Dad's Narnia Character

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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.

I Do Believe in Fairies...I do... I do...

Strange things happen in the middle of the night. I was sleeping peacefully. I felt something brush my arm, felt air on my face. I woke up and looked into the white face of a vampire reaching for my neck. I screamed, a shrill, horror-filled scream. The white vampire grabbed me and surprised me by screaming also. By that time, I had recognized my sister, with the cream on her face, but I thought, "Vampires are always people you don't expect!" I kept screaming.

My father rushed into the room saying, "Here, here, what's all this?" I kept screaming. My sister stopped and began explaining what had happened, but not until my dad shook me could I stop. My head began to clear. Apparently, sis had been reaching over me quietly to get my uh... tape recorder on the bookcase behind my head. She was not and had never been bitten by a vampire which sort of proved that uh....but the white face, you have to remember the white face, which... was apparently medicine for her complexion. Vampires have white faces you see, so naturally I thought...and you never know who really is one, so ...OK no more late night vampire movies for me! Ever! I'm watching Peter Pan!

Rococo
image: http://www.faeriebelievers.com

The Love of a Mother

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands:" Isaiah 49: 15

The love of a mother for her child is perhaps the purest, truest love we can experience here on earth. The maternal bond is a bond stronger than death, yet a mother may forget her child. Her love may not be true. Mothers do abandon their children, sometimes before the child even takes a breath.

God says that he will not forget Israel, His people. He has graciously extended this promise to the Gentiles. He says that He has engraved us upon the palms of His hands. I could not help but think of the nails in Jesus's hands. God has not forgotten us or left us in our sin with no way to be reconciled to Him. His love for us is so strong that He offers His only Son as a propitiation for our sins, so that we might have a way to come home to our Father.

"Thank you, Heavenly Father, for your steadfast love. Help us, dear Father to have true love for our children, the kind of love that always makes a way for our children to come home." Amen

Art by Andre Salvador
www.treklens.com/.../photo53351.htm

Reconciled

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him!" Luke 15:20

Endowed or Fit?

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Unalienable rights. Endowed by our creator. Shouldn't the unborn person whose heart beats within the womb be allowed to pursue happiness? Who are we to say that a severely handicapped individual cannot be happy? The old and infirm are now at risk because they have outlived their "usefulness".

Our society worships youth, beauty, brains, and money. We are not all endowed by our creator with these things. Still we are all created equal and endowed by our creator with certain unalienable rights. Are we created in the womb? Do we lose that quality of having been created when we become brain-damaged or old? Our founders believed that these rights were self-evident and that we are endowed with them. Perhaps the problem is that a great many people no longer believe in a creator.

If we no longer believe in a creator, then we either have no rights or we have the right to do anything we want. The more fit we are, the better able we are to secure rights for ourselves. Sound familiar?

Rococo
imag: www.london2012.org

Early Childhood Education

Bulletin boards are the bane of early childhood teachers! They are required to make their rooms bright, exciting, eye-catching, creative, and stimulating! Don't forget stimulating! As if 4 and 5 year olds are not stimulated enough! Sorry for all the exclamation points, but education is such an exciting subject! Just watch Sesame Street and you will learn... you will learn... well... how to jump quickly from one thing to another, I guess, which is something young children do well anyway.

How about selecting one excellent work of art to hang in the classroom as a focal point for the children. The rest of the room would be done in calm, cool colors, soft greens and blues perhaps. Comfortable seating instead of hard, stiff desks and chairs. Carpet, color-coordinated with the walls and furnishings would make it quiet and peaceful. We are trying to calm down hyper-active children here, you see. ADHD is a growing problem in our schools today.

Add to the above, unwavering but kind discipline and excellent, systematic teaching. This recipe would result in happiness and learning for students and teacher alike, in my opinion.

Rococo
Trust me. I've been there.

Free Minds

Free speech is a basic right in our nation and I am not advocating the squelching of the news media. However, perhaps they should identify themselves more honestly. Pretending to be objective, they are, for the most part, the voice of the left. Their influence on the average American citizen is great. Only those who dig for the other view will get a more balanced view of what is really happening in politics, government, Irag, Katrina, etc. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I would guess that most people get their daily news from television. What they see and hear is not an objective view. It is censored. Topics are chosen that promote the views of the media. If they want to make a political candidate look bad they have the power to do it ( although it sometimes backfires on them).

What I am proposing is that the news organizations simply tell us where they are coming from honestly. Network names like LNM or CRM would be helpful. (You figure it out) Then you could tune in to your favorite program to get the view you want. If you want to hear the other side, you know where to go. This already exists to a certain extent. However, there are lots of people who think that ABC news is telling them God's honest truth every night. No organization in a free country should have this kind of power over its citizens. Perhaps the public school system is the problem. teaching children to regurgitate the secular humanism of the day, rather than thinking for themselves. It has become more important to feel good about oneself than to actually be able to perform well. Children that are taught to think critically will not automatically accept what they hear on the news. Their minds will be free as well as their speech.
Rococo
Image: www.cerritos.edu

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