And no one saw this because...?

Withholding information like this is just cruel.

So I finished my exercise, got into the shower and got dressed for the day. I sat at my desk and pulled out my little mirror to make sure I looked reasonable.

To my horror, I discovered what could only be termed an ANTLER growing just underneath my chin.

Seriously.

A DANG INCH AND A HALF LONG WAVING ANTLER of hair.

I am absolutely certain that it’s not like NO one saw it….

It’s also not like it was invisible… to anyone but ME apparently.

And I’m reasonably sure that it took more than just overnight to grow and if, in fact, it DID grow overnight into some Rapunzel length magnificence, can we clone that property so the REST of my actual hair can grow that fast?

DANG. Just DANG.

I yanked that devil hair out by the roots and I’m sure there was gray matter clinging to it but I don’t even care. Whatever portion of the brain that was ripped out with that monstrosity will not be missed. Unless it was the part that made me remember important things for other people since I basically don’t ever go anywhere in which case then you are on your own. You and the dang hair that no one loved me enough to inform me about before it took on a life of its own.

I think I need to check my bank balance and credit card statement for hair care and or beard and antler care products.

Dang.

The Destruction of Society

The Devil must surely be laughing maniacally as he watches us pitifully become puppets to his wickedness and destroy ourselves in the process.

Watching the news over the last few days as rioters destroy property not their own, burn police cars into cinders and take the dreams of small business owners and turn them into nightmares of the most intense variety has been truly heartrending.

That those perpetrating these vile acts do so in the name of "honoring" someone who was involved in a felonious assault only moments before being killed by a police officer in the commission of his duty is sickening.

A grand jury refused to indict and returned a lawful verdict of "no true bill" meaning that the police officer was not guilty of any unlawful conduct.

There are so many opinions and so much hatred swirling around and the people aren't even really sure what happened, so instead of allowing cooler heads to prevail, they have taken it upon themselves to destroy their town.

Why?

When we replace God with idols of clay, allow the decency and respect for one another to be replaced with bitterness, fear and hatred, allow civility to be shunted aside for thuggery, then our nation is losing the moral center of right from wrong and accepting the shallow replacement of situational ethics to become our one true god.

Too many people are willing to equivocate on every single decision. Far too many are allowing the words of reporters, race baiters on every hand and hustlers seeking power to decide for them how they should act.

We have not much distance between us and mere animals when we do so.

There is an old hymn called "Know This That Every Soul Is Free" that talks about the sacred moral agency God has granted to each one of His children.

Verse one states:

Know this, that ev'ry soul is free

To choose his life and what he'll be;

For this eternal truth is giv'n:

That God will force no man to heav'n.

Although we are FREE TO CHOOSE, that freedom of choice is limited by the consequences of what we have chosen.

We are free to rob, loot and destroy. But we are not free to feel peace in our heart and home within that environment.

We are free to lie, distort and twist the truth for selfish ends. But we are not free to be trusted by others when our duplicity is discovered.

We are free to morally abdicate responsible and Godly choices. But we are not free to be accepted by those who obey the commandments of God as if our disobedience didn't matter.

God will not strip us of the moral agency to choose. He will never force us. But he cannot bless those who refuse his mercy and his grace.

Verse 2 explains:

He'll call, persuade, direct aright,

And bless with wisdom, love, and light,

In nameless ways be good and kind,

But never force the human mind.

In the song, there is one particular phrase that has always touched me deeply even from the time I was just a little child. It is found in the third verse and is a truth that we cannot run from nor deny. The words of the third verse gives clarity to the truth of what our moral agency entails. We have the freedom to choose, but we must marry that freedom with reason in order to be useful creatures capable of rising above the station of an animal.

Freedom and reason make us men;

Take these away, what are we then?

Mere animals, and just as well

The beasts may think of heav'n or hell.

The last verse of this hymn is also telling as it reminds us that we ALWAYS can choose to change our course. We are endowed by our Creator with power from on high, but we can only employ that power in His service to His praise and our blessing OR to our condemnation and destruction of our ability to perceive and receive His blessings. He cannot go back upon His word. No unclean thing can enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

May we no more our pow'rs abuse,

But ways of truth and goodness choose;

Our God is pleased when we improve

His grace and seek his perfect love.

If we wish to feel that perfect love in our lives, we must live in such a way as to be in receipt of that love. While God loves us always, He cannot and He will not tolerate our sins forever. If we do not seek to improve our life, if we refuse to repent and change and if we become the kind of morally bankrupted individuals we are seeing, we truly have given up a noble divine birthright to accept the mess of pottage offered by lesser souls willing to devolve into mob rule that benefits no one.

Within every culture and society that has failed, there is a sad moral truth. When that society so invested personal gain above all else has reached the tipping point, society cannot hold up under the strain of self seeking power. The wolves no longer howl at the door, they are in the parlor and range about the room ravening and ravaging the helpless, the innocent and yes, even other power seekers who get in the way of the bigger wolf.

There is no loyalty in the power struggle to own it all, destroy it all, take it all and rule it all.

As destructive as the one ring in the immortal Ring Trilogy of J R R Tolkien, the power that is promised to "the one" by Satan is more deadly. He is willing to destroy anyone and anything to grasp at the glory he trampled in his twisted attempt to thwart the Divinely appointed Plan of Salvation.

Those who listen to the subtle whispering of Satan soon learn that subtle becomes quite insistent and he is a taskmaster of unbelievable destructive and manipulative power.

Getting out of his grasp is hard work that requires a level of self-sacrifice that is most unpleasant and uncomfortable for the "ME" generation.

In order to change, it must be change in every facet of life. Not merely saying but doing a complete life alteration.

Dropping destructive habits, changing thought patterns, losing the influence of "friends" who intend harm, leaving behind the wicked life habits that corrupt.

But it can be done!!

Many have walked the path of repentance, receiving forgiveness and feeling the approval of a loving God who can indeed help in every step of the process.

None of those who have so destroyed their communities and defiled themselves are beyond the reach of a loving Heavenly Father and the Atonement of His Beloved Son Jesus Christ.

We need a return to God. We need a return to Christ.

Only then can the world be healed.

You Dropped A Bomb On Me

To borrow the title of an old Gap Band song, we all know about the public shaming that comes with dropping a bomb in a public restroom.

No one wants to talk about it, but we know it happens.

Mother Nature can be capricious and fun-loving sufficiently enough to ensure that we who possess the ability to evacuate our bowels can enjoy one of life's little embarrassing moments in a public location without any hope of escape from our "wrongdoing".

Sadly, we know it's coming when the first grinding spasm hits our abdomen and we know that no amount of begging and pleading will halt the action of an intestinal tract done wrong.

It's a tragedy that even Shakespeare couldn't have foreseen.

I know there is at least one company actively marketing their "solution" to your odoriferous exclamations. They claim their product can eliminate (if you will pardon the expression) any of your vapors and unfortunate residue that would leave more proof of your passing... again, sorry for the wording.

The reality is that when we are at home to take care of business, we REALLY take care of business. But on those ill-timed circumstances that compel us to an unfamiliar toilet in public territory when we know for sure all hell is about to break loose ... my deepest apologies but you KNOW that is what happens!

It becomes a matter of "how can I do this and keep even a shred of my dignity intact?"

Sadly, as you exit the stall having violated every single EPA designated Federal Air Quality guideline, the only hope for you is if the entire bathroom is empty. Alas, that pious hope is never realized as each stall is filled and there is line stretching out the door to enjoy, endure and empathize with your gloriously shameful performance art piece gone wrong.

Take heart though. I was once in a store where this snooty woman loudly proclaimed "someone sure made a stinkbomb in this bathroom" and then she was the proverbial elephant in the room with trumpeting noise and effluent eruptions to beat the band.  I'm sure a couple of tiles fell off the wall by the time she was done.

The next time it happens to you (and dear hearts and gentle people, there WILL be a next time!), gird your loins, make sure there is no TP stuck to your shoe or trailing out of your panty hose and hold your head high as  you exit your stall to wash up and depart.

It IS, in point of fact, the designated restroom mean to refresh yourself and take care of the ever popular call of nature that we all must answer.  Drop that bomb. Waste that stall. Gas that room. Then walk out like the lady or gent that you are. After all is said and done, look 'em in the eye and say boldly "it's a fact of life, get over yourself!"

It Must Ever Be Thus...

Seriously... already starting out to be "one of those days".

Jared believes sleep is for the weak.

I must surely be able to bench press a Buick by this time.

When we finally heralded an actual dawn, it was time to begin the laundry. The clothing apparently married and had offspring overnight, so there was a great deal to sort and start whirling away in the washer.

What I had not counted on was the stupor that my tired body would be in at the time crucial decision needed to be made regarding soap, vinegar and dryer sheets.

Did you know dryer sheets can fly? Me neither until this  morning. Dang nasty thing kept eluding my grasp and floating delicately to places that didn't resemble the interior of the dryer in the slightest!! GRR!!

Then when I had to refill the little cups in the washer that hold the detergent and the softener, I managed to discover upon pulling the drawer out for said refill that the soap dispenser cup had some retained water in it.

I emphasize the word HAD because it splashed out nice and cold down my leg and onto my foot like a quick shower. Color me not amused.

Okay, grabbing a towel from the hamper, I wiped down my offended now chilled leg with goosebumps decorating it and dabbed at my shoe. The detergent receptacle was now empty and ready to receive the new complement of my homemade detergent.

Reaching for the recycled detergent container, I realized it was woefully inadequate to the purpose, so I set about to refill it first.

The 5-gallon bucket beneath the counter has the mix already prepared so I can ostensibly refill the smaller dispenser container. I hadn't counted on the baptism of detergent when I stirred the soap to ensure thorough mixing.

Nice.

At least my leg can now say it had a bath.

Repeat wiping procedure with the same towel from the hamper.

As is my habit with laundry, I put some vinegar in the softener dispenser and the hateful nasty little bottle glurged out the contents in a hiccup and burp that guaranteed my leg would now smell like a gherkin. Lovely. If only my husband liked dill pickles, we'd be in business.

Same leg all three times. That is quality aiming. What exactly do I have against my left leg???

Finally, the laundry is whirling and the chores are underway.

It's just gonna be one of those days, peeps. Just one of those days.

Something's different....

So, Kari and I went to do a little shopping and spend some time hanging out.

The stores were nice, the prices EXCELLENT, the opportunity to get out together - fabulous.

On the way home, we were minding our business staying in our lane despite the construction ripping up one  half of the west bound part of US 72 when suddenly our senses were viciously assaulted with what can only be described as a mass skunk bomb that lasted for miles.

HOLY MOSES WHAT IS THAT STENCH!!

My eyes were watering and Kari had dragged up the neck of  her shirt to cover her face so she could attempt to filter the air she was breathing.

It lasted for MILES AND MILES!! This must have been the jumping off spot for the skunk version of the hereafter because there was nothing but the thick green mist, metaphorically speaking, passing through the cracks, crevices and pores of the PT Cruiser.

There was NO escaping the stench!! I was willing to shove my own socks up my nose just to save myself. Heck, I was willing to shove the socks of someone else up my nose!! OH MY GOODNESS!! THIS IS AWFUL!!  Turning the A/C off didn't help. The pungent and nostril burning aroma just kept coming and coming and coming.

I swear the glass was beginning to melt! Holy cow, what a stink!!

Because I have a warped mind, I wondered aloud if we had a skunk somehow attached to the car or if perchance someone had pulled a nasty prank and shoved one under the hood while we'd been in the store. What a funny prank to play on two ladies. Ha ha NOT.

Then the tendrils of memory strolled back to a coffee commercial where they played a switcheroo to see what would happen. I alter it to suit my twisted sense of humor below.

"Today, the unsuspecting Kari and Shelley are about to be given a real change... let's see if they notice... The normal air filter they use to breath pure air in the PT Cruiser has been replaced... replaced with a roadkill skunk freshly gathered from the highway. Will they be able to tell the difference?"

"Mmm. Smell that country fresh aroma."

GAG! SPIT! CHOKE!

Yeah, we noticed alright. I think I'll remember that smell forever. No one - NO ONE - will ever say they prefer the switch between oxygen and skunk spray. And no one will EVER be fooled into thinking that is a pleasant change of pace.

The best part of waking up is NOT a skunk. Come to think of it, that fetid, malodorous "perfume" might be what causes the living dead. Michael Jackson's "Thriller" may  have been about skunks instead of zombies. Either way, the horrified look is the same.

Air... oxygen... help... please....

Stories from the Stalls

Is there anything more humbling in life than being compelled to  hop on one foot while trying to prepare a public toilet seat for occupancy when you REALLY GOTTA GO???

Men of the world rarely understand the anxiety of the female species because for them, the average restroom trip can be accomplished with a zip-a-dee-doo-dah and away they go. Women, however, endure something more akin to a strip tease but without the sexy music and applause. And frankly, there is nothing RESTFUL about that restroom visit. Talk about false advertising!

Having endured a few quality moments of trying to do all you can to keep from actually touching a toilet that may have been contaminated beyond all reason, I can fully appreciate the text I got from my sister Xan about the need to prepare, prepare, prepare with a capital "P" before you get to go pee or poop.

Public restroom peeing is bad enough, but public restroom pooping is an adventure not for the faint of heart or the weak of legs and arms.

Xan sends me the following text while I'm in the doctor's office waiting to get jabbed for a thyroid panel: "I just have to say that it is SOOOOO frustrating when you have to poop in a public potty!!! You take all the time to arrange your little toilet paper nest/shield from germs and death plagues. Then, just as you are about to poop on YOURSELF and hastily snatch your pants down, the toilet paper gets caught in an air current [created] from you yanking your pants off so fast and it falls into the floor OR into the potty!!! GRRRRRR!!"

Of course, I can COMPLETELY understand the horrors she describes because at that point, you are compelled to then gymnastically arrange yourself hovering over the toilet low enough to keep your butt, your undies and your pants from the "splash zone" when the aerial bombardment begins, but high enough so that your delicate skin is microns above the offending toilet itself.

It should be classified as an Olympic event.

Seriously.

The muscle control, the complete concentration, the amount of practice over years of visiting wayside potties, port-a-johns and outhouses of the world developed within a type of strength that would put Hercules to shame. Because he is a dude and well... you get the drift.

While women don't like to discuss this kind of tragedy so openly, we've ALL been there.

Of course, the reality of trying to be "a lady" and still get the job done factors into the equation as a variable. It is a complete game changer depending upon whether you've eaten beans and cabbage, or a diet of starches. Or if you recently altered your tastes to include salads, salads and more salads.

These all factor into the delicate balance between close enough and "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!" when it comes to applying self to surface.

Naturally, someone kind has been through this and decided that not only was the torture of positional physics enough to be getting on with, some woman now boldly advertises a spray that can help with the ... uh... um... lingering aroma of what shouldn't be discussed at any time anywhere.

"Poo-Pourri" is gaining traction (if you will pardon the pun) as a means of eliminating and/or masking offending odors that make you seem more longshoreman than lady when you exit your stall.

They advertise their product as an attractive blend of essential oils guaranteed to "virtually eliminate bathroom odors". My only question is "Why didn't someone think of this before NOW?"

Happy trails, ladies, and let's hope that your trail isn't a trail of toilet paper stuck to your shoe or tucked down into your slacks on the way out of the bathroom.

Taking a little walk

Bluebirds were out in numbers today while Jared and I took our morning constitutional. They were dipping and soaring around the flowering bushes and plants that are around the cemetery just down the road from our house. We like to walk there because there isn't any traffic other than the wildlife that comes through to eat in the quiet of the setting.

There were also some killdeers as well.

I can push Jared for at least a mile most days and some days we go up to two miles on a fairly regular basis. The longest route I've done was 2.24 miles with Jared. I paid for that bit of reckless bravado for days.

We try to stick to two or less. Some days the spirit is willing but the flesh is beyond weak. It's non-existent.

Once in a while, we speak with our neighbors and wave to passing cars who are filled with friendly folk. Sometimes there are people who are so intent on the road ahead of them that they do not glance in either direction with eyes fixated on just the road. I worry about that because I'm not sure they are actually awake.

I'm thankful to be able to get out with Jared. It's been just about a year and a half since my wreck and at the time I wasn't really sure I'd survive, much less be able to walk again. So every day we can go out and about, we do.

May not compare to marathoners distances and likely will never win any medals, but I'm betting most of them are in better shape physically than I am. It's all good.

I'm not really competing with them anyway as much as I'm competing with time. I don't want to go before I wring every drop of living out of the time I have been given.

Crouching Pine Cone Hidden Spider Web

It didn't start out to be a martial arts epic.

I was simply going outside to help clear up storm debris in our back yard that was bountifully spread across our lawn from the next door neighbor's pine trees. They have two great whacking specimens that dump their needles, branches, twigs and pine cones of every shape, size and color onto our yard after each and every west to east storm front.

Normally, I don't think about it much because that's just how neighborhoods are. The neighbor trees giveth and the other neighbor taketh it away.

Today, I went out with my handy little grabber that I got during my stint in the rehab unit. It allows me to pick up things on the grass without falling onto my face on the uneven ground. As it is, it is hard enough to walk out there amidst the pine cones, branches and divots in the yard - said divots that are the direct result of various hound related landscaping tips. You need to be on your toes walking out there lest you become part of the debris instead of the cleanup crew!

I found the grabber to be most helpful as it would grab hold of a pine cone or a small branch and allow me to fling the offending pine cones to the debris pile we have in the southwestern corner of the yard. It also allowed me to practice my golf pitching wedge "onto the green" work as I lofted a few back into our neighbor's yard. Just enough oomph to get it over the fence, but not enough to hit their sun porch.

As I backed around a small area looking for pine cones, I managed to accidentally discover the spider web artfully draped between the red oak and the neighbor's overgrown flowering ornamental that is now part of the chain link fence.

Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan and Jet Li have NOTHING on the sweet ninja moves I was throwing down in the yard. I am certain I was employing muscles I don't even have. I'll probably feel that tomorrow.

But back to the danger...

Had that spider and its lethal web been part of a deployment of a trained fighting squad, it most certainly would have come out looking second best as I whirled and kicked and punched my way through the sticky entrapment which lay in wait for me as I simply tried to clean my yard.

I'm sure the neighbors were about to choke to death on whatever they were drinking while they snorted and laughed as they watched me fight off the arachnid assassin with his eight limbs of death.

The good news is that I've had a complete cardio workout in addition to the walking I did earlier today.

I think I'll sleep well tonight after that exercise... or scream my way through nightmares of ginormous ninja spiders of doom...

Wait... what is that by the corner of my eye...

EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

That is a piece of the spider web!!

I'll have to get back to you later... this may not be over yet.

That spider may be lurking behind a pine cone after having delivered a sticky calling card to invite me back out for round two!

Is it cheating to take Raid to a ninja battle?

Is THAT lemonaid?

A penny pinching and frugal sort of people we are in our household. By design we are careful with money and do all that we can to prevent waste of any kind. It is in our nature both personally and as a couple to be less extravagant and more careful. Having had families that shared these traits and taught them to us from the time we were babes on the knee made it an ingrained fundamental.

But sometimes, fundamental on savings just becomes mental... and I'm talking rubber room, white jacket with extra long sleeves mental.

Witness our latest moment of frugality gone awry.

With the disposition of worldly goods from my father's life estate, there have been many things among the carefully saved items that have blessed our life and most certainly the lives of my siblings and their families.

We have stored up dry packed foodstuffs against the lean times and in recent memory due to Rick's job circumstance we were thankful to have them upon which we could lean. I know food storage isn't big sexy Hollyweird glamor to most people. But in this house there isn't much sexier than being able to eat more than once a week.

As part of the stocks of foods carefully shepherded to our storage fold was some dry beverage mix in various flavors with the indicated and expected contents color and taste displayed on the label.

The other day, Rick brought in a container boldly proclaiming its status as "lemonade". We opened the container to find that the sugary mix had become the hardened consistency of a mortar round. It was roughly the same color as well. I was not amused.

Rick said we should get it chipped up and see if it was salvageable. Not being enthusiastic about this venture, I mentioned that as it didn't look right and as I was extremely certain that dish washing liquid contains more lemon based upon the sniff test that this might not be safe to drink.

After about two days of "working at it" to produce anything resembling a powdered drink mix, I was ready to call it a day and, in the words of the current popular Disney movie Frozen, "Let It Go!". Rick was not there yet and tenaciously hoped to save a few pennies for our family.

Sometimes the mental part of the fundamental equation is truly a hilarious addition to our marriage relationship. I admire that pioneer spirit. Really I do. I am appreciative of it every single day because it is how we survive in a very expensive world. What I am not too sure of appreciating is BROWN lemonade.

That's right happy campers - the lemonade was BROWN. B - R - O - W - N. Brown.

Now, I do not know about you or what kind of lifestyle you may lead in your zip code, it really isn't mine to judge, but in THIS little Alabama gals experience lemonade is most assuredly NOT brown. Not even a brownish tint. Lemonade is YELLOW. Cheerful, ebullient, inviting YELLOW.

Alas, that was not the color in the pitcher.

Most happily, Rick said "you come taste this!".

Looking upon the pitcher's contents, my stomach rolled as if on the high seas in a gale and I said "Uh, NO!"

I REFUSE TO BE THE SACRIFICIAL GUINEA PIG!!

I REFUSE!!

He plunged in for a quick taste test. Pronouncing that there was "not quite enough of the mix in it yet", he added more and stirred anew. He took a second furtive sip and then brought me enough for my sampling pleasure.

Fair enough, I've drunk band camp swamp water and scout camp swamp water and McDonald's end of shift swamp water for a sufficient number of years to be relatively immune to odd colored beverages.

I took the tiniest sip that all creation would allow.

Let me tell you brothers and sisters, I was thankful - THANKFUL I TELL YOU - that I keep a garbage can by my desk.

Why, you ask?

Because I spit that foul, wretched faintly lemon scented brown swamp water right into the trash!

I demanded that he throw it all out.

Rick wanted to simply add more of the mix because it "tasted kind of flat". Campers, there was not enough of the mix in all of Christendom to have made that palatable!! GROSS! NASTY!! YUCK!!!

Upon further reflection, and as he viewed the dismal coloration of the offending beverage, he reluctantly agreed.

Children, the moral to the story is this: when you have to apply so generous amount of the powdered mix to have created TWO complete batches instead of just one and are STILL contemplating the addition of even MORE of the brownish chunkage, and when the heretofore mentioned amount STILL does not create anything worth drinking, it is time to call it a day and turn out the lights on this attempt at saving money.

I am not even convinced that the application of the entire container would have produced anything resembling a drinkable beverage but instead just a brown slurry of sticky goo unfit for human consumption.

Rick dumped the chunky mess of what was alleged to be drink powder into the field next to us. To have put it into our garbage would have been an invitation to every critter in nine counties to come taste it and perhaps die on our property. I can't handle that kind of mess.

So, as a recap, lemonade should be YELLOW, not brown.

You aren't saving money if you have to use an inordinately larger amount of ANYTHING to produce the results the package says you can get with a lesser amount.

And sometimes you have to learn to let it go.

But, because I know that there are born skeptics out there, I promise that I will save the very next can of alleged beverage mix for you.

You may conduct your own experiment on its value and taste.

Just do one thing for me first.

Make your life insurance policy out to me, because when you croak from drinking it, I'd like to be able to bury you more decently than I have buried frogs, lizards and a hermit crab. My back yard is running out of funeral space and our garbage men will only take so many dead bodies to the landfill before even they will become suspicious.

Snorting milk out my nose

It happens that I have a very well developed sense of humor.

Sometimes that gets me into all manner of difficulty as that funny bone gets tickled at inappropriate times and occasionally for inappropriate reasons.

Because I begin my day at the computer most days, I like to check in on the news and happenings of the world, read a few items posted on Facebook and catch up on Scrabble online. There are days those news and happenings absolutely crack me up.

As an example, I reference a news article from a while ago that I found while perusing through the small town newspaper from a place I've never even been before. I do that sometimes when I am sick of the newscasts in our area. As a disclaimer, I am NOT advocating vandalism in any form.

However, having said that I am also not advocating drinking milk while you read this article. I managed to snort milk from my nose because I was laughing so hard at the visual imagery in my head and it could have been a dangerous choking incident (or at least ruined my computer keyboard).

This comes from the newspaper that serves the delightful hamlet of Beatrice, Nebraska:

"Toilet seats are meant for restrooms. Not public park restroom ceilings. But that's not the case at Hannibal Park in Beatrice. There, vandals took sparklers, made a bomb, then practically took out the men and women restrooms.'They take what traditionally would be just a sparkler, they tape them together and because of the confinement of them being taped together, it causes a really really big explosion,' Beatrice Police Chief Bruce Lang said. And what a big explosion it was. Debris can be seen outside the bathroom stalls. Near the roof, the air conditioning hangs loosely by its hinges. Inside the women's restroom, the toilet was blown to pieces. Inside the men's restroom, wet tissue and porcelain pieces were strewn everywhere".

INCOMING!! Flying john pieces at 12 o'clock!!!

I will cop to the fact that I have had more than a few run-ins with homemade explosives. Heck, I may OR MAY NOT have been responsible for an outhouse that sort of exploded. The jury is still out on that one... but the description of the incident with the accompanying picture of the toilet seat jammed through the roof of the outhouse is just funny to me. Milk snorting through the nose funny.

Please do not take this as an invitation to go blow up a toilet just so you can watch me snorting milk from my nostrils. And don't go cow tipping either. It doesn't work and you get poop all over your shoes. Which is likely what the people in that restroom may have discovered after the untimely demise of their facilities.

Have a nice day and remember that just because you CAN explode a john doesn't mean you SHOULD explode a john.

Drano and a happy morning to you

You know today will be bringing a few challenges your way when you are taking your normal morning shower only to realize that a puddle is forming around your feet and ankles while you stand there covered in soap and shampoo. Nice.

The first thing you try is rinsing your foot around the top of the drain to see if a pesky hair wad is globbed up to block the drain. Alas, it was not hair ball causing the drama. Oh no happy campers! That would be way too easy.

Next, you hold off on the shower water figuring the combination of the rinse cycle on the washer and the shower is overwhelming the pipes. Nope, not that either.

Then, I tried to create a suction by blocking the drain with my foot to see if some kind of vacuum would form so that when I removed my foot it would miraculously drain all the soapy water away.

That didn't work either, dang it!

So I was left with the inescapable conclusion that happens every single spring... the tree roots in the front yard had once again invaded the pipes in search of fertilizing water from our wastewater pipe that leads to the sewer in our ditch. Woo hoo. I love it. In that way that I mean NOT.

Being a resourceful gal, I hunted down the Drano. Of course, I did wait until I was dressed to do so because frankly the very idea of prancing through the house on slippery tile while dripping wet and buck nekkid was just not something I was willing to countenance. Low they may be, but I do have my standards. Plus the blinds were up...

Finding the appropriate container in the cabinet beneath the sink in the main hallway bath, I poured a generous cupful of the miracle pipe cleaner down the shower drain and the rest of the bottle into the toilet. Now I am playing the waiting game until it is time to douse the drain with hot water in the hopes that the acid in the drain cleaner will eat up the blockage but not my pipes. It's like being in final Jeopardy, but with less glamorous prizes.

I'm not sure I hold out a lot of hope as the last time this happened I was forced to call the nice but expensive Roto-Rooter dude to come with his fancy truck and grind the blockage to bits. That was helpful but sure made the bank balance pitiful. Shouldn't someone be willing to accept payment rendered in sincere gratitude? Reckon not...

Is it possible to pray over your drains? I don't say that in jest as we are told to cry over our families, our flocks, our herds and to cry against the devil. While I am not claiming wastewater pipes as cattle or flocks of any kind, I would certainly say that there is something devilish in having a clog that makes you feel like you are going to drown in soapy water. For the record, I am not a fan of drowning. Plus the epitaph would be most unflattering... "Suds to death in what was evidently the prime of her life".

Hmm. I shall have to ponder this sudsy conundrum.

In the meantime, liquid chores are waiting for resolution of the problem before being pursued. I can't imagine what kind of backup another load of laundry would bring to my drain system! And I live in fear of a toilet overflow - mostly because they are plain gross and cleaning them up is no picnic. That and I am secretly afraid of the toilet plunger...

So I wait on the magic promised on every bottle of Drano. That it will fulfill the intent of its inventors and rid me of the sinister clog that has rendered my day at a standstill until such time as the clog either dissolves through the might of chemical intervention or it is eaten up by the invading and hungry tree roots that sneak their tendrils through and into my pipes.

It does make one reconsider the idea of an open sewer system but certainly not the stench from one. At least in an open system you can see what the problem is and rectify it speedily. But the overpowering scent would be an eye watering, nose burning experience indeed. I do not envy the Romans on that account. Ew!

I well remember the halcyon days of youth as we would drive by the "poop factory" where our city's modern municipal water supply was allegedly cleaned. They had settling ponds where the solid materials would literally settle out into concrete holding areas and the water would be drained out and chemically cleaned and reinserted into the drinking supply. It was a nasty smelling place. Just what they did with that sewage slime and chunks was beyond my kin. I am convinced they just chucked it into the river. After a school tour of the facility, I was almost ready to give up drinking water entirely until Momma pointed out that the milk I was drinking was from cows that pee and poop in their drinking water all the time. Plus she mentioned something about dying from lack of water that sort of derailed my erstwhile plans of becoming an H20 teetotaler. Oh the price we pay for knowledge!

Now I understand fully that there are challenges in every life. I am not being made to chop wood every day, I seldom haul water and it has been decades since I bathed in a washtub on the back porch at my grandparents house in Sylacauga. I even doubt that the back porch (or the house for that matter!) is still there anyway.

But dang it, when you step into the bath in an allegedly modern home with connections to that great sanitary sewer system lauded in story and song (okay, so I exaggerate), you don't expect to be ankle deep in sudsy water that should have just drained away. Yes, I am spoiled. Spoiled rotten.

At any rate, it is time to make some hot water to pour down the offending drain and see what happens. I'm just hoping to see some positive movement. If not, don't be surprised to see me, my slippers, my robe, my towels and my Alabama elephant loofah ringing your doorbell. I will be conducting an informal test of YOUR water system's drain capabilities. And if it is satisfactory, I may well be a guest each morning for a quick rinse until this temporary crisis is over.

Happy towels to you until we rinse again!

P.S. In the interest of full disclosure, The Drano and hot water treatment worked! Yeah me!

Fog, cold and Jared

Woke up feeling cold and looked out to see a nice blanket of fog enveloping the area.  Cold, wet fog.  Not my favorite thing.  It definitely won't be added to the verses of the Julie Andrews song about those things considered to be favorites.

Jared seemed happy to be going back to school today.  Only seven more school days left for the handsome prince and then, barring a surprise from the Birdie Thornton Center, Jared will be home with me 24/7.  I'll have to figure out how to do outdoor exercises with him.  Fortunately, there are sidewalks in a lot of the places I walk, so I should be able to push Jared in his wheelchair to get some outside mileage done in due season.

Today we wouldn't have gone out anyway at least not in the morning with the fog being so overwhelmingly thick and cold.  People do not pay enough attention in the fog and I'd hate to become a bump in the road for someone who was careless.  Too much risk for Jared to try it.

I'm hoping to have Rick get him up into his wheelchair each morning with the lift sling beneath Jared so that I can get in my exercise and help Jared with some morning routine work at his desk. It will be a change for both of us indeed.

There are concerns for me as I worry about being enough for him. Strong enough, able enough and smart enough to encourage him to reach for his potential. I worry about having the energy to help Jared focus without the intensity of his school schedule to help him cope with the long hours in the day that need to be filled.

Truly, I don't know how all of this will play out.

But I know that I love Jared and will try to help him become and grow and develop as best as I can.

In his bag of diapers sent to the school today was a note asking for his absence to be excused. It won't likely be accepted and we will likely receive another notice of truancy for him in the mail. Who cares? He is over 21 years old and there really isn't anything they can do about it that will make a difference for him if they send us to court.

I'll just bring him along and ask them how they might consider offering Jared the best possible circumstances that life can bring to him in his limited condition. I'd be delighted to hear their responses because likely none of them have had to even give a moments pause to how they would function for and in behalf of a loved one who is so sharply constrained by mortal strictures as to be totally dependent on everyone else for the care and upkeep needed.

Hopefully, we can end this last seven days of his academic career without too many tears and difficulties.

All I know is that I want Jared to be happy at home or, in the event there is an opening at Birdie Thornton, for him to enjoy his time there.

The "ick" factor

Sometimes, things happen around me that are baffling beyond comprehension.

And sometimes those things make me sick to my stomach. They possess the "ick" factor.

We had stopped in some nameless hamlet to take care of business and clean off the windshield. We also wanted to give Jared a break and let him stretch out a bit. Riding along for hours at a time isn't too fun for him and truthfully, when your left butt cheek has become numb, it's time to get up and stretch out despite the miles that lay ahead on the drive.

Pulling into this pit stop, we were careful to align the car with a desolate area so that if a diaper change were necessary for Jared, he wouldn't be exposed to the prying eyes of the curious and the profane.

Rick gave me the go ahead to visit the restrooms first. I hustled inside knowing that both time and urge were ticking against me and took the first clean and likely stall for the appointed activity.

I was thankful for indoor plumbing as the outside temperature in that town was a balmy 51 degrees.

When I finished up, I noticed a well dressed woman departing her stall ahead of me. She had a very expensive outfit on, a pricey purse and a complete lack of hygiene. She did NOT stop to wash her hands.

Talk about the "ick" factor!! GROSS!!

Now everything in the bathroom had become suspect for potty germs!

Isn't that the first thing you get taught as a small child while potty training - always - ALWAYS - wash your hands when you get done?

When I washed and dried my hands, I noticed there was NO paper towel holder anywhere. And since I had used the turbo dryer for my hands, I was left to open the door with the shirt tail of my t-shirt. I will NOT open the door with the lingering remnants of potty hands on the handle!

That is nasty beyond belief.

Oh my goodness at the images conjured up by the folks who never learned to wash after going potty!!

The "ick" factor.

No matter how well turned out you may appear to be, if you have no decent manners it can dull the image considerably.

Drama Free Zone

Life is not perfect.

Shocking statement but absolute truth.

Honestly, I believe that many people never learned that as a truism and therefore become both disappointed and drama filled when things do not work out according to their finite view of what is acceptable and how to deal with what is not.

I was raised by a Daddy who always told us important truths to live by:

* There is no such thing as a free lunch. That which you receive for "free" was actually paid for by someone else OR you will be paying for it later by owing someone a "favor" for the lunch.
 
* Life isn't fair. You shouldn't expect that it will be either.

* Sooner or later, someone  you count on to be there for you will let you down. They are human and fallible and make mistakes. Forgive them.

* No one is perfect, not even in their intentions. Set your expectations of people's behavior much lower and you won't be disappointed nearly as often.

* Murphy was an optimist.

* Your attitude is your choice. No one decides for you if you are going to be mad, if you are going to be a poor sport or if you are going to be ungracious. You determine that all by yourself.

* No matter how other people treat you, act like you have some raising and treat them right even if they are being a jerk.

I could go on forever. Daddy didn't spend a lot of time sugarcoating things so that life would always be pleasant or easy for us to endure. Instead, he prepared us for the rocky road that ALWAYS shows up on our personal GPS toward our goals.

There is no escaping the truth. Everyone - EVERYONE - has a hard time at some time. No one is exempted.

There will NEVER be a time in your life in which you will get your way in every circumstance.

English teachers tell you that "always" and "never" statements are to be avoided like the plague. However in this circumstance, I believe they are applicable as a statement of fact.

Each day, I read the news and the headlines are often disturbing. It is a living example of the love of men waxing cold. People are showing their carnal and devilish sides in a daily display of man's inhumanity to man. And lest people think only men are brutes, witness the continual parade of women who have forsaken the softer natures God intended for them to cultivate who instead seem to be in a grinding competition to be vulgar, mean-spirited, coarse and uncultured as if that somehow equates to being "manly" in our society.

I'm ready to create signs for a "DRAMA FREE ZONE". I'd like to post them prominently around my own property then expand to a broader world.

Within those zones would be educational outreach instructors who would explain that when you open your life up to the criticism of the world, you shouldn't be surprised that the vultures pick your bones and strip out every little giblet of juicy goodness to leave you as a mere shell of your former self.

There would be opportunities to show that no matter what happens that you can select your response to the circumstance and to practice grace in a classroom setting with daily field trips into the real world for practical application.

Oh what a dreamer I am! Seriously, I believe a good dose of Daddy's wisdom would heal a lot of the drama that people fuel their daily lives with under the mistaken belief that yelling is the same as solving a problem.

Oh well. Back to the laundry. It isn't going to fold itself.

Projects and ponderings

I've been mentally auditioning songs I'd like to work up for a special project and yesterday afternoon quite by chance I happened upon a cute little song that has been done by others both famous and not so famous over the years.

It's a piece for voice and ukulele that is just precious. It's entitled "Tonight You Belong To Me".

The words are sweet and the tune is relatively simple including the counter melody that would have to be overdubbed unless I enlisted the aid of a guest singer.

I just need to find a uke to borrow so I can shore up my skills on the chording for this tune...

My excitement over the project is growing...

Easter Skyping with Nathan

Though he is not even a month old, we spent some time on Skype with Nathan today.

Now surely you know his nimble fingers didn't create the connection, but rather his Daddy set us up for the long distance kiss fest.

I love that little boy with all of my heart in a love so deep and wide that it is beyond the superlatives that mere language can offer. It is a love that is emotion in action that can never be fully worded or expressed in conversation.

To see his precious sleepy little face and to see the obvious love and interaction between the new parents and their little sweet son is such a blessing. Technology has spanned the miles in  a way that gives us more time to see little Nathan growing up.

I worry for the kind of world that is around him for I am unable to protect him from all the harm that is in the world that is no longer the genteel place of bygone days. I ponder over the ways that I can be of help to him and his parents to whom this great responsibility and love has been extended.

They sent us an Easter picture of Nathan and Tianna all dressed for church today. He made it through about half of the meetings which for a little guy on his first outing is fabulous.

Nathan's FIRST EASTER April 20, 2014

I have felt in my heart for a long time that my oldest son would be afar as an adult with his own family. And I have long tried to reconcile myself to that feeling so that when the travel to and fro in the earth to be with him happened, I would be able to ready myself and be happy to go.

Now with this tiny piece of my heart extended at this great distance, I find that I am wishing more and more for a way to be near to him that could bridge the miles more swiftly.

It must be some measure of how Father feels when we His children are away from Him for a time as we attempt to work our way through mortality and find our way back to His presence.

That distance between heart and soul must indeed be the same for Him as it is for me only manifold multiplied over the countless generations of those children named His.

I'm thankful for Easter, the glorious resurrection of Jesus Christ that offers us so much more than cleansing from our sins, but a marvelous opportunity to bridge the distance between heaven and earth.

And I'm thankful for the technology that gives us the bridge between our home on earth and that little bit of heaven that currently lives with his family in Virginia.

Grandma loves you, Nathan!

In between the lines

if we are to make anything of value from this time which we have been granted for our mortal sojourn, it must be from those moments that come in between the lines... those scripted things we do "because".

because we have been told, we walk in a straight line.
because we have been reminded, we pay our bills.
because we were coached, we play ball.

because, because, because...

but what of those moments that come in between the lines? those times that you have to find the humanness inside yourself to reach out and touch the humanness in another?

there are no scripts for those kinds of interactions, only feelings.

there are no words required most of the time, just love.

this little video is a case in point.

because our son Jared is indeed a special soul with special needs, it literally brought tears to my eyes that cascaded down my cheeks in a waterfall of emotion that was always there, but checked by the reality that few truly understand.

I hope this little movie will help others to see that beneath the body that is not so perfect lies a soul that is oh so perfect and far removed from the pollution of this world.

New boy in class

Nathan Sullivan Merrill

March 27, 2014 at 5:22 a.m. Nathan Sullivan Merrill came into the world to join the family.

Nathan and his Momma, Tianna, went through the wringer to get sorted out for this birth. He and she had several rough days before the time appointed arrived.

Weighing in at a tidy 6 lbs and 13 oz and 20 1/2 inches long, Nathan is the first little one for Thomas and Tianna. Thomas, like most new fathers isn't really sure what comes next. Becoming parents is a new adventure that doesn't have any kind of manual of instructions other than what you observed and felt from your  own family as you were growing up and maybe some of what you saw in the families of your friends.

Tianna is pretty occupied with the immediate needs of this sweet little boy who is learning about life on the outside of his previously enclosed accommodations in the womb.

Of course, being newly minted grandparents is a change. So many things to wrap our hearts around that involve this new little life. So much love that never existed before.

While we waited for them to return from the birthing center so that we could meet this new little boy, we drove around the Lexington, Virginia area. So much history and wonder in the area.

Still didn't fill the time until we could be with Tianna, Thomas and little Nathan at their place. We wanted to wait until they were home and settled in. Other than follow up appointments, Tianna and Nathan will be at home on bed rest for a week.

Oh how I wish we lived closer so that we could spend more time visiting with this little boy! Our time is drawing to a close here in Virginia all too quickly!

Welcome to the world, little Nathan! We are happy you are here!

Songs for baby time

♫♪♫ I see the moon and the moon sees me
♫♪♫ Over the mountains over the seas
♫♪♫ Please let the light that shines on me
♫♪♫ Shine on the one I love.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

♪♫♪ See the pretty orange moon
♪♫♪ Way up like a toy balloon
♪♫♪ Someone took it out to play
♪♫♪ And it flew away

When I was just a little girl, Daddy would sing these songs to me to help me sleep. The first is a variant on an old Irish ditty that was sung to him. No telling how old it is.

After my own little ones came along, the song was shared with them and hopefully somewhere in the fine particles of thought from their little boy-hood remembrances that song is there.

Any time now, Thomas will become a Daddy. And I hope he will share with his little children these songs. They are not fancy or extremely amazing, but hearing them fills my heart with a tender time of little fingers wrapped around one of mine as I would sing to them while I rocked them in the dim light of the night light's glow in the wee hours.

I find myself wishing I'd been a better Mother. That I could go back and take away every single time I was not patient enough, not tender enough and not good enough for those sweet little angels whom God has entrusted me with in this mortal sojourn.

I wish I could go back and see with the 20/20 vision that only retrospect can bring to help us see that the rocks in the pockets in the laundry ARE the treasure of a small boy and not a nuisance. To see that the tiny curls of sweaty hair around the smudged but cherubic face of a toddler worn out by play are a wreath of immortality that will fade for a time as life presses too closely.

I'd like to slow the clock down and not feel like every single thing had to be perfect to be good. To be the kind of mother that my boys should have had instead of the one they did have. The mother who was willing to be molded by the wisdom of their understanding instead of pushing so much of my own supposed brilliance onto their gentle spirits.

I think of one song that Daddy would sometimes sing that was kind of religious and melancholy. He would sing "If You Could Hie To Kolob" and it made me think then of a place that was just out of reach. Now I think of it and know that there is so much more to God than I can comprehend.

When Thomas holds his little son for the very first time, I hope that he is able to see that piece of heaven that has come to earth to be in his home. That the little boy he holds is a part of a future that goes beyond the things we can see with mortal eyes. That he and Tianna have been part of God's continued plan for all the seed of Abraham.

Please, let the Light of Christ that shines on me shine on the ones I love.

BE PREPARED!

Well, we had a 'Fire Drill' of sorts last with Tianna having some high blood pressure issues that could have led to a delivery of the grandson had they not been able to bring it down.

After lots of texts back and forth with the other soon-to-be Grandmother, they were able to sort things out and get Tianna sent home with Thomas for bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy.

While we waited for further news through the night, I packed and Rick sorted out things for the truck and changed the oil and filter to be ready for the trip to VA when the time came.

So we wait...

We Skyped with them tonight and saw that they are both tired and likely about ready to receive their new little boy in a few days.

I hope that Tianna is able to have the delivery form she'd like, but I also pray that those who care for her will make sure that she has the medical support she might need if things are not as expected.

I'm thankful that they were able to send her to the hospital and get her BP sorted out enough to send her home to rest and hope that her bedrest issues are not too long. I know from experience being in bed for prolonged stretches of time are not all that exciting.

Babies. Love 'em. They come when they are ready and the parents just have to hang in there as best as they can.

Mistakes and Course Corrections

"The heavens will not be filled with those who never made mistakes".  So says Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the current First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Mistakes are part of learning to govern ourselves. Sometimes they are relatively minor and require only a slight adjustment in attitude and behavior. Other mistakes require a major course correction and complete adjustment in how one views oneself and personal behavioral choices and decision making processes.

How quickly we can perceive the need in others! How slowly we perceive the same need in ourselves!

Heaven will not be filled with those who are perfect throughout mortality, but with the forgiven who learned through their sad experiences how to approach the Lord and receive His Divine forgiveness for their mistakes.

While mistakes are the price we pay to gain understanding and wisdom, there is a difference between making a mistake and making a choice. To do one implies no understanding, wisdom or knowledge of potential consequence. To do the other means you understand and accept the consequences because you either do not care about them or that you don't fully comprehend them.

In either case, forgiveness is possible if one learns to be open to the gentle promptings of the Good Shepherd who would have us all return to His fold.

In the masterwork Handel's Messiah, there is a passage lifted from the inspired text of the Holy Bible that fits our human condition quite well. The prophet Isaiah penned in chapter 53:6, "All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all".
We, all of us, have sinned and in thus sinning have separated ourselves spiritually from God and His Christ. Have we not been told that no unclean thing can enter the presence of God? And sinning makes us by absolute definition to be unclean. So we have gone astray from our ability to return. And we need help.

Unable as we are to wash ourselves sufficiently to remove both the sin and the desire for the sin, we need someone who has the power to do something we cannot do for ourselves. We need someone who can quite literally bring about a change in us - in our mind and heart - to alter our disposition to see running from the safety of the sheepfold as a "fun" thing. We need someone to teach us that are justifications are lies. We need someone to show us that our "fun" is really leading us to the wolves for slaughter at their will and pleasure. We need someone to save us.

Before the very foundation of the world was laid, Jesus Christ stepped forward as our Advocate with the Father. It was not a light moment for the die was cast that an infinite and eternal Atonement must be made in order to take carnal flesh and raise the spiritual potential within, to elevate the soul to the oneness that could only be done in blood by one who never sinned, to alter the very course of our  lives if only we would choose to "come, follow me!" as the Savior gently intreats each one of us. An old familiar sacrament hymn reminds us "There was no other good enough to pay the price of sin, He only could unlock the gate of Heaven and let us in".  Since we know we cannot pay for all that we have done, and since that means our very debt to our sinful choices and our wayward mistakes leaves us outside the feast chamber of the supper of the Bridegroom, the only way we can bridge the chasm is to rely on the Savior's scarred, bloody and broken body to wash us clean and make us worthy to enter.

But we have a work to do in order for it to occur.

We have to CHOOSE - deliberately, willingly, and each and every day choose - to follow the Master and accept of the Sinless and merciful offering that the Atoning One alone could make in our behalf. And make no mistake, it IS work. We cannot buy salvation, but without the work of desiring and opening our heart and mind to the change and transformation of God and Christ, we can in nowise be fit for the kingdom.

Why is that change deemed work?

We are prideful. We are arrogant. We are deceitful. We are stubborn. We justify our sins. We honor our self above all else. We seek our own. We condemn others. We judge without honor. We cheat. We lie. We steal. We abuse. We corrupt.

And God the Father loves each one of us to send The One who could and would redeem us all - if only WE be willing. The fact that God sent His Only Begotten Son to die for us and rise to live again shows fully the covenant they intend to honor in full every whit.

It is we ourselves who stand in the way of that salvation through our vain delays, our pitiful excuses and our dishonorable intentions to "get away with sin" as if God will wink at ours and destroy our fellows for the same because they are perceived by us to be wicked simply because they are not us.

Work.

Overcoming any bad thing or habit takes work. Ask the person who is trying to give up the dangerous habit of smoking or alcohol addiction. Ask the food addict about eating only enough to live instead of living only to eat. Speak to the sex addict who puts personal gratification above every other consideration and destroys themselves in the process.

Giving up a "worldly pleasure" requires work, blood, sweat and tears - and not all of that is on our side of the veil of heaven. God is with us through Emmanuel whom He sent to save all that be willing to receive not only salvation but a joint heir-ship with Christ.

He isn't saying he just wants to save us to be slaves in the kingdom, although I am willing to bet many of us perpetual sinners would be happy to scrub floors and rinse dishes  just to be allowed into any part of heaven.

No, children of God, we are being offered ALL that the Father has if we will but be willing to do the work that is required to create that mighty change of heart that we need to truly become saved by God and accepted through Christ.

But we cannot do any of this alone. That is why we have the comfort, consolation and continual presence of the Holy Spirit to guide us as we walk along. Sure, we stumble. But Christ is more than able to help us - even those of us who willingly make choices that put us outside the light.

He can bring us AND our willing heart back to the light and love, if we are willing to work enough to change what we can change and rely upon God and Christ to help us every step of the way.

Sheri Dew spoke of this relationship by saying "The Savior isn't our last chance, He is our only chance. Our only chance to overcome self doubt and catch a vision of who we may become. Our only chance to repent and have our sins washed clean. Our only chance to purify our hearts, subdue our weaknesses, and avoid the adversary. Our only chance to obtain redemption and exaltation. Our only chance to find peace and happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come".
Our biggest challenge and our heaviest work in mortal life will be that of determining what we are carrying and why we are carrying it as we learn through the example of Jesus Christ what we need to lay down at His feet and what simply needs to be discarded entirely.

It is WORK of the most compelling magnitude to cast aside so far as we CAN and ARE ABLE those things that keep us outside the light. It is WORK to change our attitudes, our desires and our habits. It is WORK to change patterns, friendships and circumstances. It is WORK to put God and Christ first in an increasingly sinful world that makes sin seem so very appealing and desirable.

But we are not alone in the work!! We can have the spiritual help we need even in the first faltering moment that we cry unto God for His help,  His mercy and His grace as we seek to overcome and make the needed changes in our life to receive more of His fulness and the full benefits and blessings of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. In speaking of our burdens to overcome and change, Sheri Dew says:



"When we cast our burden upon the Lord, He sustains us either by helping us carry the burden or by ridding us of it entirely. Alma's people experienced this when their burdens 'were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease.'  The result: They submitted cheerfully and with patience to the will of the Lord. Ultimately, 'so great was their faith and their patience' that the Lord delivered them out of bondage. (Mosiah 24:14-16)  Baggage, however, is another matter entirely. Burdens have the potential to exalt us, but baggage just weighs us down and wears us out. When we don't repent, sin becomes baggage. Natural-man behaviors that we aren't ready to give up become baggage. Worry, jealousy, and guilt are baggage. Resentment, the desire to retaliate, fear, and insecurity create unbearable baggage. We CHOOSE whether or not to pick up baggage, and Satan loves nothing more than loading us down like pack mules".

Think of all of our pet sins as being packages and cargo thrust atop a mule. The more we carry, the less likely we are to like the load, but sometimes we comfort ourselves in the load by justifying it. We rationalize that we deserve the load and the burden and the weight because we have become spiritually blunted to the truth - we carry a load because we have refused the work of repentance. How stupid is that? We have a Savior. He WILL help us, only upon the condition that we are willing to allow it. The GIFT is offered. But in order for the gift to be realize upon us, we actually have to apply the gift to ourselves!

Sheri Dew explains more: "Repentance is, frankly, just plain smart, because sin makes you stupid: Stupid because you are deaf, dumb, and blind to the ways of the Lord. Stupid because habitual sin drives the Spirit away, leaving you outside the protective influence of the Holy Ghost. Stupid because it makes you incapable of drawing upon the powers of heaven. Being stupid costs a lot. Sin costs a lot, too.

It can cost time, money, peace of mind, progress, self-respect, your integrity and virtue, your family, the trust of those you love, and even your Church membership. Sin is just plain stupid. And the cost is off the charts. So repent now. Repent daily. If you want to be sanctified, repentance is not optional.

Obedience, on the other hand, is brilliant, and its fruits are endless—one of which is happiness. The only way that I know to be happy is to live the gospel. It is not possible to sin enough to be happy. It is not possible to buy enough to be happy or to entertain or indulge yourself enough to be happy. Happiness and joy come only when you are living up to who you are".
Course corrections and needed adjustments need not be viewed with irritation and anger. Instead, take a longer view and consider the obstacles that a minor change now will help you avoid. Soul crushing burdens can be lifted and removed long before we reach their junction by making spiritually sound choices  now. This does not mean there will never be challenges and that our mortality will be a blissful sail upon a calm sea. It does, however, mean that we understand that He who can calm the winds and the waves is our Master and the Good Shepherd of our hearts who can and will save us from the storm, if only we are willing to be saved.

Perry Mason, travel dreams and vocal exercises

I don't sleep a lot at night. Pain management issues being what they are it is catch as catch can for sleep most of the time. So if you find me napping at an odd time and likely in an odd position, that is why.

Jared felt like I didn't need much sleep and got me up from my bed way too early by yelling. Yep. Yelling. No reason. Just yelling.

Convincing this grown man that others are still sleeping or hoping to sleep or just lying in a darkened room to attempt to sleep matters nothing to him. He is up so everyone else should be up to attend to whatever he may or may not decide he needs.

During what sleep I was able to get, I had a dream that would have made the art of Salvador Dali feel right at home. Black and white melted into color that melted into fuzzy blends of black, white, Technicolor and shades of gray. Hollywood has nothing on the palette of my imagination.

Perry Mason was in my dream along with Elliot Ness and the Untouchables while I was traveling as a spy/teacher in South America. Naturally, as the climate there was much warmer than the 30 degrees we currently have, I tossed my blankets off and then got cold where the dream abruptly shifted to Russian ambiance and temperature.

As Jared started to make his vocal exercises louder, I realized I had no choice but to get up and stay up out of my nocturnal roost.

The dream didn't make sense while I was dreaming it and it makes much less sense now that I am up and moving. It was a regurgitated mismatch of television programs and odd desires to travel to foreign lands that I have always felt.

Supposing that one of the main reasons that I dream weird stuff is the brain doing its own exercises, I try not to read too much into these odd thoughts. The only time it is otherwise is when I have nightmares. Then I don't want to read them at all. I just want to forget them.

Being jarred into consciousness by the very loud noises a grown man can create is not soothing to the psyche that has already been tossed around in various scenarios in the dream state.

Now that everyone is up an hour and a half later, Jared is very quiet in his exclamations. I'm sure part of that alleged quiet is because the world is waking up and muffling the volume of his sounds. When everything is still and dark, sound is amplified and so is the irritation caused by the sound.

Maybe I can get some rest later. But the "To Do" list on my desk suggests that it will not be until later in the day if then.

God bless the insomniacs. I fear I am their leader.

The "Way Back" Machine

I read this today and thought I'd keep it, but I will also edit it for my own childhood:

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL BORN IN 1930's, 1940's, 50's, 60's, 70's and Early 80's !!!

First, you survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a tin, and didn't get tested for diabetes. Then after that trauma, your baby cots were covered with bright colored lead-based paints. You had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when you rode your bikes, you had no helmets, not to mention, the risks you took hitchhiking. 

As children, you would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a van - loose - was always great fun. You drank water from the garden hosepipe and NOT from a bottle. You shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this. You ate cakes, white bread and real butter and drank pop with sugar in it, but you weren't overweight because...... YOU WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!

You would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on. No one was able to reach you all day. And you were OK. You would spend hours building your go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out you forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, you learned to solve the problem. 

You did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround sound, no mobile phones, no text messaging, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........YOU HAD FRIENDS and you went outside and found them!

You fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents you played with worms(well most boys did) and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever. You made up games with sticks and tennis balls and although you were told it would happen, you did not poke out any eyes. You rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!

Local teams had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!! The idea of a parent bailing you out if you broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever! The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas. You had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and you learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL! And YOU are one of them!

CONGRATULATIONS!

You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good. And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.
So here are MY edits:

My mother neither smoked nor drank during her pregnancies with any of her children. Others may well have done both but Momma was allergic to cigarette smoke in any amount and due to her adherence to the Word of Wisdom, booze was not part of the equation.

We also rode in an open bed pickup all over creation and were smart enough to sit down and not fall out. If we did fall out, we were chastised for not sitting down like we'd been told to.

We played in creeks with frogs and garter snakes and crawdads and fish. No one worried about salmonella from these encounters because we weren't allowed inside until we "washed up" from playing in the creek.

Every neighbor in our area knew us and we knew them. We knew the people who were okay with us in their yards and those who didn't want us to touch their grass.  We knew who had fruit trees that would bear a few snitched apples or peaches and who's produce was best left untouched.

We made our own slingshots and fishing poles and would use anything and everything we could find to make a new toy.

Everyone was welcome to play and we didn't know that people were "different" from us.

I miss those days. I miss the carefree abandon of just enjoying a warm day and the company of friends. I miss the smell of the grass that Daddy had just mowed and the feel of the dirt in the flower beds as we'd help Momma plant the pansies and the tiny seeds that would make various small flowers to beautify our yard.

I miss the easy friendship of the neighbors who didn't have an agenda and weren't too busy to wave at you from their front porch. I miss the barbecue smell floating on the breeze that impelled others to fire up their own grill in harmonious aroma of food that no one was worried about eating.

I miss playing Annie Over and Red Rover and Simon Says and Crack the Whip and clotheslining people who got on your nerves one time too many.

I miss the lemonade that had real lemon slices floating on top and the fireworks that erupted on many a summer night that were everything to do with freedom and fun and nothing to do with specific political statements.

I miss the traveling fair that would come to our town with the people who mingled beneath the colored lights of the midway without regard for any other considerations than to just win a prize or ride the roller coaster or the Ferris Wheel one more time.

I miss the beautiful quilts, the jams and jellies, the cows, the pigs and the chickens of the judging barn that made up the year long work of the 4-H crowd and the women who wanted their skills recognized and ribboned.




I miss knowing that everyone went to church somewhere on Sunday even if they weren't particularly devout the other six days of the week. Somehow knowing they were trying made us more forgiving than we seem to have become these days.

Sadly, we are moving too fast and the movement isn't always in the right direction.

We need to stop trying to move at the speed of light and take time to catch some lightning bugs in a mayonnaise jar.

We need to slow down enough to taste the tart real lemon pulp atop the ice in our glass instead of rushing off to the next big thing only to discover it wasn't big and it wasn't real.

I'm not truly old enough to be nostalgic, but today I feel like we are missing a lot of what makes life better.

Maybe it was the fact I attended a funeral today that has made me appreciate the life we have been granted. Maybe it was knowing that none of us is guaranteed tomorrow.

I'm not sure.

But I do know the sun on my face felt good today. And I'd like to feel more of it in days to come.