Thursday, May 30, 2019

Sister to Sister

The Two Sisters Or Painting Sister
Mary and Martha

16 October 1998


Dear Martha,

Your letter pulled me from a pit of despair.  If ever there were awards for "Surviving a Plethora of Childhood Illnesses", I would be inducted into the Hall of Frantic Mother Fame.

The triplets have developed a chain of cursed plagues:  Influenza, chicken pox (vaccine, right?), strep throat, ear infections, and worms (really?). Each had one different sickness at a time. Clarisse had chicken pox, while the boys had ear infections. Then the train kept rolling through the house.

Is this God's thunderbolt of retribution for swearing during Mass?Loudly swearing at Clarisse-the-She-Devil? I mean, she fully deserved it. No one, cute or not, should crawl under the pews singing a beer commercial.

As you know, my house was never a museum, but now a City Inspector could cover the house with "Condemned" yellow tape. One time, someone taped a "Quarantine" notice on my door. It was misspelled. Probably it was that bitchy blonde next door who has no children. I have lit many candles at church, praying for her fertility.

Must go. Alex-the-Spontaneous is vomiting on the cat. Christopher-the-Wild is smearing vomit on the bathroom mirror. Thank you, Lord, that it is not diarrhea. So far, so good.

I do not know what is next on the roster, but I suspect diarrhea will finally land on and all over our house. Or maybe I will be vomiting on the carpet. Could be both.

Your sister,

Mary-the-Desperate

P.S. Help me, dear Lord, please oh please. Help me.

I followed a blog written by a mother with a 4 yr. old preschooler, and then triplets. I think of her now and then, since her blog is inactive.  In fact, when I see a mom with twins along with a few other young siblings, I pray for her and them. Date above is random. Names come from another blog I have now inactive "Chronicles of Samuel".

This post has been unearthed from six years ago. Completely rewrote it.  Still kept the triplets and swearing during mass thing. And, of course, vomiting. One has to insert vomiting whenever possible.

Oh, and this post went up accidently a few days before for May 27. My bad. Hadn't quite finished it.  

Sunday, May 26, 2019

We were soldiers once....


...and we were young.**


Gr-grandfather, Martin Van Buren Shive, Civil War, Bull Run
Gr-Grandfather Martin Van Buren Shive, second from right, Bull Run
Civil War. Supposedly a mean "son of a bitch".
Louis Benjamin Peck  Civil War Veteran

Uncle Leo Peck, WW1
Son of Louis
B. Peck
Lewis Parker Cardiff, WW1
Grandfather


Louis "Bud" Peck, Army Air Corp., Mariana Islands
Grandson of Louis B. Peck.
Location of the atomic bomb plane, Enola Gay




Cousin Bill Peyton, Infantry, Vietnam, died  1970

Joseph Michael Williams
Classmate from high school, James Michael Williams

A boy from my town,  Jay Shelby, died 1967
Image may contain: one or more people, outdoor and text
Our town boy, Jay Shelby, died 1967


Red poppies, and one white poppy, in a field.
Not just memory
**
A book written by Lt. General Hal Moore (Ret)
with war reporter Joseph L. Galloway






Friday, May 24, 2019

Hwy 61

Highway 61
North and South
Think about this list:
                      Rte. 66, Pacific Coast Hwy 101, California Rte. 1, 

Blue Ridge Pkwy., Green River Pkwy

These are historic roads along beautiful sights. We have traveled along 101 and 1 here in California. They curve along the Pacific Coast. Indescribable.   

We drove on 66 briefly, since it is now in short stretches and bits. Ate at Road Kill Cafe, Rte. 66, Seligman, AZ. Great French fries.

Blue Ridge and Green River Pkwys are beautiful beyond description, as the YouTube videos show. God is amazing.

So, what is this post all about? What Hwy didn't make the cut?

Hwy 61, of course. By Bob Dylan.

How to describe this song is way beyond me.  There are five stanzas. Each one describes some sort of problem resolved on Hwy 61. Or, maybe it isn't about anything, because Dylan's style is a swirl of images and rhythms? Or, maybe Dylan was just playing with words, all pouring out from his crazy great brain?

Hwy 61 travels from Minnesota (or beyond into Canada) in a winding way to New Orleans. The heart of blues strolled along the Mississippi South to North, stopping off to share the music's beauty and rhythm.

So, here is Bob Dylan:




YouTube, about 3 minutes

Highway 61 Revisited single cover.jpg
Highway 61
Check out the lyrics at this site. They are brilliant.  

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

Did You Know?


Did you know? If you cut your hair, it gets shorter
Did you know?

Journals have always held my thoughts and observations. My church journal was one in which I outlined the sermon for that day.  This is how my brain works. Writing holds words in place.

I was sorting through my pile of journals and came across one from twenty years ago, when life seemed much simpler, in line with my-then organized life.  The following was from those golden times.

Did you know that the earth is only 50,000 years old?  Some religious people settled down to log lifespans in 24 hour segments and came out with 50,000 years. Also, when God created the sun and moon, He put it down in 24 hours time bits.

Dinosaurs? They were the remains of an earlier version of the world, before God re-created it. Plus, dinosaurs were really part of satan's plan to mess with the whole creation thing.

Did you know that extraterrestrials are really demons?  All those lights and such are ways to deceive us.  Wow.

Did you know that hypnotism opens one's soul to be taken over by demons' takeover? 

Did you know ghosts are really just demons? They are not real. Just evil.

Did you know that horoscopes are a way to divert the faithful. Psychics are also evil and deceptive, and they have demons as part of their family line.

These thoughts are from sermons presented by a man whom I truly respect, an intelligent man. But, even way back then, as I wrote all above, I also wrote: "Really? I mean, really?"

To believe sincerely requires one to understand. Facts and faith go together. 

P.S.
God does not wear a wrist watch. He does not need to log time the way we do. He has control over time.




Monty Python explains everything.

Rarely reshown: 'Monty Python's Flying Circus'
Independent UK
Growing up on a farm, I enjoyed the years of living just outside my hometown of 427 people.  Most of the residents, their ancestors, and their descendants had lived in this area since 1820s. 

When my own small family moved to Ireland in 1985, our adventures took us through small villages with their own populations, much like those of my hometown, only theirs dated back to 15th century, or further.

These villages and my own hometown had many similarities, including a church, store, farmers market, and pub (no pub at my old town). 

Another striking similarity was the presence of locals who were referred to as the “village idiots”.  My parents explained this was not an insult, but was the only way to describe this part of the population.

Their role in rural societies was seen in a variety of ways. Some were viewed with disdain, some with kindness, and some even with help in their lives.  Whatever and however, the community accepted their own roles in the flow of the residents.  Farmer, shopkeeper, housewife, teacher....and "village idiot" were all part of the population. 


I have to admit that I could see this and how it worked. While it deeply offended me to see a section of our society earmarked in this way, there was no breaking the chain. 

After watching this episode of “Monty Python”, I was impressed by their explanations.  

                                     


Thinking back to people I observed in my old town, every resident had a place in the flow of the community. I am not sure where I stood in that flow, but then,  I moved away long ago. 

P. S.  I love Monty Python episodes, their unique sense of humor, and satire of the English society.  I found this video, and decided to write around it. "Oliver Cromwell" song is very entertaining as is "Flying Sheep."  The list is long and their humor unique. They are not for everyone. 

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

A Vessel of Love


The smallest act of kindness...

This is a repost from 2016. I will be visiting family, so have turned off the comment section. No more posts will be up until or return in mid-May. 

The underlined words are from a Wednesday Word challenge created by Delores to challenge writers.


Great Aunt Evangeline always visited on my birthday, as regular as calendar and clock. Auntie E was full of so many things, most of them really irritating.  Adages? She had them. Shameless bragging? Overload there. A hoard of wisdom?  Oh, boy, you betcha.

Auntie E was a bland plain woman, with legs like stems. The rest of her was utterly huge to the point of bursting; her size dominated any room. 

A successful business woman, she owned her own brokerage, always possessing great insight on sales and trends. And, believe it or not, that lady had a great golf swing. Oh, yes she did. She was wicked with a nine iron.

Yet, for all the things I hated about her, I loved her for them. In so many ways, Auntie E was a vessel of kindness to all she knew. While I possessed just a vestige of humanity, Auntie E loved and was loved, cared and was cared for, gave and then was given.. 


I was none of those things. Still am. But, I'm working on it. 

We are visiting our gr-kids and have turned off the comment section. Will be back soon.



Thursday, May 9, 2019

Virtue has its limits.

Nebula: A graphic representation of a red, blue and yellow nebula, with stars.
Source: xymonau
flannel-soft night erased frayed edges of day, leaving Evangeline to contemplate how her virtuous existence revealed her inching towards the end of life.

All the luxuries I have denied myself…all the delights of the flesh…

Gazing out at the black sky, at the donuts of stars several life times removed, Evangeline considered her life to be a multiple of cartoons played out in black and white.

Damn.  She considered, grabbing the car keys and the big wad of cash from under the mattress.  I’m going to ‘Vegas.



Virtue has its limits.
  

Welcome to Sin City: no description
Source: jaylopez


This was originally published in 2013, and now has been updated. The underlined words are from  Delores who created Wednesday Words long ago to challenge and inspire writers.  Finding ways to put disparate words together is entertaining, makes my sense of humor break through.
I love throwing "Vegas into posts randomly.


I will be gone, so have turned off the comment section. Still I hope you enjoy this, and smile or smirk.

Sunday, May 5, 2019

A Crazy Goose Story



There must a universal crazy goose theme to merit a bronze statuette.
This is a crazy goose story.  Apparently there are many of these stories around the world, which scares me a little.  Geese are universally crazy.

My brother Don was driving the tractor from one field down the road to our house.  As he passed Neighbor Jim’s field, he saw a drama developing.  Turning off the tractor, Don watched.

The field was spotted with grazing cows and a bull.  This bull was quite full of himself, with all those breeding cows.


Also in the field was a Canadian goose, injured with a shotgun pellet in its wing.  Not a serious injury, it could still fly across the field, but not all the way to South America.  At least for a few weeks when another “V” of geese flew overhead, crazy goose found shelter with the herd.

One thing about geese is that they eat grain, corn, and its relatives in any form they find it.  Cow patties are full of partially digesting grains, so the crazy goose followed the cows around and happily filled up on what was literally left behind.

The bull was offended.  He chased the goose away from his cows, strutting in triumph.  This happened again and again.  Crazy goose clearly had to do something.
As the bull grazed, crazy goose waddled up behind the bull.  Going between the hind legs, crazy goose positioned itself beneath the bull’s reason for living: his testicles.  With a well-placed nip, crazy goose hit those testicles spot on, right where it hurt the most.


The bull bellowed, reared and jumped, while crazy goose flew to the end of the field.

Gaining his composure, the bull settled down.  Crazy goose moved in for another strike.  This went on for a good thirty minutes. 

After numerous successful hits, crazy goose ventured up to a warm cow patty, finding some corn right on top.  The bull snorted and moved a good distance away from crazy goose.


An acceptable peace had been reached.  My brother Don started up the tractor and chuckled all the way home.


Don't mess with geese. Seriously.





YouTube:  DO NOT
turn your back on them.  Face them, hit them with something solid. Yell at them loudly, start chasing them.  Suggestions from those who have been attacked.


We are on a break and have turned off the comment section. But I hope you will still enjoy!