MEET MOLLY

At the bottom of Molly's prosthesis is a happy face. She leaveds happy prints wherever she goes

Meet Molly.She's a grey speckled pony who
was abandoned by her owners when Hurricane
Katrina hit southern Louisiana .. She spent weeks
on her own before finally being rescued and taken
To a farm where abandoned animals were stockpiled. While there, she was attacked by apit bull terrier
and almost died. Her gnawed right front leg became
infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but
LSU was overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare
case. You know how that goes.

But after surgeon Rustin Moore met Molly, he
changed his mind.He saw how the pony was
careful to lie down on different sides so she didn't
seem to get sores, and how she allowed people to
handle her.She protected her injured leg.She
constantly shifted her weight and didn't overload
her good leg. She was a smart pony with a serious
survival ethic.

Moore agreed to remove her leg below the knee,
and a temporary artificial limb was built. Molly
walked out of the clinic and her story really
begins there.

'This was the right horse and the right owner,'
Moore insists Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient. She's tough as nails, but sweet,and she was willing to cope with pain.
She made it obvious she understood that! she was
in trouble.The other important factor, according
to Moore , is having a truly committed and compliant
owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care
required over the lifetime of the horse.

Molly's story turns into a parable for life inPost-Katrina Louisiana ....The little pony gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb. A human prosthesis designer built her a leg...

The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life,
Allison Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.

And she asks for it. She will put her little limb out,
and come to you and let you know that she wants
you to put it on. Sometimes she wants you to take
lt off too. And sometimes, Molly gets away from
Barca. 'It can be pretty bad when you can't catch
a three-legged horse,' she laughs.

Most important of all, Molly has a job now. Kay,
the rescue farm owner, started taking Molly to
shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, and rehabilitation
centers... Anywhere she thought that people needed
hope. Wherever Molly went, she showed people
her pluck. She inspired people, and she had a
good time doing it.

'It's obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to
play in life, Moore said. She survived the hurricane,
she survived a horrible injury, and now she is giving hope to others.'
Barca concluded, 'She's not back to normal, but
she's going to be better.To me, she could be a
symbol! for New Orleans itself.'


This is Molly's most recent prosthesis. The bottom
photo shows the ground surface that she stands on,
which has a smiley face embossed in it.. Wherever
Molly goes, she leaves a smiley hoof print behind.


Send this and share it with all of the
animal lovers that you know.

God's creatures often reflect the character to which we aspire.

HOMEWORK: NECESSARY EVIL?

NOTE TO READER: You may find it necessary to take notes on this article. There is a short self-test at the end.


Well, that was a turn-off, wasn’t it?
I just finished reading a book entitled “The Homework Myth” by Alfie Kohn. ( Lifelong Books, 2006.) It was interesting, though heavy reading. The book targets academia, not parents, and so I had to slog through it to understand its principals.
Why would I do that? Well, at first, I thought it might give me some insight on the problems I have with getting my kids to do homework. After reading the book, however, I suppose its greatest value is in CE (continuing education) hours.
It isn’t that the book is off-base, it is only that it is an idealistic view of a complex issue.

Do we learn anything from homework?
That depends. Are we discussing the kids or the parents? How often have you told your kids, “I just don’t know how to communicate this concept to you”? The translation of that phrase is “ I haven’t got a clue what this means. Ask your teacher.”

I had a foster child who came home with a math assignment to compute the area of a circle sector in congruent planes. Or was it to figure out the area of a plane flying over congruent crop circles? I didn’t have a clue. I asked him where his textbook was and he had not brought it home. Evidently, he believed that without the guidebook we wouldn’t venture into the forest.

According to Mr. Kohn, Most studies show only an associative relationship between homework and learning, not a causal one. Or, in terms I’m more comfortable using, studies show that kids who do a lot of homework sometimes perform better when their learning is assessed than kids who do no homework, but it cannot be shown that they do better BECAUSE they do the homework.
A lot of other factors enter into the results. Did some teachers do a better job of teaching the skill in the classroom? Are the grades used to measure progress skewed? Are the teachers too subjective? (Okay. If I show up to teach a class of 7th graders and I have a migraine headache, I might not be as effective as I would if I felt fine. AND teaching a class of 7th graders could result in a migraine, a factor that should NOT be overlooked.)
And Kohn points out that many studies that support the idea homework fosters learning rely on faulty data. That is, they ask the kids how much homework they do and they get one answer, another answer comes from the parents and still another from the teacher of how much he or she assigns.

In fact, in the National Assessment of Educational Programs, kids who did little or no homework fared as well as those who did.

And Kohn cites a teacher named Phil Lyons who taught social studies. According to Lyons, in the beginning of his teaching career he gave out homework, but as he himself mastered the subjects less homework was necessary for the class to learn. Finally, he stopped giving homework at all. The results? His students scored higher on advanced placement tests and had more enthusiasm for learning.
In other words, Kohn raises the question of whether the amount of homework a teacher assigns might be inversely related to that teacher’s effectiveness in the classroom.

The National education Association uses a term called Time On Task. They say that the more TOT there is, the greater the learning that occurs. But, Kohn says, all time is not quality time. Spending much time on a subject is useful only if we want the student to repeat a specific behavior, not understand a concept.
He compares the TOT concept to practicing skills. Practice is important to train our minds and bodies to respond without thinking. Consider playing the piano or learning wrestling moves. But time is NOT a factor in understanding concepts.
Kohn says students given a lot of math problems to practice, for instance, are less likely to consider what makes sense in solving a problem and more likely to concentrate on what they should do.
Okay. Back to my foster son. I sent him back to school to retrieve his text book ( we live half a block from the school) and read the section myself. I could conceive of no way to relate the information to him in a way he would understand. Finally, I resorted to doing the problems the way I had learned to do them eons ago when the only writing tools we had were charred sticks we plucked from the fire (once we had mastered making fires.) In steps.
He refused to even consider that I might be right. I did not use the same procedure his teacher did. I did not understand the concept. In short, although I could prove to him that my answers were right, he would not accept them because I hadn’t arrived at them the way his teacher did. Now, understandably, his perceptions would differ from a child who was not delayed, but the idea is the same. He was not taught why the problem was solved the way it was, how it might apply to him in later life (arguably it will NOT be of use to him) or even shown how to think the process through. He was simply told to repeat a formula over and over. And that’s okay if the student understands when the formula applies in life. But without that understanding, it is no more than a bit of useless trivia he’ll forget as soon as the class is beyond that chapter.
So to this child, the homework was nothing more than an irritant between him and me; a source of conflict over him “getting it done.”
To be honest, I have been concerned over studies which show the US is ranked with 3rd world nations in science and math. Many educators seem to feel more time in school
( longer days, more homework, fewer and shorter holiday breaks) would even the playing field. But an international study found that the top-ranked country was Japan, and students there spend less time studying than American kids.

So, if homework is not effective in teaching concepts ( which Kohn says should be done in the classroom) what is its value?

There are some homework advocates who say that homework teaches study skills. But if, as Kohn says, learning is not related to the amount of homework a child does, are those study skills useful only for learning how to do more homework? Or how to perform well on tests ( by rote.)

HERE is the first conflict I find with Mr. Kohn. I believe his idea is sound. BUT in an ideal world.
To get into college, a student must have a good high school transcript. That translates into grades. Grades that the child must accumulate throughout junior and senior high. Financial aid is based on tests, as well. Cramming may not net us lifelong learning, but it gets us high enough scores to get in to a university. Grades are a reality.
And Kohn feels that if adults trusted kids to manage their own learning, they would be more interested and learn more. Maybe your kids. Not mine. Kohn says they would tire of video games and TV and spend more time out shooting hoops or reading books about things which interest them, and which would pique their interest in furthering that learning.
Some kids, maybe most, would. Ideally. But our system doesn’t give them that kind of time. It demands performance today. Now. On demand.
And kids who have been in the foster system for a while would probably be slow to make that move, if they ever did. We also have to factor in the concepts of entitlement and low self-esteem and lagging skills. Many long-term foster children have been disrupted from their educations many times. They read and reason at a level several years behind their peers.
For those children, homework does serve a purpose. It is an underscoring of the boundaries we must put around them. It brings an interaction (though admittedly not always a good one) between foster parent and child.
But it can become a power struggle, too.
My foster son hates homework. He would rather go without privileges for a week instead of doing ten minutes of reading. And he will say you cannot make him do the work. He’s right. I can take away his privileges, but he is a fatalist who will then just think, “My life is terrible, now I don’t have TV” or “Now I’m grounded.” It will not occur to him to change his behavior to alter his circumstances.

What do you do?
Well there are some homework helps on my website http://beyonderqueen.tripod.com/id41.htmlAnd, reassured by Mr. Kohn’s insight, I resolve not to stress over homework. I ask my foster son to put out some effort. If he really doesn’t understand it (or if I don’t) I tell him to put it away and then I have him read for a while. This way he hasn’t “gotten out of” anything. He can ask his teacher for help and she will understand the difficulty in teaching this child one-on-one ( as opposed to lecturing a classroom of kids) besides using her expertise to teach him the skills. And he still has to spend his “homework time” doing something profitable.
Oh, that’s another of Mr. Kohn’s theories. Children will manage their own learning in time. They will not always choose video games over a good book about a subject that interests them. They will not opt to watch TV instead of being physically active.
Hey. Mine do. Do always opt to watch TV or play videos. That’s why we have a rule that, in summer, the TV goes off at 9 A.M. and stays off until it gets dark.
Because I believe what Mr. Kohn says. I believe that in a perfect world kids would choose the right from the wrong and the profitable from the worthless. But the world hasn’t been perfect since God threw Adam and Eve out of Eden. And I KNOW KIDS. I was one once.

Goodbye to a Good Guy.

He was one of the most aggravating men I've ever known.
Blunt as a butter knife.
Opinionated beyond belief.
And very, very dear.
I met Bernard Speicher when I crossed the threshold of the old Assembly of God Church in Holyoke. He attended there with his first wife Wilda and his mother-in-law Grandma Brethower. Wilda and Grandma B. played the piano. Bernard ran the church.
Having no contact with my own family, I found in Bernard a father.
He adopted me, too.
Through the years, even as my own father has come into my life again, Bernard has loomed large. He steered me, prodded me and guided me. He comforted me through the death of his beloved little granddaughter, and again when I lost my own son. He chided me for whispering to my young husband during the church service. Once, when I decided to let my hair grow back to it's natural shade, he complimented me on the color of dye I was using. The old rascal knew perfectly well...

And he has always been there for a kiss on the cheek or a hug.
After Wilda's death, Bernard remarried.
To say he and Ilene were a dynamic duo is a mild description. They kept one another active, and irritated the daylights out of one another. And the two of them, like teenaged sweethearts, whispered all through the church service.
He wasn't ashamed to tell everyone how proud he was of his family...even to making public proclamations from the front of the church. I think he cried through every music special Darlow ever presented.
Charlie hit the nail on the head about Bernard when he told someone he felt badly because he hadn't been at the hospital as much as he should and the person said, "well, but you aren't blood" and Charlie said "not far from it."
There isn't much to add to all the eulogies I've seen for Bernard except this one thing: I sure loved the old goat.

STUDENT "COUNSEL"

I had an interesting discussion with my 13 year old this morning. He wanted to wear wind pants to school and I told him I thought that was against the dress code. Turns out I was wrong. Sweats and wind pants are allowed. But should they be?
Okay, I come from a different generation. ( Gen X-Lax) and things were different when I was in high school.
Girls did NOT wear pants to school. (I mean slacks or jeans. They did not wear slacks or jeans. That is DEFINITELY not the same as going commando, which I don’t know if they did or didn’t.)
Boys wore pants that DID NOT show their underwear. (And admittedly, they COULD have been going commando, but under those dress codes, no one would have suffered with that decision but them)
We DID NOT call our teachers by their first names. Or by a nickname (to their faces. My principal was bald, and we called him Old Chrome Dome behind his back. But no one would have shortened that to Mr. CD and then used that in addressing him.) Mr. Kiefer, my chemistry teacher, would have made me sit in front where the room smelled like sulphur for calling him Rick. Okay, his name was Robert, but still…
I suppose I am hard nosed, but I just would like to see kids become students again. My generation was no smarter, nor were they more inventive, than today’s kids. So why was America ranked with the major players academically then and now we can’t even compete with third world nations? I think it comes down to attitudes.
CONSIDER: There was a wide debate over whether to use red pencil to correct student papers because the red color seemed so judgmental. It could traumatize them. Maybe they could use some trauma.
We have no way of knowing if our kids have done their homework (or have done it correctly) because they get a couple of periods a day to work on it and they don’t bring it home. In other words, kids don’t really have homework any more. My 13 year old dashes something off on an assignment and hands it in, correct or not. I HAVE NO OPPORTUNITY TO CHECK THE WORK. Okay, again, admittedly I don’t remember how to do a lot of the math, but I am STILL a force to be reckoned with when it comes to English or history

There is some evidence that, under certain circumstances, use of an Ipod during class might help a student tune out voices and other noises that could be even more distracting. Okay. I can sort of see that. I guess, to old people like me, it just seems disrespectful to teachers to attend their classes with an earbud in you ear and a cord hanging down your body.
But cell phones are another matter. Kids are allowed to bring them to school, but not use them in class. Like that happens. Stats say most of kids texting happens during class time. AND older teens spend an average of nearly two hours a day texting in addition to half an hour talking.
I’m going to investigate this Ipod-vs. distraction thing further. There may be something to it.
And I am not against girls wearing slacks to school (though low rise jeans give them that little belly bulge (the new term for it is muffin top, I think) which is SO attractive.
But I believe that dress DOES affect attitude. And if we want kids to respect us, we have to model that for them.
AND IF THEY’RE GOING TO BRING MUSIC TO SCHOOL, I VOTE FOR TEXAS SWING OR SQUAREDANCE.

Happy "Ha-ha-ha I Just Got a Ten Pound Box of Russell Stovers and I'm Gonna Eat it All" Day

So. Are ya gonna? I mean, it's the day...and you have to. You have to be my valentine. And do you know why?
Well, one story says it's a Pagan rite. Young men who were "coming of age" (like we don't know what that means) were allowed to draw the name of a young maiden from a bowl. AND that was his date all year.
There's another story. The government ( Which government? I don't know which government. Let's call it Upper Turkissandwich) outlawed marriage to preserve a reservoir of single men from which to populate its army. But one man--Bishop Valentine--was performing secret marriages anyway. well, the Turkissandwich-ian government found out and imprisoned old Bishop Valentine and had him executed. But before the ax fell, he managed to get a note out to his sweetheart that he loved her...and he signed it "from your Valentine." Get it? Valentine? Valentine's Day?
But the thing about Valentine's day is that it's a fraud.
National "Look what MY sweetheart got me. Don't you wish you had a sweetheart that sweet? "
Day.
National "Man, I'm a loser because I'm single" day.
National "Buy my cards and my candy and my lingerie to give to your sweetheart" day.
The thing is, we tell ourselves that the ULTIMATE goal for each person is to find that "right one" and settle down to produce 2 1/2 children.
That anyone who remains single has no worth. That there is someone out there for each of us...if we are just lovable enough.
IT'S NOT TRUE.
I mean, what jerk told a teenager he or she wasn't worth a second look if he was still not "in a relationship" by the time he was 18? HAVE YOU NOTICED HOW OFTEN PEOPLE CHANGE THE FACEBOOK STATUS "IN A RELATIONSHIP?" What kind of relationship changes every three days? So let's be honest. We aren't talking about love here. We're talking about sex. Or maybe just the comfort of someone to hold us and tell us we aren't alone.
EVERYONE is not intended to fit into the married mode. YOUR WORTH IS NOT MEASURED BY YOUR MARITAL STATUS. That only counts if you are adding up Federal deductions for taxes.
Okay, you say. But you aren't single. How can you know?
You're right. But I have friends who are. I have friends who are admirable, trustworthy, attractive and single. What do I say to those people?
I wish you love. I wish you a certainty that you matter to people. I wish you many fulfilling relationships in your life...not just romantic interludes.
And I want to remind you that Valentines Day only comes once a year. Love--all kinds of love--endures forever.

Put Away the China

I heard an interview with a politician the other day. It was shortly after the China visit. The politician was dragging China over hot coals because of its dismal record on human rights. Now, China may not be forthcoming with aid to its poor, and they may be stuck on this one-child thing. They may jail their disidents, and burn negative publicity, but:
In 2009, American owed China around $750,000,000,000 in long-term debt. That's seven hundred and fifty BILLION dollars.
So, looked at from that perspective, Chinese money is giving American students financial aid. It is reaching out to victims of natural disaster all over the globe.
It permeates every level of what should be our national budget.

Okay. I am not bashing the USA. America is a great and proud country. BUT consider:
I left a generous tip for a waitress the other day. I knew her, and her struggle to make ends meet. I gave her money I had earned, not borrowed. If I was mortgaged up to my eyebrows and borrowing more just to live, I could not have given the woman a tip. I could not have eaten out. I WOULD NOT have eaten out. I would have spent that money making sure my family had the essentials.
But our politicians don't understand that concept. They vote to borrow money from other countries, then go wild spending it on earmarked projects and congressional benefits. They send it overseas to help the starving in third world countries, and ignore our own poor. And then they have the guts to ask Americans to tighten their belts so they can go on doing it.

AND the guts to tell China off.

We throw billions at the world community ( billions we have to borrow) trying to make them like us. Trying to live up to the image we once had. AND THEY DON'T LIKE US NO MATTER HOW MUCH WE SPEND.
If Americans have to live within their means, why doesn't America?
That's all I'm saying.

ARE YOU TOO OLD?

When is "old" OLD?
I mean, when do you cross over that hair's breadth line between middle-aged and old?

I thought about it the other day, when the question of MY age came up. (When are you going to apply for your Social Security payments? You know, you are eliglible now.)
I decided age is in the eye of the beholder ( provided he's not too vain to wear his bifocals.)

You are old when: You wear your sneakers untied not because it is the fashion, but because it will take you ten minutes to tie them IF you can bend down that far.

You are old when: You can't rush to the bathroom at the high school basketball game half-time because it takes you eight minutes just to get off the bleachers.

You are old when: You put your jaw out by biting down too hard on the dried cranberry in your granola cereal.

You are old when: You experience a horrific moment in the bathroom because you are desperate and you can't get your skirt up, but then you remember you're wearing gauchos.

You are old when: You keep asking questions at a parent teacher conference because you suspect you won't be able to get out of that little desk when your turn is over

You are old when you take the time to read through a blog entry like this just to see if it applies to you.

Job Corps

Okay. I rant and rave about people taking advantage of the system. By taking advantage, I mean people who get welfare because they don't want to work. Because they can get more for sitting on their behinds then they can from earning a paycheck.
But on Tuesday, I saw an attempt to address that.
On Tuesday I toured Pine Ridge Job Corps.
Job Corps is a federal program for "at risk" kids who otherwise might end up being a drain on the system. It is NOT a blank check, nor a lifetime membership into the Federal Dole. What it is , is a new take on the old problem: Is it wiser to put a fence at the top of a steep hill or to buy an ambulance for those who end up at the bottom?
Like the Armed Services, Job Corps covers every need ( room and board, living expenses, medical etc.) for a specified time ( up to two years)while kids are gaining skills and attitudes and ethics which translate to being useful citizens.
( Read: TAXPAYERS, not SYSTEM USERS)
Kids who come into the program with high school diplomas take a test to determine if they are proficient in math, English, etc. and if they are not proficient, they MUST take remedial classes. Imagine that. They have to be proficient before they graduate the program. WHAT A CONCEPT!
They get a great vocational education as well as some character building. They are expected to adopt the rigorous discipline of the centers as their own and to take that self-discipline with them when they graduate.
AND when they graduate, Job Corps helps them find employment. They even get 1 year of free job counseling, someone to follow them on the job to ensure success.
I HATE people who expect to live supported by the system for life. We spend a lot of money on "ambulances."
But Job Corps is a genuine attempt to put a fence at the top of that steep slope into welfare dependency. Yay.

My Husband's Affair. A Remote Chance To Salvage My Relationship?

Charlie is in the grips of a tumultuous relationship.
I've watched it grow, and I fear that my husband is headed for nothing but heartache. I could give in to jealousy, but it would be of no use. The object of his affections can offer him things I can't.
For one thing, I am not sleek. I've noticed the way his hands caress the slim form of his beloved... the tight, bulgeless lines.
And the object of Charlie's fickle emotions is so available. He does not want for company or attention. But with all that, my rival is not demanding.
Maybe that is where I have gone wrong. I sometimes have my own agenda, and I ask for chunks of his time. I require him to answer my questions.
Oh, his love asks for input as well, but only when he initiates the contact.
The relationship offers him such peace that he sometimes drifts off to sleep embracing his beloved. And when he does that, my rival simply waits, unoffended.
I would be livid.
Instead, I can only sit by and watch the relationship unfold. I find it hard to believe that he is so callous to my feelings.
My only hope is that the relationship will cool over time. That more and more effort will be demanded of him before his needs are met. That the shiny newness of everything will wear off.
Oh yes. This is not his first dalliance. I've seen it before.

The last remote we had got lodged in the side of the recliner and several buttons were hopelessly jammed. We had to get a new one.
I, on the other hand, am still here.

Put the Scrubs In

I went to a "C" game last night. You know what that is: There's varsity, junior varsity and the "C's." The coaches say they do it that way so that the other kids, the kids who can't usually dribble without losing the ball and the ones who shoot and miss the basket by feet, can play.
The "C" kids practice with the rest of the team. They suit up and support the varsity and junior varsity at their games. And they wait eagerly for the few games that they have scheduled. ( Not every school has enough kids out to make up a "C" team, so many times all that practice leads to four hours sitting the bench.)
The thing is, when those kids play, they play hard. To them it's not the "scrub" game. It is THEIR game.
So when the coaches decide to play the junior varsity in the "C" game, cutting down play time for the real "C" team kids to a paltry 4 or 5 minutes, it seems unfair. But the coaches want to win. They want that badly. And they put in those kids who aren't really on the "C" team to achieve that goal.
I got to thinking last night. What does it say to a kid who isn't good enough to make the varsity, nor the junior varsity, and then can't even play in the last league? Does it tell them they are valued, or does it convince them the world isn't interested in "losers?"
Life can be like that, I suppose. So maybe the lesson is warranted. Maybe they need to learn, and learn early, that not everyone is created equal. That hard work and determination are not always rewarded, and that sometimes we work desperately and achieve the prize only to have it snatched away and put into the hands of someone who "deserves it more."
Don't get me wrong. Few things infuriate me more than the concept of entitlement-- the idea that society "owes" us because of who we are or what we have been through. Career welfare recipients ( those who won't work because they get more from the system) are thieves.
But when someone works hard and finally surmounts obstacles to gain the prize, however small that prize may seem, they deserve to keep it...even if the "team" doesn't win.
Just sayin'.

CHANGE PICTURE?

Every time I get the mouse pointer ( does it have a name?) anywhere near my profile picture, a pop-up suggests I change it.
I have news for my mouse. It doesn't get any better. You are who you are.
Oh, I've tried.
I hid out in my bathroom once, set my camera for automatic timer and tried to get posed before the flash went off. I almost made it. There is just a bit of my forehead visible. See, at the last moment, I realized that the camera was pointed up, and I climbed up onto the tub edge, grabbed the shower curtain rod and smiled. The flash went off just as I fell, and caught my forehead. The tub caught the rest of me.
And once, I rested the camera on the place where two huge branches of my catalpa tree converge just over my deck. I set the timer and got into position before I heard the bird above me. As the flash went off, I looked up...
My daughter takes lovely pictures, and she has attempted to photograph me. Unfortunately, her camera can do only so much. And I've tried those touch-up features on the online photo programs. When you get to that degree of touch-up, the program asks you to upgrade your membership.
No, You just are what you are, and I suppose I should be grateful. My wrinkles hide most of my imperfections...things like my eyes and my nose. People don't study my pictures too much. Peering into those wrinkles is a little like looking into dark caverns: you can't see anything, but you can hear the bats flying around.
I'm just glad you can't smell guano.
As for my mouse, he'll have to get used to the profile picture I'm using. It's the same one I've had posted in the kitchen for years. Sure repels his cousins.

A New Years Note to My Family.

Dad's been bemused lately by a semi truck we saw when we were going to Ogallala. Well, not really the truck; he sees those every day. It was the message on the side.

Jesus is coming back on May 21, 2011.

Now I'm not into dates. I mean, not that kind. I think Jesus meant it when he said that no one knew the day or the hour when God would decide to send Him back for the "kids."
But each day we stay on this planet is one day closer to the day we leave it. And those of us who don't go out feet first, will rise. We aren't guaranteed a definite stay. It's not like a motel where you know checkout time is 11:00.

Chad wasn't planning on leaving on Sept. 23, 1995. He probably had an agenda for that Saturday. But he left.
And that's my point. We span the gamut between preborn and 94. Some of us are in to cars and some into tatoos. Some of us like sushi. Some of us won't even eat a steak rare. But this we all have in common. We all will leave at one point or another. And this is my point. It COULD be May 21st, 2011. Or tomorrow morning. Or in 10 seconds.
But on this New Years Eve, I would like to ask you all to think about your lives. Have you asked Jesus to be the savior of your eternal life? The preserver of your soul?

The most wonderful gift God has given me, outside of His Son, is you. I don't want to leave you behind in 2010. Or in 2011. I don't want to leave you behind at all. I want to know that when the rapture takes place, those of us who are still walking this earth will join those of us who have gone on ahead. I want to know that the great times we have on Christmas day when all of us gather won't be over.

So if you haven't made that decision ( and you know who you are) PLEASE make it now. Tomorrow comes sooner than you think.
I LOVE YOU ALL

ETHICS? WHERE?

Here's a riddle for the new year. How many electricians does it take to screw in a light bulb?
NONE.
They won't come to your house to screw in a light bulb, or to install a light fixture, or to fix faulty wiring. They won't come unless your entire house needs to be rewired and they can see a thousand dollar tab in the making.
In September of 2010, we contacted a local electrical company to help with some problems in our rental house. I'm not using their name, but it was LOCAL. To their credit, they made an appearance and did a bit of work (basically a honey-do.) They said it would be a little bit before they could get back.
I understood. I'm no more important that the clients who called before me. THAT WAS SEPTEMBER.

In October, I called them and was told they would get to us as soon as they could.
In November I called them and --guess what? They were just about to call me ( or so they said.) They would be there VERY SOON. Probably that week.
In early December, a friend of ours whose cousin works for another electrical contractor said to call his company. I did, and explained our problem. They said no one should be treated like that, and they would put us on their schedule and someone would call us. Guess what?
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BUSINESS ETHICS?
I understand that the priority is bucks. That's hard to swallow, especially in a small town where we supposedly care for one another, but....
The thing is, why lie? If you don't intend to come, why not say so?
I have no idea how good the companies in question are. All I know about them is that they are LIARS.
So here's the plan. We get together and bring in a homeless electrician's family from Denver. We give him free rent for 6 months and get the city and gas company to do the same. And we scare up some jobs for him until he gets on his ( or her) feet.
We welcome him into the community with open arms and let him do all those jobs the other guys are putting on hold for the day when they have nothing else to do. And pretty soon, maybe "nothing else" will be ALL the other guys have to do.

Twas the day after Christmas...

WE KNEW where the Paperjam Drums were, but where was the back to the battery case? For that matter, where was the package of twenty double A's I bought? Never mind. Paperjams take triple A's, like the camera and the remote control vehicles. Which makes the fact that I bought double A's irrelevant...unless you actually wanted to USE any of those things.
Irrelevant like the stack of Christmas cards I found around 2:00pm. Too bad I didn't find them earlier...say, two weeks ago for instance. I could have mailed them.
They weren't with the dish of cranberry relish I found on the dryer, or I would have discovered them when I found THAT delectable bit of slime.
SO, off to church. The family was singing Oh Holy Night. We prayed about it, and I knew it would go well in spite of the fact that I had misplaced the accompaniment track we were supposed to use and we had to sing accapella.
But THAT went well, as I said. God was not surprised that I lost the music.
The dog's food bowl was empty. I felt terrible; I wasn't sure I had remembered to feed her on Christmas Day, and she spent much of that day alone. So, the fact that she stared at me with baleful eyes didn't shock me. But my remorse over forgetting her needs led me to do something which I would regret later. I gave her the leftover turkey drippings. I poured all that rich, golden broth over her Kibbles and Bits and she lapped up every drop.
She was one happy pup.
For a while.
That evening, as we watched one of the beautiful Christmas programs we had recorded, Charlie went to the kitchen to refill his coffee. We heard his hard-soled boots as he left the carpet of the dining room and stepped onto the kitchen tile.We heard the whoosh as he left the tile and hit the air. We heard his landing as he came down on the puddle of dog throw-up he had slipped in.
We rushed into the kitchen, where we saw Charlie sitting on the floor, wiping his goopy hands on his already gooped slacks. He was fine.
That's when one of the kids made the statement which I can only compare to Tiny Tim's sage, "Gawd bless us, every one."
"Dang," said Marques. " I can't even do the splits!"

HEY KID! YOU CAN'T WEAR PJ'S TO SCHOOL UNTIL YOU CAN SPELL PAJAMAS AND USE IT IN A SENTENCE.

So the kid comes down ready for school in the pajamas he wore last night. I tell him he can't wear them to school and he tells me he's going to.
My thirteen year old ( not the kid in pajamas) says, "Lots of kids wear their pajamas to school."
REALLY? I thought there was a dress code.
You mean kids are sitting in class in lounge pants, without enough respect for their teachers or for their classmates to dress?
AND THE TEACHERS AND PARENTS WONDER WHY KIDS HAVE SUCH BAD ATTITUDES IN SCHOOL?
I can just envision English class. Several kids are draped over their desks, some barely awake. Many haven't combed their hair or ( from the smell of their breath) brushed their teeth.
TEACHER: Can anyone give me an example of a compound sentence?
KID: (Yawns and scratches head) Jim and me went to the store and bought us some sodas? Is that what you mean Danky?
( Notice here that the student is calling the teacher by a nickname.)
TEACHER: Well, the grammar wasn't correct, but you have the idea. Anyone else?
ANOTHER "STUDENT": ( Takes long draught from "waterbottle" full of Mountain Dew) I broke my Playstation 3 controller so I had to use my one from my number 2, which didn't work?
TEACHER: You guys are getting the hang of this. (Ducks as a half-eaten candy bar soars overhead...laughter errupts. Another young man says, "D###**" I meant that for Manny. I missed."
Suddenly, a young man in the back pulls a knife and threatens another student. A kid at a desk against the wall fondles a giggling girl and another student is backed against the wall shaking in terror. The teacher stands, his glasses broken and his prized collection of jazz records smashed to pieces, and...
OH, wait.
That's a movie I saw. Blackboard Jungle. I wondered why all this sounded so familiar. Nothing like this could happen in real life. COULD IT?
Then again, even in Blackboard Jungle kids weren't allowed to wear their pajamas to school....

Poem For A Moment of Self-Pity

Underfoot, the crunch of brittle leaves.
Overhead, newly-naked branches, stiff-
Embarrassed, being caught off-guard,
Bare, open to the gaze of strangers.
Fall shrinks back from such and shrivels down
Curled-edged, with seedpods rattling and brown.
Steps taken on the road less-traveled
Lead to unbroken paths, alien wilderness.
Snow pitted with tracks of rabbits, deer,
Bright ringed pheasant …but no human trail.
Fall, bellwether to stark winter:
The old fraud lures us with warm, soft-edged days
Scented with wood smoke and apple cider,
Then delivers us to icy halls of frail and aching bones.
Trails traveled with mincing, timid steps,
Stooped back, weak and watery gaze.
Dreams tinged with bittersweet,
The memories of summers long-since passed.

Christmas Thoughts

In church, last Sunday, we prayed for people whose Christmas is colored by sadness. People like the family of the Evans, Co. officer killed in the line of duty. Like the mother whose child was the victim of a hit-and-run driver in November. Like the dads whose sons are serving overseas. Like the beautiful teenager who looks into the mirror and sees failure and ugliness.
No one has a corner on sadness. Not me and not you.
People, especially we Christians, tend to pontificate at this season about how we need to get our eyes off our troubles and onto the Savior. He came to give us joy, we tell all the sad-faced, teary-eyed people we meet. And it's absolutely true.
But I remember so well my first Christmas without my son...how my heart reacted to those messages when they were aimed at me. It shriveled. It hardened. And it whispered to my spirit, "They have no idea how dark our world is at Christmas."
You see, faith without works is dead. And dead things can not warm cold hearts nor encourage failing hopes. Oh, the words are true enough, but the life is in the Spirit. Dead words delivered to a drowning soul will not save them from the "sorrow that rolls like sea billows."
But a smile will, even without words. A hug might, if it is given at the right time. And empathetic silence covers a multitude of well-intentioned but ill-delivered platitudes. A bag of groceries delivered anonymously. A gift certificate to eat out. A giving of whatever it is you have to give.
And the prayer. Because ultimately at Christmas, as at all times, God asks us to partner up with Him in loving his world.

Death By Hot Tub

A few years ago, we went to Branson and stayed in a condo complex. One of the features of the units was a jet tub. A huge jet tub in a glass enclosed cubicle. That jet-tub ( or the cubicle) was our undoing. Who knew you couldn't use bubble bath in a jet tub?
It started out innocently enough. We stepped into the tub and hit the jet button.It stuck a little, and we had to coax it to life, but when it whirred into action, well...
Anyway, the bubble bath smelled like lavender--soothing lavender---and the bubbles sprouted rainbows as they rose. The water poured in like a warm waterfall and we giggled in wonder. We had never been in a spa-tub before. The bubbles rose, and rose...and...rose.
We shut off the tap. The bubbles kept rising.
We felt for the on/off button, now completely covered in suds. It had disappeared.
Aliens had zapped it away, and now--like an old Star Trek episode I remembered--they were watching our reactions to this life/death struggle, studying our survival instincts.
And it was a life/death struggle. As the bubbles rose to my chin. I got to my knees. We finally found the switch but it was stuck on. I thought, momentarily, about opening the cubicle door, but the bubbles were above the tub level and they would have cascaded out onto the floor and all that expensive carpet, and the complex would charge us...so I stretched my neck as far as I could and tried to keep the soap out of my nostrils.
My life passed before me and I knew I was going to die ( either that, or I was hallucinating from all the chemicals in their bubble bath.)
I thought about screaming for help, but the chances of someone hearing me were slim...which was more than I was... sitting in my all together in a tub of murderous bubbles. Did I really want the firemen to find me this way? The answer to that was a resounding NO! ( not alive, anyway. Dead, I didn't care.)
That's when the motor shut off of its own accord. Maybe it came unstuck, or maybe the aliens got bored. But we were saved. We found the drain and let the water out of the tub.
The reason this episode came to mind is the morning news. The President is hot under the collar because "they" wont let him pass "his" agenda. His policies would, he says, fix everything. Without them, we are sure to go under.
"They" ( the other side) are sure of the answer. It lies in their agenda, which he won't let them pass. Meanwhile, the debt grows higher, our kid's scores in math and science and English slip lower and lower,the hungry get hungrier, insurance rates get higher, banks get greedier...all in spite of throwing trillions of dollars at the problems.
Who knew you couldn't use bubble bath in a hot tub?

Merry Christmas, Deadbeat.

Congress battles over many things: building a bridge where there is no reason for one, studying the mating habits of slugs and, oh yes, extending unemployment benefits another year. I understand the bridge thing...maybe it's esthetically pleasing. And the slugs? Well, if studing the mating habits of slugs keeps some of our politicians from soliciting call girls...hoorah!
But unemployment?
Okay, I know it's hard to find a job in today's economy. At least, the right kind of job. In some areas of our country, there is employment available, but it doesn't pay what unemployment pays. Or even welfare.
I get that people are struggling. I get that an unemployed CEO wants employment as a CEO, or at least he wants a job which allows him to use his business savvy and to sit behind a desk. But you know what? THOSE jobs are the ones that disappeared...the jobs that are out there right now are for restaurant servers and street workers and tire shop employees.
The idea that some people have ( I'll just stay on unemployment until something in MY field opens up) doesn't work. SOME people have found a new career: they're Professionally Unemployed. I know of some people who are making more than $30,000 a year on benefits. Hey! THEY WORK FOR YOU. YOU ARE PAYING THEM TO SIT ON THEIR BUTTS.
I AM NOT against unemployment benefits, but I think there should be some way to get at them case-by-case. And if people can't make enough to get by on salaries, the State could supplement their wages...SUPPLEMENT, not SUPPLY.
There are great people out there who aren't milking the system...who are trying to find ANY employment, and it's those people who deserve our assistance. But the minority...the ones who are home watching daytime TV and taking middle-of-the-day naps on your dime...the ones who say they can't afford to work because they make more on the dole...HEY, YOU! THE COUNTRY CAN'T AFFORD FOR YOU NOT TO WORK.
There are too many honest people out busting their butts doing hard work at minimum wage, supporting you.
If the benefits expire, I'll bet a lot of people will just "suddenly" find work. But that won't help the honest people who really HAVE been looking for anything. Whose self-esteem will not allow them to sit on the public dole. It's a difficult problem. We need to figure it out.

Ruffled Feathers on the Holiday Goose or how I learned to quit struggling and embrace the ignorance of the ACLU

They're at it again, according to the news. the ACLU wants the nativity set in Denver moved to a church. The government should not support ANY religion, they say. I would refer them to the scripture found in Matthew 7, which has nothing to do with Christmas and everything to do with fairness.
The ACLU challenged the rights of a charter school, which was largely Muslim, to allow school closure on Muslim holidays and to offer Muslim food in the cafeteria, among other things.
One of the observances during the legal proceedings?

"The danger here is that since essentially all mores have some religious origin, when the ACLU sues about mores it objects to, it is in effect using the courts to establish religion by selectively labeling "religious" those mores originating with religious beliefs it dislikes but not mores based on religions it approves of."

Santa Claus, for instance, has his roots in Christianity. His given name is ST. Nicolas. SOOOOOOOOO no Santa for you, ACLU.
That's right. Forget the presents, too. Oh, that isn't a Christian tradition, especially. It comes from the celebration of the Winter Solstice, which had a lot of religious participation...Celts and the Japanese...
So do the lights.
So no tree, for you. And the state should certainly NOT be lighting up the city and county building!
And on December 25th, feel free to report to work. After all, that's one of the traditional celebration days of Winter Solstice. Christianity just adopted it. You wouldn't want to observe it as a holiday from work, would you?
Another thing which originated with the Winter Solstice celebration was the feast
(So you can't, in good conscience, have a big family meal on December 25th-- or any of the other traditional Solstice observance days, for that matter)

You see, there are a lot of religions besides the mainstream ones against which you rail. Paganism is a recognized religion, for Pete's sake! A lot of customs and behaviors have their roots in observances of these religions: think Halloween, funerals and even wedding rings.
So, strip that cherished wedding band off your hands. The nerve of some people allowing that thing in government recognized marriage ceremonies! Close your drapes at Halloween and never, ever allow your children to dress up ( and if the post office hands out Tootsie Rolls to the kids that day, take them to court!)
And if the flag is lowered to observe a state funeral, well...you just march right up there and raise it again. Feel free.
Unless, of course, it's for one of your kids killed during combat...fighting to protect the real rights of EVERYONE and not just the silly nit-picked rights that keep your lawyers employed and your names in the local media.
In the words of the great WC Fields: "Go home, kids. you bother me."