All of us have been glued to the TV watching the storm...at least I was.  Ann’s son Will was just south of the eye near the shore.  He kept us us up to date with pictures.  I texted him this morning to see if he lost his car to water and he reported (thankfully) that all was well.

They are saying that the hurricane is going to hit S. Carolina.  I lived in Beaufort S. Carolina for three years and we endured a direct hit.  Military came to our houses and hammered plywood on our windows.  Our house was three blocks from the water.  It was scary.  I was by myself and responsible for three children.

And of course...as was usually the case in things like that...The pilots were charged with saving the planes.  They flew them inland and spent the time playing Acey-ducy till it was all over.  Women and children were left to the base emergency crews.  First things first.

Out of five births, Ken was there for one that I know of.  I’m not sure about Jonathan.  My heart failed, I was unconscious, and don’t remember that one.  

Sometimes I look back and wonder about that very young girl (four of those births by the time I was twenty-five).  Where did her grit come from?  I had no idea what I was getting into by marrying a Marine fighter pilot.  But to tell the truth, I would do it all over again.  There was never a dull moment.

My dad wasn’t a fisherman.  I’ve never caught a fish--and wouldn’t know how to bait a hook anyway.  But we did go to the Spavinaw dam when they closed the gates and pick fish up--along with hundreds of other people.  Huge fish.

Every now and then they closed the gates on the dam--which left the river bed below (which was rocky) to dry up.  Fish by the hundreds would be caught in little pools of water.  

It was war time, and the crowds were large, waiting for opportunity to get free meat.  We picked up catfish larger than our big dog.

The shore was a mess as fish were cleaned for transport to be dried, smoked and otherwise preserved.  

If you eat catfish now, it is probably farm raised and sweet.  River bottom catfish is not sweet.  They live in mud.  But when you are hungry, you will eat river bottom fish.

Catfish have whiskers.  Long spikes of needles at their nose and mouth.  That’s where they get their name.  The longer they live, the sharper the needles.  My recommendation is to eat farm raised catfish.  

Monday came and went without me.  I had so many things to do, I forgot to blog.  I hadn’t even got Sunday’s crossword done!  Still don’t.  I’m behind on everything.  The biggest culprit was the grocery store.  Every six weeks or so, I have to go walk the aisles and see it all myself.  My friend Jeanine across the street has my credit card and takes care of the day to day stuff.  She is one of God’s angels.

The problem is when I get home from the store.  When you are putting things in your basket, it doesn’t weigh much. And I always pay someone to load it in the car at the store.   But....OHHH....when you get  home, you have to get it all in the house.  Unsack, and put it all away.  That is really really hard for me anymore.  I was totally pooped.  I’m going to have to change my ways, plan ahead and have someone on this end to help me unload.  Rethinking what you do is how to grow old gracefully.

Of course there is another solution...don’t grow old.  But I’m not gonna’ go that route.  I’m going to adjust.  I’m just doing it little at a time.  It’s amazing how few thing really have to be done!!.  Dusting...out the window.  Mopping, wet a rag and do it with your foot.  I could write a book on “What really doesn’t need to be done.”  One thing I’ve changed...I don’t run to any store until I have to have three or four things I need at numerous places.  Fewer trips.  And...drive through is my new awesome.  Walgreens does my shopping for me through the window, then comes to the car and loads it.  The pandemic woke stores up to the needs of older consumers.  Yoo-hoo! 

It turned cold overnight!!  I broke out the humidifier when I realized that all of the allergies I was experiencing were due to dry air.  I can’t remember when it rained last.

Hopefully my yard man will come today and trim hedges.  And take all the suckers off the oak trees.  Everything looks ragged.  I’ve given all of my tools away so that I won’t be tempted to try and do work like that.  My mind says I can, but afterwards my body explains the truth to me.

I am going to take Jeanine to lunch.  Chinese.  She spent a lot of time fighting the good fight with AT&T for me.  It’s going to save me almost $40 a month.  We both love Chinese food and she is the only one I have to do that with.  I get tired of Mexican.

My class went to Chicken Express Tuesday because I wanted chicken liver.  It was ok, but too much oil and breading for me.  I like fried onions with it and they put gravy on the plate.  No.

It is Friday.  By Friday every week, I have run out of things to write about.  I am sure you can tell!!! 

I couldn’t get my blog to load this morning.  Called Craig, he came over, tapped the icon and bam!  It loaded.  It must be me?

Ann took me to lunch.  I forgot to eat breakfast because I was upset with the computer.  Which is rather frequent, but it is always my fault.  Something simple that I’m afraid to do if fear of crashing the entire thing.

Squig is better.  Praise God.  He is eating, holding it down, and somewhat animated.  I keep throwing money at the problem and it’s working.  I have nothing else to spend it on.

We get up in the night at 1:00 and let him out, so that problem no longer exists.  He has all of this old-age-dog-stuff figured out.

Jeanine--across the street--came over and went to war with AT&T for me.  I had given up.  They finally gave her the real number of dollars that I owed instead of what was on the latest bill.  It went up $49.00 in one month.  The bill was wrong.  But finding someone who speaks English is the hard part.  She is so good to help me when I reach the end of my patience.  It took hours over three days.

God plunked me on this street because he knew I would need Jeanine.  She checks on me every day and calls at night to remind me to turn on my porch lights. Thank God for such a good friend. 

Getting a book published is the most frustrating thing I have done in years.  I have a beautiful handout (on expensive paper in color) that the publisher sent me to give to people--describing the book.  Saying my book would be in bookstores on November 7, 2021.  Never happened.

I have heard every excuse in this world for the delays. The printer went bankrupt.  The supplier couldn’t get paper.  Printing companies are dragging their feet on hard back books verses paperback....etc., etc., etc.

Everyone who has read the edited copy says: publish on Amazon.  But the difference in self-publishing and getting a licensed publisher is huge.  At the top is advertising.  A publisher gets the news out in state and local newspapers.  They distribute to libraries.  They set up book-signing dates in every book store in your state, and my publisher has even got dates in military base PXs.  But....you are at their mercy.  Once you sign a contract, they are in control.

I put a number of stipulations in the contract concerning changing dialog in film rights, etc. but what I should have done was put a due-date in it.  That way, if not published within a certain time-line, the contract would be voided.  Live and learn.  The pandemic almost put bookstores out of business and numerous publishers went out of business--so most of the delays were legitimate, however, my frustration level is huge. 

What I have observed, is that people talk about one of three things. 

1.  They talk about things.  Their car, shoes, jewelry, vacation accommodations, boats, sports, etc.

2.  They talk about people.  “...did you hear about what Joe did!” or “I really don’t like Suzie.  She thinks she is better than everyone else.”  Seldom saying anything nice.

3.  Or...they talk about ideas.  And there are two categories in this group.  The first group orates.  They get on a box and talk “at” you.  Do not interrupt.  This group can’t share their thoughts without falling into the second group that criticizes people who think otherwise than they do.  They have never learned to discuss.  They have chosen one side of an idea and go to war.  Dividing people.  Slashing and burning.

The other side of this group actually wants to learn something.  They may say something like, “What do you think about....” and listen to you.  They may ask how you arrived at your idea.  They are actually interested in what you have to say.  I had the privilege of growing up in a family like this. Every Sunday at the dinner table, aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends discussed ideas.  We were taught not to argue, just share.  We had to know why we thought why we did--who, or what, influenced us. I am having a hard time finding those people any more.

 As the world has watched the memorials for Queen Elizabeth, I am sure you have been struck as I have been at the millions that waited hours, even days by the side of the road--quietly, just waiting for the procession with her body to pass by.  Total respect for her was evident in a way we will never see again for a world leader.

Can you imagine that type of outpouring for anyone else of our world leaders?  We Americans can’t stand still for five minutes for hardly anything.  I thought of Putin and am sure he is jealous--he wants to restore himself as Czar of Russia.  But has no respect in the world.  He is a tyrant.

I remember her coronation.  I remember her taking the reins and trying to rebuild England after WWII.  Churchill, Stalin, Truman, FDR, all of it.  I remember.

It is sad to lose a person that the entire world respects.  But to get the respect of the world, you have to be respectful yourself.  She was.  For me, this is the end of an era that I lived through.  None of them are left now.  Those of us who lived through WWII have a different perspective on world events.  And the loss of great individuals that changed the way the world works together when tyrants try to take control.

My yard man (who put in my raised garden) broke his leg (knee) a year ago and has been down and out.   He came today and spread mulch in the front flower bed where I had been fighting weeds.  He’s going to come back next week and trim the hedges and the suckers on the oak trees out front.  Thank God he is able to work.  For me, and for himself.

The spider lilies are gone.  They have a week of glory every September, and then they are done.  But what a week it is.

I’ve had to give up garage sales for the most part.  I ride with Ann to keep her company, and sit in the car and do the crossword.  We went to I-hop this morning and the poor manager-waitress was trying to hold the place down by herself.  Nobody had showed up for work.  One of the customers had been a waitress in younger years and hopped up and started helping.  So did Ann and I.  Some of the workers started dribbling in, but for awhile, I was doubtful they had enough people to get our breakfast to us.

I guess that’s’ the way it is all over.  By the time you pay for childcare, and gasoline, you don't make enough to make a trip to work worthwhile.  People have been complaining about raising the minimum wage for years.  I think it has been done--not by the government, but by companies.  You can’t make a product without workers.  And of course, when you pay people a decent wage, prices go up.  

Nobody wants to be excluded.  The Gentiles felt like they were “Less than” --and the Jews agreed with them.  Jews wanted nothing to do with the Gentiles.  They were “unclean” under Jewish law.

Now, as some of the Gentiles and Jews came to believe in Christ and his resurrection, they were part of a new religion: Christianity.  Members of the same groups that met in homes.  Seated side by side. 

For the Jews, it would be like one of us who live on main street America opening our doors to people we don’t know and don’t understand and don’t particularly care to know.  There was a “catch up” going on among the Jews--and a tendency to continue to exclude Gentiles.  Groups formed among Christian Jews and other groups formed among Christian Gentiles.

Denominations form along lines of devision.  James was writing to dispersed Jews trying to assure them that their religion of “good works,” that is--Judaism, wasn’t going to be completely trashed.  That good works would now be the result of faith in Jesus.  His message was that instead of doing good works to be saved, that your salvation would produce good works.  That Jesus--not religion or churches--was the only way to God.    He was, and is, the way to God. He was the new High Priest.  Then the book of Hebrews went  to explain that faith and faith alone--not the Jewish religion was what had saved Abraham, Moses, David, Isaac, Jacob...   

I’m teaching the book of James (Jesus’ brother) this quarter.  Which is a cold shift from teaching Paul’s writing.  Paul left Judaism behind him when he found Christ and called himself the apostle to the Gentiles.  No more rules of the Jewish laws.  Now everyone was included. He taught faith centered salvation and dropped ritualism.

Jews had spent their entire life as God’s special people and now, they were being asked to include everyone.  They wouldn’t be special anymore and it was hard to take.  James (the apostle) was head of the church in Jerusalem and was having a really hard time letting go of rules concerning food, holy days, rituals etc. Many of the Jewish converts except Paul were struggling with it.

So it is understandable that when James wrote his letter to disbursed Christians Jews (who were being hunted down and murdered by the Jewish priesthood) James wanted to stress that; yes, faith was what saved you, but faith would always produce works.  He approached converts with a more rigid way of living than Paul did.  The outcome was the same, they were saved by faith.  But Paul was much kinder to the Gentiles who hadn’t been raised with Jewish legalism.  

We say the Bible is inspired by God, but we need to remember that it was written by very different personalities.  Real people.

 

The yews (evergreen shrubs) all over town are dying.  Huge bushes, six feet high, sometimes ten feet across.  I planted one in the spring...it is almost all burnt up.  There are spots of green, so I haven’t given up on it.  It wasn’t lack of water, it must have been the heat.  The only thing at this point that can save it is prayer.

The man who mulches my flower beds every fall broke his leg.  Finding someone to drag the bags of mulch in my shed around to the front beds is almost impossible.  I gave my wheelbarrow to Craig, or I would do it myself.  I think I could cut the bags open and spread the mulch....maybe.  But I would pay for it.  Probably couldn’t stand up after I did it!

It is cooler here, thank God.  I sat out on my back porch last evening and watched the clouds waft overhead.  It is the most peaceful place in the evenings.  I just don’t know why God made mosquitoes.  They serve no useful purpose but to irritate me.  I have no standing water anywhere for them to breed, so my neighbors must have some.

Winter is coming.  I wonder if it will be as extreme as the summer has been.  Our weather is definitely been altered.  California is burning, states are under water, crops are failing.  God is going to have to intervene because people on earth don’t seem to be able to control their behavior.  He may just let us reap the results of how we have abused his earth??? 

It is 8:15 AM and Squig is still asleep under the covers.  We had had a horrible weekend.  He was up both Friday and Saturday nights over over again all night long.  He couldn’t keep anything down. Six different times on Saturday night he went outside and threw up.  Nausea is the worst.

I went to church Sunday morning expecting to find him ready to leave me for heaven before I got back, but he threw up one more time and has been fine since.  Tired, weary and sleeping.  I was afraid this morning would be the day we went to see the Vet for the last time.  But he only got up once last night.  Thank God...I didn’t sleep those two nights much either.

Our last dog, Beau, gave me notice when he was ready to go.  He had epilepsy, and when medication wouldn't help any more, and his seizures were constant, it was time.  He went peaceful while I was rubbing his back--at the vet.  It was a relief.  Watching a dog suffer when you can’t help it is agony.  You don’t know what to do.  Over and over you ask, “Is it now...or should I wait?”  It would be easier if dogs could talk!

But last night, Squig only got up once.  Such a relief.  I was able to sleep.  He was able to sleep.  I’ll take him back in to the vet this week to weigh him.  He’s already gone down from 12.4 to 10.2 which is a huge amount for such a small dog.  We are spending these last few days--weeks?--doing whatever he wants to do.  Rubbing his belly or scratching his back seems to be his first choices.

I watched every moment of the service this morning for Queen Elizabeth at St. Pauls Cathedral.  The Church of England once again assured us that a dignified quiet worship of a holy God can still occur.  Everyone quietly listened, waited, reflected, and  spent an hour of quiet and somber recognition of things that are holy, unchanging, and eternal.  

We Americans can no longer wait.  We need immediacy.  Now.  Do something.  Don’t waste time doing nothing but sitting in a pew to meditate.

Hymns...traditional...gave a sense of peace and comfort.  In most of our churches today, we have a new ditty every week or two.  Those of us who gain comfort in the words of the ancient hymns...words that ring true through the ages...are disturbed by the yah, yah, yah of the repetitive current songs that are sung, forgotten in a few weeks and replaced by the latest hit.

I couldn’t do it every Sunday, but I would like a worship service from time to time that includes reflection and silence.  There is a place in our churches for continuity and ritual.  Sometimes it brings peace in a clanging world.  And we desperately need peace in our lives.

I never understood why people let their property run down and drop through the cracks.  As I have grown older, I understand.  Something needs to be fixed...constantly.  Something needs to be attended to. 

And finding someone to do what needs to be done is difficult.  My friend Carolyn finally gave up and decided she couldn’t pull the weeds in her flower beds any more and found someone to do it.  At a hefty price.  But when they left, she pulled a number of sack fulls of weeds they missed. 

They came back after she complained, and still did a poor job.  That’s the frustration of hiring people.  I have a lawn service that has been raising crab grass in my back yard.  I call and tell them about it, they look at it, spread something on it and the crab grass grows greener.  I called another service, but who knows if they will do better.  I just want the crab grass gone.

My front yard is fescue and it’s so hot that everything there is brown.  I think the thing to do is just let it all go---as I said, I understand now why things get run down.  When Ken was here he took care of all of that.  And when Carolyn’s husband Wayne was here, he did too.

The Bible says to take care of the widows.  You can’t even find anyone to pay to do it.   Thank God I have Tony.  Even if it’s just a light bulb, he comes.  And Carolyn has Nathan.  But what about all of the other older people.  Who do they call.  Who can they call.  It’s really hard to find handymen to fix things.  They aren’t raised to do it anymore. 

Every night when I go to bed I think of dozens of things to write about.  I just can’t remember what they are the next morning.  I should write them down, but I would lose the list.

I’ve been editing a book I am writing, so I called Joe Mike--Becky Bacon’s husband--to ask the difference between an F-40 and and F-9 and the two of them were in New Orleans eating oysters and shrimp.  They were taking a little vacation from hot Oklahoma.

I am jealous.  Living in Pensacola for a year, and eating fresh seafood, ruined me for imported seafood here.  I ordered tilapia last Sunday when I was out with the girls in my class and I couldn’t eat it.  Something about freezing and thawing leaves it “fishy.”  I usually like it.

The only kind of seafood that I haven’t been able to acquire a taste for is salmon.  Everyone likes it except me.  Naturally my favorites are halibut and lobster.  Expensive stuff.  But oysters, crab, calamari, etc.  I do love.  Oklahoma is not a good place to find seafood.  Crawdads are okay but too hard to peel. 

I think you can tell that today....I’ve run out of anything interesting to say.

I’ll try again tomorrow.  

I buy 12 packs of Dr. Pepper in cans, and keep them really cold for the guys who mow and weed the lawn.  But the last time I went to the store there was so much to bring in that I left them in the car--a week ago.  I bet it was 115 in the car when I went to get them.

As I tore the container open and took the first can out, I dropped it on the tile floor in my kitchen--and it exploded.  A tiny hole acted like a water hose with a finger pressed on it and spewed Dr. Pepper all over the cabinets, along with everything on them, and ran down all over the floor. I started to pick the can up and remembered....

I had a similar incident when Becky was almost a year old.  We were in California staying with Ken’s folks--Ken was overseas in the Orient somewhere for 13 months (a regular event in the life of a Marine).  She found a glass pack of Coca-cola, shook one of them up and when it fell on the concrete floor it exploded, driving a huge piece of glass into her arm.  I pulled it out, blood everywhere, spurting like the Dr. Pepper can did.

I knew to put pressure on it, but even that couldn’t contain it.  We raced to the hospital, but they refused to see us.  I didn’t realize I had military insurance because I had never had to use it.  There was another hospital close or she would have bled to death.  How much blood does a one year old have?  How could they have refused to help?

So I am standing in my kitchen wondering--how in the world would I have gotten myself to the hospital if I had a piece of that Dr. Pepper can in my arm.   Thank God I didn’t.  All I had was Dr. Pepper sprayed over my entire kitchen. What a mess.  I’ve been cleaning it up ever since and keep finding sticky places.  I’ll never find all of it.  But, I could have ended up bleeding.

My spider lilies have popped up.  Bright red.  They put leaves up in the spring and then the leaves die.  Come September,  a thin green shoot starts growing up out of the ground.  Slender.  And then a multi-faceted bloom appears on top.  The shoots grow three inches every day until they are about eighteen inches high.  

They don’t last, but are so pretty while they are here.  I would divide them, but when the time comes to do that, I can’t find them. They are bulbs, doing their thing under ground, dividing into more bulbs.

One scripture from the first chapter of James that I taught Sunday is a verse we all memorized when we were young.  “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.”  

We get a zillion gifts from God that we forget to thank him for.  Spider lilies are one of his gifts.  We were in Beaufort S.C. in ‘66 and there were hundreds of them in our yard.  I dug a bunch of them up, put them in a paper sack and set them on the porch to bring with me to Pryor when Ken left for Vietnam.  In the hustle and bustle, I forgot to put them in the trunk of the car.  So...Pat ordered me a dozen of them a few years ago and every time they bloom, I think about the ones I left on the porch in Beaufort and hope someone is enjoying them. 

 Pat and Tom took me to Texas Road House last night.  I cold do that restaurant if they didn’t bring out the basket of rolls first.  It gets me every time.  Of course, I ate too many, was miserable and couldn’t go to sleep.  I was up walking around all evening till midnight popping those antacid pills. 

Why do we do things like that to ourselves?  I think it is the Texans.  And their Road House.  The place was packed with people waiting to make themselves miserable.  And waiting over thirty minutes to get a table to eat the rolls.  By the time they bring your steak, you can’t eat it all.

I repent.  Next time, I will tell the waitress to bring the bread when she brings the steak.  Not during the time you are waiting on your meal.

By the time we got seated it was after six-thirty and seven before the meal...and I can’t eat that late and go to sleep. The problem is...next time...I will have forgotten all of this.

Ann picked me up this morning and brought me three helpings of chicken enchiladas and a two servings of eggplant Parmesan.  I love both of those things.  Eating is going to kill me I am afraid.  Everyone is trying to help me.  I really do appreciate it...God and his children are keeping me fed.

Once again, my bank account password is blocked.  It drives me nuts.  I grew up back in the days where you wrote a check.  No password.  And every time I try to change the password  myself, I block the entire system.  Which means I have to get someone to help me.

Not being able to do things myself is frustrating.  Someone will show me how to do it, but it doesn’t stick.  I forget it.  And when I write it down, I forget where I put it.   My suggestion:  don’t get old.

Craig is going to order the passenger side mirror today.  Lincoln said they would put it on.  I hope so.  Squig said he didn’t need the mirror.  Actually he said it blocks his vision out the window.

Connie (Pryor friend) mailed me a new Suducco book, with Ken-Ken, and other strange puzzles.  I’m learning new stuff.  My friends are the best. 

I changed lawn care people.  Why?  The one I had was raising crab grass in my back yard.  No matter how often I called them, I had crab grass everywhere.  And those little flat weeds that look like clover leaves and spread sideways until they have invaded every inch of grass.  We’ll see what another company wants to raise in my yard.  I would like to have burmuda or fescue.