Family: A Mixed Bag

I spoke to my brother Vincent again today. This time we did not talk about wine. We talked about my renegade half-brother John a.k.a. Gino a.k.a. Giovanni a.k.a. Lucky. John changes names like others change underwear. Not long ago he served six months in a California detention center for cheating a 90-year-old woman out of her life savings. He is in jail again, and this time his son Ferrari is there with him. Lucky and Ferrari. Definitely sounds like a couple of gangsters. John may have adopted his current name because of his dealings with Mafia member "Lucky" Luciano in Las Vegas. John used to be a high roller in Vegas. He got free hotel rooms because he was a cash cow for the Mob. He gambled, smoked, and drank so much that the Mafia awarded him a plaque. I am so fortunate.

The other side of my family is much calmer. We have respectable restaurateurs, nurses, teachers, city mayors, corporate employees, and small business owners. One of my cousins furnishes Port-O-Potties for construction sites and all kinds of events. He says there is a lot of money in crap. He should know. He has prospered through crap. Like politicians, but in a different way.

Even on that side of the family we have one secret that nobody talks about. The skeleton in the closet is the Ku Klux Klan robe and hood that was found in my great-grandfather's attic after he passed away. Some said it was left there by a house guest, but why would a house guest be in Grandpa's attic?

Meanwhile, some of my friends are renewing their memberships in the Junior League and celebrating the fine breeding that allowed them to become Daughters of the American Revolution. If I did genealogy, I would spend a year finding out about my ancestors and two years trying to keep it quiet!

Smalltown Politics Dwarfs National Scene

As both political parties hold their conventions, the big story here dwarfs anything national. An outsider called Pedro Perez is stirring up controversy over the new detention center just outside Smalltown. The center should open in mid-October. This recently woke up Pedro who, as I said, is not from around here. He seemed only recently to realize the prison existed. He now has a website illustrating massive prison escapes all around the country and says Smalltown will be next. He spoke with three TV stations to try to stir up controversy. It was all over Sea City local news last night. I suspect Pedro wants to become well known so he can run for County Commissioner. He is tall, about sixty years old, with a generous amount of attractive silver hair. He has large silver-framed glasses and a handlebar mustache. He has a made-for-television look that screams "Politics."

His claims of prison danger do not hold much water with Myra MacDonald, who knows the warden. She has seen the formidable facility with its stun fences and guard towers. Myra showed up with fifty others to a meeting that Pedro called after he informed the media about it. We were going to have a community meeting at our church later, but Pedro decided to hold his own gathering ahead of us and to call the media just like we were going to do. Myra attended Pedro's meeting and told him she was highly offended that he said she lived in a colonia. His definition of a colonia in no way described where she lived, she told him. Pedro got his balloon popped tonight. As Myra told me just before the meeting, "Pedro rained on my parade and now I'm going to rain on his."

Wine Whines

I heard from my brother Vincent today. He is 40, with brown hair, glasses, and a goatee. He is an engineer at Intel and a wine connoisseur. In other words, he is someone who reads the wine columns in the newspaper and can make sense of those exotic beverage descriptions. He understands instantly when he reads, "This is a vintner's delight. It has overtures of oak, a hint of holly, and a trace of tangerine, complementing any meat entree du jour." I read those descriptions and wonder when the writer will tell me if it is a red or white wine and whether the bottle is easy to open.

Child's-Eye View

Tom and Sandra Morrison's granddaughter Tiffany's antics made me laugh today. Sandra told me that twelve-year-old, blond-haired Tiffany had given a slumber party for five friends last weekend at her home in Rocktown. Tiffany's mother had ordered a giant sized pizza for the girls. She asked Tiffany, "Do you want the pizza cut into 16 or 32 pieces?" Tiffany hesitated. "Uh, let's do 16 pieces. We'd, like, never be able to eat 32 pieces."

But I wonder. Tiffany plays dumb sometimes even though she is a smart girl. She likes to point out that she is blond. A boy at school once asked her if she ever had trouble making decisions. She told him, "Well, yes...and no."

Bishops and Bad Motels

Yesterday I went to a sendoff for my colleague Mike Lowry. Mike just got elected a Bishop in our church which is not an easy achievement. It was great to see him and he even recognized me, trifocals and all. After doing church and driving three hours to First Megachurch Majorcity, I was not inclined to drive home the same day. So I stayed in the Ritz-Carlton-Hilton Motel Six. Actually it was more like Motel Two And A Half. The pool was refreshing. Walking back to my room afterwards, the perfume of hallway disinfectant opened my sinuses right up. Judging by the sound of the air conditioner, the last guest threw a monkey wrench into it before he left.

I measured the strand of hair I found on the bathroom floor. Fourteen inches long. It was a dark hair so I found it easily.

Creative Animal Names

It rained in Smalltown recently and the nonexistent drainage system continued to non-exist. See photo.





I went to visit Tom and Sandra Morrison today to make sure everything was all right given the runaway grape incident. It was. The Morrisons introduced me to their dainty black female poodle, Rhinestone. In this world of working farm animals it was refreshing to find a fuzzy little lap dog. They are more common in big cities. The Morrisons assured me that Rhinestone could hold her own among the larger nieghbor dogs. That is so often true of miniature canines who seem to radiate the message, "I may be small but I am FIERCE." Rhinestone checked me out with multiple sniffs and a few snorts. Eventually she leaped into my lap. I guess I passed inspection.

The Morrisons also have a mottled black and brown cat with one ragged ear called Yewi. They pronounce it "Yew-ee". I asked where the name came from and if it was foreign. Sandra told me no. Yewi is short for Yew is Ugly.

Tropical Storm Fay brought us squalls of rain and torrents of mosquitoes. I went outside to let my neighbor in to cut the yard for me. His name is Carrol Smith and he's an angel sent from Heaven, I swear. While I unlocked the gate, a thousand mosquitoes all woke up at once, smelling a good meal and parking all over me. I'll have to try taking garlic pills. I hear those make the blood less tasty to the skeeters. I have to do something. The freakin skeeters can bite almost as hard as my dog. Not only am I tired of itching, I don't want to be the first case of Smalltown West Nile Virus.

Speaking of itching, there's an uproar in the district. A new pastor fresh out of seminary was giving a pastoral prayer in his church in nearby Rocktown. He prayed out loud, "Lord, we ask you to be with Albert Johnson as he'll have his hemorrhoid surgery this week. He's itching real bad today." The District Superintendent is coming in to try to calm the waters so members don't flee the church in droves.

The Runaway Grape

Yesterday we had a Healthy Recipes Luncheon sponsored by our church-based nurse, Valerie Perez. Valerie sponsors these luncheons so our members know how to eat healthfully. All participants bring a low-calorie, low-cholesterol, high-flavor dish and supply a recipe for everyone else. I made Pollo Diablo which is Spanish for Devil Chicken. It might not be a good name for a pastor's entree but I got away with it. As we were sitting down to eat, Myra MacDonald's sister Flora was complaining about the rain, which has been falling in vast quantities. It may be due to Tropical Storm Fay lashing us with the tip of its tail. Flora has a deep voice and an even more pronounced Texas drawl than most of Smalltown. She grumbled, "I got a whole buuunch of puddles of waaahter in mah yaaard. I got enough waaahter to raise duuuuuucks."

We had twelve women and one man at the luncheon. The man was Tom Morrison, a retired principal. He came with his wife Sandra. They sat a few seats away from me. I hoped Tom felt welcomed and included and not uncomfortable with all of us females. My efforts at inclusiveness were probably futile given what happened after the meal.

I sat across from Sophie Yelicich who came from her home in Mudville. As the luncheon drew to a close, I saw a bewildered expression cross Sophie's face. "What's the matter?" I asked her. She responded, "I had a grape on my fork. I was bringing it up to my mouth to eat it. And now it's gone." Almost by reflex, we all peered under the table to see where the grape had rolled. But nobody could locate it. We were all marveling at the ability of the grape to de-materialize. Suddenly blond-haired Barbara Carter spotted it. It had rolled between the two feet of Tom Morrison. Barbara blurted, "That grape is between Tom's legs!" Amid the laughter, Sandra Morrison called out, "Nobody move! Keep your seats! I'LL GET IT!"

Baking and Backed Up Sewers

It rained hard all day today so I stayed home most of the day. I was baking cookies for tomorrow's party at my house for Smalltown church members. Tom Raglift, the head trustee, called to tell me there is sewer gas and sewer water in the church hall tonight. That happened in addition to the leak in the roof that commenced during the Healthy Recipes Luncheon yesterday. I feel sorry for poor Tom. Head trustee of a building that buckles. But I'm glad the party is at my house and not at the church. The sound of water coming through the roof, hitting the bucket and going plonk plonk plonk, could affect the merriment of the party. And the delicate aroma of sewage could alter the taste of the cookies. After we commiserated about the old building and its aches and breaks, creaks and leaks, Tom asked what I was up to. I told him, "Baking chocolate chip cookies for Smalltown church members."

Tom remonstrated, "They aren't very good for you."
I responded, "The church members or the cookies?"

Chat with a Comrade

I took a day off today and phoned an old seminary friend, Nolan Brashear. Nolan attended Perkins School of Theology at Southern Methodist University at the same time I did. We lived on the same dorm floor in Perkins Hall. Nolan and his wife now have two grown and married sons in their early twenties. Nolan was always full of spirit and restless energy and it is funny to think of that dark-haired, dark-eyed, mischief-making young man as a seminary professor on the brink of becoming a grandfather. It was Nolan who persuaded several other guys at Perkins to join him in smoking pipes behind Perkins Chapel. I once asked him, "What's the point of smoking pipes behind the chapel?" He told me, "It's part of being a guy." He apparently advised his pals that once they graduated and took churches, they would have to lead exemplary lives. This was their last chance to go wild.

Nolan told me that in those days he had visited his college friend Jim at Wesley Seminary in Washington DC. Jim and his buddies at Wesley had founded a fraternity called the Sons of Eli. They chose this name because of 1 Samuel 2, verse 12 in the Old Testament of the Christian Bible. It reads, "Now the sons of Eli were worthless men..." The initiation ritual for fraternity membership was to go out at night to the statue of John Wesley, founder of Methodism, riding a horse. This statue stood in front of the Wesley Seminary administration building. The initiate had to climb on the back of the horse behind John Wesley and tell the dirtiest joke he knew. Nolan said that the Sons of Eli was the one thing that made him wish he had attended Wesley instead of Perkins.

As we chatted about times past and present, I reminded Nolan that he had once advised me to follow the St. Augustine Method of Ministry. Nolan was one of the smartest people in our class so I listened to him with wide-eyed respect. I asked him what St. Augustine's method had been. "St. Augustine got his call to ministry late in life," Nolan informed me. "Before he was called, he had twenty years of drunken debauchery. I recommend that."

Dirty Trick Possibility

Billy-John was puttering outside the church, trimming and edging the lawn with his friend John Barge as I drove by today on my way to a pastoral visit. I stopped off briefly to chat. I asked Billy-John teasingly if he was still feeling good enough to franchise himself. He said he wasn't feeling good enough to franchise himself today, but might be persuaded to sell himself. I let that one go.

John Barge is a retired journalist and another active church member. He's a tall, muscular bald guy that nobody would mess with, but he's just a big teddy bear inside. "I thought of something that would stir things up a little," he informed me. John is a recovering alcoholic with a wild sense of humor and I was a little concerned about his brand of stirring things up. Against my better judgment I asked him, "What are you planning?" "Nothing much," he grinned. "But I'm considering starting a rumor. It goes like this. I'm going to tell the guys at their morning coffee at Whataburger that it's possible to tell when someone's watching porn--by the direction their satellite dish is pointing."

I tried to stifle a giggle with a concerned pastoral expression. Didn't work.

Hill Country Colleague

I got a call today from my ministerial colleague Prudence Hardly who pastors two small churches in the Hill Country. When I picked up the phone I asked Prudence what was new in her life. She chuckled, "You may not believe this but I spotted a phone booth in the middle of a field near the town of Comfort."

"A phone booth?" I repeated, puzzled.

"Right. There it was, out in the middle of nowhere. Go figure. You know I majored in film in college? I think I'll make a short film of that phone booth with the phone ringing and ringing and ringing. Then somebody will start racing across the field towards the phone booth. The minute he gets there, the phone will stop ringing."

"I like it."

"Or I might have a big line of people outside the phone booth while a chatty lady is inside and won't stop talking. She'll be going yap-yap-yap. The line will get longer and longer, stretching clear across the field. As I pan the camera you'll see a cow in line."

Emma's Wild Night Out

Emma Ertle gets wilder. She roared into town last Friday night at ninety miles an hour and went into Big Bubba's BBQ for a party with her family. They had a rip-roaring visit with each other. As she was walking out the door, Emma spotted Stan and Esther Essofigus having barbecue together in the corner. She came over to them and blared, "I hope I get home okay! I had a CERVEZA!" She held up the empty beer bottle joyfully as if she had just accomplished something admirable. Stan and Esther's eyebrows went up as Emma pranced over to the door. Stan shrugged his shoulders and told Esther, "It's probably okay. She can't drive worse than she already does and the beer might slow her down."

Sea City and Smalltown Travels

Shown: Myra MacDonald in the church office with multiple projects scattered around.

When I got back from Sea City to Smalltown, there was Myra McDonald hanging up the phone. She told me that she had been thinking about calling animal control . We have a bevy of cats hanging around next door, but Myra had decided to delay making that phone call. She explained, "Last summer I called animal control about a dead cat in the church's front yard. That cat had been belly-up in the same spot for days. Finally animal control came with a bag to stuff him into. The cat ran away."

The cat isn't the only one who picks out a spot and parks it. The dogs in the street do the same thing. They choose a place in the middle of a road and just stand, sit, or lie there for hours on end. The behavior seems contagious. I was in the HEB grocery parking lot and there was an elderly Mexican grandmother standing with her shopping cart in front of her car. She stood and gazed into space for several minutes. I have no idea whether she was meditating, praying, or just daydreaming about the groceries she would soon buy. In Smalltown many people and most critters don't move much. Then I think back to Austin where everyone always hurried and I wonder what all that rushing was about! I guess I'm getting acclimated. That's OK. Jesus got a lot done, but he never seemed to hurry either.

Someone in Sea City is very brave. I saw an SUV there today with a bumper sticker designed to offend all observers. It read, "NUKE AN UNBORN GAY BABY WHALE FOR JESUS." That one could draw hate mail out of everyone from the Sierra Club to Focus on the Family.

Military Moment

Here in Smalltown several church members have family serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. Lola Flushpoole's son David is an army captain in Afghanistan. When some of the Flushpooles' friends heard that David had joined the army, they told Lola, "The army is going to have to change now that David's there." Lola did not take them seriously, for after all that was the U.S. Army they were talking about. A year later, David called home from the state of Washington. While talking to his mother, Lola heard him call, "Hey General Jones! Come to the phone and meet my mother." Lola was shocked at the way David had addressed General Jones. When the general came on the line, Lola quickly said, "I must apologize for my son's behavior. " General Jones responded, "Oh, it's OK. The Army has changed since David got here!"

This is a true story. I am not making this up.

New Drainage Information

Lola Flushpoole has been reading this blog and told me I had incorrect information about the town's nonexistent drainage system. She explained that the drainage system in Smalltown was in fact carefully designed. The design was to drain the excess water to nearby Mudville, until the Mudvillians realized this and complained to the media. Since then, the design has been to effect a more devious route so the Mudvillians do not realize they are being drained to.

She also reflected about the National Enquirer being the fine literature that it is. Lola's mother had a dear caretaker who, shall we say, was not the brightest bulb in the box. The dear lady's name was Margaret. At some point Lola's mother complained about a lack of reading material. Her caretaker rushed out and brought back what she considered the epitome of classy literature -- the National Enquirer. Mother, choking back a guffaw, put out her hand to take it. But Margaret cried, "No! I have to take it back! They gave me last week's copy!"

Nutty Navigation

Sophie Yelicich is another church member who tells interesting stories. Today at Sunday's service she told us about the new GPS navigational system in her car. As I have directional dyslexia, I know how convenient they can be. Never be lost again! Throw away your low-tech inanimate road maps! Sophie, however, had had trouble with her GPS and did not know if it was electronic error or operator error. She announced before Sunday worship, "I was driving to Fort Worth and suddenly that woman's voice instructed me, 'Turn left.' I was high up on a freeway bridge with concrete on either side of me so I yelled back, 'YOU turn left!'"

A Surprise from My Substitute

When I left town for the family reunion, Frank Flushpoole filled in for me. Frank, needless to say, is a preacher and Lola's husband. He was the pastor of this church for several years. When he retired he stayed nearby because he loves these people so much. On the Sunday I was gone, he wore a salmon-colored leisure suit in the pulpit. Unbeknownst to most of the congregation, Frank had fished the suit out of a cardboard box 30 years ago during a men's clothing drive for the needy. Stan Essofigus had donated it in the 1970s when leisure suits were in vogue. Sue Cantu, one of our younger women members--a dark-haired, dark-eyed fashionable
dresser--noted to Myra MacDonald how good that suit looked on Frank. Stan Essofigus overheard her and said, "Yes, and I have two more suits at home just like it!"

A Spanish Enlightenment

I visited one of my grand elderly ladies today, Leonor Leal. Leonor's first language is Spanish and when I told her about my dog Luis, pronounced LOO-EE, she said that in Spanish that would be pronounced LUIS including the S. So not only does Luis have difficulty with English, his Spanish isn't that great either. My dog has a hard time with languages.

Emma Ertle Rides Again

I was driving home from SeaCity after being with Bob Veeblefetzer's wife, Janet, who had a heart catheter done. Fortunately her heart is healthy. Coming home, I was at an intersection. Elderly Emma Ertle whooshed by on my left in her Cadillac, ignoring the stop sign. Her blue hair and glasses were, as usual, barely visible over the dashboard and only as a whizzing blur as she peeled rubber. All of us in Smalltown keep a close eye out for Emma. Her collection of speeding tickets has only grown since I arrived. However, Mrs. Ertle isn't all bad. She told me that she had a granddaughter who recently prayed, "Dear Lord, I ask nothing for myself, but please send my mother a son-in-law."

Quick Connection

After a hospital call this morning, I called my friend Cheyenne in Austin. Cheyenne is about my age and involved in educational programs in state government. She had been looking at a school accountability program that was supposed to increase principal and teacher responsibility and motivation for good test scores. It is called "Raise Your Hand, Texas" which may mean that school staffs raise their hands in support of the program. Cheyenne is not impressed with the program and has privately renamed it "Raise Your Middle Finger, Texas."