"Country music is three chords and the truth." ~ Harlan Howard, (1927-2002), legendary songwriter

Last photo of Johnny Cash, age 71, taken by Marty Stuart.

Welcome back to our final session for the month, today being Monday, September 30, 2019. We watched most of, if not all, the episodes of the recently concluded 16 hour documentary on Country Music, by the famous historian Ken Burns, on PBS. I'm sure this series will end up being recognized with all kinds of awards. It was well done. The production values were amazing. The history itself was gritty and gripping. We would probably put Gospel music at the top of our list and it is a mainstay in the named country Gospel genre. We are fans of Bluegrass. We like some country music as well. That photo taken of Johnny Cash was captured on September 8, 2003. Four days later Cash passed away at age 71. As depicted in the documentary, he earned that hard-edged image through the many ups and downs in his music career. At the end of his life, he lamented the time lost with his children and he wrote them letters asking for their forgiveness. Sadly, his story of what it takes to 'make it' in the music business continues today. While there are a few notable exceptions, becoming famous takes its toll. An interesting side note: Many, if not most, of those in this genre, came up learning to sing in Church where they and their families worshipped and served the Lord. I would highly recommend this documentary to anyone, even those who may not care for country music. It is, after all, American inspired music, our music, and it collects and contains the history of our people.

The other day I dutifully carried my pickup truck to the place that changes the oil and checks everything out. It has a carwash connected to the oil change center and the service comes with a free carwash. (I know, my wife reminded me there are no free carwashes.) Let me restate it, the service includes a carwash. Once the oil change was completed they passed the truck over to the folks who prep it and then send it through the automated washing process. Once it comes out, it is taken to an individual who wipes it down and takes care of the minor amount of detailing they do. On that particular day, my truck was passed to a little old lady, maybe 4 feet tall. She had to have been in her mid-60's, Hispanic, and what a worker! She had a little step ladder and she was all over my truck, busy as a bee, and she wiped down and cleaned places I've never seen them do before. She was something to behold! When she waved her little towel to signal my truck was ready I went out to get it. I gave her a tip and one of my Santa souvenir cards, and then I stuck out my hand to shake her hand and told her, "Thank you so much for doing such a wonderful job!" Her eyes lit up and she painted a huge smile which included a few missing teeth. Maybe she was new and had not gotten the message about doing the minimum. Don't you appreciate folks who go the second mile? I do.

I suppose there are bridges we eventually all have to cross over. We crossed one last Thursday when we attended our Bible study class game time at a local pizza joint. I don't know what the average age is in our class of about 40 regular attendees, but, we are some of the youngest in there. They have been pushing us to show up for the past couple of years and we finally made it. I am not a game player. The wife would be more of one than I am. I used to play games like Gin Rummy and Chess, but, that was a long time ago. I suppose this game day affair is the Baptist equivalent of the Catholic Bingo games for old people. We love the fellowship of being with these folks. I'm still working through my understanding of what this transition might mean in terms of me becoming stereotypical. We had a wonderful time and it's good to hear so much laughter and joy being expressed. I have been practicing hiking my trousers even higher up since I think that is part of the dress code as I continue my journey. You do know I am kidding. What? You noticed? Wait just a cotton-picking minute! I see. You are making a little funny at my expense. Go ahead. I've become an easy target these days. Have a good rest of the day and may God bless each one. Amen. .....More later.

“I realized that day that blessings come in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes.” ― Craig Groeschel

It's Friday, September 27, 2019, and while the air feels slightly different, our home is decked out in fall colors. The reddish-orange and brown stuff is now our official accenting decor while Mr. Summer refuses to leave outside. There are times when I get into bed and just for a millisecond I feel the cold sheet and it transports me back to those days of yesteryear when it was getting cooler and the windows were wide open and you needed cover immediately. It is a nice memory, albeit fleeting. The other day I was feeling a wee bit poorly. I call it my vague feeling. Something might be wrong or maybe I just feel like something is wrong. Whatever, it translates into that blah sickly feeling. I told the wife I was thinking about getting into a tub of hot water to see if that would help. She was against me doing that. She said when I am feeling poorly and get in hot water I almost always have a hard chill. I thought about that. A hard chill for me typically indicates I'm getting whatever is wrong out of my system. I waited a little while and announced it again. This time she told me to just do what I thought I should do. I did. No chill. Must not have needed to get whatever it was out of my system, so, I just figured it must fit one of my grandfather's suggested remedies, "You've got the same shoes to feel better in." Or, something like that. The wife kept asking me what I thought the problem was. I couldn't come up with anything so I sang back to her these lyrics, "My latest sun is sinking fast, My race is nearly run." We both laughed and moved on down the road of life.

Those who have read my blogs over the years are well aware of the role of my mom's dad, Paw Paw Mac, in my life. Losing my dad at age 7, my grandfather was hugely influential in my upbringing. He was a legendary figure to us. Here's a blog I wrote twelve years ago that helps describe some of the reasons why: ~ Things Learned Under The Mimosa Trees! Growing up in a small rural area meant we typically got haircuts a couple of times a month. My grandfather used to take us a few miles out of town to a man’s house and he had his little barbershop out in his backyard. This fellow had the largest mimosa trees I’ve ever seen. They were huge. We had some in our yard but they never really amounted to much. His trees could be climbed and it was really great climbing because the branches were spread out far and wide which gave plenty of room. These trees had a special kind of worm that fed on its leaves which were prized for fishing, especially for white perch. We could have gotten our haircut in town but my grandfather didn’t really care for that barber. He only had one eye and every time someone sat down in the chair he would ask how they wanted their hair cut and then everyone around would burst out laughing because they knew it didn’t matter, he was going to cut it the same way every time, his way, which usually meant bad.

Paw Paw Mac with my nephew Thomas Allen.

Us boys heard many stories when we went for a haircut. One day out under the mimosa trees an older gentleman sat down in one of the wooden chairs. He looked inside the shop and saw my granddad. Then he looked at me. He said, “Boy, is that Rancher McMillan in there?” I said proudly, “Yes sir, it is.” He then asked, “Are you his grandson?” Again, “Yes sir, I am.” He then proceeded to tell me a remarkable story about something that had happened many years earlier. He began, “Your Grandpa and I go way back. We used to saw logs together. We cut trees in some of the big woods all around these parts. One day he and I were getting ready to fell a huge pine tree and I was using my ax to bed it on one side. When I swung that ax back it came out of my hand and flew through the air and hit your grandpa right in the face. In fact, it plum cut his nose off. Your grandpa grabbed his nose because it was still hanging and put it back on his face and held it tight. I loaded him up in the truck and carried him to Doc Stephens who sewed it back on. He didn’t even deaden it. We then went back to the woods. Yep, I’m probably the only man you will ever know who cut your grandpa’s nose off!”

What a story! When I asked Paw Paw about it he just waved it off like he always did whenever anyone tried to talk about him. Later in his life when he suffered much in the way of sinus problems I often thought about that story. I can’t imagine having your nose sewed up with no pain medication. But I will tell you this. From what I know about my granddad the entire story has the ring of truth and it added to the legend of my great respect for this man of influence in my life. That’s at least one thing I learned under the mimosa trees that I will never forget. ~

Well, another blogging week has come and gone. I sure hope everyone has a really wonderful Saturday and that we all will make our way to the meeting place on Lord's Day Sunday. Lord willing and the Creek Indian nation doesn't rise, I will catch back up with everyone, next time, on this same station. May God bless. Amen. ....More later.

"All things through Christ."

I woke up again this morning. Blessed. I'm able to function, go about my affairs, and take care of my business. Blessed. I have the presence of mind to thank God for His provisions. Blessed. That's not a bad way to start any day. Right? Amen. And, this day is Thursday, September 26, 2019. What about when, for whatever the reason might be, I'm not able to do those things. What about when I'm dealing with heartache and pain? What about when my life seems to be falling apart? Believe me, we all have been there and done that as we make our way through this journey called life. As a believer, one who has given their life to the Lord Jesus Christ, the simple answer is the same: Blessed! Even when we can't feel it, see it, touch it, and it seems so far away, in actuality, the truth is, we are still blessed. Here's a verse I need to embrace: "Give thanks in everything, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." (1st Thessalonians 5:18 from the Holman Christian Standard Bible) When we choose to praise God and express our thanksgiving we can realize the power of the testimony given by inspiration by the Apostle Paul, "I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." (Philippians 4:12-13, New King James Version, NKJV) This verse is often on a t-shirt or bumper sticker and folks see it as a happy go lucky living above it all type of tiptoeing through the tulips type of lifestyle. Think about what Paul said, with the help of Christ he could deal with being abased, belittled, degraded. He could deal with being hungry and when he suffered need. And, at the same time, with the help of Christ, he could also handle times of abundance as God would have him to. All things. Great, good, pleasant, horrible, bad, sad, happy, desperate, and everything in-between, through Christ we can make it. Amen and Amen.

If you didn't need my little sermonette today, you will. Eventually. I have 73 plus years of all-of-the-above to know the reality of exactly what Paul was inspired to share with us. I do not know precisely why I wrote that first paragraph. I sat down. I didn't have a subject in mind and I started writing. The ability to even do that is a blessing. That's how it unfolded. As I continued, the Paul Harvey 'rest of the story' came forth. I certainly don't see my writing as being inspired in the Biblical sense of the word. However, I do know when I write about matters that reflect upon the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as found in God's Holy Word, well, those words are inspired which means they were breathed out by God Himself in the person of the Holy Spirit. Maybe the reason I wrote that little essay is because of me needing to hear it again, for the first time. I remember the wife and I singing a song many years ago with this as its message: "I can't even walk without You holding my hand." How true! Through Christ. Let me reword that: "I can walk with You holding my hand." Amen.

Being fixated on always looking for cooler weather has become a part of my make-up. A conversation the other evening was interesting because someone said they would be so happy when they could watch their kid's football game in cooler weather. I immediately piped up that according to the most recent projections they should have some of that by mid-October. They looked at me and then they looked at one another. I certainly wasn't trying to come off as the weather-answer-man, but, as most of you know, I have been paying attention to this particular question. I should have added the caveat saying my answer about cooler weather was based on projections made by so-called professional experts, and, their track record is sketchy at best. I couldn't tell them I knew this because of my achy bones. That wouldn't work. My bones ache most of the time. That too is a part of the three score, ten, three years and counting. I do seem to recall as a kid I did hear some who had different ways of knowing when the weather might change. Believe it or not, this does have a ring of truth. Here's an explanation from the Farmers Almanac: "While not every piece of old weather lore is true, evidence seems to suggest that this one is based in fact. As far back as the 1960s, medical researchers have found, over and over again, that there is a genuine connection between increased pain and cold, wet weather. While the effect is most commonly linked to arthritis sufferers, many have also reported feeling increased pain from nerve disorders, recently healed fractures, migraines, toothaches, corns, and even scars, when the weather was about to change." There you have it. Sudden increased nerve pain? Grab your umbrella! With that, I will say so long until we meet again. May God bless. Amen. ....More later.

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.” ~ Gospel of John, Chapter 14, Verses 1-4, as rendered in the English Standard Version, (ESV)

Good morning and welcome to Wednesday, September 25, 2019. The other day I joked about reading the obituaries and how I am always glad when I find my name is not listed. I don't always hear about folks I've known over the years when they pass from this life to their eternal destination. Therefore, I occasionally do a search to see who may have checked out. It's pretty simple. You know. Google it. I worked for many years for the 'big' company and rubbed elbows with many hundreds of folks, both in the Company at large, as well as daily interaction in the department I was privileged to head up before leaving back in 1993. Here's a sample of the search argument I use: "pennzoil" "obituary" "houston". The listings are like a walk down memory lane. It contained big shots, mid-level executives, department heads, and folks I had a lot of dealings with, along with those who reported to me. As I read through their write-ups, many lived good, long lives, with great accomplishments and contributions having been made. Others were taken away much younger. Interestingly enough, I could remember specific situations, meetings, and funny exchanges with many of the folks who popped up. Before you send me a note telling me I need to not be so morbid, and, maybe, I need to get a life, (no pun intended), there are some truths reinforced by this exercise. First and foremost, unless the Lord comes back and we are caught up to meet Him in the air, everyone, me, you, every mother's child will one day have their name listed as having gone to their reward. Secondly, it reminds us all that we can achieve many things in this world and perhaps even be called great, but, our relationship with Jesus the Christ determines our eternal destiny. And, lastly, are the stories I could tell. And, I might do that from time to time as I make my way towards the day when you will read about my life.

I also do the same types of searches for the hometown where I grew up, for more recent factors, and other related types of search entities. It doesn't really contribute much to any worthwhile effort, but, it does allow for some recollection and reflection. I also enjoy reading an interesting account of a person's life, even if I never knew them. Here is an example of one. (long but good), written by an adoring son:

Ronald L. Ezell

- - Our Dad died the day before the geese arrived. Ronald L. Ezell (July 28, 1939-October 1, 2018) breathed his last in the early evening of October 1, 2018. He left behind a son, Michael Ezell of Sparks, Nevada, a daughter, Rona who lives with her husband John Powers in Battleground, Washington, and another whom he raised and loved just as a daughter of his own, Theresa who lives with her husband Chris Mott in Redmond, Oregon. Our Dad died a loved and important man. We knew our Dad always as a man in the service of his fellow men. He was a man of unshakable conviction. He was a man of integrity and honor. And all animals on this planet approved him without reservation, but most especially all the horses and the dogs he ever had occasion to meet.

Of course we, his children, didn't know him his entire life, but we heard the stories of how he was first a farmer's then a coal miner's son and how he grew up in Southern Illinois in a day and time and area where horse-drawn wagons and buggies and plows were nearly as common as cars or tractors, if you can believe that. He talked about a farmhouse with no indoor plumbing or sanitation. I vouch for this part, for when I was very young I trembled with fear when I had to use the outdoor facility at night on the very farm where this man, once a boy like me, ran about and played in the cornfields as if this kind of backwardness meant nothing at all. I remember electricity on that farm, but I also remember the soot of lamplight upon the old house ceiling and wallpapers. Oil lamps remained placed like stubborn sentries about the house and were often used as a more agreeable light source in spite of electricity. Most times for his children's part, I do admit for myself, we thought his stories inflated in memory and grown over-mythic somehow. He told stories that sounded like they were derived from the pages of famous American books like Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn. He told how he walked barefoot throughout the county; he told how he fished and hunted whenever he wanted and ate everything he caught. He told of a rich land that grew the best corn, tomatoes, and melons; he told how not a scrap was wasted when it came time to slaughter a chicken, a pig or a cow. He told a romantic tale of a life of freedom and a life of hard work made easier by clever thinking and a way of living off the land not known to us today. Even if these stories of his were only half true, then he certainly saw a lot in his time. In the passage of his youth, he matured through the time of the horse to the time of' the hot-rod. And as he grew into a young man he sustained his passion for both, the animal and the machine. I suspect that with each, he could admire and compare them by their horsepower! For my part, I believe like the gospel, the truth of every detail in the stories concerning this period of his life - now more than ever. Our Dad was raised a man of the earth. To him, living meant willful, cheerful engagement and doing.

When I was born, my father was an Airman of the US Air Force, serving around the globe, a patriot in the long, cold war. He had a wife, my and Rona's mother, Annette, and at the end of his tour he was ready to go home and make his family. But those were dicey times in those days and the Air Force retained him in service for "252 days for convenience of the government" by excuse of the Suez Canal crisis. For his job, he maintained strategic aircraft on SAC airbases from Goose Bay Labrador in the Arctic Circle to Christmas Island in the Pacific Ocean. His stories of this time were also very loving and romantic and too many to tell you. But I will say, he talked of times when he had to urinate on his frozen hands to warm them enough to hold a tool on a snowy flight line during a never-ending night. He told of times when he was instructed to sit with his unit on a flight line, everyone wearing welding goggles, to watch an atomic bomb blast mushroom up in the tropical distance. And apparently, this exercise occurred more than once. What, I wonder, was the feeling of that radioactive wind blowing over these men and drying the pomade in their military haircuts; but then, what did they or anyone else know about it in those days? And since there were no horses on those isolated outposts and no dogs allowed on base, he learned the migratory habits of tasty crabs and he swam among sharks and giant clams and moray eels. And he told of even happier times on a now forgotten flight-training airbase at Stead, Nevada, happy because he could serve closer to family and home. And then finally the day came when my Dad was free and the Airman 1 st Class came home for good. His years of military service were from September 17, 1957, to May 28, 1962.

Then my Dad, like a type-cast character in a play, stepped from one type of service into another. Seamless somehow, he went from protecting and serving his country to protecting and serving his community. My Dad became a Police Officer of the Reno Police Department when Reno was but a small town on an important road in the West before the Interstate Highway System was real or gravel streets were thought worthy of paving and when individual, extraordinary men owned the glitzy casinos, and not corporations. Even then, I also remember how our Dad always had a knack for bringing everything he loved along with him. For example, he was instrumental in developing the RPD's first K-9 unit and I believe he went out with City funds to buy the Department's first batch of dogs. I believe that he trained these dogs and the men that would handle them. I can't remember a time in my early years when I did not play and cohabit with police dogs - Blackie and Flash and others. I remember them all, even if I don't remember all their names. Then our Dad developed the Department's first horse-mounted unit. You see what I mean here. Through his career, he witnessed increasingly turbulent and violent times. He was in the forefront when political agitators invaded Reno like bees from California hives. And when these dangerous times calmed down, his family found that even his daily routines presented peril. There was a picture in the paper of him on his Harley Davidson motor, pinned under the wheels of a tractor-trailer. He lay in bed at home a long time recovering from that one. Then later, as a Lieutenant, he led CNU (Consolidated Narcotics Unit) when it seemed the whole sad world would capitulate in suicide by overdose, or permanently impoverish itself in hopeless addiction. He earned the nickname 'Ramrod' during this time, descriptive I thought, of bashing in drug dealer doors. He also told me how his team took down underground meth labs in their uniforms and street shoes, without any protective clothing whatsoever - but then, what did they or anyone else know about it in those days? He lived an exciting career, but I remember how his stories from this period of his life were not as romantic, not as lovingly recalled. I remember how he warned me of a trap of perspective when he said, "You have to be careful when you see the worst of the worst every day because that's your job... careful that you don't begin to think that the world's made like that. You have to remember that the misery you see is all really, just a very little part." To this day I try to remember that wise advice when times are bad for me. Our Dad's years of service with the City of Reno Police Department were September 16. 1962 to March 15, 1990. He retired as a Lieutenant.

Our Dad spent the rest of his life, during what I call the "assessment" period, lovingly doing whatsoever he wanted and as he liked. Because he liked his Country, he was a lifetime member of the NRA and a Nevada Delegate, one or more times, to the Republican National Convention. He liked his family and wanted them near. He liked his friends and continued to make new ones though he had many. He liked to help, so he contributed to charities and causes beyond counting. He liked to tour the Gold Wing through the mountains. He liked his Brothers of the Masonic Pyramid Lodge 43 for they were thinkers too and served. Never greedy, he liked the vibe of casinos where he won more than he lost in his little low-stake games. He liked old Reno and he liked to eat Basque sweetbreads and oxtails and tongue and also imbibe some Picon Punch with the locals. He liked to watch the Derby and the other races for the Triple Crown, hoping to see a freak of a horse like Secretariat run one more time. He liked to watch a ballgame with his son. He liked his horses. And he liked his dogs.

And because we children with great loving liked him back - we shall miss him and honor him in our memory every day.

Patience now father, and know your children will return your ashes between spring and summer to a little country cemetery near where you began your earthly journey. Your brother Charles and your sister Janice are preparing a place for you near the spot in the country where you were born, in the very country where the three of you ran and played and fought with each other as the Ezell kids. For those who would like to see it, our Dad's marker will be found at Bethel Cemetery, between Benton and West Frankfort in Southern Illinois, in an area known to the locals as Dog Prairie.

Rest in peace Dad. We will miss you.

Published in Reno Gazette-Journal on Oct. 25, 2018

Okay. Some will find that to be an interesting account. Others. Not so much. Obviously, it was an interesting read for me. Have a great rest of the day and may God add His blessings. Amen. ....More later.

Lexie Reprospective

MONDAY, JUNE 3, 2019

Our granddaughter did get herself graduated from high school last Friday. Unfortunately, we were not able to be there. Well, we were able to be there, but, we did not make it. We were very excited about being there. We had planned our day accordingly. We had one major disconnect. Around 11:45 a.m. we received a text from our youngest, her dad: "Where are you? It starts at 12 noon and Lexie will be called first." We couldn't believe it. We had fixed firmly in our minds that it was Friday evening. We were actually outside in the yard when we received the message. We were crestfallen. The wife cried. We were so very sorry. I sent notes to everyone confessing our complete misunderstanding since we thought it was Friday evening at 6 p.m. Lexie was very understanding. She said she loved us. Her mom said it was a failure in communication. That was very kind as well. We had our plans made. We talked about it all week. We were going over earlier to try and miss the traffic. We certainly missed the traffic and everything else as well. At the end of it all, I tried to put it into some perspective. It wasn't meant to be and perhaps there was a reason we were not able to make it. It reminded me of something I used to drill into my people back in the day, "It's not only doing the right things but it is doing the right things ....right!"

FRIDAY, MAY 31, 2019

"Dear God, We pray for our graduates today and lift them before you. We thank you so much for these we love and for the work you are continuing to do in their lives. They are a gift to us and to many others. And during this season of new beginnings, we ask that you would make their way clear. We ask that you would keep their footsteps firm and remind them that you are with them, always. May they sense the freshness of your Spirit over their lives in amazing ways, may they be strengthened, instilled with hope, for the new roads you have in store." ~ copied

Our Lexie on the left and her cousin Morgan, graduating together this evening.

Okay. Let's see if I can close out the week with something that will be of interest to someone, somewhere. Due to the Memorial Day observance last Monday, it is a short work week (for most) Friday, and this one is on the last day of May, the 31st, 2019. Lord willing, this evening, we will be making the trek across the way to see our granddaughter Lexie Dee as she graduates from High School. She will finish her high school days on a high note, graduating Summa Cum Laud and on the Distinguished Honor Roll. Lexie will be entering the University of Texas, Austin, this fall. Our prayers go with her and all those who will be pursuing the next phase of their life adventure. May God bless. Amen.

THURSDAY, APRIL 18, 2019

We received a copy of the letter stating our granddaughter, Lexie Dee, will be graduating from her high school class of about 1,000, with the top honor of Summa Cum Laude. This girl has worked so hard and has always excelled in her academic pursuits. She is in all advanced classes. She tutors other students. She has a parttime job. She will start in the fall at the University of Texas, Austin. We thank God for the talent and ability He has given to this young woman. We are thrilled for the potential she has and yes, we are proud of her. We know her parents, our youngest Rodney, and Mitzi, are too. May God continue to work in her life as she makes her way forward. Congratulations to our Lexie. We love you. MiMi and Poppy.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 2018

Happy 18th to our Lexie Dee!

Today. It is Wednesday, November 14, 2018. I do thank you for showing up today where I am sharing this new episode from The Home Office. Today is a special day in our family. It is our youngest son's youngest daughter's birthday. She turns 18 today. Happiest of birthdays to our Lexie Dee. Our Lexie is an amazing young woman and God has poured into her tremendous potential. She will be attending the University of Texas after graduating from high school. She had other choices, but, for as long as I can remember she has wanted to go to UT. Our prayers are for God's protection and leadership as she continues her journey here on the planet. Our love, forever and ever, Amen, MiMi and Poppy.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2018

Is it bragging if it is nothing more than stating the facts? Ponder that one for a while.

Good morning and welcome to Wednesday, September 19, 2018. I wanted to share how thankful we are for our granddaughter, Lexie Dee. She was named Homecoming Queen at her high school last week. That's quite an achievement when you consider she attends one of those mega schools with over 3,500 students. She is a senior. And, yes, I have trouble even processing that. She has always been a good student and has done well academically. She has her sights set on attending the University of Texas. She is the daughter of our Rodney and wife, Mitzi. We are thankful for the enabling giftedness that God has placed in this child. We are her grandparents. Proud grandparents. At the same time, we pray for her spiritual well-being as she continues her journey. We know that a relationship with God through His Son, Jesus Christ, is the key to a meaningful life. And, to be honest, she reminds me of her MiMi when she was that age. Her MiMi wasn't the Homecoming Queen because they didn't have that program at her school, however, she was Miss Anacoco High School, therefore, I guess it runs in the family. I'm not done yet. And, her MiMi ended up dating and marrying me, the former Mr. Hornbeck High School. We are talking royalty here, or, upon further review, maybe it was Royal Crown Cola, (RC Cola as it was known back in the day.), with some peanuts floating in it for good measure. Talk about good! May God continue to bless our Lexie Dee! Amen.

“Hard work beats talent when talent fails to work hard.” ― Kevin Durant

It's Tuesday, September 24, 2019, and I am beginning to be reminded that we are moving towards the countdown to Christmas. It's only 92 days. The photo above was one we shot last year with a new professional photographer. She is using it as a promo for the upcoming season. We will be working with her again this year as well as two additional new professionals. Our actual scheduling begins in early November. Based on what we already have on our calendar, we will be busy again this year. If we are able. Lord willing. I say that because we realize that life becomes more fragile as the years roll on. Anything at any time can happen. At the promo photoshoot I did in August I was reminded of the tremendous responsibility I have when working with children. After working for over an hour, a young mom showed up with her infant. Shooting photos with a baby is a whole different set-up. They walked over and handed the little one to me. Many different shots close up and I was handling the little one up and down, in my arms, and close to my cheek. I look forward to seeing some of those photos! At the same time, I must tell you it is draining and intimidating because of the preciousness of the subject being handled and photographed. Yep. Go ahead. Admit it. You thought there couldn't be an easier job. Right? I have a prepared response: Think again, Bucko!

It's not as if I don't have ample proof that even Santas face health challenges. I am part of a number of Santa Claus sharing groups on Facebook. While it is a small fraternity, there are several thousand who identify themselves as professionals. From time to time, one of my brothers in red will post a prayer request because of their failing health, or a particular health crisis. Some have lamented the fact they will be unable to sit in the chair this season. Some, even worse, with life-threatening diagnoses. Sure, many of these are older than I am. Some aren't. They love being Santa and often ask questions about Santa in a wheelchair or Santa wearing a knee brace, and things of that sort. I'm not trying to chase a black cloud here, but, a reality check is always a good thing to do. I do hope, with God's help, that I will know when it is time to put my uniform away. We are blessed. We enjoy doing what we do, but, unlike many Santas, it is not a job we need. There are some who depend on their work as Santa to help supplement their livelihoods. Not being able to be Santa is a huge hit for them. Like I say, we are blessed. The funds we receive from the paid events we do is nice. It gives me another opportunity to complain about how much of them go to paying our taxes. My point? The old saying I've heard since I was a kid comes to mind, "All good things must come to an end."

As we get ready for our 10th year, and, as I write today's blog, I am pretty much feeling good and ready to go. I do wish I had more stamina because I do tend to fade more quickly as the work continues. This might be one reason why I always try to get Mrs. Claus as part of our venues. She is my helpmeet over these nearly 55 years and she brings me a lot of confidence just having her beside me. I end up doing quite a few solo events, however, I always do much better when Mrs. Claus is there with me. She often trivializes her contributions, but, she shouldn't question The Santa because after all is said and done, "He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been good or bad, so be good for goodness sake!" And, she is one of the most popular Mrs. Clauses ever. That, my friend, is a proven fact. For her, bringing joy to children of all ages, well, it comes naturally. Truth be known, I need all the help I can get. Have yourself a jolly little rest of the day, and may God bless us, one and all. Amen. .....More later.

"An unsophisticated forecaster uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts - for support rather than for illumination. " -- Andrew Lang, (1844-1912)

Hello fellow citizens of the world, those created in the image of God, and every single one of us is in need of His help and provision. Every single moment of every single day! Amen. It's good to catch back up with you on this Monday, September 23, 2019. We have seven days to go to finish September and I heard some distressing news from our local weather prognosticators. No cold/cool fronts anytime soon. I know. I had previously reported we were supposed to have some overnight low 60's before the month is out. I did. I was reporting what was predicted by those who supposedly get paid to know. They have since updated their projections. The only good news I saw on their calendar was the record low recorded in September of 39 degrees. I'm not sure when that low was achieved. I did discover one thing. The state-of-the-art instrumentation and recording capabilities does one thing well. It can tell you precisely every iota of what happened weather-wise looking back in the previous time period. By the minute if you want that level of detail. Maybe they are like the crawdads. They swim backward because they are more interested in where they have been than where they are going. (My granddad used to accuse me of having similar traits.) And, for you purists, here's the factoid about how they travel: "Crawfish walk forward, but swim backward using their abdomen muscles. They actually move much faster backward while swimming."

Since I like to be informed, here's some useful information so each of us can do our own weather predicting. It comes from the Farmers Almanac for Kids edition:

~ Ready for do-it-yourself weather-predicting? Long before meteorologists had sophisticated technology to help them predict the weather, people made forecasts based on their observations of the sky, animals, and nature. Many of the traditional sayings they used, called proverbs, are surprisingly accurate. Try out some old-fashioned forecasting—that still works today!

WEATHER SAYINGS AND MEANINGS

“THE HIGHER THE CLOUDS, THE FINER THE WEATHER.” If you spot wispy, thin clouds up where jet airplanes fly, expect a spell of pleasant weather. Keep an eye, however, on the smaller puff clouds (cumulus), especially if it’s in the morning or early afternoon. If the rounded tops of these clouds, which have flat bases, grow higher than the one cloud’s width, then there’s a chance of a thunderstorm forming.

“CLEAR MOON, FROST SOON.” When the night sky is clear, Earth’s surface cools rapidly—there is no cloud cover to keep the heat in. If the night is clear enough to see the Moon and the temperature drops enough, frost will form. Expect a chilly morning!

“WHEN CLOUDS APPEAR LIKE TOWERS, THE EARTH IS REFRESHED BY FREQUENT SHOWERS.” When you spy large, white clouds that look like cauliflower or castles in the sky, there is probably lots of dynamic weather going on inside. Innocent clouds look like billowy cotton, not towers. If the clouds start to swell and take on a gray tint, they’re probably turning into thunderstorms. Watch out!

“RAINBOW IN THE MORNING GIVES YOU FAIR WARNING.” A rainbow in the morning indicates that a shower is in your near future.

“RING AROUND THE MOON? RAIN REAL SOON.” A ring around the moon usually indicates an advancing warm front, which means precipitation. Under those conditions, high, thin clouds get lower and thicker as they pass over the moon. Ice crystals are reflected by the moon’s light, causing a halo to appear.

“RAIN FORETOLD, LONG LAST. SHORT NOTICE, SOON WILL PASS.” If you find yourself toting an umbrella around for days “just in case,” rain will stick around for several hours when it finally comes. The gray overcast dominating the horizon means a large area is affected. Conversely, if you get caught in a surprise shower, it’s likely to be short-lived.

“RED SKY AT NIGHT, SAILORS DELIGHT. RED SKY IN MORNING, SAILORS TAKE WARNING.” A reddish sunset means that the air is dusty and dry. Since the weather in North American latitudes usually moves from west to east, a red sky at sunset means dry weather—good for sailing—is moving east. Conversely, a reddish sunrise means that dry air from the west has already passed over us on their way easy, clearing the way for a storm to move in.

Observe the sky and see if these weather proverbs work for you. ~

Jesus mentioned weather-predicting during His time here on the earth: "Then the Pharisees and Sadducees came, and testing Him asked that He would show them a sign from heaven. He answered and said to them, “When it is evening you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red’;  and in the morning, ‘It will be foul weather today, for the sky is red and threatening.’ Hypocrites! You know how to discern the face of the sky, but you cannot discern the signs of the times. A wicked and adulterous generation seeks after a sign, and no sign shall be given to it except the sign of the prophet Jonah. And He left them and departed." (Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 16, Verses 1-4) Being able to read the signs and know what the weather might do may have a useful purpose, but, it is of little value if one misses the truths associated with the signs Jesus gave regarding His Person, His Purpose, and His Provision for those who would respond to Him. That, my friend, is still true today. We find ourselves taking action based on the signs reported to us by those who supposedly know, and, often we find ourselves ignoring the true signs given to us by our Lord and Savior. His forecasts can always be believed for they originate from God Himself. Amen. ....More later.

"The LORD is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him." ~ Nahum 1:7

Whew! What a week! It's Friday, September 20, 2019, and I'm thankful that we, thus far, have made it through the rain event while at the same time I am very aware that many folks have not faired well with the flooding and other damages incurred. There are sections of the subdivision where we live that are extremely flood-prone. Many of the folks living in those areas have been there and done that more than once. I saw several of their postings asking folks for any information that might help them to know if they were going to flood. Their fear is both real and understandable. As far as I know, none of these folks have flooded. We did get some heavy rain but much of what we saw was steady but we did not get the deluge that others experienced. It's hard to imagine the nearly 2 feet of accumulated rainfall as recorded in the Beaumont area. While we have never personally flooded from rising water in our home, we know all too well what can happen when a hurricane puts a huge tree into one of our upstairs bedrooms. Ike did that for us and we took in an estimated 18 inches through the huge gash that opened the roof. I said that to say this, we know first hand the strain and stress, therefore, our hearts go out to those dealing with this current threat. Along with our prayers. Amen.

For Flashback Friday, here is a flavor for some of what we experienced as I wrote about it one year after it happened in 2009: ~ Jesus didn't say "if" the storms would come, He said "when" they come! In the wee hours of September 13, 2008, we heard this huge crash. We said to each other it must be a really gigantic limb. It was gigantic but it wasn’t a limb. It was an entire tree that Hurricane Ike helped deposit into our home. I’m not even sure how many hours before we knew it was a tree. I’m almost certain some knew what it was before we did. We were sheltered in place downstairs for several hours before venturing up to begin checking things out including that super loud noise caused by the impact that shook our entire home. Being ‘sheltered in place’ is one of those phrases you become very familiar with when you survive a hurricane like Ike. When the water started leaking in most of the downstairs and you live in a two-story house, okay, we were probably stunned, but we eventually snapped to the fact that the water had to be coming from somewhere. When I finally made my way up the stairs and opened the door to our eldest son’s bedroom, Chris’ room is what we still call it, we had a brand new view of the street and the water was pouring in. (I heard last night that the name 'Ike' has been retired from ever being used again as a named storm because of the huge devastation it caused.)

One year later on this Monday, September 14, 2009, we are first in line to be thanking God for helping us get through this great challenge in our lives. Most of you know the story. The house was gutted and my wife’s brother, Milton, suffered a catastrophic heart and stroke attack while helping to rebuild it. Rather than rehearse the innumerable details reflecting the anguish and pain involved in dealing with this event, perhaps it is better to consider lessons learned. Having insurance is a good thing. Having to use insurance in dealing with a major loss? I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, however, we ended up okay. The local stations have been playing special reports all last week to revisit Ike and my heart is broken for those they have interviewed who are still fighting to get the first dime out of their insurance companies. Many of them have abandoned their homesites because they have no funds to rebuild. Throughout this trying time, we also experienced first hand God’s help provided to us through the generosity and kindness of family, brothers, and sisters in Christ, and so many friends and neighbors who gave of their time and resources to help us through this season of testing.

One year later we live in our rebuilt home that is nicer than we would have ever thought possible. Just two weeks ago I finished up with what I hope will be the final transaction with my insurance adjuster. It involved a damaged computer. My final email to him was one where I thanked him for his assistance and I wished a blessing from God upon himself and his family. He sent me back an email and said that I was due a lot of the credit for doing my part, down in the trenches, and that he was happy to have been able to have helped, and that he too wished me and my family God’s best. Other than our ears perking up any time we hear about a depression forming off the African coast, I think we have settled back in pretty well. We still have one room filled with boxes that have not been unpacked. We still have my office and my wife’s office to complete. But, on the other hand, we still have our dear Brother Milton to be able to visit with. We still have folks we see who will always be close to us because of their caring. And, one year later, we still have God to thank for His blessings on us. Amen and Hallelujah, praise be to His Holy Name. ~

That's one we will never forget. Have a great Saturday and Lord's Day Sunday, and, Lord willing, I will be here punishing the keys on my keyboard at our next appointed meeting. May God bless. Amen. .....More later.

“I'd rather be a little weird than all boring.” ― Rebecca McKinsey

It is another day in the neighborhood and I bring each one greetings from my little slice of the world to yours, on this Thursday, September 19, 2019. For those wondering, I still start my day off with some hot, black, strong Community coffee, and, yes, I still check the obituaries from several sources, but, no, I don't do it to see if I am still alive. That's a very old joke for those who might not recognize it. I also check my blood sugar several mornings per week. I do that first thing. After retiring last October from my regular day job, I became somewhat lax in doing my diabetic finger prick testings. Guess what happens when you don't test? The numbers go up. I probably knew that already, but, whether it is psychological or not, when I am on a regular regimen of checking my blood, I maintain lower numbers. That's a fact. And, may I add, I have the numbers to prove it. I will admit I am not as disciplined as I have been in the past, but, I am currently maintaining, for my age, reasonable control of my diabetes. For that I am thankful. Especially for the medications, I take since I'm sure they are working much harder than I am. I consider myself to be blessed to have discovered this Type 2 condition when we did, and, to have had the excellent medical care since beginning this diabetic journey back in 2007. I do appreciate my wife, my children, and my grandchildren all showing concern as they are often heard saying, "Are you sure you should be eating that?"

With the recent rain event in our area, the subject of Fake News became a hot topic. It shouldn't surprise us that some enterprising techie could put up a message about the schools being closed. This type of Fake News is pretty much in your face and who knows if everyone got the correcting posting? While it may seem that I have a vendetta against the NY Times, their approach to intentionally misleading their readers is much more subtle and subversive. Their recent story about a fellow who said he heard someone say they saw something involving Supreme Court Justice Bret Kavanaugh when Kavanaugh was in college and it involved a type of sexual assault. The fellow who said he heard something turns out to be a Democratic Party operative and close confidant of the Clintons. They didn't state that. However, the malpractice in reporting came when it was found out the female college student who was supposedly the victim has no recollection of this event. The NY Times knew this was her statement. Yet, they did not include that fact and ran the story anyway. Why? Here's my take: They are concerned about the makeup of the current court. Too many constitutionalists for their progressive ideals. They want to change the makeup of the court which is pretty hard to do since the justices have lifetime appointments. However, if they could get Justice Kavanaugh impeached that would help their cause. One more time. Their editors knew the truth about this allegation, yet, they reported the story as being factually accurate. Can't argue what they did. You will have to decide what you think their motivation would be for running the story the way they did.

Hello, my, it's been a while since you have heard from me. My name is Bentley or if you want to be technical about it, they say it can be expressed as Sir Bentley Barksalot, Esq. Yep. The people here do try their hand at comedy from time to time. As much as I love them, I think I would have to say their comedic talents could use some improvement. I hear them tell people all the time that I have never been taught that I am a dog. Everyone then laughs. I can't for the life of me figure out what that even means, but, they say it all the time, so, I guess if it makes them happy, go for it. They moved my sleeping kennel into the master bedroom. That way I don't wake up as much when I hear sounds during the night. In fact, they are quite proud of me sleeping each night from around 9:45 p.m. to 5 a.m. I just sleep but they make a big deal out of it. All of my efforts to make them stay in the house, well, they have not kept them from leaving me throughout the week. Last Sunday I came up with a new tactic. I parked myself in front of the bedroom closet so he couldn't open the door and get his dress-up clothes. He told me to move. I acted hard of hearing. He told me again. Finally, guess what he did? He opened the door and it hit me on my backside. The nerve! I still wouldn't budge. I thought about hiding his shoes, but, I tried that with his socks and he only found another pair. He carried me to see those people who wear smocks the other day. I hate that place. They all act lovey-dovey but trust me, they can stick a needle in your rear-end before you know what's happening. It had been a while since I saw those people and they couldn't get over how much I had grown. One said, "I can't believe it's our little Bentley!" Come on lady, I'm nearly 10 months old and I do have to eat. Right? As for the lady of the house, well, she wants me to be on my best behavior, all the time. She obviously has not read the puppy manual. I need my space. I have to express my inner puppyness. Just for the record, she expresses herself quite well with that plastic spatula. Okay. I better go for now and practice being on my best behavior. If anyone knows what that is, please drop me a line. Thanks.

Have a great rest of the day and may God add His blessings. Amen. ....More later.

Happy 14th Birthday Alexander Benjamin!

It's Wednesday, September 18, 2019, and it's another day where we pause to wish our grandson, Alexander Benjamin, a happy happy 14th birthday. Fourteen seems impossible but time marches on. I well remember keeping him when he was little. My mom nicknamed him Butterball because he was so 'healthy'. I used to send her an email from Butterball telling about his day along with photos and she was thrilled. Now he is a young man and every day can be a challenge as he deals with some health-related issues. He has not always had an easy road to travel, but, he has hung in there. This boy possesses some tremendous talents and abilities and we thank God for him and pray for God's blessings in his life. Happy Birthday, Alex, we love you! MiMi and Poppy.

I was trying to remember what I was up to when I was 14 years old. I was 16 when I met and started dating my future wife, and at 17, I graduated high school and 18, when I married, therefore, I would like to think maybe I was, at 14, on a fast track to maturity. Dream on. Based on some fuzzy images from my recollection storage unit, I most likely was focused on, along with those I ran with, mostly mischief. I might like to call them childhood pranks or boys will be boys, but, the truth is the truth. Many of the things I participated in were flat out wrong. Siphoning gas out of someone's vehicle so we could go joyriding, that, my friend, is stealing. Taking watermelons out of someone's field, the same thing, stealing. Standing in front of the Church house and agreeing with the rightful owners that anyone who would do that are sorry lowdown scoundrels, well, that's not only hypocritical but, about as deceptive as it gets. Other things I did were not in that category. All night fishing and camping trips. Working with my grandfather. Enjoying our family and the great cooks who prepared our meals. On January 18, 1964, on a Saturday evening, I attended services at New Hope Baptist Church. I can assure you, I didn't go there for any spiritual reasons. That was my girlfriend's Church and her dad was the pastor. I likely was mostly thinking about going to the drive-in for a hamburger basket after the service and spending time with her. They finished the music and her dad got up to preach. He preached a message of salvation and God spoke to me that night. At the end, he gave an invitation, and there I went, down to the front, tears rolling down my cheeks. God changed my life that night and it would be wonderful if I could say I've never let Him down. I've failed Him too many times to count, but, I am here to say He has never failed me. Amen and Amen.

I think I'm glad that kids don't grow up as fast these days. It would depend on the reasons why they don't seem to mature as fast as kids did back in the day. I realize that 'back in the day' is a relative term and it means different things to different generations. My story seems to be very much out of sync compared to modern times, however, it didn't seem that way in the environment in which we lived back in our day. I tell people that when my wife's dad handed her off to me, it became my responsibility to finish raising her. Truth is, we both had a lot of learning to do. One thing is clear, without God's help we would not have made it for these nearly 55 years. Ours is not one of those 'get married, live happily ever after' stories. We've had our struggles, difficulties, and challenges. We know the sting of heartache and pain. Yet, I look back and can honestly say, I love my wife and thank God for us having this long run together. Now we are officially in our twilight years, (whatever that means), and, we still need each other and God to help us to make it, one day at a time. We still rub each other the wrong way from time to time and yes, we still know how to fuss and fight. We certainly don't do it very often, which, I might add, is a good thing. Sometimes we forget why we were upset in the first place. Old people. Are we something or what? May God bless us all. Amen. .....More later.

“If your prudence stops you every time from taking an action, then you are no more prudent, you are frightened.” ― Amit Kalantri

Quote from Indian Leader, Jawaharlal Nehru.

It's Tuesday and I have come to my laptop today to share some of this, that, and the other on this September 16, 2019. I was remembering the other day about how us kids used to stay outside playing and messing around even into the night. Especially, if we weren't in school. We never even thought about any type of danger. It just didn't cross my mind. I can remember laying on the ground looking up at the sky at the brilliant stars. (That was before Al Gore and you could actually see the stars.) The grass could be deep and damp. No problem. We would run at full speed in the pitch dark, occasionally, only to be stopped by an unseen clothesline. No problem. Today, I laugh at myself sometimes at how cautious I have become. It's getting dark. I better go in because I sure wouldn't want to get bitten by one of those West Nile carrying mosquitoes. They really do a number on older people. The nesting owls are back. I carry Mr. Bentley out for the last time around 9:30 p.m. and I hear the owls talking to each other. I think to myself, "Those owls are big. One of them could swoop down and grab Mr. Bentley and take him away." I double up on his leash and keep an eye out. It could be because of that time in the wee hours of the morning as I was unlocking my truck, one of those owls swooped down and nearly touched me as it went by me on its way to catch some prey. Becoming knowledgeable and informed can put a damper on things. We used to let our boys run and go. Now we worry about our grands and great grands if we hear of them doing the same kinds of things. This growing old business can be tough to handle.

I was talking with my sister JoAnn the other day. It was in the early hours of the morning and as I sat there I saw a fellow who came up to our corner and he ran right through the stop sign. He didn't even slow down. This is the corner where all the kids catch the bus every day. I told my sister that Granny Mac would have a word for them. She would say, "They don't have a lick of gumption." As kids, we didn't know what that word meant but we were very clear on it not being a compliment. Paw Paw Mac had his own way of showing disdain, he would say, "They are as sorry as white dog poop." As it turns out Granny was right because the word gumption has to do with initiative connected to common sense or horse sense. I can remember hearing, "Lands Sakes Alive!" quite often from older people and I never really knew what it meant. It typically was said when someone was surprised by something. Granny used it quite often. However, she most likely did not know that it became a way of swearing a mild oath, saying it instead of exclaiming:  “My Goodness”, “Good Lord”, “Oh my God” or the most closely related "For God's Sake." Had Granny known that she would have washed her own mouth out with soap.

Looking back, some would say we were raised up in mostly a backward way. Unsophisticated. Isolated. Old school all the way. Really? We certainly didn't know that growing up. And, I, for one, do not know that now. We were brought up by salt-of-the-earth, God-fearing, America-loving people who did life the best they knew how, one day at a time, with God's help. There are a handful of folks that grew up in my circle that have a completely different view of their experience. They continue to lambast the backwardness and they say they couldn't get out of that hell-hole fast enough. I feel sorry for them because I think I was privileged to have a loving upbringing in a community that cared. Were there problems? Sure! Plenty. On balance, I am nothing but thankful that God arranged it so I could be influenced by the people and the values that continue to resonate in my life today. I will admit if someone thought hearing a concerto in D minor was critical to our upbringing versus us seeing a traveling donkey show where the donkey knew how to count and do other tricks, well, on that basis, we may have left some to be desired. Thinking back, that donkey seemed to be a wee bit smarter than some who tend to continue to hold a grudge against our little piece of Americana. And, after all is said and done, God provided as only He knows how. Amen. ....More later.

“Alternative facts and fake news are just other names for propaganda.” ― Johnny Corn

Welcome back. It is Monday, September 16, 2019, and I'm sitting here thinking about why the media continues to be in a funk because people, by and large, are not believing their stories. Last week on 9/11, the NY Times official twitter feed put out this bit of information, "18 years have passed since airplanes took aim and brought down the World Trade Center. Today, families will once again gather and grieve at the site where more than 2000 people died." Fortunately, the citizens of our nation are paying attention and this tweet received an avalanche of blowback, negative responses. (And, yes, I did immediately think about the comment made by the US House Representative who is Muslim, when she referred to 9/11, she said, "Some people did something.") "Airplanes took aim?" The NY Times deleted the tweet and put one up later that said they had reworded the accompanying story and made some changes. The updated story did call the perpetrators terrorists, but, did not identify them as Islamic radicals or Jihadists associated with Al Qaeda. Back to my opening thought. They do things like this and then they can't understand why people doubt the accuracy of what they report. It comes down to my ludicrous example for the day, "Tonight a gun took aim at a convenience store operator and the gun ended up killing him." Airplanes, guns, bombs, poisons, and every other instrument of threat becomes the actor when an incident occurs? Okay. I've beat that one enough, but, I don't think you need to ask what I think about it. One last thing, the NY Times refuses to comment on this tweet, the corresponding story, or anything else pertaining to this type of reporting. They count on the soundbite mentality that prevails today. It was a story for 30 seconds, now, everyone has moved on.

One of the 5 original canvases.

My sweet wife at the piano.

Our print, photo, and my flash.

The wife bought a print of an Auguste Renoir classic, Two Young Girls at the Piano. This was a commissioned piece he did in late 1891 and early 1892. Renoir was invited by the French government to execute a painting for a new museum in Paris, the Musée du Luxembourg, which was to be devoted to the work of living artists. He chose as his subject two girls at the piano. Aware of the intense scrutiny to which his submission would be subjected, Renoir lavished extraordinary care on this project, developing and refining the composition in a series of five canvases. The wife had no interest in the painter or the history of this particular painting. Her interest had to do with a memory and a photograph. She stuck the photo in the corner of the painting. It too shows too young girls with a piano. The wife is at the piano and her sister is sitting beside her. This is how art becomes a part of the decor in our home. It is currently on display along with a whole lot of other stuff, artifacts, knick-knacks, and whatever she and her decorator sister can come up with. I think I've heard some of it called dust catchers, but, that would have been commentary from some yokel who certainly would not have known anything about art.

I will tell everyone a little secret. I like the little photo more than the painting. To be honest, she wasn't too much bigger than she was in that photo when I first started sitting next to her at Church. She is fresh back from an unplanned trip to Louisiana. She went to a viewing Friday evening for a family friend who passed away last week. That friend was a fellow who dated her when she and I would break up. She was close to the family as they all grew up together and were in Church together. He had a good life and left behind a good testimony of faithfulness to God and his family. Back in the early 1960s the guys out where I came to date my future bride, well, they didn't like me. Not at all. I was intruding on their territory. They made that very clear to me. Obviously, I felt stronger about seeing her than my concern over their implied threats. That was a long time ago. I would have gone with her, but, I stayed behind to take care of Mr. Bentley and to get one of our grandchildren to her job. On Saturday, the wife and her sister, the other girl in the photo, was able to attend the memorial service for our pastor's wife's mother. Her service was about an hour away from where the wife was staying with her sister. She reported that service was sweet because this dear lady also had lived a life of love for the Lord and in serving Him by serving others. Mr. Bentley and I camped out here, all alone, at the hacienda. I prefer for her to be here. Always. But, she knows that. I do too. May God bless the families mourning the loss of their loved ones. Amen. ....More later.

When looking back in the rear view mirror of life, caution, objects might be a wee bit distorted.

Vintage photo.

It's hard to believe this week has gone by so fast. They do do that and even faster to us older folks. I suppose we must be in a hurry to get to wherever we are headed. We look Friday directly in its face, embrace it as the day the Lord has given and thank Him for it, on this September 13, 2019. I don't think we have as many people around today who are troubled by the proverbial bad luck Friday the 13th. Okay. I did some checking. This is the 18th time since 1900 that we have experienced a Friday the 13th in September. For those who are into calendar stuff, Friday the 13th will again visit us in September in the years, 2024, 2030, 2041, 2047, and 2052. I stopped looking after 2052 since I will, if I live, and I don't expect to, be 106 that year. I have made the point many times about those of us who are people of faith and how we should never, ever, put any credence into superstitious notions. We, as believers, see Friday the 13th as being the day after Thursday, the 12th, and the day before Saturday, the 14th. Nothing more. Nothing less. "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God;..." From the Holy Spirit inspired letter from the Apostle Paul to the local fellowship meeting in Philippi, Greece. (Philippians 4:6)

During this week, 12 years ago, I was into reminiscing and this is one of the blogs I wrote: Buck Night at the Drive Inn Theatre ~ In 1965, when we moved to Alexandria, Louisiana for me to work out at England Air Force Base we rented a garage apartment. It was owned by a wealthy optometrist and it really looked good. The furniture was very nice and had probably been used at one time in his huge mansion that was situated in the next block. However, it was a very cold place. They had obviously not put any insulation in the walls or ceiling and we nearly froze to death in that place. One time the pipes froze up in the kitchen with the heaters going. Our eldest was an infant so we had to take extra measures to make sure we kept him warm. I believe we borrowed an electric heater from Granny Mac and used it in the bathroom to help keep him warm. It was a very cold winter that year and we soon found out that a place that looks nice versus having a quality of life are two different things.

We didn’t have a television set. We listened to the radio quite often. We played cards. And, we would go out to the movies on buck night. This meant we could watch two full-length movies for one dollar at the drive-in movie theatre. When it was cold we would have to run the car some to heat it up and then turn it off for a while. We kept the baby all bundled up so he was fine but with the windows being cleared, then fogged, cleared, then fogged, it could be quite a hassle but it was entertainment and we typically went maybe once or twice per month. On payday, we would treat ourselves to a hamburger basket at this wonderful little roadside hamburger joint. (Reed and Bell) They made hamburgers the old fashioned way and served them with curly fries. I guess it was like a reward or something but we used to so enjoy eating at that place. This was long before there was a fast food place on every street corner. Today, we can never make up our mind where to eat because we’ve run out of our ability to enjoy the food. Back then it was a treat, now it is more or less ingrained in our everyday approach to life. Big difference. Now when we get in the car she says, “Okay, this time you decide where we are going because you always make me decide.” I respond, “I don’t really care and to tell the truth I would just as soon stay at home.” Then I hear, “We don’t have anything out to fix and I’m too tired so where do you want to go?” Finally, I say, “Okay, you will have to tell me because I don’t know and I don’t care”. And, so it goes, if ever there was a great example of how familiarity breeds contempt I guess our situation with fast food places is it!

Speaking of hamburgers, when I was a kid there was this little eating place in our town called the Wagon Wheel Cafe. It was owned by Reba and Jack Malone and the food there was out of sight. When I got old enough to mow yards or do other odd jobs for pay I would often treat myself to a cheeseburger, fries, and cold milk down at the Wagon Wheel. I would sit at the counter on a padded round swivel stool and watch Reba work her magic. They had the old fashioned greasy grill top and when she made a burger the smell alone could cause you to nearly fall off your chair. It was better than good for a kid who mostly had peas, okra, and cornbread each day. And the milk was something special. It came out of one of those canister dispensers which kept it so cold it frosted the glass. Our refrigerators could not do that and most of our milk at home was cool at best but this was like dream milk, ice-cold, along with the burger and fries. It was worth every penny of the hard-earned $1.25 they charged. As I grow older the simple things in life have become more important to me. I can remember feeling quite big-headed about the head waiter announcing me at a high visibility downtown business club. The food was wonderful there. And, I still love to eat in places known for very fine dining. However, it would be ever so wonderful if my wife and I could recapture some of those days when we were dating and would drive up to Florien, Louisiana to this little hole in the wall and order our hamburger baskets, without onions, of course, we were dating! We called that our Sunday afternoon eating place even though we ate in the car. It was our place. The old saying used to be that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but in this case, I think my way to her heart was through the “hamburger basket“.  ~

Well, that made me hungry for the good old days when things were such a treat. Enjoy your Saturday and Lord's Day Sunday, and, I will do my best, with the Lord's provision, to show up here at the ole blogger ranch come next Monday. May God bless. Amen. ....More later.