Well, I didn't have to way-lay anyone.  Pat came into town, took me to lunch, and hung the oil painting of the poppies over my bed.  It looks absolutely perfect.  And it was done within twenty-four hours of when I gave up doing it myself!!!  Next on my list is to hang the drape in the front guest bedroom.  All I need is a ladder.  Actually, a step stool.  This is a job that I can do by myself.

When I go to bed, I lie there planning what I'm going to get done the next day.  I had planned to water the plants today, but last night as I was listening to the news, the weatherman said it was going to rain.  I can mark that job off my list.

I go to choir every Thursday morning.  We are practicing a Christmas thing for the holiday.  We sound terrible.  But not for lack of trying.  We are exuberantly discordant.

I got a new insight from a retired pastor who came to teacher's meeting.  He said that the Baptists and the Church of Christ's major point of difference was on the subject of baptism.  The C.O.C believes you have to be baptized to be saved.  The Baptists don't.  They think you should be baptized, but Christ's death on the cross for your sins did it all.  The pastor said that he believed the difference comes from whose writings you give emphasis to in the New Testament, Peter or Paul.

Peter converted the Jews--and the Jews already had a religious background.  Perhaps, they needed a sign of their conversion to Christianity--Baptism.  Paul converted the Gentiles who had no religious background in symbolism, or rituals--so to them, baptism simply meant you identified with other Christians to form a church.  Christ said that after you were saved you should be baptized.

He said that Baptists put much more weight on the writings of Paul--who says very little about baptism, other than you need to follow Christ's example.  Paul is clear about Christ's atoning blood being the payment for sin, not baptism.  But the Church of Christ leans heavily on the way Peter phrased salvation--in a couple of particular verses.  Most of Peter's letters say nothing about it.

So that is one way denominations are formed.  Over disagreements.  I have been baptized.  To me, it was a public symbol of what Christ had already done for me--he died for my sins on the cross.

I've been putting off hanging a huge oil painting of poppies above my bed because it weighs so much.  I bought the picture in 1962 in Alexandria, Virginia and have always loved it.  This morning, I crawled up on the bed with my shoes on--for balance--and measured and marked and measured and marked the wall again.  Drove the nails and started tugging the picture up the wall over the head of the bed--it weighed a ton.  At one point I was standing on one foot balancing the bottom of the picture on my raised knee trying to get the picture wire on the hooks--two hooks for leveling.

It took me 30 minutes, but I finally got it up there.  And....It was off center.  How that happened, I still can't figure out.  I measured twice!  I don't have the emotional will to start over.  I think I'd rather scoot the bed over one inch--which I am not strong enough to do.  I'm going to way-lay the next man neighbor or relative that comes by to help either center the picture or move the bed for me.

There are so many things I can't do any more.  It irritates the be-goodie out of me.  I know what I want to do, and get halfway through before I am forced to give up and admit I can't get it done.  It is a major frustration.  I used to be able to do anything I wanted to do.

Yesterday, I went out to water the plants that I put in--its been dry here--and couldn't get the hose hooked up.  I struggled with it for five or ten minutes before I got it done.  Simple things like that take forever anymore.  Small motor skills like threading a needle.

But.........I can drive, and do almost anything I want, unless it requires lifting something heavy--or small hand maneuvers such as screwing on a hose nozzle.  I can't seem to get the two parts to line up unless I get down to eye level.  Ridiculous.  I'm down on the ground on my knees trying to hold  the hose cap and twist it at the same time.

If you are still able to do everything you set your mind to, you need to thank God.  There will come a day you can't do it anymore and it will come as a shock.  It will make you mad.  I give marching orders to my body all the time and nothing happens.  My mind thinks I am still twenty-five.  I'm not going to quit trying to do everything for myself.  I may fail, but giving up is not in my nature.

The people in the United States aren't the same as they used to be.  They don't have a common moral standing.  Yelling, screaming, shooting people, bullying people at school, sassing teachers, cursing and foul language, disrupting organizational meetings, disrupting family gatherings, rioting, setting things on fire--I could go on and on.  Whatever they feel like, they do.  No boundaries.

Those kinds of things rarely happened when I was growing up.  I know that sounds unbelievable to most people, but it's the truth.  I never heard anyone say a bad word when I was growing up--but once, when I was nine.  My cousin and I came into my aunt's house covered in mud with our clothes torn.  And tracked mud on the floor.  She apologized after she said the bad word, and cleaned us up.

Now, from kindergarten on up, kids use every foul word you can think of.  And teachers hands are tied.  There can't be discipline for the purpose of correction when parents don't agree on who gets to decide what is right and wrong--it isn't the teachers or the school anymore.  People sue each other over nothing.  They don't seem to agree on who has the right to decide.  They want to fight.

People don't agree on a common moral base.  And if you don't have a common authority as to what is acceptable, and what isn't, people do whatever they feel like with no regard to others.  Especially without regard to women and children.  Call me old-fashioned, but women and children used to be considered special.  Nowadays, women curse as bad as men.  Why would anyone respect women like that.  And the internet is awash with filth. It's depressing.

When the Biblical studies of history were removed from the schools, we lost our moral base.  Say what you will, but the guidelines God set forth were for the common good.  Even if you aren't a Christian or a Jew.  People back in the 40's agreed that God's guidelines were just.  And fair.  And good for society.  Now we have war, wars and rumors of wars.  In the 60's, young people declared that "God was dead."  And began to live without any rules for their lives.  Without any authority.  I thought it was just a phase and would pass.  No. It got worse.  The Bible tells us what happened to the Jews when they took that path... Judges 21:25.  "In those days, Israel had no king; everyone did as they saw fit."  And their nation fell apart.  We need someone with moral authority to guide us.  God is a good place to start.

Today was a good day.  I went to Sprouts for milk, and checked the freezer case for huckleberries.  Someone told me that they stocked wild blueberries--that's what they called them.  I had been checking for the last three or four months every time I went to Sprouts.  But no luck.

They aren't wild blueberries at all.  They are huckleberries--Sprout's just doesn't know it.  The only place I had found them before was on-line, upstate in the Northwest, and they were ninety-nine dollars a gallon.  So if Sprout's wants to call them wild blueberries and sell them for thirteen dollars a gallon, fine with me.

Well finally, today, I got the last bag they had.  I would have bought more if they had been available.  But other huckleberry affectionados like me have been watching for them as well.  If you have never eaten huckleberry pie you won't understand.  And no, blueberries are not the same.

I took them over to Jeanette's house.  She is the pie maker in our connection group at church.  Next time we all get together, she said she would make a huckleberry pie so that everyone can see what I've been talking about.  And I'll keep checking the store to see if they get more in.  I hope Sprout's doesn't figure out what they are selling for ten cents on the dollar.  I've got room for them.  I bought a freezer from the owners of this house (when they moved out) and it's empty except for a few things.

We used to go to Jay, Oklahoma and buy huckleberries.  They only grow in a few places, and are wild.  The Osage (or Choctaw) Indians would pick them and once a year have a Huckleberry Festival.    They still have the festival, but nobody picks the berries any more--at least that's what they told me.   Pat and I drove all the way across Oklahoma to Jay, to see if we could buy some.  Nope.  None.

Rattlesnakes are a problem under the bushes is what I've been told.  When I was little, I believed rattlesnakes ate the huckleberries off the bushes.  I was grown before someone laughed at me, and told me that wasn't true.  Mice and other small animals eat the berries.  And the snakes lay in wait to eat the mice.  Maybe that's why people quit picking the berries.  I don't know where the "huckle" came from.  Maybe they should have named them "Rattleberries?"

I watched a movie Sunday afternoon--True Grit.  How I had missed seeing it in the past I don't know.  I love the old movies.  They are so politically incorrect that they are refreshing.  We have become so afraid of doing or saying something that will offend someone, that real life in the 1800's and early 1900's can't be portrayed realistically anymore.

My dad was born in 1910.  His dad ran cattle in Western Indian territory and the Texas panhandle and made a ton of money.  He and my grandmother had seven sons.  My dad was the baby of the family.  The three middle ones died young of measles, pneumonia and such. but the two oldest and two youngest lived.  My grandfather was murdered when my dad was seven.  He and Harvey (next to the youngest) worked from then on in the family restaurant.  They slaughtered hogs, dressed and cooked them and everything else required to feed the family--and the town.  Story goes that the two oldest boys rigged up the undercarriage in their dad's Studebaker and ran bootleg liquor out of Arkansas.

 Their mother ran their restaurant.  They had no money, because a charlatan passing through--after someone shot and killed their dad--wooed her, married her, and absconded with all their money.  She was a naive woman who trusted everyone.   I have a picture of the restaurant--my grandmother is standing out in front, holding my father who was a baby. They spent the rest of their lives very poor.

We are one generation removed from the wild west.  One of my dad's friends was shot down on main street (dirt of course) by someone who wanted to kill him.  Shot between the eyes and left for dead.  Dad crawled under a car to get away.  From beneath the car, dad saw his friend move.  The bullet had struck a grazing blow, run under the scalp and out the back of his head without piercing his skull.  He lived.   People got shot regularly back then.  Kinda like today.

When I was young, my dad would occasionally have me get the tweezers and pick tiny pieces of bone that were breaking through the top of his head.   Seems one of his friends accidentally hit him in the head with a pickax.  Who knows why it didn't kill him.  It just shattered the top of his scull.  "How did it happen," I asked him.  "Well, we were splitting logs, and I leaned over to steady the log at the wrong moment."  My dad was tough.  But he was a quiet, gentle man.  He just grew up in the middle of the wild west.  He was honest, trustworthy, and kind.  A Christian.  He took care of his mother for the rest of her life.  Everybody loved my dad.   I adored him.

I have never gone shopping--that I remember--on the Friday after Thanksgiving.  As a matter of fact, I very seldom shop.  Except at the grocery store, or at Lowes for gardening stuff.  It seems to be a sport for some people.  They want the lowest price for something--even if they don't need it.  I think it is a game.  Black Friday has become an American tradition.  Crazy. I do better if I go to the store with a list and don't make any impulse purchases.

The noise you hear when you step out your front door today is a collective groan all across America from people who ate too much yesterday--and that includes me.

Our dinner was so noisy with seven children yelling, and everyone talking at once, that I didn't hear much of anything.  Some people I didn't get to talk to at all.  The variety of people who come from year to year is such a random mix, that some people don't see each other for a number of years.  I love to hear them laugh when they meet up. "You grew up!!"  or "What happened to your hair."  or "I didn't know you got a new job!"  And so on.

One sad thing happened.  My friend Rebecca is moving back to Dallas.  I hate it when my people leave.  I like my life just like it is.  I really don't like things to change.  I now understand the saying that "old people are set in their ways."  You better believe it.  Being set in my ways is delightfully comfortable.

When I straighten up, or reposition something in my house (something that has been in a certain place forever) to a better location, I never can find it later.    I had two copies of the book I wrote.  One copy is at the publisher.  Rebecca wanted to read it so I looked all over for the second copy.  Moving from one house to another has caused me to lose a zillion things as well.  They are all here, but where did I put them?  She helped me look, and we finally found the book.  Unsettling.

I hope you had a lovely Thanksgiving.  

God bless you on this Thanksgiving day, year of our Lord 2018.

The weather is beautiful.  I am in good health.  I will be with my family today, over thirty of them.  I think five of my great-grandchildren will be there.  Six of my ten grandchildren and their spouses.  Three of my children and their spouses.  My brother Bill and Janet.  My sister Lisa and Mark.  My cousin Ann, Dave and their son Will.  And me.  I think that is thirty-one.  And if my other grandson and wife and baby make it, thirty-four.

We usually have more, but are thankful for those who are going to be together.  People bring friends, and sometimes Becky has those who have no family.

Last year, we ran out of gravy.  That isn't going to happen again this year.  I made enough for a standing army.  I had to boil six more eggs, which I watched like a hawk, and set a timer on to boot.  I am never, ever again going to let the eggs boil dry and explode.


I pray that all of you out there have a blessed day with friends and family.

On the Monday before Thanksgiving, I always make the dressing.  And freeze it.  Then on Tuesday, I begin to make the giblet gravy.  Which is exactly what I did yesterday.  Starting by boiling six eggs, which I then chop up and refrigerate.  There is a lot of chopping going on before Thanksgiving.  I've done exactly this same thing for over sixty years.  Monday, make the dressing.  Tuesday, boil the eggs, and go to the store to get giblets and a chicken--to make broth.  Wednesday, put it all together and make the gravy.

But I got ahead of myself yesterday, and tried to do two things at once.  I put the eggs on the stove to boil,  and once that was done, I started thinking about going to the grocery store to get the giblets for the gravy and forgot all about the eggs. I can't even begin to describe the result.   When I got back from the store, of course, the pan with the eggs had boiled dry, and the house was full of smoke.

The result:  As the eggs heated up and the water boiled dry, they began to explode.  There were eggs and shells on the ceiling, the cabinets, the floor, and in every imaginable place.  An egg, when it is heated like that, is a hand grenade.  I can't tell you how bad the house smelled.  I opened the doors, turned on the fans and started cleaning up the mess.  It still smells terrible this morning.

I will never do that again.  And in retrospect, it could have been worse.

I used to be able to do a dozen things at once.  Now, I can't manage two things at once.  So I will reset my pre-thanksgiving ritual and I will finish cooking the eggs before I even think about doing anything else.  I will never forget the mess and the smell of this disaster.

Maybe by Thursday the smell of burned eggs will be gone.  I hope so.  It is pretty terrible.

Everyone in the family has an assigned thing to bring.  Becky has the dinner at her house and has a phone-group that everyone notifies everyone else what each of us are bringing so we don't duplicate.  I think there are thirty-nine of us if I count my brother Bill, sister Lisa, and cousin Ann and their spouses.  Every time I try to count, I lose track.  Most all of us will be there.  In nineteen fifty-six there were just two at our first Thanksgiving dinner.  Ken, and me.

It took me 5 hours to make the turkey dressing from scratch.  I somehow got two loads of wash done and folded in between.  And for the first time since I moved, I took Squig for a walk.  We made it to the end of the street and back.  I didn't put a leash on him and he was ecstatic.  He managed to leave a little message at every mail box on the street.  At least a dozen of them.  By the time we got to the lamp post at the end, his tank was empty and he was very proud of himself.  He now thinks he owns the block.

Tomorrow I will boil a chicken with extra giblets then bone it. I don't know why, but when you fry, or cook a chicken for pot pie, etc., it has much better broth if you cook the entire chicken.  Broth made with white meat is so bad you might as well use water.  You need the skin, fat, and bones to make decent broth.  My gravy is one of the few decent things I do in the kitchen.  Any gravy.  Especially fried chicken gravy.  My gran taught me how to do it.  I wish it didn't have a zillion calories.

We all do the entire family Thanksgiving every other year.  This year is our year.  We have had quite a time getting it to work out now that all the grandchildren have married and we have other families to consider.  Everyone has had to adjust to twelve sets of family inlaws.  We haven't perfected it completely, but we are getting there.  Until another one of us gets married and tries to adjust.

Jeanette came by yesterday.  I love having a friend that comes by to see me.  I've always been the go-see-er.  In my circle of friends, Jeanette is the hostess with the mostest.  Yesterday, November 19, was the fifth anniversary of the day Ken left, so it was really nice to have an interruption in my day, and a distraction.  Anniversaries like that are sad.  You would like to forget them, but you can't.

Tom and Pat took me to dinner that evening.  I had visitors throughout the day.  Linda and John sent dinner as well, which I will eat for lunch today.  With any luck, I won't have to cook again all week.  Turkey day is coming.  I have so much to be thankful.  We all do.  The privilege of being an American is a good thing to start thanking God for.  Family, health, adequate resources, a car (!), and on and on.  We are truly blessed.  For me, I will add: A flat driveway and a beautiful redone bathroom.  I make it to the mailbox every day without huffing and puffing.

So you got a post by accident on Saturday.  I hit the wrong button. I was aiming for the spell check and missed.  I was trying to get ahead on writing so that I wouldn't have so much to do during Thanksgiving week.

I'm in charge of the dressing (my grandmother's recipe) and making the giblet gravy.  I spent the weekend cutting up celery.  I usually do it in the processor, but it isn't as good.  So I broke down and cut it up into tiny pieces.  Everyone usually asks if there is any of "my" blood in the dressing.  They've watched me cut up onions and celery before.  (There probably is.)

I have done such a good job of taking off all my extra pounds this year.  But then Thanksgiving rolls around and I'm afraid I'll put them back on.  I only needed to lose ten or eleven, which I did.  I don't know how in the world people who are forty or fifty pounds overweight can deal with it.  Losing ten was really hard.  I dearly love to eat.  There are only two things I don't really care for.  Milk or  milk products (ice cream, yogurt, etc.) and cinnamon.  But I like cinnamon rolls.  Go figure.

I love nutmeg.  And will drink a malt if I can top it with a bunch of nutmeg.   I keep nutmeg in the glove compartment of my car.  When I was a little girl, my daddy would take me to get my shots and when I was good, afterwards we would split a strawberry malt with nutmeg on top.  It is my only "Milk related" thing that I love.  I am sure it is because it brings back a memory.  My dad was the one who took me "here and there" for things like shots.  Mom didn't do that kind of stuff.

My friend Jeanette had a party for my class a week ago.  She bakes pies.  She likes to bake pies.  The entire class is content to let her do it--if we get to eat them.  I was going to have the party here, but couldn't get my act together so she did it for me.  (We have a pot-luck once a month.)  I'll do it in January.  Surely I will have all my pictures on the wall by then.  All the major projects around here      are done.  All that's left is piddling stuff.  And I know how to piddle around.

My class is practicing saying "God bless you" to everyone they meet.  Trying to make a new habit.  You have to practice--when you are making a new habit--until it comes naturally.  And you can do it.  And whether you are losing ten or fifty pounds, it's still one pound at a time.

Saturday, I went out in the back yard, planted two peony bulbs that I brought from the other house, and spread 6 bags of mulch.  In November.  Less than a week before Thanksgiving.  It made me feel good all over.  In four months, I'll get my new outside guy to come and build me a raised bed and start planting stuff for real.  Serious planting.  Garden vegetables.  As quickly as this September, October and November went by, I'll be back outside and at it again in no time.

Becky is deep into another Estate sale.  I separated Christmas things for her to get them ready to price.  There is so much of it that I think this lady must have put up three or four trees.  Or changed her decorations every year.  Becky had to rent a store in a shopping center just to get it all the stuff in one place.  Everything had to be moved because the lady's home association didn't permit estate sales.

I'm doing church in the choir room from now until March.  They have TVs in there.  I can't take a chance on getting the flu.  (Yes, I got my flu shot.  Shots.  They have a double dose now--for people my age--that is more effective.  It think that they said 24% more effective.)  I saw my cardiologist last week and he gave me all sorts of instructions which I won't follow.  Well, I guess I'll follow some of them like avoiding crowds and getting my flu shot.  I could watch the service on TV, but it misses the point--I like to go to church.  God likes it too.  It's one of the big ten.

"Remember the Sabbath to keep it holy," isn't followed by many people today.  I guess they think that God didn't really mean what He said?

As for following my cardiologist's instructions, he thinks I am a wimp.  I have no cholesterol, no blockages, I'm skinny, and I have always had low blood pressure.  In other words, like my cardio-guy back in Tulsa told me before I moved: "You have a perfect, strong heart--the surgeon just cut the AV node out."  So my perfect heart doesn't get the message that says, "Beat."  Which means that nothing needs to be done on my part--my pacemaker and God are in charge.  I think this cardio-guy here just feels like he needs to tell me stuff because I come see him.  I come see him every six months even though I don't need it.  There's nothing he can do for me except to tell me I'm in good shape.  Praise God.

The greatest thing about the Christian life for me (in the here and now) is peace.  Yes, there is eternity, and life everlasting, but for now, peace.  I no longer worry about death--it will come along someday for all of us.  But for the Christian, the fear is gone--of facing God with the things we have done wrong.  Jesus covers it all.  He is our reconciler.  He will step between God and me, and every Christian who has ever lived, and declare that our penalty is paid.  This is the greatest gift that has ever been given.  Peace with God through the death of Jesus on the cross--our sacrifice for sin.

People don't talk about sin anymore.  They say they made a bad choice.  Or that they didn't do as good as they should have done.  Or they forgot for a moment what they were doing.  I've even heard people say that they weren't responsible for what they did because they were drunk.  Duh.

Anyway, God calls it all sin.  Missing the mark of the high calling...

As if that problem in our lives wasn't enough, James throws us a curveball.  He says, "To him who knows to do good, and doesn't do it, to him it is sin." James 4:17.  Just when you think you are on your way to being done with things you shouldn't do, you find that there is more.  You have to do things that you should do.

Which usually involves giving to those who need something.  Which is always either money or time. 

I have a harder time giving up my time, than my money.  And it gets more difficult as I grow older because giving time usually means leaving the house--which means getting dressed in something other than sweats.

The other possibility for "not doing" things you should do concerns "work."  You waste time that you should be using to get the things done that need to be done.  Dishes, laundry, mowing, etc., etc...

God expects us to be different.  Like I said yesterday, "lights."  A visible light to the world.  Obvious to the world around us because we behave in a different way.  We stop doing things we shouldn't and start doing things we should.

We Christians are living in an ever darkening world of godlessness.  Dark.  There is so much bitterness between people.  There is an ever increasing population of people who don't believe in God, and as a result have no moral base for living.  Our schools no longer can use the Bible as an ultimate guide to moral behavior.  As a matter of fact, the word "moral" has no ultimate meaning in the lives of most of the people in the world any more.   Anything goes.  Do your own thing.

And as the world grows darker, we Christians--who are lights in the darkness--grow more visible--and are easier to attack.   Like points of light on a dark night--just because we are different.  Jesus said, "Do not put your light under a bushel.  Let it shine."  Which means you are a visible target.  Our values are under siege.

The true Christians--those who live the life--will always be in conflict with the new "Anything goes" philosophy of tolerance.  Because of our moral agreement with the word of God, we are called judgmental.  Even though we don't judge.  We simply believe that God has the right to do so--to judge.  We choose to accept His Word as true, and live our lives accordingly.

When you believe something is true, you don't need to pass judgment.  It will affect the way you choose to live your life, which irritates and enrages people.  Because as long  as you adhere to the truth of God's word as your template for living, you "light" up in a world that disagrees with you--even when you keep your mouth shut.  Your very presence in the world is an irritant to those who attack the premise that you espouse.  The premise that God is the creator, and righteous judge of the world.  You can't hide--because in darkness, you are visible.  And your nature is an affront to the world.  We must do what the writer of Hebrews says: put on the armor of God.

That is why we band together in a group called church.  We are not perfect.  But we are moving in a direction that is not the way the world is moving.  Once we accept God as our judge, the judgement of this world is meaningless.  Once our desire is to please Him, pleasing this world is impossible.

I am a child of God.  I have invited Him into my life to take control and lead me in His paths.  I will glorify His holy name.  As Paul said, "I am pressing toward the mark of the high calling..."

Snow.  Less than an inch, but it set a new record for Edmond, and Oklahoma City.  And at my house, we set a new record as well:  Squig stepped right out into it, stuck his nose in it, wandered all over the back yard and around the fence line--before he came in to tell me that we had snow.  (As if I didn't know).  And did I want to come outside with him and play in it??

This is the same dog that ten years ago, when we lived in Pryor, would literally shake and shiver when he saw snow.  The same dog  that I had to pick up toss him out into it or he wouldn't "go."  The same dog that still is terrified of rain.  Rain freaks him out.  Snow is now his friend.  Maybe there is hope for him yet.

My friend Rebecca Perkins came over this morning and visited for a while.  She is a treasure.  I met her at a book conference.  Smart, funny, and cheerful.  I need all of those kind of friends I can get.

Carolyn calls and we talk almost every day.  When I "hang up," I can't tell you a thing we talked about.  I need those kinds of friends as well.

Jeanine, from across the street checks each morning to see if I have turned off my outside lights--and if I haven't, she comes to check on me.  I need those kinds of friends, too.  Her husband Dean is always ready to help me.  Yesterday, he loaded five boxes of tile that I returned to the tile shop for a refund.  They were too heavy for me to lift.  I am so very appreciative of that kind of friend.

Tony said he would come back and do a dozen or so small jobs for me--so make a list.  He's my right hand man friend.  And of course his two sons.  Austyn reads my blog every day.  A thirteen year old kid reads my blog!!  What a blessing to have him and twin brother Tyler as my friends.

And Linda, next door, brings me wonderful meals at least twice a week.  Her husband John (a realtor) fixed my car-stop-tennis-ball-thing-a-ma-jig in the garage.  He helped me sell and buy my houses.

Jeanette just gave me her brand new cheetah-fuzzy robe to keep me warm this winter.  I could go on and on.  I am so blessed.  Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.

My mom was a fashionista.  She loved costume jewelry.  Rhinestones, jingles and jangles.  When she died, those things ended up with me.  I wear her things all the time.  In fashion, or out--I don't care.  And through the years, I have purchased jewelry at garage sales, estate sales, etc.  It was cheap.  No longer.  What I could once buy for a dollar now goes for a hundred.  Who knew.

I had so much of it, and didn't want to dig through it, so I started buying those really old gold embossed boxes with glass lids and sides.  They were perfect, came in all sizes, and you could see what was in the box without opening the lid.  They kept the dust out and were easily accessible.

Well, as with all things in my life, it became unmanageable.  I would pick up a piece of jewelry at one garage sale, find a glass box at another--and find a place to put them.  I eventually couldn't find room for all of them, and had no idea what was in most of them.  One by one, they covered my bedroom chest, and then the counter in the master bath, and eventually I had to start stacking them.  So...I promised myself that when I got moved, I would dump it all out, clean all the boxes and sort jewelry.

Last weekend, the only place I could find to sort all that stuff was the dining room table--extended with leaves.  Box at a time, I filled them with things I actually wanted, according to color and space.  I am half way through and admit that some of it has to go.  I already gave three boxes away--Lisa wants some of them.  I'll take some of them to the antique store for Becky to sell, and the jewelry I have never worn--and have no idea why I bought--is going out.

Earrings that had gotten separated got put back together, and I found things that I thought were forever lost.  A gold chain with a diamond that Ken had given me--for one.  I found his USMC gold wings--which I will proudly wear on a jacket.  I found my dad's wedding ring.  And a platinum one that I think was my mom's.  There is a necklace that Becky made from sea glass that we picked up one year on the Riviera--no, I didn't buy a ticket to the Riviera.  Becky had miles from traveling to work.  Five of us went, shared cheap rooms, and ended up with sea glass jewelry.  It's really pretty.  Pretty gets me every time.  Vanity, vanity, thy name is "Woman."(Actually, Shakespeare never wrote that.  Hamlet said: "Frailty, thy name is woman.")  But the Book of Ecclesiastes has quite a lot to say about vanity.  I'm not vain.  I'm not vain.  I'm not vain...If I keep saying it, it will be true???

I went to a connection group party at Jeanette's house Saturday, and when I got home, my next door neighbor sent a plate over with BBQ ribs, baked beans, mac and cheese, fried okra, etc..  I bet I gained three pounds over the weekend.  And I have enough leftovers for a couple of days as well.
The plate was delivered by an angel.  Austyn.  He said that this week he will get his final check up, and aside from a broken collar bone that hasn't healed, he's good.  Lost his spleen, was cut open from chest to belly button, broken ribs, neck bones and both collar bones--in addition to cuts, bruises and internal bleeding and trauma.  He missed 3 months of school and caught up in three weeks.

"Miss Janie," he said, "I'm here to fix your sewing machine.  (He's been telling me he was going to do that as soon as he was on his feet.)  Ten minutes later he said, "Your gear shaft is disrupting the fabric feed--and parts aren't available for your machine."  (I thought it was bobbin tension, but no.  He is 13 years old and much smarter than me.) "You'll have to get a new machine," he told me.  Now I know.

I have been teaching a Bible class ever since I got kicked out of Sunday School when I was 17.  The teacher was boring, I talked too much, etc.  No excuse.  The pastor came and got me and said, "You come with me.  You are going to teach 9 year old girls."  To be honest, it was a relief.  I've been teaching ever since--63 years now.  Everyone in my family, and in Ken's family, were Bible teachers.  The pastor told me to teach--so I did.   I didn't decide to become a teacher.

The passage we read Sunday went like this:  James 3:1.  "Not many should become teachers, because you know that we will receive a stricter judgment."  I don't want to receive a stricter judgment!!!  I didn't strive to "become."  From my beginning, I was taught to read God's word, and listen when others talked about what was in it.  Osmosis.  I was blessed to be raised in a Christian environment.  Not to teach, but to learn.  I guess I "became" a teacher anyway, telling others what I had learned.

 I hope God forgives all the mistakes I've made.  I don't know that I made any Biblical mistakes--none that I know of, but living before those that you teach, well, I'm certainly not perfect.  And we teach with our behavior as much--or more--than we do teaching Bible.  Biblical truth is truth that must be put into action.  I get notes out there from you telling me to keep on keeping on.  Thanks.  I teach myself as well.  I'm still learning.

Well, I blew it.  I forgot to post.  Does that mean I've lost my faculties?  Mercy I hope not.  I had two back to back appointments early this morning and I guess I made a wheel's up landing.

For those of you who don't remember what I wrote about that from Ken's point of view, it went like this.  A fighter pilot has a take off, and a landing check list.  If something interrupts your sequence, any number of things can happen.  The tower is in charge  of visual checks of an incoming fighter pilot for landing--and if the pilot is distracted by battle damage, low fuel, etc., the pilot can miss a point in his check list--like lowering his wheels.  It happens.  "But not to me," Ken said.

I can't remember where he was, but he told it like this:  "Colonel, lower your wheels," from the tower.  "They're down," Ken replied.  "Colonel, check your wheels."  As Ken told it, "I was a few seconds from landing.  I had gone through an extensive check list for landing and knew I had lowered my wheels in the check.  But I hadn't.  I would have bet my life my wheels were down--and I almost did."

So this morning, I went through my morning check list, and would have sworn that I had lowered my wheels.  I didn't.

I'll do better next week.

We are having a hard freeze tonight.  I will go through my check list and double check that I have unhooked the hoses outside.

The bathroom is finished.  Hallelujah.  Done.  I will start finishing up small details in the rest of the house.  Tony said he would come back, when I am ready for him, and hang drapes.

I went over to my old house and cut off some dried brown okra pods, and collected the seeds for next year.  Ann went with me to get some for her son.  It is a good feeling to collect seed that came from my father's garden from many years ago.  Probably 10th or 11th generation of those seeds.  Life continues.  My dad's okra seeds will be passed down to other generations.  That is a good feeling.

I was flipping channels last night and an episode on Nova caught my eye.  It was on the recovery of the remains of pilots from WW2 who were lost over water.  I shouldn't have watched it.  It was horribly sad, and close to my heart.  I have such a deep emotion for those who have served our country in the military.  Especially those who have come under enemy fire.

For me, the hard part of a program like that is seeing the faces of those men in uniform--taken before they went into combat.  So young.  So determined.  Their lives cut short and lost in some strange place.  Far from American soil.  It is such a great tragedy.

Of course, for me, programs like that hit too close to home.  My husband and both of my sons served in the military during war.  When I think of that, I get a catch in my throat.  I know the stress and anxiety that comes with waiting.  Waiting.  Not knowing.  Fearful, but resigned.  You have no idea whether or not they will come home to you.  Or how they will come home to you.  Or if.

I carry a key chain with a picture of Ken on it.  He is twenty-two or twenty-three years old and is sitting in a Corsair, getting ready to take off on a mission in Korea.  He has a one thousand-yard stare, looking into nothing, not knowing what will happen after he takes off.  He is so young.  He is one of the ones who lived to come home.   Thank God.

But for every warrior that comes home, there are dozens who don't.  I have lived on the reverse side of war for three of my men.  The waiting side.  My heart breaks for those who waited, and who never found out what happened.  And for those who did.

The elections are over.  Thank goodness.  The vitriol was killing me.  I haven't had to endure such devision between people in this country in all my years.  It is wearying.  Exhausting.  People think that they are changing minds by yelling, using horrible language, etc....they aren't.  I think I am going to unfriend everybody on Facebook.  I grew up in a kind, polite world.  It has vanished.

James said, "But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy...the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them that make peace."  James 3:17-18.  I am ready for peace.

James also said, "...the tongue is a little member...how great a matter a little fire kindles.  The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity...it defiles the whole body...no man can tame it.  It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.  Out of the same mouth proceeds blessing and cursing.  Brothers, these things ought not to be so."  James 3: 5-6, 10.

Tony finished the tile.  Tomorrow he will paint, grout and call the job done.  God willing.  For the first time since I moved, I feel like my life is going to be normal again.  It's close.  I am so ready.  My house remodeling....and the elections.  Equal irritations.

On Sunday, my class discussed what "works" are.  James 2: 17, 26 says, "...faith, if it doesn't have works is dead...For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead." I shared with the class that when I had open heart surgery, (I was thirty five with four children)   there was a lady in our church that made soup for me.  Over and over again, week after week.  It was one of the few things I could eat.  There are many works that we do, but we, as Christians, will do something for others.  It is a natural result of the Spirit within.

Works don't save you.  What James was saying was that the Spirit of God within you changes you and produces a servant's heart.  As a matter of fact, James introduces his letter by saying, "James, a servant of God..." You want to help others.  Your "want to" changes.  Paul says you become a new creature. 2 Corinthians 5:17 "...if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature.  Old things are passed away, behold all things are become new."

Every now and then on Sunday, in the class I teach, someone asks a question that gets me going.  Any "If /then" type of question will do it.  can't help myself.  Scientific theory is in my nature.  Basically the question on Sunday was: "Are there things that God can't do, or is he all powerful?"   The correct answer is: there are any number of things that God can't do.  One example is in Titus 1:2. "This truth gives them (Christians) confidence that they have eternal life, which God, who does not lie, promised..." God can't lie.  He won't break a promise.

As you search scripture you will find many other things God can't do.  He can't force you to obey him or force you to believe that Jesus is His Son...and on and on.  He has given us free will.  But many people still think God can do anything.  Scripture doesn't support that.

If you start with the premise that the Bible is God's word, and that God doesn't lie, you reach a logical conclusion that God is holy.  He cannot sin.  He is Pure.  Honest.  Trustworthy.  We can go on and on about His attributes.  He does exactly what he says he will do.  He described himself simply as "I am."  And because he cannot deny Himself, there are many things he cannot do.

In class, I shared something I had once done, and one of my members asked "Didn't God know ahead of time what you were going to do?"  It started a discussion about: Can God choose "not to know" something?"  For instance, does he know from the instant a life is conceived whether that person will accept Him?  If He knows, then, does that person have free will?

I personally find nothing in God's nature that wouldn't let Him choose "not to know."  Others disagreed.  "But," I asked, "Since God is the author of life, wouldn't that make God a murderer if he was bringing someone into the world that He knew was condemned for Hell?"

Those kinds of questions make you think about life at the moment of conception.  About life in general.  About free will.  And on and on.  I know what I think.  But I can't back it up with Scripture so there is no point in belaboring abstractions that don't have answers.  God is good.  That's what we know for sure.  He will always do what is right.  

There are lots of questions that don't have answers.  One thing we all agreed on is that God is God, and we aren't.  He will always do what is right because it is His nature.  God, is good.  All the time.

I have spent the last three months wearing a pair of glasses that had only one ear extension.  (The thing that holds them on your ears.)  I finally took them in to be fixed--and found out that they were permanently kaput.  Couldn't be fixed.  If I had done it three months ago, I would not have been pushing them back up onto my nose every few minutes.

I had two pages of notes of things I needed to do, and the glasses kept getting moved to the bottom of the list.  But getting away from the noise of the jackhammer motivated me to get out of the house, and to do something about the glasses.  This week, they are supposed to be here.

I have shared with you before that my method of operation is procrastination.  It serves me well--only because I never let things go undone--only the order in which I do them.  I work really well when desperation sets in.  Desperation this time was the sound of the jackhammer.  I probably would have let taking the glasses in to be fixed,wait.  The thing that stops me from doing tasks like that is getting in the car, driving to where I want to go, parking and getting into the building.  I need a go-fer.

I will do all kinds of tedious jobs I don't really want to do, if I don't have to go anywhere else to do them.  I hand-stitched a quilt for someone last month.  I fold, wrap with tape, and price hundreds of yards of fabric for Becky when she has an estate sale.  I don't mind working.  Just going somewhere.  

And now that winter is coming, I really don't want to get into a cold car and drive somewhere.  So I am very thankful for the jackhammering.  It got me out the door to go get my glasses ordered before winter got here.  Now all I have to do is go pick them up.  I will then be able to see, and mark fixing them off my list.  Things will go better.  I have a number of jobs I need to do that require glasses!!!

I just wrote in the last paragraph, "winter is coming."  Which means...."can spring be far behind?"  I found a man this last week to roto-till my yard in the back.  He planted eleven shrubs along the back of the house.  It looks fantastic.  I planted twenty or thirty Iris bulbs that were offshoots of my Mom's Iris.  Purple flags. This man, Ron, said he would build me a raised bed along the fence in March where I can plant my okra, tomatoes, peppers, asparagus, parsley and kale.   Just writing about it gets me excited.  God sent Ron just when I needed him.   Spring is coming.  Five more months.

There is sheetrock dust all over my house.  And dust from where Tony used a jackhammer taking out the broken tile in the bathroom.  I have been coughing and wiping my eyes every few minutes.  My advice to all of you out there is:  Take a vacation--leave the house when there are renovations that have to be done.  Or buy a new house.  One that isn't 35 years old and doesn't need renovations.

This will be over soon.  I will have to hire a cleaner to get the dust out of everything when it is over and done.  Enough!!  I'll quit whining.  I promise I won't say another word about this.  I'm done.  I'm thankful that I have someone to work for me.  Tony is a blessing.  He does excellent work.  And he cleans up his mess (in as much as is possible) at the end of every day.

My solution to all these problems is to go get my hair cut.  That always makes a woman feel better.  And Lindsey--my niece--is coming to have lunch with me.  All of that will keep me out of the house for most of the day.  Give my eyes and cough a chance to abate.

So--the question is--did I do the right thing?  Absolutely.  Yes.  I love my house.  I love my flat driveway.  And I'm breaking even--which makes it even better.  The only thing I lost was the third garage.  Which I certainly don't need.  I am blessed.  I keep thinking about the verse from James that I wrote about yesterday:  "Every good and perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights; In whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."

God is so good.  When I look back over my eighty years, I am struck by all the wonderful things that came to me by the hand of God.  Which I didn't deserve.  Which I didn't earn.  My parents Christian faithfulness to bring me up in a house dedicated to Christ and His church.  To Bible study.  To memorizing scripture.  I can't say enough good about them.  And also for Ken's parents who did the same for Him.  Ken's dad was my pastor, and his mom was my Sunday School director.

Especially for sending Ken to be my husband.  Because of our parent's friendship with each other, Ken and I met each other.  And because of the training they put into our lives, Ken and I were looking for the same things.  Fifty-seven years we spent together.  What a blessing. Was it all peaches and cream?  Of course not.  Was it wonderful?  Absolutely.  God's gifts are perfect.

Once again, my house is torn to pieces.  The master bath has been gutted.  It would have been done months ago, but Tony, who does my remodeling, has been torn up himself and is two months behind on his word schedule.  Austyn, his son, was in that terrible wreck that killed his grandfather---and Tony's entire family has been putting their lives back together.  In as much as they can.

But today, all the demolition is done, the soaker tub is in, and the floor tile is going down.  Hopefully, by next Friday, it will be finished.  I do not have the patience that I had three months ago when I redid the other house.  And the entire "moving at the same time you are remodeling" project has worn me down.  I want to go back to whatever is normal--or some equivalent of normal.

There are still drapes to be hung.  Small jobs that I am going to do someday when I feel like it--which may not happen until next year.  Or ever.

I don't have the patience that I had three years ago when I moved to Edmond.  I wear out quicker and give up more easily.  And then I sit down and watch Hallmark movies for awhile.  And sometimes fall asleep in the middle.  They are all alike.  You know how they are going to end.

Patience.  I remember Ken's mother telling me: "Don't ever pray for patience!!  You are only asking for trouble if you ask for patience."  I was reminded of that while teaching the letter James wrote.  He said in James 1:3-4 Know this: the trying of your faith causes patience.  But let patience have her perfect work..."  Ken's mom said, "When you pray for patience, you just get more tribulation."

The next verse, however, says what you should be praying for instead.  "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all men liberally..."  So, don't ask for patience, ask for wisdom.  Patience is a learned skill.  It's sometimes referred to as "maturity."

I'm feeling very mature lately.  I'm certainly wiser than I used to be.  I am never going to move again of my own free will.  They are going to have to carry me out of this house in a box.