Scratch Yourself

I'm currently staying with some folks and the woman of the house makes everything from scratch. Well, not everything. She buys flour and eggs. But you won't find any Pillsbury's pre-mixed cookie dough with its gift of trans fat. All is natural; butter, sugar, and all the rest. One can definitely taste the difference. It takes more time to do it this way. I'm not sure I have the patience. But if Patti the Scratch Cook ever opened a restaurant there would be a line out the door most of the day. Then whatever can be recycled goes into the appropriate container for later transport to the recycling center, or to the compost barrel. It makes me think of how God made the first human being by hand. No assembly line there. No waste either.

When I make anything from scratch, it tastes scratchy.

Theological Weather

While on vacation in Central City with Cheyenne and her husband Hank, we had a wild hailstorm. Their house got hit with hailstones that measured about 2 inches across. As several of them crashed through the skylight, I reflected that I had always thought that their house was the most safe and solid place to be. Well, it is. It is beautifully built. But that does not mean that Nature can't get freaky on us. Our only absolute safety is in God. So, we mopped up water and glass for quite a while. Hank had just come home from work and into the house when the storm hit. When he saw it starting to hail, he went outside to move his car from the driveway to the garage. Then the usually calm-natured Hank yelled, "Holy Sugar!" although sugar was not the word he used. I rushed out to see what was up. Across the street in the neighbor's yard were what looked like masses of white tennis balls, with more of them bouncing down. I am glad Hank did not get a concussion. One of those ice balls did hit his gutter and narrowly missed his head. He darted back into the house. In the northern Central City area, windshields were smashed and cars were dented. When a hailstone crashed through one woman's windshield while she was sitting in a traffic jam, she jumped out of her car and dashed away in a panic. I wonder what I would have done. Sat there in the car while the hail came down, or run off into the storm to risk getting a direct hit? Not a choice I'd like to make.

Cheyenne, still at work when I phoned and told her about it, groaned and said, "Please tell me this is a bad April Fool joke." I wished I could say that. But later she said, "Ya know, you take what comes to you when it happens. And when it happens, you deal with it."

Good philosophy, I'd say.

Blog Break

I'll be on vacation all of this week, fine readers, so look for more postings in about eight or nine days. I have not deserted you. I'll leave you with something I saw on a T-shirt recently. I was walking behind this guy at an airport and on his T-shirt he had a photo of four men, also wearing T-shirts, with their backs to the camera. They were standing in a row in a necessary room, if you get my drift. The caption on the back of all four of the men's shirts said TEXAS HOLD 'EM.

John 3:16 All Over the Place

I tellya, being sick and laid up with a bad foot can sure put a crimp in the blog writing style. However, I did share a story with my congregation today in worship about John 3:16. It seems that everyone, follower of Jesus or not, has been exposed to John 3:16. That's the Bible verse that says, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only son so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life." The words "John 3:16" have appeared on more banners, billboards, and bumper stickers than I can count. Students in Vacation Bible School and various Christian schools memorize that verse with great regularity. The verse appears almost as often as "My Child is an Honor Student at the Genius Gates of Greatness Center." I have not yet seen a parody of John 3:16. Possibly people are too reverent to come up with one, or else they haven't gotten that creative yet. I have, however, seen a parody of "My Child Is an Honor Student at the Genius Gates of Greatness Center." That bumper sticker reads, "Your child may be an honor student at Genius Gates of Greatness, but your driving stinks."

A Character Meeting a Priestly Character

I had lunch today with John and Joyce Lester. John is in his nineties and Joyce is in her late eighties, and they are as energetic as I am. I want to know where their hidden fountain of youth is located. The Lesters went out of town recently to an Episcopal church where John knows the priest well. It was their wedding anniversary, and somehow the priest found out. He was big on recognition of such special days, so he called them forward and told the congregation that it was the Lesters' anniversary. Then he asked them, "Is there something special you would like for your anniversary?" Joyce, being the outspoken woman she is, declared, "I've always wanted to kiss a priest." The congregation cracked up. The priest wasn't in the least fazed. He pointed to his cheek. "Plant one here Joyce!" he shouted. And she did. That congregation will never forget those two.

Casablanca

There is a classic movie called Casablanca but this is a different version. At a meeting of pastors and other citizens of the town yesterday, they were talking about "Casablanca", a certain local neighborhood. I had not heard of it so I asked where it was and what was special about it. I found out that on one side of Smalltown there is a section where the streets running north and south are named after presidents (Washington, Lincoln) and the streets running east and west are named after states (Iowa, Kansas). This area has been nicknamed Casablanca which of course means "White House." It is well known for various kinds of business deals, many involving the sale of tablets or a certain kind of "grass" or "weed" that animals do not usually eat. I learn something new every day here.

Creative Practical Prank

April is getting near along with April Fools Day. John Barge told me that he has thought of a new trick to play on his wife Sue. He says it's mild compared to last year, when his victim was his middle-aged cousin Will. Will had just bought a pickup truck. He had not picked it up yet. John had a friend call Will and say, "Hi, I'm with the Sea City Police Department. Do you have a truck with a license plate AGX 454?" Will said yes. The man said gently, "We just dredged it up out of the town lake." Will went into panic mode. He says he will pay John back, but so far he has not done so. I am sure it will happen. He told John, "When you least expect it, expect it."

John knows Sue and all her habits, of course, because they have been married almost forty years. He knows that Sue is not a morning person. She gets up on autopilot and goes out to grab the newspaper. She then reads it cover to cover, still on autopilot and half asleep. So John is going to get up earlier than Sue, steal their Sea City newspaper, and put an old one in its place out of the prodigious piles of old papers in the garage. He bets she will get up, pick up the paper, and read it all the way through without looking at the date on top. The only thing that might give the game away is if she sees any ads for "Warm Winter Sweaters" in a Christmas sale, or reads about politicians that have not been in office for years.

School Board Standoffs

I have heard that whatever anxiety a town has, it tends to focus on its education system. Maybe that's true. Education and children represent the future, and Smalltown has one or two concerns about its future, to put it mildly.

Anyway, the school board volcano erupted this week. An editorial ran in the Smalltown Sentinel saying that board members always proclaim, "It's all about the children." The author opined that the activities of the school board have little or nothing to do with what the students care about. He sarcastically stated that the children being discussed are not in the schools, but on the school board. He fully expected the Texas Education Agency to bench the whole team. Recently the school superintendent was suspended with pay for two weeks, according to the same newspaper. I do not recall anywhere I have lived where the school board was so acrimonious. It makes me wonder what Jesus would do if he were on the school board or living in Smalltown. ""Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you," he said. Can I be an agent of peace here? Can others? Or will we continue to see our school board tattle on each other and throw spitballs?

Expressing Oneself Oddly

Language has its odd expressions. I heard a mother complain that her growing boy was "eating her out of house and home." Now, does that mean she has both a house and a home? Is it easier to eat someone out of a house than a home? If her house is her home, then he is only eating her out of one house/home. Eating someone out of either a house or a home is a strange picture upon which to reflect. It might mean consuming a La-Z-Boy lounger and other unappetizing materials.

Then there is the expression "It stinks to high heaven." Years ago one of my relatives explained that when he smoked a cigar he did not stub it out like he would if it were a cigarette. He gave this stinky expression as the reason. I recall laughing a lot as I had not heard anyone say this before. Is heaven really high? Jesus said heaven was either within us or between us, depending on the translation, so it may not be up in the sky at all. It may be at eye level. Even if it does turn out to be way up there, we do not know how high up it is. Astronauts have gone to amazing elevations relative to the earth and they did not find it. Perhaps we should say, "It stinks to low, medium, and high heaven," to allow for heaven to exist at any level. Or better yet, we should say, "It stinks to (fill in opposite of heaven here)" as that is surely a much stinkier place with its sulfur and brimstone and all.

Drying Off, Drying Out, Drying Up

It's a full "drouth" here in Smalltown these days. I can't hardly remember the last time it rained. When it did, it just kind of spit and moved on. I strolled outside in the backyard this morning with the dog and fell into one of the cracks out there. It didn't completely swallow me up at least and I climbed out. We're all praying for rain and I suspect the farmers are praying hardest of all. Gloria Pearce, one of our elderly members, asked me to pray for her because she gets quite a bit of her income from farming and is worried about losing all of her crops this year. She asked me to pray that she would not be sitting beside the road begging for money with a tin cup in her hand so she could pay her taxes. I promised her I would, and I did. I owe Gloria big time because she taught me one principle for saving water that she learned in the Great Depression in the 1930s. Its context is obvious. "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down." So far I have not applied this principle and I hope I will not have to. On the other hand, never say never.

These are tough times for everyone but I keep on praying; for rain, for economic relief, for peace of mind not just for me but for everyone here. I hope they know I'm on their side and so is God.

Lots in a Name

It's interesting to follow fads and fashions in naming. For instance, if a woman is called Betty or Ruby she is probably elderly. If her name is Lisa, she was probably born in the 1960s. If her name is Caitlin or one of its numerous spelling variations, she is probably in her teens or twenties. Male names vary less. Thomas and Robert and John have been around forever. The name Ethan was popular a century or so ago, and now it is back in style.

People get creative sometimes, and naming their children brings out the muse in many of them. Sometimes they name their offspring based on something going on around them at the time. I wonder what it does to the child who then gets named Cyclone. Years ago in England, we worked with a travel agent called Miss Bottomley. I wonder what it was like to give that as a last name in school. Too bad her parents gave her the first name of Floral. Floral Bottomley. Now that's an image. Rock musician Frank Zappa was enterprising enough to name his son Dweezil and his daughter Moon Unit. I bet he was on some fancy drugs when he came up with those. Or maybe not.

While in college I worked in the tutoring center with a young woman called Spring Scales. Another woman had the first name of Chestina. Nicknames for that one boggle the imagination. Frankly, when it comes to naming someone I would go for conservatism. It is easier to sign checks with Susan or Brad Williams than with LaSquisha Perone or Theophilus Giles Goody-Ballard.

Yes It Really Happened

Made-up stories don't compare to what people are really up to. I talked to Cheyenne recently. She has a friend, Trevor, near Central City. He is on the police force. He was on duty at three o'clock in the morning, hiding around a corner by the side of the road in a small town. Suddenly a pickup truck roared by in the darkness going 80 miles an hour. Trevor put on his lights and siren. He went after the driver and pulled him over. He made the man get out of the truck. Then Trevor looked inside. The vehicle was a mess. It was piled high with fast food wrappers, boxes, cups, and straws. There were Skoal cans scattered around. Trevor waded through it all and under the dashboard he pulled out a giant marijuana plant.

He looked at the man in disbelief. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "You speed through town going eighty miles an hour at three o'clock in the morning, AND you've got drugs in the vehicle?" The guy replied weakly, "I didn't know y'all worked at night."

Facebook Multiplies the Multitudes

I surfed Facebook tonight as I am prone to do. It is fast becoming the social networking tool of choice. It is mentioned in the national news more often than MySpace, its nearest rival. On Facebook people can send fake fish to a Li'l Blue Cove to oppose pollution, donate virtual plants to save acres in the Tropical Rain Forest, play trivia games, pass an online Long Island Iced Tea to someone...it goes on indefinitely. It is like the old story of "Br'er Rabbit and the Tar Baby." As the story goes, a fox makes a grinning human figure out of sticky tar to trap a rabbit. The rabbit gets offended at the smiling, inanimate tar baby and hits it. His paw naturally sticks to the tar. The rabbit gets mad. He hits it again. Another paw sticks. And it keeps getting worse. Facebook is somewhat like that tar baby. It is enjoyable if you just grin at the tar baby and enjoy what's there, but it has so many applications and sub-applications that it's easy to feel like Br'er Rabbit with all four paws stuck in its myriad tentacular, sticky-tar activities.

I have drawn the line. I am absolutely not getting involved in Facebook's "Twenty-Five Things I Don't Want to Know About You."

Comedy Night

I can't believe Myra MacDonald asked me to do standup comedy at the Sweetheart Banquet tonight. And I had the temerity to say yes. Well, who am I kidding? It was fun. Especially telling about that bumper sticker, "Do you believe in love at first sight, or shall I drive by again?" And telling the crowd how each religious group dedicates its new cars for its pastors. The Catholics sprinkle the car with holy water; the United Methodists have communion and pour Welch's Grape Juice on the car; the charismatics pray and lay hands on the car so it stays healed; and the Jews cut the tailpipe off.

On the way out, Lola Flushpoole mentioned that her daughter Michele had looked at her young husband, Pierre, this morning at breakfast. She told Lola, "I was thinking that this marriage is still so wonderful. I looked at Pierre and even after being married several years, I was still getting this nice warm feeling in my chest when I saw him. Then I looked down and saw that I had dunked my left boob into my coffee."

A Plethora of Passwords...

...and usernames. Although I'm usually quite organized about how I file and store secure passwords and usernames, occasionally I get caught out. Today it was a work-related site to which I knew the password, but I had been given an exotic username that had somehow gotten away from me. The username was something like "Graceful Dolphin Interspersed with Chanel No. 5 Perfume" that I had forgotten how to recite. So I got this email telling me that I had important new health information on the company website and would need to log in. Furthermore, failure to login with correct username and password and view this new knowledge would adversely impact my life in countless ways. The natural next step in this sequence was three messages saying "LOGIN FAILED." I did the email password request thing and was told that a password reminder had been sent to me. Twice. It never came. It is probably out there orbiting the moon.

The next thing that usually happens is that I get locked out of the site. I have to contact the Grand Plan Administrator who is astounded that I would forget my "Graceful Dolphin" username or whatever the heck it is.

Needless to say, the more important the message, the less likely it seems that I am able to view it. When I get requests to participate in those department store customer satisfaction surveys, the login information works beautifully every time. Murphy's Law, anyone?

Electrifying Events Edify

Electrical issues around the church building are alternately infuriating and amusing. It is an old building. 'Nuff said. Whatever previous electrically-minded people have done there in the past, they got it wrong. I know this from present electrically-minded people who say so. I have heard the word 'jerry-rigged' several times since coming to Smalltown. When Tom Harvey, a gifted church handyman, came by to work on the air conditioner wiring in my office yesterday he used the same word. It had been a rough week for Tom already as he had had two flat tires on his trailer full of cows. He noted that he broke off a screw head while repairing the wiring because of the way the circuitry had been put together 60 years ago. This forced him to replace jerry-rigging circa 1950 with jerry-rigging circa 2010. I have a creative set of wires in the house too, but I have been assured that those are not dangerous. Just funny looking. One or another of the electricians usually says something like, "If only that de-sprocketized nail had been re-springulated and not been criss-crossed with the master fuse, we'd be all right. And by the way, if the male and female parts were parallel and fitted snugly together, we'd have a much better situation."

Flash Mob Takes City by Storm

I read about a whole new trend from my blogger friend. It is called the flash mob. I had never heard of such a formation, and it is not as dangerous as the name might imply. Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia, defines a flash mob as a large group of people who assemble suddenly in a public place, perform an unusual action for a brief time, then quickly disperse. The Austin Flash Mob is a formal organization that exists in Austin, Texas to perform funny, harmless, semi- improvised, public gags that are intended to encourage the participants and spectators to engage in their own forms of creative and preferably strange spontaneity. They say their purpose is to keep Austin weird. You can check out their antics at Whole Foods Market here.

This was a new concept to me, but seeing it in action made me want to be part of a flash mob in Smalltown or Sea City. Imagine a flash mob posing in dance positions outside Smalltown City Hall. And the Sea City Aquarium might be the perfect place to get a flash mob together to perform aquatic motions on land. The possibilities are endless. Maybe we can make Sea City weird too. One can hope.

The Audacity to Say It

The church secretary Myra MacDonald lost her driver's license recently. She was in the Department of Motor Vehicles yesterday to get it replaced. She had to bring her birth certificate to prove her identity. While standing in a long line typical of the DMV, she chatted with a woman born in 1962. Myra later told the group of us United Church Women at Cranky's Catfish at our luncheon today that one of her children was born in 1962. Anyway, this lady--aged 46 or 47 depending on her birthday--asked if she might see Myra's birth certificate. Myra did not mind showing it to her. "Thank you!" beamed the woman. "I wanted to see what a birth certificate for someone your age would look like!"

Well. It was handwritten, not typed, but otherwise did not look greatly different from the 1962-issued birth certificate. I told Myra she should have politely refused to show the document to the woman because it was printed in Egyptian hieroglyphics, on parchment so delicate that it might crumble under the force of sheer antiquity. However, Miss 1962 might have missed the sarcasm.

Cultural Excursion

I've heard some good stories during my surgical recovery period. John Barge shared this one over the phone yesterday. He swears it's true.

A tour group from the United States was taking a train through Ireland. The group included a Baptist minister from Alabama. As they clackety-clacked through the emerald grassy fields, a group of Irishmen came bursting in the door from the next carriage. "Ladies and gentlemen!" exclaimed the first Irishman. "Can I have your attention please! Is there a Roman Catholic priest aboard?" All the Americans looked at each other, but nobody spoke. Apparently there was not. So the Irishmen went running to the next car. The Baptist pastor looked particularly disturbed.

A few moments later the Irish guys came running back from the opposite direction. "Is there an Anglican or Episcopal priest here?" they asked. Nobody spoke for a moment, but then the Baptist minister said, "I'm a Baptist preacher. Can I help y'all?"

The first Irishman smiled. "I doubt it, laddie. We're lookin' for a corkscrew."

Surgery Cloud Has Silver Linings

The prayers people tell me they're praying seem to be working. I'm grateful to God and the good Smalltown folks for their support. The foot is healing fast. And one of the more agreeable aspects of having a post-surgical foot is having Lola Flushpoole come over with a gallon of milk to get me through the weekend. She also brought me chocolate and coffee to prevent any withdrawal symptoms, and an Egg McMuffin although I'm not completely addicted to those. Being Lola, she had an adventure while procuring these items.

"I got the coffee at McDonald's over in the next town from the young boy there that I've known for a long time. He gave me two hash browns instead of one with the Egg McMuffin. He did it because he was flirting. He's in love with me. He's gay, but he's in love with me. I know he is. I keep telling him he should go to college because he's bright and he needs higher education. So I tease him. Well, it's more like I harass him. Maybe he sees it as an S & M thing. I don't know."