Ten Days

          Some perspective reminders before reading this post:  the writer lives in a county with only one town, one school, and no gas station.  The writer does have access to food but only if purchased before 6 p.m. at which time the one local cafe/store closes (and we are grateful to have it).  The writer lives in a teacher compound where most of her neighbors spend their summers in their second homes or are away traveling or visiting family during the summer months.  Wrapping up this prologue is the helpful background information that two miniature schnauzers sometimes provide the only source of contact at 607 Stadium Drive.  Obviously, it is a quiet life.

           The writer appreciates this simplicity.  Keys can be left in cars, and back doors are often unlocked.  Most all of the citizens in this small town have a little Gladys Kravitz in them, sort of a built-in watchdog group.  (If you don't get that allusion, you are way too young and should go catch some "Bewitched" reruns on cable channels.)  The writer walks to work, to football games, and next year to baseball games at the new stadium--add outdoor evening entertainment to our simple lives.  No sirens blasting, no traffic lights at which to grow impatient, and no traffic jams other than those after Friday night football games.

             So, why would the writer leave this idyllic setting for ten straight days?  (Why is she writing this blog in third person???) What could possibly draw her away from this home, this life, and those two devoted dogs?   The obvious answer would just be to acknowledge that everyone needs a vacation.  Everyone needs to get out of his or her routine and see America the Beautiful.  Take a trip.  Hit the road.  Pack a bag.  Throw caution to the wind.  Live a little.

              In years past, the writer has done just that.  From the Great Northwest  to the scenic coast on Cape Cod to some true Southern jaunts in Alabama, Georgia, and Mississippi.  Travels to the Rocky Mountains, to New York, the Midwest......this land is her land and she has rolled down the windows and has sung that song from Interstate 5 to the Blue Grass Parkway.

               Summer of 2011:  ten days in Coppell, Texas.

               This summer the writer spent two hundred and forty hours in a metroplex suburb.

               She even dared stay with her daughter and son-in-law that entire time.  All  fourteen thousand and four hundred minutes.

                The mutual decision--their invitation and the writer's acceptance--could be classified as risky behavior.  After eight hundred sixty-four thousand seconds, however, the writer and her hosts still love each other.  It could be they even like each other, which is sometimes harder to achieve.

                 In ten days, the writer experienced all of the following moments that reminded her she was not in Gail America anymore:

  1.  She was able to go to a market and have sliced bread options, jalapeno with cheddar being her favorite.

  2.  She was able to go to this same grocery store after 6 p.m.

  3.  She filled up with gas without having to drive 30 miles to do so.

  4.  She played 36 holes of golf, with her son-in-law and shot consistently below her age (on nine holes).

  5. She got a pedicure from a professional, not the coach's seven-year-old daughter who just wants to practice with nail polish.

  6.  She got to use her car's navigational system.
  7.  She still missed exits and got off on the wrong roads.

  8.  She rented all the Harry Potter movies at a local store and then got to go to the big theater to see the final episode.

  9.  She visited the city's library and rented a documentary film.

10.  She got to use a Sonic gift card given to her by a student five months ago.

11.  She read a major daily newspaper every day.

12.  She had a special chef as her son-in-law is the Grill King (not to be confused with George Foreman).

13.  She herself got inspired (from all of the Harry Potter movies) and magically appeared in the kitchen to make lasagna and homemade cupcakes for her daughter and son-in-law who were working during the day.  For clarification, she used a spatula instead of a wand.  For further clarification, she NEVER cooks/bakes in Gail America. 

14.  She attended a  church with a praise and worship band and was not struck dead for having done so.

15.  She went to a professional baseball game with friends who love baseball as much as she does. 

16.  She purchased greeting cards and mailed them at the same place.

17.  She slept without dogs on her legs or beside her back or under her pillow. 

18.  She actually stood and watched planes land and take off which was a sure sign to the locals that she was from the country.

19.  She visited old high school friends, college roommates, and  former students who live in the metroplex.

20.  She wore a fedora style hat and didn't worry about what people thought.

                      Ten days of city living was a real treat.  The only miscues at the house hotel were opening a sliding utility room door and getting it off its hinges, turning off a light switch that needed to remain on in order for the garage door opener to work (thus locking out her daughter and son-in-law while the writer was at the ballpark), and using too many paper towels.  Despite this, she thinks she may get invited back. 

                       Probably best not to call and ask for reservations just yet.


    

Thomas's Prayer

      Check out this math.

      Fifty-five years of church going, give or take the times I have missed due to illness, travel, sleeping in (college confession), or just choosing to stay home  = hearing nearly 3,000 public prayers.  That's multiplying 52 (weeks in the year) x 55 (my age). 

      Consider the fact that some weeks a Southern Protestant churchgoer will hear multiple public prayers because those doors are open Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night in some churches.   At some services we pray not once but three times.  The 3,000 figure is now a low estimate. 

       For me, prayer is the staple of faith in both our worship services and in our personal lives.  Contrast prayer to church attendance.   I like to compare sitting in a pew to sitting in a doctor's office waiting room.  We know this wait is the protocol for getting in to see the doctor.  Likewise, we go to church and sit because we know at some point in that service there is a good chance--if we are fully engaged--that we will see, hear, and feel the holy presence of The Great Physician.    But the act of attending church in and of itself does not necessarily represent faith.  Church attendance is often a social thing:   we can attend to set an example for our children or we can go to be seen.   Even a  nonbeliever could walk into a synagogue, a mosque, or a church and blend right in, attending for the music or the ceremony or for a funeral or wedding. 

         Ah, but prayer.....prayer, unlike church attendance, is purely an act of faith.

        We are talking to someone who does not talk back in a conventional manner.  There is no physical voice response to our prayers. Is there really somebody on the other end?  I do doubt sometimes, but that is precisely what makes prayer so meaningful.  When we pray, we are in essence acknowledging God's existence and God's power.
          This past Sunday at the Gail Church of Christ, the small number gathered once again for our routine of announcements, prayer, song, song, prayer, song, communion, song, sermon, and invitation song.  The average attendance is 10-15, a mostly older crowd (including myself), and reflective of a small conservative rural community:  teachers, farmers, ranchers, and retirees.

          Thomas prayed the second prayer, words spoken with his halting Arkansas drawl.  A portion of his brief petition was this:

           "I don't know Your plan......but....if You would.....please send us a good rain."

           When it comes to public prayer, we often appreciate the eloquence of words. 

           God is more concerned with the eloquence of the spirit.

           With those fifteen words, Thomas did three things:   humbled himself, recognized God's will, and then implied that the Creator can do anything, even quench a thirsty land.  And Thomas said please.  That never hurts.

            God listened intently to that prayer.
            Since Sunday, Gail America has received over three inches of rain.  

            We have been publicly and privately praying a long time for moisture.  What makes me think Thomas's prayer did the trick? 

            I have no idea.  I just believe it.
            Faith.                 

                   

                    

           

         

I'm On a Roll

    In 1956, two amazing things took place. I was born and so was the game of Yahtzee.  My little seven-pound body had a built-in patent, but only one month after I made my first appearance a guy named Mr. Edwin Lowe filed this popular dice game as a trademark and the rest is history. Interestingly enough, the game had been one that a wealthy couple played with friends aboard their yacht. The couple sold the rights to Lowe in 1956, and he soon changed the "yacht game" to Yahtzee.

        This little history lesson is only to preface my theory that Yahtzee and I belong together, providentially connected.   Because I live alone, though, I play solitaire Yahtzee--same game, same five little dice, same scorecards. It's just that I play against......me.   

         And tonight, I set a new world record for Borden County America with a score of 529. That total included three yahtzees. No joke.

         The weird part is that the new world record broke the previous world record set just minutes earlier when I rolled a 457 (also three yahtzees in one game).

         This is news, people.

         I can almost guarantee that no one in this county among the 700 residents who live here has ever rolled that high in a single game. I'll even go so far as to say no one else even plays solitaire Yahtzee within a 25,000-mile radius. Wait, I stand corrected. I did read in Al Jazeera that Bin Laden was playing to pass the time while on vacation in Pakistan. Thank Allah I don't have to worry about that loser breaking my record anymore.

         Some of you skeptics out there in blog-land may see this blog post as evidence of drought-fatigue. You are correct. Sometimes I hallucinate, seeing those dust devils in my house. Sometimes I over-react and get my leaf blower to dust the furniture instead of using the dust rag. Just this afternoon, I caught Ripken and Meek trying to hide their bones in the carpet. Dust, heat, no rain......it is taking its toll. Yahtzee provides a brief respite.

         So does homemade ice cream. Back to it......

A Little Iambic Pentameter Never Hurt Anybody

Give it a chance. 
Proven fact that the sound and rhythm of poetry uniquely affect the brain.

--OLD IRONSIDES by Oliver Wendell Holmes (In 1830, a young Holmes read about the government's plan to scrap the Constitution.  The ship had been instrumental in defending the young United States.  Holmes penned these lines, using reverse psychology to make his point:   the Constitution should be preserved.    Today, the oldest commissioned ship in our country's history is one of Boston's most popular tourist spots:  a big vessel saved by a little poem.  By the way, this is not written in iambic pentameter, just iambic meter).

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!

       Long has it waved on high,

And many an eye has danced to see

       That banner in the sky;

Beneath it rung the battle shout.

        And burst the cannon's roar;--

The meteor of the ocean air

        Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood
        Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood
         And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
         Or know the conquered knee;--
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
         The eagle of the sea!

O better that her shattered hulk
         Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
         And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
         Set every thread-bare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,--
         The lightning and the gale!

Red, White, and Blue

For the record.....
I do cheer for the USA in the Olympics, the World Cup, Davis Cup, Ryder Cup, U.S. Opens in all sports, and Indy 500. 
Apple pie (with ice cream) and hot dogs (with chili/cheese) are good eatin'.

Baseball really is my favorite sport.

And Chevrolet is the only way to go when it comes to trucks.

I am proud to be an American.  Just like Lee Greenwood.

     In the past decade, however, some Americans have had their loyalties  questioned because of what was perceived to be a dictionary-only definition of the word "patriotism."  Being true to this country for some people means that religion, flag-waving, and choice of political party are the only characteristics of a bonafide red, white, and blue American.

     The talking heads in the media debate this issue all day long, and along with their advertisers, cash in on what is and what is not patriotic.  It just seems that many of their attempts to influence the public are often politically, not educationally, motivated. 

     Consider these underrated characteristics of patriotism:

1.   voting--the voice we have to participate in our republic

2.   being thankful--the  spirit of gratitude for the incredible volume of blessings we have in this country

3.   tending to one's business--working, staying productive, focusing on matters that matter

4.   dreaming--calling on an embedded  pioneer legacy, realizing that anything is possible in this country

5.  learning--opening our minds to the basics and then building on that foundation in order to better understand ourselves and the world we live in

6.   listening-- paying attention not to just what we want to hear but to all sides in order to train our minds to discern good from evil, farce from fact, and folly from wisdom

7.   being honest--having the integrity to live and speak truthfully

8.  taking care of each other--reading a non-American's biography this summer has had an impact:  Mother Teresa had the right idea 

9.   abiding by the law and following the rules--honoring the simplest ones to the "big" ones

10. celebrating faith--holding on to the Creator's spirit, not religion, is key to true enlightenment   

         Last and most important, exercising courage  honors the patriotism of the Second Continental Congress.  What a gutsy move those men made in 1776 after enduring a hot, hot summer coming to grips with the magnitude of their decisions.
         Even though the United States's history is checkered with plenty of regrettable moments, courage  overcame discord when 56 men argued and fought (with each other) all the while embracing the patriotic characteristics listed above.
           Doing so brought them to the "truths that are self-evident."
           Patriotism's debut in a newborn country.        

In the Dark

        Because of the extreme temperatures of late in this part of West Texas, driver ed. sessions are being held either early in the morning or late in the evening.  Those highways are burning up; add to that the fact that we have construction traffic and oil field traffic in our county like never before.  Those roads during the midday are no place for a fifteen-year-old novice driver. 

        Tonight as we neared home from our nightly drive, my students and I caught sight of a small explosion off in the distance.  As we rounded Gail Mountain, we were able to put two and two together:  no lights, no electricity = blown transformer.  True, Gail doesn't have that many lights, but the few we have are pretty vital.  It was pitch black except for our headlights, the only ones in town at that very moment. 

         After dropping off the kids, I came home and used the light from my cellphone to make my way into the house.  Losing electricity happens frequently around here, so candles and flashlights are handy.  I got the house smoking with candles--a blend of  Beach Walk,  Cinnamon Vanilla, Eggnog Delight along with Rustic Leather (one of my  little Sixth Grade cowboys  gave that to me for Christmas).  I should better coordinate my candle scents, I suppose, but at 10 p.m. who really cares other than Martha Stewart and my daughter Julie.

          I tried to play the piano by candlelight, but that didn't go too well.  Thought about reading a la Abe Lincoln, but the dogs always insist on sitting in my lap when I read.  Juggling a candle and the dogs and the book just wasn't safe.  I'd hate to have a song written about me for being responsible for burning down the entire community of Gail America. 

           After thirty minutes of being in the dark, I grabbed the flashlight to take the dogs out back.  The yard was free of snakes and skunks, so I sat down and decided to just wait out this loss of electricity under a clear night sky.  One of the best moves I have ever made.

           One glance upward and immediately came to mind how the heavens do indeed declare the glory of God. More than just a song lyric, stars really do twinkle, especially on a moonless evening in West Texas.
           I could make out a few airplanes crossing the night sky and wondered if the passengers in those planes were looking down as I was looking up, just as amazed at the specks of light they were viewing from 35,000 feet.  I did not envy them--my light show, not man made, was far better. 

           Here I was, in the dark, and happy to be so.

          This summer of 2011 seems to be on a mission.  The drought's fury rages on, with cracks now 15 inches deep in my yard and stretching for several feet across the baked land.  Water is to be consumed only as needed--no quenching our yards and minimal water usage in our homes.  Conserving is critical.  The heat wave continues with record-setting consecutive days of temperatures over 100 degrees (topped at 112 just this past Sunday).  And then tonight, a couple of hours without electricity.  

           While the earth's surface is naked and void of vegetation, the heavens blanket us with stars.

           While the clouds withhold their moisture, the clear night sky floods us with beauty.

           While in the dark, I see the light.
           Our Creator is maintaining the balance.