If those aren’t your adjectives for apples, they should be. From a two-handed hold of a child whose teeth are barely strong enough to break the skin to the gnarled hand of a farm worker clutching his with thumb and and middle finger, apples represent an easy treat at any time or place. My mother cut my first apples in slices and scraped bites in a spoon to prevent my swallowing too large a chunk and choking. My earliest memories were of Delicious for eating even though they were unpredictable. They might look enticing, and at times they met the crisp and crunchy criteria. Other times, the first bite told you shipping and sitting had taken its toll, and they were “mealy” which meant without snap. One of life’s worst chores is to have to finish an apple that’s not worth the effort.

Now both sides of a bin in my grocery store tumble with varieties. Standby small and large Delicious, the small are designated as School Boy from lunch box days, require two sections side by side. Green Granny Smith and McIntosh can be picked up for baking. New varieties with names unknown to my parents cost more per apple: Honeycrisp, Fuji, and Jazz. Worldwide, 7,500 varieties of apples exist. The trees require full sun to produce. Like corn, a farmer needs two trees to pollinate and make a crop. The stem end holds the fruit to the tree and the bumpy end at one time was the center of the apple blossom.

Probably most people have an apple story even if it is winning a core tossing contest or getting giggles and sending a half chewed apple backwards up one’s nose. One relative who lives in Maine took her children to pick apples. The older ones could climb the trees. The youngest sat on her daddy’s shoulders. Another relative in Arkansas would send us a bushel of local produce in the right season. The identifyable smell heralded a fresh apple cake that very night. (Recipe supplied by request.) I brought home a jar of saw it being made apple butter from a school field trip in Missouri. My husband called the lady and persuaded her to ship him a dozen jars. They arrived packed in a box, each jar wrapped in newspaper tied with string. Clearly this wasn’t an Amazon delivery.

Only one point remains to be cleared up. Apples didn’t become the forbidden fruit until Milton wrote Paradise Lost and identified it by name. Michelangelo, lying on his back, painted the scene on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel as a fig tree. Early interpreters named it as an apricot, pomegranate, or even a grape. Cut it in half horizontally, and you will reveal a star representing its heavenly source. Apples are tempting, and they are not sinful except in satisfaction.

The earth brought forth vegetation, plants yielding seed according to their own kinds, and trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind. Genesis 1:12

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This phrase, along with “and other duties as assigned” can crater a delight in a perfectly good job. In this time of quarantine with some options being limited, I have discovered the underbelly assignments of everyday life. As long as other distractions existed or people were available to half the work, I could keep disagreeableness at bay. In the sixth month of restrictions, I’m becoming antsy about some obligations. Here’s my list. Check and see if we can divide and conquer.

First, I really like to cook. Even just for me, a satisfactions exists in planning what I like. I call to mind what I can prepare without too much thought, and, at times, what is a new recipe that may be worth the effort. I look at what I have on hand and make a list. Soup to desserts. In the spring months, I only ordered for curbside pick up. Now I do make trips early in a morning to push a cart though the aisles. The next step I could cheerfully skip. Bringing groceries in may require several trips and creating space on a counter for bags to wait on action. Some items go on a tall shelf. A container is needed before some find a home in the fridge. Celery must be cut back enough to fit in a jar of water to keep it fresh for the week. Bags, I usually forget to bring my own, require gathering and stuffing in the recycle area. By then, I settle for peanut butter standing by the sink.

Writing focuses thoughts, and I’m beginning to see I like starting and not so much finishing. Two other tasks popped into mind that I am ready to do but not to wrap up. When washing time comes, all items are in one place. Only a few steps are required to bend, gather, and pop in the washer. Soap is half a reach away. Then push a button and go about my business. Unloading the drier requires attention. Socks need to be matched. Pants go at one end of closet and blouses need shoulders straight and hangers facing to the right. The same problem exists for the dish washer. Dirty dishes gather in the sink and a quick reach puts them in the correct slot. Again, a finger, a button, and swirling water does the rest. Always a decision 77 minutes later. Unload before bed or the next morning? A few items go in the cabinet right where I am; however, some are by the back door or in a container next to the stove. Decisions and motions lengthen the task.

Beginnings and not endings. Yet most dailiness has the flip side of wrapping up and finishing. Even babies can be rocked and snuggled only after they are cleaned up. The ending leads to the beginning. Pre-chopped bell peppers garnish scrambled eggs. Folded tee shirts provide some class even in a pandemic. A clean pot within reach encourages starting a new recipe. I’m not there yet. My goal is to consider the tasks as a whole, so I can offer the complete cycle as an job well done. The last of this verse says having a chance to do well is one of the gifts of life. It’s either now or never.

Whatever turns up, grab it and do it. And heartily! This is your last and only chance at it.

Ecclesiates 9:10

Truth or consequences. However you may feel about endangered species, would you really want dinosaurs to still be roaming the earth? I’ve missed some movies by choice. A clue in a Crossword puzzle recently led me to an iconic scene from Jurassic Park on YouTube where the T-Rex is coming after weak, trapped humans. If I had been any age younger than I am, I would still be not sleeping at night. Is there a chance they might return? Everywhere this summer has been a mast year for miniature versions – lizards, 3 inches to 8 inches, yet a possibility for 40 feet? Mast denotes the year that trees, usually, feel they are in danger of being destroyed, so they produce an overabundance of acorns or nuts to keep the species alive. This summer of 2020, lizards of various sizes have dashed, skittered, and jumped across sidewalks, porch floors, and down steps.

My childhood with lizards was back yard interest. The green ones, known also as chameleons, sat on window sills or flower pots. If I were still enough to watch, eventually they would puff a lower flap into a red bubble below their chin. My children called it blowing bubble gum. On a darker background, the green color faded to match the dirt or bush limb giving the impression of camouflage. The possibility of catching one took swift hand eye coordination. You had to be specific to grab right behind the head and the body. Too near the tail and your catch flipped and was off. I found a wonderful phrase about this called sacrifice and regrow. Some braver boys would hold the tiny creature near the holder’s ear lobes. One bite and for a time, the boy had an earring that drew squeals from the girls. I never tried that.

This is just pure research, in case you don’t have time. Lizards are the most abundant land vertebrates ranging in size from our lizards to geckos to Komodo Dragons that can bring down a water buffalo. The green anoles of my childhood have been replaced by brown anoles that hitchhiked from Cuba on ships, This invasive species fed on the green until brown became dominant. The greens developed toe pads to enable climbing skills and are still watching safely from out of sight tree branches.

Our lizards make a walk more interesting. I counted 30 managing to flash across the sidewalk ahead of my feet on the way to the corner. They are carnivorous, so surely we have less insects and flies this summer. Birds may limit population growth. What really would help is for all humans to add a cat to the pet family. Relax. Though Texas Monthly says you can catch, wash, bread and fry, they are Biblically forbidden food. Whew!

Leviticus 11:29

And these are forbidden to you among the swarming things that swarm upon the earth:…the great lizard according to its kind, the gecko, the lizard, the sand lizard, and the chameleon.

The pandemic and its demands stretch on, yet hovering over the ridge is a change we count on. From this morning until September 22 is still 12 days, a little over a week. At 8:31 am CDT the sun will shine directly on the equator in its journey to the Southern Hemisphere, and the season known as Fall will officially begin. Historically, the coming days are a preparation for harvest. They call for a different color palate of robust reds, russets and shades of gold that melt in browns and tans. In Houston we hear geese some early morning calling to each other as they continue south for a few months in a coastal marsh. Those sounds restore hope that a break in sweltering heat will arrive, maybe in our life time.

Little hints give us an I believe feeling. About three weeks ago, I started hearing the raucous vibrating call of cicadas, crawling from the ground to the trunks of trees to move through one more growth cycle and seek a mate. Each year, the ones that emerge have had 13 – 17 years underground eating root sap and growing. To etymologists, 2020 is a Bloom Year with the possibility of 1.5 million, all seeking a heart’s desire at one time. A relative had an outdoor ZOOM wedding last weekend, so far afield quarantined family could attend. The cicadas provided all the music that was needed. As the beetle- like insects grow, they split and crawl out of old skin leaving a perfect dry shell for children to claim for a cigar box collection.

What I like best is the imperceptible changes in light. Dawn breaks more slowly and that hazy dusk arrives slightly earlier in the evening. Though we need rain, missing the hurricane provided the opportunity at the end of a day to sit outside in slightly cooler, less humid temperatures without swatting mosquitoes. One of the innumerable opinion articles of this covid season called for not having a Fall Back end to daylight saving time to keep depression at bay by more time for activity. As a choice, I am an early hour person and am served better by rising into a morning ready to be greeted by mist and a soft light, and I am content to have a earlier time to wrap up the day.

A few more markers. School supplies are on sale and some days neighborhood children still walk the two blocks for their onsite time. 111 degree heat index gives way to 91 and lessens the amount of sweat at the end of a walk. Some day soon a long sleeve shirt may replace a sleeveless tank top. In this year, especially, I am looking forward to a change. The demands of virus concerns to those of economics need to be laid to rest and in a fallow time, rebuilding calls to be begun. Carrie Newcomer is a folk singer I have newly discovered, and this song of hers speaks truth and hope. Search: Leaves Don’t Fall, They Just Let Go. Come on in, Fall, move to Winter, then let us welcome a new Spring.

To everything there is a season. A time for every purpose under heaven. Ecclesiastes 4:1

All you have to do to be thankful not to have to think of each motion you make is to watch a young child learning to navigate a fork or spoon to reach the mouth without dumping the contents. One fist clutches the handle as he tries to get food in place. Her eyes almost cross as she watches how it comes up. Along the way the utensil tips. Spaghetti (usually) falls, and the alternate hand picks up what was spilled to complete the feeding process. Life every day is easier by not having to plan again how to brush our teeth, shave a face, or even pick up feet to walk. Those of us who know how to keyboard may have an advantage over hunt and peck, yet both can develop enough skill to make the task easier A purpose existed in learning the thumb under motion for scales on the piano and one doesn’t have to create new ways to fold towels taken from the dryer.

I think of two stories of mind programming muscles. Husband David had West Nile Virus. After three weeks of missing most of the world, rehab began reteaching some skills. The therapist sat him on the edge of the bed, crossed a foot over the opposite knee, put on a real shoe, and said, ‘Tie it.” Time after time it didn’t happen. He was shaking his head in frustration when my mind flashed a picture of what he used to do every morning. “He never picked up his foot to tie the shoe. He kept it on the floor and leaned over.” She moved David to a chair and gave the same command. He reached down without hesitation, tied the shoe, and looked up beaming. Why had we had ever doubted him?

The other story comes from an allusion, a literary term defining the world knowledge all should know, but I didn’t. I was trying to explain to 8th graders that if they would follow a certain sequence understanding a sentence would be easier. An I get it voice said, “Like wax on, wax off.” Now I didn’t get it. “Haven’t you seen Karate Kid, Mrs. Smith.” I did that very night and gave him 10 extra points the next day. The motion with opposite hands became routine and could be called up automatically when needed. Think of that the next time you slice a banana on cereal while solving a morning problem for some age child.

In Spanish, one doesn’t do exercise, one makes it. I will make myself learn the motion for tying a square knot, a granny knot, and a slip knot and when to choose each. The brain has a muscle that helps give auto default to behavior choices. A teen was complimented for being so cheerful. “I work on it.” If our go to setting is be kind, be thoughtful, be helpful, then that selection happens as if the send button has been pushed. In English we do say make good decisions. Do or make, both build muscle memories.

Therefore strengthen your feeble arms and knees. Hebrews 12:12

Be kind and compassionate to one another. Ephesians 4:32

Other words were written already for this reading. Those will have to wait because wait as a title was the word I dreamed all last night. That one syllable creates tension whether anticipation of coming delight or anxiety of a unknown future. We who live in a storm area spent the day preparing. Some had to add moving on to out of danger areas to the already upheaval of a virus that can creep in weak places. Others just checked a supply of batteries and peanut butter. Various news of where there be dragons and how they were moving defined our actions during the day. It’s only Wednesday. Laura is coming. Don’t wait to prepare. Wait for her to arrive.

Saturday I had a Bradford pear cut down at the corner of the house. Through the years, growth had intwined branches between electric wires from the easement to the house. Any gust could cause a snap that would leave me in darkness. Tuesday, I made a list and did those things that years had taught me. I walked around the yard and moved pots and chairs that could become flying objects. The bin that held pruning and clippings was rehoused to the garage along with the trash cans. A true mess would be picking up their wet contents. A final look revealed a wreath on the front door that could be teased off its hook.

Though I am always tense about where an eye comes ashore and what havoc that force will wreck on those in that area, my personal history with hurricanes has been one surviving a natural weather phenomenon without damaging results. Several storms came through Hammond while I was a child. I remember sitting with my daddy, watching wind drive rain again louvered windows and then walking town to check on tree damage. In 1957, a June hurricane created stories for college friends from Lake Charles coming back in the fall. Ike wiped out power on Rice Blvd. for a week. Amazingly, temperatures were moderate, and we cooked on a hibachi and managed.

As of now, I am back to waiting. Prognostications say rain at 3:00 this afternoon and through the morning tomorrow. We’ll see. I’ve started a new list: people who have fled to a safer place, people who are caught in surges and heavy winds; struggling businesses facing new challenges, and those first responders we count on to be helpers. I can only picture unknown people and, in my waiting, ask God to be their refuge and strength in this very present trouble.

We will not fear though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its water roar and foam, though mountains tremble with its tumult. Psalm 46:2-3

The phrase removes any value from the coins that are collected during a day. They are only kept to keep from breaking the extra dollar when the cost is $5.18. In the evening, men, especially, empty pockets and pile them on a dresser. Some families collect until a jar is full and add them up to see if there are enough for a treat. My church had drive by togetherness on Sunday. We honked and waved at each other as we circled between cones. I dropped off masks I had made at one station and picked up a card with a church member name to contact at another.

Someone’s brilliant idea was for all of us to turn in coins to go to an organization that supplies lunches for poverty people. I had been stockpiling change in a wooden “Dime Box” that was husband David’s side line deal at one time. A friend who lives farther from church consigned her mahjong coins for me to donate. The line slowed as we went under tents that collected the offerings. Most people wanted to look in the bin and see how the contents were growing. Children giggled as they tossed a plastic sack or some even screeched as they dumped their bags over to hear and see the coins scatter in the mix. This seemed like a feel good way to help without doing much.

I came away aware “Here’s my penny,” was not enough. We can be penny pinchers or penny saved, a pound earned people. Either way takes care of ourselves. I was forced to think a diversity of essential yearnings: hunger, shelter, providing the sustaining grace of worship. Our church offering will help buy bread and fruit, and each day in a variety of places other consistent gifts are needed. Mother Teresa left her monastery to start Sisters of Charity with two pennies. She was asked what she could possibly do with two pennies. She said, ” Nothing. But with two pennies, and God, I can do anything.” The coins I gave are a reminder that I need to move as I can beyond “chunk change.”

A Story From Another Time

 Now, friends, I want to report on the surprising and generous ways in which God is working in the churches in Macedonia province. Fierce troubles came down on the people of those churches, pushing them to the very limit. The trial exposed their true colors: They were incredibly happy, though desperately poor. The pressure triggered something totally unexpected: an outpouring of pure and generous gifts.  I was there and saw it for myself. They gave offerings of whatever they could – far more than they could afford! –  pleading for the privilege of helping out in the relief of poor Christians. This was totally spontaneous, entirely their own idea, and caught us completely off guard. What explains it was that they had first given themselves unreservedly to God and to us. The other giving simply flowed out of the purposes of God working in their lives. 2 Corinthians 8:1-5

I had three comfort foods growing up: poached eggs, condensed milk lemon pie, and my mother’s version of pimento cheese sandwiches. The eggs and pie I can have at times, though the memory is stronger than the present tasting. The pimento cheese sandwiches I’ve never even tried. For them to be their best, timing is everything. I need to have rolled my car down the driveway some winter night after a four and a half hour drive from Shreveport. Daddy would open the side screen porch door and take my suitcase while Mother would say, “Wash and sit, and all will be ready.”

The ingredients were always on hand. A jar of pimentos, some fresh white and wheat bread, a block of strong cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, and a bottle of Worcestershire Sauce. The cheese was grated on a rusty four sided grater I still use. All was combined in the smaller pink bowl of a blue, green, pink mixing bowl set. My daughter still has the bowl. Chop the pimento, add enough mayonnaise, a pinch of salt, and two shakes of the Worcestershire Sauce. (Rabbit chase: I’ve heard of another bottle of Tabasco. Has anyone ever replaced Worcestershire?) Smoosh that mixture with a spoon back until smooth. Make a three layer sandwich with the wheat bread in the center. Then the special secret. Trim off all the crusts; something done for no other sandwich. Put on a baking sheet and run under a broiler, turning once until cheese is soft and the bread crispy. The first bite with the combination of smell and taste makes everything wrong right again.

With the kitchen cleaned up, prepare the pimento jar for its second life. After a hot soapy water wash, place the jar and the lid in the kitchen window to air dry. The next morning put it in the pantry under the attic stairs with others to be ready for use. Tiny leftovers could help start a light lunch another day. The last scrapings from a larger jar would be more easily reached in a smaller container. Daddy needed a home for odd screws and nails. Bobbye pins didn’t need to be scattered on a dresser top. Options were infinite, and a solution was at hand.

Horrors, I could and did buy ready made pimento cheese for the few times I offered it to a marginally interested family. The nearest jar that size that I have for a “just in case” emergency held chopped garlic. Nowadays, to deal with left overs and times that we send bits home with some one else, we use plastic HEB and rubbermaid keepers. Their sizes vary and with that comes the challenge of matching lids to the bottoms. Yet, the recepticles help us save, freeze, share. In an age where a supermarket can always meet a lack, perhaps these containers remind us of a deep-seated compulsion not to be wasteful, a left over urge from the time that apples were in the attic and potatoes in the cellar to prepare for a winter ahead. In other words, plan ahead, be prepared.

 You lazy fool, look at an ant. Watch it closely; let it teach you a thing or two. Nobody has to tell it what to do.  All summer it stores up food; at harvest it stockpiles provisions.

Proverbs 6: 6-8

The recipe for a souffle keeps reminding, “Be careful or it will fall.” With three children and a husband who never got to a table at the same time or on time, I just turned that page and moved on. Eventually I learned hot bread was my forte. First, perfection didn’t matter. The brown crust didn’t have to always be the exact shade as previously. Second, all dinner rolls didn’t have to be exactly the same shape, just approximately the same size. Last, the recipes allowed for some tweaking or variations or even mistakes. Options existed for different grains and additions from raisins to olives.

Icebox pocket rolls were my first venture. My mother held the standard. She used cake yeast and tested the warm water on her wrist. I couldn’t even begin to match her until I found a $1.00 booklet at the checkout counter of the grocery store. I bought a thermometer and a bottle of Active Dry Yeast. Would anyone buy non-active dry yeast? Following directions and some practice enabled me to make a pan, put in fridge overnight, and serve up hot rolls as if by magic.

Making bread sits at the top of my restorative activities. The sequence allows for moments of rest: mix, let rise, punch down and shape, let rise and bake. Kneading releases any tension of the day and provides not only agitation for the yeast, but also for me the rhythmical calming of repetitive action. Tweaking the recipe is possible without looking up what someone else has tried. Experiments with cinnamon/sugar to jalepanos have all been welcomed. Planning to have the kitchen empty when removing from the oven requires strategy. Resisting the impulse to cut hot bread is nigh impossible.

Cornbread must be mentioned. Variations abound from hushpuppies to toss to dogs under the table to the drier corn pones. I’m talking about yellow meal cornbread made in an iron skillet that has a history and has been throughly seasoned. A skill is required to balance the crumble and the hold togetherness of the finished product. Experts can balance a plate on top of the skillet. flip, and the cornbread comes out a perfect, bottom up circle. I’m not there yet. I just put the skillet on a hot pad and each person cuts a slice and slides a spatula underneath to move to their plate. Of course, the slice needs enough height to cut in half and hold butter and jelly, gravy, or the juice from black eyed peas or pot likker from greens of the season. Hummmm, good.

The part I may like best about these three offerings is they grow and change. From being a lump to a flat covering in a skillet, they rise and grow and create a whole new aromatic accompaniment to a meal The Bible doesn’t say approving words about leven- the yeast and baking powder that create the change. If you’re getting ready for a 40 year journey you don’t have time to stick around for a process. If the something arising new is not good like the judgemental attitudes of the Scribes and Pharisees, don’t be like that. Even Paul says to be puffed up with boasting can mess up a whole situation. Yet, a pandemic gives me time to be involved in creating an offering of love. To join in around a table is called breaking bread together, The specifics can range from matzah to pita to tortillas, to naan, or to my just baked loaf. Life giving sustenance is what counts.

For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world….Jesus said to them,”I am the bread of life.” John 6: 33, 35