“You should be here.” My friend Great Aunt Ray. The lyrics bring me to you each time.

We lost you for a while. I can remember phone calls, visits to Nashville to see you, your voice. I can remember your funeral. But I couldn’t quite remember where you were buried.

Google wasn’t any help.

But finally an old piece of paper surfaced and we could find you.  Lori went first and searched the gardens for you. Yesterday I stood at your grave.

You should be here. You would have loved MyFella. You would have loved Jamie. You should have met us for lunch yesterday. You should have been at the house, or us at yours. That’s just one example, one weekend. What seems like a whole lifetime of experiences since you left us – you should have been near for all of it – and I near for yours.

For years I saw you in the crowd – a gray head and square shoulders from a distance. It took years for you to fade from my daily conscious. It took a year for me to quit crying for you.  Whenever my time was quiet, I cried for you. There are things I do that remind me of you, things I see that I know you would like.  Things that crept into my routine that are quiet reminders of you.

Yesterday I stood at your grave. Today I weep like you just left me yesterday. Oh, Ray, you should be here.

"You should be here, standing with your arm around me here.
Cutting up, cracking a cold beer, saying cheers, hey y'all it's sure been a good year.
It's one of those moments, that's got your name written all over it.
And you know that if I had just one wish it'd be that you didn't have to miss this
You should be here."

 

Homeowners

"Why don't you buy a house?"

That's how I remember it starting. Since I've moved to the Big City, I've been a non stop renter, usually only moving when extenuating circumstances encouraged it - rent went up too high, income went down too low, etc.

For the last 3 years I had shared a rental house with a good friend. Most of the pro's and con's in that situation would be the same items on 2 different lists.  I simply was too lazy to change the status quo, both in real time physical effort required to move from one place to another, and in the emotional strength needed to broach the subject with my roommate and then start looking.

Then MyFella upped the ante. "I'll go in half with you."  "I'll get you moved."

So one night sitting on the couch we logged onto a website and started looking at houses. We submitted information on line to some mortgage companies.  We had an inbound call from a realtor referred by the mortgage company (I would do that part differently.)

Most of the houses MyFella would find on line and send me the address. I would take a drive by on the way to work and if it looked OK, I would go from there. Many houses passed the drive by test. Not many passed further than that. And quite a few we lost just due to timing.

"I would rather buy a house with you and drive home to our home every weekend, than for you to keep giving rent away for years."  It made sense.  Well, to me, it made sense if someone was in it with me. I had no interest in being the only person responsible for a house.

So from my recollection, that's how it came to be that we wound up homeowners.

Standing In The Driveway

"I like it."
That's what I remember saying.  MyFella and I had been on the hunt for a house for a couple of months, when he suggested I go by this address.  On my drive by in the morning, I was surprised - for the price and the appearance that the house was in a neighborhood that looked so nice.  The realtor got me in that afternoon.  There were a few things against it - mainly that it could have used maybe another foot of space in every direction, and perhaps just a bit more bathroom. But the things in it's favor were a house that seemed to be in very good condition, with hardwood floors and an updated kitchen. There is a detached workshop/garage combo that is very spacious and set into the back of the yard in line with the driveway.

We had, I had, the realtor had, all seen so very many houses and ruled most of them out very quickly. One house I loved so much but knew would be a mistake due to it's advanced age and lack of deep care.

Looking at it, I couldn't tell you why it felt right. It is a very standard 1950's era ranch style house.  Brick outside, one floor, three bedrooms and 1 bath. Maybe that's exactly why I liked it. I seem to be drawn to vintage pieces, and perhaps this is just a great big vintage piece.

The realtor said, "If this isn't what you want, then I don't know how to help you. You'll have to tell me exactly why."  We hadn't been thrilled with her, we should have politely parted ways a month earlier. But I understood what she was saying. Aside from lacking a bit of a second or half bath, it seemed to be what we wanted.

MyFella took my word on the call that afternoon.  He said, "We've always had just one bathroom and you're there 5 days a week by yourself. Make an offer."

By the time he saw the house, all the offers had been done, all the frustrating what-if's and oh-no's had been completed.  By the time he saw the house, we were a couple of grand into inspections and earnest money that would have been thrown away if he hadn't liked it. For that reason, I'm not always sure that he does like it.  But I think he loves what it represents to us, and how it affects our relationship. I think that, like myself, he loves that it's just us and the bank, our little old island of space in this big ocean of a city.

There's plenty of room for Jamie, both to have his own bedroom and to enjoy being here with us. We have a nice sized back patio perfect for a meal or Coca-Cola, and we have the shop.  My junk seems to still fill the shop, but I've promised to get it in order, and he keeps pretending to believe my promise.

Well into our 40's and 50's, we are home owners for the very first time.

The Newest Tombstone

I had some time before the funeral on Saturday, so I went over to the part of town where the 3 old cemeteries are (the “new” one is on the far side of town, because it’s a small town) – the public one that dates back to the  Civil War,  the Catholic one and the Jewish one.

 

The Catholic and Jewish cemeteries are sort of land locked, small – you can see the whole of either of them from their respective front gates.  The Catholics have since purchased a section in the “new” public one across town and had it reserved as a Catholic area. The Jewish community, like so many other things that were once vibrant in my hometown, has gone. The synagogue was transferred to the state heritage department and can be rented for public events and the cemetery has an endowment fund and a caretaker.   These cemeteries are in a row, and when you pass them you head into a rural area that becomes a national state park with a gravel road.

 

The cemeteries are just barely minutes from the church where I would attend a funeral, and I had time so I walked around for a little bit. Many stones dated back to the 1800’s, and some would say the European birthplaces of the deceased.  Some of the family names rang familiar, not from me growing up but from my job in the big city. It’s not hard to imagine that sons and daughters made it 80 miles up the road. Commerce, mercantile, and opportunity have pulled people out of my hometown probably since the beginning.

 

I’m not a photographer. But I like to visit cemeteries and I usually wish I had invested in a notepad and charcoal but I’ve never actually purchased charcoal or that thin paper you need to do a grave rubbing. I'm walking, I'm walking, I'm snapping pictures.

 

I’m walking, I’m walking.  I realize there’s something that looks like a tombstone, but it’s metal and hides a water spigot.  Neat idea, functional for lawn care.  I’m walking, I’m walking.  I notice a tree that is down that fell on some old markers and I take a picture to remind myself to find out who the groundskeeper is – I’m walking, I’m walking.

 

I walk up on a stone and recognize the last name.  They’re from a farming community on the far side of the county. I realize the man is a father to a friend of mine.  I had lost touch with my friend some years back  - I knew him to be very ill.  For a while he lived outside of Nashville, and once I asked MyFella to take a huge detour on a road trip so I could visit him. I found him after a while in a nursing home, it was an awkward visit because he couldn’t really talk.  But anyway, there was his dad. 

 

And a second later, there was my friend. He died 3 years ago. I didn’t know it. It makes sense that in 1947 when he was born, his family probably came over from that side of the county to worship, but it never occurred to me that he might be there. I didn't expect to walk up on his name, his grave.

 

If I were a painter, I would try to paint the picture. Within a short walk is a levee holding back the Mississippi River.  The sky was grey and overcast. An uncomfortable breeze was blowing – not a gentle wind.  The grass has all died.  It is a dreary morning. 

 

 In this very old cemetery, my friend has the newest tombstone.

 

 

 

G-d Laughs

You recall the saying, “Man plans, G-d laughs”?  I think I heard him laughing at me.  You see, I often play like I’m shallow.  I pretend that I don’t think about things. I wave my hands and act like it’s no big deal.  But the problem is, sometimes I forget that I’m supposed to play like I’m shallow. Not be shallow.

I had decided that he was obstinate. Strong willed over things that didn’t matter.  I had decided that he just enjoyed being that way. I decided that every time he approached me with yet another pesky question, that he was doing it because he had nothing better to do.

Then I heard it.  The piano.  The sounds coming from down the hall.  I knew the room had a piano, but I didn’t think anyone was playing the piano.  But the song went on, and there was a key stroke mistake, so I got up to look.  There he was.

Playing a tune.  Playing it well.  Really well.  Perhaps not concert well, but I wasn’t paying for a concert seat, and he’d certainly had several years of practice on me. Fifteen years, I would find out.

I found out from a conversation I had with him.  You see, for all the times I see him, for all the times we exchange words and pleasantries, I’ve never talked with him.  After this song, after I complimented listening to a tune which I really enjoyed, we talked.  Or rather, he talked.  I had sense enough to listen.

He talked about his parents. His father had been the only person in the family to survive a horrible war. We talked about his college experience, and his career, from which he had become disillusioned and found a way for an early retirement. We talked about his likes, and his loves, and his pursuit of things he thought would make him a better person, and we talked about his joy of piano playing.  Mostly my words, not his, but that’s sort of what I took from it.

The whole time I thought I knew him, I didn’t know him at all.  I could almost see G-d looking at me, laughing at me, laughing at my shallowness.  I had thought he was one level of a person, and it turned out I was one level of a person.  He gave me a gift of listening to the song, for which he had practiced.  And he gave me a gift of a moment of insight.  Just a moment, a snapshot, nothing more.  It was enough.   It was a beautiful snapshot.

I could hear G-d laughing.  

81 Years Old

He was asked, "How you doing?"

"I'm 81 years old.  I'm barely above ground."

"You're gonna get a ticket if you don't put your seatbelt on."
-Sideways glance.
What you gonna do if they take you to jail?
-Throws arm up to heart and says, "Oh, I'm having a heart attack."

"Did I tell you about that time they had that road block and those guys told me I needed to wear my seat belt?
I told them I was 70 years old, had lived through World War 2 and the Korean Conflict to keep this country free and nobody was gonna tell me I had to take a rope and strap my ass into my car. 
They told me to get out of there because they had work to do."

The Shrine of Christ's Passion

 Recently I found myself visiting friends in the Indiana area just outside of Chicago.  During the visit, I was told of a place nearby that has a life size version of the 12 Stations of the Cross.  An adorable young lady told me that "You can take a selfie with Jesus - ascending, not crucified, because that would be creepy."

I imagined a sort of life size version of the plaques you see on the wall of the church, and I could run to the very end of the row and take my selfie with Jesus - ascending, not crucified, because that would be creepy.

So, after entering the outdoor garden area through the Kirkland/Thomas Kinkade-esque gift shop, one first sees a full size Jesus sitting at a table with open seats.  It appears he is waiting for (you) someone to join him for dinner (the Last Supper.)  Since he is life size and it's a table with seats, I was strongly considering sitting down next to Jesus for my selfie. But then a group of very somber looking people began their walk, and it didn't quite seem appropriate.

So my friends and I continued around the garden to what I thought would be 12 statues in a row somewhere in Indiana.  I was wrong. And I wasn't prepared emotionally for what was about to impress me.  So, I admit it, I shut it down so it couldn't reach into me.

This is a purposely overgrown garden of a couple of acres with a life size temple, a path, large boulders, and over 40 bronze statues of Jesus, his disciples, Mary Magdalene, crosses and judges - all on a path that places you in footsteps designed to remind you of the walks of Jesus.  It was impressive, and if approached with the right frame of mind, a powerful experience.

It was also hot.  Really, really sun shiney hot that day. 

By the time I made it to Ascending Jesus, sweating profusely but impressed by someone's dream turned reality for this walk of that last day of that life, I had lost my desire to take a selfie.  I seemed slightly in appropriate.  Though the ascending version of Jesus with six pack abs and hair blowing in the wind did lend a bit of brevity to the moment.

I might do two things if I ever go back.
- I would go on a day I could take a slower pace and allow myself to be touched by the dream of some artist who that created this tribute.
- I would definitely take a selfie.  Because, you know, in the Christian belief, he did ascend. And there's nothing more cool than that.

A Rotary Prayer

Our Father in Heaven, we come before Thy throne of grace this Wednesday morning
Thanking You for life, thanking You for another day
We come thanking You for all the blessings that Thou has bestowed upon us
  From the greatest of our existence up until this present morning
Realizing as we come there are thousands on top of thousands who are as we are
Some are not as we are, but you know their condition
Just touch them we pray in your own special way as only you can
Strengthen them spiritually and physically we humbly ask Thee
Guide them and direct them in the way that Thou would have them go
Pray for those in need of Thee everywhere
The sick and the shut in, take care of them, we humbly ask Thee
Bless those who are behind the bars in prison
Bless those in the hospitals, day care homes and elsewhere
Have mercy upon us this morning, we humbly ask Thee
BLess our club, bless it's officers, endow them with the knowledge and wisdom from on high
Lead and direct them in such manner as You would be pleased
Please stand by us, we humbly ask Thee
Pray for our nation, our state and county in which we live
Ask your blessings on the leaders thereof and help them to look to Thee
  from whence cometh all Thy help
We pray in Thy name
We pray for our young men and women defending this great nation around the world
Bless their families and loved ones they left behind
Our Father, on this day, the opening day of the new school year, be with the teachers
 Protect them, we pray, from all seen and unseen dangers,
Bless the young people with whom they will be working
Help them to learn
Endow them with the knowledge and wisdom to do that which is right
We ask in Thy name
Be with us, Father, we pray. We need You this morning.
When we come to the end of the journey, we pray that You will take us by the hand
 and lead us to the other side so that we can spend eternity with Thee
Our Father, this is my prayer.  In the name of Thy son, we pray.

Amen

August 2013

Father's Day Luncheon 2013

Our gracious heavenly Father,
We thank You for this day
Thank You for our many blessings
Thank You for this food before us
Pray that You'll be with us in each and every way

Amen

A Young Boy's Prayer

A prayer spoken at the funeral luncheon.

Thank you, Jesus, Lord we come to You again.
Lord, we thank You for this family
We ask You to bless them,
Be with them for what they went through, Lord, for what they're going to be going through
We ask You to keep Thy hand up on them
Bless this gathering here today
Bless this food
We give You all the glory and praise.
In Thy name we pray, Amen. 

Easter Lunch Prayer, 2013

Our most gracious Heavenly Father,

We thank You for this day
We thank You for our many blessings
Thank You for this gathering, for this food before us
We pray that You continue to be with us, in each and every way

Amen.

(And heard at the end, "Will you spoon me some black eyed peas and corn?"

Boys of Summer

He was one grade ahead of me.  Probably a bit more in calendar years as I was one of the youngest in my class. 

I pledged a high school fraternity in my 9th grade year, a topic which could generate dozens of it's own posts if I were able to recall those events.  But he was in the fraternity.

I had never met him before entering high school.  Our system had two separate schools for earlier grades and then merged everyone for 7th grade on, so we met when I was in the 9th and he in the 10th. As I recall, he was all the things I wasn't - but then most boys seemed that way to me.  He was blonde and handsome, a baseball player, popular with the girls, with a confident way about him.  

The pledge process included getting two "big brothers" and he was one of mine.  I took Greek rhetoric seriously in those years and pledged not just in action, but in thought, pledging my energy and thoughts to the friends and friendships in that organization.  I pledged to be a member in heart all my life, and sometimes I realize I still am one of them, deep inside my 9th grade heart.

But there he was, a friend to me.  We never really connected in a way that other guys do.  My lack of athletic prowess and probably my lack of confidence kept me from being at places he would be, doing things he would do.  But still, I considered him a friend through high school. 

In later years he would pop up from time to time.  For about 4 years I worked at a casino that was in his territory and he would call me, and I would buy lunch for him and his co-workers.  I always wished he would come occasionally without them, so that he and I could eat lunch and talk and visit.  But still I enjoyed those short visits with him.

One day, many many years ago, when his boys who should be grown now were still young, I ended up near his home and called and went by.  His wife was visiting a relative, and I recall he said that he thought a lot of the relative, and she loved his boys.  But he believed her to be lesbian. He said if he ever found it to be true, he wouldn't let her near his boys again.  But as long as he didn't know, he was fine. 

And I have occasionally wondered why I kept quiet.  Why I thought his friendship was worth more than my truth.  Why I still think his name and think of him as a friend. 

- - -

After the boys of summer have gone.

His text read, "Thanks for the card. It's been hard on me. We were really close.  Man I'm sorry for what happened between us.  I've always considered you a good friend.  Life is a blur.  Wife and I both 50 to 60 hours a week and raising 3 kids.  I'm sorry for not contacting you more than I did."

A close member of his family passed away.  I found out a few weeks later and sent a belated card.  I'm not sure, given my odd work schedule and living out of town, that I could have made it home.  But I would have tried.  I would have tried to be there for him.  By the time I found out, some weeks had passed and I sent the card.

The humorist in me wants to respond to the comment about children.  I thought his boys would be well grown by now.  So I'm not sure where he's acquired 3 kids. 

The serious man in me wants to ask about the comment "for what happened between us."

Oh, sure.  I recall a couple of things - tiny things really.  He called me to invite me to his second wedding.  As I recall, the wedding was just a day or two away.  I remember being on vacation and walking into a restaurant when he called, and was nowhere near where he would be married.  He downplayed the event, as I recall it.  Then later through the magic of social networking I saw pictures on line and his bride seemed to have as many maids as royalty. 

I also recall that in response to his statement, "I have something to tell you" I said, jokingly, "Are you gay?"

That came back to haunt me through friends in my hometown who said, "He said you came out to him."

No, I purposely did not.  But that's my bad for joking about being gay. 

So part of me is over reading that comment to be some imaginary slight between being gay and not invited to his wedding.  Part of me thinks he's just referring to the reality of life - that we grew up and grew apart. That we haven't seen each other or spoken to each other in years.  That he's got 3 children I don't know anything about.  And that when people close to him died, I didn't even know it.

And I could bullet point a list of things in my life he wouldn't know.  Life happens.

We're not the boys of summer once we were, in our small home town.

We're not the boys of summer.

The Boy Scouts

While debates continue to rage in social media and across religious platforms about the correctness of allowing homosexual boys into the Boy Scouts, I find myself. . . .

Completely not understanding.  In several ways.

During my approximately 4 years in the Cub Scouts, I can’t recall a single time anyone asked me about my sexuality.  I can, however, recall times I was taunted and teased in school. I can, however, recall times I was bullied as a teenager out in public. 

But not once, not ever, can I recall a moment at the Cub Scouts where anyone said anything about sex or sexuality. 

So I’m thoroughly not understanding how or why anyone involved in leadership of a Boy Scout troop or den would be interested in the sexuality of a kid. 

And to take that one step further and look at it from the kid’s point of view – I see and understand in this day and age that teenagers are sometimes coming to terms with their own sexuality earlier. So maybe there are instances of high school age kids being open about their sexuality.  But that’s just life – teenagers evolve into sexual creatures. Ask any 17 year old.  But ask them how that could possibly impact their learning and participating in Boy Scouts?  I don’t understand how it can. 

To be a little bit humorous – to me the Scouting movement seems to have been an early front runner to surviving the zombie apocalypse.  They teach you how to build fires, how to tell where mold is growing on a tree, how to tie knots. 

Or in their own words, “For over a century, the BSA has helped build the future leaders of this country by combining educational activities and lifelong values with fun. The Boy Scouts of America believes — and, through over a century of experience, knows — that helping youth is a key to building a more conscientious, responsible, and productive society.”  Who would want to deny that opportunity to any youth? Why would someone want to deny that opportunity to any youth?

One of my fondest sets of memories from the Cub Scouts involves the yearly trip out to Uncle Lawrence’s house with a small block of wood. Mom would visit Mrs. Juanita in the kitchen of the home Uncle Lawrence had built, on the farm land he owned.  And in the back in his shop, he would tool away to turn that block into something that resembled whatever Hot Wheels car that I was currently clutching in my hands. 

Now let’s put aside the question of my dubious morals that, in hindsight, seem questionable, since Uncle Lawrence did all the work.  And let’s set aside the fact that the only car I can clearly recall is a perfect rendition of the Batmobile.   In fact, let’s not set this aside and let’s freely admit that to this day I love the fact that I wanted a Batmobile pinewood derby car.  And that I loved Uncle Lawrence and still Mrs. Juanita, though in one way or another time separated us from both of them.  That’s life, change happens.  But the point is, Uncle Lawrence was happy to help (OK, make) my car. And in even that small way, he was another adult man who had a role in mentoring me that was brought on by the Boy Scouts.

I have an elementary school year picture where I was quite proud to wear my blue shirt and my bright yellow bandana with the little gold slider on it. 

Honestly, in a somber tone, I can look back and tell you that I was already acutely aware of something ‘different’ inside me, though it would be years before I could have really put it into words.  And I can tell you that certain challenges I had with my self-confidence were already in place by then.  I can’t say that, in my case, the Boy Scouts helped me to build self-confidence.  But I can tell you it didn’t hurt.  I can tell you that when I look back on after-school afternoons at the home of my friend Mark, whose mother was our Den Mother, I don’t cringe.  Certainly not like when I think about school days in Junior High.

If I try to imagine his Mother asking about sexuality, I just can’t picture it in my mind.  And do I think there might have been a few stereotypical hints available to her? Maybe.  Maybe not, I probably can’t give an objective opinion on it.  But I can’t imagine her ever being mean or cold hearted or turning away any kid who wanted to be in her Den.

If I try to imagine the boy that I was, and I try to imagine him being told that he can’t be in the Scouts because he’s gay, I cringe and cry for him.  Who would do that to any boy, to any kid, to any young man? 

Spoil Them

Recently I met a lady named Mary in passing and had a very casual conversation with her for several minutes. Mary is finishing up a successful battle with cancer, is twice widowed, smelled lightly of perfume and hair spray, and would be, I would guess, near 70 years of age in a very healthy frame of mind and body that seems closer to 60. 

During our encounter, she shared with me some highlights from her life, which included her second husband. Speaking about this gentleman made Mrs. Mary smile continuously, and her words about him were very generous.  Her words about her first husband were few by comparison.

The second gentleman had told her at some point in their marriage that he knew he would leave her widowed again.  I think she said his phrase was, "I'll go before you."  I don't know if he was a smoker, or read the actuary tables at his insurance agent's office, or just figured with his luck, he'd be the first to go.  But she had sort of put aside his worries and enjoyed the marriage.

She told me that once while she was still working, she had gone to lunch at a place she frequented and one waitress had chided Mary to another, "There's that lady that's being spoiled by her husband." And Mary replied, "Yes.  But you know what I've learned?  If you don't spoil back, they quit." 

And to that point, Mary said that she had spent the years of her marriage playing far more golf than she ever cared to.  But when the five years was over and her husband's words came true, she didn't regret a single day spent on the golf course.

Who among us doesn't like a little spoiling now and then?  Who among us doesn't like it when our other half remembers something we like, or does something nice for us?  To Mary's words, it's important to recognize when you've found a keeper, and the important part is to make yourself worth keeping, to spoil them back. Go play golf, go fishing, go to a show or a convention or an outing that's all about the other's enjoyment, and enjoy being with them.  It's not the same to say, "I don't care if you go." It's important to say, "I'll go with you.  I'll take you."

Find someone who spoils you.  And spoil them back.

Tea Glass in Smoky Brown

She made her tea with tea leaves.  Lipton maybe, or Louisanne.  I'm not sure which.  Not with bags, but with loose leaves seeped in hot water using a cloth.  Maybe on fancy days she'd use a cheese cloth, but it was tinted dark from using so much it wasn't recognizable as cheese cloth anymore.

The tea had a strong flavor, and was heavily sweetened.  Syrup would have been jealous of the dark water's flavor and sugar content.

I loved it.  I can taste it now, the way it settled on the back of my tongue.  There was usually a pitcher of it in the fridge on any given day, and for Sunday dinners and holidays the tea would flow like oil on Jed Clampitt's land.

On holidays, we used Solo cups.  And names were written on them, and cups were washed and reused.  So it was possible you were using a cup with a name on it, just not your name.  So you just simply remembered the name on your cup this time.  But on any normal day, the glasses were kept in the cabinet to the furthest right.  And the tea glasses had a brown tint to them.

Out of the whole house, if there had ever been any one item in it that would remind me of her, and her very best days, it would have been a tea glass. 

One afternoon I stopped by, and someone had bought for her new drinking glasses.  The old ones were on the counter top, and I took them before I left the house.  I didn't need new drinking glasses.  And to her, they were not something to keep, if she had been given new ones.  But not one to throw anything away, she offered them to someone else.  I took a set of four.  I didn't need them, and they don't hold any magical power.

But I just couldn't let them go.

. . . like Jesus does. . .

"All the crazy in my dreams, and both my broken wings, the devil man know, he don't stand a chance.  He loves me like Jesus does."

 The beautiful lady in the red dress that fades in and down during the refrain is as gorgeous in real life as on this video from the ACM awards.  I've been lucky enough to fall in love with her music and her sound, sitting on a patio on a summer day, somewhere in Memphis, Tennessee. 

In my heart, this song is Valerie June, with a guest spot by Eric Church. 

But more so, in my heart, this song reminds me of the man I love.  I think he may be a little more crazy than I am, and I love him for it.  And I know, no man has ever loved me like he does.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdYAm9I8Evg

Good Friday

I can remember it like it was yesterday. 
The boys that thought she and I should meet.
That took me in the crowd and sat me down beside her.
I have an impression of a large convention hall, filled with kids on this Good Friday church convention.
Those two boys changed my life by introducing me to her, and she changed my life too.
Good Friday.

Out!

. . . Jesus went up to the Temple and there he found the dealers in cattle, sheep, pigeons. He found the moneylenders at the tables. He made a whip out of cords; drove them out of the Temple, sheep, cattle and all. He upset the tables of the moneychangers, scattering their coins.
"Out!" Jesus said. He had little respect for the holiness codes; for traditions which excluded the poor, which created outcasts. ~ from A Litany of Maundy Thursday, First Congregational Church.

Black Sunday at Big Lots

I could write an entire blog about my experience this morning standing in line at a Big Lots waiting for a no-brand-name tablet that was going on sale.  And I wouldn't write one bad word about Big Lots - but plenty about people in general, people in line, and humanity. 

And most people were perfectly nice.  But the ugly ones, they were way too ugly for an $80 no-name tablet. 

Which I didn't get.

But by the time MyFella, Jamie & I had finished breakfast, we decided that what I really want is a Kindle anyway. 

MyFella, "No, that's not enough power for you.  You want to be able to run a spaceship."

Me, "No, no, that'll be my new laptop.  The Kindle is just to look up things on imdb while I'm watching t.v. And imagine how cool I'll look reading books on the couch with my legs pulled up under me, and my new Kindle in my hands."

So the Kindle is coming, and I'm kind of excited.  And no weird people at Big Lots.*



*which remains one of my all time favorite stores.  it's the other customers I don't like.