Anticipation began in late August with the first Halloween candy on Walgreen shelves, now all on sale. The only people interested in this week are children of various ages. Retailers have already put up Christmas trees between oaks on the sidewalks next to the mall. Family matrons are making the nod to Thanksgiving by ordering turkeys. Pumpkins represent the season, so Starbucks features pumpkin spice latte and various cooks do appropriate pies, breads, and cookies. Technology offers kits to help carve scary faces while it my day it was you and a knife and a pediatrician brother-in-law who provided antibiotic samples to slow down the rotting.

Big orange fruit are the atmosphere. Two stories: a son’s pickup truck was stolen. When recovered, the back was loaded with sizes and varieties of pumpkins. Our thought was the thieves had driven the neighborhood and amassed a gathering to sell at a convenient corner. David and I took a bike journey in Vermont one fall. Returning to New York, we passed between large fields of green vines with orange globes that identified their purpose. Men with machetes bent over, sliced a stem, and moved on. I assume a harvesting crew lurked in the background.

You’re right, no pumpkin verses in the Bible. What you can’t handle head on, you tackle obliquely. Pumpkins are part of the seasons which are gifted us by God. My favorite poem for this time of year (put on your country voice) is When the Frost is on the Punkin by James Whitcomb Riley. The last verse images a visit from Angels and offer them something special while waiting for a Christmas appearance.

I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be

As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—

I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Not bottled vitamins, though they do provide. The rest of the quote declares in a shaky fashion that maybe at a certain age one a day may lessen your visits to the doctor. All else aside, this is their season; colors, crunch, and cooking. The shape is the same. The color and names vary. From Red Delicious of my childhood to Granny Smith, Fiji, and Honeycrisp to Esopus Spinzenburg which are said to have been a favorite of Thomas Jefferson. The cooking can be to stew, bake in a pie, or a create a special applesauce. An Arkansas relative would send us a box and the odor smelled FALL in capital letters. If a snack on a hike, a non-eaten core can be dropped with impunity, never a worry about the environment.

And then the tree story – there is always a story. July 4, 2001, I was visiting in a small country town in Pennsylvania. A barn across the road anchored the house area and horses roamed in green rolling pastures. Outside a screen porch at the back of the house was a well and an obviously old apple tree. Life that remained was mostly in a curved branch reaching over the well. A limb had been broken on the other side at some point and a gaping hole like a scar had sunken into the trunk as it healed. Yet beyond that sign of age, branches struggled upward and golf to tennis ball apples defined the purpose of the tree. They were still hard, but the top side of a few had a blush as if embarrassed to be caught in the sun. The owner’s comment was “As long as it has life, I want to leave it there.”

A perfect comment to continue to hang in there and serve a purpose. We humans can take it to heart. This fall a bushel may not be our crop, yet what we do offer is a reminder of our roots and what we still produce in our season. Our owner made His own comment about us.

Ye shall know them by their fruits

Matthew 6:17

If you are reading this, you have some commitment to life. School demands, mortgage payment, go to work, enjoy a friendship – the list could be endless. My connection with these two words began casually many years ago. It was one of those impulsive buys as you check out at the grocery story. A small magazine Prevention: some recipes, doable exercises, wise words, some health suggestions. Then I aged and bought a year’s subscription which included various “freebies..” The quotation marks are slightly sarcastic. The boat had already left the harbor and I wasn’t a prepared sailor.

Included was a slick volume titled Get Sharper Every Day. That was 365 essential steps to take to stay at the top of your game from math squares to mazes to bird watching. Forget that I have salt, pepper, cinnamon, ginger, and Tabasco. Day 67 was a list of 22 antitoxin spices to have on hand. One day make a tabbouleh salad and another do a qigong Chinese exercise. Thank goodness the last day was make a list of things I had tried that had become a habit. Buying more blueberries was the sole response.

So I’m not sharp enough to slice an onion, yet I can demolish bananas. I do NY Connections with varying degrees of accuracy though I am good with the Mini Crossword. After pneumonia last January, I can now walk in segments a total of 1 1/2 mile and hope to keep increasing. Even if I have to call on friends or family for transportation, I leave the house to check on the world. All are my choices. The slick volume was entertaining; the true every day foundation is dependable.

“I am the Lord your God,
    who teaches you what is best for you,
    who directs you in the way you should go.

Isaiah 48:17

I thought the title might add a little levity to the writing. It may just be avoiding confessing this was a lost day for no specific reason. Such sneak up on you. You’re washing breakfast dishes and the pollen is high and a headache starts. You head out to visit a friend and a wreck on the freeway traps you between exits. This day you’ll finish that business report, but the password or needed proof is not at fingertips. I knew for whatever reason when my feet hit the floor that mountains would still be there at the end of the day.

Part of my makeup is when a problem strikes, I look for the cause. Outside of missing a rainy day, last week went well. I had some goals I was looking forward to that just couldn’t get started. I never opened the front door to exercise except to look for mail. I really wanted to send a birthday note to a former 1st grader for his 16th year. He still stops me in the church hall for a hug. Contacting an art friend of my son may lead to a new friend and activity for me, except the outreach required developing a a well constructed invite. So, here I sit after a day in pajamas and a Hallmark movie as the key activity.

Part of the problem was I couldn’t find a Bible verse. Have I really used all the good ones? I didn’t feel like a “righteous one” that God always has a place for. Neither did I feel like a wasted day made me a “bad person,” just useless. As dusk came, an inner light dawned. I was carrying the whole load by myself when the verse I needed was right there waiting for me. The cause doesn’t matter. He cares that it is my problem and He is the solution.

Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.

1 Peter 5:7

This could have been titled Roll through the R’s with me. Choose your beginning: come out of a dream; reach out to shut off an alarm; cry of a baby who needs attention. Then for whoever you are, your planned sequence begins the day. Some of you relish having an order of accomplishments down pat. Others of you vary the routine as emergencies arise and you like dealing with the unknown. Bless those who really don’t like the list, yet the ditch has to be dug and it becomes your personal rut.

I’ve gone though several stages. I was raised (does that count as an r) by a mother who believed in up and at ‘um Someone might see she hadn’t swept her sidewalk. I carpooled when my daddy had a class to meet, so being ready was important. As a school teacher, I had the responsibility for being at school when students arrived for tutorial. Add a time careless husband and three children and my act needed rev-ing up to keep the wheels turning.

Now, when only I care that I roll with the punches, I realize that I am the one who sets the standards. I continue to ripen when I can manage my meds and meals and revise my lists to include reaching out to offer an encouraging word or spend what time I can reading a book or resuming an activity that restores my soul so I won’t rot. Really, no matter what place you hold on the timeline of life, this is still what is required.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might

Ecclesiastes 9:10

I know I don’t have a vast array of readers, yet I do need to warn you faithful few. If you are a vegetarian, a gourmet cook, or a dyed in the wool suburban dweller this just may be an “imagine that” offering. I grew up with chickens and not as pets. Our house in a small unzoned town was a vacant lot on the corner and then us. The available space had a small corn crop for a summer treat and fenced area for chickens and a hen house.

I was raised to tend to animals and I like eggs. I could bravely scratch a rooting hog, push a cow out of my way, and be sent to gather eggs from cackling chickens. I know that if one doesn’t feed oyster shells to the hens their egg shells aren’t firm and will squish in your hand. I mastered all ways of cooking eggs except the peeling perfectly hardboiled eggs to either cut in circles or stuff with a decorative filling. No one in my family liked them, so I bypassed that skill, I used the internet and talked to the cook at church and put salt in the water and let cool in bowls of ice and still peeled where chucks of white came off with the shell. Until this morning! Even if imperfect, I like a boiled egg with my honeyed toast to start the day and today the unimaginable happened. From end to end I had a smooth surface!

I was so impressed with myself, I had to share with you. One more standard to hold up. For ten years, I have ended with a Bible verse. Plenty of verses exist about oxen, sheep, or even owls, Israelites didn’t raise chickens. Only the appearance of quail after complaining and that was a miracle. I am giving you your own section to read. It not only verifies my persistence, but notes that when food is required, an egg is a better gift than a scorpion!

Luke 11:5 – 12

Need to scramble your brain a little, do the Wikipedia review of why September with a seven for a prefix became the ninth month in the current calendar. Who knows, a new calendar may lurk. Theoretically, it is an iffy start to an academic year and has ecclesiastical significance to some, and this year I have just reached a settled place to write September 14 and feel that is acceptable.

My life education began with schools starting after Hugh P. Long’s birthday, August 30. (You knew I was from Louisiana and lived on political legends!) We had no special extended holidays. One day for Columbus, two for Thanksgiving, a Christmas/New Year’s bracket, Lincoln’s birthday, and Good Friday and Easter Monday. The last day of the year was Friday before Memorial Day. The total fell short of what is required now, yet I haven’t found what bit of knowledge I’m missing from unmet days.

This September was really top-turvey. Year by year various reasons from football practice to days in the classroom have moved day one almost to the middle of August for some. Add in that this year Labor Day came on September 7, the latest it can possibly happen. Teachers barely got their computers set up and learned their schedules before a long week-end popped up with some students appearing on Tuesday the 8th as if the right time had finally come. So, with assurance, move now into a dry, hot fall, holding this thought for the rest of the year.

Teach us to number each of our days so that we may grow in wisdom.

Psalm 90:12

I am reordering my life after a delightful visit with all children and in-laws in town for a long week-end. As I stood by the dryer this morning and my hands moved rhythmically, the verb fold came to mind for muscle memory and how it is so meaningful. Along with how to hold a spoon right side up, that is one of children’s first how to do words. When they help as toddlers it is a roll, wad, and stuff process. Then they go to day care and learn the corner to corner process that is so essential.

The sequence is ever on call, even if some skills like fitted sheets take more practice. Dishtowels need to fit in their special drawer. Napkins lie ready for their next call of use. For some, a neatly packed suitcase helps one arrive and go forth without looking like a bum. We don’t even think in those rare moments a letter goes out how to move 81/2″ to a rectangle of thirds to fit in a legal sized envelope. The more arty ones in life add fold to fold to create amazing origami presentations.

Then meaning shifts. The delineating edge becomes a fence to create a place of a safety and care for animals, usually sheep. When we get wrinkled and frazzled, the gate is opened and that fold provides a place for us. Mixed and scattered, we become a part of the group rescued and cared for. The Master Muscle Memory puts us in our drawer, our suitcase, our letter – our special fold.

“And I will gather the remnant of My flock out of all countries whither I have driven them, and will bring them again to their folds

Jeremiah 23:3

A roofer in the summer. A lifeguard at the kiddies’ pool. A weather predictor any time. Since last week only a few drops have fallen except where disaster has happened and lives have been lost. I have to make my utterly unverified comments for today because that is where I am now. This moment needs another language. We are in a sequía whether in Spain or Houston, and are feeling die Langweile, a good German boredom which happens to mean the long wait.

These are phrases offered through the week to fan the flames of maybe. All are crafted to ignite a possibility of drops even if “in spots” might not include my back yard. Several times we have been offered the chance of “stray showers.” That makes me think of a cowed hound dog slinking under the porch to avoid being seen. The “chance of a scattered downpour” evokes a toddler trying to control a hose at full blast. I get no comfort from a storm “appearing in the pm” like the final act in a magic show. The least encouraging of all is offering only the one word “Humid!” That’s used for trying to weed at 8:00 am when the temperature is already 98 degrees. I admit, of all the verbiage, a “soft” rain is better than a tropical disturbance.

Between my writing and your reading is the flow of life. Day by day we really don’t always know the outcome even with the surety of percentages. So, back to waiting patiently, an active word. Prayer is part of the process, both for our relief and for support of those for whom water was not a blessing. Hebrew has the word Qavah – to wait, look for, expect whether those three words seek provision or protection. When our needs are met, we offer Merci or Agreto because we have done all we could and have been cared for. That step may even deserve a resounding Amen!

Wait for the Lord. Psalm 27:14

I have written 575 blogs in the last 10 years and today I feel caught in the same drought and lack of moisture that is across the whole world. I grew up in a wet world from destructive hurricanes to showers daily after lunch and sweet tea to wet your whistle after a time of working in the yard. This year I had five zinnia plants, yet to bloom, that even came up after being scattered for summer fill in a dry yard. El Nino may be an explanation and yet I don’t understand why dark clouds don’t blow in at the end of a day. I am rereading Out of Africa and Dinesen begins a paragraph poignantly: “But one year the long rains failed. It was as if the Universe was turning away from you. Everything became drier and harder and it was as if all force and gracefulness had withdrawn from the world. It feels like a negation of all weather as if it has been deferred sine die,” (Latin, no planned time to reassume. )

I run a sprinkler early in the morning three days a week as a reminder of moisture within my budget to supply. Plants still shrivel by noon from the day’s heat and dirt cannot be scraped up to crumble into dust. Farmers plow under crops, lakes shrink, and only small ships can navigate the Panama Canal. My front door has expanded in the heat to the point it is difficult to line up the bolt and the bolt hole.

Then there is a body of mine that needs water. Thankful I am that faucets and refrigerator are available. I have not bought a next to me always special water bottle. A daughter gave me a glass size Yeti which sits by my bed at night. She says it makes me “trendy” and I say it keeps some cold liquid close at hand. I don’t ask for a Noah size flood. I just try to keep remembering that God who made the rain can send it again, and I will be grateful when he does!

For I will pour water on the thirsty land,
    and streams on the dry ground; Isaiah 44:3