Monday Morning

Did you ever just feel like slapping someone?  Then you didn't.  Then you wish you had.  Yet you are really glad you didn't.  Mixed bag.





I have heard it said that one advantage of being old is that you can say anything you want to say. Bushwaa.  If one can't be nice in his old age, what was the use of all those bitten-tongue experiences over all those previous years?

Maybe the reason so many old people are lonely is simply because they are not fit company.

Very rich famous athletes are paid to wear advertising logos.  You pay to wear them?  Are  you crazy?  (Or as someone else once said, "There is nothing wrong with a plain T-shirt.")

Which leads to this:  Perhaps your clothing is the only thing your friends read.

This is what happens when one writes down random unfiltered thoughts.  But it is not all bad.

Rubric for Living

 I hope to devote a few Sunday posts to the biblical commandments for right living.

The other day I happened upon the admonition or model for Christian living that my mother taught me when I was a wee lad.  I am sure most of you have learned it, too, or at the very least you have encountered it somewhere.  It is this:

God first, others second, self last.

I submit that Jesus was more reasonable than Mama was in this instance.  When asked, "What is the greatest commandment?" he replied, "Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.  This is the first and great commandment."  Then he told the questioner more than he asked, for he continued, "The second is like unto it:  Love thy neighbor as thyself."

The first requires no interpretation.  It is clear.  The second, I infer, is telling us that love of others is dependent upon love of self, for you cannot love others if you lack love for yourself.  Still, the commandment is to love your neighbor.

I am thinking of the chorus of a hymn we used to sing

How beautiful to walk, In the steps of the Savior, Stepping in the light, Stepping in the light, How beautiful to walk in the steps of the Savior, Led in paths of light.

--Eliza Hewett, c. 1890 

Dick's Flowers, 2014

I like to stroll through Richard's garden several times during the summer.  Two decades ago he set out to develop a daylily garden in his yard.  There can never be too many daylilies, hence his entire yard, front, rear, sides, turned into a daylily display.

At the time he was building this, full of vim and vision, I doubt he ever realized that as an octogenarian he would have this much display to manage.  And so far, he manages.  But I hear him mutter on occasion that it is hard to keep up with it.

In any event, this is doubtless one of the premier gardens in the county!

Beauty even to the little bindweed that sneaked in under the foliage.

Dance 'n Skedaddle

Did I ever tell you about the time the Slonikers bust up Freddie's Oasis?  Waal, the Slonikers come out here from Omaha.  Think they get into the raisin' end a the cattle bidness, doncha know.  They had live in the city, smellin' the city smells, 'n livin' the city life.  They accume-u-late some coin, doncha know, 'n think to get into the country, raise some beef 'n live the country life.

Anyways, the Old Man Sloniker, he buy a bit a land over by Towner, 'n lease a whole gob lot more, he set to run a thousand head a Herefords, put his boy Junior to oversee th' operation.  No doubt they mought coulda done this in Wyomin', or Kansas, or could maybe even stayed in Nebrasky.  But they come to Colorado.  The thing is, Mrs. Old Man Sloniker, Rhea was her name, an' Mrs. Junior Sloniker, name of Cynthia Anne, bless their hearts, get to missin' the city life.  They both love dancin' an' music, an' the whut-not thet goes with them in the nightclubs they frequent back in Omaha.  But they truly is no such nearby.  Yet they learn a this honky tonk, plumb over to Burlington, mought nigh, where a good time of a Sattidy night was easy ta come by, 'n the booze flowed, 'n the fiddlers 'n pluckers was right pleasant ta hear.

So, a Sattidy of a July they get in Old Man's big long phaeton and head on north.  They get to the Oasis the musicians is gettin' warm up real good, 'n they start in with a couple drinks, Junior 'n Cynthia Anne test out the dance floor.  Presently, Old Man 'n Rhea cut loose, an' those cowhands 'n clod busters, not to mention even the fiddlers 'n pluckers, scarce never see anyone who kin dance the way thet ol' couple kin!  Well, I needin' to abbreviate this tale, les'n we don't finish afore bed time.

After a few more dances, an' doubtless a few more drinks, th' four Slonikers is all astandin' alongside the band, aclappin' they han's 'n stompin' they feet, whilst several other couples is whirlin' aroun' th' floor, when of a sudden, Junior  let out with a mighty "Whoo-eeee!" just as a, shall we say hefty, couple swirl apast them.  Hefty Guy turn loose his partner, turn back to Junior and say, "Whut did you say?  Soo-ey?  You callin' my gal a pig?"  An' athout awaitin' a answer, Hefty slug Junior raght in the mouth, bust out the lef' front bunny tooth.  Plumb out.  Then Old Man Sloniker grab Hefty by his lay-pel 'n holler, "Whut for did you hit mah boy?" An' athout awaitin' a answer, Old Man slug Hefty smack in his considerable nose.  Which instantly spray blood ever'where.

'N thet were the signal fer the freefrall ta commence!  Fists start a swingin' all over the room, furniture start a flyin', chairs abustin' up over tables as people dodge, 'n over heads if'n they don't.  'N the four Slonikers as a man of one mind, 'n thout  a word ta one another, decide it is time to be som'eres else.  They hit the side door, pile inna car, an' hit the road.  Not a moment too soon did they act, neither, 'cause less 'n a mile up the road 'n afore they get to the turnoff where they head back south, fum th'other direction come two po-lice cars, si-reens a blarin' 'n red lights aflashin', headin' right to th' Oasis!

Ever after thet, whenever they agoin' out, Cynthia Anne tell him, "It's 'yee-haw,'  Junior.  Yee-haw."

© 2014 David W. Lacy 40

I Hope the Balloon is Not

a Metaphor for My Life,

yet perhaps it is.

The toy my wife gave me on my 80th birthday.

It is as colorful as it ever was.

So am I.

It is as brilliant as it ever was.

Well. . .

It is not so buoyantly vigorous as it once was.
Nor am I.

The lift is not what it once was.
Tell me about it.

It is a lot more wrinkled than it once was.
And so am I.

It still represents "80".
I am already 80+.

Yet it is still tethered to its anchor.
As am I.

Still, it is not so full of gas as it once was.
But I am.

Imperfect metaphor.

Public Enemy and the Prostitute

22 July 1934 in front of the Biograph Theater in Chicago, the FBI gunned down one John Dillinger,  public enemy.

The "Woman in Red" led the Fibbies to the quarry.  The burning question:  Did she actually wear orange on that night?  And if she did, what is the significance of that fact? And was Dillinger just as dead, regardless of the hue of the attire?

Celebration of Marriage!

 

Twenty-five years ago I had the privilege of attending the wedding of son Craig and the beautiful Kim.  The ceremony was conducted at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Indianapolis.

.

Saturday we were privileged to celebrate with this couple as they marked a quarter-century together.  The party was designed and hosted by their three daughters, Elizabeth, Jennifer, and Anna.  Here we see the daughters administering the "renewal of vows."  The girls wrote and conducted the ceremony; and who better to create vows for the couple than three young people who had lived in their home sixteen to twenty-two years?

It was lovingly done, but certainly with humor and poignancy.

And the happy family sets forth on the journey through the next quarter-century!