“If ignorance is bliss, there should be more happy people.” ― Victor Cousin
Welcome back. I trust you had a restorative weekend and now it is time to get hold of the day that we have been granted, this one falling on Monday, February 15, 2016. It is President's Day and I know that will help some with traffic in and around the metroplex, but, for those of us who live out in the boonies, that is, if there are any boonies left, it really doesn't make that much difference. I saw a news report last week about a Methodist Church that was offering Ash Wednesday services on a drive through basis. The minister uses ashes to make the sign of the cross on the foreheads of those participating. It has to do with Lent and it is a traditional ritual observed for many years. I remember the first time I encountered someone with that stuff on their forehead. I suppose I had not been exposed to much in the way of religions and their practices. I was at a cafeteria and the lady serving had what looked like soot on her forehead. Being the courteous gentleman I was raised up to be I told her she had something on her head. She looked at me and smiled and said, "Thanks, but it is my religion." I was of course embarrassed. She was, however, very gracious and maybe even amused by my ignorance. I was young at the time. Okay? Just me, but when I thought about how that drive through deal might offer a breakfast bagel with the ritual but that would likely be mixing up too many ethnic or religious traditions. Don't get all puffed up. I'm just joking. Not making fun of people. Just joking.
A little humor. That's all. Nothing more. I read last week on a pastor's twitter feed this jewel: "Every day is Fat Tuesday if you are Southern Baptist." He was poking fun at himself. When I saw his tweet I immediately thought of my upbringing and the legendary all day services with dinner on the grounds. My grandmother would stand behind that table dishing up her delicacies. There was always a line waiting for her cornbread dressing. That was her thing. Of course growing up our family enjoyed Granny Mac's prowess in the kitchen on a regular basis. My mom is also an excellent cook. She reminded me the other day how that after a couple of trial runs we kids preferred our friends to spend the night in our home, not the other way around. Why? We kids may not have been that bright but we soon learned that not every mom cooks like our mom or like our grandmother. Sorry. Not even close. In fact, some of my experiences were so bad I was tempted to run away from my friends house even though my home was several miles away. That's why I smiled when the preacher mentioned being Baptist and eating. Before I had diabetes I used to tell people that since God used the metaphor of treating us like well fed calves then I was just getting a head start in my eating. (Malachi 4:2) Again, I'm just joking so don't take what I say so seriously. And, while you are at it, could you please pass me that platter of fried chicken? Thank you very much.
I know that on some days you must wonder who does my proofreading. That, of course, would be none other than that famous trio, one more time, me, myself, and I. Because of this I can miss something in my review and checking. It happens. There are some folks out there that really get their brain cells tied in knots because they're self appointed as volunteer grammar police officers. I used those three in particular, there, their, and they're because those are constantly complained about. Here's what is funny to me. Folks who like to point out other people's misuse of words at times have grammatical errors in the posting of their critique. That's pretty funny to me. It's like watching that road rage clip where the guy goes all crazy and tries to bump the car next to him out of anger but succeeds in only wrecking his own vehicle. I'm not saying I would enjoy if someone got hurt but that poetic justice played out in front of you does make one feel a little better. Social media has proven one thing. Grammar and writing skills are either not emphasized much anymore or a whole lot of folks skipped a whole lot of classes. I say that without putting anything I write up as an example of how to do it. I remember having a short story reviewed as part of a writing class. I thought it was pretty good. When I got it back it looked like someone had bled all over the page. It had that much red ink. Interestingly enough, at the bottom a notation indicated the instructor also thought it was pretty good. What does that teach us class? There's always room for improvement, my friend, always. I should know. Take care and may God bless each one. Amen. .....More later.
Many years in this sojourn here on planet earth and I have the scars to prove it but I have been, am now, and will be blessed to have had the privilege of doing what little I've done to honor God and serve others.