Wednesday, December 16, 2020
Paid a visit to the Ford Home today. Paid the bill and drove home.
Two black beauties parked in the showroom, a Mustang and a Cobra GT 350.
Grille work. I can't recall the number of times I have laid that stuff inside the form in building a concrete pad. But whatever captures the designer's imagination.
Trust me, this beast was all black with the exception of the chrome snake and the GT designation. The white wall on the tire does not show at all to the naked eye. The camera sees all, though.
Oh, jsyk, I've zero intention to drop $64K on a kar.
Thursday, December 10, 2020
People all too often reference the ubiquitous "they" when speaking of, well, politics, economics, the world in general,or whatever. I sometimes ask, "Who is this 'they' of whom you speak?" This question is usually not well-received, and that may be the principal reason I ask it. The truth is almost every answer I have gotten provides a circular definition, which is to say it goes something like, "They are the ones who. . ." (want to rule the world, are trying to destroy the economy, etc, etc,) Note the use of "they" to define "they."
The other day a lady used the "they" reference and I asked my question. Her response: "There really is a "they." The implication was, and I know I received this message correctly, "If you weren't so dense you would understand that. I pity you."
Sunday, November 22, 2020
Wednesday, November 11, 2020
Yes, you will believe this because, though it seems implausible, you know that I am a reliable scribe who would not mislead you.
Imagine you are a man of a certain age. Your spouse dies. You expect that her income will no longer come into the coffers. You are right. What you didn't count on was that you would be getting bills for increased premiums on insurance policies which are already paid and in effect.
I am not making this up.
Explanation: "You are now a widower, that is, a single male, which puts you in another risk category, therefore the premium is a bit higher." ("A bit" is well in excess of a hundred bucks, which may be "a bit" in some budgets. Maybe.) Anyway, you reply, "So because my wife died I am now a worse driver?"
"Oh, no, sir, It does not make you a worse driver, but it throws you into another risk category.
I have not been treated with such disrespect and inconsideration since I was a single man under 25, and that may or may not have been a higher risk category. Go figure.
Friday, October 30, 2020
Here I sit in my automobile talking to a telephone. Why is that? Well. I drove the daughter to a dental appointment. Masked, I went in, sat in the empty "waiting room." "Sir," the receptionist, oh, so sincerely apologetic, "We'll have to ask you not to sit it the waiting room."
Back in March I wrote a post entitled "My only post on covid-19. I hope." And that was my hope, but how can one not remark on this remarkable situation? Okay, I could let it pass. And it was a nice, sunny day, if a bit chilly. With the windows rolled nearly to the top it is quite comfortable.
Comfortable enough, I think, that this calls for a nap!
May you be well, and treated with respect. And show grace to others; they are stressed, too.
Thursday, October 29, 2020
Sunday, October 25, 2020
Tuesday, October 20, 2020
Friday, October 16, 2020
You can't scare me. I'm eighty-six years old, wore out, can't sleep at night, can't stay awake in the daytime, can't taste my food, can't hear the music, teeth gone, money gone, wife gone, whatta ya gonna do to me to make things worse?
Approaches plagiarism, you say? Maybe. It is cobbled together from some lines I heard in an old Western movie from half-century ago and a verse in 2 Samuel 19:35, adding a sprinkling of my own experiences.
Solomon said, "There is no new thing under the sun." And Willa Cather wrote, “There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.”
Thursday, October 15, 2020
Twelve years ago today on a rainy night in the middle of Missouri I made my first blog post. Here it is in its entirety.
"Traveling Life's Road
Watching the 'debate' between two pretenders to the seat of power.
"There will be a tomorrow; but what are we going to do with it?
"For myself, I plan to get back on the highway and head on to Indiana.
But that's not what I mean."
Tuesday, September 29, 2020
Today my sweetheart
went for a ride in a long blue Cadillac
rode past farm fields, silver-lined clouds
with sunbeams streaming down
I rode behind her and I drove home
did not return with me, the ground received
But God received
--September 28, 2020
Tuesday, September 22, 2020
Cañon City, Colorado, summer 1940 my father in the process of building a church building is sitting on the ground, hammer in hand, a bent nail in the other hand held against a flat stone. Dad is straightening used nails. There is a small pile of nails next to him. He places the straightened nails in a near-gallon lard bucket as he works.
Coming up Seventh Street we see an elderly gentleman, arrayed in full three-piece dress suit, starched collar, cravat, walking briskly to the north. This is "Busy" Jones. Mr. Jones acquired the appellation because he is busy. He is milking virtually every cash cow in the community and though he has amassed a fortune the size of which the town busy-bodies speculate about and wish they knew. Jones lives with his spouse in a nice but modest abode a few blocks north of the church site. Jones walks to and from his office daily.
"Good day, Preacher," greets the old man
"Nice day, Mr. Jones," replies Father. Dad drops a nail into the can, picks another from the pile and places it on the stone. As he pecks at the crookedy nail with his hammer, Mr. Jones reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a dime, drops it onto the mass of bent nails lying on the ground.
"Here, Preacher," he said, "go buy yourself some nails!" He turns and heads on toward his domicile.
I have speculated about this event over the years and have wondered if perhaps the old tight-wad acted that evening to buy himself a piece of heaven, for he was 74 years old at the time, or if he was just having a piece of fun with a "religious crank."
It was nearly a lifetime later that I grew curious enough about Jones to use the interwebby thingy to see what I could learn about him. His name, which I had never known, was Lewis Jones. He was born in 1866 and lived ninety years on this orb. He built Cañon's theatre, The Skyline, in 1917 but sold it a few years later as he had many other fish to fry. RIP, Busy.
Sunday, September 20, 2020
Some modern scholars refer to the earthquake mentioned here as the "Amos Earthquake." Geologists, seismologists and archaeologists have verified that this quake occurred in 760 B.C. which would have been during the "days of Jeroboam."
The quake was estimated at 7.6 to 8.0 on the Richter Scale and its epicenter is placed roughly 60 miles north of the Sea of Galilee. It was the largest temblor along that fault in the past 4000 years.
Saturday, September 19, 2020
The old apple man never asked, and we never told him.
Mr. Fearnow's house now, taken yesterday from the driveway in which we stood to visit. He passed five years ago at age 97.
Thursday, September 17, 2020
It's 4:08 p.m. I am on my third cup of coffee. What is going on here? Normally I would be setting up my second pot about now. Less coffee, good, no? No. I am also getting less sleep Two hours last night, four hours (maybe) the night before. With less coffee I should be getting more sleep, right? Not the case. Worse I fear I may be getting dehydrated for my coffee not only supplies my caffeine, it supplies most of my liquid intake.
You may infer from this that my lifestyle has been disrupted. It has been. My close friends and family know this but I have not been journaling about it in a public forum. A mention might be in order in the event that I post something completely irrational. Oh, but that happens often, you say? Knock it off.
Her daughter and I are providing round-the-clock care for BBBH with the assistance of Guardian Angels Hospice whose personnel visit from time to time. They are very pleasant and caring people but of course can provide only the services for which they are equipped and JoLynn and I are with her at all times.
Sleep is a prized commodity for us all and seemingly rationed sparingly by whatever Fates control such things. Morpheus? Whatever.
Coffee intake is limited only by the desire to procure a cup and swallow the contents. The urge seems to strike much less often than it did in the past.
Tuesday, September 15, 2020
I have made the same trek untold numbers of times but this was the first time the sign shouted this at me. Now what have I done to deserve this?
Saturday, September 12, 2020
Thursday, September 10, 2020
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
"You probably have never been to a church, either."
Saturday morning, a bright day, promising cheer, warmth, and good times. Clifton showed up at the Pratt's back door just as Mrs. Pratt stepped out to drop a trash bag in the bin. "Hi, there! You are Clifton, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am and you kin call me Clif."
"All right, then, Clif. Get on in here. Hotcakes and bacon on the table!"
"Oh, Miz Pratt, I never thought to you feedin' me."
"Of course we are going to feed you."
Darren was all excited that Clifton was going to spend the day with him. Darlene was not so pleased, but she resolved to behave herself, at least for a while. "Hey, Weasel," she greeted the visitor. "This little twerp is my sister, Mindy. You have met Mom, and Dad will be here soon's he finish shaving. Sit down."
The four kids seated themselves at the table. Mrs. Pratt poured six glasses of orange juice and seated herself just as Edwin entered the kitchen. "Morning, All!" His cheery, booming pulpit voice so early in the day. The kids all muttered a "Morning," and Dad seated himself.
As the Pratt family all linked hands around the table. Clif was a bit puzzled as Darren reached for his right hand while Mrs. Pratt was taking hold of his left. But he caught on quickly and joined in as they all bowed their heads and Edwin greeted the Lord in thanksgiving.
Clif could hardly believe the huge stack of pancakes on the platter, but they were all quickly transferred to the six plates around the table. Another batch was cooking on the griddle as they buttered the first batch! Oh, my!
Sunday, July 5, 2020
Friday, April 17, 2020
A Christmas puzzle in April? Certainly. The story of the Saviour's birth is good anytime, and it is more likely that Jesus was born in April than that his birth was in December.
Difficulty rating: very high; challenging, but not beyond our skill level!
Sunday, April 5, 2020
As his life progressed Herschel progressed as well. He grew to manhood, married and started a family of his own. He lived in an ordinary town and worked at an ordinary job. And still people remarked that there should be something special about a seventh son of a seventh son. But Herschel said, I have many people whom I love and who love me, I have enough. I am just an ordinary man. Nothing special here.
Herschel completed his career and retired, dandled his grandchildren on his knee and watched them grow to adulthood. Though fame and great riches never attached themselves to this man, he was happy Then the realization that he was mortal crept in as the aging process and the diseases of old age began to take a grip on him. People said, Oh, Herschel, you will live forever. You are the seventh son of the seventh son. But Herschel knew he would not live forever, and that became more distinctly clear as the months passed by. So Herschel decided to write his own obituary. He sealed it and placed it with his important papers and gave directions to his wife and his children as to how to find it and expressed his wish that it be used in place of the boilerplate the funeral homes tend to write.
Then Herschel died.
His wishes were honored, and without the particulars, we here present the final paragraph of what this man wrote.
"Throughout my long life, I was often reminded that as the seventh son of the seventh son I might expect great things and blessings beyond measure. I have lived an ordinary life, I have loved and I have been loved. My life was filled with enough. So indeed I have been blessed beyond measure. Let this inscription be engraved on my tombstone:
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Who Penned Hebrews?
My friend Louie and I had a conversation via the internet this past week, as we do from time to time..
The part of the discussion which is germane to this Sunday morning post was a statement I made to him that when I sought encouragement or believed I was undergoing chastening I turn to the twelfth chapter of the Book of Hebrews.
Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.For consider him that endured such contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds. Ye have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin. (Emphases added.)What greater encouragement might we hope for than to look to the example of our Christ who laid down His very life for our sins! The chapter continues
And ye have forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto you as unto children, My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him:For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?While I may endure chastening, I am a son of God!
Now Louie and I know that we both agree on the essentials of the Scriptures, but we also know that we disagree on a couple of points that are not critical to salvation. To wit, and in this instance, Louie is a firm believer that Paul was the writer of The Hebrews. I am just as firmly convinced that Paul did not write the book.
He wrote back to me, "I Love Hebrews. Dave, I cannot believe how these nut cases cannot see that Paul is the writer. That is if they read his other books, Also He knew more about The Hebrew law than any other person that was in The Church of God that The Lord Jesus started. Blessings on you this weekend!"
To which I replied (remember, we each knew the position of the other before this conversation): "Thank you for your (repeated) position on the authorship. May the blessings of the Lord be yours, and may there be peace between you and