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.