My friend Jeanette said, "People don't care what you know until they know that you care."

There is a lot of fake "caring" going on.  All talk and no action.  It's easy to care when you don't have to do anything.  For me, I just don't know what I can do.

Truth is, "doing" is tough.  

My mailman is black.  I'm white.  Saturday, I met him at the mailbox and told him that I cared about the problems going on right now.  "But I don't know what I can do about any of it, other than say that it matters to me."

He said, "You matter, too."

I guess all I can do is interact more with the people I know.  Not much use for an 82 year old woman these days who rarely leaves the house.

Ken's car is sitting in my garage.  My granddaughter came over to install my State Farm 30% off safe driver thing-a-ma-jig, and asked me how many miles the car had on it.  She tried turning it on, but it was dead as a door-nail.  I haven't driven it since December.  It's a 1999.  Worthless in terms of selling it.

The other car, the one I drive, hasn't been filled up but twice since the first of January.  Where am I going to go?  Occasionally to Braum's to get a hamburger, fries and a coke.  To get my hair cut.  My neighbors and friends go to the grocery store and get what few I need. Friends bring me a plate of food.

Basically, I qualify for the Safe Driver discount because I don't drive!!

My friend Carolyn told me that she heard someone say that people are born with two choices.  To accept Christ, or deny Him.  She told them that they really only have one choice.  If they don't choose, they have already chosen.

We were talking about how to explain why we are Christians and I said that it is totally dependent on the written account of Christ.  You believe it, or you don't.  Why do I believe it?  I do because of the written accounts of the men who followed Him.  And that is all dependent on the truth of the resurrection.

Christ died, his disciples went back to their day jobs--fishing.  It was over as far as they were concerned.  But then, He appeared and they were never the same.  They all died in the process of telling of Jesus rising from the dead.  Fishing was done.  They spent the rest of their lives going their separate ways, telling the story and losing their lives for doing so. They never went back again. 

I love the story of Thomas.  He gets a bad rap for being "Doubting Thomas."  But it was his doubts that makes the story so powerful.  Jesus appeared to ten of the disciples; Thomas wasn't there. The ten rushed to tell Thomas what happened--that Jesus was alive, risen from the dead--and Thomas said, "I don't believe it.  And I won't believe it unless I put my hand in his side where he was stabbed, and put my finger in the hole in the palms of his hands."

Jesus appeared to Thomas, told him to put his finger in the holes and his hand in His side.  Which Thomas didn't need to do.  Thomas fell to his knees and gave us the most powerful personal testimony in the Bible:  "My Lord, and my God!"  The only time in scripture that someone looked at Jesus and said, "My God."  

I believe.  There is nothing as powerful as a personal testimony like that.

We never quit learning.  Yesterday, my brother Bill told me about going to Mongolia in the seventies.  The country had just declared its independence from Russia and had asked him to come help them set up a program for rural health villages.  He was working with the International Baptist Mission Board, trying to start churches in restricted countries.  Mongolia had never heard of Christ.  There were no Christians there and were open to the message.

Offering free medical services opened the door.

Problem was, there weren't any rural villages.  Mongolia had only five small cities.  Everywhere else was inhabited by nomads living in yurts, moving from place to place with their horses and sheep.  Bill was eventually able to set up medical centers in outer areas, get American doctors to come in to give medical help by taking their vacations in Mongolia instead of lying on the beach soaking up the sun for two weeks.  Actually, there were many who made that choice.

When Bill got off the plane, they threw his suitcase on the tarmac and took off again.  It was February, and the temperature was forty below zero.  He said that if he hadn't had his military issue hood made of Wolverine, he would have frozen his lungs when he took a breath.  He had worn it into the country because he knew it would be bitterly dangerous due to the cold.

Here's the thing I learned.  The military had tested all kinds of fur, and found that Wolverine was the only fur that didn't ice up in sub-zero temperatures when you exhaled.  I can't imagine the sensation of sucking forty below air into my lungs.  My brother was a missionary doctor because he felt that was what God had called him to do.  Nobody would go into Mongolia in February unless they were called by God Himself.  Maybe Wolverines would.

August heat has finally arrived.  We had a wonderful reprieve from normal for the last three weeks.  Rain and cool weather.  When I was a little girl, I used to hear the old folk sit around and talk about the weather--which I thought was odd.  Who cared about the weather!?

Now I am an "old folk," and find myself talking and wondering about the weather.  I'm watching the two merging hurricanes in the Gulf, wondering what they are going to do.

I called a friend who lives on the edge of Lake Pontchartrain, (the lake between New Orleans and Mandeville) and invited her to come stay with me if she gets flooded.  Those on the coast always have to worry about hurricanes. 

Last year my daughter Pat drove me to the gulf so that I could get my feet wet.  It was a trip back in time.  When I married Ken, he lived in Pensacola where the sand is white and the water is blue.   I was 18 then, and 81 when we went back--two numbers reversed.  The sand and water were the same.

That 18 year old girl had no idea what was ahead of her. She certainly didn't know about the Marine Corps, military, or aviation.  I was asked to write an introduction biography about myself for when I speak on September tenth to the Daughters of the American Revolution.  I didn't know what to say about myself.  Everything in my life has been so random.  What is important?

What I think is memorable probably wouldn't be thought of as important by someone else.  Looking back, I wonder what that 18 year old girl would think about how she turned out?  What would she think was important about her next sixty-four years?  I would say this about her--she had grit.

My tomatoes have burned up and quit bearing.  I watered them every other day to no avail.  I think there must be some devil in the vine that said, "It's August.  It's too hot to make tomatoes."  The vines are still alive, and little green tomatoes are popping out, but it makes me sad there are no red ones.

My neighbor's mom (in her 90's) heard about me planting Jet Stars so she planted some and is now raving about them.  Scott (my son) told me about them.  There are just some tomatoes that do better in Oklahoma and Jet Stars are one of them.  The flavor isn't number one, but they are up there.  They are delicious and survive when everything else dies.  They produce a ton of fruit.  Scott bought me and my cousin Ann some.  Hers are doing better than mine.

If you aren't a gardener, you are probably happy with your store bought tomatoes.  But if you ever bit into a Heritage tomato, you would go buy a shovel and start planting.  Put them in your flower bed or between your shrubs.  You don't have to have a garden.  Stick them in the ground where there is some sun.  

God does the rest.  The sun comes up every morning.  Rain fills our aquifers and we can water what we plant if we need to.  Buy a hose.  That's it. 

God provides for our every need.  Before this pandemic, we all thought we needed more than we do.  Actually, we need very little.  Food, water and shelter.  Next on my list of wants would be air conditioning in the summer and heat in the winter.  And my dog.

Squig is a necessity. 

Writing this book about my brother has been interesting.  I don't know how he did what he did.  He was the first missionary into China in the seventies--after they had previously all been exiled--the Red Guard killed a bunch of them.  Some got out, but not all.  He spent two years in language school in Hong Kong learning Cantonese and then went to Macau and set up a clinic.

Black bag medicine.  They had diseases we don't see here very often.  TB, malaria, etc.  No anesthetics for surgery.  He was the only American physician in Macau.  They had no concept of what American medicine was capable of.

Mao had lost control of the Guard--a bunch of young people that Mao had instructed to get rid of teachers, doctors, educated people and get rid of resistance.  The Guard was soon out of control and it took the Red Army to shut them down.  (Army and Guard--two different things)  

Bill went to China just after all that.  Stayed 37 years.  He is a doctor, but all of what he did was free.  He drew a salary just like every other missionary.  He was the first American doctor into China and set up a physician exchange system for American and Chinese doctors.  First ever.  China had no medical equipment at the time like ours.  Actually they didn't have much of anything.  

Today I was writing a chapter about culture shock for the people he recruited to join him.  He said that if you went to a movie, they didn't have popcorn and cola, they had rat on a stick.  Dipped in batter and fried like a corn dog.  Toasted scorpions, worm cake...and a lot of other things that would make you gag.  He said he ate it all.  

You would have to be called by God to do the things he did.

   

When all of my children were grown and gone, I kept saying--in a class I was teaching at church--that I didn't need 3100 square feet anymore.  I didn't need two air conditioners and heating units, etc., etc.  I needed to sell that house and get something smaller.

One of the ladies in my class owned a real estate agency and told me that if I was serious, to put a price on my house.  I did.  A high price--and it sold the next day.  There had been some new businesses come into the Industrial Park (Pryor has the largest industrial park in the nation--Google, etc.) and houses were in demand.

We had three weeks to get out.  The only thing in Pryor that hadn't sold was the leaking roof, rotting floorboards, and a zillion other problems kind of house I wrote about the other day. No one wanted it.  We moved and I started renovating.  It was wild. Luckily I know how to pack, so before we moved I had a carpenter build floor to ceiling shelves on both sides of the garage and stacked all our stuff in there until the carpentry work inside the house was done.

Jon came home from college, opened the back door of the house we sold, and walked into the kitchen.  A strange woman screamed, "Get out of my house!"  

"Where's my mom?" he asked her. I had forgotten to tell him we moved.  First things had come first.  Telling him was on my list of things to do.

She told him she didn't know where his parents had moved to.  Jon ended up wandering around Pryor trying to find someone who knew where we had gone.  It took him a while to forgive me.  For me it was just one more moving story.


  

My dad and Carl Albert were friends.  Went to the same school; grew up together.  Lifetime friends.  Carl was from Bug Tussle, Oklahoma.  We have lots of strange names of towns in our state.  Dad was from Wilburton.

Carl served as the Speaker of the House of Representatives in DC from 1971 to 1977.  But Carl was always a southeast Oklahoma boy.  Everybody called him the "Little Giant from Little Dixie."  

When I was born, (in Ft. Smith, Ark.) my mom and dad were living in Moffett, Oklahoma.  Just across the Arkansas river into Oklahoma.  Moffett flooded on a regular basis. But my folks couldn't afford anything better. (This was way back before Senator Kerr got legislation for the Kerr lock and dam system on the Arkansas river--which stopped the flooding and opened up the Mississippi River system into Oklahoma all the way to Catoosa, an inland port, near Tulsa.)

My folks were so strapped for cash that they rented out the one bedroom in their three room house.  They slept in the living area.  They probably put me in a dresser drawer?

Daddy was always good with numbers.  So when Moffett flooded once again, dad called Carl and asked if he could help dad get a job somewhere out of the flood zone.  The government was always looking for math skilled people, so Dad was hired by the IRS in Tulsa to examine and audit income tax returns. They were all done by hand back then.  Dad did returns for all of our friends and family for the rest of his life after he got a job in Pryor. 

Nobody ever thought of Carl Albert as a "somebody." He was just a friend.  If you live long enough, some day, you'll know somebody who can give you a hand--or maybe you will be that someone who can give somebody else a hand.  Good people make good friends.  

  

We had just moved out of a big house where we raised four children--into a small house.  It needed many repairs.  There had been a housing boom and it was the only thing available in the entire town of Pryor at the time.  I ripped sheetrock out, hired a man and replaced rotted floor joists, pulled out the kitchen, added a second bath and finally got it livable.  

We were both driving back and forth to Miami to work, (110 miles round trip every day) so I painted and carpeted one of the bedrooms for us to live in while all of this was going on.  When it was finished, it was really cute.  

But when Ken found out he was ill, he decided he wanted me to design and build a something new.  Ken was worried there would be more redo and was worried that  the house I had just redone was going to have more problems.

He could see the writing on the wall with his health--and wanted me to have "new."  So I drew the plans up and had it built.  And being the mover that I am, I've moved 27 times, I packed everything up, labeled the boxes, and prepared to call the moving company.

But the day of the move, our Sunday church class showed up. Sonya Bell drove up in a rental truck; twenty others in pickups and SUV's.  They brought breakfast and a coffee maker, divided up the rooms, the guys used a dolly for the washer, dryer and fridge--and the house was empty in less than an hour.

By the time Ken and I got to the new house, all of the boxes were in the right rooms.  And Kathy Mitchell had  lunch prepared for everyone at her house.  Sometimes something happens in  life that is so special that your heart is overwhelmed.  That was one of those times.  Awesome people, God's people, a gift to Ken and myself.  Christian servants.  I'll never forget it. 

Someone asked me yesterday, "Did Jesus break the law?"

My answer, "Yes, he was a lawbreaker--of Jewish law.  But not the ten commandments.  Not the Law that says to love the Lord your God with all your mind, heart and soul and love your neighbor as yourself."  The law of the land, however, was Roman law--not Jewish law.  If he broke Roman law it would have been because it was against God's law.

There is a time to stand up for truth. Righteousness.  For God. 

But the Jews added to the ten commandments hundreds of more laws that were ridiculous.  You could help a cow out of a ditch on the Sabbath but you couldn't help a man if he fell in a ditch...etc.  You couldn't touch a dead person--which Jesus obviously did.  

His disciples picked wheat or corn on the Sabbath and Jesus didn't rebuke them.  That was considered to be working on the Sabbath.  Jesus took a whip to the money changers in the temple.  There are other things that Jesus did that were Jewish no-no's.  He did what was right.  Always do the right thing.


In 1Corinthians 9:20-22, Paul says that to the Jews, he became a Jew.  To those who didn't have the (Jewish) law, He was not a Jew.  To the weak, he became weak.  In other words, don't offend people just to prove a point.  Paul said that he did what he did "...for the gospel's sake..."  Do that.

Would I break the law?  "Yep.  But only for the sake of the gospel of Christ."  There is a "Higher" law than the law of the land.  The disciples died for it.

Friday.  Garage sale day and breakfast with Ann.  One of the things I have noticed when I go to these sales is the outrageous number of baby clothes and toys people have for sale.  Tables with hundreds of items.  

I can't imaging how one baby could have used all of those items before it grew out of them.  

And one-use appliances...things that you never use again.  Deep fryers, rice steamers, irons, George Forman grills, etc. --- if it was advertised on TV, wait three months and you can buy it for pennies on the dollar at a garage sale.

Although I  never buy anything, I can predict what we will see.  It's better than Target?

Josh and Craig rotated my mattress 90 degrees yesterday.  I am now sleeping on the foot of the bed turned sideways.  The side-to-side is now  the up and down.  I had caved in a hollow where I slept.  I am going to have to brave going out and buying a mattress.

By Friday every week, all I do is ramble.  I've used up all my words.

Have a blessed weekend.

It is August the thirteenth.  It should have been unbearably hot for the last two weeks, but no...It has been lovely.  It has rained over and over again.  For those of you in other states, be aware--it doesn't rain in Oklahoma in August.  It cooks.  Temps over one-hundred degrees every day are not unusual.

The grass turns brown and drys up.  Every thing you planted in March and April stoops over and dies--and the trees start loosing leaves.  But the trees right now are green, green, green.  The grass is lush.  Makes me wonder what September is going to look like.  I could get used to having more months like this one. 

Yesterday, I had to write a biography for The Daughters of the American Revolution.  I had never written one before.  I was a wreck before I got it done.  They've asked me to be their guest speaker on September, which is fine...I don't get nervous when I speak.  I've been a guest speaker numerous times.

However, telling someone things about myself was nerve-wracking.  I have never even written a resume' to apply for a job.  I just got hired.  By two different colleges based on being in the right place at the right time with the right degrees.

If you've never written a biography, try it.  What will people want to know about you???  What is important?  What isn't?  It was very difficult.  What do you put in?  What do you leave out?  I forgot to include that I have written a blog for seven years.  Also that I have a book coming out soon and have written two more that are on their way to a publisher.  I told them I had five children, ten grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren.  That's what seemed important to me. 

Today is "Bean Wednesday."  Linda usually does the beans, but today I am cooking Navy beans.  With pieces of  ham I bought and cut up to cook in beans.

I grew up eating beans twice a week.  Once for dinner, and second time with leftovers the next day.  Unless you lived on a farm and had pigs and cows, you would have starved without beans and chicken.  Everyone had chickens running around inside the back yard fence.

Until we got a bunch of "laws" in the city.  Laws that are now being repealed.  Even in Edmond where I live, people can have chickens in the city limits if their yard meets size requirements--which doesn't mean you have to have an acre to qualify.

Eggs and milk.  Goats are coming back.  Only problem with goats is they chew up your landscaping.  But maybe milk and butter are going to become more important than shrubs in the near future.  People have to eat.

I would get some baby midget goats if I could fence off my okra patch and tomatoes.  But goats can jump a fence so that might not work.  Although, I haven't cooked okra for myself yet--I keep giving it away.

We are all more aware of the fact that we are dependent on slaughter house workers and truck drivers to get things to our local grocers.

We need food,  water, (medications for some of us) and a place to sleep.  I think people are starting to realize that much of what we thought we needed were actually "wants."  The Bible says, "But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus."  Philippians 4:19

Everybody is so good to help me.  I have over a dozen containers from this last week where people have brought me something to eat.  Now I have to remember who they belong to.

I am so thankful for the thoughtfulness.  

I've been thinking about all the times in my past when I cooked a meal for my family and took an extra plate to someone.  I didn't have a clue how much that meant.  It took nothing to do it.  I was feeding six; another plate was just another plate.  No big deal.

But for the person on the receiving end it is invaluable.

Jeanette's son Brad has adopted me.  He is a fabulous cook--especially of Chinese food.

Linda Kerley--who used to live next door--cooks beans every Wednesday.  I do the cornbread and feel somewhat useful.  Last week, someone had gone to the grocery store for me and bought cornmeal mix instead of cornmeal.  I didn't notice on the package and made the cornbread as usual.  It was so bad we couldn't eat it.  I threw it out.  I don't even know if I can cook anymore???

Becky--my daughter invites me over regularly or sends a plate.  BBQ ribs, asparagus risotto, grilled hamburgers.

I'm eating better than ever.  What a blessing.  I keep thinking, "Somewhere in my Youth or Childhood, I Must Have Done Something Good?"  (Along with Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music)

And there are other new things that I didn't have growing up.  One of my new things I love best is Google.

When I was younger I memorized a zillion scriptures in order to get the colored cards in Bible school.  If you memorized ten scriptures, you got another card.  I wanted all the cards.  And I knew where to find the scriptures in the Bible.

The scriptures stayed with me all these years.  Their addresses didn't.  I sometimes wasted a lot of time trying to find something.

Not any more.  I just write a couple of words from the scripture into Google and Shazam!! There it is.  Magic.

Those of you who grew up with this tool have no idea the amount of time it saves you.  Anything you want to know--there it is.  Want to know the day the next full moon is coming?  Google it.

My question is, how did all of that stuff get out there on the net and instantly  available to my fingertips???

Who put it there?  Are the historical sites accurate?

If I go to a fact check site, who checks the fact checks?

It's scary.  How do you know the truth?  I lived in Pryor, Okla less than a half mile from Google.  Who are they anyway!?

I'm sticking to scripture.  They all died from telling the truth.

Every Friday, my cousin Ann picks me up and we go garage sale-ing.  I never buy anything.  But it is fun.  She keeps a basket full of toy things by her piano--she teaches lessons to dozens--and when the boy or girl does well, they get to pick an item from the basket.

So we are always looking for things for the "Basket" when we go to the sales.  Amazing the brand new never opened things we find for a quarter to keep her basket full.

I met an 89 year old very spry woman this morning who was born in 1931.  We had lovely time talking about the depression and war years.  We all love to remember our "era."   

I said something about going to my grandmother's house and trying to patch tires along the way when the inner tubes blew out.  (Most of you don't know about inner tubes--tires were in two parts back then.)

She said her grandparents lived in Kansas and it was a six tire patch trip. Amazing how many things from the 30's, 40's and 50's are obsolete.

Progress is good.  I love the microwave.  I love my phone that I talk to and it sends messages.  I love that it keeps all my numbers and I don't have to go get a phone book and look it up.  Most of you have probably never seen or used a phone book.

I love that I don't have to change the ribbon in a typewriter and use carbon paper to duplicate.  And my Mac remembers what I write.  And Google!  Oh my, I can find answers instantly to anything I want to know or remember.

I just finished reading "The Nightingale." It is a story--historical factual fiction--about the French women who ran the underground rescue of Jews and hid downed airmen in WWII.  Great book. One of the best I've read. 

I was born the year that war started, and was in the second grade when it ended.  It is very clear in my mind.  All of my young childhood days were war years and my childhood memories were of living through the war.

The shortages.  The difficulty of finding tires, or anything rubber.  The ration stamps that were traded like cash.  All steel going to the war effort.  Everyone saving every thing--nobody threw anything away.  We repurposed everything.

We had no TV back then.  We had radios.  I can still remember my grandfather sitting on a three legged stool with his ear against the mesh cloth covering of a 3 to 4 foot high radio with a semi-circular top, listening to the news from the war.  Everyone gathered by the radio when the news came on--once a day.

We saved pennies so that on Saturday we could go to the movies for a dime and see the newsreels filmed by journalists who risked their lives to get footage to run each week at the movies.  War film.

Those of us who grew up in those years have no problem with the shortages in this pandemic.  We've done this before.  We know what is essential and what isn't.  We've done without.  We ate what we had and were thankful for what we had to eat.  We cut the toes out of our shoes when our feet grew.  We made our clothes.  Everyone knew how to sew.  We used leftover worn out clothes to piece together something else.  Rag rugs.  Crazy quilts. Nobody had anything--but we had everything we needed.  Family.  That's what counts.

Never in my life have I seen an August start like this one.  Rain, rain, rain and cool weather--by cool I mean in the 80's not the 100's!!  It's wonderful.

And today, I slept until 7:15.  What a God given blessing.  The last three days I was wide awake at 4:00 AM.  They say that older people don't sleep very well.  It is true.  All of my older friends seem to have the same problem.  But waking up after 7, and hearing the rain on the roof makes for a very thankful heart.

The scripture that comes to mind is: "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you."  That scripture covers it all!  Start the day with a thankful heart.  Do God's will about that.  

And the best thing is that it doesn't say "For" everything give thanks.  It says "In" everything.  In the middle of trouble.  In the middle of sadness.  In the middle of a pandemic.  In the middle of growing old.  In the middle of watching your children make mistakes.  Just be thankful for the things you have to be thankful for.  Your day will go better.  Have a thankful heart for what is good.

My feet don't hurt!! Yea!!  Some of my friends can hardly walk their feet hurt so bad.  My knees are good.  My fingers--no arthritis--so I can type.  My eyes are exceptional and my hearing is perfect they say.  I can go on and on and on about things to be thankful for at the age of 82.  

I've lived through multiple wars  WWII, Korea, Viet Nam, and God still reigns.  I'll have to depend on all of you out there to tell me if I lose my mind??  I think it's okay.  I am writing.  I can make a sentence.  I can plan.  Thank God for what I have--not for what I don't have.

My daughter Becky's dog passed away in the night Sunday.   She had lost her hearing, was almost totally blind, but sweet and happy and wandered around the house causing no trouble.

But Friday or Saturday, Becky was trying to clean up her face and realized that under her schnauzer beard there was a growth.  She checked her neck and inside her mouth and realized it was not good.  It was time.

The decision was to take her to the Vet on Monday...but in the night, Craig got up with her to let her out and she fell in their swimming pool.  It was too much for her heart.  Craig jumped in immediately, but she didn't make it.

My other daughter Pat lost her dog Riley two weeks ago as well.  Our whole family is in dog mourning.  If you aren't a dog person, you won't understand.

I always thought dogs were dogs.  I didn't know they had personalities until I got Squig--who is a chicken.  Afraid of noise.  He hides and shakes.

My friend Jeanette's dog (Jones) is in charge of the world.  She doesn't even know she is a dog.  She thinks she is in charge of the world.  She may be?

Pat's new dog--Oscar--is good.  Just plain good.  Quiet.  Well mannered.  Pat brought him over and I dog-sat him last week.  Anytime I told him to go get in his crate, he said,"Okay," and went and got in the crate and lay down.

Becky is going to be looking for another dog.  Schnauzer.  Female.  Both she and Pat usually do rescue dogs so it might take awhile to find the right one.  

I am  hooked on the TV show "Married at First Sight."  It's my first real addiction since "I Love Lucy!"

What I find interesting is that the panel reviews thousands and thousands of people who submit applications, and are able to get it right most of the time. Far better success rate than people choosing someone themselves.

Most match-ups are in their late twenties or thirties and have had no success in finding a lasting relationship themselves.  Most are very attractive, successful and personable.

One of the women said about the man she was paired with, "He's not my type."
It turned out to be exactly right for her.

The panel responded, "Your type dumps you every time.  You keep choosing the same type over and over again.  Let's try matching you with someone who will be good to you, faithful, in it for the long term and wants to be married." 

But lately, the show, like so many others that start off wholesome, has turned to sexual suggestions, conversations, depictions, and constant alcohol consumption get-togethers.

It is no longer fun, interesting, and exciting to watch the pair-ups.

They have lost me if they don't revert to their original format.

Interesting how many shows go off course.