Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Humility and Other Stuff
(well for the love of crackers and hot chocolate, I cannot center this to save my formidable arse)
As I have stated in various posts this blog is not really an avenue for me to gain a large audience. It is an avenue for me to write and whomever finds their way here either by invitation or some unfortunate mishap is welcome. I am eternally in transition, as I suspect we all are, were the truth known. I write about my life in Christ and I write about my character defects and I write stream of consciousness more than less. I think stream of consciousness is attractive to me because I can jump from one thought to another without burdening myself with a set of criteria.
Oh dear, I just had an alarming thought. Please grant me this one request. If there is a writing criteria for stream of consciousness please don't tell me. I don't see how it would be possible to set a criteria for steam of consciousness. One day that stream may flow full and swift; the next it may meander along twisting and turning at random. God, why don't I just shut up? I did mention humility as if I have a modicum of it.
Humility sucks suggests that I have been playing around the edges of that most desirable of character traits. Events conspired this week to put the mirror of character defects before me. One look into that mirror exposed me for a temperamental, self-absorbed, angry woman, at least for the set of events of this particular week. I would like to add, in an attempt to gather a bit of my self-respect back, that I was and have been under the influence of steroids. Steroids have the unfortunate effect on me of setting myself only slightly lower than a god. A mean tempered little god, not a loving or benevolent god. No, I trend to the mythical gods who at every opportunity held themselves above all other gods. In an unfortunate twist of moods, I also become sensitive to any and all stimulation that enters my world. I guess I would have to commit to the assignation of "ass-hole god". Yes, that fits. Diabolically I rarely inform the people around me that I am under the influence of steroids. Hence, they encounter a sensitive ass-hole bearing no resemblance to a god, big or small for no apparent reason at all.
Several days later and no clue where I was headed with the humility stuff. That humbles me a bit.
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for pity's sake I cannot get this dang alignment to go back to the left leaving me square in the middle a position with which i have very little frame of reference. it serves me right after posting this adorable child who lightens up my every day and i have the nerve to place him in a post that seems to be leading nowhere at all. AND, yes, I have chosen the left alignment and saved it and done it again and saved it again so please reserve comments (as if....hilarious guffaws and peals of laughter)
Horse feathers and cotton candy!
Roast Beef and Radishes!
As I was going out of my umble jumper,
I met a rerock toting away my randy pipe.
I said to myself if I had my tit ma tat
I'd make that rerock throw down my randy pipe.
Hence, the "other stuff"!
Short curtsy,
blow of a kiss
a wing of the eye
Good-bye!
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Monday, January 5, 2015
From Glory to Glory
A WEE BIT OF GLEE
MOMENTARY GLEE IS OVER
Stream of consciousness. I want to float along in my stream of consciousness. Random thoughts from the holiday season. Not one party. Not one gift. Gave no gifts. Sick with the crud...over and over and over. Beautiful donors. My grandson's bike was free. Beautiful donor. My son's family had food to eat .Beautiful donor. A woman in the Wal-Mart line paid my friend's grocery bill when my friend's card would not take. Beautiful donor. Jesus I see your face. You are so beautiful to me. John passed away...died to be more realistic about it. He suffered for a short time and was gone. Beautiful blessing. Miss Bea protected by the very angels from heaven. Joyous, beautiful glory. John's funeral became a spirit-filled abundance of love, love and more love. Death held no grip on us. Death lost that day and the Holy Spirit allowed each of us to experience John in our own way. The Holy Spirit poured out a golden liquid of love on Ms. Bea. Love flowed through that church. Joy danced on the back of the pews touching each shoulder of those attending. A gentle hush fell. The going away of John began. God, you magnificent, wonderful, majestic, Father of all here, all gone and all to come. Come Lord Jesus! Touch us as we say good bye to our friend who humbly walked this earth . A servant's heart left a gift for his beloved wife. John ran that funeral and John set up the events so that we could all see the mysterious power of the indwelling Christ manifested. Glory upon glory. A glimpse of heaven on John's day of homecoming. We let him go. His job complete. Ms Bea, loved from the very heavens, left here without her John, filled with a peace that passes all understanding walks with the heart of a human missing a human and the gracious gift of a peace that passes all understanding. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! There is something about that Name!
The rest of the story will come in the next few days. To put it mildly, a roller coaster ride at triple speed followed the Beautiful Day. The deadly snake of timeless evil drew back his head blinking malevolent eyes of golden fire in our direction. I sensed the fetid smell, warm breath, intense scrutiny of this hellish reptile. I knew every drop of our beautiful time in the presence of the Holy Spirit must stand guard calling to Jesus, holding firm to our vision at John's funeral, empowered by the angel armies of God Himself. I drew my breath in deeply. I know this old enemy intimately. But, I saw him robbed of the tragedy of death at the funeral of my friend John where the fire deep in my bosom was lit by the fire of glory. I do not fear. I wait to see what treachery dwells within this beast. I stand ready to fight alongside the host of warriors who from age to age have grown in number. The Body of Christ stands ready. Alleluia!
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Monday, December 1, 2014
Just A Little Something
My friend John has gone to heaven and is buried in a cemetery in New Bern, N.C. I just had the thought that I now have one friend buried in a cementary in New Bern and another friend buried under a brick at the beautiful Presbyterian church in the heart of New Bern's downtown.
Today I did not go to church. I needed the day. My stomach was all 6's and 9's. As I am typing I realize this day has felt like two days. I have been busy at some points. It has been a normal day, I suppose. I grew spacey as the day wore on; found myself shook up at the degree of spacey today.
An acquaintance three doors down from me lost her job of 8 years. She was fired on the spot. She says she does not know why they would fire her. She doesn't have any heating because her heating system is out and she does not have the money to fix it and infers on facebook that this may be the tip of the iceberg. She began the post with comments of how her family has let her down even though they know her needs. She expresses her needs clearly and gets nothing back in return. I have known her for a number of years if only by occasional interactions. The self-destruction has begun. The pattern is as familiar to me as the face of an old friend. How do I know this about this woman when we have not spoken other than hellos and good-byes in a number of years? A glimpse of a garbage bag full of empty beer cans told me the story. She has fallen into the arms of her disease. Self-destruction began with the first drink. I know this path. But, she does not ask for help. She blames the world and family and friends for her fate in life. My urge is to close myself off from her. Avoid her. The progression of the disease is difficult to watch. Her vulnerability reminds me of my own.
On a brighter note it is now Monday. A new 24 hours has begun.
My friend John has gone. No turning back! No turning back!
Today I did not go to church. I needed the day. My stomach was all 6's and 9's. As I am typing I realize this day has felt like two days. I have been busy at some points. It has been a normal day, I suppose. I grew spacey as the day wore on; found myself shook up at the degree of spacey today.
An acquaintance three doors down from me lost her job of 8 years. She was fired on the spot. She says she does not know why they would fire her. She doesn't have any heating because her heating system is out and she does not have the money to fix it and infers on facebook that this may be the tip of the iceberg. She began the post with comments of how her family has let her down even though they know her needs. She expresses her needs clearly and gets nothing back in return. I have known her for a number of years if only by occasional interactions. The self-destruction has begun. The pattern is as familiar to me as the face of an old friend. How do I know this about this woman when we have not spoken other than hellos and good-byes in a number of years? A glimpse of a garbage bag full of empty beer cans told me the story. She has fallen into the arms of her disease. Self-destruction began with the first drink. I know this path. But, she does not ask for help. She blames the world and family and friends for her fate in life. My urge is to close myself off from her. Avoid her. The progression of the disease is difficult to watch. Her vulnerability reminds me of my own.
On a brighter note it is now Monday. A new 24 hours has begun.
My friend John has gone. No turning back! No turning back!
Monday, November 24, 2014
Expect The Unexpected
This week a dear friend of mine passed away. He had been sick for at least 4 months and moving towards sickness long before his death. John was one of the most eccentric people I have ever met. He was also one of the most intelligent, frustrating and loving men I have ever met. We worked together for several years. I directed his work or, more tothe point, I did my best to direct his work. John directed himself despite all attempts to conform him to one standard or the other. Words do little to describe him or the impact he made on my life and will continue to make in my life though he has moved on.
John was shaped by the difficult childhood he endured. He never asked for sympathy,and did not discuss his childhood until he knew you well. As I now know he carried his cards close to his chest. Even as he was dying he surprised me once again when I found out he has a daughter from a first marriage. He never once mentioned his daughter to me yet, Ms. Bea, John's wife assured me that John and his daughter had a great relationship. I am happy in that knowledge.
After a number of years of arguing, imploring, cajoling and outright commanding him to provide me with short reports I realized I was defeated before the battle began. Those years were full of laughing, making fun of each other and finding ourselves with much in common. Time passed and John told me about his paintings. Indeed his art work is phenomenal. Thoroughly researched, based mainly in the Civil War period and stunning in detail and color these paintings caught me off guard. After all the time we spent together he never once mentioned his art yet there it hung in his living room. I am certain my mouth dropped open.
Oh, there were many times I wanted to ring his neck. Nothing was ever simple with John. He defined obssessive compulsive and, despite all I could do, continued to bring me reports of 10 to 20 pages with information sorted, researched and minutely detailed. Nevermind that the information would not be used nor even seen by anyone else. He had a belief that if he continued in his own inimitable way the facts would find their way to the top one day. Conversations led into conspiracy theories of fascinating design. I found myself setting him up for a conversation of sort by dropping one word or sentence. Immediately, as if he had been triggered by an invisible force, John would launch into his theory or thoughts on the subject and I, shame on me, would spend time baiting him, teasing him and generally disrupting him until he showed me he had come to the end of his ability to endure me. I would shut up and he would continue to himself, muttering and figuring, as he did his work.
I met his wife. The mysterious and, by John's reckoning, the loveliest woman with impeccable manners, a great shape and he, the lucky suitor, the envy of many a man. Meeting Ms. Bea, John's darling, told me more about this man than any one thing. She was and is all the things he claimed and more. He loved her with a beautiful love, a devotion deeply ingrained in him and he never once said otherwise or showed shame in bragging about his wife.
After that the three of us became fast friends. Ah...the story goes on for awhile. I retired. John, believing that retirement was a ticket to poverty and death, stayed on despite his detiriorating health. The poverty of his childhood fueled a fear of imminent poverty that none of us could touch or refute effectively. I knew when I left that he was devastated. We both knew things would change for him. Our working relationship had provided an avenue for John to work and communicate in a way that he had not experienced. I suppose my total acceptance and love for him helped others to see him in a different light. As time passed he forged his own friendships and became a familiar figure around the hangars and supply stores. He never conformed. Not one tiny inch. He did allow himself to impact and be impacted by people who learned to be fond of him. In return he gave back a respect and loyalty that humbled more than one person. Once you were in his good favor he would lay down his life for you. He loved God, loved Jesus, loved life. If he could be at his upcoming memorial service he would say, in all honesty and humility, I love all of you so much!
I miss him. I will miss him until we meet again. There is no way to get over John or to emerge from a friendship with him the same as when the friendship began. I want to write and write to keep him alive in this writing. While I am happy here I look forward to the day when John and my many loved ones who have gone before me can be reunited. John, if true to his nature, will stand guard watching and waiting with high expectations for that day to come. Boys! Won't I be happy to see him!
John was shaped by the difficult childhood he endured. He never asked for sympathy,and did not discuss his childhood until he knew you well. As I now know he carried his cards close to his chest. Even as he was dying he surprised me once again when I found out he has a daughter from a first marriage. He never once mentioned his daughter to me yet, Ms. Bea, John's wife assured me that John and his daughter had a great relationship. I am happy in that knowledge.
After a number of years of arguing, imploring, cajoling and outright commanding him to provide me with short reports I realized I was defeated before the battle began. Those years were full of laughing, making fun of each other and finding ourselves with much in common. Time passed and John told me about his paintings. Indeed his art work is phenomenal. Thoroughly researched, based mainly in the Civil War period and stunning in detail and color these paintings caught me off guard. After all the time we spent together he never once mentioned his art yet there it hung in his living room. I am certain my mouth dropped open.
Oh, there were many times I wanted to ring his neck. Nothing was ever simple with John. He defined obssessive compulsive and, despite all I could do, continued to bring me reports of 10 to 20 pages with information sorted, researched and minutely detailed. Nevermind that the information would not be used nor even seen by anyone else. He had a belief that if he continued in his own inimitable way the facts would find their way to the top one day. Conversations led into conspiracy theories of fascinating design. I found myself setting him up for a conversation of sort by dropping one word or sentence. Immediately, as if he had been triggered by an invisible force, John would launch into his theory or thoughts on the subject and I, shame on me, would spend time baiting him, teasing him and generally disrupting him until he showed me he had come to the end of his ability to endure me. I would shut up and he would continue to himself, muttering and figuring, as he did his work.
I met his wife. The mysterious and, by John's reckoning, the loveliest woman with impeccable manners, a great shape and he, the lucky suitor, the envy of many a man. Meeting Ms. Bea, John's darling, told me more about this man than any one thing. She was and is all the things he claimed and more. He loved her with a beautiful love, a devotion deeply ingrained in him and he never once said otherwise or showed shame in bragging about his wife.
After that the three of us became fast friends. Ah...the story goes on for awhile. I retired. John, believing that retirement was a ticket to poverty and death, stayed on despite his detiriorating health. The poverty of his childhood fueled a fear of imminent poverty that none of us could touch or refute effectively. I knew when I left that he was devastated. We both knew things would change for him. Our working relationship had provided an avenue for John to work and communicate in a way that he had not experienced. I suppose my total acceptance and love for him helped others to see him in a different light. As time passed he forged his own friendships and became a familiar figure around the hangars and supply stores. He never conformed. Not one tiny inch. He did allow himself to impact and be impacted by people who learned to be fond of him. In return he gave back a respect and loyalty that humbled more than one person. Once you were in his good favor he would lay down his life for you. He loved God, loved Jesus, loved life. If he could be at his upcoming memorial service he would say, in all honesty and humility, I love all of you so much!
I miss him. I will miss him until we meet again. There is no way to get over John or to emerge from a friendship with him the same as when the friendship began. I want to write and write to keep him alive in this writing. While I am happy here I look forward to the day when John and my many loved ones who have gone before me can be reunited. John, if true to his nature, will stand guard watching and waiting with high expectations for that day to come. Boys! Won't I be happy to see him!
Saturday, November 8, 2014
A Memory
In a small book of quotes from Mr. Rogers he suggests that sharing memories is a great way to spend our times together.
My first conscious memory: I am standing outside of a large, black car. It is about 1954. We live in a small Virginia town. Night has fallen. It must be cold because I am wearing a coat, a hat and maybe gloves. I am upset. I am missing the powder puff to my child's purse size make-up kit. It is a brief memory. I am miserable and intensely disappointed. It seems the powder puff meant a great deal to me. I have a slight sense, in the memory, that my parents have spent more than their usual amount of time trying to help me find it and I know we are going in the house very soon. The memory ends.
These many years later I feel that memory as much as see it. What I see, of course, is the space between an open car door and the inside of the car. What I clearly remember is wanting that powderpuff and being hurt and angry realizing. that the pink container is nothing without the puff.
That's it. Proof that I was once a girly girl!
My first conscious memory: I am standing outside of a large, black car. It is about 1954. We live in a small Virginia town. Night has fallen. It must be cold because I am wearing a coat, a hat and maybe gloves. I am upset. I am missing the powder puff to my child's purse size make-up kit. It is a brief memory. I am miserable and intensely disappointed. It seems the powder puff meant a great deal to me. I have a slight sense, in the memory, that my parents have spent more than their usual amount of time trying to help me find it and I know we are going in the house very soon. The memory ends.
These many years later I feel that memory as much as see it. What I see, of course, is the space between an open car door and the inside of the car. What I clearly remember is wanting that powderpuff and being hurt and angry realizing. that the pink container is nothing without the puff.
That's it. Proof that I was once a girly girl!
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