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