Beginnings

One childhood ends while another begins.

One mother realizes her age and the end of busy days with children.

The other is just beginning her life with a child of her own.

To hold my daughter's baby will be an incredible experience, one that I wouldn't want to miss.

A new phase of life, this grandparenting, the beginning of watching and praying.

The Electric Connection

WeSandmen came home from Thanksgiving vacation to a cold house. We were thankful to make it home before the blizzard hit full force and snapped the power lines. For a night and a day we were without electricity, which for country living also means no water. We had filled all our vessels full of water at the first signs of the storm, knowing from experience that our power might go.

Losing our power makes us realize how really helpless we are without stoves, refrigerators, computers, lights, television, and running water. We did not quite know what to do with ourselves. I had a pile of laundry from the weekend that I had to leave in a pile. My husband could not get to work or get on the computer which made him grumpy. He wandered around the house in survival mode gathering candles and lanterns, filling the tub with water, and making little messes for me to clean up! I took a long nap. We waited anxiously for the return of our power.

Even as I write this, I am seeing spiritual analogies. We wait in this world, darkened by sin, for the return of Christ. When He returns, the lights come back on and all is well again. We have our lives back as they were meant to be. Without Christ, we are dead in our sin, helpless to save ourselves, although we scurry around trying to fix things, trying to survive. We feel helpless in the face of death, our last great enemy.

Technology has solved many of our problems and made our lives easier. (Imagine going outside in a blizzard to use the bathroom!) It has also made us weak in some ways. We are dependent upon machines to a very large extent. It is sobering to remember that if one little wire snaps, our lives are put on hold. It would be wise to develop interests and abilities that do not rely upon the electric connection. Wiser still to put our trust in an all-powerful and merciful God.

In the Autumn Air

It was a crisp, clear, Thanksgiving Day. The meal was over and everyone had gone their separate ways, to study, visit on the phone with friends, or sleep in front of the football game. The pie had been delicious this year and the dressing supreme, but, as usual, something was missing. It was anti-climactic. It had taken her mother hours to make this wonderful feast and although they tried to stretch out the conversation around the table, it was over in 30 minutes or less. Everyone was stuffed and sleepy, seemingly content to do very little.

It was excitement she wanted, something wildly fun, perhaps even dangerous! She needed to get out of the stuffy, sleepy house into the cold air and do something exhilarating. "I"m going for a ride, Mom," she said. Dressed warmly, she got in her car and took off. She knew what she wanted to do, but didn't know if she had the courage.

When she arrived at the barn, there was Kitty, waiting for her. The mare nickered and was rewarded with a lump of sugar. A former race horse, Sheza Kitty, still had hot blood in her and she longed to run. Today, she might get her chance. Never before had the teenager allowed Kitty to run her fastest. "I don't even know if I can stay on!" she thought.

Saddled and bridled, the beautiful sorrel with four white stockings stepped out into the blue and gold autumn air. The girl mounted and they were on their way. "If I let her go, I don't know if I can get her stopped. What if she runs into something? What if she trips and falls? What if I fall? " They found a dirt road that stretched for miles, flat and empty. "She's a quarter horse. She'll only run a quarter of a mile before she gets tired." she reminded herself. "Courage!"

Kitty immediately sensed something different about this ride. She gathered her legs under her and took off. The girl urged her on with yells and encouragement. Kitty broke into a run - not a canter, not a gallop, but a run. No... this was more like flying! For the first time, the teenager felt like all the other heroines in the horse stories she so avidly read. She and Kitty were as one. The ride was smooth and soooo fast. It took all her strength, but she knew she could stay on, she could finish the ride. And indeed, Kitty showed her breeding by slowing after a quarter of a mile. They finished the ride in companionable silence, horse and girl satisfied with their performance. The horse felt relaxed and content. The girl knew that she and her horse had, for a moment or two, actually flown in the autumn air! Her joy in this ride, her sense of freedom, speed, and exhilaration was made all the sweeter by her prison-like experience of wearing a body brace for the last three years of her young life. Indeed, this was thanksgiving!

Rococo
photo: www.mooseyscountrygarden.com

"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me."
Jesus

Riding the Red Monster

He was going to ride the combine with his Dad for the first time! Dad lifted him up into the cab of the big red machine and climbed in himself. They drove out to the field. The tow-headed three year old was wide-eyed and silent. He watched and rode, very patiently observing everything in silence. They were harvesting milo, a reddish-colored grain used for feed. The young child had seen this crop planted in the spring, cultivated and growing over the summer, nurtured along by his Dad, who was now cutting it down. The heads of the milo were cut and the grain went into the mysterious depths of the monster machine, where it appeared to be ground up and spit out the back. Milo dust filled the air and made the boy and his father cough and itch. Not wanting to appear less than intelligent about this seemingly brutal process, the boy turned to his father and asked, "Dad, is this good for the milo?"
Rococo

There's Some Good in This World and It's Worth Fighting For!

"Do you remember the old stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were and sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened? But in the end, its only a passing thing. The shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come and when the sun shines, it will shine the clearer. Those are the stories that stayed with you, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand! I know now! Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something."

"What are we holding on to, Sam?"

"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for!"

Sir Colin
Photo: www.arwen-udomiel.com/images/Sam_4jpg
quote: LOTR The Two Towers

Dad's Narnia Character

To find out yours, go to

Just Like Mom's

She was young. She meant well. And it was not really her fault because the recipe didn't specify. You have to take into consideration her inexperience and also her good will towards all the members of the household and towards the whole world really. It was the thanksgiving season you see. Not quite here yet, but the leaves had all changed color and the air was crisp and fresh. Pumpkins had begun to appear on doorsteps in the neighborhood. All of this contributed to her feeling of goodwill and love toward all of mankind. It was her favorite time of the year. She was looking forward to the upcoming holidays, with all the good food. Food! "I'll make a pumpkin pie! she thought. "Just like my mom's ...mmmm."

"Let's see here." She found the recipe and began gathering ingredients. Sugar, flour, spices, pumpkin...She needed 2 cups of pumpkin. They had some pumpkins sitting around so she got one and began wrestling with it. First, to get it open. The knife sliced through the middle of the pumpkin with some difficulty but she persevered and got the thing open. Ok, now to scoop out the insides. There didn't seem to be stuff in there that was soft enough to make a pie but she scooped out the stringy stuff and began picking out the seeds. Man! This was a lot of work. She didn't know that her mom worked that hard on her pumpkin pies. The crust turned out great and the stringy stuff from the middle (minus all the seeds) combined with the other ingredients tasted flavorful. The baked pie didn't look quite like her mother's. A little disappointed, but anxious to serve her friends her first pumpkin pie, she brought it out after supper.

"A pumpkin pie!" they exclaimed with surprise. "Did you make this yourself?"
"Yes, I did". she proudly answered.

Everyone began to taste the pie. She waited for their compliments and saw surprise on their faces instead of the looks of ecstasy she had imagined as she had performed surgery on the troublesome pumpkin.

"It tastes really good, but why are there strings in it?" her best friend tactfully questioned.

"I couldn't get them to soften when I mixed them with the other ingredients after I picked the seeds out." she explained. My face...I mean, her face... began to heat. " Sorry."

What was everyone laughing about? With good will and more laughter her friends kindly... and laughingly... told her how to make a real pumpkin pie. One just like her mom's.

Rococo
(Yeah, It was me.)

Adventure Awaits!

One of the most exciting events for a reader is to learn that a new book is out in a series that he or she has been reading. There is a feeling of exhilaration that comes in that moment of hearing the news of a long-awaited arrival of a say... Terry Brooks fantasy.

Those who do not read for pleasure and escape from the hum-drum of ordinary life, cannot understand how an avid reader of stories feels about these books. It means hours of adventure and a reconnecting with characters you have come to admire and enjoy. It means the solving of a mystery, the resolution of a character's problem, a relationship healed, or a final battle where good triumphs over evil.

I have yet to tell my son that a book he has been waiting for has just arrived. I can't wait to see his reaction!

Rococo

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God-not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:8-9

What could be more helpless and in need of God's grace than a newly born baby?

Guinea Pigs Are Nice

I guess I don't mind being a guinea pig. They are cute, lovable, and worry free. The new meds. are greatly helping my pain level. I rode my bike today and walked a mile with energy to spare. If medicine helps you live a normal life it is a good thing.
This particular guinea pig is the world's largest. He looks very cuddly and affectionate.
Rococo
www.outsideconnection.com/gallant/ggp/wuzzy/Big.jpg

Do I Look Like a Guinea Pig?

After my doctor's appointment yesterday, I returned home with a sack full of brand new medicine I am supposed to try for my fibromyalgia. These medicines are the most recent discoveries, currently being used to experiment with patients that have lots of pain.

Pain makes one rather desperate, willing to try anything. They all come with a list of side effects that you may or may not experience. The last medicine I tried caused indigestion, sinus headache, itching, chest pain, and some other stuff I'd rather not discuss. But as I said, pain causes desperate loss of reason and I agreed to try another medicine.

Do I look like a guinea pig? ...I guess maybe I do, a little bit. Cute round face, big brown eyes, reddish hair, large ears, and a shapeless body... which reminds me of the other part of my treatment for fibromyalgia - exercise. Twenty minutes of moderate exercise a day. Yeah, just like a guinea pig, or maybe a hamster, I get on my wheels and go spinning to the sounds of Marvin Gaye.

Rococo

Photo: http://members.tripod.com/MichelleGpigs/CUTIE.JPG

Paradoxically

My paradoxical daughter told me the other day that she has both extreme exhaustion and a fair amount of more energy. The dictionary definition of paradox is: 1. A seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true. 2. A person, situation, or action exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects. 3. An assertion that is essentially self-contradictory, although based on a valid deduction from acceptable premises.
I'm sure, therefore, that there is some sense and meaning in her statements that I am just not able to grasp. After all, God's kingdom is paradoxical in that the greatest are the least. Jesus said that he did not come to bring peace to the earth, but a sword, and paradoxically that He will give His followers peace. The sense of it comes in understanding what He meant, which was that His peace is not of this world, but of His father's kingdom where those who think they are great, will be humbled and those who are of seemingly little value in this world, but trust in God's grace, inherit His kingdom. Paradoxically.

Rococo
picture from www.smashingames.com

Just My Imagination... Running Away With Me

I have been told that I make lots of assumptions. I know that! But at my age, I have the right. So I don't care, ok?? Besides, everyone makes assumptions.

So, assuming that God exists, and that God created man, why did He give man an imagination? Why do we think up stories and songs and works of art? Why don't we just eat, sleep, and work. Why do we imagine other worlds and creatures we've never seen?

Rococo
image: www.kid-at-art.com

The Test

The "Mid-life Crisis" sometimes results in a search for what you perhaps could have been, or might still become, if you are granted more time. With this thought in our minds, my husband and I decided to take aptitude tests. We went to our friendly family counselor for answers to our yearnings. We talked over our dreams, researched possibilities, and took the test. These tests are designed to help one discover the ideal career for his or her personality and abilities.

Now, I have never been a career woman. I am a stay-at-home mom. I worked at several jobs before marriage and actually have a teaching degree, but my dream was always to be a wife and mom. I am also the creative type. I enjoy decorating and writing, art, music, etc. I enjoy a slow pace of life and I stay away from math and numbers as much as I can (which is difficult when you have an algebra student to help). There are a few things I would have liked to try as a career. These include hairdressing, floral arrangement, interior design, and counseling.

So, my spouse and I took the test. I think my husband ended up having an aptitude for some type of administrative job. I figured up my score and to my absolute shock, came up with" accountant in business" for my career suggestion!! Perplexed and disappointed, I showed this to my husband, who was also very surprised. "This can't be right!" he said. "Let me see this." He took the test from me and re-figured my score.

" Honey? You figured your test score wrong." He snickered. Then he laughed - loudly.

Actually, the test showed that I would be good at counseling, which was not a surprise. The test provided a good laugh for my husband which greatly aided him in getting through his mid-life crisis. I'm still working on mine.

Rococo
Image: www.cartoonstock.com

The Lonely Bull

We've had many interesting pets on our farm. It's always a challenge to come up with an original name for a cat. Some of ours have been: Dark Clark, Lovely Lois, Spitzbergen, Frog Hair, Little Bear, Cruiser, Yellow Cat, Toulouse (my favorite), and many more. Our dogs have been less original but I like the puppies we named Mac n' Tosh. My son had a frog (I forget his name) that came to a tragic end at the hands of his sister who accidently gave him a bath in a bucket of fertilizer. My poor little boy brought that pet to me in tears, with horror written all over his face. With a broken heart, he said, "But he was such an interesting pet."

Our lonely bull was unique. He was a small bucket calf. My son wanted to raise him by bottle-feeding him. The color of his coat named him Rusty. He was adorable and lovable and strong. From the beginning it was a challenge for a small boy to feed this calf. I didn't realize that calves actually butt their mothers in the belly while they are nursing. Rusty grew bigger and stronger quickly. One day my son came in from the feeding, gasping for breath, with tears in his eyes. He fell on the floor, writhing from lack of air and pain. I watched him anxiously. Finally, after several minutes of this, he looked up at me and stated, "Being a mother is a pain." I burst out laughing. Leave it to this boy to say the unpredictable!

Anyway, Rusty grew and grew,... and grew lonely. He was a lonely bull, looking for female companionship. He constantly got out of his pen and wandered around looking for... he didn't really know what! He would come up to the house and lick the windows. He ravaged our picnic table in the middle of the night, thinking it was a cow ( hey, it was almost the same color as he! ) . This resulted in my husband chasing Rusty with first a mop handle, then a pipe, and finally a pitchfork, all three of which broke during the heated battle. My husband was hampered by the fact that it was the middle of the night and he was dressed in only a robe and cowboy boots. In one hand was a flashlight and in the other his weapon of choice. Victory came in the wee hours of the morning and Rusty was returned to his pen.

A decision had to be made concerning this pet. Unfortunately, he was too small to be used as a bull. The only other choice was to take him to the sale barn. My husband and son loaded Rusty in the trailer and took him to the nearest town to sell. They tried not to think about what would happen to Rusty after that. Rusty made the trip even more painful by bawling all the way to town. When they finally arrived, he loudly made his presence known to all the cowboys, farmers, and other animals. One amused fellow said to my son, " He hasn't been to town much, has he." Rusty hadn't been to town at all or seen any other creatures like himself. We jokingly called him The Lonely Bull, but we loved him like all our other pets and it was hard to see him go.

Mustang Sally

As she drove down the street, she got interested looks from college guys. Trouble was, she didn't know at whom they were looking. She drove a Mustang, you see, a 1967 red hard-top Mustang.

Anyways, she was cruising down the street one day and she came to the corner where she was supposed to make a left turn. About that time, she met another car coming from the opposite direction. It was a car-load of guys and they were waving at her, or...her car anyway. She got kind of flustered because she was actually making her turn at the same time, but she managed to wave back.

The next thing the college sophomore new, she was sitting pretty in her pretty car, on top of an island, on top of a sign. Yikes! What to do? She sat and thought, her face as red as her hair. Many other drivers turned that corner without making any mistakes and several of them rolled down their windows and told her to just drive off the island." But", she thought, "wouldn't that be against the law?" She had experienced a similar incident in high school when she turned a corner too sharply ( she was waving at a boy again ) and side-swiped a traffic light pole. She had been driving her Dad's good car and the chrome on the side was curled up like a spring! She drove home that time and her Dad told her that she broke the law by leaving the scene of an accident.

"You know",she thought, "this waving to boys just isn't worth it." Last year, she was walking through the commons area at her college and waved to a hunk and the next thing she knew she was on the floor with stars circling her head. That marble column was really solid and why did they put it right in the middle of the commons anyway?

After the fifth person driving by told the redhead to just drive away, she was about to take their advice when a police car drove up. " Oh great!" she thought.

"May I see your driver's license, miss?" the handsome young cop asked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, with an innocent but distressed look on her face. "Here's my license, officer. I really am sorry, I didn't mean...." He walked away.

He came back a few minutes later with a smile on his face. "Nice car", he noted , "but your inspection sticker has run out. Better get that done soon. Drive her off." he said with a smile.

Incredulous, she thought, "I can't believe I'm getting out of this scrape without a ticket! I flattened a public sign! He must have thought I looked cute and innocent. Or....maybe he just liked my red mustang."

The Tale of the Missing Automobile or More Adventures with Grandpa

To you grandchildren, lest you think your grandpa a complete no-mind, just remember, ADD is hereditary.

This story begins when your grandpa, then a student at the university, drove his car to work one day. He worked at a book store, one of his favorite places to hang out. He had many important things on his mind that day which explains why, when the work day was over, he walked home, only a few blocks away, forgetting completely that he had driven to work. This is very understandable, as the student often walked to work and classes. His apartment was right downtown, close to all the important places and events. And as I explained, he had many things on his mind. He was a busy guy, both with social activities and in his vibrant thought-life. (The thought-life of a philosophy major with an undiagnosed case of ADD is, I am very sure, interesting, perhaps beyond belief.)

The next day, caught up in his many thoughts, he walked past his car without noticing and arrived at work, breathless from his brisk morning walk. He had a busy day, with deadlines to meet, people to talk to, thoughts to think, and he again walked past the lonely car which now had a few parking tickets on the windshield. This neglect of his car ( affectionately known as Bee-Bop, from the song, "Bee-Bop-a Lula She's My Baby" , which your Grandpa can sing, by the way) continued for three days. Poor Bee-Bop was plastered with parking tickets when the student finally began to miss her.

On the third day, Bee-Bop was resurrected in the philosopher's mind. He went to get his car for a trip across town. It was gone! What had happened to his car? He thought and thought, but he could not remember when he had last seen his car! Deciding that perhaps his landlords, The Knights of Pythias, might have towed it away, he called them. They had not seen his car so he called the police, who assured him that a 1966 Pymouth Belvedere was not the kind of car that thieves try to steal! Trying not to panic, he finally called his sister. "I think my car has been stolen." he stated.

"Who would steal that thing?" she asked.

"I don't know, but it's gone. I haven't seen it for days!" he said, beginning to panic.

"Ok, let's call all the towing businesses in town. Maybe it got towed away." she suggested. After many unfruitful phone calls, they gave up. The young student was perplexed and bewildered.

"Calm down and let's try to retrace your steps for the last few days." she said soothingly.

Together they went through his week and finally he remembered driving to work and parking his car. He rushed to the spot that he remembered and there was Bee-Bop inundated with parking tickets( 12 to be exact ). As far as I know, Grandpa has never again forgotten his car and Bee-Bop now resides in a certain old, wooden garage way out in the country. She is rather neglected but no longer lonely, for the pack rats keep her company!

Grandma
(for Skid)

The Ambitious Procrastinator and/or The Student Strikes Again

It was the day before his paper was due. He desperately needed a quiet place to work without all these distractions! He looked around at the mess in his room and listened to the sounds of the dorm. "I can't get any work done here, he thought, but I know the perfect place."

He managed to hide in the library that evening when it closed. He secreted himself on the top floor in a little-known vault in the ceiling, typewriter and all. Then making sure the night watchman was no where in sight, he set his typewriter up in the women's lounge, a quiet, relaxing place to create. He worked diligently for a few hours."This was a great idea!" he thought jubilantly. Words were flowing from his caffeine-stimulated brain and the typewriter was clicking busily. He could already see the A+ he would receive for his valiant efforts.

Footsteps? The night watchman was coming! He rapidly hid all the evidence of his studious presence and ran into the ladies bathroom. The lights! Quickly he doused the lights, picked a stall and hid, standing on the toilet. He waited for the footsteps to pass by so he could return to work. But, they were getting louder which meant they were also getting nearer. He heard the door to the women's lounge open. Huh? Why was the guy coming in here? This was his safe haven! Closer the watchman came and as he stood on the toilet in the dark, the student tried not to panic. The door to the bathroom opened. Oh, no. But, remembering the doors on the stalls and the fact that the watchman probably used the men's bathroom, he thought, " I'm saved, the stalls have doors, thankfully, as befits a ladies bathroom."

The door to his very stall, his inner sanctum, opened, and an old man stood there, grasping his chest in shock. "It's ok!" the student reassured him. It was not ok and the ambitious student received his due punishment in the form of working at the library, which was fine with him. It was the perfect place.

The Student

As he stood languidly looking out the window, he stroked his beard, his thoughts on many things. His jean-clad, long legs crossed, the student was deeply into his philosophical ideas. He wore wire-framed silver glasses beneath bushy brown eyebrows that were presently formed into a frown. His green eyes, gazing vacantly as his thought processes predominated, suddenly came into sharp focus. "Was that a...yes, it appeared to be a flame in the house across the street." As he watched, the flames grew bigger and his relaxed and thoughtful state of mind flew into action along with his tall, thin body. He ran across the room to the phone where he quickly dialed the fire department. "Come quickly, the fire is growing!" He gave them the address then swiftly ran down the stairs and across the street to the house where the fire was raging. He pounded on the door urgently. The lady of the house answered the door. She saw a young man, with shaggy brown hair, a beard, and wild eyes, gesturing excitedly. " It's a fire! " he shouted and then looked past the lady into her home, clear into the living room where there was a roaring fire... in the... well, fireplace. The lady picked up his excitement and rushed to the fireplace to put out her fire. About that time the fire trucks pulled up with sirens blaring. The fire fighters jumped off the trucks and before the now mortified young student could say anything, began rolling out the hoses. " It's ok, everything's ok. It's uh.. in the fireplace." He casually walked back to his apartment across the street, his fiery countenance contradicting his otherwise calm demeanor.