Not my favorite month, yet one to settle in, even after months of pandemic. For the Gulf Coast , August says one has almost survived the summer. Though you know some some heat has the possibility of lingering even through October, in moments there may be a cooler breeze, less humidity, even a morning temperature of 70. August has had a bounced around life. It began as month 6 with 30 days. A calendar change promoted it to number 8 with two extra days. Then it received its august name in honor of Augustus Caesar to affirm the winning of the battle with Egypt. Was Cleopatra ever a possibility?

Families begin changing routines. Even though the major vacation activity is probably over, a last trip may be planned for Labor Day. Camps were usually in late June and part of July. Depending on skill of participants, summer sports are winding down. School, with shopping for supplies and clothes, looms on the horizon.

No holiday are on the calendar in August. According to a WSJ article, several surprises have happened. The first baseball game in color was broadcast to the maybe 100 color sets owned at that time. Russian soldiers strung 97 miles of barbed and added concrete to create the Berlin Wall. Today you might want to be thankful that the first ever website was published along with information about the World Wide Web. If you read this today, then tomorrow you can go to www something to celebrate.

Often just a phrase sticks from an almost forgotten book. Tuck Everlasting is remembered by me only for this paragraph.
“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris Wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before it are only a climb from a balmy spring, and those that follow, a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless and hot.”

Make of this month what you will. Do give it some respect. To reach this month is a gift.

You crown the year with your goodness.

Psalm 65:11

Definitely an onomatopoeia word denoting a dramatic change, One goes from darkness with all the adjectives you wish to apply to replacing those chosen with the antonyms that herald light. Life is governed by hours of light. A farmer’s day was “sun up to sun down.” However, some variations do occur depending on where and when the action takes place.

Consider the northern climes in winter months where a moment of break may not come. At times it is twenty-four hours of darkness. The hope of real daylight is only renewed when the sky may be faintly less obscure as months move farther into the first quarter of a year. The day when the sun itself appears over the horizon is designated as a school holiday with a parade the whole town attends.

The antithesis is areas of two types. Equator days seem to go from dark to light, follow the clock, and then dark again. No gentleness in the process. Near the equator, depending on the season, in both northern and southern hemisphere, the daylight comes with surety and lasts longer, creating more heat as the sun continues to rise and seems to forget it is suppose to set.

All that was introduction to affirm I am a morning person and have always eagerly awaited a new day. I haven’t checked the time, yet I must have been an early a.m. baby. Two places have the mornings I like. For them the word is not daybreak, but dawn, a word used to open my arms and cry welcome to whatever comes. Mornings in Hammond, Louisiana, latitude 30 degrees, 30′ 15 ” started with bird songs. For some time, the temperature was almost pleasant. The slight slow rise in measurement gave space to absorb more moisture, and hold humidity at bay, at least for a bit. Place two is my location this past week: Steamboat Springs, CO, latitude 40 degrees, 29′ 92″. This location has the advantage of being ringed by mountains. They provide a barrier to instant round sun. Instead, my eyes open to an edging of luminosity that gradually strengthens enough to define the surroundings. A few foot hills are first revealed with the farther peaks then taking their place. What was a flat two dimension landscape assumes the depth of a velvet gown created by the brush of a talented artist. The dawn of a new day is here once again, holding infinite possibilities.

The earth takes shape like clay under a seal; its features stand out like those of a garment.

Job 38:14

Some ideas just evolve. For maybe 10 years I had a just right writing assignment for several grades before Spring BreaK I used it with fifth through eighth grade, and they and I were always pleased. It was designed to introduce free verse which took away the stress of rhyme. No moon, June, tune. It had parts that were work alone and chatty shared idea times. They could end up typing in the font of their choice (very important) and add a picture (maybe more important.)

In a nutshell, the title of the poem was I am a ……. Each child chose an animal, an object, a natural formation, a flower and listed all the ways that choice matched what they thought of themselves. Boys could be a bear, a lion, a waterfall and girls were a rosebud, a beach, a parakeet. By the time they finished the sequence of development, the way what we knew of them matched to their choice in a mannner breathtaking to both them and me.

Monday morning I got up thinking, “What do I need to be today to make everything work.” A plain ordinary female couldn’t bring it off. I started thinking maybe I needed to be a turtle carrying everything in my shell. That image didn’t quite go far enough. I had a 7:30 appointment to get my car serviced 2.5 miles from my house. I could get a ride back home, but then I needed to get back to pick it up. I had learned I could take a book and wait. That day I had two more tasks to be completed and delivered before noon. My only choice was to be a kangaroo with varied necessities in a tote bag that served as a pouch. I had letters to finish: paper, addresses, pens, and stamps. I had a meal to plan and a shopping list to organize: cookbook and a different paper. That early, I took the morning paper to read and toss. My phone, of course, for two calls after 9:00. The book was tucked in as last minute wrap up.

You have made a choice like that. For this day and this moment I need to call on special traits to meet this time. We already know the phrases that define our choice: strong as a rock, busy as a bee, feel like a fish out of water, or it is your turn to swim with the sharks. When the day settles, and the emergency is past, we can return to that match so perfect for each of us.

I’ve kept my feet on the ground,
    I’ve cultivated a quiet heart.
Like a baby content in its mother’s arms,
    my soul is a baby content. Psalm 131:2

No, not deeply. The theme, though, like drinking, does lead to a wobbly path. I was educated at a time when memorizing poetry, especially from dead Europeans, was required, and I had a mother who taught English for twenty years and cleaned house to the rhythm of lines she knew. So, Alexander Pope with these lines, define my place in life right now. “A little learnng is a dangerous thing. Drink deep or taste not the Pierian Springs.” The Pierian Springs were a mythological source of knowlege. My glass of technology has been small sips, at times a gulp, and never a satisfying drain the flagon.

Pencil and paper, a Remington typewriter, chalk on a blackboard, and ” purples” from the mimeograph machine solved all my written communication needs. Then at 40, I went back in the classroom to a job with 20 plus year old colleagues who had skills I lacked. I could use this new computer that had to be dialed up to make connection to create a document. That was it! I took an evening course to broaden my horizon and even earned a certificate for my permanent record. However, this was when one had to create one’s own programs. When I finished and hit RUN the message was usually ERROR, and I had to find where I had put a comma instead of a colon.

Forty-five years down the road, I do fairly well for my age. While many four year olds can’t match my skills, most ten year olds can or will experiment with more surety than I would. What knowledge I do have has been gained from mistakes corrected to up the learning curve. A heartfelt thanks to those have stood by my side or taken oven the keyboard to undo what I didn’t even know I did.

The above paragraphs are the explanation for this week’s thoughts. I came to writing a blog with thirty minute help from a kind friend and auto renewal for using Word Press as the platform – if that is the correct term. Specific vocabulary is also a problem. I can open, keyboard, save, and publish without really knowing all the various options in the several available menus. I have even inserted a picture, yet am not sure how I did it. I had a Thursday blog typed and ready and it vanished. When I tried to rewrite, the inner workings told me it was saved in outer space and by some means it could be restored. That was way beyond my skill set. Just so you know, my half year resolution is to go back to my 40’s and prepare for one more gulp. You may not be better off for my knowledge. I will. This expresses my feelings and my hope.

For now I (sic) see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know…

2 Corinthians 13: 12

Time: 9:00 p.m. Wednesday night. I’ve put this off as long as I can and I’m still not sure where it will go. I kept trying to choose a topic from my floating list, and one just wouldn’t gel. This may be more for me than for you, and you are welcome to follow, agree, disagree, or just hit delete.

The absolute. I woke up Sunday morning rejoicing in July 4. I’d rather be an American and a Texan transplanted from Louisiana than an across the ocean British Colonial. My flag waved between showers along with others on Swift Street and a play list of patriotic music helped me move though morning chores. I have a voter registration in my wallet, and I drove off to a church of my choice. At a dinner on the grounds at noon, the children of our church had a parade with decorated bikes and dads holding the hands of toddlers waving flags while a brass group played and adults cheered them on. The term “my heart swelled” was perfect.

The uncertainty. While paragraph two is absolutely true, I was also aware those feelings were not everyone’s story. That’s where the rub comes in. Some hurts, angers, and worries I truly understand. Not having a shelter or knowing how to find one, to worry about feeding children, to not have health care. Even in my priviliged estate, I have had my frustrating dealings with government agencies and setting up health care. Then there is a whole span of other concerns that I don’t seem to either understand or feel that I have a one person solution. I have studied history, sometimes with pride and often with abhorence. Even if each person views times of the past differently, actions cannot be changed. We can only learn, evaluate, and try to create a better time. I believe in the vision of 1776, and I also know, as in most things people do, some parts are flawed.

Back to absolutes. I believe that problems and mistakes are going to exist a long time, and only the perfect participants (if any) can cast the first stone. I will try to make whatever changes lie in my venue to help the ship of state change directions. I will work at knowing others better before I’m judgemental – maybe excluding people who treat children inappropriately in airports. All I can do is offer the best I am to the best in any someone else, and wait for the day God will give us a second chance.

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away….Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.”

Revelation 21:1, 5

I have absolutely no memory of a Hammond grocery store until I was maybe 8. We ate three meals a day, so food stuff must have come from somewhere. You know from previous comments that Daddy raised and butchered beef and pork (complete with a stone block smoke house). Chickens were fenced in the back yard and fish, squirrel, and deer rounded out meat needs. The vacant lot on the corner was a Victory Garden. Milk, bread, and Kool-aid for the summertime and ice berg lettuce must have required a shopping trip, yet I have selective amnesia for that part of my life.

My first put a name to it store was a small privately owned one four houses down from our house on Linden Ave., Harry’s Grocery. The Jacksons went to some church besides First Baptist. His wife and daughters who ran the cash register and stocked the shelves wore maxi dresses with high necks and long sleeves and the girls had braids hanging down their backs that I envied. Mother could either call down her order or go pick it out and a high school boy would deliver in the afternoon. It stayed in business until the 1970’s. Our boys in early elementary years could walk down by themselves for an afternoon treat while Granny stood on the sidewalk and watched. They could choose a candy, tell Mr. Harry to charge to Mrs. Emeleen, say thank you, and walk back. A guided independent adventure.

Then two chain stores anchored the shopping for a bit; one may still be there. Albertson’s was on the north side of town and my first memory of fruit and vegetables in bins. It had frozen goods and a flower department. Even in the late 1990’s, when I visited Mother, we would stop to pick up a pot plant to take out to the cemetery for Daddy’s grave. Its equal on the south side was A & P, a real draw for a small town. It had ads in national magazines. We bought coffee there. It sold beans – Dark Roast – and had a grinder. I could dump the beans in the top, choose the size of ground, and hold the bag carefully underneath while the machinery did the work and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air.

Grocery stores are for comestibles and cleaning products. This week I remembered their secondary used to be purpose. We lived on Rice Blvd. for 42 years and four blocks down was Rice #1 of a family chain in Houston. In addition to shopping, it was the neighborhood news room. I would stop in on the way home from school and mix and mingle with other Southampton families. I could send children to walk the four blocks for the last minute needed item. The manager and checkers knew my name. For years, and especially during the pandemic, get in and get out or have it done for you was the call of the day. Then, last Thursday, I recognized a church member in Kroger. We stopped and another hadn’t seen lately friend joined us. We blocked the aisle while we caught up on moves and new grandchildren. Loading bags in the car, I felt more connected to the world than I had in a long time. Obviously, there’s not a Bible verse about grocery stores. There is one about the sweetness of shared conversation.

Pleasant words are a honeycomb,
Sweet to the soul and healing to the bones. Proverbs 16:24

The plan made aging pure fun. I promise we will move on next week to either deeper or more quirky subjects. Over 100 pieces of mail deserve a blog all their own, not to mention that the purchase of stamps may have helped offset the deficit of the USPO. Two eager bunnies sent words in early May which I opened before I realized they were covering their bases while the thought was upon them. Then I started saving in a basket decorated with an angel that is usually used for Christmas cards. Some I recognized by a name on the back or a return address or a personal Aunt Charis for addressee. Others had no clue except it was for me

I got up Thursday morning and sorted in piles by family, church connections, and worldly friends. Whether anyone noticed it or not, I am nothing if not organized. I needed to savor and to make a list. Active reading was delayed by admiring a Happy 85th Birthday sign in the front yard. (Whoever sent, consider yourself thanked). Appropriate distractions came as e-mails or texts or absolutely delightful phone calls. Two close at hand friends came to greet in person and give a now permissible hug. The celebration was supper at a Mediterranean restaurant with a group of six kin. A glitter edged poster listing memories from three great nephews shone as decoration. The day was topped off with carrot cake.

The next day began connecting who and what, each giving a special blessing or delight. A few mainly reminded me of a person that pandemic or just shifts in recent activities had moved to a back place in my mind. I needed to sit and rest in that connection again. Some were a to the point recount that could have happened only because of a special place or time. Words brought tears or a chuckle or the action of putting the paper down and catching my breath. I was overwhelmed by those who took time to take pen in hand and fill a whole page with stories or fleeting glances of years that have passed.

Since these were chosen friends, I didn’t expect criticism, though with some, it could have been offered. What caught me were some incidents I thought were ordinary, turned out to be a treasure for others. I liked hearing smiling and encouraging and loving children because I see those traits in me. Some offerings like adventurous opened a door to be more of that, and I was pulled up short when someone listed patient as a virtue. Really? To those who sent words and times, and to you who just absorb the overflow of the day in this writing, thank you. You have walked with me in various journeys and have give me what we are called to give to each other.

As I have loved you, so you must love one another. John 13:34

August, 1957. I had turned 21 in June and was in charge of everything that happened in a 6th grade class except music. Yes, even art and physical ed. Hold the laughter please. In that time, when lunch came, we lined up at our door, had a prayer, and walked to the cafeteria. As children were gathering, the child nearest me said, “Miss Wedgeworth, what do you remember about the Civil War?” At that point I realized no matter how young and cute I considered myself, to a large group of my world, I was old. From then on whenever someone asked my age, I just told them, thankful for years and what they had offered.

This very day I will have completed eight decades and five years of the next one. As it unfolds, I will open, maybe in small batches to be savored, cards and notes that have come from many of you. A son and I worked through several ideas of what would be the best ceremony. Having the neighbors come for ice cream and cookies down the driveway was an option until the heat rose in May. Closing off the street for a party that children could skate and draw expanded exponentially with each day until it imploded on itself. All I wanted was that contact with those who have walked various paths with me.

A few of you are still precious who knew the ten and twenty years of childhood and college. Five decades were in classrooms with ties to children who now have grandchildren and with peer teachers who have also retired. Past the age that I thought I could, I had opportunity to camp out, white water raft, and scratch the back of whales rubbing against a boat in Ignacio Bay. I spent fifty-six years being married and raising three children. I have sewed and gardened and put meals on a table to feed bodies and spirits. Underneath all since I came to Houston as a single has been a church that with music, teaching, and people has been everlasting arms each step of the way.

Absolutely perfect! Absolutely not! You don’t need for me to innumerate the dips below zero on the graph. No matter how I felt during those times, I have crossed the rivers and slogged through a swamp and scaled a mountain to look ahead to a half decade that leads to nine groups of ten. Sometimes it is scripture; sometimes poetry. Wendell Berry A Timbered Choir ” I go into the image of a design that mind can follow, but not know.”

And everyday, all of Psalm 139 except verses 19 – 22. I can leave His judgements to Him.

………..and lead me in the way everlasting. Psalm 139:24

First, notice the article adjective that denotes the noun. It is not an because treadmill doesn’t start with a vowel. Neither is it a because this machine is not just an indefinite example. The was chosen on purpose. The black and silver Pro-Form Cadence Lt was selected for a special need and a special place because a time had arrived to call it into being. If you know me well at all, structured exercise is not the phrase that comes to mind. I never played a team sport. One venture into partner ping-pong and a tiddlewinks ranking in one contest were my athletic highlights. Even walking with a certain grace came to me in the middle part of my life.

I realized that I could fit daily exercise into my day when I taught at a school near my house that had a free gym for teachers. I could go early enough to “work out” and shower and be upstairs in time for my first class. Daughter and I did a spin class together, and at times I tried the elliptical trainer. Amazingly, after a good bit of huffing and puffing and stopping short of my goal, I did improve. A marathon was not in my future, yet steps forward were possible.

What tipped the scales to ownership? The marathon is still unreachable. Steps every day increased in importance with age added. Starting in September I set 3 miles a day, sometimes in increments, as a doable goal. Through the fall I tallied up an average of 2.6. That took into account sloughing off time and rainy days. The calendar does turn, and even in May Houston hit 85 degrees with panting humidity. Mental preparation for some changing of space and releasing dollars, and middle son went with me to a BigBox to find THE right treadmill for me. Then I was ready to think more about details.

I rearranged some furniture and freed up a place other than the living room to house the equipment. I went confidently alone to ask the right questions of a young salesman who had to absent himself to find out every answer. Forty minutes later I had paperwork for the machine and the contact with a company that would come deliver and install – the best dollars I have ever spent. Walking outside may be my place of choice. Commitment to steps clocked will have to include inside.

Therefore, strengthen the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees, and make straight paths of your feet, so that what is lame may not be dislocated, but rather be healed.

Hebrews 12: 12 – 13

I don’t know if it is a talent; however I can have something in my hand, put it down, and it vanishes. At one school before I wore glasses all the time, I had a $1.00 reward for whatever child found them. It cost me about $4.00 a year. Well worth not having to search. The same school had a secretary who consoled me with nothing was ever really lost. I had this vision of reaching the Pearly Gates and having to go through the Enteral Lost and Found before I could enter. At times the lost item casts a wider ripple than just finding that object.

Friday before Memorial Day was a golden day. I had a list that flowed like spilled mercury. Breakfast with a friend, picked up ordered groceries, and got them put up. Time for a nap (a genetic necessity). I did a little business and letter writing and made a post office run to wrap up a day of check lists.

I looked forward to Saturday. A source came to collect a couch whose removal would make room for a treadmill…stay tuned for that story…and gave a small end table I no longer needed to a daughter who did. Everyone left, and I was ready to go forth. I put my hand in my purse to check and felt no purple wallet! ARGH! as the pirate says. I could account for every step of the day before. It had to be in the house. I clocked miles making the circle and resorting piles. Helpful phone calls with, “Where did you have it last?” were not helpful. I even called on the only saint I know, St. Anthony, affectionately called Tony by those who know him best.

No one had charged on my back up card, so I still felt sure the wallet had not been dropped and picked up. A smaller bag had the essentials I needed. Nothing could be done until Tuesday. I felt any previous plans for that day floating away if I would have to deal with a computer and passwords. One more word to Tony, and i resigned myself to the inevitable.

Sunday morning I was making a Tuesday list when middle son came to gather me for church In one hand he had a flashlight; the other held a purple wallet. It had slipped between a driver’s seat and the gear box. I was duly authenticated again. Two museums and the library would have restored cards rather easily. Dealing with insurance, Medicare, and my vaccination proof might have taken time and effort. That morning I had read Ezra 2, an account of 42,360 Israelites plus some extras who were returning to Jerusalem. I was no longer excluded like the people in vs. 61 – 62. Come Tuesday, I could go forth to the day. Thank you, Tony and Doug.

These searched for their family records, but they could not find them and so were excluded from the priesthood as unclean. Ezra 2: 62