess around with that.

“Lamont shake hands with Lassie,” Larry said as he motioned to the shortest of the Stranger Leprechauns. “Lamont be a LooeeeezzeeAnna Leprechaun. Ye probably ain’t seen many of them. Thay usually hang close to Cajun country. Thay sho nuff can cook, though! Hey now! How about some bear with possum and toadstool gravy? Lamont fixed a big batch earlier today.”

“It’s gone. We ate it all when we got here. It was . . . different,” I smiled and nodded at Lamont.

I was a little overwhelmed, but I shook hands with all of them.
Then I turned to the Little Green Dude. “I believe you and I have a little unfinished business.”

“Why now, Lassie, I dount believe we can do any bizzynuss until tomorry, on St. Patrick’s Day,” whispered the sly little leprechaun.

Larry was quick to speak up. “Brother! This er St. Patrick’s Day! Ye know it must be. Otherwise, Lamont woodnunt a made sech a delicacy as possum and toadstool gravy.“

The Little Green Dude stamped his little foot, and said, “I be dagsnuffleoustafolious! Ye be right thar, brother. Sit down, now, Lassie. Let us be having a drink afor we starts ourin bizzynuss. Sides, I wants ye to tell Lamont how to fix that thar Spam on a Stick.”

“What’s a Spam?” asked Lamont.

“What’s a Spam? What’s a SPAM? Lamont ye mean to tell me with all yer culinary skills ye ain’t nevuh evuh kilt a SPAM afore?” exclaimed the Little Green Dude. Then he sighed and looked at me. He lowered his voice and asked, “Lassie, what is a Spam?”

“Don’t start that crap with me!” I stomped my foot so hard that I nearly felled over. “I’m not ignernt you know. You might be a wily leprechaun, but you’ll not be a distracting me again. I caint hardly wait to get my gold and get back home to count it. Now let’s talk business Mr. Little Green Dude.”

Well you know it just ain’t fittin to try to sashay over business without a social drink, so I decided to have one more. Also, I still had the secret sauce in me pocket. I had almost forgotten about it. So we had another beer. Besides, I wuz purty curious about where all these leprechauns came from. I might as well get a little information while I waited for my chance to doctor the Little Green Dude’s beer.

“I’ll share a beer or two with you my friend, as long as you do not forget that you owe me one large pot of gold!” I warned.

“Aye. Me not be a fergittin, Lassie.”

Just then the Little Green Dude turned his back on me to whisper something to the wee girls. I took the opportunity to add a double dose of the good stuff to his beer.

Now the curiosity was getting the best of me. “So, did ALL of you guys come from across the Big Ditch,” I innocently inquired. Okay. I ain’t all that innocent, but the alliteration is great.

Larry Leprechaun shook his head no, and with a solemn look, said, “no, Lassie. We been prisoner to the Horrible Hobnobbins . . . . somes calls them Hostiles . . . . for many many a year. Many a year ago, we be a making war with the Horrible Hobbnobbins and thar cuzzins the Horny Hobbits. Now don’t look at me like that, Lassie! Me believe yer mind be deep in the ole slough tonight. As Hobbits age, they grow horns. Only the horniest are worthy to be warriors. That’s why they calls em Horny Hobbits.”

I’m sure you can imagine how badly I was blushing. I was quite embarrassed. I was getting very hot, too. My vision blurred a bit, so I moved away from the fire and closer to Larry Leprechaun. He encouraged me to finish up my beer as he continued his story.

“We thought the thar Horrible Hobnobbins be a gone from this country. Then one day they showed up right in front of Farmer with DyNOmight. They drugged ourin beavers that day.”

“They did no sucha thang,” argued the Little Green Dude! He leaned over to engage with Larry, and I took the opportunity to add a little more cough medicine to his newly opened beer.

After they argued a bit, Larry continued. “We had gotten lazy on guard duty cuzzin theyd be no Horrible Hobnobbins or Flippin Farmers around fir a long time. We not be a payin attention. Flippin Farmer blew up the beaver dams, and that killt a bunch of us, but not all of us. The Horrible Hobnobbins ran in and grabbed us up while we wuzza unCONSeeus. Them thar weezlussafusses wouldn’t a been able to take us on iffen we beeed awake. Anywayz. Usins woke up in shakles. The Horrible Hobnobbins et most of us up over the years, and they be a workin hard at fattening up the rest o us.”

I took a deep breath of horror. How could this be? “Right here in these woods,” I asked.

“Naw naw Missy. We been in LooeeeezzeeAnna all this time. That er whar the Horrible Hobnobbin Headquarters ere. We been a plannin to Eescape fir a long time. The Spirit of Saint Pat lured away the Horrible Hobnobbins and freed us from our horrible shakels. They be a chasin us all the way here, but they won’t naught a be chasin nobody, no mores.”

“Why not?” I asked, but I did not hear the answer. I found myself suddenly sick. I leaned against the tree and closed my eyes just for a second. When I woke up, I was stretched out by the fading embers of my campfire. The cooler was turned over and empty. Not a beer around. The blanket hung from a tree. My hair was all tangled up, and my mouth felt like somebody stuffed it with cotton. When I tried to stand, I had a piercing pain in my head. Dizzy. Dizzy. I took a deep breath and stumbled to my truck where I found a ragged and damp piece of paper under a rock on the hood of my truck.

Dear Lassie,

I nevuh did take ye to be a cheat. Ye look so innercent and all. I shore nevuh thought you’d try to spike my drink jest ter get after me gold. Oh yes, Dearie. I knowd all along whut ye wuz a doing. That’s why I switched our dranks. I hope ye head don’t hurt too bad now, Lassie, but ye did put a lotta Jumpin Juice in them thar beers. It is a shame really cuz I wuz all set to give me riches to ye this year. Ye jest had to go an ruin it with yer dishoNESTy. Tetch. Tetch. Tetch.

I be a going away fer a while, mee dear Lassie. Me and LeRoy and Larry and Liam and Lafe and Lamont and Darryl and Daryl be a goin on a trip acrosst the Big Ditch to meet up with me Darlin Lacy’s husband. Who knows. I might even stay a while. Or could be I find me a wee Lassie Leprechaun to brung back as me bride to these here woods.

Now Lassie, I won’t be a needin all of me gold to git acrosst the Big Ditch. So I be a drawin ye a little map. Ifen ye can get past the painters and goblins, the beavers will help ye acrosst the slough. Ifen ye can git thar on yer own, Lassie, ye mayest be a keeping the gold. Least ways keep it until I come a callin for it. HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

I will be a missin ye, Lassie. Ye have entertained an old lonesome leprechaun a bit over the yars and me be a ppresshatin that, even ifen ye did try to dope me with yer Jumpin Juice. Study the map, Lassie. Save some gold to seed me nest when I be a returning.

With Affect Shun
Little Green Dude, Esq.

I turned the page over, and sure enough I found a very detailed map on the back. I dropped down the tailgate thinking that I would sit and study the map. Try to make my way back this morning. You will never believe what happened next! Outta nowhere came a fierce gust of wind, and it blew that paper right out of my hand. I ran after it, but it did me no good. That paper landed right on the last red ember of the fire and POOF it was gone.

From the woods, I heard the gleeful laugh of the leprechaun. HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The Leprechaun Chronicles, v02: Of Beer and Bear

2010-03-17T14:58:00.016-05:00

Of Bear and Beer

Leprechaun Chronicles, Volume 2 (2008)

I had such a good plan this year. You know, I caught up with the Little Green Dude last year. I know my trap works. I just had to make certain that I did not fall for HIS trap after I caught him in MINE. Simple enough.

I started baiting the trap two weeks ago. It wuz a turrible time to start a leprechaun hunt on accounta we just had that snow. I didn’t even know for sure if the Little Green Dude would come out of his hiding place when I started setting the bait because it was so cold. Also, the daffodils are not in full bloom yet. Bad sign. Something was taking the bait, though.

I couldn’t be for sure if it was the leprechaun because it was different this year. Always before, the little leprechaun drank the beer and left the cans. I always had to clean up his mess before I rebaited in the evenings. This year, though, I went back to the site every day for purt near 2 weeks, and nary a can were ever left behind. That wuz kinda weird.

So last night, I went out to daffodil hill. It was warm last week and over the weekend, so I was happy to see that we are finally seeing a few daffodils blooming. Oh. And they scented the air with the perfume of sweetest nectar.

The night started out great. I ate a real good lunch today. Corned beef & Kraut on Rye . Mashed taters. Two Jello snacks. Last year I did not have enough food on my stomach. This year I was prepared. I have to be able to drink enough beer to lure the Little Green Dude to my trap, but I also need to have enough food on my stomach to keep me in full control of my senses.

I loaded up my gear: blanket, wood, cooler full of beer. I even threw in some diet Jello to nibble on. Lime, of course. And, okay. I admit it. I took a couple of cans of SPAM and a jar o

f pickles.

We have had a lot of rain this year, and the Cache River is way out of her banks. Today she managed to cross the gravel road that leads to Daffodil Hill. That made me just a little nervous. I seem to remember getting stuck in a little patch of water on a dry road back in 1998. I am a bit skiddish about driving off into running water, but what wuz I to do? I had to get to Daffodil Hill, didn’t I? I back up a little ways and floored it. As soon as I hit the water, my tires slipped, and I slid almost sideways in the road. I tried to hold it straight, but my back end was sliding around like a new pair of skates on an ice pond. It took all I had to fight the water and mud, but I made it.

When I got to Daffodil Hill, it wuz getting dark. I did not even have time to get set up good afore it got good and dark on me. I got me a fire built quick enough, so I wuz okay with that. I wuz behind, though. I wasted a lot of time getting through that water, and then I had to drive real slow to keep from gettin stuck in the ruts. I had to drink a bit faster than I’ma accustomed to on accounta I had to get that bait set out. I finally got baited up, and cozied up to the fire. I got out my diet Jello because I did not want the alcohol to saturate my stomach. Have you ever had diet lime Jello with beer? It ain’t no goramay dinner, that’s for sure! Spam definitely adds a little sophistication to the meal.

And whut do you think happened then? I started hearing thunder rumbling off in the distance. The rumble was low and long, like the earth was groaning from a miserable emotional discomfort. It got cold pretty quick, too. I wuz not prepared for the cold. Purty soon my teeth wuz a chattering like a baby banging on a xylophone! Brrrrrrrr! Still makes me cold to think about it!

I moved a little closer to the fire, and that helped some. Until it started raining. Just what I needed. It wuz awfully chancy to leave my post and go back to my truck, but I had to fetch my umbrella. I started down the hill towards my truck, and I tripped and fell. Slid all the way down the hill like a hog in a wallow. I know you are probably thinking that I had too much to drink, but that simply is not true. I lost my footing on the wet grass.

Thank goodness I had a good towel in my truck. I cleaned up a little and grabbed my Barton’s Weather umbrella. As I got out the umbrella, I thought about the streak of luck I have had lately. That good luck began when I won this very umbrella in November. Since then, I have been on a winning streak. I smiled at the thought, which made me even more confidant that this is my year to bring home the gold.

I started back up the hill, and that just was not working. It was too steep, and the grass was too wet. I had to circle around the backside of the hill and come up where the slope was not so steep. There was a line of trees betwixt me and the fire, which was dimming under the rain, so I had no light from it to guide me. As I gathered closer to the tree where I had built the dwindling fire and stashed my cooler, the fire suddenly flared up and sent sparks flying high in the night. That wuz kinda odd. More than kinda. That was real odd! I did not think about it much, though, because I was cold and wanted to get to the fire. I assure you that the cooler had nothing to do with my motivations. Nothing at all.

What do you suppose I saw when I got up closer to the fire? That dag blasted Little Green Dude had done gone and dragged my cooler over close to the fire, and he wuz a sitting right up on top of it. Now that messes up my plan in all kinda ways! I sat down in the squishy mud while I tried to figure out what to do.

Then that little leprechaun pulled a real mean trick on me. He pulled out his fiddle and started playing the most beautiful ballads. He sang, “What’s Your Moma’s Name?,” “ Red River Valley ,” and “Barbara Allen.” I love those old songs. And THEN the old *@#% sang the song that reached out and touched someone, and since I was the only someone there, that would be me.

The Little Green Dude sang “Put My Little Shoes Away.”

Come and bathe my forehead, Mother
For I'm growing very weak.
Let one drop of water, Mother
Fall upon my burning cheek.
Go and tell my little playmates
That I nevermore will play.
Give them all my toys, but Mother
Put my little shoes away

Santa Claus he brought them to me
With a lot of other things,
And I think he brought an angel
With a pair of golden wings.
I will be an angel, Mother
By perhaps another day.
Will you do this for me, Mother?
Put my little shoes away.

Soon the baby will be larger,
And then they'll fit his little feet.
And he'll look so nice and handsome
When he walks upon the street.
I'm going to leave you now , Dear Mother,
So remember what I say.
Will you do this for me, Mother?
Put my little shoes away.

I'm growing tired, dear Mother.
Soon I'll say to you good day.
Always remember what I told you.
Put my little shoes away.
I'm about to leave you now, Dear Mother,
So remember what I say.
Will you do this for me, Mother?
Put my little shoes away.

I am

not even going to try to tell you that I was not crying. The Little Green Dude did not even have to whip out his magic dust. He simply sang a song and played the fiddle. The Little Green Dude had me right where he wanted me. I just didn’t know it yet.

“C’mon up here by the fire, Missy,” the leprechaun whispered so softly that I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the wind whipping through the trees instead of a voice I heard. For an entire YEAR, I have planned ways to lure the Little Green Dude out of the darkness into my trap. I have imagined many scenarios where he crept from the darkness of the trees to my fire. Never did I imagine that it would be ME creeping from the trees and brush by invitation of the Little Green Dude. I built the fire. I dragged that heavy cooler to the top of the hill. I baited the trap for 2 weeks. With nothing more than the sweet sound of the fiddle and the lyrics of a sad ballad, I was reduced from predator to prey.

This ain’t good!

It wuz raining harder now, and I wuz found out anyways, so I stepped out of the shadows into the fire and offered to share my Barton’s umbrella with the leprechaun. He gladly joined me, as he whipped out a harmonica and began to play a low slow song. The music was soft and faint, and it sounded like Mother Nature sighing with satisfaction after painting a summer sunset.

When the song was finished, the Little Green Dude offered me a beer. I agreed only because I did not want to be rude. I completely forgot that it was MY beer to begin with!

The Little Green Dude started to talk about his grandmother. She had taught him all these ballads as they worked in the leprechaun garden together. The little leppie missed his Nanny something fierce. Apparently, she was one great leprechaun lady. He showed me her picture. I think she would have been real pretty if she wasn't painted up like Mimi from The Drew Cary Show.

The Little Green Dude wiped away my tears and said, “I like to think me wee daughter be like me Nanny.”

“Daughter?” I replied. “ I didn’t know . . . “.

“I know you didn’t, Lassie. I did not tell yer sweet soul because I did not want to see the tears cloud those blue eyes of yourin.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Ye done be a crying all night, Lassie! Them blue eyes will turn grey if ye cry anymore. Seemed like a good time to bring it up on accounta ye already be wet from weeping.”

“Did your daughter . . . . did she . . . . um . . . “

“ You be a wanting to know if she died when Farmer blew up our town? Sure ye do. Naw. Her mother done be a leaving me many years afore that. She took me wee lass back to Ireland when she were a might 6 year old. “

I reached out and took his little wrinkled hand in mine. “I’m sorry,” I choked out with the strained voice of tears in the bottom of my throat. We sat with our fingers entwined for about 20 minutes. No words spoken.

Mother Nature must have lost her temper with us because she let loose with hail that was first the size of peas, but grew to the size of Susan B. Anthony dollars. The Lucky Leprechaun grabbed me by the hand and began to run down the hill, across the road, and through the field.

We took shelter in the hollow of a tree. My head was spinning from the run (not the beer). It wuz cold, and I snuggled up next to the leprechaun. I remember thinking he wuz quite warm and furry before I drifted off to sleep. Warm. Really warm.

I woke up curled up with a Moma BLACK BEAR! Have you ever waked up with long hard claws in your face? The body is warm and comforting, but those claws on my face were cold and hard, like white quartz from the darkest and coldest cave. I held my breath as I carefully extracted myself from the bear and crawled out of the tree hollow. I musta lost 15 pounds gittin outta that predicament.

I sat in the woods, covered with mud, and realized that the Little Green Dude had escaped me once again.

I slipped in the mud a few times as I made my way back to my truck. What do you think I found there? A note taped to my steering wheel.

Dear Lassie,

Ye are getting soft in yer old age! I caint believe you let a little ole storm come betwixt you and the gold. I left you in safe-keeping with Moma Bear. As long as you leave Baby Bear be, she will treat you fine. Be sure to bring her some apples this summer.

I trust I will see you next year, Lassie!

With affection,
Little Green Dude, Esq.
PS: Don't forget to recycle!

As I slipped behind the seat of my truck, I heard a distinct screech from the woods.
HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! And then the low sound of a fiddle very softly playing a sad ballad. I could not quite tell where the music came from. It seemed to surround me.

Alas, another year escaped me.

I trust I will see you next year, Lester!

The Leprechaun Chronicles, v 01: I Messed Up

2010-03-03T21:07:00.023-06:00

The Leprechaun Chronicles

Volume 01 (2007)

I Messed Up

You are not going to believe how much I messed up. I had him. I caught him. I SAW the Pot of Gold. I should be calling my boss today and telling her good luck finding someone new. Unfortunately, I messed up, and I messed up really bad.

The plan worked like a lucky charm. I found a hill out in the country that is covered with daffodils, as it is well known that leprechauns love daffodils. Hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. Those little tiny yellow ones that smell so good are blooming now, along with 3 other kinds, just on this one hill. I went out Friday and found me a good spot. I gathered some wood and stacked it at the top of the hill right by a redbud tree that is in blazing bloom. The weather was beautiful Friday, with a beautiful warm sun. I stretched out right there and took me a nap.

When I woke up, I began to lay out the bait. You guys know how to bait a leprechaun, dontcha? All it takes is a little beer. The only problem is that the Little Green Dudes can’t quit handle a whole can at one time . They need a can with about an inch left at the bottom. So whatcha do is drink down almost to the bottom of the can and set the cans out in a bait trail like a Reese’s Pieces trail for ET. Then you have to build a big fire to light the path and keep you warm because it take the Little Green Dude a long time to drink all that beer and get to the top of the hill. You should always take two blankets. Naturally, you will want one to sit on because the ground is still cold this time of year. The second one serves a dual purpose. You can Wrap it around yourself to stay warm while you wait. More importantly, though, that is what you throw over the leprechaun when he gets to the top of the hill. He should be right tipsy by the time he gets to the fire. All you have to do is throw the blanket over him, and you are done. He has to show you his Lucky Charms! Oh. Wait a minute. He has to show you his pot of gold. I was thinking of a different blanket there for a minute.

It takes about 24 cans to lay the bait from the bottom of the hill to the top where the fire is. I was some kind of busy yesterday afternoon trying to get enough beer drank. I had a few from the night before, but I still had to do some serious drinking before it got dark on me. I went out just before dark to put out fresh bait and build the fire. I took a fresh jar of pickled eggs, that I made just for this occasion, and a big bag of hot pig skins to munch on while I waited. I stuck a couple of hot dogs and a wire hanger in the cooler just in case I got hungry. It didn’t take long to build the fire because I gathered wood and dry leaves on Friday when I marked my spot. I built the fire, spread out the blanket, arranged my “supplies,” and got comfortable. Then I opened a fresh beer and a bag of pig skins and began the long long wait.

It got a little cold out there, but I had a good fire. The small critters started scurrying around not too long after dark – rabbits, squirrels, coons, and the like were all around. On the other side of the dirt road at the bottom of the hill is a large field and then the woods around the Cache River. Around 9:30, the coyotes and painters started howling and crying into the night. If you have ever heard those two at the same time, you know it is a frightening, but beautiful sound. The painter’s cry sounds like a woman screaming in the forest. The soul searching howl of the coyote behind the scream of the painter can be moving. They began way off in the woods, but I could hear them more clearly when they ventured out into the field to hunt for the rodents that live there.

I got a little scared just a little after midnight. The coyotes and painters had gotten quite. That is a little unnerving because I didn’t really know for sure if they are quite because they are full or because they are watching me. I had just opened a beer and fished out a pickled egg. As I raised the egg to my lips, I saw eyes reflecting in the firelight. There was something behind a tree, and it was watching me. I threw my only weapon, the egg, but the critter didn’t flinch. I thought about throwing the beer, but let’s get real. If I am gonna get et up by a bear or a wildcat, I want to make sure I am good and marinated. I sat real still and watched those eyes staring back at me. They were hypnotic, and they were making me drowsy. I don’t know what would have happened if I had kept watching, but the spell was broken by the noise of cans rattling against each other, followed by loud cursing. The Little Green Dude had fallen down the hill knocking all the empty cans into one big pile. Whatever was watching me jumped up and ran away. From the size of it, I’d be willing to wager that it was just an ole bobcat. It could have been a small painter, though.

Naturally, I was quite excited at this point to realize that my plan was working, and there was a leprechaun in the area. From the sound of the grumbling, he was making his way back up the hill to resume his place on the bait trail. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the grumbling turned to singing. He doesn’t have a very good singing voice, but it was still nice to hear old favorites, like “Red River Valley” and “Barbara Allen.” It was mighty hard not to sing along, but I had to be very quiet as the Little Green Dude got closer. I set the last beer for the trail at the base of the tree before I took the blanket and slipped behind the tree to wait.

Boy Howdy, did I have a good plan! It worked just exactly as I had it laid out in my mind! Easy as pie, I dropped the blanket over the Little Green Dude. Oh he kicked and screamed and cursed like a leprechaun sailor, but he could not get away because I jumped on top of the blanket and held him down. After a while, he simmered down and asked, “What do ye want, Lassie?”

I had been drinking for quite a while, and we were already there on the ground, so I said, “Your Lucky Charms!”

There was a dead silence for a minute before he said in a real soft voice, “well, Lassie . . . “. Now we will never know what he would have said because I realized that I better get back to business, so I laughed a little and said, “how about that pot of gold?”

The leprechaun went to kicking and cursing again. I had had enough of that, so I put on my toughest voice (the one you use when you are talking to hard-headed teenagers) and said, “Shut that crap up! You know the rules! I caught you, and now you must show me your pot of gold.”

After a long pause, he replied, “All right, Lassie. You be right. It’s a long walk, so we best git started.”

The Little Green Dude took me by the hand and led me down the hill and across a well worn path in the field towards the woods. He noticed that I kept looking around as we crossed the fields. The leprechaun gave my hand a reassuring squeeze and said, “Don’t ye worry yerself none, Lassie. Them kaiyoteaze and painters are never out this late. Besides, I’ll tell ya a little secret. They are a skeered of us leppies! Heeeeeeeeeeee!”

It seemed like the whole world got a shade darker when we entered the woods. Now I am used to wandering in the woods at night, but I haven’t ever noticed it being this dark in the river bottoms. We walked down the river banks for a little about a mile. I could hear the catfish slapping the water, and I remember thinking, I wish I had some set hooks on me. I gotta remember this place when the catalpa worms come in.

When we came to a small beaver dam, the Little Green Dude pointed to a large cypress tree with a big hole in the base. He pointed to it and said, “See that? That’s where I was raised. Where I lived with my family as a young man.” Then he pointed to other, smaller trees (some of them in the river) where other leprechaun acquaintances had lived at various times. It sounded like his voice was cracking up a little bit. I look at the Little Green Dude, and I thought he had a tear on his cheek. He denied it. Said it was cypress dew, but it sure looked like a tear to me.

Then the little leprechaun tugged on my hand and said, “C’mon Lassie. We’re almost there.” He turned away from the river and began to lead me down a slough that went deep in the woods. About a quarter mile from the river, the path got so narrow that we could no longer hold hands. The Little Green Dude stopped and whispered to me. “Now, Lassie, ye listen to me and listen good. This part here is dangerous. Ye have to stay real quiet. There be gaters and critters ye ain’t never heerd of out there in them woods. They be evil and come from the very bowels of the earth, and they be hungry! Lassie, ye must stay right behind me. I have the magick dust that will keep them from seeing me, but it only works on ye if ye be very close to me. Do ye understand?”

Well, I have to be honest and admit that I was having second thoughts about then. Yeah, I had a couple dozen beers, but that long walk across the field and through the woods had sobered me up some. I was beginning to think maybe the gold wasn’t worth it. Then I remembered how many years I have been trying to catch the Little Green Dude. I took a deep breath and nodded my head. The leprechaun nodded his head, and motioned me closer. I got scared and said, “WAIT! Before we go in there, do you have a cigarette? I really need one right now.”

The leprechaun’s face got so red it was glowing in the dark night, and his little eyes shown green in the center with yellow where the whites should be. He almost growled at me when he said, “WHAT ARE YE TALKING ABOUT, LASSIE? DO YOU THINK THERE BE A LEPRECHAUN IN ALL OF TARNATION THAD PUT A CANCER STICK IN HIS MOUTH?” He stomped around a little bit and kicked a couple of trees. After a few minutes, he began to cool off and his color got back to normal. He asked me to sit down, so he could look me straight in the eyes. With a grave voice, the Little Green Dude said, “Now Lassie, I kanst not protect ye if ye be a smoker. The magick durnst not work on smokers. You should turn back right now. I kainst even be sure that I kin git ye back to the river, but I kin try.”

I piped right up and told the Little Green Dude that I quit smoking already. He laughed at me, as if he did not believe me. However, when I told him that I had not had a cigarette for 138 days, he hugged me! Seriously! He HUGGED me. Then he said, “well, c’mon, Lassie, we ain’t got all night to get to me den. Ye have to be outta here by first light, or else ye must stay fir ever. “ With that, the leprechaun pulled green dust out of his pocket and threw it in the air. The little ball of dust went up in the air about 7 feet before it exploded like a fire cracker of green lights that drifted like snow around us. The Little Green Dude brought his finger to his lips and said, “Shsssssssh. Remember I kainst ot protect ye if ye are not right behind me.” With that we entered the darkest part of the woods.

The “path” was very narrow and it was strewn with rocks and roots, making it difficult to keep from falling. The slough changed from muddy water moving slowly towards the river to a much darker and thicker liquid that bubbled and gurgled. It looked a bit like tar boiling in a witch’s cauldron. The night turned pitch dark and a misty fog began to rise off the bubbling water. Even though there was not light for reflection, I could still see yellow eyes out in the water watching me. Every now and again, a bat or a crow would swoop down between me and the Little Green Dude. There were huge birds in the woods, too. They looked like small pterodactyls, and when they flapped their leathery wings, it sounded like the forest was letting out a long hot sigh. Once a bat flew too close and got tangled in my hair, clinging to my neck with its cold feet. Before I had a chance to scream, the Little Green Dude, put his hand over my mouth, looked me straight in the eye, and shook his head, as if to say, please don’t scream. Then he carefully plucked the bat out of my hair and let it fly away.

Suddenly I saw a light in front of us, and we stopped just outside an opening in the woods where the remnants of a fire smoldered. As I was about to step into the opening, something brushed against my ankle and lower leg. At first it felt like someone was lightly rubbing a feather against my skin. It tickled a little, and it felt nice . . . maybe even relaxing . . . after our stressful journey through the woods. I relaxed for just a moment, and then whatever was brushing so lightly on my leg wrapped itself around my ankle like a vine and started tugging me backward. The Little Green Dude quickly turned around and sprinkled some of his green dust on my foot. The vine dried up and broke away, and the Little Green Dude pulled me over the threshold into his leprechaun living room. He gave me a little hug and said, “Ye be safe here, Lassie.”

I was shaken, but I was also amazed at my surroundings. A bright full moon shone over this clearing, even though it is not time for a full moon right now. The fire was little more than embers, but the moon gave the clearing the soft lighting that lamps provide in our homes. The Little Green Dude took me over to 2 cypress stumps and asked me to sit while he gathered wood to stoke the fire. I sat on the shorter stump. Suddenly I was cold and shaking. The Little Green Dude noticed. He brought me a beer and said, “Here, Lassie, drink this. It will warm ye bones.” In a few minutes the fire was blazing and warming us both.

As soon as I got warmed up a little, I remembered why I was in the woods to begin with. I demanded to see “my” pot of gold. The leprechaun snorted, “Don’t ye mean MY gold. I be the one whut pertected it all these years!” I admitted that I had gotten a little carried away, but reminded him that I would be taking the gold with me because that was the promise. He nodded and motioned for me to follow him. We went over to a tree that had a painting of a beautiful Lady Leprechaun hanging on it. The Little Green Dude kicked away some leaves and moss at the base of this tree. Underneath there was an old worn out rug. The leprechaun picked the rug up and gave it a little shake to reveal a wooden door in the ground.

We walked down into a structure that resembles a storm shelter. I said as much to the little leprechaun. He laughed at me and said, “Well, Lassie, we are living in tornado alley. Ye think ye humans are the only ones that tornados hurt?” I felt a little ashamed of myself for making such a stupid statement. At the bottom of the stairs, there was another door. When the Little Green Dude opened that door, the whole room was brightly lit. Don’t ask me how. It just was. The pot of gold sat in the middle of the room, and it is HUGE. I never imagined it to be so large. It is at least as big as my truck. There is a ladder on the side because, naturally, the Little Green Dude needs to be able to get to the top. I am still amazed at the massive size of this pot full of gold. I asked the Little Green Dude how much gold there is here. He nodded and replied, “about 3 million in American dollars.” I could hardly believe it.

“I never dreamed there would be so much,” I whispered.

“Why do you think they call it the CACHE River, Lassie,” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

The Little Green Dude tugged on my arm, and motioned towards the door. “Let’s go get warm by the fire. I have showed ye me gold. Ye will be taking it away from me soon, and then I will have nothing to guard anymore. At least keep me company and share a beer before ye leave. I don’t often have the company.” He had such a wistful lonely look in his face that I could not resist (not to mention I ain’t never been one to turn down a beer). So we started back up the steps.

I sat down on the shorter cypress stump again while the Little Green Dude went after the beer. When he came back, he handed me a beer and climbed up on the taller stump. This arrangement put us eye to eye for the first time. I took a sip of my beer and turned to the painting on the tree, asking, “Is that your mother?”

The Little Green Dude dropped his eyes and slowly shook his head. “No, Lassie. That there be the love of me life. “

“So . . . you are married?”

“Aw. No, Sweet Lassie. Ourn love weren’t meant to be.”

“What happened to her,” I whispered.

The Little Green Dude sat in silence for a minute before he wiped the tears away, raised his head, and asked if I was ready for another beer. Not wanting to appear rude, I agreed to join him in just one more. While he was gone after the beers, I thought about how much different he was from what I expected. I always thought leprechauns were happy and full of energy – even a bit rowdy. I never thought of them as romantics. That’s why I asked again after we opened our beers, “What happened to her?”

“It be a long story, Lassie.”
I winked at him and asked, “Did ya have something else planned?”

The Little Green Dude put another log on the fire and took a deep draw from his beer before he began his story.

“I not be a young leprechaun, Lassie. I be 88 year old in 2 more moons. I be all alone out here in these woods now, but it hasn’t always been that way. There used to be hundreds of usins out here in these here woods.”

The little leprechaun had my attention, so I asked, “What happened to the others?”

“That be a sad and tragick story, Lassie. Remember the tree I showed ye back by the beaver dam?”

I nodded in silence.

“Well, Lassie, that there used to be one big beaver dam, and there used to be hundreds of usins. You know, Lassie, that leprechauns usually live with the beavers. Ye know how youins like to habitate with dogs and cats?”

I chuckled a little at his choice of words, and nodded my head, “yes.”

“Well, it be the same with leprechauns and beavers. I kaint says why. I kin only tell ye that there be something about them critters that we love. They are loyal friends. If one of ourins gits drunk and falls in the river, his beaver will slap his tail on the water and flip his leprechaun back up on the bank. They bring us wood fir ourin fires. Sometimes they even sleep in our little beds at night. Now, I never could allow a beaver in me bed, but I shore do love spending the day hunting berries with one.” The Little Green Dude smiled then, and fetched us another beer.

“It’s them damn farmers that messed everything up. That’s why I try to slip around and let the air out of their tires. I take parts offen their combines during harvest. I steal their beer!” He raises his can to me as he says this.

Then he looks for a long time at the painting of the Lady Leprechaun. With a more serious voice, he began to tell the story. “ I were about 20 year old when I first seen that lovely thang there. Her name was Lolita Leprechaun. Moma didn’t like Lolita. At first Moma wouldn’t even let her in our tree. I remember Moma saying, ‘that girl acts like a high bred beaver.’ One year on May Day, Lolita ventured out to the edge of the woods and found a strawberry patch. Now my Moma sure nuff did love her strawberries, and when Lolita brung her 2 big buckets of berries, Moma broke down and begun to love her just a little. It weren’t too long before Moma was telling me I needed to settle down. She wanted me to quit drinking and ‘make something of myself,’ so Lolita would want to marry me. Now I wuz taken with Lolita all right, but I sure did like me beers!

Lolita would flirt withen me, but she wernt nevah evah gonna say she loved an old drunk. She loved me good enough, but she wanted me to quit my drinking ways. I tried to splain that this just wernt natural for a leprechaun not to drink. I stopped drinkin for a while, though, and we had a dream romance. We spent our days walking in the woods and playing like children in the shallow water. We each had a beaver, and they kept us safe.

Then I slipped. It were 67 year ago today. I wuz supposed to meet Lolita over in that same daffodil field where I found you. The men were all gathering nuts – acorns, I think. I slipped away and headed towards the daffodil hill. This day I slipped back to my drinking ways, though. Hey! It’s Spring, and I caught a little spring in my step. By the time Lolita got to the daffodil field, I wuz passed out. I nevah even knowed she be there.”
The Little Green Dude climbed off his perch on the cypress knee and pulled a tattered piece of paper out of his pocket. He handed it to me and went after another beer. It was a goodbye note from Lolita. Parts of it were smudged with watermarks. I like to think it was her tears, but it was written a long time ago. When the Little Green Dude came back, he handed me a beer, and I handed him the tattered note. We exchanged no words as the leprechaun climbed back up on his cypress stump. He took a long draw on his beer before he started speaking again.

“A noise so loud that it shook the earth woke me up. At first I wuz disoriented. I wuz still drunk, ye see. Then the earth rumbled underneath me a second time, and I began to understand what had happened. I jumped up and screamed ‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!’ into the clear crisp air. Across the field I could see a tuft of smoke rising over the river. Birds cluttered the air as they flew away from the smoke. I started running. I ran until it hurt to breathe air into my lungs. I could breathe out, but I had to study on getting the air back in my lungs. I had to slow down. I had to catch my breath.

When I finally got back home, there was nothing left. The beaver dam was gone. Blown up by a dag blasted farmer. Dynomite. Lots of dynomite. The farmers are a selfish lot. They only think of themselves. They steal the water out of the river for their rice, never considering how important that water is to the livelihood of the wilderness. Our homes were flooded. There were bodies everywhere – in the trees, in the water. Later I would find them in the houses. Some were never accounted for. I buried them all. Every one of them. I was the only one left. The only one . . . “.

The Little Green Dude took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. Then he turned his beer up and drank it deep. He said, “Drink up, Lassie. We will have one more beer together before I help ye back out of the forest.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes and said, “I better not. It will take me a long time to get all of the gold back to my truck. Will you help me?”

The Little Green Dude flashed a big grin and said, “Aw, Lassie! Ye doent not ave to kerry the gold back to yer truck.” He pulled a handful of green dust out of his pocket and said, “This dust has the power to transport heavy loads out of the forest with no effort, Lassie. Please have just one more beer with me.”

Well, I didn’t want to be rude, so I agreed to just one more beer.

It was after 11:00 am when I woke up. I was stretched out in the middle of daffodils in bloom – right back on the hill where I started the long night that led to my journey in the woods. The feeling of dry cotton in my mouth was a stark contrast to the heady smell of the daffodils in bloom. I sat up and tried to get oriented. I was on the blanket beside what was left of the fire. The last few knots of wood still crackled and popped. I got up and stumbled towards my truck, wondering if the events of the night before were real.

A single beer stood tall on the hood of my truck. Under the beer, which was somehow ice cold, was a note written on a paper towel from my truck. The note read:

THE LEGEND ONLY SAYS I HAVE TO SHOW YOU MY GOLD. I DID THAT, LASSIE. I ENJOYED THE COMPANY. MAYBE I CAN CATCH YOU AGAIN NEXT YEAR.

I need a beer.

Another Snow Storm: February 8, 2010

2010-02-08T18:34:00.019-06:00

My son got this weather gauge for Christmas.

Who knew he would wear it out the first year?

It was barely daylight when the first shot was snapped from my porch.

I walked to and through Stewart Park this morning.

Most of these were taken on the walk to or in the park.

Measurement taken around 4:00 pm.

It was still snowing when darkness crept upone the serene white.

Snow Celebration for a Half-Century

2010-01-31T21:47:00.016-06:00

January 29, 2010

Snow came to celebrate the anniversary of my 29th birthday!

2:00
Just at 4 inches of snow.
4:30
2.5 hours later we had topped 8 inches.

January 30 - After Snow Blow

It snowed heavily for at least 3 hours after the 4:30 reading, so this one can hardly be accurate.

Walking in the snow is good exercise.

Step into my woods!

Walking Park at Stewart Park.

Back home Lester laughs because I almost fell.

Inside my birthday flowers warm me from the inside out.

Can You Dumb That Down For Me?

2010-01-24T12:46:00.015-06:00

I recently heard two statements that I find disturbing. Let me begin with a disclaimer that I have not researched the validity of either. I am responding on the basis that perception is truth (and sometimes it is).

A. Arkansas high school students are not meeting the minimum standards for math; thus we need to lower the minimum.
B. The Arkansas Challenge Scholarship has a disproportionate distribution to African American students because the ACT minimum is too high; thus we need to lower the minimum.

Obviously, I am paraphrasing, but this is the essence of the statements. The bottom line is Arkansas is being called upon to lower minimum standards because we are not performing on an acceptable level. Can you dumb that down for me?

College remediation is like a small stream in a dark cave that trickles along and eventually touches everything in the cave system. Students who need remediation in math, English, or reading have added expenses and a delayed graduation. Parents of these students are charged with finding additional funding. Colleges are charged with providing staff for leaning and tutoring centers, in addition to the extra educational needs for instructors who teach the remedial curriculum. Taxpayers finance a good portion of remedial instruction and required materials by funding grants and scholarships that students use to pay for education. Nearly everyone in the state is touched by the trickle down of college remediation in some manner.

The 2007 legislature created the Access to Success Task Force to address this and other problems in the Arkansas educational system. Their findings (based on the 2007-2008 academic year) on remediation are stunning. Nearly 40% of student enrollment in 4 year institutions of higher learning needed remediation (English 22.5%, Math 33%, Reading 21%). I read that number and sat with my mouth gaping as wide as I thought possible . . . until I read the next chart. Nearly 78% of student enrollment in 2 year institutions needed remediation (English 48%, Math 67%, Reading 42%).

Based on these numbers, it is fair to say high school students are graduating without basic skills in readin, ritin, and rithmatic. Sending a student to college without basic skills is paramount to sending him into that dark cave with a candle -- but no matches. Colleges are reacting by building learning centers and providing tutoring. Is that the answer, or does it provide a manner for institutions of higher ed to dumb it down? Obviously, a portion of the population believes that we should dumb down higher education because we hear these demands for lowering the minimum standards for entering and financing higher ed. However, some will argue that colleges should not provide remediation at all. Colleges do not receive funding that is based on or addresses the need for remediation in the classroom or learning centers.

The time when college is a privilege granted to students with exceptional academic skills and plentiful financial resources are gone. Anyone can go to college today. Thus we accept underprepared students and strive to catch them up. Instead, we need to narrow that gaping abyss between high school and college. This may mean changing the relationship between colleges and high schools. That might mean creating an office of outreach to work as a liaison between colleges and high schools. It might mean a reward or bonus system for teachers who take additional courses or workshops that enable them to better prepare students. It might mean bringing back Summer School for schools or students who fail to meet minimum standards.

I do no not pretend to know all of the nuts and bolts behind how the Arkansas educational system got into this situation or what we need to do to get out of it. I am merely an observer. Obviously, there is more to it than what we observe on the surface, but one thing has had a huge impact on the system. That is funding. High schools have to perform on the Benchmark exams to keep funding, so students are taught to take a test. Where is the critical thinking? The question is pointless if students do not know how to read or articulate critical thoughts. Can you dumb that down for me?

New college funding rewards graduation and retention numbers. Unfortunately, we need more funds to serve the underprepared students. Should we push these students through the higher ed system without caring about the quality of education they receive? Sometimes it seems like that is what the State wants us to do. Leave no child behind. Dumb it down. Get those numbers up. Do what it takes to make it look pretty on the surface.

And the consequence? We are graduating educators who do not know how to educate those high school students who will become college students who need remediation in order to get an education to educate others.

Unless Arkansas finds a way to infuse education with higher standards and provide the necessary services to meet those standards, we will always be have the image of an ignorant hillbilly. Wait . . . the hillbilly can do enough math to prosper selling shine.

They Smile Back

2010-01-17T10:54:00.011-06:00

We have all seen that movie where the wife sneaks some type of nearly undetectable poison into her husband’s food. They call her the Black Widow because she moves on to another hubby as soon as she gets her insurance check on the dear departed. It is the same old plot, time and time again.

I have not seen the variation where the Black Widow is actually a daughter, but that is what I feel like right now. Over the holidays I dug out the recipe for my mothers Old Timey Sour Dough bread. It is delicious, but it takes a couple of days to make. I took the first loaf to Daddy, and he loved it so much that I got busy and made another batch. There is very little that I can do to brighten Daddy’s day, but this seemed to do the trick. I made myself a little vow to take him bread every week.

Daddy is on a very restrictive diet, and potassium is his worst enemy. He has to watch it very carefully and never eat any of the good foods, like taters and naners, that are full of potassium. We talked about the ingredients before he ate any. I told him there is nothing here but flour and a few spices. A very little bit of sugar. It seemed safe enough to eat . . .

. . . UNTIL Daddy went to the doctor for a routine check-up. Blood tests exposed an extraordinary and dangerous amount of potassium. Thus, my father was prescribed a rather nasty medicine to take. Where could that have come from? He had been so very careful about what he ate.

It was the bread. Even though I am the one who made the starter and the bread, it never occurred to me that the potatoes in the starter contained enough potassium to kill my father. With every slice of bread, I poisoned my father. As soon as he finished one loaf, I was busy making another one. It goes without saying that I never meant to hurt my father. I love him. I adore him. My relationship with him is a close one, and I cannot imagine life without him. Still yet, without even thinking about it, I was hurting him.

Sadly, it is not unusual for us to hurt the people we love without realizing what we are doing. The truth is that we spend a lot more time trying not to hurt, offend, inconvenience Stranger on the Street than we do our own family. We live in this polite society where we plaster a smile on our faces, even when we are doing something unpleasant OR having someone treat us in an unpleasant manner. When we go home to the people we love, all the poisonous hurt and insults that have been suppressed all day comes to the surface and spews out like hot lava. Our loved ones cannot help but contracting some of the poison, and we do not even realize it is there.

The most obvious way that we hurt our loved ones is by mouth. When the counterfeit smile is gone, ugly words and a sharp tongue are unloosed. Nothing poisons our relationships with father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sister, and friend more than the words that slip out of our mouth. They cannot be taken back, and “I’m sorry” is only a Band-aid for a gaping wound.

There are other ways we hurt the ones we love. Time is our most precious relationship commodity. I regret all the ballgames I missed, so I could work overtime or take a nap before supper. Why did I tell the children to go watch TV when we could have been playing a game, taking a walk, cooking together? But they understood that I was too tired or had work to do. Right? That is what I thought at the time, but the reality is I was hurting them. I did not know it. I did not mean to. Still yet, I was poisoning my relationship with my children just as surely as I was poisoning my father with potassium.

The antidote is love. Devote more time to your loved ones. Say I love you more frequently. Spend Sunday afternoon playing a card game or monopoly or fishing together. If you can suppress those bad feelings and slap on a smile for a disagreeable stranger, you can do it for your family. Indeed, it is even easier because they smile back!

Grandma Got Run Over by a Wii Dear

2009-12-26T13:08:00.015-06:00

When I was a child, we had one television and one telephone in the house. The television had three channels IF the wind was blowing just right. If you wanted to know what was happening in Memphis, instead of Little Rock, someone had to go outside and manually turn the antenna. Someone else had to stand at the door watching the screen and shout when the picture came in. Of course, a bit of fine tuning and colorful language was usually exchanged before the picture was clear enough to watch. We were rarely allowed on the telephone. It was a party line, and good neighbors did not tie up the line with chit chat. No computers. No video games.

We did have books to read. Back then a book was a lot of pages of paper bound together – about 4 inches wide and 6 inches long. Sometimes they had a paper cover with a nice picture, and sometimes they had a hard cover. They were much thicker than a Kindle and could be 300-400 pages long. The great thing about the old-fashioned books is they needed no batteries. No power source required.

We climbed trees. We swam in rice wells and creeks. We rode bikes and horses. I spent the majority of my summers in a tree with one of those 4”X6” block of pages bound together with a glue spine. Treats were whatever fruit was in season, usually right in the field or orchard with no washing. Every great once in a while, my brother and I were allowed to split a coke and a candy bar between us. Sometimes we got homemade ice cream, but you had to expend a lot of energy in churning it. I am certain that torturous exercise burned more calories than the ice cream provided! The majority of children were fit and happy. We learned through discovery, not computers.

We entertained ourselves.

Today’s child has to be entertained. They cannot ride in the car for 30 minutes without a DVD. Our cars come equipped with all the gadgets to entertain the child, which has become much more important than comfort for Mom and Dad. Some children still have bikes, but they hate to ride them because it takes 30 minutes to get strapped into the helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, shoulder pads, chest padding, and mouth guard.

Video games are the main form of entertainment for children today. They have televisions in their rooms equipped with video games and dvd players. They have cell phones with video games on them. They have computers with video games on them. Some of them are “educational games,” but where are these kids getting their exercise? They aren’t.

At least they weren’t. Now we have Wii. Wii Sport comes with bats and tennis rackets, so our children can get their exercise in front of the television! What a marvelous idea!

My grandson got a Wii with Wii Sports for his birthday. I am staying with him for a few days, and he is really getting his exercise. I tried to get him to go for a walk with me or ride his bike while I walked. No way! He wants to play with his Wii. Lucky for me, I still have a few of those 4”X6” books that I carry with me when I travel. I decided to curl up in a sunny spot and read while Christian got his exercise/entertainment. That was fine when he was bowling.

I was deeply engrossed in Silas House’s newest novel, Eli the Good, when the Wii Dear decided to play tennis. My daughter has a nice large living room, but tennis is a very active game. I thought I had been hit in the face with a virtual ball when the Wii Dear stepped backwards and popped me in the eye on his back swing. Who would have thought that a video game could be so dangerous?

The last time we got better technology, parents had to rush out and buy a new car with a dvd player and charging stations for PSP, cell phones, and other gaming devices. I foresee a booming real estate market as parents rush out of find houses with large dens or play rooms to accommodate their Wii Dear’s gaming needs.

I will finish my book when the swelling in my eye goes down a bit.

Song of Grasshopper

2009-11-11T22:25:00.012-06:00

For Melissa

There is no sweeter music than the Song of Grasshopper. Only the female grasshopper sings this song. The male grasshoppers cannot sing it at all because they do not know the notes. The song is passed from mother to daughter throughout the generations. Should a grasshopper daughter lose her mother to some tragic force of nature before she learns the song, her eldest Auntie Grasshopper is responsible for taking the young daughter under her wing until she learns the song. Because grasshoppers have terrible body odor, it usually doesn’t take very long for the young orphan to learn the song because that is the only way she can escape the under wing odor of her Auntie.

It was most unfortunate for Gabriella Grasshopper when she lost her mother, Ginger, when she was but a few days old. Gabriella had many aunts, but none of them could remember for certain which one was the oldest. Truth be known, it was most likely that Auntie Godiva was the oldest, but she suffered from Grassenheimer Disease and was not in any shape to carry a young orphan under her wing.

The other aunts argued about who should be responsible for Gabriella. None of them really wanted her because they all wanted to hop around in the all-night gardens at the nearby college. All of the young handsome male grasshoppers lived in the campus dorms at Grassy State University. The aunts were hopping wild in those days and could not be bothered with young Gabriella while so many young men were strutting about their long spindly legs. For many years, Gabriella was tossed from one aunt to the next, but none of them could be bothered to take the young orphan under her wing. That is why Gabriella Grasshopper grew up without any supervision.

Gabriella was a true child of nature. She was left to hop about as it pleased her. For a long time she was content to stay in the flower gardens near Auntie Godiva’s house. A nice sprinkler went off and gave Gabriella and Auntie Godiva a delightfully refreshing shower in the late afternoons. Gabriella enjoyed hopping through the water as she tried to jump over the tiny rainbows that shone behind the waters. Sometimes Auntie Godiva joined Gabriella in her afternoon games, an act that made the neighbors hopping mad as it was not fitting for a lady of Auntie Godiva’s age to hop about like this. Most of the time, Auntie Godiva stayed in the shady shadows and left Gabriella to raise herself.

As a teenager, Gabriella grew a wild leg and passed through a rebellious period. She grew tired of nibbling on the bountiful crab grass and started munching marigolds, which were only supposed to be consumed on Saturday with the sweet dew of fresh Miracle Gro. Gabriella had not learned that treats should be consumed in moderation. One day Gabriella noticed that her back legs were a bit larger than the other grasshopper girls her age. Auntie Godiva warned Gabriella that she would become overweight if she continued to over-indulge in the marigolds. She thought a little extra hopping about would prevent weight gain. Besides, she had heard that you would not gain any weight at all if you drank from the muddy ditch 3 times a day. She was to learn better.

One day a gang of grasshopper gals asked Gabriella to spend the day with them, and she was delighted to join them! The girl grasshopper gang took Gabriella to the corn fields. Auntie Godiva had sheltered Gabriella from the wicked ways of grasshoppers who frequent the corn fields. The girls of the grasshopper gang soon convinced Gabriella to nibble on the corn. She had never been high before and fell off the ear of corn into the hollow of the corn stalk after just one kernel. After only 2 visits, Gabriella Grasshopper was hooked on corn. She enjoyed the delicious high of the delicate kernels. After she ate herself high, Gabriella napped in the folds of the leaves until the big irrigation machine drenched her with sobering water. Then she went home to gorge herself on marigolds.

One day Gabriella paused over her reflection in the goldfish pond, and she could not believe what she saw. “When did I gain all this weight,” Gabriella asked. “How could this be?” For the first time in her life, Gabriella experienced depression. She knew just want to do for such a low feeling. Off to the corn fields she went. After that she ate marigolds until she fell asleep in the marigold bed. Very slowly Gabriella got into a terrible habit of eating at odd times and for comfort. She grew larger and larger until it took a great effort for her to get up the stalk to gorge herself on the corn that brought her a temporary bliss. Eventually, Gabriella became so overweight that she had to drag her huge back legs behind her. She lost her hop. She became known as Gabriella the Grouch because she was mean to everyone around her.

One day Gabriella heard a low scratchy voice from the side of the row as she slowly made her way to the corn field, dragging her heavy legs behind her. It was the voice of a huge spider. “Hey there, Hoppin Hunny! Come on over here. Old Fat Arachnid has something for you .” Gabriella had never seen such a creature as Fat Arachnid, and she was fascinated with him. He motioned for her to come back behind the corn rows with him. With an excited trepidation, Gabriella started his way.

Suddenly, from out of no where, jumped a ethereally tall and thin lady grasshopper. Gabriella had seen photographs of the all woman Grassazon tribe of grasshoppers before, but she thought they were long endstink. She was in shock to see this valiant warrior here in the corn rows. The tall grasshopper warrior jumped right between Gabriella and Fat Arachnid.

“What DO YOU think you are doing?” the tall one asked Gabriella.
“Not that it is any of YOUR business, she is going for a walk with me,” Fat Arachnid interrupted as he dangled a plump kernel of corn before the two grasshoppers.

Gabriella made an effort to jump past the Grassazon warrior, but she could not move as quickly as she used to. She could not get around. The warrior kicked Fat Arachnid backwards with the swift action of her back leg, and he was knocked unconscious for several hours.

The Grassazon warrior gave Gabriella a stern look and said, “I was a friend of your mother, Gabriella. We learned to sing together and were inseparable until Ginger’s unforeseen and untimely death.”

“SO?” challenged Gabriella.

“ I am here because your Aunt Godiva called with the Song of the Grasshopper. She told me that no one has ever taken you under the wing, and I am here to fix that problem. First, though, you must lose some weight. Your back legs are much to big to fit up under my wing.”

Gabriella started to back away from the Grassazon warrior. She needed corn.

“My name is Gay Gisella Grasshopper. Most people call me Gisella, but Ginger always called me Gay. She said I brought happiness to her life. It is time for me to do the same for you my dear. Come away from the corn with me.”

Gabriella was overcome by the maternal kindness of this stranger and agreed to go with her. Gay Gisella took Gabriella to a cool place under the shadow of a large rock. She showed Gabriella photographs of Ginger when Ginger was a young girl, peeking from beneath the wing of her own mother. She also had photographs of Ginger singing the Song of the Grasshopper.

“You know, Gabriella, your mother was very excited the day she laid your egg. She tried for several years to lay an egg, and you were a dream come true to her. Ginger spent many hours planning out your grassette and dreaming about taking you under her wing. I’m sorry you never knew her.”

Gabriella softly cried. “It is too late for me to learn the Song of Grasshopper now. Why did this happen to me?”

“Shoosh now,” crooned Gay Gisella. “We cannot question the Grass God. There is a reason for everything. “ Gay Gisella gently wiped Gabriella’s tears away. “I should have come to you a long time ago, Gabriella. I did not come because it was not my place to step in. Your aunts should have taken you under the wing. Auntie Godiva did what she could, but she is not able to take you under the wing. I cannot undo what is done, but I can take you under the wing now.”

“No you can’t! My back legs are too big now,” sniffled Gabriella.

“This is true my dear. However, this is not a problem that cannot be fixed. You just need a good diet and extra exercise. We will have you hopping again in no time.”

“Oh no. I cannot do it. I love corn and marigolds. I cannot give them up. It is TOO HARD!” Gabriella was already looking back towards the corn patch.

“Oh yes you CAN do it, Little Missy,” Gay Gisella said sternly. “And did you even hear anyone say you cannot have corn or marigolds? You can have them. You just need a plan. My own mother was a grassitition, so I can help with this.”

For 3 months, Gabriella had a breakfast of 1 dandelion bud with a little milkweed. She had another dandelion with milkweed and a nice cup of honeysuckle nectar. The fiber and protein filled breakfast and lunch satisfied Gabriella most days, and that allowed her to have a scrumptious dinner of corn and crabgrass. Every Saturday she was allowed to munch marigolds after her exercise.

After 2 weeks, Gabriella was making small and not so painful hops again.

After 2 months, Gabriella was hop hop hopping around the block.

At the end of the 4th month, Gabriella had lost enough weight to fit under Gay Gisella’s wing. The comfort from winged nurturing was something that Gabriella had longed for all of her life. Gay Gisella the Grassazon Warrior taught the orphan the Song of Grasshopper.

Two short years later, the graceful Gabriella Grasshopper won the Entertainer of the Grass Award for her heart-wrenching performance of Song of Grasshopper. Gabriella sang the song in memory of her mother and dedicated it to Gay Gisella.

The next day Gabriella took Gay Gisella aside and explained that they were about to embark on the slow process of whittling the excess crabgrass from Gay Gisella’s back legs. This was an enormous task for an old grasshopper like Gay Gisella, but Gabriella knew she could make losing weight fun for her friend.

This happy story, my grasshopper friends, end with a hug and large love.

The Soon To Be Slim End

Blessed With Bad Hair

2009-08-20T21:49:00.004-05:00

I always start feeling sorry for myself about this time in the summer. I did not get to do half the things that I wanted to, and the summer is gone. I spent too much time doing “whatever” that I don’t even remember, and now I have to catch up all that work that I should have been doing in June. My hair has gotten so long that it just hangs limp and looks dirty, even when it is barely dry from washing, and hangs in my eyes, and the only time I had to get it cut, they were closed. It looks like I might have to start school with a bad haircut, and what will my students think? I haven’t even had a chance to visit with Daddy since Sunday. Now I don’t even have time to schedule sleep because there is too much for me to do before school starts on Monday, so I just stay up and feel sorry for myself.

Let’s add to that a summer cold. A really rotten summer cold with a sore throat. It has been 4-5 years since I have had a cold. I am certain that colds avoid me because I am such a horrid person to be around when I get one. I want to crawl into bed and have someone take care of me. Now I go and get one when taking off work is not even an option. If you can’t take off work and stay in bed, no one can possibly respect the intensity of your illness. We are much too busy at work for me to call in sick, so I just go in and feel even more sorry for myself.

Let’s add another layer to the madness and paint the office. I have never had a problem with paint before, but I did today. I could not breathe. I broke out in a rash. I got high as a kite. I am fairly certain I suffered depression as I came down off the high, and that made me REALLY feel sorry for myself. I haven’t talked to Daddy this week. I need a hair cut. I need sleep. I need 4 more hours to work every day. I need to slam that phone across the room if it rings one more time. Yes, I feel sorry for myself.

Then the phone rang one more time. It was one of my students. Rather it was a young lady who was scheduled to be one of my students beginning Monday. That makes her one of mine, just like my own child. Call her Jane, for the sake of privacy. Jane was calling from Le Bonheur Hospital in Memphis. She had been transferred around the University 3 times before she found my card and called me. Jane won’t be here next week because her 2 year old son is in critical condition. He was in a car accident on 351 last Monday. Jane’s mother and 20 year old brother were killed in that accident, and her son is in critical condition.

The rest of the afternoon I was mad at myself and mad at the world, I guess. How can life be so unfair? Why does this child, who is raising a child, have to suffer this horrific loss just as she is trying to put her life on the right track? What purpose could possibly be served in a 2 year old in ICU . . . critical condition? How does a young woman mourn her mother and brother while she sits by her child praying for his life.

I thank God that my appearance is my worst problem today. Tomorrow I shall rejoice in my rash, baggy eyes, and bad haircut because I am blessed that these are the problems God gave me for today.

Alien Invasion: Convincing the World

2009-08-15T13:01:00.005-05:00

You know how the sky looks right at the end of summer when the heated haze has cleared? The blues and whites are crisp and clear. They are well defined and no longer blend together the way potatoes and gravy do when you have squished too much food on your plate. I love watching the sky when it looks like that.

That’s the kind of day it was. The air was as crisp as the colors of the sky. I walked through a town that looked like it came right out of the past. All the houses were white, and they were all 2 or 3 stories. The front porches were wide and long. I stopped in front of a house that had 2 rocking chairs and several ferns arranged on the neatly swept front porch. It looked like a picture postcard. The life of the house, though, was around back where there was another porch. This one was screened. It wasn’t as neat as the front porch. The glider was covered with an old worn quilt and 4 discarded throw pillows. It looked mighty comfortable to me. A small basket of apples sat perched on one of the wooden steps to the back porch. A larger basket was full of potatoes . Each side of the screen door was decorated with strings of fresh onions and garlic hanging out to dry. A large pile of purple hull pea hulls was right beside the steps. The gentle wind teased the dried and hardened hulls and threatened to blow them all over the back yard, which was decorated with bikes and trikes, as well as ball bats and other remnants of childhood.

The houses seemed to belong to another time, but the people living there were familiar. I saw friends, family, and a few acquaintances from work. Beyond the happy chirping of birds, I could hear children laughing as they played around the corner. It was a happy day. A lazy happy day.

Then I saw something strange in the sky. It looked like a train of hot air balloons. Very odd balloons, though. A covered wagon and team took the lead. A castle brought up the rear. The balloons in the middle looked like an apple tree and a boat. I told you it was strange!

It looked like the balloons were going to land, so I cut out running in that direction. They were descending over a freshly cut rice field just outside of town. I stood watching them in awe as they slowly came closer and closer. Can you believe no one else was around? Where were all the people? Surely someone besides me had seen this curiosity in the sky! No one else was about, though. I was all alone, but it never occurred to me that I should be frightened.

Until they landed.

It turns out that they were not hot air balloons at all. They were alien spacecraft. The doors to the castle opened first. Out stepped Dorothy and Toto. I wanted to rush towards her in excitement, but something was not right. Dorothy’s face had no emotion, and her eyes were dull - like a robot She was quickly followed by another Dorothy and Toto. And then another. Soon there must have been 50 of them standing in the field, facing the town.

The Scarecrow stepped down from the driver’s seat of the covered wagon and team. Immediately after Scarecrow joined the first Dorothy, many more robot-like Scarecrows disembarked from the back of the covered wagon. Dorothy, Toto, and Scarecrow were soon joined by Tinmen jumping from the apple tree and Cowardly Lions climbing out of the boat. As soon as the group assembled in teams of 5 (Dorothy, Toto, Scarecrow, Tinman, and Cowardly Lion), they began a slow march towards town. All of them had emotionless faces and dull blank eyes. They advanced with a slow methodic pace.

I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew they were evil. I knew they were coming to kill us all, and I knew it would not be painless. I ran back to town harder than I have ever run in my life. My legs were shaking. My chest ached with every single breath. My throat burned from screaming.

Now let me ask you, how easy do you think it is to convince folks that the town is being invaded by aliens from the Land of OZ?

I wish they would come loosen these straps. My arms are aching.

I never have any visitors . . .

Energy

2009-08-04T22:34:00.005-05:00

Energy.

Sometimes it eludes us. Sometimes it is there, and we do not even know why. We suck up vitamins, smoothies, and caffeine hoping to boost our energy. If you asked me from where I draw my energy, I would probably say my family. Daddy, my children, my GRANDchildren, my brothers, my BEST friend. My energy comes from the love we share.
There is little truth in that, though. These people give me a reason for living, not the energy to do so.

We had a retreat at work today. I might mention that I will soon be celebrating the 1 year anniversary of the BEST job I have ever had. Unlike all of the other events of this type that I have attended before, this one energized me. Why? I am working with energized and HAPPY people. I think my Director and Dean sleep in little pink bunny suits. They keep going and going and going. They don’t run off and leave you eating their fluffy pink dust. They prop you up on their little drums and carry you along with them. They make you WANT to live your life WITH them, as opposed to FOR them.

We are all responsible for our own energy. We cannot buy it in a bottle at the drug store or on the beverage isle of the supermarket. Energy is contagious. We get it from other people, not from things we put in our mouths. I don’t believe that I have ever had so much enthusiasm about a job. I am excited about every day. I am happy to help out my colleagues, and I know I can count on them if I am in a bind. At the end of the day, we might be tired, but we leave laughing and happy. Full of energy. . .

A long time ago I heard the expression, “if you hang around with bank robbers, you become a bank robber.”

I want to be an Energizer Bunny!

"You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."
– Robin Williams

It's Time to Soar

2009-08-02T21:11:00.005-05:00

When I went out to open up The Outhouse today (which only means unzip the screens), I discovered a hummingbird trapped inside The Outhouse. God had a good idea when he blessed us with the hummingbird. They are beautiful creatures, but they are so frail. It looks like it would take no more than a strong wind to change, if not destroy, the life of a hummingbird.

This soft creature was panicked, as she flew up and down the screen walls of The Outhouse, trying desperately to escape. The room is large, so the little bird had plenty of room to fly. She instinctually knew that she must escape her rather large prison if she ever wanted to soar again. There was no happiness in the middle of the room for her.

I have lived most of my life in the safety of the middle of the room. I have been content with the restrictions that security place upon me. There is nothing wrong with that, but like the hummingbird, people have an instinctual need to soar. God gave us that. It would be a shame not to fight for it.

The hummingbird is a timid and frail creature, yet she knows soaring is worth risking her life.

I feel the gentle wind beneath my wings.

It is time

For

ME

To

SOAR!

The Jewels in My Life

2009-07-15T21:47:00.015-05:00

It is Sunday night. As the week begins, my floor is covered with jewels of many colors. There are piles of pearls, mounds of rubies, stacks of sapphires. From my throne (a blue recliner) I see a small heap of emerald, and there is a new copper color this year that my grandson argues is red. I think it may be a shade of topaz.

My dear cousin and beloved friend, Suzette, lives in New Orleans. Every year Suzette sends my grandchildren a big box of Mardi Gras goodies -- beads, coins, cups, stuffed animals. The children have no idea what Mardi Gras is. The girls see fine jewelry. The older boy sees a coveted pirate's booty. Undoubtedly, the 2 year old boy will soon join the older one as a team of pillaging pirates. Look out Captain Jack!

My grandson has been visiting for a few days, so the plastic jewels have been pirate booty this weekend. We have sorted and examined each piece carefully. I have worn most of these beads at various times over the weekend and have been scolded for making the mistake of calling a strand of pearls beads. How silly of me!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I started writing this post, I had been looking for a different type of jewel for nearly two months. Sometime over the Memorial Day weekend I misplaced my mother's sapphire college ring, my grandmother's Eastern Star ring, and a watch that my daughter gave me one Christmas. I had a "throwing out" that weekend, and I had just about decided that my jewels had accidentally been tossed. I have searched every nook and cranny, under furniture, in the vacuum cleaner bag. I even put on the heavy armor and cleaned out my truck. My precious treasures were no where to be found.

I shed many a tear trying to think of places that I might have stuck my jewels. I felt like a part of my soul had been lost forever. The cherished treasures turned up in a most unusual place as I contemplated the importance of the jewels that painted my carpet with color.

The tears I shed were wasted ones. The missing rings and watch are not a part of my soul at all. They are a part of my memories. For the time being, those memories are still intact. When I lose the memories, the rings and watch will be meaningless to me, and it is not likely that my soul will be lost with the memories. At the end of the day, my precious jewels are worth about as much as the ones that turned my living room floor into a Jackson Pollack.

The true jewels in my life are in the eyes and smiles of my family. Of course, Daddy is a diamond, & his brilliance lights the way for the rest of the clan. Without him, the rest of us would lack luster. Amanda is a garnet. Shell is an emerald. While Roger is a tangerine topaz, his wife, Jessie, is an aquamarine beryl. Asia is a pearl, and her sister is a pink topaz. Christian is a peridot, a paler image of his mother. Katelyn is an amethyst, and her brother, Madden, is malachite. My brothers Mal, Craig, Greg, & Lance are various shades of agate. My best friend, Cathey, is a star sapphire. Suzette, the family jeweler is a ruby. Me . . . I am like the Mardi Gras beads, with lots of flash but simple plastic underneath all the flash.

My life has been blessed with the most precious jewels and gems God put on this earth.

"You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."
– Robin Williams

The Obese Turtle

2009-07-05T00:17:00.014-05:00

When my son was 6 or 7 years old, he had the delightful experience of turtle-sitting. The 2 little boys had gone to visit their Daddy for several weeks, and they asked Roger to keep the turtle while they were gone. You have seen this tiny cute turtle. Maybe you even had one as a child. They crawl out of the ditches in the Spring. This one was just about the size of a quarter.

I had a 4th of July "feast" in the back yard for my children, my neighbor & her son, and anyone else who might happen along. The boys kept feeding the turtle the rolls. After repeatedly telling them to stop, I told them that little turtles like that explode when they eat too much. They did not believe me.

After lunch, the boys took a nap. My daughters, Amanda & Michelle, agreed to baby-sit (a task that also involved turtle-sitting) while the boys tood a nap. While they were sleeping, my friend and I headed for the country in search of a large turtle. We found a very nice speciman that would just barely fit into the baby turtle's bowl. The well fed baby turtle was hidden safely out of site. When the boys got up, they ran in the kitchen to wake Turtle from is nap. Roger's bright and happy smile vanished, and his face turned to cold fear. The boys were certain that Turtle had overdosed on bread and was about to explode all over the kitchen.

The 4th of July might not be the first day of summer, but it signals the onset of Summer for me. As an adult, most of my 4th of July celebrations have been right in my own back yard. I still cook a big meal for anyone who might happen along. After lunch we feel like the obese turtle. I don't quite understand how we can associate "comfort" with something that makes us feel so miserable. I ate too much fried chicken today, and once again I feel like the obese turtle.

This year I spent the day with my daughter, Michelle, and grandson, Christian. We had a jolly happy time. We had a picnic, went swimming, and enjoyed the fireworks of Freedom Fest. I did most of the cooking for today's celebration last night. The simple menu included fried chicken, mashed taters, bean salad, and baked beans. I am not quite sure why I still call them baked beans because I cook them in a crockpot these days. It is ironic that we can associate "comfort" with something that makes us feel so miserable. I ate too much chicken today. It was delightful, yet I feel like the obese turtle tonight. A comforted obese turtle.

God blessed Americans with good food, loving families, and innocent children.

__________________________________________________________________
Your only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.

-- Robin Williams

A Little Spark of Madness

2009-07-03T19:38:00.013-05:00

Writing a blog should be easy for me. After all, I always have something to say. Nonetheless, it has taken me a long time to commit to blog. I like my freedom, and I never wanted to be tied to a blogging obligation.

Most people who know me will describe me as crazy . . . nuts . . . unpredictable . . . happy . . . and perhaps tetched with a little spark of madness. I talk to leprechauns. Well, actually, it is just the one leprechaun -- my sometimes friend, Lester (aka Little Green Dude). Come mid-September my yard will look something like this because I love Halloween.

Halloween gives adults an excuse to play dress up again, and I dress up and terrorize the neighborhood. I have a "crystal" ball and tell fortunes. My alter ego is named Esmeralda. Life can be entertaining at my house for certain.
As odd as it may seem, the madness keeps me sane. I rarely get stressed out because I refuse to be unhappy. I might have to do something outlandishly crazy to lighten the mood, but I am good at breaking stress with laughter. A person has to be at least a bit mad to pull some of the stuff I do for stress busters. When I mess up, I blame it on the Little Green Dude. Hey, if he didn't do it, he was most certainly thinking about it. :)

I am never lonely because I have imaginary friends.

It is only a little spark of madness, though.
Not enough to get me into trouble.
At least not very often.

Just enough to keep me sane.

____________________________________________________________________

"You're only given a little spark of madness. You musn't lose it."

--Robin Williams