A Nighttime Portal

 

Sometimes we get to experience a familiar moment in time long after it became a distant memory.  Such was the case when we enjoyed a mini holiday in Natchitoches, Louisiana. 

We’d booked a room at the Queen Anne, a Victorian style bed and breakfast located in the historic district close to the river, making sure it was on the first floor to avoid having to extend ourselves by going up and down stairs.  The furnishings were appropriate for the elegance extended in the entryway and formal parlor area.  Our bedroom was adjacent to the parlor, having been separated with a pair of pocket doors that carefully but definitively divided the parlor’s common area from our bedroom.

Sleeping in a bed you’re not familiar with is challenging, not that this one was uncomfortable; but it wasn’t in my bedroom at home.  The road trip was about four hours, and relaxing was more than a suggestion, it was necessary.  Taking in as much of the surroundings was perhaps the reason for picking this particular bed and breakfast, compared with staying at a premium hotel.  Each item had been carefully placed to enhance our experience to include the bookcase on one wall that went floor to ceiling with an ancient set of encyclopedias going back to the nineteen thirties, worn and decidedly outdated. 

After climbing into bed and accepting the invitation to drift off, the lights having been turned off, we noticed the outdoor lighting remained on, a soft glow from the outside coming past the wooden Venetian Blinds that covered the windows.  Sleep took over easily and remained with me for several hours.

I woke up while it was still the middle of the night.  The soft light continued easing its way into our bedroom area past the blinds.  It was then that I found myself transported in time, back to when I was visiting my grandparents’ apartment in Queens, New York, as part of my tenth birthday celebration. 

I should explain, I’d gotten to travel into the city via the Long Island Railroad, all by myself, a treat and an adventure unto itself.  Upon arriving at Grand Central Station my grandparents were waiting, and we took the 7 Line subway across town to where their apartment was located near the Bliss Street station.  For a ten-year-old boy every part of the trip was being taken in, sounds, smells and every feeling being recorded moment by moment.

They’d turned a small sofa into a temporary bed in what must have been a bedroom space; but it was for general use since it was just the two of them.  Their apartment was technically on the first floor; but in actuality it was one flight of stairs up from ground floor.  I was supposed to get some sleep in preparation for a day in the city with my grandparents; but taking in all the unfamiliar sights and sounds made it nearly impossible to put my head down on the pillow.

Instead, I found myself looking out the window that overlooked a courtyard, a courtyard that had a fancy gazebo sort of shelter with benches for those wishing to relax.  Looking further across the courtyard I saw where other apartments butted up, a concrete path with stairs leading to the next level where those apartments led to other apartments and eventually to where the elevated train station was located.  The sounds of the city entered almost subliminally as cars made their way down a street I couldn’t see, trains came and left with their steel wheels talking to the rails beneath them. 

Then there was the sound off to the other side of the apartment wall, a sound which was later explained as a trash chute that each apartment dweller used to drop stuff to the basement. I found it exhilarating that folks would be up in the middle of the night dropping bits of trash as it bounced its way past on the way to the collection bin. 

How does this have anything to do with my vantage point sixty-five years later while sitting on the edge of a bed located in the Queen Anne Bed and Breakfast at two o’clock in the morning? To be quite honest, I’m not really sure why this memory came up.  I decided to turn on my phone and hope there was sufficient light coming in through the blinds to permit taking a photograph.  Resting the phone on the edge of the bed, I pressed the activation button and got lucky.  The picture comes close to experiencing the darkness of the room being invaded by the lighting on the porch.

Maybe there’s a touch of excitement that accompanied the moment, knowing I was supposed to be sleeping and yet all my faculties were on full-memory accumulation mode, similar to when I was a boy of ten trying to make the most of a trip to be with my grandparents. That’s the best I can come up with to explain a nighttime portal that opened long enough to take me back all those years, long enough to savor a glimpse through my eyes, a wide-eyed child’s eyes.

Be The Blue Poster

 

While going through Facebook this afternoon, this recruiting poster for the Houston Police Department caught my attention.  It showed four individuals suspected of solicitation of prostitution, dressed in their orange jumpsuits.  Remember, these individuals are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.  Hope you don’t recognize one of your neighbors here.

Just curious, why would they be wearing orange jumpsuits while out soliciting for prostitution?  There must be a specialty clothing store close to the jail that sells that particular style jump suit.

It reminded me of something from back in the mid-1980s. I was assigned to Northwest Patrol, night shift; however, during the day I had my own mobile locksmith business.  I was in my service truck on the way to a locksmith job and found myself pulling up to a traffic light in the left turn lane of a fairly busy esplanaded intersection.  As my vehicle came to a stop, I recognized a scantily clothed young woman standing on the esplanade. She’d been a uniformed officer at our station when I first started on night shift.  It didn’t take a degree from the local university to figure out she’d transferred to Vice Division, and this was a sting operation to catch individuals ‘so inclined’.

I waved in her direction and addressed her by name as she quietly walked by, perhaps thinking I might be one of the ‘so inclined’.  I’m sure she was embarrassed when she figured out that I knew who she was and that I also knew she was working to catch the ‘so inclined’.  Maybe she wanted to warn me to be careful since everything being said was being recorded.  I laughed politely as the light turned green and I headed on down the road. 

This Sounds So Familiar

 

The civil disobedience going on in Minnesota, specifically Minneapolis, has gotten most everyone’s attention as minor confrontations have escalated into mayhem, chaos and bloodshed. Have I accurately described what major media outlets have portrayed as “Peaceful Demonstrations”?

Looking at the situation being spilled all over the news and social media from afar, thankfully from afar, I was reminded of a short story written by Robert Heinlein and contained within a collection of stories under the title, The Past Through Tomorrow – Future History Stories. I should explain that Heinlein’s writings were some of the first to be read simply for enjoyment as opposed to mandatory assignments associated with obtaining scholastic achievement.  It was through reading stories by Robert Heinlein and Ray Bradbury that I found the joy of reading, entering someone else’s world of imagination simply because their thoughts provoked and encouraged trips of fantasy.

Where was I…the situation which has turned so ugly in Minneapolis, Minnesota has a familiar ring to it, as if the names and places had been changed to avoid being mistaken for a piece of science fiction written long ago, it was science fiction, wasn’t it? 

I’m referring to the story, The Roads Must Roll, all about a group of radical dissidents tasked with maintaining and operating a modern transportation system.  The ringleader of the group wanted to take over the entire operation and was willing to destroy the system, maim or kill innocent travelers if need be, as long as his demands were taken seriously. 

To accomplish the takeover, which he’d planned to the last detail, he’d recruited several like-minded workers who were willing to support and initiate the destruction of the road system. How else could such an undertaking be successful, without having key players, individuals who were willing to be sacrificed if needed.

This morning while going over entries on Facebook I read a short notice explaining that the Lt. Governor of Minnesota may have been actively participating in the organization engaged in opposing ICE’s arrests and deportation efforts.

From the Dallas Express:

“Minnesota “Signal”gate? Did the Lt. Governor Coordinate with Media and Activist Groups To Dox ICE Operation Locations?

Minnesota state Representative Alex Falconer, a Democrat, has publicly acknowledged participating in a Signal network used to organize “community responses” to ICE activity, according to The Washington Times. The same report identified Amanda Koehler, a former campaign strategist for Gov. Tim Walz, as an administrator of a Signal group known as “MN ICE Watch.”

Minnesota Lieutenant Governor Peggy Flanagan has forcefully denied claims that she coordinated or operated a Signal chat used to track ICE activity.”

 

It wouldn’t be too difficult to assume, a dangerous word all by itself, to assume that many key elected leaders in Minnesota, to include that total imbecilic governor, Tim “Tampon” Walz are strongly opposed to having ICE task forces arresting illegal aliens, many of whom are dangerous criminals to include murderers, rapists, child predators, robbers and let’s not forget those involved in stealing millions upon millions of taxpayer dollars through fraud and deception; it wouldn’t be too difficult to assume these elected leaders hold an active part in attempting to thwart any and all ICE arrests.  (Thank you, Mrs. Spain, a high school teacher who pointed out the abuse inflicted each time I insert a run on sentence.)

Maybe this combination of dissidents starting from the top down, maybe this was what triggered my recollection of a short story written back in 1940, a story that contained common elements of power and control being toyed with without regard for the lives and safety of the public which entrusted these very same elected officials with their lives and safety.

Like a Fishing Boat in Rough Seas

 

I went through some of the photographs in my files and found one that validated my reason to never become a fisherman, an individual who works on a flimsy boat out in the ocean for a living.  That image became the wallpaper on my computer this week, as seems fitting considering some of the issues going on in the world.

(No idea who to credit for the photograph)

The weather forecast for this weekend calls for an uncharacteristically nasty cold, wet Arctic blast that could possibly bring snow, sleet or ice to parts of south Texas.  Knowing how news media outlets use events to sell airtime to the public, sensationalizing the possibility of dangerous weather, road conditions that might be super hazardous and a chance that grocery stores could run out of necessities; this kind of weather reporting is good for business.  Take it with a grain of salt, it might not be all that bad; then again, stay home if you can this weekend.

Have you noticed the precious metals market, specifically the attention to the gold and silver prices as they climbed to record highs?  We’re in for some interesting times as the banks holding promises to deliver on their silver holdings only have pieces of paper rather than actual physical silver.  In other words, and these numbers are only approximately accurate, but in other words there are roughly 47 pieces of paper claiming to be the same 1 ounce of silver owned by all those 47 investors. When it comes time for the bank to settle up, let’s just say it won’t be silver hitting the fan.

An ounce of gold passed $4,700 yesterday.  Why is that important? Maybe it’s important on the world economic stage because the Dollar becomes less and less the standard which keeps the United States afloat. I don’t claim to be schooled in world economy; however, if the nations of the world decided to use something other than the Dollar as a reference for value, then things could become rather dicey, I think that’s the term, dicey.

I’m much better observing perfectly timed photographs or paintings by artists like Winslow Homer as he captured angry seas, the master’s ability to blend oil paint into dark colors within treacherous waves as men made their way across them in their flimsy boats, prayerfully hoping to make it back to safe harbor.  I can feel the danger those men faced, even if only from the comfort of my easy chair, sitting in the confines of my home. 

Y’all stay safe now, ya’ hear!

 

 

Amazing find at local Kroger Grocery Store

This past Friday while finishing up our grocery shopping at the Kroger store in Huntsville, Texas, I happened to glance at one of those ‘point of purchase’ items, the must have do-dads placed near the cash register that you hadn’t planned to buy; but oh, my goodness, you must have it.

You’d think finding specialty items used by MI-7 or CIA’s deep cover operatives would be limited to a special catalog, technologically advanced weapons available only for individuals with special security clearances, but here they were, and at a grocery store?  I carefully considered adding this item to our shopping cart and then wondered if it would be safe to store it in our vehicle.

There were several Vortex Umbrellas on display without any noticeable security barriers. Not even the high command at MI-7 were aware of the Vortex group of assassins hidden within their own trusted cadre of agents. Yet here they were at the cash register available to anyone.

There were no distinctive markings on the product as to whether these were T-2 or T-4 type defensive or offensive umbrellas as shown in the Johnny English Reborn movie. The two items appeared nearly identical: the one being designed to deflect bullets while the other as a self-contained rocket launcher.  I used my cellphone to capture a photograph of the fancy umbrella’s product card since nobody would believe such a prize was available at Kroger.

I’d almost bet the farm we’ll find lipstick dispensers that double as a single shot pistol over in the cosmetic’s aisle or maybe some of those throat lozenges that distort your voice in the pharmacy department.  I’ve always suspected something else was being run out of the Kroger store; why else have such a huge second floor that isn’t open to the general public?

I’ve spent enough time considering our next grocery shopping trip.  It’s time to finish reading the book I got for Christmas, The Secret Life of Walter Mittey.  Y’all be safe out there.

Having Fun with the Calendar on December 22nd

 

Each morning as I take my vitamins, I tear off a page on the calendar, a way of reminding myself later in the day that I actually had taken my vitamins.  I get to read a short bit of trivia, something that takes up half a moment and then get on with my day.

Today’s calendar moment, “I am.” is the shortest complete sentence in the English language. I then had to wonder if that were true in, let’s say, Hebrew, referring to the passage of scripture found in the book of Exodus 3:13-15 where we find out what Moses was told on his trip up to the top of the mountain where he met with God.

“And Moses said unto God, Behold, when I come unto the children of Israel, and shall say unto them, The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me, What is his name? what shall I say unto them?

And God said unto Moses, I Am That I Am: and he said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I Am hath sent me unto you.

And God said moreover unto Moses, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, The Lord God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, hath sent me unto you: this is my name for ever, and this is my memorial unto all generations.”

I’d leave it right there, except… you got it…in Hebrew the name I Am is a bit different. I’ll add what was posted on Facebook sometime back, author was not credited at that time.

“The Name of God YHWH

There was a moment when Moses had the nerve to ask God what his name is. God was gracious enough to answer, and the name he gave is recorded in the original Hebrew as YHWH.

Over time we’ve arbitrarily added an “a” and an “e” in there to get YaHWeH, presumably because we have a preference for vowels.

But scholars and Rabi’s have noted that the letters YHWH represent breathing sounds, or aspirated consonants. When pronounced without intervening vowels, it actually sounds like breathing.

YH (inhale): WH (exhale).

So a baby’s first cry, his first breath, speaks the name of God.

A deep sigh calls His name – or a groan or gasp that is too heavy for mere words.

Even an atheist would speak His name, unaware that their very breath is giving constant acknowledgment to God.

Likewise, a person leaves this earth with their last breath, when God’s name is no longer filing their lungs.

So when I can’t utter anything else, is my cry calling out His name?

Being alive means I speak His name constantly.

So, is it heard the loudest when I’m the quietest?

In sadness, we breathe heavy sighs.

In joy, our lungs feel almost like they will burst.

In fear we hold our breath and have to be told to breathe slowly to help us calm down.

When we’re about to do something hard, we take a deep breath to find our courage.

When I think about it, breathing is giving him praise. Even in the hardest moments!

This is so beautiful and fills me with emotion every time I grasp the thought. God chose to give himself a name that we can’t help but speak every moment we’re alive.

All of us, always, everywhere.

Waking, sleeping, breathing, with the name of God on our lips.”

 

 

Say What?

 

I was in the kitchen helping test a batch of Gingerbread Cookies that had recently come out of the oven when Lucy mentioned that it was time to get the next tray of cookies out of the oven since the buzzer on the oven had gone off.  She opened the door to the oven and extracted the tray while letting them sit for a few minutes atop the stove prior to placing them individually onto the cooling racks.

I hadn’t heard the buzzer go off even though I was standing within a foot or so.  Lucy thought I was joking as she explained that the buzzer had gone off twice.

“You really didn’t hear the buzzer?”  Lucy was busy switching trays while resetting the timer on the over for ten minutes while closing the oven door.

“No, I never heard the buzzer”.  It should be noted that the buzzer on our oven is super quiet and I don’t depend on that one; instead, I bought one at the store that makes a decent amount of noise when it goes off.

This reminded me of the hearing test I took prior to joining the Houston Police Department.  I’d gone through the preliminary steps of the application process and had been scheduled for a hearing test given by the City of Houston at one of their offices downtown.

The woman assigned to give the hearing test remined me of my grandmother, a sweet little old lady who smiled warmly as she placed a set of headphones over my head to cover both ears. 

She explained I was to listen for a ping that would sound in either ear. Upon hearing that sound I was to raise my hand.  I listened intently as the test began and noticed the expression on the little old lady’s face, her eyebrow raising occasionally as if she were the one taking the hearing test.  I hadn’t heard anything yet; but when her expression changed my hand raised up as if I had heard something. She smiled back and even nodded that my hearing was normal.

The rest of the hearing test was completed in much the same way, my watching this sweet little grandmotherly lady’s facial expressions to indicate that I should be hearing something, my hand going up as if I had, and a nod of approval for having finished that portion of the test. I passed the hearing test and, after going through the interviews that followed, was accepted into the Houston Police Department.

I managed to ignore the minor limitations on being able to hear insignificant noises while completing twenty years of service as a police officer.  Now, had I signed up to work in the kitchen, dependent on some silly buzzer, that would have been something altogether different.

Ground Fog, Yeah…Right

 

It was a bit chilly during the night; temperature this morning was 38 degrees.  It was time to light a fire and warm things up as I prepared a small stack of wood in the wood burning stove.  There’s a trick to getting things going, something I’ve yet to master.

The fellow who installed the wood burning stove, Ron Weathers, showed us how to prepare a loosely balled piece of newspaper inside kindling wood and top that off with a piece of newspaper so that the flash of heat will start air flowing upwards into the flue. He reminded me to leave the door to the stove open a bit to permit air to enter the combustion chamber and let the firewood catch properly.

Let’s just say that this morning’s attempts at lighting a fire didn’t go smoothly.  For some reason the paper didn’t catch, at least not entirely.  It put itself out, mostly.  The combustion chamber filled with smoke and began seeping out into the living room.  Opening the door to the stove, an attempt to ignite the partially burned paper, proved to be a mistake.  A ball of smoke rolled into the living room.

I hurriedly opened one of the living room windows, turned on a fan hoping to push the smoke out through the window.  I then grabbed another fan from my office and opened the window enough, so the edges of the window acted like a vice to hold the fan against the screen, sucking a stream of smoke out the window.  It was working so I turned on other fans, directing air flow to the open window. After a few minutes, maybe half an hour or so, most of the smoke had been pushed out the window.

I then went about getting the fire properly lit, another cloud of smoke escaped; but this time a river of air had been established so the smoke exited the house without filling the living room. Thankfully the wood actually caught fire and created a proper draft which went up the flue as it was supposed to.

After things returned to mostly normal, and looking out the window prior to removing the fan and closing the window; I’ve lost my train of thought, I looked out the window and noticed a blanket of ground fog on my neighbor’s field.  I say it was ground fog; perhaps it was smoke from my earlier attempts to start a simple wood-burning stove.

End of an Era, ...not quite yet

 

Tomorrow morning I’ll drive our 1999 BMW Z-3 down to Houston where there’s a fellow who wants to purchase it.  He found out that I had one that was in running condition, a good motor and transmission and generally in operating order.  He’s aware that it needs a paint job and interior work; but is looking forward to restoring the vehicle to its once jewel-like state.

A few months ago, when we purchased our new Subaru Outback, the dealership had the opportunity to take the Z-3 as a trade-in; however, the offer they made was incredibly low, bordering on insulting, so we decided to hold onto the car until somebody who was familiar with the vehicle’s potential and value came along.

I feel in love with the BMW Z-3 Coupe the first time I ever saw one as it drove by our house.  I’d seen the convertible version of the Z-3, the one featured in a 007 – James Bond movie; but the convertible didn't grab my attention, at least not the way the coupe version did with its classic lines.  It reminded me of the 1971 Triumph GT-6 we’d owned.  I took a photograph of that vehicle from the 5^th floor of the Houston Police Department’s Men’s Jail where I was working as a young police officer. 

I went to the BMW dealership over off I-45 and FM1960 to learn a little more, mostly to see how much a new one cost.  Geeezzz, that little toy car was going for around $46,000 or more depending on which optional equipment you wanted.  $46,000 for a toy car was definitely way out of my price range; however, what about a used one?  Maybe that would fit our budget; those were around $36,000; not really something we could justify either. 

That said, Lucy was thinking about getting another car.  She liked the way one of the Dodge products looked, a miniature version of Chevy’s Suburban; can’t even remember what it was called now.  It was built on the Neon chassis and sold for about $20,000 as I recall.  We drove one and were not impressed with almost anything about it.

I suggested, just as a possibility mind you, that we could go by the BMW dealership that was only a few miles away and see if she liked the Z-3 that I’d test driven earlier.  I got one of those ‘eye rolls’, the kind where it’s pretty obvious that she’s being set up.  The salesman recognized me from earlier as Lucy got into the driver seat with me becoming the passenger.  He suggested we go for a spin down FM1960 since the traffic there would let her have more fun.

Lucy familiarized herself with the workings of this fancy little butt rocket and we headed over to FM1960.  Lucy was going through the gears like a pro, enjoying the marvelous burst of power with each shifting of the gears.  We’d only gone a short way as the car eased its way over the bridge that crosses the Hardy Toll Road.  She’d gotten into third gear and was accelerating nicely when I reminded her that going 90mph was a little faster than we should be going.  The look on her face said it all as she responded, “Oh my, this car does drive nicely, I hardly noticed we were going that fast.”  That’s my girl, as she toned down the speed a bit closer to the posted speed limit.

We agreed the BMW Z-3 was a nice vehicle; however, even a used one at $36,000 was out of our price range.  Lucy suggested we look for one on eBay; maybe find one closer to our price range.  That began our journey.  It might be more interesting to understand that in that time period, our use of the internet was via dial-up; the idea of having a constant cable connection may not have been available then, at least it wasn’t for us.  We would dial the number for our internet provider, wait, and wait and patiently hope to eventually be connected.  Once connected to eBay we glanced over the offered vehicles that matched BMW Z-3 Coupe. 

We found one that matched the metallic green that looked like a polished gemstone.  It had a moon roof, leather seats along with a cargo mesh barrier and was only a year old.  The couple offering the vehicle were about to start a family and they needed to find a family car, a two-seater butt-rocket was no longer practical for them. 

We didn’t let anyone on eBay know we were interested as we watched the bidding proceed along with the end of the auction approaching.  The last bid took the price up to around $15,000 with only a couple of minutes left before the auction ended.  Having the dial-up connection and knowing how it might get disconnected for any old reason, we placed our bid with a minute and a half to go.  Our bid was for $25,000, the top end limit as to how much we were willing to spend, or about the price of a fully loaded Toyota Camry. 

In that minute and a half there was a bidding frenzy, different individuals raising their bid a thousand dollars here, a thousand more dollars there and so it went as the seconds clicked away. We were relieved to find our bid ended up being $22,000, just three thousand dollars less than our maximum acceptable expenditure.

We figured out how to send a cashier’s check to the seller by working with our credit union. We wanted to protect ourselves just in case; but that was never needed on this transaction.  The couple met us at the airport in Philadelphia; the car temporarily parked directly in front of the passenger terminal where we signed the transfer papers.  The BMW Z-3 Coupe was gorgeous, every bit as beautiful as we’d hoped; maybe even better.

We drove it down to Washington D.C. where we’d planned to be tourists, a mini-vacation while driving the car back to Houston.  That’s the first photograph we took of the car, Lucy as passenger, sitting in the driveway of the hotel we stayed that first night. 

Fast forward to this morning, twenty-four years later and watching the end of an era.  We’d gotten a call from our son letting us know someone was interested in purchasing the BMW Z-3 Coupe. He’d offered a reasonable amount, knowing the car needed a paint job and work on the interior.  I was prepared to drive it down to Houston on Friday, topped off the gas tank, cleaned the windows inside and out and placed the original owner’s manual back inside the car.

I was in the kitchen this morning filling the ice trays and looked out the window when it dawned on me; this was it, the last we’d see of this wonderful toy car that had been with us all these years.  I took the last photograph of it through the window screen that covers the kitchen window.  That, my friends, might have been the end; except I got a call just now from my son.

The fellow who wanted to purchase the little BMW Z-3 Coupe had his own car crater on him and he needs to fix that car before he can afford to pay us the agreed upon amount.  So, it looks like it will be a couple of months into 2026 before we part with it.  Not quite the end of an era.

 

The Shop Around the Corner?

 

While blasting through Facebook the other day a friend of mine, Roger Saxton, had posted a photograph of the storefront of a small bookstore. My mind immediately brought up memories of the movie, The Shop Around the Corner, which was later transformed into yet another movie, You’ve Got Mail. 

The original movie, The Shop Around the Corner, the 1940 movie was filmed in black and white and starred Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan.  These character’s roles were resurrected in the 1998 movie, You’ve Got Mail, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.  The movies took different paths to match up the two needful individuals down a more meaningful relationship.

Seeing the image of the bookstore’s welcoming appearance reminded me to appreciate the efforts taken to invite such relationships. 

This morning there was another entry having to do with the use of a bookstore to bring about happiness and the necessity of being a useful part of the community. It came from a 72 year old woman whose husband had died and left her alone to meet the challenges of each day.  She had sufficient funds left to her along with a house that was paid for; but being all alone wasn’t life to her, she needed more.

One afternoon while walking she passed a small bookstore with a sign out front indicating the bookstore was closing down at the end of the month.  She entered the store where a young man was busy, not really enjoying the fact that the store wasn’t making financial ends meet and had a stack of envelopes showing overdue bills.

A conversation was begun between the young store owner and the older woman.  Eventually she convinced the young man that she could, with her accounting skills and business abilities, she could help him turn a profit.  She found that there was a storeroom above the establishment that she could use as her apartment.  All she’d need to do was liquify all her assets, sell her house and start working. 

Her son thought she’d lost her mind, but she explained, or tried to explain, that the past two years alone in her house wasn’t living, it was an empty life at best.  She wouldn’t let her son continue trying to talk her out of a major life changing move.

A couple of months went by, lots of effort and her dream of turning the bookstore into a profitable venture had worked. Customers were returning and life was as she had hoped.

All this was running through my mind as I looked at the picture of the small bookstore, an invitation to enjoy life as found within the covers of each book.  Each page containing the thoughts, dreams and wishes of an individual not much different than yourself.

Poisoning the Well Water

 

The way ideas are presented often predetermines the intended response. Each word chosen, presumably with a modest amount of thought, each word lends itself to an understanding based on a presumption that both the speaker and the listener share the interpretation of words based on common experiences and customs.

(Image of Water Well courtesy of Adobe)

This past week I read an editorial originally published by the New York Times, “Are We Losing Our Democracy?”.  The brief screed included twelve bullet points, each of which began with the term, “An authoritarian…” 

1) An authoritarian stifles dissent and speech

2) An authoritarian persecutes political opponents

3) An authoritarian bypasses the legislature

4) An authoritarian uses the military for domestic control

5) An authoritarian defies the courts

6) An authoritarian declares national emergencies on false pretenses

7) An authoritarian vilifies marginalized groups

8 ) An authoritarian controls information in the news media

9) An authoritarian tries to take over universities

11) An authoritarian creates a cult of personality

11) An authoritarian uses power for personal profit

12) An authoritarian manipulates the law to stay in power

Readers would assume the article was aimed at the current administration, specifically President Donald Trump, why else would such an editorial be published at this time, why not when Obama was President, or Biden?  If the editorial wasn’t biased, then why use the term authoritarian? 

Couldn’t it be expressed that Donald Trump has, by virtue of having been elected President under the rules and laws of our Constitutional Republic, wouldn’t it have been accurate to state the as President Donald Trump has the Authority to carry out the duties associated with that office, those duties which are defined and verified by the highest court in the land?

But if you wanted to poison the well water, paint those duties as Authoritarian, something other than Authorized by law, then instead of accepting the lawful duties of President, cast doubt on each action exactly as the New York Times editorial did.

Taking to task radical District Judges who don’t agree with the President’s actions, judges who have usurped powers far beyond their legal scope, presenting this before the Supreme Court isn’t, “An authoritarian defies the courts”, rather the President is working within the constraints of our Constitutional Republican form of government in order to validate his lawful actions.

You could take each of the twelve bullet points expressed in the New York Times editorial and ask the same question.  Is the word Authoritarian used properly or is this a whiney spoiled child’s expression that he or she didn’t get the result he or she wanted.  It’s much easier to blame that worthless no good Orange haired guy than to admit that he actually has the Authority to carry out the lawful agenda he was voted into office to do.

Then there’s the title offered by the New York Times, “Are We Losing Our Democracy?”.  In the first place, the United States of America isn’t a democracy, it’s a Constitutional Republic.  

From The Daily Signal:

“We have all heard the common talking point from the left that conservatives are destroying democracy. The response to this claim is the same time and time again: “We’re not a democracy; we’re a constitutional republic!” This leads us to ask an important question: Are there any differences between the two, and if so, why do they matter?”

“The answer is simple: There are profound differences between a democracy and a constitutional republic that are crucial to every aspect of American life...”   

The article by The Daily Signal went on to quote from Hamilton, Jefferson and Adams; each having expressed warnings associated with governments based on democracy. My favorite was, “Democracy is like two wolves and a lamb voting on what to eat for lunch, but a republic is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote.”

“Thomas Jefferson is our second Founder to see profound issues with democracy. Jefferson said, “The republican is the only form of government which is not eternally at open or secret war with the rights of mankind.”

Jefferson recognized the secret war that occurs under a democracy, a war for power and control. The secret war is fought in many political systems. There is a reason Plato said, “Dictatorship naturally arises out of democracy.”

As a matter of interest, it is commonly taught and accepted by scholarly individual that here in America we have a Democratic Republican form of government.  Rather than argue the finer points which serve no purpose, it’s much easier to simply say, “You’re right” and let them feel better about having won their point.

Sounded like Katherine Hepburn

 

How’s that for an interesting title, Sounded like Katherine Hepburn?  I’ll get around to explaining in a bit, but first a little lead up to that preposterous title. This past week I was under the weather, enough to stay home from church last Sunday and then again remain home on Wednesday evening, still not feeling well.  I’d come down with some kind of “bug”, no reason to get particular; sinus drip so bad that going to sleep wasn’t possible for any length of time since I had to clear my throat to keep my lungs clear. 

I took a Z-Pack and some Ivermectin to clear it up and that worked fairly well.  One challenge was that weeks ago I’d promised to cover a Temple Shift for a friend so he could go out of town on family business.  That meant I’d be pulling a double shift, my regular shift from 11:00am until 2:00pm followed by his regular shift from 2:00pm until 6:00pm.  I felt well enough to work at the Temple; but was concerned that my energy levels might be taxed with the extra hours.

Turns out I was right.

I won’t go into too much detail; however, while completing an Endowment Session I noticed my right hand began shaking uncontrollably.  It might have been a bit disconcerting for the sister with whom I was working with; but I don’t think my grip on her hand was too severe and the tremors passed without causing too much concern.

Later in the afternoon while performing ordinances in the Initiatory area it got even more interesting. At first, I noticed my voice changed; sounding as if I’d become much older with a rattling in between spoken words.  As this progressed it became almost comical, recalling how Katherine Hepburn’s voice crackled as her near perfect diction devolved while portraying her character in the movie, Rooster Cogburn. 

I mention this because, as a Temple Ordinance Worker, I make an effort to enunciate each word of these sacred ordinances in such a way as to let the patron hearing these words take in their full importance.  While Temple patrons are acting vicariously for someone who has passed through the veil of mortality; the individual for whom they are acting for, we believe, are attentively hearing these blessings and promises for the first and only time.

So, this past Friday as irregularities with my voice began to become increasingly advanced, as if by age or affliction, I had to wonder what was going on with my health.  I felt my right hand begin to tremble while I continued with the ordinance, a mild yet decidedly rhythmic motion that I couldn’t stop until withdrawing it from atop the patron’s head.  This, along with the alteration of my voice, was more than a little alarming.  I noticed my breathing became more shallow, unable to complete longer sentences without pausing, each word lost perfect modulation and was replaced with highs and lows creating syllables never included in those words.

I finished the shift, grateful to have survived the embarrassing loss of voice control, chalking this up as part of growing older.  When I got home and had a chance to look up Katherine Hepburn’s interesting voice issues, that’s when I found there’s a medical term for what I’d experienced.

Here’s what the Harvard Medical School published:

“Essential tremor is less well known than Parkinson's disease, but it's far more common.

For many, the late actress Katherine Hepburn provided an indelible public image of essential tremor. Her quavering voice and trembling hands unmistakably betrayed the disorder.

Essential tremor affects about 5% of people over age 50. The intensity of the shaking from essential tremor can be mild to very significant. Also the tremor can vary in location, being most prominent in the hands, head or voice.” (emphasis added)

For some reason this information put my mind at ease.  I hadn’t imagined the odd experience, and I was correct in having compared what my ears were hearing with how Katherine Hepburn’s voice sounded later in her career. 

 

 

We had another adventure

Whenever things don’t go exactly as expected or planned, my friend Pat Gaume says, “They had an adventure”.  It could be said that this past week, from Monday through Saturday, has been an adventure.  Monday was, bring the dead Oak Tree down with the chainsaw. Tuesday was chop up the bulk of that downed tree into chunks that will fit into our woodburning stove. Wednesday was the day the water feed hose broke off from the back of the washing machine, clean up that mess and replace the water feed lines. Thursday while finishing off the ice cream that we’d placed in the freezer, we noticed the ice cream was very soft instead of rock hard like it normally would be. 

Around three in the morning I was awakened by a prompting, “Go check to see if the freezer is working”, my brain wouldn’t let me sleep as it went over the earlier observation regarding the softened carton of ice cream.  There was no whirring noise coming from the freezer and upon opening the door there were drops of water falling from the inside of the freezer.  The freezer had died and the next question, how much of the content would be ruined?

That started our Friday adventure.  The Houston Temple was closed for maintenance, so we had the day off.  Instead, we’d be driving down to Huntsville to do our regular grocery shopping and, since our freezer had died, we’d be looking to purchase a replacement freezer. None of the places we looked had a replacement freezer in stock that matched or even came close to the size we wanted; however, one of them mentioned that their sister store in Bryan/College Station had one that could be delivered the following Tuesday.

If we waited until next Tuesday, anything that hadn’t already been ruined inside the broken freezer would certainly be ruined by then.  Lucy and I decided that the best solution would be to drive back home, put the groceries away and then hook the trailer up to my old pickup truck, drive to Bryan/College Station and purchase the freezer so we could take it home and start the process of changing out a dead freezer’s content into the new one.

Did I mention that my truck doesn’t get very good gas milage?  It gets even worse gas milage when pulling the trailer, averaging between 8 to 10 miles per gallon.  We started from home with almost a full tank of gasoline.  My truck’s AC is on its last leg too and pulling the trailer stressed out the radiator to where the red warning light came on when we were only fifteen miles out from home.  I turned off the AC, slowed down to 65 -70 mph, rolled the windows down and that solved the over heating issue.  We’re tough Texans and can put up with 95 degrees, letting the wind blow through the truck’s cab.

We arrived at the location where the freezer had been marked ‘sold’ and ready for pick up and we had 30 minutes to spare before they closed.  They loaded the freezer onto the back of our trailer, and I was glad to have brought some of those cheap tie-down straps, the kind they put on half price at Tractor Supply just to get rid of them.  They made sure the freezer was secure and off we went, doubling back the way we came and keeping our speed around 60 to 65mph, another blessing since we were in rush hour traffic and everyone else on the freeway was maxed out at 65mph. 

We decided that, instead of going back home via Madisonville and Interstate 45 to Centerville, a safer route would be to turn off at North Zulch and head north on highway 39.  I kept watching the gas gauge as it plummeted closer towards an area known as, “You’re Walking”.  I figured we’d fill up in Centerville just to be on the safe side.  That wasn’t to be either. 

When we were just outside of Normangee the truck’s motor gave us a slight hesitation, as if we were out of gas, along with the yellow warning light on the fuel gauge letting us know it was time for gas.  Normally that warning light meant the truck could go another 30 miles or that there were 2 gallons left in the tank; but pulling the trailer and only getting 8-10 miles per gallon meant we needed to find a gas station right away.

There might be a real gas station in Normangee, somewhere.  We drove into what looked like a real gas station; but it was closed, might have been closed for a very long time.  We then figured there might be one close to the Brookshire Brothers grocery store.  There was a single gas pump at the local convenience store, and we almost didn’t see it except there was a Post Office vehicle using it to fill up.

I put twenty dollars’ worth in the tank at $2.89 per gallon, or a little over 6 gallons. That permitted us to begin breathing again as we continued toward Centerville where we could fill the tank at our Shell Station for $2.53 per gallon.  We topped off, having combined for a tad over 18 gallons of gas in my truck’s 18-gallon capacity tank. 

I like the line from the alien commander in Galaxy Quest, “On!”, as he gestures with his arm.  We headed home as the sun was fading low onto the horizon.  We’d made it home.

I don’t drive with a trailer all that often; but upon backing up so that the trailer would square up with the steps leading to the kitchen, let’s just say I put the 3-point shot right through the middle of the uprights, those are the posts on either side of the steps leaving me an inch and a half gap to drop into.  Am I good or what? A near perfect positioning so that the ramp of the trailer would drop down onto the middle steps and permit a mostly easy off loading of the freezer onto the porch, and I didn’t even touch the uprights on either side.

That would have been true had there not been a slight gap on one side where the two-wheeler dolly decided it was time to let the freezer tilt and slide onto the top two steps at the edge of the porch.  For an old guy I did okay getting out from under the freezer; no major dings on me or the freezer.  We got the freezer back upright and plugged it in on the outside porch so that it could start getting cold inside.

This morning we brought the new freezer into the kitchen and then we began offloading a remarkable amount of still frozen meats and other frozen items from the broken freezer. Yes, there were some items that needed to be tossed; but most of those were from freezer burn or from having been kept long after their expiration date.  All in all, we had to say how blessed we’d been, not complaining at all for having experienced this adventure.  The old broken freezer was difficult to pull out from the laundry room since it barely fit through the doorway opening.  It’s now sitting on the porch awaiting its turn to be hauled off to the dump.  The new freezer is nearly full and whirring quietly in the space previously taken by the broken freezer.  We cleaned the floor where the old freezer had been with Lysol so it will be good for another 8 years.

Time to sit back and wonder what our next adventure might be. See you at church on Sunday, we’ll be the folks thanking our Father in Heaven for the tender mercies provided to us this past week.

  

Come in here, right now!

 Getting up in the morning can be exciting. Take for example this morning when I heard an unknown racket coming from the kitchen area of the house.

“Come in here, right now!  I heard something explode and water is going everywhere?”

You might call that a motivational talk; but that would be an understatement.  I reached the kitchen area, more precisely, the washroom where we keep the washing machine and dryer. I don’t know about any explosion; however, there was a stream of water shooting out from behind the washing machine.  I located the shut off valves and solved that part of the problem.

I then located the source of the escaping water, the cold-water feed line to the washing machine had broken off where it attached to the washing machine.  A few old bath towels sopped up the water on the floor and I pulled the washing machine away from the wall to get a better idea of what I was up against as far as repairs.  It looked simple enough; purchase a replacement water feed line, better yet, purchase all three water feed lines.  Our dryer has a steam added function so there’s a cold-water feed that might as well be replaced at the same time.  I noticed the dryer vent hose was a bit mangled, might as well replace that too. 

Have you ever wondered where all the lint and dust goes, the stuff that falls off the side of the dryer after you scoop off the lint screen?  It attaches to the wall next to the dryer and along the floor molding at the base of that wall.  Then when the dryer and washing machine are pulled away from the wall there’s a thick film of dirt and lint attached to the floor, mixed with the water that escaped moments earlier.  Yes, we were having fun.

I drove to the local hardware store, purchased 3 water feed lines and a new dryer vent hose. The fellow had assumed I meant 2 water feed lines until I told him about the fancy dryer with steam function built in.  It’s all fixed now and the first load of wash to go in…drum roll please…all those sopping wet bath towels. 

It works, chalk this up to being grateful that water supply line didn’t break off while we were away; that would have been a really bad day.