I flipped on a religious station yesterday where I had never heard the speaker before.  I won't mention it, because it was one of those "Name it and claim it" kind of sermons.  But he said something interesting about the rich man who had such a big harvest that his solution was to build more, and bigger, barns. 

The rich man used the words "I," or "My" eleven times.  He considered himself a self made man and what he made he was going to keep.  All of it--even if it rotted in the barns.  Luke 12:17-19

"What shall I do, (with this abundant harvest) because I have no room where to bestow my fruits? And he said, This will I do; I will pull down my barns, and build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.  And I will say to my soul..Soul, you have much goods laid up for many years.  Take your ease, eat, drink, and be merry." 

What we have comes from God.  This man thought he was in charge and had created an abundant harvest all by himself.  

God said, "You fool."  Pretty well sums it up.  I couldn't help but think of the super rich who will never spend what they have made.  Or the guy who said, "I don't want all the land, I just want the land that is abutting up next to mine."

Every time my schedule gets messed up and things get out of order, I can count on a message from my friend in Texas, Rebecca Perkins, to politely ask, "You gonna post today?"

Fridays are the day Ann and I go to garage sales. She picks me up, drives and I usually get get us something to eat for breakfast with one of those two for one coupons.  It's fun.  But it changes my morning routine and I forget to post.

I bought clay pots.  The great big ones.  And roll around things to set them on.  I needed to get ready to bring the succulents inside for the winter.  Spent four dollars total. Big whoop.  I sit in the car most of the time and watch Ann shop.  It's entertainment.  About all the entertainment I get all week.  I don't need to be entertained anyway.  I'm at heart a hermit.  All I need is a book to read.

Every time I run out of something to do, I pray.  Seems like everyone in the world is sick right now.  There is a lot of sadness.  One of the sweet men in my Bible class on Wednesday night--a former pastor--left the church the other morning after a mens meeting and one of his friends accidentally ran over him.  He didn't survive.  

People who don't have God have no hope.  Believers do.  

Today I get my hair cut.  I can't stand it any longer.  I'm to the point that I'm about to take scissors to it myself.  All the TV people broadcasting from home need haircuts as well. They look scraggly.

One thing you don't "get" when you are young is why older people are bent over when they walk.  You have to get old to "get" what's going on.  Fact is, the bones in your spine have worn down and the nerves are getting pinched.  When you lean over, it "un-pinches."

There are lots of things that become clearer as you age.  Becky brought me one of those million dollar walkers, so I am back to walking around the block with Squig pulling on the leash.  Nothing wrong with my feet, knees, hips, or legs.  Just need something to lean on to take the pinch off the spine.  I hate to use a walker.  It looks like I'm old and helpless.  I'm not.

Squig is afraid of the walker.  He is the worst "Chicken Dog" I've ever known.  Anything new and different is an enemy.

Everyone I know who has had spine surgery seems to regret it.  They fuse the bones.  Then you can't bend at all.

I'm not old yet.  So I'll wait and see what's next?  I don't know exactly when a person gets old.  I think it's all in your mind when you do it.

 My garden is going down the tubes.  Okra has almost quit.  Tomatoes have quit blooming and setting new little tomatoes.  The only thing growing with enthusiasm is the crab grass--which has taken over.

Why do weeds always succeed?  If you leave your garden unattended, the weeds take over.  Unattended lives seem to succumb to sin in the same way.  It takes effort to get good results.  Bad results just happen.

When a child is born--and I have raised four of them--You don't spend any time at all teaching them to do bad things.  You spend all of your time trying to teach them to "Not" do bad things.  You have to work at it to teach them good things.  You are constantly correcting their behavior. 

Don't spit.  Don't bite anyone.  Don't hit anyone.  Don't throw food.  Etc., etc., etc....

And then teaching them the considerate things they should do...say please, thank you.  Take turns, share...

God knew the condition of the human soul.  We needed a savior from ourselves.  We are born as our own worst enemies.  We need parents who love God who will teach us His ways so that our lives will be rich and fulfilling. America is raising a crop of weeds for lack of Godly parents.

Today is going to be a good day because yesterday was a bummer.  I had my annual mammogram (You girls know what that entails!) and when they were through, they told me to wait for the radiologist.

Sitting in a "four by four booth" with a hard bench, in a gown waiting.  Waiting for two and a half hours.  They had some sort of emergency and got backed up.

It was like herding cattle into a chute.  I gave up, got dressed, and walked out into the hall and a nurse said, "Where are you going!"  I said, "Home." She said, "You are next."  I said, "I'm not putting that gown back on."  She said, "Okay, follow me--you have to have an ultrasound and see the radiologist." She knew I was DONE.  I was.  Everything turned out Okay.

Jeanette drove me there and we went to the Red Lobster afterwards.  Don't go if you think the menu is the same.  It isn't. No lunch menu.  They brought me the wrong meal.  The lettuce was so limp it hung off my fork.  I wonder if restaurants are going to survive this Pandemic.  They did their best, but it wasn't memorable.  I've been there a dozen times since moving here...none of the staff that was familiar was there.

Like I said...today is going to be a better day.  I may eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  No more mammograms for a year.

My car had a warning light that said a tire was low.  That was an understatement.  It had a bolt in the tire.  I never go anywhere--so I am at a loss as to where I could have run over a bolt.  Never felt it.

The only thing I can think of that I ran over was a rail-road track.  Everywhere else I went was on clear concrete streets.  To Brahms or to the church.  I haven't driven a hundred and fifty miles since January.

I miss the good old days when I drove into a filling station and an attendant came out.  He filled the tank, washed the windshield, washed the side mirrors, checked the tires, the pressure, aired up all four tires and anything else that needed to be done.

That's gone forever.  My granddad had a station with a small grocery store in Wilburton, Oklahoma.  The pumps had glass top containers that gurgled when you pumped the gas.  I'm sure they were dangerous.

There was a big chest full of ice.  Packed with Coca-Cola.  Grape soda-Nehi.  Root-beer.  Glass jars at the checkout--full of jaw-breakers.  Cash register with keys that opened the drawer and rang up the sale.

And best of all, my granddad in a work apron covered with grease from checking under someone's car.  Then washing his hands, and slicing bologna and cheese for the customers.

 

 I watched a Nova program yesterday about the invention of alphabets.  It all began with pictures.  Hieroglyphics.  Then, the words for things--such as bear, bird, branch, started representing the "B" sound and things were spelled out using those images for that sound to make words that didn't have an image--such as "bought."

Then, paper--on which to write.  Then Parchment, (skin).  Inks... on and on.  Finally in 1455, Gutenburg made his printing press with movable type.  Before that, only very rich people could afford a book.  Reading was a luxury. People didn't read because they couldn't afford it. So why learn? 

I remember when newspapers used movable type.  They had wooden boxes to hold the letters they used.  It was slow, but it allowed multiple copies.  Then manual typewriters.  My Mac is like a miracle.  

The year I started first grade, every desk had an ink well.  I learned to write with a pen and ink.  The pen tips broke, and had to be replaced by putting a new metal tip in a wooden stick-thing.  Ink was spilled all the time.  And if you sat in front of a boy, he thought it was funny to dip the ends of your long hair in his ink well. (It wasn't funny.  You couldn't wash it out.)  Ball point pens were a thing of the far distant future.  We had pencils.  Huge diameter with big lead.  Which made all writing smushy and wide.  Ugly.  Yellow pencils with small tips came later.  I remember it all.