Young at Heart

My dad was young at heart until the day he died. He had enthusiasm and hope for the future. Mom and Dad were always up for games. The grandkids had a ball with them. I remember a hilarious tickle contest they had when they were in their sixties. They still had that spirit of adventure. They loved to travel and see new sights, try new food, and learn new things about people and places.

I'll never forget a pantomime my dad performed for us while playing charades. It was of his wife putting on pantyhoes. He looked just like her. He had it down to perfection. I know because I would sit in her room sometimes in a conversation while she put on her pantyhoes. Wow! The contortions she went through! ( I will never let anyone see me put on my pantyhose.)

So, how to stay young at heart? Never lose your playfulness. Don't become so burdened down with financial worries or other problems in your world that you cease to laugh. Laughing is therapeutic. My parents playfulness and enthusiasm for life and their family ministered to all of us. My mom, alone now, still loves to play games. She is sadder without my dad, but she is always up for having fun with the family. Her faith in Christ gives her hope for a future that includes my dad.

Anyone have any humorous memories to share?

Rococo
image: www.windycityhitman.com

Mom's Radar

My son comes to me.
"Mom, I can't find my calculator!"

I go through all the questions.
"Where have you looked?"
"Did you look in your room? etc...."

"Yes! I looked in all those places!"

I then go to all the places we have talked about.
Lo and behold! I find the missing calculator.
It was in the closet under some papers.

" Mom, I thought I looked there."

This happens repeatedly . No one, even my husband can find anything without my help. And I was the same way when I was a kid. I would look and look, finally ask my mom and she would find it! Moms must have special radar for tracking down missing items. God gives us this gift with the birth of our first child, along with eyes in back of our heads.

Rococo
image:http://atelier.mangazoo.jp

The Trouble With Math

Understanding the concepts is the easy part. If you make one teeny-tiny arithmetic error it messes up the whole algebra thing! Even if you get the right formula and know how do to the problems, carelessness will kill you on a test.

There is no mercy, no grace, or forgiveness. Now, art allows for "happy accidents". You can take a mistake and make it a beautiful thing. Math is cold, hard, and cruel.

Who can be that exact? My brain just doesn't work that way and my kids all seem to take after me in this aspect. Why are literary types generally not so good at math?

Rococo
www.joshstaiger.org

My Hero

This devoted individual has put his life on the line literally hundreds of times for me, for our whole family. While I sleep peacefully in my bed, he works hard. He is a humble creature and in the light of day you would never know the peril he endures for my sake. His engaging and friendly manner efficiently hides the seriousness of his occupation. He willingly puts aside the life and death matters of his job to spend time with the family, taking walks and just sitting in companionable silence together.

I really don't know what we would do without him. We live in a dangerous area and need protection on a nightly basis. You see, that is when the marauders come. They come sneaking on our place seeking to kill and rob. Never once do I fear. Our ever vigilant guard is stronger and smarter than the bad guys. Although it costs him his sleep, and sometimes his voice, he never lets a stinkin' coyote on the place. Mac is my Labrador hero.

Rococo

Never In My Wildest Dreams

I was sitting at the kitchen table one morning when I heard rustling noises behind the refrigerator. Then I heard chewing noises. Have I mentioned that I hate mice? As I headed toward the area, several mice came out. It was an alarming number of mice and they were large! I was getting the broom and aiming it toward the lot of them when one of them spoke. This was a surprise. Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have imagined a talking mouse.... actually chinchilla, because, as I looked more closely, it appeared to be a soft, gray chinchilla.

He said," Excuse me. Can we have some food?" With mouth gaping, I put the broom down, and peered at the group. The rest of them were mice, definitely mice...or rats. Some of them looked big enough to be rats! I was looking around for the broom again when the chinchilla said,"Please don't kill us. We are just hungry." I tried to calm down. Then I saw the mess they had made back by the refrigerator. They had chewed and chewed and there was sawdust all over. I took the broom and started sweeping while I thought.

"Maybe if I feed them just once, they'll go away." All their beady little eyes were upon me as I swept up their messes. "Ok. I'll feed you." I got out the Cheerios and the mice moved up to the table. I fed them. When they were finished I looked them all straight in their beady little eyes (the chinchilla's eyes were big, soft, and brown) and I said,"Now get back behind that refrigerator and don't come out till noon! And don't chew on anything!"

"I don't know if we can make it that long," said the soft chinchilla." We have fast metabolisms."

"You'll make it," I replied with determination. If you want to stay here, you'll have to make it. There will be no eating between meals."

About that time, my husband came into the kitchen, did a double-take, and grabbed the broom. He raised it over his head and I caught it on the way down.

" It's ok. I'm feeding them." I said.

When I awoke, I thought, "Another mouse dream. We have GOT to plug up those holes in the foundation!" The chinchilla was a new twist, though. Really cute. And soft. Those big brown eyes. hmmm.....

Rococo
image: www.whitewoodschins.com

Hatching Plots

These two mischievious young fellows, full of tall tales and plans for conquering the playground, were a delight (or terror) to behold in action. Boy howdy, could they think of things to do! The worst was having a "mud" fight in the feedlot, with green mud! And then there was the occasion of exploring the river and ignoring Grandpa when he called them to come out. That one got their behinds blistered! They would run happily from playing tractors, to jumping on the tramp, and end up wrestling on the grass. They were fiercely competitive, and best friends. I'm sure in their active young minds they were hunting giant tigers and conquering vast armies, not to mention ridding the world of bullies on the playground.Their visions of greatness didn't matter a bit to us, we just loved their fresh enthusiasm for life.
Rococo
click on photo to enlarge

Wrapped in Rain

I am going to recommend a book. It is by far the best novel I have read in a long while. It's called "Wrapped in Rain", by Charles Martin. I don't even want to say anything about it for fear of doing it an injustice. So, you will have to read it. Don't miss this book. Curious? Good!

O Happy Day

Upon reflection, the title, "Happiness is a Choice" is underwhelming. Happiness is not simple, depending upon many things, including heredity. Many people, much as they would like, cannot choose to be happy. Their brain chemistry will not allow this "choice". Medication may help. Certainly faith in Christ helps. Circumstances can sometimes be changed. But we are left with what we are. I cannot believe that a well-known Christian psychologist would title his book with something so guilt producing. But then, many of my guilty feelings have come from "Christian" books designed to help me improve myself. I finally got smart and stopped reading them. I feel much better!
Rococo
www.photogalaxy.co.uk

Kids in Cages

Due to popular demand,( you know who you are), we are back. We have been busy with algebra, writing, grammar, physical science, history, and basketball.

There was a disturbing article in the news about a family with eleven children who slept in cages at night. At first I was horrified, but after reading more, I wondered about their reasons and motivations. The children had conditions such as autism and fetal alcohol syndrome. The parents said a psychiatrist recommended this treatment. I wonder if they were kept in cages at night for their own safety. Perhaps social services and the press have been too quick to judge. If the parents are at fault, perhaps it is in overestimating their ability to handle these kinds of problems. Eleven adopted children with handicaps would be an overwhelming job for anyone. Judging from the physical well-being of the children, who appeared to be healthy and happy, perhaps the parents were motivated by love. Now the children are separated in different foster families. Surely they miss their familiar home and family. I hope the courts are able to get to the truth of the matter. Often, it seems that good parents using strong measures are misjudged and truly abusive parents escape punishment.

Rococo

Of Men and Lions

On a summer day, two toddlers are sitting at a picnic table eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Above them, unseen by the two, a mother listens at the kitchen window. A cool breeze blows into the kitchen along with their words to each other. " It was a weallwy big wion Sarwah!" remarked David, gesturing wildly.

"No, David." said Sarah patronizingly. She was after all a few months older than him. "It's not a weallwy big wion! It's a weallwy big wion!" The mom chuckled softly by the window.

"You go, Sarah girl! That's how to tell him!" she thought. Teach these men while they're still young and flexible."

Rococo
oseb79.free.fr.../lions%2001.jpg

The Government"s Responsibilities

How quick the news media is to blame the government in general and President Bush in particular for everything that goes wrong in our country. Katrina was a natural disaster. It is not the government's job to make sure that no natural disasters occur, or even to try to take care of all its citizens. The government is not mother, father, sister, brother, family, or church. It cannot provide for all our needs. The welfare programs have handicapped millions of people, making them utterly dependent on the federal government. The news media's cameras are focused on the individuals complaining the loudest.

The federal government should be responsible for defending our country and enforcing its laws. In times of natural disaster we can expect the government to send troops in to try to keep order, but private citizens and organizations should rally to the aid of the victims. This will make our people stronger as they see that private individuals, families, churches have the power to take care of people. It is not a healthy or safe relationship when the government becomes the sole support of its people. Stop blaming the government and try doing something about helping people through your church, the Red Cross, or in your own home. There will be orphans to adopt and thousands of poor homeless people. The government will not be able to care for them all. In blaming the government for not acting to meet people's needs, are we taking the heat off ourselves?

image: www.reference.net/encyclopedias/wikip...

Disaster at Home and Help from Germany

We don't have to go to a third world country to find people in extremity of need. They are here in our country, down south, in a place called New Orleans. This city and surrounding areas contain a multitude of poor, sick, homeless, grief-stricken, and fearful people. Now, I have not watched all the news reports or read all the accounts concerning this disaster, but my feeling is that it has been a great leveler in how one views the world. It doesn't matter where you live, whether rich or poor, democratic country or socialist state, tragedy can and does strike.

One thing I have noticed through all this so far, is that help does not seem to be coming from our friends around the world. Maybe I'm wrong about this or maybe the rest of the world figures we are the greatest nation on earth and we can afford to handle this ourselves. Probably there have been expressions of sympathy from countries like Great Britain and Canada, but I haven't heard them yet. The Islamic terrorists are rejoicing, I'm sure. They didn't even have to fly planes into buildings or set off suicide bombs in this death count. There will be expressions of self-righteousness from them, no doubt. (After all, our evil country deserves this punishment from God, right?)

The United States gets so much heat concerning actions in the Middle East, but our country is always represented by volunteers in any disaster that happens in our world. We have a president that does truly care about this country and it's people. He has made mistakes, as would anyone in that office, but he is sincere and honest.

I've also noticed that the vigil being kept at the entrance to Bush's ranch is not such a big news item now. The war protesters would do well to ease up a little in light of the loss of life in our own country. For any of us that are prone to complain about life in the United States, perhaps we should just shut up and find out how to help the survivors of this disaster. President Bush has recommended that everyone give money to the Red Cross. There will be lots of homeless people in need of a helping hand. We should all try to find a way to help, no matter how small. People are people whether they are starving and dying in Africa or the United States of America.

P.S. I just learned that Germany has offered to help the United States with water treatment facilities and mobile shelters. The U.S. helped them rebuild their country after World War II and now they are returning the favor! Maybe other countries will follow their example. Thank you, Germany.

Heavy Heart

There are so many things about this world I just do not understand. When God looks at HIs world, what does He see? How does He feel? My heart feels heavy, even despairing when I see man's evil behaviors, and the results of that behavior in the world. I don't need to list all our sins. They are easily found everyday in the news and sadly in our own homes and hearts.

Rococo
image: www.4design.tv/gallery/sadness.htm

Logic

I love this cartoon. Our dog, Mac, and our cat, Fuzzbuster, have their identities all mixed up. The cat really thinks he is a dog, while the dog, thinks he is part of the family, a human, I guess. To truly be human, Mac would have to stop rolling in dead animals and get over his claustrophobia in buildings. Fuzzbuster needs to learn to bark more realistically and wag his tail a little faster. On the other hand, we human members of the family would definitely benefit from learning to use logic more effectively. I'm sure. Problem is, see, our emotions tend to get in our way. Once upon a time, (long ago and far away), I thought that the male of the human species was more logical and less emotional than the female. However, after being married for 25 years and raising two sons, I have changed my mind. Men are just as emotional as women. They have conveniently learned to disguise their emotional decisions with faulty logic much like the kind found in this cartoon.

Rococo
www.math.union.edu/harris.jpg

NO MORE MATH

"I'm finished with math forever!" exclaimed the junior in highschool. It was the final day of geometry. "No more numbers for me!" She managed to make her way through college without another math class, believe it or not. Sure, she did math without thinking about it, probably on a daily basis. But she managed to get a husband that liked to do all the financial business of the family, plus the grocery shopping! Wow! What a guy! Anyways, all that to say, this woman, with an absolute aversion to numbers, is now taking ALGEBRA I. Reason? She is a mother. I am convinced that mothers will do anything for love. They will fight tigers, walk on nails, give birth, and... take math with their 16 year old homeschooled sons!

Rococo
Image: voyager2.dvc.edu/faculty/doraoavessu/faqs.htm

Taming Men

I've been hard on men in my recent blogs. Perhaps I've given the impression that our current cultural situation is, purely and simply, caused by the male sex. This is, of course, erroneous. I am happily married with two wonderful sons and a lovely daughter. I agree with the comments made by the lone ranger that women should act like ladies if they want to be treated as such. It is just as hard for a young man to find a chaste woman these days as it is for a girl to find a faithful man.

So how are women to blame for their plight? Women are not satisfied with the place God has given them in life and relationships. He created them to be helpmates for their husbands. Feminists want to be like men. They want power. To be like men, they have to have everything that men have. Thus we have the sexual revolution. Women now have equal pay for equal jobs, the right to vote, and sex without commitment to husband or children. True, many women "get stuck" with kids in spite of birth control and abortion, but they do have the comfort of their children in their old age. They may have to raise their children alone, but this responsibility tends to assuage their guilt over a promiscuous life.

Believe it or not, men have guilt as well. What does an unattached male do with his guilt over not taking care of his children and the mother of his children? There are all kinds of ways of temporarily dulling guilty feelings, but long term, perhaps women are better off than men in this society. A 'free-lovin" man usually ends up cold, old, and alone.

When raised correctly, young men are not animals. They, too, have minds as well as bodies. They long for companionship with a woman they can respect and to whom they can commit their lives. But our society has turned, has bent, toward a perverted way of viewing the sexual relationship between a man and woman. Only women, happy to be women as God intended them to be, can tame men, who often don't even realize what they are missing.

Rococo and Sir Colin

image: nightofartists.com/vicki/artwork/liontamers.jpg

Male Conspiracy

My most recent foray into a video store left me feeling like I needed a bath. As I walked down the isles looking for an interesting or funny movie to watch on vacation, I alternated between feeling grossed out, curious, embarrassed, drawn, intrigued, shocked, tempted, horrified... I felt like I was in the wrong store. Surely this was more like a pornography shop, or a gift shop for some violent fringe group, not a good ole American movie lovers store. I know I live a sheltered life, away from most of current American culture, but it saddens me to see where our culture has gone and is going. Do we worship what is represented in the video stores?

NEWS FLASH

Real women do not look or act like the sex goddesses of the screen! Popular culture tells them they should, so they will be wanted. Women want to be valued and desired for who they really are, not for some fantasy idea. They come in all shapes and sizes and they have brains as well as bodies. Their brains went missing during and after the sexual revolution of the sixties. Reproductive freedom? Ha! Women pay for abortion with their bodies and their minds. Men have it better than ever. Now they can get sex without commitment. What do women get from the deal? Equal pay for equal work? Single moms raising kids single-handedly and working full-time to support them! It almost seems like...but, no it couldn't be... a male conspiracy.

Rococo

Choice or Chosen?

Wesandmen blogspot has a resident theologian "on staff". The theologian is also a walking dictionary and encyclopedia. He excels at Trivial Pursuit, however, trivial he is not. Family pursuits are his specialty. He has made the choice to be a good family man. He has also made the choice to be a Christian, or was he chosen? What do you think, Baroque? You are the theologian. As Christians, have we chosen our own destinies, or did God choose for us? If we are sinners, how can we make the right choice? Perhaps God has to choose us, we merely responding to Him in faith. How does our will fit into this picture? Baroque? Theologian? Are you there? Waiting for your words of knowledge and wisdom!

Rococo
Image: www.debanae.net/clipart

Different Music

There has been a request that the wesandmen bloggers sign their screen names to individual posts. So you know what to look for, our screen names are: Rococo, Baroque, Bachman, and Sir Colin. As you can see, the majority of the posts are from Rococo. If" different music" so to speak is desired, perhaps you could make a special request such as, "We want Baroque!"... repeating this request over and over until the blogger feels so admired and needed that he overcomes his shyness at putting his "music" out there for the whole world to hear.

Rococo
image: www.hcc.cc.il.us/online/acsm163/Music.jpg

Annual Mud Day

One of the wesandmen bloggers has entered soil as an interest in our profile. Because of the location of our abode, we do have lots of soil around us. It has been used for various purposes, including farming. My understanding of soil in that context is rather limited but I do have experience with the substance in various other veins, perhaps the most spectacular of which has been Annual Mud Day. This is a day in which the younger members of wesandmen are encouraged to wallow in the mud to their hearts' content. A hole is dug and water poured in until we have thick, dark mud, which is a variety of soil, by the way. The consistency depends, I suppose upon how much clay is in the soil. Clay is good for wallowing because it causes the mud to cling most becomingly to one's skin. We do have a champion wallower on Mud Day. Bachman's intensity for getting covered has not yet been beaten. Indeed, in other places he has been known as Mr. Intensity.
Cleaning off the soil from the Mud Day contestants usually falls to me and requires my favorite weapon, the HOSE. The old clothes have to be trashed and I have seen traces of soil remain in ears for weeks after a particularly competitive contest. It takes perseverance to hose down these brave contestants but I gladly take on the job. This is because I do not want the soil in my house, my primary domain and area of responsibility. Indeed, I have fought the good fight against soil in the house for many years. Sadly, when the battle is over and I am laid to rest, they will probably bury me in the stuff.

Rococo