Wha?

BBBH will be tooling around in her new wheels.

Simple Things

Young lady, thirty-something, came up to me yesterday and sald, "Mr. Lacy, when I was in kindergarten and you were my principal, you once loaned me a dime so I could have a carton of milk.  I'll always remember that." 

I thanked her for telling me that; gave me the warm fuzzies to be remembered for a simple thing I had long forgotten.

Lester Lockard

The scriptures say of Barnabas, "He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith, and a great number of people were brought to the Lord."  (Acts 11:24 NIV)

Today I attended a Celebration of Life for my good friend, Lester Lockard.  As a general rule I prefer that a funeral be called a funeral, but in the case of Lester's service, it was truly a celebration of the life of a good man, a good man, like Barnabas, full of the Holy Spirit and faith; a man who brought a great number of people to the Lord.  Pastor Johnnie made the comparison to the degree that he even referred to Lester as a modern-day Barnabas.  The message of salvation in Jesus Christ would have pleased Lester, for it was his mission in life to share his faith in Christ.

Lester was kind and gentle and a great story teller.  I will remember him always for his glowing smile which lit any place he entered.  His joy of living was infectious.

Lester Lockard, 1924 - 2018

Nonagenarian Mouse

Mickey Mouse turned 90 last week.  I noted the occasion but hadn't time to remark on it.

When Mickey was a mere lad of 16 or so, juvenile you see, I kept my stash of semi-forbidden (that is, frowned upon but not outright prohibited) comic books under the bed.  Mickey, Minnie, Pluto and their ducky cousins, Donald, Daisy, Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Uncle Scrooge, not neglecting to mention Goofy, were pals of mine.

Fast forward.  I was principal of an elementary school.  I helped the kids celebrate the Mouse's 50th birthday.  Here I sit today scarce comprehending that 40 years have passed since that day.

I can only wish that I could age as gracefully as that little rodent has done.

Be Thankful for Blessings Small and Great

Espied the rascal running across the path in the woods  Scrawny as ever.  The bird and I wish all y'all a very Happy Thanksgiving.  Be thankful for your blessings; I know I am.

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.  --Psalm 100:4

Dinner Out #T

A Learning Experience.

Monday afternoon as I hurried across the quad, not quite late yet to my 3:10 in the Applied Physics lab, I flipped open the phone and tapped Ellie's number.  She answered.

"Del.  We still on for tomorrow evening?"
"Sure."
"What is your dining pleasure?"
"Italian tomorrow, I think."
"Great!  Pick you up at seven."
"'Bye!"

And I was on the steps of her sorority house at 6:58 Tuesday evening.  Her stylishly mangled jeans fit all too well, but I have to admit she looked really good in the outfit which was completed with an oxford-style white shirt and a red bandanna tied loosely around the neck.

It was a short ride to Matteo's where I had made reservations.  It would be a new experience for me as I am more of a Texas Roadhouse kind of guy.  Our table was ready.  The fact that the hostess used a flashlight to lead us to our table told me this would not be any experience with which I am familiar.

The waiter brought a wine list.  Imagine his disappointment when Ellie announced that she did not imbibe and "I would like water with lemon, please." 

"I would like the same," I averred.  He left the menus and went to fetch our drinks.  I found that there was a little twenty-five watt light beside the candle on the table and by switching it on there was just enough light to make out the offerings.

Elspeth ordered the linguine frutti di mare and a side dish of sauteed portobellos.  My internal calculator rang up "36" and I ordered the penne norcia, no side at a mere eighteen dollars.

"So, you are going to tell me how you knew my name is Elspeth."

I'm from Kalispell, and you are a Montana girl.  I attended the high school state finals in women's track last spring.  Some girl named "Ellie McCall" finished first in the 3200 meters.  What was your time?  I've sort of forgotten."

"10:23.47.  Sixteen hundredths off the state record but good enough that day."

"Yeah.   Most girls who run the 32 in under 10:50 get college scholarships. Not that I am a stalker, but I looked you up on the 'net, and lo and behold, 'Ellie' is 'Elspeth' and Bob's your uncle."  She looked a bit puzzled.  "Never mind.  When I saw you in the coffee house the other day I recognized you at once."  You are from-- Bozeman? is it?"

"No, I'm from Billings."

"That's a fur piece from Kalispell, as we say up north.  So what is it with Ellie and Vanderbilt?"

"So as I think you might have guessed, I am on a scholarship.  I'll be on team this spring.  I'm working every day and plan to focus on the 5000.  I'll still run 3200 when it's on, but I'll drop the 1600."  Then she launched into her eleven-day training cycle, aerobic sessions, anaerobic. . .

And her mill did not stop for the next ninety minutes.  Not one question about me. She managed to eat the full order and still regale me with her exploits on the track.  I finished about half my dish; it was delicious, but I'm not into food on that scale.

Ellie noticed that my fork was inverted on the plate, asked, "Aren't you going to eat that?  Do you mind; I need to keep carbed up.  Running takes lots of fuel!"

I shoved the plate across the table. 

"I'm on the track six out of every eleven days."

"Really?"  Bobby seemed to be under the impression that you go home every weekend."

"Silly Robert!  I couldn't possibly go to Montana every weekend.  And he talks nonstop, never listens."

How often we fail to see the log in our own eye, I thought, somewhat unkindly, I'm afraid.  But to my credit I didn't say it.

I told her goodnight on the steps of her house.  Passed Robert on the quad Wednesday morning.  "Oh, hey," he said.  "How was your date?"

"Fine," I replied. "The field is clear, Robert.  Go for it."

I kinda think they are made for each other.  Whether or not they discover that remains to be seen.

 

The March of Time

October 29, 2014

The Old Guy and the Old Dame

The old house is still standing

Its days of usefulness are o'er

And though it hasn't fallen

It is more decrepit than it was the year before.

Missing panes and tattered shingles

The building is beginning to crumble

Time-battered and weather worn

I, too, am beginning to stumble.

From time to time I stop to visit

To assess the prospects for tomorrow

Some day she'll fall but I may not see it

Like her, I've little time yet to borrow.

Will the house go first, or will I?

 You may not play our little game

We'll soon revert to dust 

The old Guy and the old Dame.

© 2014 David W. Lacy

Pictorial Update 

 December 11, 2017

November 17, 2018

Unpuzzled

*growl*  I had this post up, apparently ran the cursor across a delete button or something, for the thing is gone.  Rewrite:

Another one unpuzzled.  Except for "What is that blotch on Mabel's right cheek?"

Campus Romance #T

Campus Coffee Club, corner table just to the left of the fireplace.  Three occupants, Ginger Girl, Black Haired Beauty, and a big guy with a man bun and a varsity letter jacket.  I approach.  She's sipping a chai latte, Ginger is saying her goodbyes, "Gotta run!"

Manbun is holding forth, "Yadda, yadda, yadda, blah, blah!"  and so on.  She continues to sip her concoction.

I'm in love.

Of course, I knew who she was, but I had never seen her before in person.  It's not just that her eyes are as black as her hair and her complexion, to use a cliche, is peaches-and-cream.  It's, it's an indescribable thing.  Good thing, too, because I lack both the vocabulary and the language facility.  I'm at the end of the table now, set the laptop down.  "Hi!  Mind if I have a seat?"  Her only response is a smile cast in my direction.  Bunny says, "Actually, we do mind.  This corner is occupied, and we are busy here."

I moved across the room, sat at an unoccupied table.  I opened the computer, but I kept an eye on the happy couple at the corner table.  "Happy" seems to be a bit of a stretch.  His mouth continues to move, more or less nonstop.  She glances across at me.  And again.  The third time she looks my way Bunny stops talking, looks at me, looks at her.  I couldn't hear what he said next, but clearly, he was not making her happy.  She said something to him, took a sip from her mug.  The guy stood, all six foot eight of him, swaggered over to me.   Towering over me, "Hey.  I see you eyeing my girl.  Let it go, Mac, if you get my drift."

"I have nothing against you, Robbie-- may I call you Robbie?"  Everyone knows this BMOC, name Robert Garrison.  "Do I fancy the lady? That is my concern, and hers if I make it so.  Tell you what.  Let's go over to the barrista, get ourselves a fresh coffee and go talk it over with the girl."

Well, Rob was quite taken aback-- to such a degree that he agreed with my suggestion, and we went for the drinks.  He settled back in his seat next to the girl, I remained standing.  "Del," I introduced myself as I extended my hand toward her.  She took my hand in hers, shook, and smiled.  "Everyone calls me Ellie," she said.

"Ellie.  Elspeth, right?"

"How did you know?  Most people think it is Eleanor."

"Perhaps we could go into all that over dinner, say Tuesday evening, seven o'clock?"

She nodded.  "What's your number?" I had the flip phone from my pocket.  She told me; I entered it, hit "Send."  Her phone rang, I flipped my device shut.  "That's just me.  Call you Tuesday!  Bye, now."  I leaned in close, whispered, "What color are Rob's eyes?"  She looked perplexed, said nothing; she started to turn toward the giant.  "Never mind.  A word: don't be too intimate with anyone whose eye color you don't know."  She was looking squarely and deeply into my eyes. "Gotta go," I explained, "Big test in the morning, Lobachevskian geometry.  Midnight oil, I'm afraid."

I turned and walked away.  Rob caught up with me as I reached the door.  "Nervy.  Why didn't you ask her out Friday night?"

"Why?  I thought you might have things set up for Friday, or hoped to, so I left that open for you."

"Yeah; I wish.  She always goes home for the weekend."

"Oh, my."  I couldn't help myself.  "She doesn't see your performance on the gridiron?  See you around, Robbie."

Judges in Israel

After him, Elon the Zebulunite led Israel ten years. Then Elon died and was buried in Aijalon in the land of Zebulun.  (Judges 12:11,12 NIV)

Paul in his second letter to Timothy tells us  ^"All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness,"  (2 Timothy 3:16 NIV) hence today's puzzle.

The twenty-two words in the Book of Judges tell us everything we know about Elon so I infer that that is all we need to know.  But Paul's letter assures us that we need to know that much.  Why, then, is it important at all?

The Bible gives us an account of the period in the history in Israel in which the people not having a confederation which could rightly be called a state were led by a series of people that we refer to as judges.  There were twelve of them serving consecutively over a period of  roughly three hundred years.  (Some scholars include Eli and his sons Joel and Abijah as judges, followed by Samuel, bringing the count to sixteen.)  This period ended when Saul was anointed King over Israel.

Several of these judges are given considerable space in the scripture with detailed accounts of their accomplishments, Deborah, Gideon, Jephthah, and Samson being chief among them.  The others are mentioned, like Elon, scripture giving their roots, the length of time they led the people, and their burial sites.   For most a few words are given to some particular in the individual's life, for example of  Abdon who ruled eight years it is said that he had forty sons and thirty grandsons, each of whom rode on donkeys.  Clearly Abdon was a busy man, a virile man, and one wonders how he had time to consider the disputes and legal differences that arose among the people.  But I digress. (Which I am wont to do.)

Then we ask, "Why is Elon mentioned at all?"  Short answer, the ten years represented by his leadership are necessary to a completion of the chronology from the Exodus to the development of the kingdom.

As always, you are welcome.  Insights and comments?
 
Go!  This is the day the Lord has given the enemy into your hands.  The Lord has gone ahead of you!

Deborah, to Barak (Judges 4:14)

Jump to 21st century America.  The Lord still goes ahead of you; He gives you the victory!

Joni Mitchell

Celebrate Joni Mitchell, painter, poet, singer, and perhaps the greatest living song writer as she turns 75 today!



Say a prayer for her well-being as she recovers from her recent illness.

Image: Wikipedia

All Saints Day, 1924

Revisiting Unlce Jep's Halloween tale, 1924.


Happy Halloween, Mr. Principal
 
Did I tell  you about the time your Daddy and your uncles pranked the principal on Halloween? Well, them boys was sump'n, let me tell you.  Now I don' 'spose your Daddy's ever tole you of the onry-ness a them kids?  Anyways, there was a whole passel 'n'm kids, mostly boys and your pa right in the middle the bunch.  Now one a them boys was just a year older'n your pa, and another'n a year younger.  Whut a trio they made.  No, they warn't no singin', but mischief! Lawd, ha' mercy.

So anyhow there was this October when they was prolly 13, 14, and 15 year ol'.  Halloween a comin.'  Now the principal a the school over there was Ward Livengoodll, he was "livin' good," what with his nice income from the second-best job in the county.  Har! har! Livin' good.  I sometime crack myself up.  Anyway, ol' Ward, he come out here from Indiana, had him a dee-ploma from Oakland Normal School, doncha know.  What was the best job in the county?  Why sheriffin', I reckon.  You got no idee the ways them fellas can line they own pocket.  But that's a tale for another time.  So ol' Livengood marry a sweet thang from over to Terre Haute, and headed West.  Lureen Tuttle, she was, and the only way I would know that is she never cease from tellin' ever' one she meet about "the Tuttles from Terre Haute."

So Principal Livengood got the school over there, an' that school were the centerpiece a McClave. They had just built hit a couple years afore, and it were a two-story brick, three ya count the basement.  Now Livengood drive him a little ol' Model T Ford car, runabout, they call hit.  So anyway, morning of November 1 he walk on over to school-- didn't even notice his car wasn't aside his house, on account he only drove hit to work but rarely.  But he get to school, unlock the building and clumb on up the stairs.  Imagine his surprise when he get to the second floor, and there a settin' in the hallway smack again' his office door is his very own personal Model T!


And do you think that trio and they cohorts had anythin' to do with that?  Not much, they didn't; no more'n hit was them left Fred Sparks's outhouse in the middle George Watt's broom corn field.

© 2013 David W. Lacy

Reminder:  Uncle Jep's tales are collected
under the "Stories" and "More Stories" 
tabs at the top of the page.