I spent all day yesterday writing about Spam.  The kind you eat.

My mom used to fix fried Spam, breaded tomatoes and fried okra every now and then for supper.  So one evening, after Ken and I had only been married a month or so, I fixed that.

Only one time in fifty-seven years did Ken refuse to eat what I fixed.  He never complained, even though I had no idea how to boil water when we got married. Whatever I set in front of him, he ate it.  

But the night I served Spam, he said, "Honey, I can't eat this."

I was surprised.  I thought everyone liked Spam.  Of course, I asked him what was wrong with it--that he wouldn't eat it.

"Well," he said, "When I was flying in the Korean war, the North Koreans sunk our supply ship that was coming in bringing food for the troops.  It was a month before they got another ship in for us, and all the cook had on the shelves, the only meat, was Spam."

"We had fried Spam and eggs for breakfast, Spam sandwiches for lunch--three choices, mayo, mustard or catsup--and Spam for supper as well.  I swore that if I lived through that war, I would never eat Spam again."

I threw the Spam out.  And I never bought another can of it.  That was sixty-three years ago.  I decided that if he wasn't going to eat Spam, I wouldn't eat it either.

Now, I don't eat Spam in honor of those guys who ate it every day, three times a day, for a month.  There's more than one way to honor our veterans.

  

Scott called me yesterday as he arrived at work in Bartlesville.  He was walking from his car to the door of the building.

"Mom," he told me.  "I don't know if I've ever told you this, but all of my life I have never stepped on a crack that I know of.  I'm really careful to step over every one of them, because I don't want to break your back."

He's in his mid 50's, and said he's been stepping over cracks all of his life because he didn't want my back to be hurt!  Who knew.

Only Scott.  Most children would discard a childhood ditty, outgrow it, and never think of it again.  "Step on a crack, break your mother's back."  Not Scott.  Here he is, a grown man, going from his car to the building where he works, and watching his feet so that he won't step on a crack.

I don't know how things get stuck in our minds and become habits.  I shared with you that I wash my hands every time I touch something in the kitchen.  And brush my teeth every (every) time  I eat something.

I don't think my back is going to be broken if Scott steps on a crack, but I do know his habit of avoiding them all of these years means that I am in his mind.  I know he loves me.

That feels good.

I've got great teeth.

I've got clean hands.

Scott loves me.  What more could a mother want.

I don't know how many times I've read the Psalms, but I just finished reading them again, and as usual, when you read the Bible, you discover something new.  I'm sure all of you already knew this, but in the 119 Psalm, (which incidentally is the longest chapter in the Bible) every single verse (176 of them) mentions God's Word.  I just hadn't ever noticed that.

Every verse is about keeping his commandments.  Or precepts.  Or law.  Or judgements.  Or testimonies. Or word. Or statutes. Over and over again, the Psalm urges us to keep his instructions so that we may have a happy and peaceful life.  And for the person who follows God's instructions, there are promises that He will watch over you.  Prosper you.  Take care of you.

Trying to live a life without following the guidelines that God has given you is definitely going to lead you into a train wreck.  I've been teaching women for sixty-three years, and have seen every train wreck there is.  Adultery,  abortion, drunkenness, addiction to gambling, overloaded credit cards, loneliness, abandonment, hopeless situations.  I think I've seen it all.  And all as a result of dabbling in activities God has warned us about.

They say that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.  Sometimes I think the world has gone insane.  I don't understand why people keep doing the same things over and over when they know they are going to be miserable later.

Look around you.  You don't have to make the mistakes that others do.  We have a book of instructions.  "How to have a blessed life."  Does that mean that unpleasant things won't come your way.  No, it just means they won't be self inflicted.  It means you have a God who has promised to help you through it.

It means you can live in peace without regrets.

I've been reading the Psalms every night when I go to bed.  In them, David is either begging for mercy, asking God to bring disaster on his enemies and kill them, begging God to listen to him, or praising God for his loving kindness.

Sounds like us.  We need to Praise God, Thank Him, Tell others about Him.  And do less moaning and groaning.

He says, "Bless the Lord, Oh, my soul,
And all that is within me; 
Bless his Holy Name.

Oh Give thanks unto the Lord,
For His Mercy endures for ever.

Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, 
Whom he has redeemed
From the hand of the enemy.

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.
Serve the Lord with gladness:
Come before his presence with singing.  And................

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving
And into his courts with praise:
Be thankful unto him and Bless His name.

Sometimes our prayers get in a rut of asking Him to do stuff; give us stuff.  I use the self-help word ACTS.  A=adore; C=confess; T=thanks, and at the end, S=supplication (asking).  Adore comes first.  Not asking.  I tend to get that backwards from time to time and have to regroup.  

This weather has set records.  This week we had a coolest day ever recorded on that particular day in July.  59 degrees.  After the triple digit weather every day the week before, it was welcome.

I picked and fried my first mess of okra.  It finally got hot enough last week for it to grow. Okra is the only thing I know that loves the one-hundred degree heat.  It's drying the tomatoes up.  The peppers have wilted.

My cardiologist called yesterday.  He and the vascular surgeon had a conference and decided to do a dye test on me immediately.  Finally.  Maybe we'll find out what's going on.  It's been six weeks to find someone that wants to find out what's going on as much as I do.  

Bill and Janet are coming to stay a couple of days and go to the special exhibit of expressionist art at the museum here.  Degas, Monet, Van Gogh, Cezanne, among others.  That will be fun.  They got me a ticket.

I'm going to spend the rest of the day writing about landings on carriers.  Which means I'll spend 90% of the day researching and 10% writing.  I wish I had listened more when I had the opportunity.

But I didn't.

It gets harder and harder to find something on television to watch.  I was flipping channels last night--and I have the smallest channel selection package possible--and every movie, etc. was so filled with foul language I was shocked. 

God's name was used like periods in a sentence.  Every bad word possible was used.  Some of the movies I flipped through would have had no dialog if they didn't have curse words and vulgarities.  I gave up on finding something to watch.  What have we become?  Our children learn words from what they hear.  They learn behavior from what they see.  And foul words and foul behaviors have become the norm.  Horrible.  

The news last night said that the suicide rate among children under 18 has increased fifty percent.  No wonder.  Many haven't grown up with a moral code and don't know that they are here for a purpose.   Many don't seem to have a purpose.  Or have any concept that the God who created them has a plan for their lives.  If there is no plan for their lives, there is no worth.

And if you have no purpose, what is the reason to live.  You aren't unique or special. You're just a statistic.  Perhaps suicide seems less painful than living?

Of course, there are good kids out there.  But I wonder how they make it.  The entire culture we now live in works against them.  I wouldn't want to be a teenager in today's world.  I grew up in a God inspired culture.  They are growing up in a Godless culture.  It makes me sad for them. 

The hope of children today is that God fearing parents and churches teach them that their lives have meaning.  That God has a plan for them.  That they are precious.  That there is a life after this one, and it is going to be a lot better. There won't be bullies, liars, thieves, murderers, cruelty or evil.  We are children of the Kingdom of God.  It is coming.  I hope it is soon.

I spent yesterday writing about the LSO (Landing Signal Officer) on a carrier.  Back before the Navy went to the mirror and made that job obsolete.  There weren't very many of LSO's.  When Ken became an LSO he was one of only three in the Marine Corps.

I've read myself silly on the subject and as I've read, I've remembered things he said about a day at the "office."  Oh...how I wish I had listened closer, because I don't know a single soul to ask about it now.  Ken would be ninety this year.   How many pilots are left who remember the LSO?

I asked on Facebook if there was anyone out there who remembered trapping wire with an LSO that could help me.  They would be in their nineties.  I didn't really expect an answer--and that's what I got.  Nothing.

I do remember that Ken said, "The most terrifying thing a pilot ever does is land on a carrier at night in bad weather.  Especially when you're low on fuel."  Or any kind of weather for that matter.  Because the deck is pitching side to side as well as up and down.  The LSO was critical in getting you aboard.

I'm 70 pages into this novel I'm writing.  Part is true, some is fiction.  Only a couple of hundred more pages before I have a book.  It's harder writing because I have no idea what I'm writing about.  I'm reading Ken's books and flight logs.

I've stood on a carrier and seen the LSO platform.  It extends off the side of the ship.  If a plane crashes, the LSO has two options.  Fall backwards into a chute like a water slide, or go over the side--which isn't a good option.  In fact, it's a very bad option. 

I didn't like to think about what he did at the time.  Better to kiss him as he went out the door to go to work, and wish him a happy day.  That would be a day in which nobody got killed.

The twenty-third Psalm is personal.  It isn't a "To Whom It May Concern" passage.  Last week when I was teaching my Sunday class, I pointed out that the words, "I, my, me, and mine" are used sixteen times.

It doesn't say, "You, your, their or our."  

"The Lord is My Shepard; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures:
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul: 
He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me,
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou anointest my head with oil,
My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Sixteen times.

It's a comfort to know that some parts of the Bible were written for you and me to read as a personal reassurance for our lives.

He is mine.  I am His.  He loves me.  I love Him, too.

I keep a Bible next to my bed to read when I lie down at night.
Another Bible is next to my chair.  I like to check on what He has to say to me. 

Got my cardiology appointment over with yesterday.  He was wonderful.  I have been through five others who told me that:

1.  there is nothing wrong.  Don't worry.

2.  There are tumors in your thyroid pushing against the artery.

3.  You got frightened and that caused your blood pressure to spike.

4.  You probably have an aneurysm.

5.  You hold your head in a kink--the wrong way.  You need to stay straight.

Then, two weeks ago my GP sent me to a vascular surgeon.  He said: You definitely a problem.  It's a major vein in your neck.  It's blocked by damage from radiation.  We need to narrow down where.  Thank goodness I finally have an answer.  That's what drives you nuts--not knowing.

He is anxious to solve the problem.  He agrees I have a serious anomaly--but isn't sure why, but it is not 1-5 wrong diagnoses above.  He laughed at number three, that I was frightened. "You don't seem to be the type to get frightened."  

Bottom line.  He agrees something is definitely wrong.  Hallelujah.  All I want to know is what is causing the problem.  It would also be nice if he could fix it.  He said I may need a stint in my neck.  Fine.  Whatever.

I am relieved to find someone who is curious about finding out what's wrong.  That's all I'm hoping for.  Also humongously happy to find a cardiologist that I can trust.  Who isn't intimidated by something unusual and isn't afraid to say, "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."






  I've finally found somebody.

I have a hand fetish.  I wash my hands twenty to twenty-five times a day.  Or more.  I can't stand for my hands to be dirty.

As a result, there are a number of things I won't do if I don't have to.  Like touch something greasy.  Or pick up something that's spilled on the floor unless I can do it with a paper towel.  Etc.  Etc.  Sometimes the mess is too great and I have to face it.  Clean it up, and wash my hands.  A bunch of times.

I avoid getting my hands in things that are wet and gooey.  Which, even though I love home-baked bread, I don't make it.  You have to knead it. Ugh.

I go through those boxes of one-hundred rubber gloves regularly.  And I'm the girl that caught frogs and crawdads and garter snakes all the time growing up.  I still like to find frogs, crawdads and snakes.  I moved a snake from one place to another the other day so he wouldn't get killed inadvertently.  Those things still don't bother me.  Squig's kisses don't bother me.  It's just my hands. 

Oddly enough, my brother had to have someone prop him up when he was in China and had to operate on hands.  He could cut you open and operate on anything else that needed fixing.  Anywhere.  Just not on hands.

I think there must be some reason from our childhood, but try as I can, I can't think what it would have been.  I don't even remember mom telling me to wash my hands.  I can't help but wonder if everyone has something stupid like that in their makeup.

As long as I'm confessing, I'll just admit that I have a tooth fetish as well.  I brush my teeth six or seven times a day.  When I get up, go to bed, meals and all snacks.  Perhaps that's why I have still have my teeth.

I have my teeth and my hands are always clean.  I'm good with that. 

I wish I had paid better attention to the things Ken told me.  There were a million pieces of his life that were so interesting, but the only things I have are the things that I wrote down and a few random things that I remember.

I was raising four kids.  And of course, all of us think, I'll write that down some day.  Or, I'll do that tomorrow when I have some free time.  It was the same thing with my dad's life.  It was so interesting--and I didn't write it down.

What I would say that I learned from all of that is that "someday" probably should be today--when you have something that you want to remember.  Time has a way of slipping through our fingers and all our good intentions are for nought if we don't put them into action and write it down.

My daughter Pat did something invaluable for me.  She took all the family pictures (black and white) and organized them and wrote a page or two about each of their lives.  It involved her reading a lot of old letters etc. and was a huge endeavor.  

But she did it, and it is permanent.  Every time I pick it up, I learn something because there are too many details for me to remember in one sitting.  And I am so thankful she did it for me.  Come to find out, she did it for everyone including my Brother.  

This book of the heritage of my people covers five or six generations back in time and will be read by five or six or more generations to come.

I guess what I am saying is:  Write down the things that happened in your life.  Your children and grandchildren will have a better idea of where they came from.  And as Christians, it gives the coming generations knowledge of their Godly foundation.  Maybe it will inspire them to pursue God's path.

Rebecca Perkins took my second book (The Jersey Cow) home with her after she stayed the night with me last week.  Took it on a flash drive.  Then took the flash drive to Kinkos and had it printed off.  She is going to spend a week on the East coast and is taking it with her.

She is going to do the same thing with this first edition of "The Jersey Cow" that she did with "The Letter" and edit for me.  My copy of "The Letter" is coming by UPS this week for me to put my final stamp of approval on it.  I got to see the book jacket cover last week.  I hope everything goes as planned and it is out in September.  I hope to get my copy as promised this week.  I hope.

Anyway, Rebecca has been an invaluable friend to encourage me on.  She has a way of kicking me in the butt when I get discouraged with the whole thing.  My first book wouldn't have gone anywhere if Rebecca hadn't set a fire under the publisher.  Rebecca had read it, believed in it and kept after the publisher until they read it.  And when they read it, they called to say they wanted to buy it.  And that it would be coming out in hardcover.  They said it definitely wasn't a paperback.  That's encouraging.  I would have still been sitting on it.

The publisher has asked me for a chance at whatever I write next, and that is good.  I don't have to find a publisher.  Which is a gift from God.  I don't have time to waste on running around hunting one down who believes in me.

Yesterday, I said that Sundays were empty and long after I came home from church.  But that isn't entirely true.  I write.  And this third book about Ken's journey from Pryor football to jets is like living it all over again for me.

He was such a bigger than life individual.  He was really something special.  He flew at the beginning of jet aviation.  After flight school, he was chosen to be in the very first class of jet training that the Navy and Marines had. 

What does everyone do now on Sunday afternoon?  We used to all gather together and eat Sunday dinner.  My mother cooked Sunday dinner for years and years.  And when she no longer could do that anymore, I did it.

Probably twenty five or thirty years I did that.  But my oldest three children grew up and left, and there was only me and Ken, mother and dad, and Jonathan for nine years after the others were gone.   I had to learn to cook for five instead ten to twelve--there were always friends at the table.

Jonathan grew up, joined the Navy and mom and dad both went to be with God, so it was just Ken and me.  And sadly, nobody carried on that Sunday tradition.

So on Sundays after church, I eat a sandwich most of the time.  I miss getting together with the family to hear how their week went.  Those times were full of talk and laughter.  I miss it.

We've lost something.  It makes me sad.  And since most of the churches stopped having Sunday evening services, Sunday has become a long day with nowhere to go and nothing to do.  It's a good day to read a book.  

Now I write.  A month ago, I finished my second book and started on a third.  It is about Ken's life.  I found pages I must have written back in the seventies.  Ken had to have been talking to me about flight school, because I know nothing about what I have written down on those pages.  I don't remember writing it.  Every SNJ, T28, F-9 and on an on.  Different squadrons.  There is no way I could write about this now if I hadn't written all of that down back then.

Why did I write it?  I have no idea.  But I am so thankful I did.  They are his memories, not mine.  The pages are invaluable.  Priceless to me.

My sweet friend Rebecca just reminded me that I forgot to post today.  Where was my mind this morning?  I have no idea.

I will just have to start over next week and do a better job.

When I moved across the street, my grandson David and wife Jennifer bought my old house.  And they have a huge, sweet, friendly female Lab named Carley who comes over, crosses the street, to see me now and then.

Carley is afraid of water.  Which is hilarious, since Labrador  Retrievers are water dogs.  They fetch ducks you have shot, bring them in from the water and lay them at your feet.  Anything 'water' is home to a Lab.

Not Carley.  So David and Jennifer took her over to Becky and Craig's pool to see if they could get her accustomed to the water, and maybe get in it.

It took coaxing to get Carley to put her feet on the first step down into the pool.  That was it.  She wasn't going any further.  Getting her feet wet was not a happy experience.  Carley didn't like that at all.

So David picked her up and carried her into the water.  She couldn't wait to get out--even though he was holding her and she was only slightly wet.

The next week they tried again.  She made it to the second step down, but trembled uncontrollably because she was so afraid.  

They expected for this water experiment to take a long, long time.  But the third time was a charm.  She went right in, swam in circles and decided that she was, indeed, a Labrador Retriever and water was her friend.

Sometimes we need a little help to discover who we are.  Carley is now a Labrador Retriever.  She just didn't know it at first.  She needed someone to help her figure out who she really was.

She is very proud of herself.

My email isn't working.  Frustrating.  My grandson who is a guru, couldn't find the problem.  His dad Craig, who is a mega-guru is going to take a shot at it today sometime.

Amazing how our lives have been intertwined with technology.  I get up every morning and check my email.  Then take a run through facebook--skipping most of it.  I would be lost without my I-phone.  It has every phone number and address of every person in my life.  I should back it up somewhere--if I knew how, I would.

I learn one new thing at a time.  And I started so late in life, I'll never catch up. There is no way I can catch up.  Which is why I am so thankful for the people in my life who help me.  I would be lost without them.

While the rest of the world is worrying about food and meds, I worry about tree trimmers, lawn mowers, electricians, plumbers, garden helpers and the like.  They take most of my income because I don't have a handyman in the house.  And all of them are trying to make a living.  Which is good.

But you don't realize the value of a helper in the house until you don't have one.  And Ken wasn't that great at stuff like that.  He mowed the yard and could do anything electrical, but when we got married, he told me, "I'll fly the airplanes, but you will have to take care of everything else."  

Which turned out to be very true.  He wasn't even good with a hammer.  But he was mine.  I miss him terribly.  And every time the lawn needs to be mowed or edged, or a lamp needs to be fixed, I think how lucky I was to have a helper.

Don't concentrate on things your mate can't do.  Thank them for what they do.  Ken was excellent at flying airplanes, and he left me the where-with-all to hire people to help me now.  Thank God.  He was a great, good man...

Rebecca Perkins stayed with me Saturday night and went to church with me on Sunday.  She is the reason I am going to get my book published.  I had given up on it.  But she read it, liked it, called the publisher and told her to either give me a contract or send the manuscript back.  That's when things started to happen.  The publisher now includes Rebecca on all communications.  

That's when the publisher bought the book.  So Rebecca is my right hand bulldog.  When I get discouraged, she goes into attack mode for me.  I love it.  She took the second book home with her to edit.  We'll see how that goes.  She is good at that.  I think she should be an agent.  But she is just a wonderful friend.

I got to see Carolyn (and granddaughter Stephanie) when I was in Pryor.  We went to breakfast at East Side, just like old times.  Biscuits and sausage and gravy.  Yum.  Just like I remembered.  Some things stay the same.  Old friends. And biscuits and sausage gravy.

I saw Sally the last time I was in Pryor.  I didn't get to see Becky Bacon, or Kathy Mitchell, (not Mitchell anymore) or JoAnn, or a bunch of others.  I try to see one or two of my friends when I go to Pryor.  I miss them.

Friends are everything.  All the members of my family that I grew up with are gone.  Aunts, parents, uncles, grandparents, cousins, etc.---all gone.  It makes friends more important than anything.  

Yes I love my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, etc.  But friends are people who are my age or close to it, and remember the things I remember.  We lived life together.  My children grew up and left.  My friends didn't.  We raised each other's children in the church.  I love my friends.

Just got back from the 1956 high school reunion.  Mercy, everyone looked so old! Missing teeth, wrinkles, grey hair and sagging everything.  I was the only young person there!!??  Everyone had to look at your name tag to know who you were.  Including me.

Our class had a private party Friday night.  It's amazing how many funny stories everyone had to tell.  You find out things you never knew, things that you've forgotten and things you absolutely know never happened!

It was fun.  But the next day at the "all school event," I didn't even make it through the morning to lunch.  I wore out and came home.  Had a buttermilk fried chicken sandwich at McDonalds on the Turner turnpike.

My Educational Director (Jerry Ross and wife Tammy) from my church in Pryor moved to an Edmond church 7 or 8 years ago (not the one I go to) and he and his wife had me over for a cook out on the fourth.  I hadn't seen them in forever.  He gave Ken and me a class in the Pryor church made up of couples.  Ken taught it one week, I taught it the next.   

Baptists (some) fall off the right end where women teaching men is concerned.  But he had me doing that.  Someone once commented to me about that, and I told them it's only in America that the "Higher Ups" have a problem.  Baptist women, starting with Lottie Moon, have been teaching men overseas forever.  My brother's wife Janet, was appointed director over all the work in Southern China.  She "spoke" everywhere.  I guess if you don't call it preaching or teaching, you can do it??

Anyway, I always appreciated Jerry for having faith in me that I might have something to say to men as well as women.  Ken and I loved teaching that class.  And yes, I took a lot of flack from the guys.  Good flack.

Becky's friend Kathy who works most of her sales, (sometimes they split one) had the birthday party for Josh at her house.  Grilled chicken, potato salad, baked beans, deviled eggs, green bean casserole, broccoli salad and on and on and on.  Kathy and Becky cooked it all.  And Becky made two pies and a birthday cake.  Kathy's husband Steve made homemade Ice cream.  Everything was yummy.  Steve is Darcy's guitarist.  (Darcy won American Idol--ventriloquist.  He travels on the weekends with Darcy and her folks.)

Steve and Josh lugged two new sofas into my family room from the estate sale that Becky and Kathy were working.  Sweaty, heavy, hard work.  Steve had me play the Marimba for him.   Such a down to earth guy.  Plays guitar for a number of  famous people.  And lugs sofas to my house--and rearranged my furniture with Josh's help.

People are just people.  And Oklahoma has its share of interesting people.  The other day, I saw that John Dwyer's new book "Mustang" hit number one in sales in  Oklahoma.  He is such a neat person.  I hope my book makes the bottom of the list someday.

I just hope this publisher gets it out in September like she said she would.  I was supposed to have 20 copies by the fourth--I don't think that is going to happen.  But once you sign a contract, you lose control.

I'm going to my high school reunion sometime this week.  1956.  Sixty three years ago.  Aren't many of us left.  We were close to each other.  No one had much; TV only had a couple of shows we all watched.  We did things together.  I bet this one is my last--because the next one is in two more years away, and it gets harder and harder to drive to it.  I drove to Pryor a  month ago and swore I wasn't going to do it again.  And here I go once more.  I'm taking the rest of the week off.  Blessed fourth to all.  I'll post Monday.

Finally, finally, finally I got a diagnosis.  I saw a vascular surgeon yesterday and after looking at me, the first thing he asked was, "Have you had radiation?"  

Eleven years ago, I had chemo and radiation for breast cancer.  It was aggressive and they put me through the hoops.  The chemotherapy was horrible.  Horrible.  But the radiation was nothing.  Or so I thought.

Seems like a number of veins--specifically the one from the heart to the brain--were burned from radiation. Perhaps damaged is a better word.  And it finally caught up with me.  The vein somewhat damaged.  I'll know more when the final tests are done.

The doctor assured me it wasn't an aneurysm.  And that I wasn't in immediate danger.  He didn't believe I needed a stint or surgery.  He wanted another CT scan--my fourth this month--before he made up his mind--but felt certain he was right.  Like I said the other day, I'm going to be glowing from all the radiation.

This isn't my first rodeo.  I lost my heartbeats (AV node) when I was thirty two and am still ticking--thank God for pacemakers.  That's 49 years ago.  And modern medicine has come a long way since then.

He said I was in amazing condition for a woman my age.  I already knew that.  God's been good to me.  I have Him to thank for finally, after going through three emergency rooms and seven doctors, getting me to the right place--a vascular surgeon who listened to me, and knew what was going on.  

I am very relieved.  I knew I wasn't crazy.  Just had to keep believing in myself and find someone who agreed and knew what to do.  Praise God.

  



  

I went to a birthday party last night for Josh.  He turned 41. He works for my daughter Becky. I probably should say that he works "with" her, because when Becky has a sale, she turns over a large section of the sale for Josh to stage, clean, price and sell. She doesn't have to worry about any of that portion of the sale because Josh is dependable, works really hard and gets the job done.

He had a very hard life, but has made the transition by pulling himself up by his own bootstraps because he works so hard.  I dearly love him.  He has such a kind heart.  We have all adopted him into the family. 

There were fourteen or fifteen people at the party.  I was sitting next to Josh as he opened presents (Lots of presents), and I asked him how many birthday parties he had had before.  He said, "Counting this one?"  I said yes and he said, "One."  It was the first birthday party of his life.

I take so many things for granted.  I'm sure you do too.  Just being born into the family I had was such a blessing.  It gave me such a "step up" on life.  You don't have to struggle as much when you have Christian parents  who encourage you and take care of all your basic needs.

I was reading Time magazine the other day about the women and children in some African country who have to live their lives in the middle of civil war, threatened, beaten, raped, brutalized and unable to protect their children from the same brutality.  Why were they born there, and I was born here?  Why do they have to suffer?  Why is my life easy?

I have no answer, but I do know this:  I am so thankful that God has given me the life that he did.  I do not deserve it.  So when you are thinking that things in your life aren't going well, give thanks for what you have.  You don't deserve any of it, and neither do I.  Thank you Father for your goodness.  Give thanks.

I keep learning new words.  I was reading a book a couple of months ago, and the author used so many words I didn't know that I started writing them down.  A number of words I had seen before and in context figured them out but the others--right over my head.  I looked up all the words I didn't know.  I still don't know all of them.  Here are a few.  Maybe you don't know them either. 

Bete noire:  A person or thing that one in particular dislikes

Contretemps:  An unexpected and unfortunate occurrence

Febrile:  Showing symptoms of a fever

Bonhomie:  General friendliness and geniality

Circumspection:  The quality of being wary, unwilling to take risks

The list went on and on.  I had over one hundred words before I finished one half of the book.  I had seen all of the words I have written down before, but never really learned for sure what they meant.

Needless to say, you can't understand what the author is saying if you don't  know the words.

The larger your vocabulary, the better you can think.  We think in the words of the language we know. 

I suggest that if you want to understand the Bible, find a translation with words you understand.  King James is hard to read.  The Living Bible isn't.  You don't get a prize for reading something you don't understand.  I like both versions.