OLD BEIGE
I’m starting an international contest for the most boring household cleaning task, and I think I have a winner. No, it’s not scouring the drip pans, or scooping out the fireplace ashes. It’s . . . drum roll, please . . . cleaning out the garage refrigerator!
Like a lot of Americans, we remodeled our kitchen several years ago. But we couldn’t part with Old Beige. It still works great, even if it looks embarrassingly “so, so ‘70s.” So we put it out in the garage as a party overflow fridge and extra meat freezer.
I don’t think it has been thoroughly cleaned out for six or seven years. So this weekend was D-Day: Defrost, De-Food, and Disinfect. Do you know how many removable parts there are in one simple little fridge? There were some foil-wrapped turkey legs, unidentifiable leftover casseroles in Cool Whip containers, and other artifacts of undiscernible origin.
Feels great to have it cheerfully empty and sparkling clean again. Now my exotic, thrill-a-minute life story can turn the page to the next exciting chapter . . . until seven years roll by again, and it’s time to revisit Old Beige.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
WHY DO TREES WHISPER?
For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth;
the poor also, and him that hath no helper.
-- Psalm 72:12
There’s a hubbub in the Omaha area about whether there is “equity” in our public schools. The big center-city district, the Omaha Public Schools, wants to consume most of its three richer, whiter suburban neighboring districts. It has far more poverty, absenteeism and dropouts, and far worse test scores. And it’s screaming for help.
But the ‘burbs are screaming back. Soccer moms are putting up yard signs urging the urban oppressors to keep their greedy mitts off their schools. Bean counters are pointing out that OPS already spends far more on disadvantaged pupils than on other kids. Inner-city private schools do a better job with almost 100% minority and low-income populations, and spend less, too. More money’s not the answer, they contend.
It’s the Clash of the Titans, as the superintendents battle at public forums and in the paper. Then they return to their home turfs to rouse the footsoldiers in this big, ugly class war, with emotional rallies and stirring letters to their partisans. At night they must sock down the Maalox and count the days to their retirement on a full pension with annuities, all taxpayer-provided, of course.
Meanwhile, the politicians are busily throwing out proposed solutions, each one costlier, more chaotic and more micromanaging than the next.
But I can’t stop thinking about a boy I met years ago in a writing workshop for the Boys and Girls Club in inner-city Omaha. It’s for kids like him that I’m seeking a better way.
He taught me that poverty doesn’t define children, and shouldn’t keep them from their dreams, if we can help it.
And we can.
The kids in my workshop, most all minorities, were about 13. They were at risk for gangs and drugs, from some of the toughest home situations in the state. But they had academic potential. I had volunteered to help them with their writing.
First, I had them write about whatever they wanted. Their spelling, grammar and punctuation were horrible. I don’t think there was a single error-free sentence. All they wrote about was the NBA, NFL and “doent taek druggs.”
Sheesh. This was hopeless. I called them up individually, circled their misspellings, and pointed to the dictionary.
They gasped. Turns out their teachers in the Omaha Public Schools never pointed out their writing errors or made them fix them. No wonder they couldn’t write!
One by one, they brought their corrected papers back. I praised them. They beamed.
Hmm. Maybe they aren’t hopeless. Maybe they just haven’t been taught right.
Next, I asked the kids to pose any question they wanted, and answer it creatively.
We were sitting under some cottonwoods, grand, old trees that never grow in the matchy-poo suburbs. There’s wealth and beauty in the inner city, too . . . if you look.
That’s when this kid amazed me.
His question: “Why do trees whisper?”
His answer: there’s a tree named Bob, and he’s a terrible gossip, and the other trees don’t want him to know their business, so when you hear leaves rustling in the wind, it’s them whispering. . . .
Now I was the one gasping. It was creative. It was funny. It was wonderful. His writing conventions were a “D,” but his ideas were “A++.”
Goosebumps! I went from pitying these kids . . . to believing in them.
I told him he had a God-given talent. I hope he can still feel my hug: “You’re going to be somebody someday.”
I made a promise that day to do everything I could to help disadvantaged kids get a better education. That’s why I’m always harping on it. They don’t need more money. They don’t need more integration. They need the old 3 R’s, and they need them now.
They already have everything else they need: imagination, people who believe in them, and God on their side.
Let’s be like those trees: quiet down and stand tall . . . put our heads together . . . ask God to whisper to our hearts . . . and together, dream up a better way.
For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth;
the poor also, and him that hath no helper.
-- Psalm 72:12
There’s a hubbub in the Omaha area about whether there is “equity” in our public schools. The big center-city district, the Omaha Public Schools, wants to consume most of its three richer, whiter suburban neighboring districts. It has far more poverty, absenteeism and dropouts, and far worse test scores. And it’s screaming for help.
But the ‘burbs are screaming back. Soccer moms are putting up yard signs urging the urban oppressors to keep their greedy mitts off their schools. Bean counters are pointing out that OPS already spends far more on disadvantaged pupils than on other kids. Inner-city private schools do a better job with almost 100% minority and low-income populations, and spend less, too. More money’s not the answer, they contend.
It’s the Clash of the Titans, as the superintendents battle at public forums and in the paper. Then they return to their home turfs to rouse the footsoldiers in this big, ugly class war, with emotional rallies and stirring letters to their partisans. At night they must sock down the Maalox and count the days to their retirement on a full pension with annuities, all taxpayer-provided, of course.
Meanwhile, the politicians are busily throwing out proposed solutions, each one costlier, more chaotic and more micromanaging than the next.
But I can’t stop thinking about a boy I met years ago in a writing workshop for the Boys and Girls Club in inner-city Omaha. It’s for kids like him that I’m seeking a better way.
He taught me that poverty doesn’t define children, and shouldn’t keep them from their dreams, if we can help it.
And we can.
The kids in my workshop, most all minorities, were about 13. They were at risk for gangs and drugs, from some of the toughest home situations in the state. But they had academic potential. I had volunteered to help them with their writing.
First, I had them write about whatever they wanted. Their spelling, grammar and punctuation were horrible. I don’t think there was a single error-free sentence. All they wrote about was the NBA, NFL and “doent taek druggs.”
Sheesh. This was hopeless. I called them up individually, circled their misspellings, and pointed to the dictionary.
They gasped. Turns out their teachers in the Omaha Public Schools never pointed out their writing errors or made them fix them. No wonder they couldn’t write!
One by one, they brought their corrected papers back. I praised them. They beamed.
Hmm. Maybe they aren’t hopeless. Maybe they just haven’t been taught right.
Next, I asked the kids to pose any question they wanted, and answer it creatively.
We were sitting under some cottonwoods, grand, old trees that never grow in the matchy-poo suburbs. There’s wealth and beauty in the inner city, too . . . if you look.
That’s when this kid amazed me.
His question: “Why do trees whisper?”
His answer: there’s a tree named Bob, and he’s a terrible gossip, and the other trees don’t want him to know their business, so when you hear leaves rustling in the wind, it’s them whispering. . . .
Now I was the one gasping. It was creative. It was funny. It was wonderful. His writing conventions were a “D,” but his ideas were “A++.”
Goosebumps! I went from pitying these kids . . . to believing in them.
I told him he had a God-given talent. I hope he can still feel my hug: “You’re going to be somebody someday.”
I made a promise that day to do everything I could to help disadvantaged kids get a better education. That’s why I’m always harping on it. They don’t need more money. They don’t need more integration. They need the old 3 R’s, and they need them now.
They already have everything else they need: imagination, people who believe in them, and God on their side.
Let’s be like those trees: quiet down and stand tall . . . put our heads together . . . ask God to whisper to our hearts . . . and together, dream up a better way.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
WHAT YOU SEE IS WHAT YOU GET
A man was walking down the street when he was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless man who asked him for a couple of dollars for dinner.
The man took out his wallet, extracted $10 and asked, "If I give you this money, will you buy some beer with it instead of dinner?"
"No, I had to stop drinking years ago," the homeless man replied.
"Will you use it to go fishing instead of buying food?" the man asked.
"No! I don't waste time fishing," the homeless man said. "I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive."
"Will you spend this on greens fees at a golf course instead of food?" the man asked.
"Are you NUTS?!?" replied the homeless man. "I haven't played golf in 20 years!"
"Will you spend the money on a woman in the red-light district instead of food?" the man asked.
"What disease would I get for ten lousy bucks?" exclaimed the homeless man.
"Well," said the man, "I'm not going to give you the money. Instead, I'm going to take you home for a terrific dinner cooked by my wife."
The homeless man was astounded. "Won't your wife be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting."
The man replied, "That's okay. It's important for her to see what a man looks like after he has given up beer, fishing, golf, and sex."
A man was walking down the street when he was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless man who asked him for a couple of dollars for dinner.
The man took out his wallet, extracted $10 and asked, "If I give you this money, will you buy some beer with it instead of dinner?"
"No, I had to stop drinking years ago," the homeless man replied.
"Will you use it to go fishing instead of buying food?" the man asked.
"No! I don't waste time fishing," the homeless man said. "I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive."
"Will you spend this on greens fees at a golf course instead of food?" the man asked.
"Are you NUTS?!?" replied the homeless man. "I haven't played golf in 20 years!"
"Will you spend the money on a woman in the red-light district instead of food?" the man asked.
"What disease would I get for ten lousy bucks?" exclaimed the homeless man.
"Well," said the man, "I'm not going to give you the money. Instead, I'm going to take you home for a terrific dinner cooked by my wife."
The homeless man was astounded. "Won't your wife be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting."
The man replied, "That's okay. It's important for her to see what a man looks like after he has given up beer, fishing, golf, and sex."
Friday, January 27, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
A BAD 'DO' IN CLONING
Today's DailySusan is a set of weird photos that depict hypothetical boo-boo's in cloning. A stately eagle head merges onto a wolf's body; a bat sports tiger's teeth. The graphic transformation is deft. Unfortunately, images can't be posted on this blog. It's just another reason why you should subscribe to the DailySusan email! See www.DailySusan.com for details.
Today's DailySusan is a set of weird photos that depict hypothetical boo-boo's in cloning. A stately eagle head merges onto a wolf's body; a bat sports tiger's teeth. The graphic transformation is deft. Unfortunately, images can't be posted on this blog. It's just another reason why you should subscribe to the DailySusan email! See www.DailySusan.com for details.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
HAVE A NICE . . . TRIP . . . TO THE GYM
We have joined the new fitness center in our small town, and it’s great. It also has a number of fun classes to divert young children while their parents attempt to reshape their maggot-like bodies. (Speak for yourself, eh? Well, “accuracy in media” is my middle name.)
Anyway, Maddy was excited about this new development in her otherwise routine house-bound winter schedule. She was getting a little bored with giving her Furbys rides on her skateboard on our wood floors, setting up a play school for her stuffed animals, and drawing endless pictures of flowers, hearts and teddy bears.
Hours before her first tumbling class, though, she was worried about all the food I had put on her plate for lunch:
“I can’t eat all this, because then I would be too pudgy, and I couldn’t go STUMBLING.”
We have joined the new fitness center in our small town, and it’s great. It also has a number of fun classes to divert young children while their parents attempt to reshape their maggot-like bodies. (Speak for yourself, eh? Well, “accuracy in media” is my middle name.)
Anyway, Maddy was excited about this new development in her otherwise routine house-bound winter schedule. She was getting a little bored with giving her Furbys rides on her skateboard on our wood floors, setting up a play school for her stuffed animals, and drawing endless pictures of flowers, hearts and teddy bears.
Hours before her first tumbling class, though, she was worried about all the food I had put on her plate for lunch:
“I can’t eat all this, because then I would be too pudgy, and I couldn’t go STUMBLING.”
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
AD INUNDATION
A friend clued me in to the number you have to call to get your cell phone number taken off the sucker lists of telemarketers. They soon will be able to make unwanted junk phone calls to your cell phone, eat up your free minutes, and eventually you’ll even have to PAY for these calls.
But if you call this number, you can opt out of that whole shebang. At least, I HOPE this is legit:
(888) 382-1222
Advertisers are already flooding our mailboxes, email inboxes, and regular telephones with annoying regularity, trying to sell us something or get our money somehow. Now cell phones. Then there’s all the ugly billboards and building signs, flyers, brochures, skywriting. . . .
What’s next? Little plastic-encapsulated ads that come through your WATER FAUCETS?
A friend clued me in to the number you have to call to get your cell phone number taken off the sucker lists of telemarketers. They soon will be able to make unwanted junk phone calls to your cell phone, eat up your free minutes, and eventually you’ll even have to PAY for these calls.
But if you call this number, you can opt out of that whole shebang. At least, I HOPE this is legit:
(888) 382-1222
Advertisers are already flooding our mailboxes, email inboxes, and regular telephones with annoying regularity, trying to sell us something or get our money somehow. Now cell phones. Then there’s all the ugly billboards and building signs, flyers, brochures, skywriting. . . .
What’s next? Little plastic-encapsulated ads that come through your WATER FAUCETS?
Monday, January 23, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
EXHUME THE POSITION
Remove not the ancient landmark,
which thy fathers have set.
-- Proverbs 22:28
They’re talking about making a great, big, honkin’ lake over my dad’s hometown, submerging the little house in “Mortgage Hollow” where Dad grew up, and the darling old Carnegie library, and the sunny little cemetery where our ancestors are buried.
It’d be a huge boost to economic development and recreation in southeastern Nebraska. They’d spend $2 billion to build a dam and an 80-square mile lake where now there are only quiet farms and fields, and the little town of Ashland.
Of course, “Mortgage Hollow” is no longer there. The Wiggenhorn mansion is gone. The curious little shack where “the king of the hobos” lived on the edge of town has disappeared.
Linoma Beach, the riverside waterpark with the kitschy white lighthouse where Dad was a lifeguard eons ago, was almost deserted last time we went. I think the bank where Grandpa worked is a coffee shop now, and the car-repair shop is a little gas station.
The high school’s consolidated; gone is the classroom of the beloved teacher, Miss Duty Vaughn. The meat market’s defunct. Most of the places where Dad hung out, and most of the people he hung out with, are no more.
So I shouldn’t be sad and worried about this lake. But I am. Because . . .
. . . PEOPLE are going to be BOATING AND WATER-SKIING right over Grandma and Grandpa’s GRAVES!!!!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
We can’t have that! How disrespectful! They’ll be doing human pyramids, and mooning, and drinking beer in the boat, and dropping trash over the sides. I can see it now: an old boot, some Bud cans and a Cheetos sack obscuring the “DARST” on our beautiful granite headstone, 30 feet under!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
It reminds me of that scary dream from “Deliverance,” where the dead hand pops up out of the lake!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
We can’t HAVE that!
So . . . if this goes through . . . our family will have to go through the gruesome process of exhuming the bodies, and moving them to higher ground.
We may have a couple of decades to get it done, though. This thing would be more complicated than all the storylines of all the dysfunctional families of all the soap operas ever made.
The plan is to dam the Platte River along Interstate 80 between Omaha and Lincoln, and make a lake bigger than anything from Lake Michigan to the Great Salt Lake. There’d be 145 miles of shoreline for homes and businesses, public marinas, space for resorts, a private airstrip and all kinds of upscale development.
All that makes the old alley where Dad used to work on cars, the little grocery store his friend’s dad ran, and the somber funeral home where we said goodbye to Gram, seem kind of irrelevant and inconsequential.
But are they?
Of course not.
And they’re not really going to be “lost” if this happens, anyway. Any place that’s ever been a part of your life transforms into spiritual capital, stashed away in your heart. No one can ever take it away. Or flood it.
Now, my heart already grieves for all the Ashland residents who would be forced out of homes, farms and businesses that have been in their families for generations. Eminent domain hurts, and hurts bad.
But you’ve got to look at the big picture. Progress happens. And I’ll be for it, if this project survives all the arm-twisting of federal regulators, and legislative wrangling, and financing headaches.
It would be wonderful! It would be worth it.
The Bible says not to remove the ancient landmarks – but that doesn’t mean houses and towns. They can go.
They aren’t the real landmarks. It’s justice and respect, family and friendship, mercy and love that we’re supposed to hang onto, no matter what. All the good things about “Ashcan,” as Dad affectionately called it, are never-ending and eternal.
Dam it!
Or not!
I say, “water” we waiting for? Exhumation won’t be that bad: I can . . . dig it.
As long as Grandma and Grandpa are buried where they can rest in peace, I’m not going to rock the boat.
-------------------------
Here’s a neat history of Ashland with colorful content about “bull whackers” and other pioneers. It lists my grandfather, G.R. Darst, as a charter member of the Ashland Rotary Club in 1935:
http://www.rootsweb.com/~nesaunde/1983hist/saco83-p44.html
Remove not the ancient landmark,
which thy fathers have set.
-- Proverbs 22:28
They’re talking about making a great, big, honkin’ lake over my dad’s hometown, submerging the little house in “Mortgage Hollow” where Dad grew up, and the darling old Carnegie library, and the sunny little cemetery where our ancestors are buried.
It’d be a huge boost to economic development and recreation in southeastern Nebraska. They’d spend $2 billion to build a dam and an 80-square mile lake where now there are only quiet farms and fields, and the little town of Ashland.
Of course, “Mortgage Hollow” is no longer there. The Wiggenhorn mansion is gone. The curious little shack where “the king of the hobos” lived on the edge of town has disappeared.
Linoma Beach, the riverside waterpark with the kitschy white lighthouse where Dad was a lifeguard eons ago, was almost deserted last time we went. I think the bank where Grandpa worked is a coffee shop now, and the car-repair shop is a little gas station.
The high school’s consolidated; gone is the classroom of the beloved teacher, Miss Duty Vaughn. The meat market’s defunct. Most of the places where Dad hung out, and most of the people he hung out with, are no more.
So I shouldn’t be sad and worried about this lake. But I am. Because . . .
. . . PEOPLE are going to be BOATING AND WATER-SKIING right over Grandma and Grandpa’s GRAVES!!!!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
We can’t have that! How disrespectful! They’ll be doing human pyramids, and mooning, and drinking beer in the boat, and dropping trash over the sides. I can see it now: an old boot, some Bud cans and a Cheetos sack obscuring the “DARST” on our beautiful granite headstone, 30 feet under!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
It reminds me of that scary dream from “Deliverance,” where the dead hand pops up out of the lake!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
We can’t HAVE that!
So . . . if this goes through . . . our family will have to go through the gruesome process of exhuming the bodies, and moving them to higher ground.
We may have a couple of decades to get it done, though. This thing would be more complicated than all the storylines of all the dysfunctional families of all the soap operas ever made.
The plan is to dam the Platte River along Interstate 80 between Omaha and Lincoln, and make a lake bigger than anything from Lake Michigan to the Great Salt Lake. There’d be 145 miles of shoreline for homes and businesses, public marinas, space for resorts, a private airstrip and all kinds of upscale development.
All that makes the old alley where Dad used to work on cars, the little grocery store his friend’s dad ran, and the somber funeral home where we said goodbye to Gram, seem kind of irrelevant and inconsequential.
But are they?
Of course not.
And they’re not really going to be “lost” if this happens, anyway. Any place that’s ever been a part of your life transforms into spiritual capital, stashed away in your heart. No one can ever take it away. Or flood it.
Now, my heart already grieves for all the Ashland residents who would be forced out of homes, farms and businesses that have been in their families for generations. Eminent domain hurts, and hurts bad.
But you’ve got to look at the big picture. Progress happens. And I’ll be for it, if this project survives all the arm-twisting of federal regulators, and legislative wrangling, and financing headaches.
It would be wonderful! It would be worth it.
The Bible says not to remove the ancient landmarks – but that doesn’t mean houses and towns. They can go.
They aren’t the real landmarks. It’s justice and respect, family and friendship, mercy and love that we’re supposed to hang onto, no matter what. All the good things about “Ashcan,” as Dad affectionately called it, are never-ending and eternal.
Dam it!
Or not!
I say, “water” we waiting for? Exhumation won’t be that bad: I can . . . dig it.
As long as Grandma and Grandpa are buried where they can rest in peace, I’m not going to rock the boat.
-------------------------
Here’s a neat history of Ashland with colorful content about “bull whackers” and other pioneers. It lists my grandfather, G.R. Darst, as a charter member of the Ashland Rotary Club in 1935:
http://www.rootsweb.com/~nesaunde/1983hist/saco83-p44.html
Saturday, January 21, 2006
SNOWING CREAM
What do we have in our freezer this morning? A great, big container of frozen shaving cream.
Why do we have a great, big container of frozen shaving cream in our freezer? Because we haven’t had any decent snow since ‘way before Christmas.
What does that have to do with shaving cream? Well, I was buying toiletries for a neighborhood Eagle Scout’s project to help the homeless, and I saw a can of shaving cream on sale for a dollar. I got it for Maddy to play with on our kitchen island, which is granite. You know: snow on rocks. Lots and lots of “snow,” actually. Her favorite part was noisily spraying it out into big clumps.
She had a whee, playing with all kinds of kitchen utensils in the gooey pseudo-snow. The potato ricer was her favorite. She buried her little rubber turtle in a mini-mountain, and galloped her little plastic zebra through the snowy “tundra.”
That’s why we have a great, big container of frozen shaving cream in our freezer. I think it’s going to snow again today . . . in our kitchen
-------------------------
Did you see the upside-down piano player on the Jay Leno Show last night? Laura Dooling was radiantly beautiful, funny and talented, representing Omaha and Marian High School with aplomb. Turns out she and our daughter Eden used to play the piano like that all the time when they were little. Next time, maybe they can play an upside-down duet. Heck, they should have their own show!
What do we have in our freezer this morning? A great, big container of frozen shaving cream.
Why do we have a great, big container of frozen shaving cream in our freezer? Because we haven’t had any decent snow since ‘way before Christmas.
What does that have to do with shaving cream? Well, I was buying toiletries for a neighborhood Eagle Scout’s project to help the homeless, and I saw a can of shaving cream on sale for a dollar. I got it for Maddy to play with on our kitchen island, which is granite. You know: snow on rocks. Lots and lots of “snow,” actually. Her favorite part was noisily spraying it out into big clumps.
She had a whee, playing with all kinds of kitchen utensils in the gooey pseudo-snow. The potato ricer was her favorite. She buried her little rubber turtle in a mini-mountain, and galloped her little plastic zebra through the snowy “tundra.”
That’s why we have a great, big container of frozen shaving cream in our freezer. I think it’s going to snow again today . . . in our kitchen
-------------------------
Did you see the upside-down piano player on the Jay Leno Show last night? Laura Dooling was radiantly beautiful, funny and talented, representing Omaha and Marian High School with aplomb. Turns out she and our daughter Eden used to play the piano like that all the time when they were little. Next time, maybe they can play an upside-down duet. Heck, they should have their own show!
Friday, January 20, 2006
WHEN THE WHALE WENT FREE
This is reportedly from Page One of the San Francisco Chronicle this past Dec. 15:
A female humpback whale had become entangled in a spider web of heavy crab traps and lines. She was weighed down by hundreds of pounds of traps that caused her to struggle to stay afloat. She also had hundreds of yards of line (rope) wrapped around her body -- her tail, her torso, even a line tugging in her mouth.
A fisherman spotted her just east of the Farralone Islands (outside the Golden Gate) and radio’ed an environmental group for help. Within a few hours, the rescue team arrived and determined that she was so bad off, the only way to save her was to dive in and untangle her. That was a very dangerous proposition. One slap of the tail could kill a rescuer. They worked for hours with curved knives, cutting rope by rope, and eventually freed her.
When she was free, the divers say she swam in what seemed like joyous circles. She then came back to each and every diver, one at a time, and nudged them, pushing them gently around – thanking them. Some said it was the most incredibly beautiful experience of their lives. The guy who cut the rope out of her mouth says her eye was following him the whole time, and he will never be the same.
The story comes with a wish: “May you, and all those you love, be so blessed as to be untangled from the things that you might think are binding you.”
What a whale of a nice tale. Happy weekending!
This is reportedly from Page One of the San Francisco Chronicle this past Dec. 15:
A female humpback whale had become entangled in a spider web of heavy crab traps and lines. She was weighed down by hundreds of pounds of traps that caused her to struggle to stay afloat. She also had hundreds of yards of line (rope) wrapped around her body -- her tail, her torso, even a line tugging in her mouth.
A fisherman spotted her just east of the Farralone Islands (outside the Golden Gate) and radio’ed an environmental group for help. Within a few hours, the rescue team arrived and determined that she was so bad off, the only way to save her was to dive in and untangle her. That was a very dangerous proposition. One slap of the tail could kill a rescuer. They worked for hours with curved knives, cutting rope by rope, and eventually freed her.
When she was free, the divers say she swam in what seemed like joyous circles. She then came back to each and every diver, one at a time, and nudged them, pushing them gently around – thanking them. Some said it was the most incredibly beautiful experience of their lives. The guy who cut the rope out of her mouth says her eye was following him the whole time, and he will never be the same.
The story comes with a wish: “May you, and all those you love, be so blessed as to be untangled from the things that you might think are binding you.”
What a whale of a nice tale. Happy weekending!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
THE UPSIDE-DOWN PIANO PLAYER
I’m excited: a girl who’s been a friend of our family since kindergarten is going to be on the Jay Leno Show Friday night with her special teenage talent that you won’t want to miss:
Laura Dooling plays the piano upside down!
Not the piano, that is. She lays backwards across the piano bench so that she’s face up under the piano, and then she brings her hands onto the keys and flawlessly plays a silly song!
Yes, I tried it, when I was sure nobody would be home to witness my humiliation. I could barely wedge my middle-aged form between the bench and the piano. It was difficult to mentally reverse the thumbs and pinkies in chords. Finally, I almost had a tune going, except my back was giving out, I looked totally ridiculous, and the dog thought I had gone insane and was licking my face. So I gave up, yielding to youthful talent and superior muscle tone.
Maybe I’ll try again after I watch her do it on national TV Friday night. I guess there will be a couple of other terrific teens doing “stupid teen tricks” on the same show, which will be fun.
Laura went to kindergarten with our Eden. They’re now seniors, and have gone to separate schools since fifth grade, but have remained friends. Laura’s mom and I shared many laughs in a yearlong “Hags On Nags” horseback riding club, with many stolen long lunches since then spent in paroxysms of laughter and friendship.
They’re just wonderful people. I hope you make a note to watch the show Friday night. No, you don’t have to sit upside down while you watch it; but it might help Laura if you hummed along.
I’m excited: a girl who’s been a friend of our family since kindergarten is going to be on the Jay Leno Show Friday night with her special teenage talent that you won’t want to miss:
Laura Dooling plays the piano upside down!
Not the piano, that is. She lays backwards across the piano bench so that she’s face up under the piano, and then she brings her hands onto the keys and flawlessly plays a silly song!
Yes, I tried it, when I was sure nobody would be home to witness my humiliation. I could barely wedge my middle-aged form between the bench and the piano. It was difficult to mentally reverse the thumbs and pinkies in chords. Finally, I almost had a tune going, except my back was giving out, I looked totally ridiculous, and the dog thought I had gone insane and was licking my face. So I gave up, yielding to youthful talent and superior muscle tone.
Maybe I’ll try again after I watch her do it on national TV Friday night. I guess there will be a couple of other terrific teens doing “stupid teen tricks” on the same show, which will be fun.
Laura went to kindergarten with our Eden. They’re now seniors, and have gone to separate schools since fifth grade, but have remained friends. Laura’s mom and I shared many laughs in a yearlong “Hags On Nags” horseback riding club, with many stolen long lunches since then spent in paroxysms of laughter and friendship.
They’re just wonderful people. I hope you make a note to watch the show Friday night. No, you don’t have to sit upside down while you watch it; but it might help Laura if you hummed along.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
DON'T KNOCK-KNOCK WINTER
To liven up the carpool, we’ve been telling winter knock-knock jokes:
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Snow.
Snow who?
‘Snobody special.
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Ach!
Ach who?
Did you sneeze? Need a Kleenex?
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Freeze!
Freeze who?
Freeze a jolly good fellow. . . .
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Icy.
Icy who?
Icy a big polar bear! Run!
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Grrrrrr!
Grrrrrr who?
What are you, a polar bear or an owl?
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Ice cream.
Ice cream who?
Ice cream if you throw me into the ice cold water.
To liven up the carpool, we’ve been telling winter knock-knock jokes:
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Snow.
Snow who?
‘Snobody special.
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Ach!
Ach who?
Did you sneeze? Need a Kleenex?
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Freeze!
Freeze who?
Freeze a jolly good fellow. . . .
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Icy.
Icy who?
Icy a big polar bear! Run!
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Grrrrrr!
Grrrrrr who?
What are you, a polar bear or an owl?
Knock-knock!
Who’s there?
Ice cream.
Ice cream who?
Ice cream if you throw me into the ice cold water.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
MEDS ON THE MARCH*
You can tell on the sill
We’re not feeling very well
As the cold season marches along.
From Kleenex to eyedrops
Which cost 60 bucks a pop
We would like to give sickness the gong.
So it’s Kaopectate!
An inhaler that works great.
Advil! Sore throat drops! Sinus pills!
Only one thing’s worse
Than a cold, and that’s a purse
That’s been emptied by fever and chills!!!
(* to the tune of Caissons Go Rolling)
You can tell on the sill
We’re not feeling very well
As the cold season marches along.
From Kleenex to eyedrops
Which cost 60 bucks a pop
We would like to give sickness the gong.
So it’s Kaopectate!
An inhaler that works great.
Advil! Sore throat drops! Sinus pills!
Only one thing’s worse
Than a cold, and that’s a purse
That’s been emptied by fever and chills!!!
(* to the tune of Caissons Go Rolling)
Monday, January 16, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
SON OF LIGHT
Ye are all the children of light,
and the children of the day:
we are not of the night, nor of darkness.
-- 1 Thessalonians 5:5
She had three children with another on the way when her husband’s job moved them to an Upper Midwestern college town. She didn’t know a soul. But as her pregnancy advanced, she managed the move. Ten days into their new house, she gave birth.
He had white hair. She didn’t know enough to use the term “person with albinism” instead of the offensive horror-flick epithet. But she “knew.”
“I really was a wreck and it got progressively worse,” she recalled. “I didn’t want this, wasn’t up to it at all.”
The next day, the doctor told them albinism is simple genetics: two recessive genes match up. It affects one in 17,000 people.
And guess what? The world’s leading expert on albinism genetics happened to be with the local university. He dropped by.
“Hi! I’m Dr. So-and-So . . . and this is going to be OK.”
Those were words she needed to hear, but didn’t yet believe. He said people with albinism lead good lives. In fact, the dean of the local law school had it, too. The biggest challenge: low vision because of a lack of pigment in the eye. But ophthalmology had answers.
Her pediatrician asked if a resident at the local medical school, also with albinism, could come over. His first name: John, the same as their son’s. He was 28, and delightful.
His visit “really brought a sense of normalcy,” she said. He urged her to call his mother.
They bonded. She sent her a beautiful letter with pictures of her John growing up, driving a boat, being active. “She wanted me to know all the things he could do.”
Others counseled her. Would everybody stare? Maybe. But hey: they were in a college town among Scandinavians galore. EVERYBODY’s light-haired and light-skinned, or had body piercings and mohawks. He’d blend right in.
Would kids tease him? Well . . . who DOESN’T get teased?
Would he see well enough to drive? It turns out a local ophthalmologist was an expert on albinism. And John sees better than expected; he very well could drive. The doctor couldn’t get over it. “Well, there’re a lot of people praying for him,” the mother said. “That explains it,” he replied.
Still, she went through a desert time, depressed or raging against God. “Things like this didn’t happen to people like me. I was in shock. I realized I never really had control over my life before. That was a huge lesson I had to learn.”
Her mom, sisters and other friends called her often. “You can do this,” they’d say. “Things have a way of working out.” A local priest helped, too.
Then one day when John was about 2, she was in the pits. “Just give me a sign, God, and it’d better be clear,” she pleaded. A while later, she went into John’s room. He looked up. “It’s going to be OK, Mom,” he said.
A few years later, she got a call from the mother of a newborn with albinism in a nearby city, desperately upset. “I really think you ought to come and meet John,” she said. So they did. They spent the day. They went to his soccer game. They saw how smart he is, and how much fun.
As they were leaving, the other mom said, “You don’t know what this meant to me.”
She replied, “I think I do.”
She’s grown so much, through it all. Her relationship with God has deepened and sweetened, like a longtime marriage when you’ve been through the mill together.
She sees the light.
And that’s what you think, when you see John. His hair, his skin . . . they’re light, that’s all. He’s 11 now, and quite the scholar, artist, musician and comedian. He’s writing a book, a real swashbuckler. What’s he going to do next?
“Write the sequel, of course,” he says.
He likes himself. He’s light-hearted. Everybody was right: this is going to be OK. More than OK.
And there’s a Light above Who knew it all along.
--------------------
For more about this condition, see www.albinism.org
Ye are all the children of light,
and the children of the day:
we are not of the night, nor of darkness.
-- 1 Thessalonians 5:5
She had three children with another on the way when her husband’s job moved them to an Upper Midwestern college town. She didn’t know a soul. But as her pregnancy advanced, she managed the move. Ten days into their new house, she gave birth.
He had white hair. She didn’t know enough to use the term “person with albinism” instead of the offensive horror-flick epithet. But she “knew.”
“I really was a wreck and it got progressively worse,” she recalled. “I didn’t want this, wasn’t up to it at all.”
The next day, the doctor told them albinism is simple genetics: two recessive genes match up. It affects one in 17,000 people.
And guess what? The world’s leading expert on albinism genetics happened to be with the local university. He dropped by.
“Hi! I’m Dr. So-and-So . . . and this is going to be OK.”
Those were words she needed to hear, but didn’t yet believe. He said people with albinism lead good lives. In fact, the dean of the local law school had it, too. The biggest challenge: low vision because of a lack of pigment in the eye. But ophthalmology had answers.
Her pediatrician asked if a resident at the local medical school, also with albinism, could come over. His first name: John, the same as their son’s. He was 28, and delightful.
His visit “really brought a sense of normalcy,” she said. He urged her to call his mother.
They bonded. She sent her a beautiful letter with pictures of her John growing up, driving a boat, being active. “She wanted me to know all the things he could do.”
Others counseled her. Would everybody stare? Maybe. But hey: they were in a college town among Scandinavians galore. EVERYBODY’s light-haired and light-skinned, or had body piercings and mohawks. He’d blend right in.
Would kids tease him? Well . . . who DOESN’T get teased?
Would he see well enough to drive? It turns out a local ophthalmologist was an expert on albinism. And John sees better than expected; he very well could drive. The doctor couldn’t get over it. “Well, there’re a lot of people praying for him,” the mother said. “That explains it,” he replied.
Still, she went through a desert time, depressed or raging against God. “Things like this didn’t happen to people like me. I was in shock. I realized I never really had control over my life before. That was a huge lesson I had to learn.”
Her mom, sisters and other friends called her often. “You can do this,” they’d say. “Things have a way of working out.” A local priest helped, too.
Then one day when John was about 2, she was in the pits. “Just give me a sign, God, and it’d better be clear,” she pleaded. A while later, she went into John’s room. He looked up. “It’s going to be OK, Mom,” he said.
A few years later, she got a call from the mother of a newborn with albinism in a nearby city, desperately upset. “I really think you ought to come and meet John,” she said. So they did. They spent the day. They went to his soccer game. They saw how smart he is, and how much fun.
As they were leaving, the other mom said, “You don’t know what this meant to me.”
She replied, “I think I do.”
She’s grown so much, through it all. Her relationship with God has deepened and sweetened, like a longtime marriage when you’ve been through the mill together.
She sees the light.
And that’s what you think, when you see John. His hair, his skin . . . they’re light, that’s all. He’s 11 now, and quite the scholar, artist, musician and comedian. He’s writing a book, a real swashbuckler. What’s he going to do next?
“Write the sequel, of course,” he says.
He likes himself. He’s light-hearted. Everybody was right: this is going to be OK. More than OK.
And there’s a Light above Who knew it all along.
--------------------
For more about this condition, see www.albinism.org
Saturday, January 14, 2006
THE KISS RULE: KEEP IT SIMPLE, SCIENTISTS
When NASA first started sending up astronauts, they quickly discovered that ball-point pens would not work in zero gravity.
To combat this problem, NASA scientists spent a decade and $12 billion developing a pen that writes in zero gravity, upside-down, on almost any surface including glass and at temperatures ranging from below freezing to over 300 C.
The Russians used a pencil.
Your taxes are due again. Enjoy paying them.
When NASA first started sending up astronauts, they quickly discovered that ball-point pens would not work in zero gravity.
To combat this problem, NASA scientists spent a decade and $12 billion developing a pen that writes in zero gravity, upside-down, on almost any surface including glass and at temperatures ranging from below freezing to over 300 C.
The Russians used a pencil.
Your taxes are due again. Enjoy paying them.
Friday, January 13, 2006
OH, PUN SEASON
A GOOD PUN IS ITS OWN RE-WORD
Energizer Bunny arrested - charged with battery.
A pessimist's blood type is always b-negative.
Practice safe eating - always use condiments.
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother.
Shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.
I used to work in a blanket factory, but it folded.
Marriage is the mourning after the knot before.
A hangover is the wrath of grapes.
Corduroy pillows are making headlines.
Is a book on voyeurism a peeping tome?
Sea captains don't like crew cuts.
Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?
A successful diet is the triumph of mind over platter.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
A gossip is someone with a great sense of rumor.
Without geometry, life is pointless.
When you dream in color, it's a pigment of your imagination.
Reading while sunbathing makes you well-red.
A man's home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.
Dijon vu - the same mustard as before
When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.
A bicycle can't stand on its own because it is two-tired.
What's the definition of a will? (Come on, it's a dead giveaway!)
In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism, your count votes.
A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed.
With her marriage, she got a new name and a dress.
Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft, and I'll show you a flat minor.
When a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds.
The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.
A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.
You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
Local Area Network in Australia: The LAN down under.
He often broke into song because he couldn't find the key.
Every calendar's days are numbered.
A lot of money is tainted. It t'aint yours and it t'aint mine.
A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.
He had a photographic memory that was never developed.
The short fortuneteller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large.
Once you've seen one shopping center, you've seen a mall.
Those who jump off a Paris bridge are in Seine.
When an actress saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought she'd dye.
Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.
Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
Acupuncture is a jab well done.
A GOOD PUN IS ITS OWN RE-WORD
Energizer Bunny arrested - charged with battery.
A pessimist's blood type is always b-negative.
Practice safe eating - always use condiments.
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother.
Shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.
I used to work in a blanket factory, but it folded.
Marriage is the mourning after the knot before.
A hangover is the wrath of grapes.
Corduroy pillows are making headlines.
Is a book on voyeurism a peeping tome?
Sea captains don't like crew cuts.
Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?
A successful diet is the triumph of mind over platter.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
A gossip is someone with a great sense of rumor.
Without geometry, life is pointless.
When you dream in color, it's a pigment of your imagination.
Reading while sunbathing makes you well-red.
A man's home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.
Dijon vu - the same mustard as before
When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.
A bicycle can't stand on its own because it is two-tired.
What's the definition of a will? (Come on, it's a dead giveaway!)
In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism, your count votes.
A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed.
With her marriage, she got a new name and a dress.
Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft, and I'll show you a flat minor.
When a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds.
The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.
A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.
You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
Local Area Network in Australia: The LAN down under.
He often broke into song because he couldn't find the key.
Every calendar's days are numbered.
A lot of money is tainted. It t'aint yours and it t'aint mine.
A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.
He had a photographic memory that was never developed.
The short fortuneteller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large.
Once you've seen one shopping center, you've seen a mall.
Those who jump off a Paris bridge are in Seine.
When an actress saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought she'd dye.
Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.
Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
Acupuncture is a jab well done.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
THERE'S THERAPY FOR THIS
I’ve got news for all you who think the “hunter-gatherer” community of cave-man days is long gone. Around here, the Mr. has become “CAMO MAN,” and everything he does revolves around his new hobby of hunting. He got our daughter – our precious 5-year-old daughter in pigtails and pink fingernail polish – a camouflage jacket for Christmas. Why? So she can sit next to him in his matching one, driving his camouflage ATV around the neighborhood, pretending to be on a father-daughter hunt, I guess.
As if that isn’t bad enough for our reputation, now I’ve been caught as the Ultimate Pack Rat. A neighbor is doing that excellent kiddie creativity activity, Destination Imagination. I worked a lot with our three older kids in its predecessor, Odyssey of the Mind. Teams I helped coach twice made it into the top five at Worlds. Woo hoo! You only have $100 to spend over the six months or so of the competition. So the coaches and kids got good at scrounging all kinds of odd freebies to make their sets, costumes, props and such.
Well, I got into the habit of saving my dryer lint. That’s right: I scoop a gross little gray handful up after every dryer load and put it into a plastic sack. The kids used it as no-cost stuffing for their various plays. But it’s been at least five years since they were involved, and yet I’m still saving my dryer lint. Doctor, doctor! I can’t stop!
This caused my neighbor to hoot – although, as a current creativity coach, the reason she was calling was that she was scrounging around among her neighbors and friends for SHREDDED PAPER. “May I come over and borrow a cup of shredded paper?” That’s just as anal as dryer lint.
She made me feel better, though. She knows the owner of an embroidery shop who’s addicted to saving scraps of thread. You know, little three- and four-inch lengths of unused thread. She’s got an enormous supply.
Soul sister!
I’ve got news for all you who think the “hunter-gatherer” community of cave-man days is long gone. Around here, the Mr. has become “CAMO MAN,” and everything he does revolves around his new hobby of hunting. He got our daughter – our precious 5-year-old daughter in pigtails and pink fingernail polish – a camouflage jacket for Christmas. Why? So she can sit next to him in his matching one, driving his camouflage ATV around the neighborhood, pretending to be on a father-daughter hunt, I guess.
As if that isn’t bad enough for our reputation, now I’ve been caught as the Ultimate Pack Rat. A neighbor is doing that excellent kiddie creativity activity, Destination Imagination. I worked a lot with our three older kids in its predecessor, Odyssey of the Mind. Teams I helped coach twice made it into the top five at Worlds. Woo hoo! You only have $100 to spend over the six months or so of the competition. So the coaches and kids got good at scrounging all kinds of odd freebies to make their sets, costumes, props and such.
Well, I got into the habit of saving my dryer lint. That’s right: I scoop a gross little gray handful up after every dryer load and put it into a plastic sack. The kids used it as no-cost stuffing for their various plays. But it’s been at least five years since they were involved, and yet I’m still saving my dryer lint. Doctor, doctor! I can’t stop!
This caused my neighbor to hoot – although, as a current creativity coach, the reason she was calling was that she was scrounging around among her neighbors and friends for SHREDDED PAPER. “May I come over and borrow a cup of shredded paper?” That’s just as anal as dryer lint.
She made me feel better, though. She knows the owner of an embroidery shop who’s addicted to saving scraps of thread. You know, little three- and four-inch lengths of unused thread. She’s got an enormous supply.
Soul sister!
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
TRUE SENTIMENTS
This letter was sent to the principal's office of a middle school after the school had sponsored a luncheon for the elderly.
An old lady received a new radio at the luncheon as a door prize, and wrote this thank-you note:
Dear Safety Harbor Middle School,
God bless you for the beautiful radio I won at your recent senior citizens luncheon. I am 84 years old and live at the Safety Harbor Assisted Home for the Aged. All of my family has passed away. I am all alone now and it's nice to know that someone is thinking of me. God bless you for your kindness to an old, forgotten lady.
My roommate is 95 and always had her own radio, but before I received one, she would never let me listen to hers, even when she was napping. The other day her radio fell off the night stand and broke into a lot of pieces. It was awful and she was in tears. She asked if she could listen to mine. . .
. . . and I said, “Kiss my ___.”
Thank you for that opportunity.
Sincerely, Edna Walters
. . .
(And you thought this was going to be another one of those heartwarming stories. . . .)
This letter was sent to the principal's office of a middle school after the school had sponsored a luncheon for the elderly.
An old lady received a new radio at the luncheon as a door prize, and wrote this thank-you note:
Dear Safety Harbor Middle School,
God bless you for the beautiful radio I won at your recent senior citizens luncheon. I am 84 years old and live at the Safety Harbor Assisted Home for the Aged. All of my family has passed away. I am all alone now and it's nice to know that someone is thinking of me. God bless you for your kindness to an old, forgotten lady.
My roommate is 95 and always had her own radio, but before I received one, she would never let me listen to hers, even when she was napping. The other day her radio fell off the night stand and broke into a lot of pieces. It was awful and she was in tears. She asked if she could listen to mine. . .
. . . and I said, “Kiss my ___.”
Thank you for that opportunity.
Sincerely, Edna Walters
. . .
(And you thought this was going to be another one of those heartwarming stories. . . .)
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
PINT-SIZED CYNIC
It was our 28th wedding anniversary the other day. Maddy, 5, still hung over from an exciting, colorful Christmas with all kinds of celebrating, gift-giving and travel, wasn’t quite up to speed on what was going on.
She noticed the cards on the kitchen table and saw that the grandparents had sent a gift and some flowers. Both parents were scurrying around making preparations because we were having people over for a dinner party to help celebrate. In this day and age, long-time marriage is something you SHOULD celebrate, we believe. It’s kind of like watching Halley’s Comet.
“It’s Mom and Dad’s anniversary,” one of her older sisters told Maddy.
“What’s the big deal?” she replied.
Well, think about it. There were no presents in it for HER. . . .
It was our 28th wedding anniversary the other day. Maddy, 5, still hung over from an exciting, colorful Christmas with all kinds of celebrating, gift-giving and travel, wasn’t quite up to speed on what was going on.
She noticed the cards on the kitchen table and saw that the grandparents had sent a gift and some flowers. Both parents were scurrying around making preparations because we were having people over for a dinner party to help celebrate. In this day and age, long-time marriage is something you SHOULD celebrate, we believe. It’s kind of like watching Halley’s Comet.
“It’s Mom and Dad’s anniversary,” one of her older sisters told Maddy.
“What’s the big deal?” she replied.
Well, think about it. There were no presents in it for HER. . . .
Monday, January 09, 2006
UNSUSPECTING HAMS
Yes, my favorite TV show has always been “Candid Camera” and yes, I love this clip and am just thankful it wasn’t me:
http://www.youtube.com/player.swf?video_id=vEWLwz6JRNE&l=357&s=B4BC767
Yes, my favorite TV show has always been “Candid Camera” and yes, I love this clip and am just thankful it wasn’t me:
http://www.youtube.com/player.swf?video_id=vEWLwz6JRNE&l=357&s=B4BC767
Sunday, January 08, 2006
ALAMOJO
For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named. . . .
-- Ephesians 3:14,15
There was a Darst at the Alamo. One of the heroes who gave his life to win freedom for Texas was my great-great-great-grand-whatever.
We’ve always known it. But it wasn’t until a relative stopped in at the old mission in San Antonio a while back that we realized how big a deal it really was.
She mentioned the connection to Jacob Darst.
Their eyes lit up. Bells rang. Sirens sounded. Staff members poured in.
“WE HAVE A DESCENDANT! WE HAVE A DESCENDANT!”
They shook her hand. They gave her a stack of specially-stamped brochures.
They wanted to give her a private tour of the 1836 massacre, and how it happened. They showed her the bronze plaque with his name on it, and the enormous oil portrait of Jacob hung in the gift shop, one of only six commemorative paintings. They said the Kentucky native was married to Davy Crockett’s niece; that’s how he wound up at the Alamo. They told her she could never get a job working there; that would be sacrilegious.
What a hero! That’s the good news.
The BAD news is, Jacob was found shot in the back. That meant . . . gulp . . . HE WAS TRYING TO GET AWAY.
“Yeah, and he was probably in women’s clothes,” my husband added sarcastically. You know, trying to “pass.”
Aw, he was just jealous. HIS family is related to U.S. Supreme Court Justice John Marshall. At his funeral, the Liberty Bell cracked. That’s a biggie to see in Philadelphia. My beloved had strutted around, bigtime, about that. But I had just pointed out that our San Antonio Riverwalk hotel had given us a takeout menu in the room with this item: “Tijuana Phillysteak.”
He got mad. Is nothing sacred?
Anyway, when we went to San Antonio after Christmas to see the Huskers play in the Alamo Bowl, I was excited to visit the Alamo and get the ego-boosting red-carpet treatment, too.
Our relative had been there on a weekday, at closing time, the only visitor at the time. But our Christmas Week crowd was enormous; the line to the Alamo sprawled around the block.
Maddy gaped up at the mission façade and asked, “Is this the White House?”
We should have known it was not going to go well. There was a big hold-up in the line. My beloved spotted a tall guard facing the other way, with long hair cascading over an 1830s uniform’s epaulets. “Maybe we should tell HER who you are!” he whispered, loudly.
Just then, the guard turned around. “’. . . Tell HIM!’” he corrected. I saw a shadow pass over the guard’s face. He put his back to us again.
So much for the red-carpet treatment from HIM. But that was OK: the reception desk was coming up, and that’s where our relative had received her idol worship.
Bursting with prideful anticipation, chest sticking out, I told the guy, “I’m descended from Jacob Darst!”
He studied me briefly.
“That’s nice,” he said, stamping my brochure.
THAT’S “NICE”?
THAT’S IT?
He saw me sag, and said with pity, “You can take cuts in line if you want.”
Take CUTS?
Stomp on the rights of others?
After Great-Great-Great-Grand-Whatever Jacob had given the last full measure of devotion, whether or not in ladies’ clothing?
I declined.
It was embarrassing. Oh, my foolish pride. People get puffed up over connections to celebrities, sports teams, colleges, hometowns . . . but there’s only one family name that really counts, and that’s God’s.
Thus chastened, I took the tour. It was all very interesting, anyway.
I finally stood before the big portrait of Jacob. Heyyy! My dad’s wide-set eyes! That flowing, blond, Germanic hair! That dashing, jaunty, Darst-like pose!
He looked so good, so brave, so larger-than-life, that I got my mojo back. Yeah! I’m mainly related to God . . . but also to HIM!
And then I swear he winked, and said, “Remember the Alamo . . . and Go Big Red!”
For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named. . . .
-- Ephesians 3:14,15
There was a Darst at the Alamo. One of the heroes who gave his life to win freedom for Texas was my great-great-great-grand-whatever.
We’ve always known it. But it wasn’t until a relative stopped in at the old mission in San Antonio a while back that we realized how big a deal it really was.
She mentioned the connection to Jacob Darst.
Their eyes lit up. Bells rang. Sirens sounded. Staff members poured in.
“WE HAVE A DESCENDANT! WE HAVE A DESCENDANT!”
They shook her hand. They gave her a stack of specially-stamped brochures.
They wanted to give her a private tour of the 1836 massacre, and how it happened. They showed her the bronze plaque with his name on it, and the enormous oil portrait of Jacob hung in the gift shop, one of only six commemorative paintings. They said the Kentucky native was married to Davy Crockett’s niece; that’s how he wound up at the Alamo. They told her she could never get a job working there; that would be sacrilegious.
What a hero! That’s the good news.
The BAD news is, Jacob was found shot in the back. That meant . . . gulp . . . HE WAS TRYING TO GET AWAY.
“Yeah, and he was probably in women’s clothes,” my husband added sarcastically. You know, trying to “pass.”
Aw, he was just jealous. HIS family is related to U.S. Supreme Court Justice John Marshall. At his funeral, the Liberty Bell cracked. That’s a biggie to see in Philadelphia. My beloved had strutted around, bigtime, about that. But I had just pointed out that our San Antonio Riverwalk hotel had given us a takeout menu in the room with this item: “Tijuana Phillysteak.”
He got mad. Is nothing sacred?
Anyway, when we went to San Antonio after Christmas to see the Huskers play in the Alamo Bowl, I was excited to visit the Alamo and get the ego-boosting red-carpet treatment, too.
Our relative had been there on a weekday, at closing time, the only visitor at the time. But our Christmas Week crowd was enormous; the line to the Alamo sprawled around the block.
Maddy gaped up at the mission façade and asked, “Is this the White House?”
We should have known it was not going to go well. There was a big hold-up in the line. My beloved spotted a tall guard facing the other way, with long hair cascading over an 1830s uniform’s epaulets. “Maybe we should tell HER who you are!” he whispered, loudly.
Just then, the guard turned around. “’. . . Tell HIM!’” he corrected. I saw a shadow pass over the guard’s face. He put his back to us again.
So much for the red-carpet treatment from HIM. But that was OK: the reception desk was coming up, and that’s where our relative had received her idol worship.
Bursting with prideful anticipation, chest sticking out, I told the guy, “I’m descended from Jacob Darst!”
He studied me briefly.
“That’s nice,” he said, stamping my brochure.
THAT’S “NICE”?
THAT’S IT?
He saw me sag, and said with pity, “You can take cuts in line if you want.”
Take CUTS?
Stomp on the rights of others?
After Great-Great-Great-Grand-Whatever Jacob had given the last full measure of devotion, whether or not in ladies’ clothing?
I declined.
It was embarrassing. Oh, my foolish pride. People get puffed up over connections to celebrities, sports teams, colleges, hometowns . . . but there’s only one family name that really counts, and that’s God’s.
Thus chastened, I took the tour. It was all very interesting, anyway.
I finally stood before the big portrait of Jacob. Heyyy! My dad’s wide-set eyes! That flowing, blond, Germanic hair! That dashing, jaunty, Darst-like pose!
He looked so good, so brave, so larger-than-life, that I got my mojo back. Yeah! I’m mainly related to God . . . but also to HIM!
And then I swear he winked, and said, “Remember the Alamo . . . and Go Big Red!”
Saturday, January 07, 2006
VODKA: HINTS FROM (HIC!) HELOISE
And they say being a housewife is boring. Consider what you can do with vodka:
-- Dissolve adhesives stuck to glass.
-- Remove a bandage painlessly.
-- Spray-clean bathroom caulking and kill mold and mildew.
-- Clean and disinfect eyeglasses.
-- Keep your razor in a cup of vodka between shavings to disinfect the blade and prevent rusting.
-- Spray-clean vomit stains.
-- Dab a little on a cotton ball to clean your face and tighten pores.
-- Add a jigger to a 12-ounce bottle of shampoo; the alcohol cleans your scalp, detoxifies your hair, and stimulates growth.
-- Spray-kill bees and wasps.
-- Make an ice pack in a zippered plastic bag with ½ cup vodka and ½ cup water for aches, pains and black eyes.
-- Have a fever? Put vodka on a washcloth and rub it on your chest and back as a liniment.
-- Foot odor? Wash with vodka.
-- Jellyfish sting? Vodka will alleviate the pain.
-- Poison ivy? Vodka removes the oil from your skin.
-- Toothache? Allow your gums to absorb some of the alcohol to numb the pain.
Speaking of numbing . . . ‘salso a perf’ excuuuuusss f’not gettin’ m’housssssework done. . . .
And they say being a housewife is boring. Consider what you can do with vodka:
-- Dissolve adhesives stuck to glass.
-- Remove a bandage painlessly.
-- Spray-clean bathroom caulking and kill mold and mildew.
-- Clean and disinfect eyeglasses.
-- Keep your razor in a cup of vodka between shavings to disinfect the blade and prevent rusting.
-- Spray-clean vomit stains.
-- Dab a little on a cotton ball to clean your face and tighten pores.
-- Add a jigger to a 12-ounce bottle of shampoo; the alcohol cleans your scalp, detoxifies your hair, and stimulates growth.
-- Spray-kill bees and wasps.
-- Make an ice pack in a zippered plastic bag with ½ cup vodka and ½ cup water for aches, pains and black eyes.
-- Have a fever? Put vodka on a washcloth and rub it on your chest and back as a liniment.
-- Foot odor? Wash with vodka.
-- Jellyfish sting? Vodka will alleviate the pain.
-- Poison ivy? Vodka removes the oil from your skin.
-- Toothache? Allow your gums to absorb some of the alcohol to numb the pain.
Speaking of numbing . . . ‘salso a perf’ excuuuuusss f’not gettin’ m’housssssework done. . . .
Friday, January 06, 2006
JELLY BELLY DANCING
One of my friends has taken up belly-dancing classes with her grown daughter, according to her Christmas card letter. There wasn’t a picture with it, unfortunately. I’d like to see her in one of those “I Dream of Jeannie” outfits, whirling dust rags around in the air like beautiful scarves, and clicking together her maxed-out credit cards instead of those metal castanets. Instead of a huge jewel in her navel, she would have her car keys, which she’s always losing, anyway. Hey! They’d be great! They’d jingle, jangle, jingle and add to the mystique!
If it were me in that belly-dancing class, they’d have to make sure all the other students were blind; anyone else would collapse laughing if they saw me trying to shake my voluminous tummy left to right while everything else was jiggling up and down. For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. I’d build up so much leverage, I might just launch myself up through the roof.
Or maybe they’d need to put me in a remedial section – the bunny lane. I never could do the hula hoop or any kind of ballroom dancing; what makes me think I could get the rhythm down? Just having the hot blood of embarrassment course through my veins from being there would be exercise enough for my heart and lungs.
One of my friends has taken up belly-dancing classes with her grown daughter, according to her Christmas card letter. There wasn’t a picture with it, unfortunately. I’d like to see her in one of those “I Dream of Jeannie” outfits, whirling dust rags around in the air like beautiful scarves, and clicking together her maxed-out credit cards instead of those metal castanets. Instead of a huge jewel in her navel, she would have her car keys, which she’s always losing, anyway. Hey! They’d be great! They’d jingle, jangle, jingle and add to the mystique!
If it were me in that belly-dancing class, they’d have to make sure all the other students were blind; anyone else would collapse laughing if they saw me trying to shake my voluminous tummy left to right while everything else was jiggling up and down. For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. I’d build up so much leverage, I might just launch myself up through the roof.
Or maybe they’d need to put me in a remedial section – the bunny lane. I never could do the hula hoop or any kind of ballroom dancing; what makes me think I could get the rhythm down? Just having the hot blood of embarrassment course through my veins from being there would be exercise enough for my heart and lungs.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
CHRONICLES OF MADDY-A
Classic literature is coming alive on the silver screen and blowing out the violent, oversexed, R-rated trash flicks in the box office. “Pride and Prejudice” has been a huge hit recently, and “The Chronicles of Narnia” is No. 1 right now.
Woo hoo! It makes me do my “I told you so” strut. A few years ago, I butted heads with a left-wing English teacher in a local middle school over the crummy books the school was assigning to the kids instead of classic books like these.
She said today’s audiences don’t find the classics interesting or relevant. Riiiiiiiight. How many kajillions have movies like “Narnia” made in recent years?
Our heated discussion took place after I had quietly opted my daughter out of the rotten, R-rated contemporary novel she had assigned in seventh grade English class, and substituted the famous C.S. Lewis “Narnia” book that now is thrilling audiences worldwide. She thought I was hopelessly out of step with what kids need to be reading.
So there! I hope she gets it by now.
But maybe the “Narnia” magic, fantasy and excitement has gone a bit too far. Maddy, 5, received not one but two age-appropriate “Narnia” books at Christmastime and has loved them. Yesterday, she was busy at her little table on a worksheet sent home from kindergarten. She was writing a row of “8’s” for practice. She showed them to me. One had a tiny upstroke on the top.
“This one’s a unicorn 8,” she informed me.
Now, that’s a character not even C.S. Lewis thought up.
Classic literature is coming alive on the silver screen and blowing out the violent, oversexed, R-rated trash flicks in the box office. “Pride and Prejudice” has been a huge hit recently, and “The Chronicles of Narnia” is No. 1 right now.
Woo hoo! It makes me do my “I told you so” strut. A few years ago, I butted heads with a left-wing English teacher in a local middle school over the crummy books the school was assigning to the kids instead of classic books like these.
She said today’s audiences don’t find the classics interesting or relevant. Riiiiiiiight. How many kajillions have movies like “Narnia” made in recent years?
Our heated discussion took place after I had quietly opted my daughter out of the rotten, R-rated contemporary novel she had assigned in seventh grade English class, and substituted the famous C.S. Lewis “Narnia” book that now is thrilling audiences worldwide. She thought I was hopelessly out of step with what kids need to be reading.
So there! I hope she gets it by now.
But maybe the “Narnia” magic, fantasy and excitement has gone a bit too far. Maddy, 5, received not one but two age-appropriate “Narnia” books at Christmastime and has loved them. Yesterday, she was busy at her little table on a worksheet sent home from kindergarten. She was writing a row of “8’s” for practice. She showed them to me. One had a tiny upstroke on the top.
“This one’s a unicorn 8,” she informed me.
Now, that’s a character not even C.S. Lewis thought up.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
A DIFFERENT KIND OF BOWL RECORD
There’s all kinds of talk about various records being set in the football bowl games. Some of them are pretty commonplace – yards gained, fumbles lost – and some are stats that only total football nerds could ever care about.
You know, “The East Dakotalinafornia Bohunks have just set a Salad Bowl record for the Number of Quarterback Pump-Fakes in an Unsuccessful Third-Down Conversion Attempt Before a Field Goal of Over 40 Yards!!!”
But I witnessed a bona fide, incredible Alamo Bowl record that may never be broken:
“Biggest Smile That Ever Transformed Into the Biggest Frown In the Shortest Amount of Time”
This is because, for various reasons, I accompanied my extremely gorgeous college-age daughter to a rowdy piano bar, “Howl at the Moon,” on the San Antonio Riverwalk on the eve of the bowl game. It was full of revelers getting fired up.
She took three steps into the place and was hit on by a beery, salivating and not-half-bad-looking fellow, obviously there to scope out the hot college babes. He gazed down at her with a radiant, delighted, beaming smile as he delivered what he thought was a suave opening line.
She pointed back at me and said, “I’m here with my MOM!!!” . . .
. . . and as his eyes darted toward my prison-matronly presence and then back to her, that delirious upward curve of a smile melted into the most disappointed downward curve of a frown you’ve ever seen in your life, breaking all speed records.
Too bad he didn’t get her number after all. We need to know where to mail his trophy!
There’s all kinds of talk about various records being set in the football bowl games. Some of them are pretty commonplace – yards gained, fumbles lost – and some are stats that only total football nerds could ever care about.
You know, “The East Dakotalinafornia Bohunks have just set a Salad Bowl record for the Number of Quarterback Pump-Fakes in an Unsuccessful Third-Down Conversion Attempt Before a Field Goal of Over 40 Yards!!!”
But I witnessed a bona fide, incredible Alamo Bowl record that may never be broken:
“Biggest Smile That Ever Transformed Into the Biggest Frown In the Shortest Amount of Time”
This is because, for various reasons, I accompanied my extremely gorgeous college-age daughter to a rowdy piano bar, “Howl at the Moon,” on the San Antonio Riverwalk on the eve of the bowl game. It was full of revelers getting fired up.
She took three steps into the place and was hit on by a beery, salivating and not-half-bad-looking fellow, obviously there to scope out the hot college babes. He gazed down at her with a radiant, delighted, beaming smile as he delivered what he thought was a suave opening line.
She pointed back at me and said, “I’m here with my MOM!!!” . . .
. . . and as his eyes darted toward my prison-matronly presence and then back to her, that delirious upward curve of a smile melted into the most disappointed downward curve of a frown you’ve ever seen in your life, breaking all speed records.
Too bad he didn’t get her number after all. We need to know where to mail his trophy!
Monday, January 02, 2006
A NEW YEAR'S GOTCHA BY GOD
A story goes that a man prays to God at the start of a new year.
God appears and the man says, "Lord! Our billions of years are Your one second. Our billions of dollars are merely a penny for You. Could You grant me a penny?"
God smiles and says, "Certainly! Back in a second" . . . and disappears.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Thanks a million to all those who opened their hearts and their wallets to all kinds of good causes and needy people last year. It is so heartening to hear about donors, especially anonymous ones, who just want to help people for the joy of it. My favorite offshoot of DailySusan charity suggestions was a generous reader in California who shot over a check for $500 to the domestic violence project of a group of Omaha nuns. I don’t know who the reader is . . . but bless yo’ heart, bigtime.
A story goes that a man prays to God at the start of a new year.
God appears and the man says, "Lord! Our billions of years are Your one second. Our billions of dollars are merely a penny for You. Could You grant me a penny?"
God smiles and says, "Certainly! Back in a second" . . . and disappears.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Thanks a million to all those who opened their hearts and their wallets to all kinds of good causes and needy people last year. It is so heartening to hear about donors, especially anonymous ones, who just want to help people for the joy of it. My favorite offshoot of DailySusan charity suggestions was a generous reader in California who shot over a check for $500 to the domestic violence project of a group of Omaha nuns. I don’t know who the reader is . . . but bless yo’ heart, bigtime.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
FELIZ!
(F)or the joy of the Lord is your strength.
-- Nehemiah 8:10c
When Christians have a big problem that goes on and on, we’re not supposed to strike back, cuss, kick the dog or stick pins in voodoo dolls. Hit men are out. Nunchucks, verboten.
All we can do is pray.
To the outsider, it must seem as if the Christian lifestyle sucks. It’s too hard! It’s no fun! The bad guys are winning!
Ah, but then you have moments like mine, right before Christmas – moments that thrill you with the indisputable truth that there’s an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving God. And He’s on your side, and He’s got your back.
That’s the joy of Christmas. That’s the good news we celebrate all year long.
Just as He did that night in Bethlehem, the living God comes to us and abides with us. He comforts us and saves us, day by day. And He does it in exquisitely personal detail.
Just ask for His help . . . and prepare to be amazed.
Now, I’ve been grappling for years with a complicated problem. I’ve nagged about it to God frequently, with repeated pleas and “suggestions” for what He should do to fix things, chop chop.
When He sees my prayer emails coming onto His supernatural screen – “You’ve got mail! It’s that pest from Omaha again” -- I’m sure He sighs, and deletes it: prayer spam.
I mean, He’s the living God, Author of the universe, the One Who perfectly engineers every circumstance. You think He’s stumped on how to help me? You think He FORGOT?
I knew He has His reasons for letting things drag on. It has to be this way. But it’s been hard, waiting.
Then, a couple of days before Christmas, I got a phone call with some stunning good news. There’s been a breakthrough in this longtime problem! Typical of God, it’s a change I never would have imagined, and it would do everybody involved some good.
Elated, I jumped into my car to do errands, thinking back over all the hurts, and musing that they might end. Immediately, bitter doubts flooded my mind. Naw. Can’t be. It’ll fall through. I’ll be in this torture chamber the rest of my life.
Just then, a pristine white car changed lanes right in front of me. My eyes locked onto its license plate:
FELIZ II
My hands clutched the wheel. Our Christmas card this year featured our dog Sunny in a sombrero, with a play on words: “Feliz Navidog.”
Feliz: celebrate!
It’s a long story, but “Two” or “Two Two” are my nicknames, for “Sue” or “SuSu.”
Celebrate, Sue!
Suddenly, I realized that on the radio at that moment was “Feliz Navidad,” the song I put on our electronic Christmas card to go with the funny dog picture.
I gasped. God! How do You DO that? Tears flowed. I sang along at the top of my lungs.
The white car sped away. At the next intersection was a big, white truck. My eyes were powerfully locked as by an outside force onto its sign:
PAUL DAVIS DAMAGE RESTORATION
Damage restoration? As in, the damage to ME . . . was going to get fixed?
Feliz, Sue!
Celebrate!
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get a grip. You’re reading too much into this.
I continued to my destination 100 blocks away, got out of my car, and started for the building. But parked right in front was a gold PT Cruiser . . . from the same company:
PAUL DAVIS DAMAGE RESTORATION
In case I missed it the first time. . . .
Celebrate, Sue! I’m going to make it up to you!
I came and saved you at Bethlehem, and at Calgary, and now I’m going to do it again.
Now, let’s see some Christmas cheer, Kid! Feliz!
Laughing, sobbing, I realized that I’d forgotten to use the strongest defense in the universe: the joy that comes from the hope that comes from faith.
I broke out in a smile. Finally! That’s how you win. That’s what He wanted to see all along.
Feliz to the world . . . the Lord has come! And oh, the wonders of His love.
--------------------------
Please visit www.DailySusan.com to see the family Christmas e-card mentioned in this story. Feel free to send in your prayer requests through the website. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
1/1/06 • Radiant Beams • Copyright 2006 • Susan Darst Williams, www.DailySusan.com, is a writer, wife and mother of four who lives at the base of Mount Laundry, Nebraska. Visit her website for lifestyle features and entertainment aimed at the heart of the home.
(F)or the joy of the Lord is your strength.
-- Nehemiah 8:10c
When Christians have a big problem that goes on and on, we’re not supposed to strike back, cuss, kick the dog or stick pins in voodoo dolls. Hit men are out. Nunchucks, verboten.
All we can do is pray.
To the outsider, it must seem as if the Christian lifestyle sucks. It’s too hard! It’s no fun! The bad guys are winning!
Ah, but then you have moments like mine, right before Christmas – moments that thrill you with the indisputable truth that there’s an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving God. And He’s on your side, and He’s got your back.
That’s the joy of Christmas. That’s the good news we celebrate all year long.
Just as He did that night in Bethlehem, the living God comes to us and abides with us. He comforts us and saves us, day by day. And He does it in exquisitely personal detail.
Just ask for His help . . . and prepare to be amazed.
Now, I’ve been grappling for years with a complicated problem. I’ve nagged about it to God frequently, with repeated pleas and “suggestions” for what He should do to fix things, chop chop.
When He sees my prayer emails coming onto His supernatural screen – “You’ve got mail! It’s that pest from Omaha again” -- I’m sure He sighs, and deletes it: prayer spam.
I mean, He’s the living God, Author of the universe, the One Who perfectly engineers every circumstance. You think He’s stumped on how to help me? You think He FORGOT?
I knew He has His reasons for letting things drag on. It has to be this way. But it’s been hard, waiting.
Then, a couple of days before Christmas, I got a phone call with some stunning good news. There’s been a breakthrough in this longtime problem! Typical of God, it’s a change I never would have imagined, and it would do everybody involved some good.
Elated, I jumped into my car to do errands, thinking back over all the hurts, and musing that they might end. Immediately, bitter doubts flooded my mind. Naw. Can’t be. It’ll fall through. I’ll be in this torture chamber the rest of my life.
Just then, a pristine white car changed lanes right in front of me. My eyes locked onto its license plate:
FELIZ II
My hands clutched the wheel. Our Christmas card this year featured our dog Sunny in a sombrero, with a play on words: “Feliz Navidog.”
Feliz: celebrate!
It’s a long story, but “Two” or “Two Two” are my nicknames, for “Sue” or “SuSu.”
Celebrate, Sue!
Suddenly, I realized that on the radio at that moment was “Feliz Navidad,” the song I put on our electronic Christmas card to go with the funny dog picture.
I gasped. God! How do You DO that? Tears flowed. I sang along at the top of my lungs.
The white car sped away. At the next intersection was a big, white truck. My eyes were powerfully locked as by an outside force onto its sign:
PAUL DAVIS DAMAGE RESTORATION
Damage restoration? As in, the damage to ME . . . was going to get fixed?
Feliz, Sue!
Celebrate!
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get a grip. You’re reading too much into this.
I continued to my destination 100 blocks away, got out of my car, and started for the building. But parked right in front was a gold PT Cruiser . . . from the same company:
PAUL DAVIS DAMAGE RESTORATION
In case I missed it the first time. . . .
Celebrate, Sue! I’m going to make it up to you!
I came and saved you at Bethlehem, and at Calgary, and now I’m going to do it again.
Now, let’s see some Christmas cheer, Kid! Feliz!
Laughing, sobbing, I realized that I’d forgotten to use the strongest defense in the universe: the joy that comes from the hope that comes from faith.
I broke out in a smile. Finally! That’s how you win. That’s what He wanted to see all along.
Feliz to the world . . . the Lord has come! And oh, the wonders of His love.
--------------------------
Please visit www.DailySusan.com to see the family Christmas e-card mentioned in this story. Feel free to send in your prayer requests through the website. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
1/1/06 • Radiant Beams • Copyright 2006 • Susan Darst Williams, www.DailySusan.com, is a writer, wife and mother of four who lives at the base of Mount Laundry, Nebraska. Visit her website for lifestyle features and entertainment aimed at the heart of the home.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
PLEASE CLICK HERE for our family’s offbeat Christmas card: http://www.dailysusan.com/
DailySusan will resume on Sunday, Jan. 1. I’ll post Christmas stories from years past on the website over the holidays.
May all your Christmas dreams come true, and here’s wishing you a happy and healthy 2006.
With love,
Susan
---------------------------------
Furby Anne
(H)e hath no form nor comeliness;
and when we shall see him,
there is no beauty that we should desire him.
-- Isaiah 53:2b
Maddy, 5, has latched on to the latest Kid’s Meal prize at “Burber King” like a Skid Row bum on a bottle of Ripple. They’re putting a mini Furby in every bag of hardened cholesterol now.
You know the Furby: part Yoda, part hamster, part owl -- completely annoying. It swept the toy world several Christmases ago. By now they’ve sold 40 million of the moody weirdos with the Andy Rooney eyebrows and PMS. They talk, sing, tell jokes, have moving plumage, and even have a website: http://www.hasbro.com/furby/
The little freebie Furbys only move their ears. But Maddy has forced me at watergun-point to the “Burber King” drive-through twice recently so she could “collect” two of them.
One is a boy. He is green. She named him “Furb.”
The other is gray with a pink topknot. I’m cringing, because I think her name is “Furby Anne.”
So here we are, minutes before Christmas, and Maddy’s mesmerized. She’s been skiing them down the slanted top of our baby-grand piano. She’s given them hours of rides in her little red wagon. They’ve been pulled around on a little toy sled commandeered from our Christmas decorations, with a Beanie Baby cat instead of a reindeer in the traces, an old shoestring. She says innocently that they sleep together; I bite my tongue.
My countless hours of Christmas shopping for her are going up in smoke and flames, like the oil wells of Kuwait. Who cares about lovingly-selected, educational toys when you can cuddle with an ugly piece of free plastic? How you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Fur-beee?!?!
They’re homely! What’s the attraction? There’s no accounting for people’s tastes, I guess. It’s kind of like Bethlehem: not too fab, on the surface. But in the end . . . who knew?
Years ago, our daughter Eden had a softball coach who resembled a Furby. That’s what the girls called him behind his back. He thought it was funny.
One weekend they traveled to Clarinda, Iowa, to play the softball team. They were vaunted. They were cigar-chomping and steroid-crazed. Our little girls beat them.
On the way out of town, the coach waved the caravan over to the local McDonald’s (sorry, “Burber King”). We all went inside. He was so pumped up, he grabbed the microphone:
“Hello, Clarinda!” he exulted to the restaurant full of slack-jawed Clarindanians. “How does it feel to know that your softball team just got its tail whipped . . . BY A FURBY?!?”
The longest few seconds in the history of the universe passed, until people finally laughed, mostly out of pity.
The Christmas they came out, the Furby craze was worse than “Tickle Me Elmo.” It was bigger than “Cabbage Patch” or any Play Station upgrade. Parents were hysterical to get one of the scarce Furbys under the tree that Christmas, or else.
Cooler heads prevailed at our house. We thought they were weird, ugly and expensive. We couldn’t believe the mass hysteria.
Then someone we know picked up some last-minute intelligence that one more shipment was coming in to a store an hour’s drive away. He got there before dawn.
A crowd formed. They were unruly. There weren’t going to be enough Furbys to go around.
The store personnel put yellow crime-scene tape around the Furby display, hoping for crowd control, and flung open the doors. There was a stampede. The clerk was supposed to hand Furbys out to people, one by one. But he feared he would be trampled – so he started just THROWING them up for the crowd, literally catch as catch can.
Our friend has a vertical leap like an NBA star, so he got one. He hugged it, and waited for the crowd to disperse.
He saw an older woman sobbing, rocking back and forth, Furby-less.
Geeeeeeez. Our friend did the unthinkable: he gave her his.
A touching Christmas story of sacrifice and compassion?
Nah. He just didn’t want to get mugged by the angry mob on his way back to the car.
------------------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: The Christmas baby shower for a young single mom, Michaela, and her six-month-old baby, Dylan, whom she almost aborted, winds up on Tuesday. Reply to this email with the message, “Baby shower,” if you’d like to contribute to a WalMart debit card for groceries and other necessities, or could get a gift or card to me by Dec. 20. Many, many thanks to our Christmas angels!
Today’s charity suggestion is to support Nebraska’s premier environmental organization, The National Arbor Day Foundation. Your love of trees can make a lasting difference. The foundation aims to Inspire people to plant, nurture, and celebrate trees. Your support can help forward this work and help create a healthier and greener world. "The best time to plant a tree was 50 years ago, the second best time is today." Go to http://www.arborday.org/ to learn how you can get involved.
DailySusan will resume on Sunday, Jan. 1. I’ll post Christmas stories from years past on the website over the holidays.
May all your Christmas dreams come true, and here’s wishing you a happy and healthy 2006.
With love,
Susan
---------------------------------
Furby Anne
(H)e hath no form nor comeliness;
and when we shall see him,
there is no beauty that we should desire him.
-- Isaiah 53:2b
Maddy, 5, has latched on to the latest Kid’s Meal prize at “Burber King” like a Skid Row bum on a bottle of Ripple. They’re putting a mini Furby in every bag of hardened cholesterol now.
You know the Furby: part Yoda, part hamster, part owl -- completely annoying. It swept the toy world several Christmases ago. By now they’ve sold 40 million of the moody weirdos with the Andy Rooney eyebrows and PMS. They talk, sing, tell jokes, have moving plumage, and even have a website: http://www.hasbro.com/furby/
The little freebie Furbys only move their ears. But Maddy has forced me at watergun-point to the “Burber King” drive-through twice recently so she could “collect” two of them.
One is a boy. He is green. She named him “Furb.”
The other is gray with a pink topknot. I’m cringing, because I think her name is “Furby Anne.”
So here we are, minutes before Christmas, and Maddy’s mesmerized. She’s been skiing them down the slanted top of our baby-grand piano. She’s given them hours of rides in her little red wagon. They’ve been pulled around on a little toy sled commandeered from our Christmas decorations, with a Beanie Baby cat instead of a reindeer in the traces, an old shoestring. She says innocently that they sleep together; I bite my tongue.
My countless hours of Christmas shopping for her are going up in smoke and flames, like the oil wells of Kuwait. Who cares about lovingly-selected, educational toys when you can cuddle with an ugly piece of free plastic? How you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Fur-beee?!?!
They’re homely! What’s the attraction? There’s no accounting for people’s tastes, I guess. It’s kind of like Bethlehem: not too fab, on the surface. But in the end . . . who knew?
Years ago, our daughter Eden had a softball coach who resembled a Furby. That’s what the girls called him behind his back. He thought it was funny.
One weekend they traveled to Clarinda, Iowa, to play the softball team. They were vaunted. They were cigar-chomping and steroid-crazed. Our little girls beat them.
On the way out of town, the coach waved the caravan over to the local McDonald’s (sorry, “Burber King”). We all went inside. He was so pumped up, he grabbed the microphone:
“Hello, Clarinda!” he exulted to the restaurant full of slack-jawed Clarindanians. “How does it feel to know that your softball team just got its tail whipped . . . BY A FURBY?!?”
The longest few seconds in the history of the universe passed, until people finally laughed, mostly out of pity.
The Christmas they came out, the Furby craze was worse than “Tickle Me Elmo.” It was bigger than “Cabbage Patch” or any Play Station upgrade. Parents were hysterical to get one of the scarce Furbys under the tree that Christmas, or else.
Cooler heads prevailed at our house. We thought they were weird, ugly and expensive. We couldn’t believe the mass hysteria.
Then someone we know picked up some last-minute intelligence that one more shipment was coming in to a store an hour’s drive away. He got there before dawn.
A crowd formed. They were unruly. There weren’t going to be enough Furbys to go around.
The store personnel put yellow crime-scene tape around the Furby display, hoping for crowd control, and flung open the doors. There was a stampede. The clerk was supposed to hand Furbys out to people, one by one. But he feared he would be trampled – so he started just THROWING them up for the crowd, literally catch as catch can.
Our friend has a vertical leap like an NBA star, so he got one. He hugged it, and waited for the crowd to disperse.
He saw an older woman sobbing, rocking back and forth, Furby-less.
Geeeeeeez. Our friend did the unthinkable: he gave her his.
A touching Christmas story of sacrifice and compassion?
Nah. He just didn’t want to get mugged by the angry mob on his way back to the car.
------------------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: The Christmas baby shower for a young single mom, Michaela, and her six-month-old baby, Dylan, whom she almost aborted, winds up on Tuesday. Reply to this email with the message, “Baby shower,” if you’d like to contribute to a WalMart debit card for groceries and other necessities, or could get a gift or card to me by Dec. 20. Many, many thanks to our Christmas angels!
Today’s charity suggestion is to support Nebraska’s premier environmental organization, The National Arbor Day Foundation. Your love of trees can make a lasting difference. The foundation aims to Inspire people to plant, nurture, and celebrate trees. Your support can help forward this work and help create a healthier and greener world. "The best time to plant a tree was 50 years ago, the second best time is today." Go to http://www.arborday.org/ to learn how you can get involved.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
GENTLEMAN CALLER
The phone rang, just once. When it didn’t continue, I figured it was a wrong number.
Maddy, 5, had been playing on the other end of the house. A while later, she wafted into the kitchen and declared, “There was a guy on the phone.”
“A guy?” I reacted. “What guy? Since when do YOU answer the phone?”
“He said, ‘Susan?’ ‘Susan’? And I said, ‘No, it’s Maddy.’”
“And then you hung up?”
“And then I hung up.”
My mind raced between a telemarketer, an ambulance driver, a U.S. senator, or the local police. I hoped and prayed it was a telemarketer.
The phone rang again. This time, I snatched it. Whew! We’re replacing our worn-out stairway and railing, and it was the contractor, still laughing.
“Don’t worry about it; we have six kids. We know,” he said.
I’m hoping next time, it really is a telemarketer. I think they’ve met their match.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: There’s a neat nonprofit conference center in Colorado run by the Christian group, the Navigators, where people can go for a “pep talk” on all kinds of ways to make life better, or a guided marriage retreat, or a quiet time of contemplation and life examination. It’s called Glen Eyrie. The same organization brings inner-city youth out to nearby Eagle Lake Camp for a life-changing week of Christian fun, fellowship and, for many, their first experience totally immersed in nature. See www.GlenEyrieGroup.org for more information. Send donations to The Navigators, Glen Eyrie Group, P.O. Box 6000, Colorado Springs, CO 80934.
The phone rang, just once. When it didn’t continue, I figured it was a wrong number.
Maddy, 5, had been playing on the other end of the house. A while later, she wafted into the kitchen and declared, “There was a guy on the phone.”
“A guy?” I reacted. “What guy? Since when do YOU answer the phone?”
“He said, ‘Susan?’ ‘Susan’? And I said, ‘No, it’s Maddy.’”
“And then you hung up?”
“And then I hung up.”
My mind raced between a telemarketer, an ambulance driver, a U.S. senator, or the local police. I hoped and prayed it was a telemarketer.
The phone rang again. This time, I snatched it. Whew! We’re replacing our worn-out stairway and railing, and it was the contractor, still laughing.
“Don’t worry about it; we have six kids. We know,” he said.
I’m hoping next time, it really is a telemarketer. I think they’ve met their match.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: There’s a neat nonprofit conference center in Colorado run by the Christian group, the Navigators, where people can go for a “pep talk” on all kinds of ways to make life better, or a guided marriage retreat, or a quiet time of contemplation and life examination. It’s called Glen Eyrie. The same organization brings inner-city youth out to nearby Eagle Lake Camp for a life-changing week of Christian fun, fellowship and, for many, their first experience totally immersed in nature. See www.GlenEyrieGroup.org for more information. Send donations to The Navigators, Glen Eyrie Group, P.O. Box 6000, Colorado Springs, CO 80934.
Friday, December 16, 2005
SNOW SHOW
Today’s DailySusan is a video clip.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: There’s still time to reach out to help our service people in Iraq and elsewhere overseas, although your mailing most likely won’t arrive by Christmas at this point. But visit the grassroots website, www.AnySoldier.com for ideas of how to help. A great one: send gloves, shoes and socks, including children’s sizes. What the military people don’t use, they’ll share, and they’re finding plenty of native people who go barefoot even when temperatures hover around freezing.
Today’s DailySusan is a video clip.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: There’s still time to reach out to help our service people in Iraq and elsewhere overseas, although your mailing most likely won’t arrive by Christmas at this point. But visit the grassroots website, www.AnySoldier.com for ideas of how to help. A great one: send gloves, shoes and socks, including children’s sizes. What the military people don’t use, they’ll share, and they’re finding plenty of native people who go barefoot even when temperatures hover around freezing.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
CHRISTMAS CORN
Wednesday’s “elfabet” joke is only the beginning. Adults are getting in to the corny Christmas joke act:
Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates. ”In honor of this holy season," Saint Peter said, “you must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven."
The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. It represents a candle, he said.
”You may pass through the Pearly Gates,” Saint Peter said.
The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, "They're bells."
Saint Peter said, “You may pass through the Pearly Gates.”
The third man started searching desperately through his pockets. Finally, he pulled out a pair of women's panties.
St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, "And just what do those symbolize?"
The man replied, "They're Carols."
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Some very special elderly people are being invited to a Christmas party from 1:30 p.m. to 4 p.m. on Christmas Day at St. Margaret Mary Catholic Church’s Suneg Center. It’s put on by the Omaha chapter of Little Brothers – Friends of the Elderly, a nonprofit organization operating in nine cities. There’ll be entertainment and gifts. Volunteers are needed to escort elderly guests and host them at the party, as well as volunteering year-round to deliver meals and visit homebound senior citizens, advocate for them, and provide regular telephone calls. What a wonderful service, and not just at Christmastime! Please send donations to Little Brothers -- Friends of the Elderly, 5017 Leavenworth St., Suite 103, Omaha, NE 68106-1438.
Wednesday’s “elfabet” joke is only the beginning. Adults are getting in to the corny Christmas joke act:
Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates. ”In honor of this holy season," Saint Peter said, “you must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven."
The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. It represents a candle, he said.
”You may pass through the Pearly Gates,” Saint Peter said.
The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, "They're bells."
Saint Peter said, “You may pass through the Pearly Gates.”
The third man started searching desperately through his pockets. Finally, he pulled out a pair of women's panties.
St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, "And just what do those symbolize?"
The man replied, "They're Carols."
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Some very special elderly people are being invited to a Christmas party from 1:30 p.m. to 4 p.m. on Christmas Day at St. Margaret Mary Catholic Church’s Suneg Center. It’s put on by the Omaha chapter of Little Brothers – Friends of the Elderly, a nonprofit organization operating in nine cities. There’ll be entertainment and gifts. Volunteers are needed to escort elderly guests and host them at the party, as well as volunteering year-round to deliver meals and visit homebound senior citizens, advocate for them, and provide regular telephone calls. What a wonderful service, and not just at Christmastime! Please send donations to Little Brothers -- Friends of the Elderly, 5017 Leavenworth St., Suite 103, Omaha, NE 68106-1438.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
THEY SANTA MESSAGE
The kids are ready for Christmas. They sing Christmas songs, bake Christmas cookies and decorate their rooms. They strap a little stool to the rocking horse and put felt reindeer horns on it, fashioning reins out of ribbon and wearing a Santa hat with a sack of their own toys slung over their shoulder, sitting there in the kitchen pretending to be Santa . . . yup. It’s that time of year, and they’re letting us know.
Here’s indisputable proof that it’s Christmastime: the awful, corny Christmas joke.
Q. How did Santa’s helpers learn to read and write?
A. First, they learned the elfabet.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Another important and effective inner-city social service agency that deserves financial support is the Boys and Girls Club of Omaha, www.bgcomaha.org They provide meals, homework help, life skills instruction, a swimming pool and other fun recreational opportunities. Most of all, they provide attention and firm guidance from adults who really know what these kids need: love. Send donations to the Boys and Girls Cub, 2610 Hamilton, Omaha, NE 68131.
The kids are ready for Christmas. They sing Christmas songs, bake Christmas cookies and decorate their rooms. They strap a little stool to the rocking horse and put felt reindeer horns on it, fashioning reins out of ribbon and wearing a Santa hat with a sack of their own toys slung over their shoulder, sitting there in the kitchen pretending to be Santa . . . yup. It’s that time of year, and they’re letting us know.
Here’s indisputable proof that it’s Christmastime: the awful, corny Christmas joke.
Q. How did Santa’s helpers learn to read and write?
A. First, they learned the elfabet.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Another important and effective inner-city social service agency that deserves financial support is the Boys and Girls Club of Omaha, www.bgcomaha.org They provide meals, homework help, life skills instruction, a swimming pool and other fun recreational opportunities. Most of all, they provide attention and firm guidance from adults who really know what these kids need: love. Send donations to the Boys and Girls Cub, 2610 Hamilton, Omaha, NE 68131.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
AN UN-NOOSE-UAL PURCHASE
Speaking of mispronounced words . . . I will never again think that pharmacy is a boring job. You have to be an English major, an FBI detective and a brilliant thespian in order to figure out and then not crack up over the things people say when they’re in the uncharted waters of health problems.
My friend the pharmacist tells this one from a couple of years ago:
Neither the store cashier nor the pharmacy tech could perceive what an elderly gentleman customer wanted to buy. Both stumped, they came to the pharmacist.
She asked him, “What is it that you are looking for?"
"A noose!" He bellered, obviously hard of hearing and getting frustrated.
"A . . . NOOSE?" she repeated, equally loudly. Gee, she’d heard depression was on the increase among the elderly, but. . . .
"Yeah! A noose! My doctor sent me to get it!"
“Your . . . doctor?” She thought about sending him to the “Executioner's Supply” section in Aisle 5 . . . but tried one more time.
"What is it used for, sir?"
"A NOOSE! For rectal injection!"
She paused. "Rectal . . . injection?" He nodded, now obviously exasperated with her total stupidity.
She finally asked for his doctor’s name, called the office, told the nurse, and the nurse was stymied, too. So she put the pharmacist on hold and sought out the doctor.
She came back to the phone, and said, "He told him to get Anusol Suppositories."
Well . . . hang it! I . . . suppose so!
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: The Hope Center for Kids in inner-city Omaha has served 23,100 meals so far in 2005, providing social skills training for 326 young people and tutoring 30. Please consider a year-end gift to this crucial social service agency that does so much for kids. Send it to the Hope Center, P.O. Box 20143, 2200 N. 20th St., Omaha, NE 68120.
Speaking of mispronounced words . . . I will never again think that pharmacy is a boring job. You have to be an English major, an FBI detective and a brilliant thespian in order to figure out and then not crack up over the things people say when they’re in the uncharted waters of health problems.
My friend the pharmacist tells this one from a couple of years ago:
Neither the store cashier nor the pharmacy tech could perceive what an elderly gentleman customer wanted to buy. Both stumped, they came to the pharmacist.
She asked him, “What is it that you are looking for?"
"A noose!" He bellered, obviously hard of hearing and getting frustrated.
"A . . . NOOSE?" she repeated, equally loudly. Gee, she’d heard depression was on the increase among the elderly, but. . . .
"Yeah! A noose! My doctor sent me to get it!"
“Your . . . doctor?” She thought about sending him to the “Executioner's Supply” section in Aisle 5 . . . but tried one more time.
"What is it used for, sir?"
"A NOOSE! For rectal injection!"
She paused. "Rectal . . . injection?" He nodded, now obviously exasperated with her total stupidity.
She finally asked for his doctor’s name, called the office, told the nurse, and the nurse was stymied, too. So she put the pharmacist on hold and sought out the doctor.
She came back to the phone, and said, "He told him to get Anusol Suppositories."
Well . . . hang it! I . . . suppose so!
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: The Hope Center for Kids in inner-city Omaha has served 23,100 meals so far in 2005, providing social skills training for 326 young people and tutoring 30. Please consider a year-end gift to this crucial social service agency that does so much for kids. Send it to the Hope Center, P.O. Box 20143, 2200 N. 20th St., Omaha, NE 68120.
Monday, December 12, 2005
WHY CHAIR PESSY
A certain teenage relative has a favorite Asian take-out place. She always goes there in person with her close friend. They go, not only for the great food, but for the pronunciations. They always order the same things just so they can hear the way the staff says them. Hey! At least they’re not amusing themselves with drugs, booze and raves. This brand of fun is cheaper, too.
Their two favorites:
Why Chair Pessy
and
Mao Doo
(Translation: Wild Cherry Pepsi and Mountain Dew)
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: According to the Center for Education Reform (CER), there are 1.25 million children around the country on waiting lists for private scholarships. The tax-deductible scholarships provide tuition assistance for low-income children to attend private schools instead of the public schools which their families feel are not serving them well. In our nation’s Catholic schools, for example, the graduation rate is 99.2%, according to the CER, vs. 74% in our public schools. There is ample evidence that minority kids do much better in private schools, where even though the tuition is much lower (average=$2,178) than what the public schools spend per pupil (average=over $7,000), the quality is better. I know a single mom whose two daughters got to go to a Christian grade school because of partial private scholarships they were lucky enough to win in the Omaha area lottery. But the waiting list is always long here. To help more kids gain this advantage, contribute to the Children’s Scholarship Fund Omaha, 3212 N. 60th St., P.O. Box 4130, Omaha, NE 68104-0130.
A certain teenage relative has a favorite Asian take-out place. She always goes there in person with her close friend. They go, not only for the great food, but for the pronunciations. They always order the same things just so they can hear the way the staff says them. Hey! At least they’re not amusing themselves with drugs, booze and raves. This brand of fun is cheaper, too.
Their two favorites:
Why Chair Pessy
and
Mao Doo
(Translation: Wild Cherry Pepsi and Mountain Dew)
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: According to the Center for Education Reform (CER), there are 1.25 million children around the country on waiting lists for private scholarships. The tax-deductible scholarships provide tuition assistance for low-income children to attend private schools instead of the public schools which their families feel are not serving them well. In our nation’s Catholic schools, for example, the graduation rate is 99.2%, according to the CER, vs. 74% in our public schools. There is ample evidence that minority kids do much better in private schools, where even though the tuition is much lower (average=$2,178) than what the public schools spend per pupil (average=over $7,000), the quality is better. I know a single mom whose two daughters got to go to a Christian grade school because of partial private scholarships they were lucky enough to win in the Omaha area lottery. But the waiting list is always long here. To help more kids gain this advantage, contribute to the Children’s Scholarship Fund Omaha, 3212 N. 60th St., P.O. Box 4130, Omaha, NE 68104-0130.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
WHAT THE THIEF DIDN'T GET
The thief cometh not,
but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy:
I am come that they might have life,
and that they might have it more abundantly.
-- John 10:10
My good friend was an overworked, underpaid, fulltime mother with “TILT!” in her eyes over all she had to do that Christmas season.
She left work late one night, got into her vehicle in the icy parking lot, and thought, “That’s funny. It’s so cold and breezy in here.”
Yeah. Well, the passenger-side window had been bashed out. All of the Christmas gifts for her son’s first Christmas had been ripped off.
She had so carefully budgeted $200 for them. She had worked so hard to find each special bargain.
Not only that, but she had recently gone back to college to help make a better life for her son. Her expensive textbooks had also been stolen, as well as her leather briefcase containing homework and extensive research notes for her final paper.
So, too, was her daily planner. It was her command center, with all kinds of important information. With a chill up her spine, she realized that her family’s Social Security cards were also in there – ripe pickin’s for identity theft.
Their insurance wouldn’t cover the window nor the stolen gifts . . . this, on top of worrying about the quality of her son’s babysitter . . . and working overtime at a job with nasty people . . . and the stress of starting a new job for less money to get away from them . . . and she was nursing her seven-month-old and thoroughly exhausted. . . .
So she fritzed out. By the time she got home, her stress was planetary-sized.
She collapsed into the rocking chair with the baby playing on a blanket at her feet. Her eyes locked onto his toothless grin as he gazed up at her adoringly.
What was she so upset about? She hadn’t been mugged, the baby was OK, and at his age, playing with a few bows and boxes would be plenty of fun for Christmas, anyway.
Suddenly, he reached up for her, his smile widening even further.
It was like a neon sign meant for her, straight from heaven, straight from God: “Here I am . . . reach for Me!”
So she reached, both up and down. She leaned back, cuddling him and rocking, closed her eyes, and did what she wished she’d done right off the bat. She prayed. "Dear Lord, if you can do anything to ease my mind, just save my planner and Social Security cards. Everything else is replaceable. I give it to You, Lord.”
She felt a wave of peace. She said, “I had a handful, but He was saying, ‘I’ll carry you. Pay attention to what’s important.’”
Two minutes later the phone rang. It was the police. Someone in an apartment complex near her office had happened to look out their balcony and saw someone tossing a black briefcase into a ravine, then laying scratch out of the parking lot.
The cops raced over. One went into the icy water to retrieve the papers floating around. They got her research, the planner, the Social Security cards, the briefcase . . . everything except the gifts.
In another two minutes, brrrrring! Her mom called. She insisted on giving her another $200 to go right back to the stores and replace everything – just come straight home this time.
She brought the police a great, big box of chocolates, and prayed over and over for blessings for that Good Samaritan who spotted her stuff going into the drink, and didn’t just blow it off. What amazing luck. But she knew it wasn’t just luck.
What she found that night was worth so much more than what she’d lost. She said, “God was saying, ‘Just give it to ME . . . have faith in ME . . . let ME into your heart and life, and I will bring you comfort and peace.”
Those are this season’s glad tidings . . . that money can’t buy . . . and no one can ever take away.
---------------------------------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Thank you to those who are participating in the Christmas gift shower announced last week for a young single mom and her six-month-old baby, Dylan, whom she almost aborted. Gifts and donations will be received through next Sunday. Just reply to this email if you’d like to contribute.
Today’s charity suggestion is to support Safe Homes, a project designed to help women and children escaping domestic violence. It’s operated by the Notre Dame Sisters and Associates in Omaha. The Catholic Charities shelter serves 175 women and 250 children each year, but has to turn away 2,000. Current transitional housing through the Family Passages program is 14 units, where women can stay for up to 18 months, paying about one-third of their earnings for rent. These units meet only a fraction of the need. It costs $835 per month for rent and utilities, plus day care, to help start a woman on the road to self-sufficiency. For more information, call Sister Rita Ostry, (402) 455-2994. Send donations to Safe Homes, Notre Dame Sisters, 3501 State St., Omaha, NE 68112-1799.
The thief cometh not,
but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy:
I am come that they might have life,
and that they might have it more abundantly.
-- John 10:10
My good friend was an overworked, underpaid, fulltime mother with “TILT!” in her eyes over all she had to do that Christmas season.
She left work late one night, got into her vehicle in the icy parking lot, and thought, “That’s funny. It’s so cold and breezy in here.”
Yeah. Well, the passenger-side window had been bashed out. All of the Christmas gifts for her son’s first Christmas had been ripped off.
She had so carefully budgeted $200 for them. She had worked so hard to find each special bargain.
Not only that, but she had recently gone back to college to help make a better life for her son. Her expensive textbooks had also been stolen, as well as her leather briefcase containing homework and extensive research notes for her final paper.
So, too, was her daily planner. It was her command center, with all kinds of important information. With a chill up her spine, she realized that her family’s Social Security cards were also in there – ripe pickin’s for identity theft.
Their insurance wouldn’t cover the window nor the stolen gifts . . . this, on top of worrying about the quality of her son’s babysitter . . . and working overtime at a job with nasty people . . . and the stress of starting a new job for less money to get away from them . . . and she was nursing her seven-month-old and thoroughly exhausted. . . .
So she fritzed out. By the time she got home, her stress was planetary-sized.
She collapsed into the rocking chair with the baby playing on a blanket at her feet. Her eyes locked onto his toothless grin as he gazed up at her adoringly.
What was she so upset about? She hadn’t been mugged, the baby was OK, and at his age, playing with a few bows and boxes would be plenty of fun for Christmas, anyway.
Suddenly, he reached up for her, his smile widening even further.
It was like a neon sign meant for her, straight from heaven, straight from God: “Here I am . . . reach for Me!”
So she reached, both up and down. She leaned back, cuddling him and rocking, closed her eyes, and did what she wished she’d done right off the bat. She prayed. "Dear Lord, if you can do anything to ease my mind, just save my planner and Social Security cards. Everything else is replaceable. I give it to You, Lord.”
She felt a wave of peace. She said, “I had a handful, but He was saying, ‘I’ll carry you. Pay attention to what’s important.’”
Two minutes later the phone rang. It was the police. Someone in an apartment complex near her office had happened to look out their balcony and saw someone tossing a black briefcase into a ravine, then laying scratch out of the parking lot.
The cops raced over. One went into the icy water to retrieve the papers floating around. They got her research, the planner, the Social Security cards, the briefcase . . . everything except the gifts.
In another two minutes, brrrrring! Her mom called. She insisted on giving her another $200 to go right back to the stores and replace everything – just come straight home this time.
She brought the police a great, big box of chocolates, and prayed over and over for blessings for that Good Samaritan who spotted her stuff going into the drink, and didn’t just blow it off. What amazing luck. But she knew it wasn’t just luck.
What she found that night was worth so much more than what she’d lost. She said, “God was saying, ‘Just give it to ME . . . have faith in ME . . . let ME into your heart and life, and I will bring you comfort and peace.”
Those are this season’s glad tidings . . . that money can’t buy . . . and no one can ever take away.
---------------------------------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Thank you to those who are participating in the Christmas gift shower announced last week for a young single mom and her six-month-old baby, Dylan, whom she almost aborted. Gifts and donations will be received through next Sunday. Just reply to this email if you’d like to contribute.
Today’s charity suggestion is to support Safe Homes, a project designed to help women and children escaping domestic violence. It’s operated by the Notre Dame Sisters and Associates in Omaha. The Catholic Charities shelter serves 175 women and 250 children each year, but has to turn away 2,000. Current transitional housing through the Family Passages program is 14 units, where women can stay for up to 18 months, paying about one-third of their earnings for rent. These units meet only a fraction of the need. It costs $835 per month for rent and utilities, plus day care, to help start a woman on the road to self-sufficiency. For more information, call Sister Rita Ostry, (402) 455-2994. Send donations to Safe Homes, Notre Dame Sisters, 3501 State St., Omaha, NE 68112-1799.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
THIS IS NOT YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S 'PRIDE AND PREJUDICE'
The newest movie remake of the classic novel, “Pride and Prejudice,” is doing great at the box office. It makes it fun for our senior daughter’s honors English teacher, who doggedly teaches the classics while many of her colleagues have given in to today’s lesser literary tastes.
She still makes one nod to modernity, though: after her students have read a famous novel, she shows it on video so they can compare and contrast. The brand new “Pride and Prejudice” isn’t out on DVD, so she had to use an older version from some years ago. Apparently, the acting was bad, the dialogue was stilted, and the dance scenes were painfully sedate, at least to today’s teens.
Leave it to the class cut-ups. “RAVE!!!” someone shouted, jumping up and wiggling around crazily. Someone else noted that the heroine who was supposed to be pretty looked like a man in a wig with a five o’clock shadow. Another girl was said to have a unibrow. “Nobody had teeth that white back then!” a student remarked. When a romantic pair commenced their first dance and actually touched hands, someone shouted, “DIRTY DANCING!!!” even though the 1800s style was anything but. Other contrasts between then and now drew hoots and squawks.
Luckily, they have the kind of teacher who puts cognitive growth, even when it’s unconventional, ahead of strict classroom manners . . . or at least these kids can hope she does.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: It’s a privilege to be able to retrace the steps of your life and help someone make his or her dreams come true. Today’s suggestion is to donate money to a scholarship fund to encourage some student’s college or graduate school aspirations. My alma mater, the University of Missouri, has seen its tuition rise by 354% since I was in school. My sorority, Kappa Kappa Gamma, started a scholarship fund 20 years ago to help a few deserving and financially-strapped young women with their studies. They’ve distributed $150,000, which is inspiring. Only a few are KKG’s, and all are outstanding. I’m also proud of friends of mine who serve on the scholarship board and want to honor them. Join me in this endeavor, or contribute to a fund at your own alma mater: Golden Key Scholarship Fund, KKG, P.O. Box 30163, Columbia, MO 65205-3163.
The newest movie remake of the classic novel, “Pride and Prejudice,” is doing great at the box office. It makes it fun for our senior daughter’s honors English teacher, who doggedly teaches the classics while many of her colleagues have given in to today’s lesser literary tastes.
She still makes one nod to modernity, though: after her students have read a famous novel, she shows it on video so they can compare and contrast. The brand new “Pride and Prejudice” isn’t out on DVD, so she had to use an older version from some years ago. Apparently, the acting was bad, the dialogue was stilted, and the dance scenes were painfully sedate, at least to today’s teens.
Leave it to the class cut-ups. “RAVE!!!” someone shouted, jumping up and wiggling around crazily. Someone else noted that the heroine who was supposed to be pretty looked like a man in a wig with a five o’clock shadow. Another girl was said to have a unibrow. “Nobody had teeth that white back then!” a student remarked. When a romantic pair commenced their first dance and actually touched hands, someone shouted, “DIRTY DANCING!!!” even though the 1800s style was anything but. Other contrasts between then and now drew hoots and squawks.
Luckily, they have the kind of teacher who puts cognitive growth, even when it’s unconventional, ahead of strict classroom manners . . . or at least these kids can hope she does.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: It’s a privilege to be able to retrace the steps of your life and help someone make his or her dreams come true. Today’s suggestion is to donate money to a scholarship fund to encourage some student’s college or graduate school aspirations. My alma mater, the University of Missouri, has seen its tuition rise by 354% since I was in school. My sorority, Kappa Kappa Gamma, started a scholarship fund 20 years ago to help a few deserving and financially-strapped young women with their studies. They’ve distributed $150,000, which is inspiring. Only a few are KKG’s, and all are outstanding. I’m also proud of friends of mine who serve on the scholarship board and want to honor them. Join me in this endeavor, or contribute to a fund at your own alma mater: Golden Key Scholarship Fund, KKG, P.O. Box 30163, Columbia, MO 65205-3163.
Friday, December 09, 2005
A LITTLE CULINARY PROTEST
Footnote to yesterday’s parody on how today’s often anti-American media would have covered D-Day on the shores of France:
I hosted our high school’s International Club for a special dinner last night after they went caroling to a local nursing home and Alzheimer’s facility. We joked that it didn’t matter if they sang the same song several times in a row at the latter place; all that mattered, anyway, was to see those shining teenage faces and feel those caring hearts.
Then they and their teacher sponsors came here for international cuisine to match their studies. I can’t pronounce the Japanese dish, but it didn’t look too deadly. A teacher brought an outstanding Mexican spiced hot drink, and a local Mexican restaurant catered “La Ensalada de Salud, Felizidad y Prosperidad.” The kids loved being introduced to weirdo foods such as jicama.
But since I took French in school, and our daughter is now in her senior year on that language track, I made the main course and I wanted it to be French.
Remember yesterday’s email message? Get a load of what I made: coq au vin. FRENCH CHICKEN!!!
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CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: I really admire the kids at Omaha’s Grace University. Many of them are planning to be missionaries. I heard about one senior, Anna, who was born on a fishing boat on the South China Sea, where she lived with her parents and four siblings, hiding from China’s one-child-per-family rule. Somehow or another, she made it to Grace, where she is getting trained as a teacher with hopes of returning to China to teach. Support this awesome university with money for scholarships, and make dreams like this possible for more young people: www.graceuniversity.edu or Development Office, Grace University, P.O. Box 3725, Omaha, NE 68103-0725.
Footnote to yesterday’s parody on how today’s often anti-American media would have covered D-Day on the shores of France:
I hosted our high school’s International Club for a special dinner last night after they went caroling to a local nursing home and Alzheimer’s facility. We joked that it didn’t matter if they sang the same song several times in a row at the latter place; all that mattered, anyway, was to see those shining teenage faces and feel those caring hearts.
Then they and their teacher sponsors came here for international cuisine to match their studies. I can’t pronounce the Japanese dish, but it didn’t look too deadly. A teacher brought an outstanding Mexican spiced hot drink, and a local Mexican restaurant catered “La Ensalada de Salud, Felizidad y Prosperidad.” The kids loved being introduced to weirdo foods such as jicama.
But since I took French in school, and our daughter is now in her senior year on that language track, I made the main course and I wanted it to be French.
Remember yesterday’s email message? Get a load of what I made: coq au vin. FRENCH CHICKEN!!!
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: I really admire the kids at Omaha’s Grace University. Many of them are planning to be missionaries. I heard about one senior, Anna, who was born on a fishing boat on the South China Sea, where she lived with her parents and four siblings, hiding from China’s one-child-per-family rule. Somehow or another, she made it to Grace, where she is getting trained as a teacher with hopes of returning to China to teach. Support this awesome university with money for scholarships, and make dreams like this possible for more young people: www.graceuniversity.edu or Development Office, Grace University, P.O. Box 3725, Omaha, NE 68103-0725.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
D-DAY, ACCORDING TO TODAY'S MSM
There’s been a lot of talk that today’s mainstream media is so, so, so biased. Here’s an email with a take on how they’d report D-Day:
NORMANDY, FRANCE (June 6, 1944) -- Three hundred French civilians were killed and thousands more were wounded today in the first hours of America's invasion of continental Europe.
Casualties were heaviest among women and children. Most of the French casualties were the result of artillery fire from American ships attempting to knock out German fortifications prior to the landing of hundreds of thousands of U.S. troops.
Reports from a makeshift hospital in the French town of St. Mere Eglise said the carnage was far worse than the French had anticipated, and that reaction against the American invasion was running high. "We are dying for no reason, "said a Frenchman speaking on condition of anonymity. "Americans can't even shoot straight. I never thought I'd say this, but life was better under Adolf Hitler."
The invasion also caused severe environmental damage. American troops, tanks, trucks and machinery destroyed miles of pristine shoreline and thousands of acres of ecologically sensitive wetlands. It was believed that the habitat of the spineless French crab was completely wiped out, thus threatening the species with extinction. A representative of Greenpeace said his organization, which had tried to stall the invasion for over a year, was appalled at the destruction, but not surprised. "This is just another example of how the military destroys the environment without a second thought," said Christine Moanmore. "And it's all about corporate greed."
Contacted at his Manhattan condo, a member of the French government-in-exile who abandoned Paris when Hitler invaded, said the invasion was based solely on American financial interests. "Everyone knows that President Roosevelt has ties to 'big beer'," said Pierre LeWimp. "Once the German beer industry is conquered, Roosevelt's beer cronies will control the world market and make a fortune."
Administration supporters said America's aggressive actions were based in part on the assertions ofcontroversial scientist Albert Einstein, who sent a letter to Roosevelt speculating that the Germans weredeveloping a secret weapon -- a so-called "atomic bomb.” Such a weapon could produce casualties on ascale never seen before, and cause environmental damage that could last for thousands of years. Hitler has denied having such a weapon and international inspectors were unable to locate such weapons even after spending two long weekends in Germany.
Shortly after the invasion began, reports surfaced that German prisoners had been abused by American soldiers. Mistreatment of Jews by Germans at their so-called "concentration camps" has been rumored, but so far this remains unproven.
Several thousand Americans died during the first hours of the invasion, and French officials are concerned that the uncollected corpses will pose a public-health risk. "The Americans should haveplanned for this in advance," they said. "It's their mess, and we don't intend to help clean it up."
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Health starts with food, especially for children and the elderly, and so today’s charity nod is for the Omaha Food Bank, www.omahafoodbank.org I didn’t realize that 46,500 people live below the poverty line in the Omaha metro area, and 40% of them are children. The Food Bank gets food to pantries, meal providers and soup kitchens to fight hunger. They are efficient: a $1 donation distributes $18 worth of food. Besides giving money, you can organize your own food drive and they’ll help you, or you can have their adorable, giant piggy bank brought to your company or church. Address: Food Bank, 6824 J St., Omaha, NE 68117.
There’s been a lot of talk that today’s mainstream media is so, so, so biased. Here’s an email with a take on how they’d report D-Day:
NORMANDY, FRANCE (June 6, 1944) -- Three hundred French civilians were killed and thousands more were wounded today in the first hours of America's invasion of continental Europe.
Casualties were heaviest among women and children. Most of the French casualties were the result of artillery fire from American ships attempting to knock out German fortifications prior to the landing of hundreds of thousands of U.S. troops.
Reports from a makeshift hospital in the French town of St. Mere Eglise said the carnage was far worse than the French had anticipated, and that reaction against the American invasion was running high. "We are dying for no reason, "said a Frenchman speaking on condition of anonymity. "Americans can't even shoot straight. I never thought I'd say this, but life was better under Adolf Hitler."
The invasion also caused severe environmental damage. American troops, tanks, trucks and machinery destroyed miles of pristine shoreline and thousands of acres of ecologically sensitive wetlands. It was believed that the habitat of the spineless French crab was completely wiped out, thus threatening the species with extinction. A representative of Greenpeace said his organization, which had tried to stall the invasion for over a year, was appalled at the destruction, but not surprised. "This is just another example of how the military destroys the environment without a second thought," said Christine Moanmore. "And it's all about corporate greed."
Contacted at his Manhattan condo, a member of the French government-in-exile who abandoned Paris when Hitler invaded, said the invasion was based solely on American financial interests. "Everyone knows that President Roosevelt has ties to 'big beer'," said Pierre LeWimp. "Once the German beer industry is conquered, Roosevelt's beer cronies will control the world market and make a fortune."
Administration supporters said America's aggressive actions were based in part on the assertions ofcontroversial scientist Albert Einstein, who sent a letter to Roosevelt speculating that the Germans weredeveloping a secret weapon -- a so-called "atomic bomb.” Such a weapon could produce casualties on ascale never seen before, and cause environmental damage that could last for thousands of years. Hitler has denied having such a weapon and international inspectors were unable to locate such weapons even after spending two long weekends in Germany.
Shortly after the invasion began, reports surfaced that German prisoners had been abused by American soldiers. Mistreatment of Jews by Germans at their so-called "concentration camps" has been rumored, but so far this remains unproven.
Several thousand Americans died during the first hours of the invasion, and French officials are concerned that the uncollected corpses will pose a public-health risk. "The Americans should haveplanned for this in advance," they said. "It's their mess, and we don't intend to help clean it up."
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Health starts with food, especially for children and the elderly, and so today’s charity nod is for the Omaha Food Bank, www.omahafoodbank.org I didn’t realize that 46,500 people live below the poverty line in the Omaha metro area, and 40% of them are children. The Food Bank gets food to pantries, meal providers and soup kitchens to fight hunger. They are efficient: a $1 donation distributes $18 worth of food. Besides giving money, you can organize your own food drive and they’ll help you, or you can have their adorable, giant piggy bank brought to your company or church. Address: Food Bank, 6824 J St., Omaha, NE 68117.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
SOFIA WRITES SANTA
Our friends have two beautiful little girls. Last weekend, their dad sat down with them to take dictation on their letters to Santa Claus. Cissa “got it” immediately, as the old veteran, nearly 5, and rattled off a number of wishes. Sofia, 2, was charmingly confused.
Her dad asked, “What do you want to say to Santa?”
Sofia replied, “Happy Halloween?”
She really, really liked Halloween this year, especially the candy.
Her dad continued, “Well, what do you want to ask for from Santa?”
“Candy?”
“OK. Anything else?”
“A big yellow cat!”
“A big yellow cat?”
“With candy inside!”
Short, sweet and simple: that’s the best Christmas wish of all.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Early in my Christian experience, I learned a lot about the faith through Christian radio in general, and the Texas-based radio ministry of the late Brother Lester Roloff in particular. Radio teachers can be the only way to learn about God for the unchurched, truck drivers, and weird housewives who spend a lot of time gardening, like me, with Christian radio on the headphones. I’d recommend an encouraging donation to the Roloff organization or any other Christian radio ministry or station. Roloff Evangelistic Enterprises, P.O. Box 1177, Corpus Christi, TX 78403.
Our friends have two beautiful little girls. Last weekend, their dad sat down with them to take dictation on their letters to Santa Claus. Cissa “got it” immediately, as the old veteran, nearly 5, and rattled off a number of wishes. Sofia, 2, was charmingly confused.
Her dad asked, “What do you want to say to Santa?”
Sofia replied, “Happy Halloween?”
She really, really liked Halloween this year, especially the candy.
Her dad continued, “Well, what do you want to ask for from Santa?”
“Candy?”
“OK. Anything else?”
“A big yellow cat!”
“A big yellow cat?”
“With candy inside!”
Short, sweet and simple: that’s the best Christmas wish of all.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Early in my Christian experience, I learned a lot about the faith through Christian radio in general, and the Texas-based radio ministry of the late Brother Lester Roloff in particular. Radio teachers can be the only way to learn about God for the unchurched, truck drivers, and weird housewives who spend a lot of time gardening, like me, with Christian radio on the headphones. I’d recommend an encouraging donation to the Roloff organization or any other Christian radio ministry or station. Roloff Evangelistic Enterprises, P.O. Box 1177, Corpus Christi, TX 78403.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
FREEDOM!!!!!
I really liked the Mel Gibson movie, “Braveheart.” I do love to see men in skirts, and . . . what can I say? Mel! Oh, Mel! He wants me, you know, but I’m trying to be strong and resist his advances. What advances? Are you blind? Haven’t you seen the way he smiles at me, from the big screen?
Anyway . . . the movie is about Scottish patriots who fought off corrupt British oppressors. In my favorite scene, a whole line of Scots, dressed for battle in their fanciest skirts, suddenly whip around and moon the other side before they rush down there and club them into submission. That’s spiritual warfare at its best.
There’s another scene where Mel leads them all in raising their clubs, fists, and bows and arrows skyward, yelling proudly, “FREEDOM!!!!!”
Well, a meek office clerk in Omaha who’s an old friend of mine had a moment like that last Friday. She works for a huge corporation which at times can be oppressive, kind of like the old Brits. But she stood up to the office politics like a real Braveheart, and in a skirt, too. It might have been a bit of a career risk, but it was worth it. Here’s how she tells it:
“Rebel that I am . . . I am in charge of our company's phone messages. When doing the phone recording for the whole office last Friday, since we were closing early for our party, I specifically said:
"Our office will close at 1 today for our CHRISTMAS party and regular hours resume on Monday."
None of these Politically Correct, prechewed, sanitized “Happy Holidays” apple-butter euphemisms for HER. No, Sir!
Let’s moon the bad apples who are trying to censor Christmas. FREEDOM!!!!!
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: A local school has developed a neat project over the last few years. They raise money to buy Christmas gifts in the form of $5 gift certificates to Burger King for children who are Sudanese refugees living in Omaha. Apparently, last year, Sudanese families filled the Burger Kings of Omaha on Christmas Day for their Christmas dinners, and it was a rare and exciting treat for them. This is extremely humbling to see how little it takes to please these very special, Godly people. But it’s exciting to be part of making something special happen for people who have faced great dangers and deprivations for their faith and families. To participate, send a note labeled “Sudanese Christmas Gift” and your check made out to Trinity Christian School, 15555 W. Dodge Rd., Omaha, NE 68154.
I really liked the Mel Gibson movie, “Braveheart.” I do love to see men in skirts, and . . . what can I say? Mel! Oh, Mel! He wants me, you know, but I’m trying to be strong and resist his advances. What advances? Are you blind? Haven’t you seen the way he smiles at me, from the big screen?
Anyway . . . the movie is about Scottish patriots who fought off corrupt British oppressors. In my favorite scene, a whole line of Scots, dressed for battle in their fanciest skirts, suddenly whip around and moon the other side before they rush down there and club them into submission. That’s spiritual warfare at its best.
There’s another scene where Mel leads them all in raising their clubs, fists, and bows and arrows skyward, yelling proudly, “FREEDOM!!!!!”
Well, a meek office clerk in Omaha who’s an old friend of mine had a moment like that last Friday. She works for a huge corporation which at times can be oppressive, kind of like the old Brits. But she stood up to the office politics like a real Braveheart, and in a skirt, too. It might have been a bit of a career risk, but it was worth it. Here’s how she tells it:
“Rebel that I am . . . I am in charge of our company's phone messages. When doing the phone recording for the whole office last Friday, since we were closing early for our party, I specifically said:
"Our office will close at 1 today for our CHRISTMAS party and regular hours resume on Monday."
None of these Politically Correct, prechewed, sanitized “Happy Holidays” apple-butter euphemisms for HER. No, Sir!
Let’s moon the bad apples who are trying to censor Christmas. FREEDOM!!!!!
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: A local school has developed a neat project over the last few years. They raise money to buy Christmas gifts in the form of $5 gift certificates to Burger King for children who are Sudanese refugees living in Omaha. Apparently, last year, Sudanese families filled the Burger Kings of Omaha on Christmas Day for their Christmas dinners, and it was a rare and exciting treat for them. This is extremely humbling to see how little it takes to please these very special, Godly people. But it’s exciting to be part of making something special happen for people who have faced great dangers and deprivations for their faith and families. To participate, send a note labeled “Sudanese Christmas Gift” and your check made out to Trinity Christian School, 15555 W. Dodge Rd., Omaha, NE 68154.
Monday, December 05, 2005
LEANING TOWERS OF CHRISTMAS
We got one of those 10-foot Christmas trees that leans a little north and then a little south and then a little north again, or maybe it’s a tad west. It’s a balsam, my beloved’s favorite, and so fragrant I even enjoyed vacuuming around it last night. Yes, it leans, but that’s the bad news. The good news is, it leans in so many directions that it looks like it’s perfectly straight.
Our other big project this weekend was putting up the enormous light-up, blow-up snowman in the front yard. It’s not so big that it would hurt anybody if it got away, a la the Macy’s parade, but it’s sizeable. It leans, too. It looks like it has had a few too many spiked eggnogs, or is trying to pick up an extra handful of snow to enlarge his pecs or something.
As if that isn’t embarrassing enough, our blonde dog Sunny Bone-O was napping inside while my beloved put up the Leaning Snowman, and didn’t see it for a couple of hours.
Then she came around to the front, saw the Leaning Snowman, went on the alert, crouched down into her Snarling Nazi Guard Dog stance, which isn’t real believable in a yellow Lab but oh, well, and commenced barking at the poor guy. She had him cornered, but good.
I went out there and praised her and told her she was so intimidating, he was frozen with fear. Literally stiff! Look at him leaning – he was just about to attack us when you courageously jumped in there to protect us. Good blonde dog. Let’s have a cookie: one for you and one for me.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: You can be a stand-in for Santa for the children of someone in prison with a contribution to the Angel Tree project of Prison Fellowship Ministries. For $11.20, you can provide presents for two children, and the number multiplies the more you give. See www.pfm.org for more information. The mailing address is Angel Tree, PFM, P.O. Box 1550, Merrifield, VA 22116-1550.
We got one of those 10-foot Christmas trees that leans a little north and then a little south and then a little north again, or maybe it’s a tad west. It’s a balsam, my beloved’s favorite, and so fragrant I even enjoyed vacuuming around it last night. Yes, it leans, but that’s the bad news. The good news is, it leans in so many directions that it looks like it’s perfectly straight.
Our other big project this weekend was putting up the enormous light-up, blow-up snowman in the front yard. It’s not so big that it would hurt anybody if it got away, a la the Macy’s parade, but it’s sizeable. It leans, too. It looks like it has had a few too many spiked eggnogs, or is trying to pick up an extra handful of snow to enlarge his pecs or something.
As if that isn’t embarrassing enough, our blonde dog Sunny Bone-O was napping inside while my beloved put up the Leaning Snowman, and didn’t see it for a couple of hours.
Then she came around to the front, saw the Leaning Snowman, went on the alert, crouched down into her Snarling Nazi Guard Dog stance, which isn’t real believable in a yellow Lab but oh, well, and commenced barking at the poor guy. She had him cornered, but good.
I went out there and praised her and told her she was so intimidating, he was frozen with fear. Literally stiff! Look at him leaning – he was just about to attack us when you courageously jumped in there to protect us. Good blonde dog. Let’s have a cookie: one for you and one for me.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: You can be a stand-in for Santa for the children of someone in prison with a contribution to the Angel Tree project of Prison Fellowship Ministries. For $11.20, you can provide presents for two children, and the number multiplies the more you give. See www.pfm.org for more information. The mailing address is Angel Tree, PFM, P.O. Box 1550, Merrifield, VA 22116-1550.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
A WHOLE NEW LIGHT
(I)nasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren,
ye have done it unto me.
-- Matthew 25:40
My husband’s company just had their office Christmas party. It’s so much fun to put names with faces, share office lore with unsuspecting newcomers, and watch the two oldest employees unexpectedly leaving the whippersnappers in their partying dust, impersonating Elvis on karaoke and Patrick Swayze on the dance floor while everybody roared their approval and raised their lighted cellphones on high.
You see people in a whole new light at office parties like that. And that’s a good thing.
When I was fresh out of college, I attended my first office party in the summertime, around an Olympic-size swimming pool. I had done some competitive swimming and was in pretty good shape. A co-worker at least 40 years my senior – the Pillsbury Dough Boy’s grandpa in swim trunks -- challenged me to a race. I didn’t think he could make one length without having a heart attack. If I held ‘way back, I could at least grant him a gentleman’s tie.
As if. He shocked me with an incredibly strong racing dive and was two body lengths ahead of me within the first few strokes. I ‘bout bust a gut and he still beat me by a lot. Everybody laughed and clapped, including me. Who knew? As I watched him high-five the other office fogies over beating the flat-bellied young cub reporter, I realized I had a lot to learn about the adult world.
I saw him in a whole new light. It was nice.
A few years later, at another job, I worked with an older woman whose personal life was somewhat of a mystery. She was short and lean, with big, expressive eyes and a beautiful, deep voice. She had a lot of wrinkles on her face. I wondered if she used to be a drinker, or if she had had a lot of problems that showed up, not in her conversation, but on her face.
Her only indulgence seemed to be the nuclear-strength coffee at the downtown cafeteria where we had lunch. We had a nice friendship, even though she wouldn’t let me in very far to know the real her.
Years later, I learned she had a habit of picking up bums off the street downtown, one at a time. She would take them to a fleabag hotel, pay for a few months’ rent, set them up with sacks of groceries, and arrange for cab fare to and from the employment office.
Then she would check on them every so often. No lectures, no sermons: just friendly visits that proved she believed in their worth. When the time was up, she would find another poor soul, and do it again. She must have helped dozens of people in this personal, compassionate and private way.
She never went to church and didn’t talk about religious matters. She wasn’t high and mighty. She never said a word about this quiet charity, in all the years I worked with her. She never got her picture in the paper or a plaque, nor did she want that kind of attention.
I sensed it was a “there but for the grace of God go I” type of deal. Truly beautiful.
You know, our society casts the spotlight on celebrities, millionaires and big-shot philanthropists, but never on everyday people who quietly, steadfastly do things like that, just because it’s the right thing to do. Lots of times, they’re the people at the next desk or in the next car . . . everyday heroes . . . low-key saints.
We all need to see each other in a whole new light, the way she did, and treat each other accordingly, as if there are special things about each person that we don’t know yet.
Because there are.
This Christmas season, let’s all do it: walk around in a whole new light, and share that light with others.
You won’t get applause and accolades here on Earth – but they’ll be singing your praises up at the heavenly karaoke bar, and that’s the one that counts.
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CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: DailySusan.com has been suggesting ways to help others each day during Advent. Today’s suggestion is to bless a young single mother named Michaela, who very nearly aborted her son Dylan but was guided away from that by a wiser, older woman in her church. What a beautiful testament to life, and the courage it sometimes takes to sustain it. She now is struggling to make ends meet on her small salary, but is doing a beautiful job with her adorable baby son. DailySusan.com readers gave them a baby shower earlier this year. Let’s do it again! Contact Susan at swilliams1@cox.net if you would like to send Michaela some Christmas cheer and will join the prayer chain for her and Dylan to live happily ever after.
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PRAYER REQUESTS LINK: It’s finally fixed on www.DailySusan.com Click on the rainbow over at the right. Be sure to send your prayer requests and praise reports to me at swilliams1@cox.net, and check in regularly to pray for others.
(I)nasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren,
ye have done it unto me.
-- Matthew 25:40
My husband’s company just had their office Christmas party. It’s so much fun to put names with faces, share office lore with unsuspecting newcomers, and watch the two oldest employees unexpectedly leaving the whippersnappers in their partying dust, impersonating Elvis on karaoke and Patrick Swayze on the dance floor while everybody roared their approval and raised their lighted cellphones on high.
You see people in a whole new light at office parties like that. And that’s a good thing.
When I was fresh out of college, I attended my first office party in the summertime, around an Olympic-size swimming pool. I had done some competitive swimming and was in pretty good shape. A co-worker at least 40 years my senior – the Pillsbury Dough Boy’s grandpa in swim trunks -- challenged me to a race. I didn’t think he could make one length without having a heart attack. If I held ‘way back, I could at least grant him a gentleman’s tie.
As if. He shocked me with an incredibly strong racing dive and was two body lengths ahead of me within the first few strokes. I ‘bout bust a gut and he still beat me by a lot. Everybody laughed and clapped, including me. Who knew? As I watched him high-five the other office fogies over beating the flat-bellied young cub reporter, I realized I had a lot to learn about the adult world.
I saw him in a whole new light. It was nice.
A few years later, at another job, I worked with an older woman whose personal life was somewhat of a mystery. She was short and lean, with big, expressive eyes and a beautiful, deep voice. She had a lot of wrinkles on her face. I wondered if she used to be a drinker, or if she had had a lot of problems that showed up, not in her conversation, but on her face.
Her only indulgence seemed to be the nuclear-strength coffee at the downtown cafeteria where we had lunch. We had a nice friendship, even though she wouldn’t let me in very far to know the real her.
Years later, I learned she had a habit of picking up bums off the street downtown, one at a time. She would take them to a fleabag hotel, pay for a few months’ rent, set them up with sacks of groceries, and arrange for cab fare to and from the employment office.
Then she would check on them every so often. No lectures, no sermons: just friendly visits that proved she believed in their worth. When the time was up, she would find another poor soul, and do it again. She must have helped dozens of people in this personal, compassionate and private way.
She never went to church and didn’t talk about religious matters. She wasn’t high and mighty. She never said a word about this quiet charity, in all the years I worked with her. She never got her picture in the paper or a plaque, nor did she want that kind of attention.
I sensed it was a “there but for the grace of God go I” type of deal. Truly beautiful.
You know, our society casts the spotlight on celebrities, millionaires and big-shot philanthropists, but never on everyday people who quietly, steadfastly do things like that, just because it’s the right thing to do. Lots of times, they’re the people at the next desk or in the next car . . . everyday heroes . . . low-key saints.
We all need to see each other in a whole new light, the way she did, and treat each other accordingly, as if there are special things about each person that we don’t know yet.
Because there are.
This Christmas season, let’s all do it: walk around in a whole new light, and share that light with others.
You won’t get applause and accolades here on Earth – but they’ll be singing your praises up at the heavenly karaoke bar, and that’s the one that counts.
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CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: DailySusan.com has been suggesting ways to help others each day during Advent. Today’s suggestion is to bless a young single mother named Michaela, who very nearly aborted her son Dylan but was guided away from that by a wiser, older woman in her church. What a beautiful testament to life, and the courage it sometimes takes to sustain it. She now is struggling to make ends meet on her small salary, but is doing a beautiful job with her adorable baby son. DailySusan.com readers gave them a baby shower earlier this year. Let’s do it again! Contact Susan at swilliams1@cox.net if you would like to send Michaela some Christmas cheer and will join the prayer chain for her and Dylan to live happily ever after.
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PRAYER REQUESTS LINK: It’s finally fixed on www.DailySusan.com Click on the rainbow over at the right. Be sure to send your prayer requests and praise reports to me at swilliams1@cox.net, and check in regularly to pray for others.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
GOOD LOOKER
My dad had his own language, which we struggled to translate. He had three compliments for people: they could be a “good looker” if handsome or beautiful; “good feeler” if they were fun to be with, or, the ultimate praise, a “keeper.” That last was from his many decades of fishing in the waters of northern Minnesota, where they throw back fish as too small that would be lauded as monster-size in lesser fishing holes.
Well, I’m glad to report that his youngest grandchild, Maddy, is carrying on his ways. We just had the seats on our six heavy iron kitchen barstools recovered. They had been redecorated by Kool-Aid spills, cat scratches and various other assaults over the years, so it was time.
As I was hosting a Black and White formal dinner for Eden’s friends last night, I made my beloved leave work early to pick up the new seats and rush home to screw them back in place by the 6 p.m. arrival time of the teenage guests.
In his haste, he must have installed one of them backwards. The only way you can tell is that there’s a crossbar about eight inches from the floor that’s a footrest, and on one of the six chairs, it was on the back.
Maddy spotted it right away.
I complimented her. “My goodness, but you’re observant.”
She beamed. “Yeah. I’m a GOOD LOOKER.”
She’s a keeper, too.
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CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: We got our first dog Budge from the Humane Society. She was a German shepherd / collie mix. Since she was more or less free, we called her “Budget Dog.” We loved her a lot, and what made it more special was that she had been a homeless puppy with discolored teeth, a sign of poor nutrition for her mother while she was pregnant. We were happy to give her the very best of doggie health care throughout her life. Budge needed us! And many, many animals are needy this Christmas season. Today’s charity suggestion is to help the Nebraska Humane Society, a 130-year-old organization that saves thousands of pets every year. Average new contribution: $21. Learn more on www.nehumanesociety.org Address is 8929 Fort St., Omaha, NE 68134-2842
My dad had his own language, which we struggled to translate. He had three compliments for people: they could be a “good looker” if handsome or beautiful; “good feeler” if they were fun to be with, or, the ultimate praise, a “keeper.” That last was from his many decades of fishing in the waters of northern Minnesota, where they throw back fish as too small that would be lauded as monster-size in lesser fishing holes.
Well, I’m glad to report that his youngest grandchild, Maddy, is carrying on his ways. We just had the seats on our six heavy iron kitchen barstools recovered. They had been redecorated by Kool-Aid spills, cat scratches and various other assaults over the years, so it was time.
As I was hosting a Black and White formal dinner for Eden’s friends last night, I made my beloved leave work early to pick up the new seats and rush home to screw them back in place by the 6 p.m. arrival time of the teenage guests.
In his haste, he must have installed one of them backwards. The only way you can tell is that there’s a crossbar about eight inches from the floor that’s a footrest, and on one of the six chairs, it was on the back.
Maddy spotted it right away.
I complimented her. “My goodness, but you’re observant.”
She beamed. “Yeah. I’m a GOOD LOOKER.”
She’s a keeper, too.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: We got our first dog Budge from the Humane Society. She was a German shepherd / collie mix. Since she was more or less free, we called her “Budget Dog.” We loved her a lot, and what made it more special was that she had been a homeless puppy with discolored teeth, a sign of poor nutrition for her mother while she was pregnant. We were happy to give her the very best of doggie health care throughout her life. Budge needed us! And many, many animals are needy this Christmas season. Today’s charity suggestion is to help the Nebraska Humane Society, a 130-year-old organization that saves thousands of pets every year. Average new contribution: $21. Learn more on www.nehumanesociety.org Address is 8929 Fort St., Omaha, NE 68134-2842
Friday, December 02, 2005
PROOF OF GLOBAL WARMING
Here’s a funny cartoon: (it showed four pairs of underwear up on a clothesline, from a 1920's BVDs to a 1950's boxer shorts, a 1980's pair of briefs, and a 2005 thong)
TODAY’S CHRISTMAS KINDNESS SUGGESTION: Sacred Heart School is doing a tremendous job in inner-city Omaha with strong academics, a sensible life skills program, and an emphasis on Christian values and discipline. Its fund-raising unit, CUES (the Christian Urban Education Service) is seeking donations that could make a real difference in children’s lives. According to a CUES Christmas appeal, two sisters who are students at Sacred Heart had been late to school a few times, and the principal asked why. It turns out the girls’ mother had had to move three times since the beginning of the semester , which has been very unsettling, and now is working three jobs to make ends meet. Between her exhaustion and a car that keeps breaking down, she is having trouble getting them to school. But she told the principal that having her daughters at Sacred Heart was a top priority for her because she knows that going to college, as many Sacred Heart graduates do, is the way out of poverty. Find out more on www.sacredheart-cues.org
Here’s a funny cartoon: (it showed four pairs of underwear up on a clothesline, from a 1920's BVDs to a 1950's boxer shorts, a 1980's pair of briefs, and a 2005 thong)
TODAY’S CHRISTMAS KINDNESS SUGGESTION: Sacred Heart School is doing a tremendous job in inner-city Omaha with strong academics, a sensible life skills program, and an emphasis on Christian values and discipline. Its fund-raising unit, CUES (the Christian Urban Education Service) is seeking donations that could make a real difference in children’s lives. According to a CUES Christmas appeal, two sisters who are students at Sacred Heart had been late to school a few times, and the principal asked why. It turns out the girls’ mother had had to move three times since the beginning of the semester , which has been very unsettling, and now is working three jobs to make ends meet. Between her exhaustion and a car that keeps breaking down, she is having trouble getting them to school. But she told the principal that having her daughters at Sacred Heart was a top priority for her because she knows that going to college, as many Sacred Heart graduates do, is the way out of poverty. Find out more on www.sacredheart-cues.org
Thursday, December 01, 2005
TIME STOOD STILL
I have a beautiful Concord watch with a dead battery. Tired of being late and never knowing what time it is, I took it to one of those mall fix-it kiosks. Handing the clerk the watch, I tried out one of my corniest lines:
“Time stood still. Can you help?”
He stared at me, popping his gum.
Finally, he asked in a monotone, “Dead battery?” I nodded.
He said if I would come back in 30 minutes, they would have it cleaned up and a new battery in it for $24.95.
I tried again, even cornier. “But without a watch, how am I to know when 30 minutes is up?”
Again, dead stare and gum-chewing. At least this time he shrugged.
I tried one last time: “So if I count to 60 thirty times, and come back, and you haven’t cleaned my clock yet, does that mean I get to clean YOURS?”
I don’t think he understood me. He looked like he was in pain.
Then his older co-worker helped me out. He was ringing up another customer. She handed him exact change. He exulted, “Good. Now I don’t have to take off my shoes and socks to make change.”
We three old fogies laughed – he meant he didn’t have to count on his fingers and toes.
The kid, on the other hand, just kept chewing his gum and went to work on a watch. I guess life must be boring when you watch the clock all day. . . .
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CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Today’s suggestion for a good cause to support this Christmas is the Nebraska Special Olympics. This year it served close to 1,500 people with intellectual disabilities, mostly children, in a series of fun sporting events. Tax-deductible donations go for year-round training, uniforms, food and communications costs. Learn more on www.sone.org
I have a beautiful Concord watch with a dead battery. Tired of being late and never knowing what time it is, I took it to one of those mall fix-it kiosks. Handing the clerk the watch, I tried out one of my corniest lines:
“Time stood still. Can you help?”
He stared at me, popping his gum.
Finally, he asked in a monotone, “Dead battery?” I nodded.
He said if I would come back in 30 minutes, they would have it cleaned up and a new battery in it for $24.95.
I tried again, even cornier. “But without a watch, how am I to know when 30 minutes is up?”
Again, dead stare and gum-chewing. At least this time he shrugged.
I tried one last time: “So if I count to 60 thirty times, and come back, and you haven’t cleaned my clock yet, does that mean I get to clean YOURS?”
I don’t think he understood me. He looked like he was in pain.
Then his older co-worker helped me out. He was ringing up another customer. She handed him exact change. He exulted, “Good. Now I don’t have to take off my shoes and socks to make change.”
We three old fogies laughed – he meant he didn’t have to count on his fingers and toes.
The kid, on the other hand, just kept chewing his gum and went to work on a watch. I guess life must be boring when you watch the clock all day. . . .
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Today’s suggestion for a good cause to support this Christmas is the Nebraska Special Olympics. This year it served close to 1,500 people with intellectual disabilities, mostly children, in a series of fun sporting events. Tax-deductible donations go for year-round training, uniforms, food and communications costs. Learn more on www.sone.org
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