And one of them isn’t love. I had an issue this week dealing with books and who likes what and how and why people read. Then I took a left turn down the path to think maybe it isn’t just reading. I have made time every day for years to do Spanish in Duolingo and can only trust myself to say accurately, “Dónde está el baño?” Spanish children around the world along with a variety of natives from other countries learn to speak fluently and easily in their native language. That L word’s definition is the principle method of communication between people. That’s our first contact with a person, do we understand what they are saying. I went in circles with a student asking me about the “sign-als” until I realized she meant the red and green lights, the signals.

Maybe a step away is Lingua coming from the Latin for tongue. Sometimes just knowing the words isn’t all that matters. The meaning comes from the flow of our voice, the nod of our head, the inclusiveness of our speech. We use our tongue to pour oil on troubled waters or to fan a few ashes into fiery flames. Even if we don’t understand the language we step back from a staccato flow accompanied by an arm slashed downward and we bend down to speak softly to a weeping lost child.

If all comes together, we finally arrive at literacy: to speak, read, and write to gain and share knowledge one with another. That knowledge can vary from an alphabet that makes words, to numbers that solidify business transactions, to visual drawings that define a building. Knowledge is gained and possibilities shared. Our field of literacy is the one that gives focus to each day of our lives. Polish your language, mind your tongue, and put your literacy to good use.

The words of the wise prod us to live well.
They’re like nails hammered home, holding life together.
They are given by God, the one Shepherd. Ecclesiastes 12:11

So much more than that! The thought came from the teen boys across the street and then boiled over like a pot left untended on the stove. The front yard is a playground for four 8th graders: a goal net to practice soccer kicks, a basketball goal, and room to toss a football. I came out to get my mail and they were taking turns on two types of scooters down the driveway and into the street. I had to do some research. Both were manual though electric are available. One was a flat bed, a front and back wheel, and a steering column. The other had a split bed that kept spreading out to a V and required leg motion to coax back in. The ad on it said the motion was kick, wiggle, and push.

These scooters were definitely a step forward from bicycles of my childhood. Another go forth option with wheels were skates. They had a back strap to incircle your ankles and clamps by your toes that fastened over tacky (in my opinion) brown oxfords. The obligatory accessory was a key to tighten the clamps at the beginning of the outing and whenever forward motion began to loosened their effectiveness. Wobbly skates left untended guaranteed a spill and skinned knees.

A variety of ubiquitous orbs started filling my mind. Going beyond the stone circles of a B.C. cartoon were the wheels with axels and spokes on the 1400 chariots owned by Solomon for war and impressing others. Conestoga wagons traveling west had wheels 5 feet tall to help move people and all they needed for survival. Trains had wheels shaped to fit the tracks: narrow gauge, standard, and broad. Civilization kept moving with tires for cars. In my world now are also skate boards, grocery carts, and wheel chairs. Even airplane need wheels when they are earthbound. Yet, when those necessary underpinnings go flat or get bent or can’t manage the road at hand, a truth remains.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God. Psalm 20:7

All year around a pot of soup simmering on a back burner can be creating a meal. Contents differ by the season of the year and seasoning by the maker of the pot. When the cook dips a spoon to lift offerings from the bottom, any vegetable of the alphabet may surface. Today, at this moment, in the life pot of soup we are part of, each of us comes up as a survivor only if the process is tweaked to help us come though the making without scorching and being scraped up and tossed down the disposal.

We’re in the heat of the day’s demands. Simple decisions like deciding when to water the lawn. Stopping everything else to delete unwanted requests for support for various causes. A list of to do from paying bills to writing thank you notes to picking up children after school. Coming through the swirl of the day with a meal to serve requires that we thwart distractions and focus on a product as perfect as we can make under the circumstance.

Evening comes and that enticing smell of something special fills the house. We have tended to our day and have survived to be the offerer of a meal. Not only was it us, but as Lowell’s poem states, “Standeth God within the shadows keeping watch o’er all His own.” His unseen tweaking and twarting have been a part of the day allowing each of us to thrive. A disparate mix of the morning’s beginning has become a feast over which can be said. “Lord, make us thankful for these and all other blessings.”

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer, but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.” 1 Peter 3:12

Just a weekly conversation with out-of-state son. He asked me about a restaurant we went to in his earlier life and I never made the connection. In our brains are up front happenings and down in a back corner are those moments to be remembered: be mindful of again. So on Monday I thought of the collection of Smiths gathering at Live Oak Ranch and saddling horses for rides out to see Longhorns and cutting early peaches for cobbler. Not any pedestrian action on Swift Blvd. yet the air had that enticing smell of someone barbecuing out of sight. Flags on polls in front yards fluttered in the slight breeze and snapases caught a thought buried in the back reaches of my brain’s convoluted folds.

Memorial Day. A holiday at the end of school to draw the family to the ranch and so much more than that. Through various changes since the Civil War it has been a time to remember those who died in war, a giant “Thank you for your service.” My parents married when my dad came back from WWI. As a child, I bought red paper poppies to remember and raise money for the VFW. Hammond was small enough that I marched in my Girl Scout uniform along with the local National Guard led by the college band and a baton twirling drum major. The poem In Flanders Field was quoted with solemnity at the end of ceremonies before Taps was blown.

Once the memories became more expansive they became more focused. The honor is bestowed because the soldiers died. I’ve been to Arlington where graves face east to be prepared for a great gettin’ up morning. I have stood beside orderly rows of crosses at Omaha Beach for those who will never come home and each cross has a name. Men I’ve worked with and boys I’ve taught have been a part of the next generation to go to battle, even to this day. I travel hopefully for a promised ending of Isaiah 2:4 And He will judge between the nations, And will mediate for many peoples; And they will beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning knives. Nation will not lift up a sword against nation, And never again will they learn war. Until then, we have to be faithful to remember.

Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations: ask thy father, and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they will tell thee. Deuteronomy 32:7

Even non-superstitious people shake their heads over 13, hoping a smirk covers their reaction. Buildings skip a floor with no elevator stop and don’t forget those four teen years that start with 13. I did some research and want you to know there is a word for the phobia that causes people to postpone weddings, or trips, or any major decision on the 13, especially a Friday of a month: (deep breath) triskaidekaphobia. Yet, the extra cookie treat in a baker’s dozen is never turned down and Tuesday I took part in 13th happening that resulted because of a change of path in my life.

Fall of 2010, a former principal and I, mostly her, opened a 6th grade as a skip from a Pre-school/after school option to a private middle school for low income families. Details can be ignored. Just know that my part in making this venture succeed was to come early enough for another teacher to take her 5 year old to kindergarten and arrive to team teach with me until noon when I went home. My duties were English and field trips. Year one graduation was 2013. Last Tuesday was the 13 year and 13 8th graders moved on to high school.

Forget the steps and changes and commitments that led to this day, just feel the emotional throbbing in the basement room of a local church. Parents and various age siblings sat in rows on folding chairs. My co-teacher and I represented a founding faculty and were able to connect with a family of four girls we had taught. A much younger brother was graduating with honors and recognition. No Middle School moving on in Houston matched that gathering. Each student came to the mike, gave their name and how they felt about the school. They thanked each teacher specifically and expressed gratitude to their parents, sometimes repeating in Spanish to assure understanding. Each one had a moment when tears and the ability to continue called for a pause in presentation. Teachers came to stand by them and family and classmates called out encouragement. This group of 13 had this opportunity in small part because of me. What else can I say to this group about this lucky number?

 I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy.

Philippians 1: 3 – 4

Teens cannot fathom this, but conversations without a phone used to exist. Smoke signals, jungle drums, snail mail with a $.03 stamp for years and electronic Morse code for sophisticated situations. In 1876, Alexander Graham Bell was given a patent for the telephone. As usual, my childhood memories of the black stationary version are of a different time. We were never on a party line, but an uncle was. Answer only if his special two rings, unless one was nosy and listened in to someone else’s conversation. Our phone was a step up and not attached to the wall. It had a receiver and a transmitter and sat in an alcove between the living room and the front bedroom. Run when it rings was the sequence of answering. Because Hammond had a training center, we had an operator as a helper to reach numbers like 398 or 713. If you were caught out in the world, public telephones were available in the ubiquitous red booths for a nickel. The final black box step to making contact was the answering machine. What more could we ask for?

It turned out quite a lot. Cell phones carried into the world by you seem to have been upgraded almost momentarily from being just a mobile phone to a mobile computer with as many bells and whistles as you want to pay to have available. Hold that thought and list the helpful advantages that matter to you and let me offer my gripe about privacy invaded. If an illegal option exists someone will find it from pickpocketing to scams. My first be careful education was not to answer offers that sounded good on the surface but could clean out my bank account. As of today, I am currently consumed with the sequence of blocking a throw the net wide call to me and unknown others asking for money for an election in Michigan, or telling a tale of woe about unthoughtful treatment to the sender, or supposedly making certain I know of evil in the world.

So here an old lady stands in the storm of life. Over my voting life I have been both a registered Democrat and a Republican. Switches were not made in anger. I have faced a variety of race and behavior from children in a classroom and managed not to send messages of hate. I have expressed the opposing opinion in some situations, hopefully in a manner that offered an option leading to a solution. The first tech action of the morning is to check this day to see if it will be lived without a world war. AND whatever mistakes I’ve made, I’ve not invaded your privacy with a text that is more abusive than banned books. Leave your phone on and use it for that communication humans need to share what connects and upholds in a positive way. I plan to do this with the time given when I don’t have to block the interruption of invasive texts.

The first thing I want you to do is pray. Pray every way you know how, for everyone you know. Pray especially for rulers and their governments to rule well so we can be quietly about our business of living simply, in humble contemplation. 1 Timothy 2: 1-2

Another long title. Dear Readers, as Heloise might say, you may have to divide yourselves into groups and read accordingly. Ecclesiastes left out an important season: there is a season to gather and a season to divest. Younger ones need enough “to set up housekeeping.” Ten years down the road one may need to upgrade because of social requirements of job or size of the family or the sofa is worn out. A few are leaving the family home and moving closer to grandchildren. You know I have ninety years of accumulating and what I don’t define and value or shake my head at why is it here will become someone else’s responsibility. I still have nightmares thinking of empty glass jars lining the stairs to the attic at my mother’s house just in case she needed them to put aside food for the winter.

So, let’s consider the first two words in order. Regardless of age in life, most of us have something that just collects. I reached to stir the soup and there were five wooden spoons, almost identical, to choose from. In a desk cubby are twenty-seven yellow mechanical pencils (David wanted at least five on hand in each of his two pocket shirts.) Three kinds of glue, five rolls of various tape, and a desk drawer of yellow pads consume space around the house. Then still useful for someone, just not me. More socks than necessary. Vests that don’t zip over an aging shape, and several odd flower vases from a time gardening was a doable passion. The Swedish death choices require an emotional involvement. Can I make a decision about a collection of creches without offering the next generation the opportunity to welcome with delight? Maybe this is a good time to pass on baby books and leave an empty shelf.

The last word is compassion. This is where the Bible verses come in. I try to not just be filling garbage bags, but as possible providing something tangible for another of God’s children. I keep picturing the Dorothy Lange photograph of the Dust Bowl mother or even standers at the street corner with signs. God may not notice my being cheerful as in Corinthians, yet I can meet the Deuteronomy standard of not releasing grudgingly. This writing started because two bags are inside my front door to go to Good Will. Clothes that will have another life and a kitchen utensil that is needed. As I lessen any weight that constrains me, it become easier for me to float now or fly later.

Care about them as much as you care about yourselves. Philippians 2:4 CEV

Surprise guests for supper and I had parceled out lasagna preparation to three children. The black phone attached to the wall rang. I dealt with that and turned to find a look of delight on the face of the youngest. “I cracked eggs in the big bowl by myself and no shells!” Seemed a true statement and no comment at supper was the final proof. 100%! A number to count on. Most of our life we live with lesser numbers and don’t worry. For this day, dark brown toast was the satisfactory offering. Car pools were on time. Work with required tasks were pretty well accomplished.

What I read now for an aging or otherwise human to add to the day is defined and supported by a percentage of progress. The numbers are verified by a reputable medical organization, an alphabet soup group, or a local gym. If I go to some museum or concert every few months I have a 32% lower risk of being depressed. If leg exercises are part of a stretching routine that effort will improve me cognitively by 12%. Cooking for myself helps improve coordination, organization, and concentration in addition to keeping me well fed. To avoid an afternoon slump, stir a cinnamon stick in my glass of water and don’t forget to play music in the background to lower my blood pressure. My favorite is washing dishes by hand lowers stress 27%. I keep wondering. Who is volunteering to provide the number base?

Among theology scholars are numerologists. Most of us are satisfied with understanding 7, 400, 12, maybe 50. The Bible never used a percentage for what God gives, or we receive, or what might be a worthy gift from us. It offers a three letter word instead: ALL. These verses lead to a total of 100%, everyday.

‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Luke 10:27

“The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.” 2 Peter 3:9

This is the longest title I’ve ever written, yet it seems to sum up a world happening and life happenings. I was busy last week and couldn’t get all the details you may have paid attention to. This summary then may be mostly for me. Preparation really began in November/December 2022 with the building of a space vessel intended to be an unmanned vehicle to the moon. The main purpose was to test a heat shield because frying the crew needed to be avoided. That exploration provided useful information, so four years later Artemis II was launched with a four man crew. The space pod was named Orion for the hunter of the heavens and the crew named their specific ship Integrity.

This is not a scientific discussion. Just hold that thought in mind. This particular flight was designated a crew lunar flyby sounding like it was just an exhibit of planes in formation except they were 252,756 miles away from earth and gone for 10 days. When the ship was on the dark side of the moon, all communication was lost for 40 minutes. That all was going well on those days depended on the preparation. When contact was resumed, heat shield adjustments were made and a check of all equipment needed for re-entry. What was learned on this trip will be part of the preparation for the next one.

Go back to the steps in the title. You don’t need to be on a space journey to have them apply to your days. A friend who made a road trip from Houston to Juneau, Alaska, with three children is still evaluating parts of the move and making adjustments for something new to be tried. Careful preparation was necessary for the first time I camped out with eighth graders in the Rockies and trusted those who had gone before that I, too, could manage white water rafting. The impressive re-entry to the space pod was watching the colorful parachutes deploy, a ship on hand to help each crew member out, and the captain of the Integrity coming out last. A strong, calming sentence wrapped up the newspaper report: “The capsule’s parachutes had to work – and they did beautifully.” When I am faced with my 40 minutes of silence and wondering about a safe landing, these words from God to Jacob are my parachute.

 I am with you and will watch over youwherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

Genesis 28:15

Even if it is for yourself. My real birthday is June 17 and has mostly been lost in a shuffle. School is out and no cupcakes can be brought to be shared with my classmates. Vacations are in order for some of the group I’ve cared about. More of my childhood friends belong to the country club than I did, so special swimming parties were not an option. David’s birthday was June 7 and he began reminding us of that in January. Father’s Day took precedent some years and elder son’s was July 5. Since everyone was at the ranch anyway for the 4th, his celebration slid into the next available place in line. However, this year marks my 90th, not to be treated casually. So I chose a time after Easter and before Mother’s Day and summer activities and am making it happen.

Who did I ask? Just about anybody. Even as I began planning, some of my dearest moved on to realms unknown and I wanted to catch whom I could when I could. Middle son became the tech manager of an e-vite to avoid printing invitations, buying stamps, and addressing envelopes and to open the possibility of some knowledge of attendance. If I had to name this shindig, it would be Friends, one of 70 years to the neighbor of this last move; Family, next generation and also down the designated relationship list who live both near and a plane trip away; Faculty from various schools that could be designated as work colleagues, a few previous students, and the scattered age children in some of the aforementioned groups. Holding all together will be the Faith contingent from the church I’ve been in since 1060.

The gathering will be like baking a cake, mixing four groups together. The name tags will require the wearer’s name and the name of a new friend they meet. The sewer from one group will admire a baby blanket that I made for one of the Smiths. My literary friend will share the name of the best book they’ve read lately. I will circulate and introduce and visit and cast eyes with delight on faces not seen for a while. My heart will remember the journey of blessings and tears, and ups and downs, and light and darkness, and solitude and companionship that brought me to this day to provide me with this, my 90th year, still quoting joyfully a traveling verse. You are welcome to borrow it as a gift if you wish.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
    I will counsel you with my loving eye on you. Psalm 32:8