Sequence

I have distances clocked in my mind of long blocks and half blocks , so I know how to zig-zag for 40 minutes, and that will most often total my two mile goal. Down a block, north next to a busy street, and turn left at the Lutheran church. A new noise almost wipes out the sound of traffic. The church has a day care for three and four year olds. At the time I usually go, they are running with abandonment outside, ignoring any restrictions on space. Their arms stretch out to each other, and chortles of delight fill the air as they hug, pat, and move on. Pure joy! The word itself denotes movement, swelling up, and bubbling over. The third candle has to be JOY!

Hope can be a not yet moment involving carrying on and holding your breath. When the end is almost in sight or some questions are answered, a feeling of peace of comes. With the arrival of peace and a sense of surety, a bodily change begins to take place. A small giggle at first, a tenuous smile, and with abandonment, glee is passed from one to another. This sequence makes sense to me. The time has come for joy.

A child was promised under unusual circumstances, After what must have been an arduous journey, a place was found that would do for a birthing. Heaven rang with good news and angels declared,”This is news of great joy!” Hope, then peace, and now go see and tell. It’s not a secret to be whispered behind a cupped hand. It’s a time to open your whole body with arms spread wide and in a firm, loud voice proclaim, “Let me tell you!”

Sometimes, joy gets tamped down by circumstances. This March to December has opened spaces of relief, and yet, no one has totally breathed a sigh that the storm has passed. Decorations have gone up and houses on the streets have lights. Zoom helps us smile at much loved faces we won’t get to welcome with a kiss. Even with these moments that give light around the edges of the day, we still have a feeling of cautious acceptance that all is well. We find ourselves retreating to the time of the prophets. What they foretold was the truth that some promises never fail. We stand by the flickering flames and remember words that came after exile.

The joy of the Lord is your strength. Nehemiah 8:10

Under Five Years

Caveat: I am writing this on Monday night, November 2, 2020. That means neither you nor I know where the world will really be by the time you read this except a certain amount of reeling will still be taking place. You may not even get back to your email to see what an aging aunt had to say about this very uncertain week. I have already voted, and I hope you have or will. That action, whatever our choice, may have been the most positive action of the week. The right to even have had a say so is something to be cherished.

My hold on to statement came from a retired columnist for the Houston Chronicle. “May we not be satisfied with the new normal.” Leaving the house with a mask is an engrained habit now. The possibility of Covid spiking again still looms. Nearly all households face some economic adjustment. Working from home at least means one has a job. Mix in what my mother would call unexceptable behavior, and this strongly becomes not the life I ordered. Clinging to a positive vision of the future requires deep breathing and moving away from the cliff of only complaining.

In January I decided this was the year to read the Bible through again. By March, I was joining in the Exodus. “How appropriate,” was my casual thought. Slogging through those forty years was not pleasant or encouraging. Granted, God didn’t abandon them, yet the journey took resolve, commitment, following directions, and doing your best. Everyone over twenty years didn’t make it. Only those willing to change and carry on.

Hence my title. Whenever by whatever means we as families, neighborhoods, towns, country reach a place of recovery, only the very youngest will not have a memory of what this time was like. They need to hear how we journeyed statements. I found out that my mother had trouble with the nine’s multiplication tables. That year we camped in the back yard and had a good shower close by. . That year I had four different masks of space creatures, and my dad borrowed one to wear to a meeting. A leader was called to help Israel overcome enemies and claim a promised land. Joshua retold them what had been said from the beginning. “This is how it works. Choose to do right. Every day, for the sake of those who never knew the struggle.”

“…choose life, that both you and your descendants may live.’ Deuteronomy 30: 19

A Table

We started a marriage with Rent-a-Room furniture for the garage apartment that was first home. We ate off a bridge table that was a wedding gift and could be taken down if we needed space to walk through what passed for the living room. A move later we bought a brown wooden table with four chairs. Before its demise, it was painted green and fit in a nook next to the kitchen. After four years of “gracious country living” forty miles out from Houston, we had a real house with rooms that served the purpose for which they were intended. A Saturday morning trip to Christmas Furniture Store enabled us to come home with a real dining room table and eight chairs, enough for the five of us and three extra. The bridge table could still be called into service if needed.

These two tables and a counter with three stools served all our activity needs. Children could do homework and projects at the small table and the counter. Their surfaces weren’t sacroscant. I bought made to order pads for the good table. Those and a cutting board protected its surface when I needed to cut out pieces for a quilt or grade a stack of papers. One flat top desk could be utilized if a spill over emergency arose. Oh, and David’s roll top and standing desk which were his alone for spreading out and sorting piles.

Calendar pages flip to March 2020. What passed for a well furnished house was redefined. The spring was a make do time. Except for those who were home schoolers from the beginning, families had to decide what was learning space with the added requirement of being near a strong WiFi connection and maybe a socket within a reasonable distance. If an extension cord was needed, then don’t trip instructions joined the plans. At least one adult might be working in quarantine, so a quiet spot was factored in for productivity and to keep bosses and fellow workers from knowing too much about your family. Summer gave a reprieve. Fall redeclared a space emergency. Articles by decorating professionals appeared instructing how to redo a room to have effective work/study space, and helicopter mothers were replaced by monitoring moms following suggestions of ways to fold laundry and keep children on task was the same time. Tables and desks have risen in importance above couches and are at least equal to beds.

Multitasking is not just a word for humans. That requirement or skill now is a designation for a table. Almost a memory are the phrases that once preceded saying “table.” They were “set the table”, “come to the table,” and “clear the table.” During the middle one was a time to draw together. Plans for the day were considered and hashed out. A wrap up of a day or even settling a sibling squabble might be another part. Mixed in was some gentle laughter or encouragement and a discussion about favorite foods. We need this table moment to begin with a blessing. Those words that offer thankfulness and a request for guidance through and protection from virus, fires, race upheaval, country stress, and the multiple uses of a four legged table.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. Psalm 23:5

Cut, Slice, Chop

These thoughts are about KNIVES – maybe in all caps. Somehow, that didn’t seem a politically correct title, though all my life has been centered appropriately around knives and their various uses. Way before the time of checking for security at an airport, owning a knife was a rite of passage for boys. Handing it over was preceded by a lecture on proper care and appropriate use. Variations of mumbelty-peg were played by boys during recess at school while girls drew hopscotch diagrams or jumped rope. Tales of knives abounded. My dad gave one to a great-nephew, left him on our front porch alone, and by the time he came back, the lad had carved a wiggly T O on a wooden post in hopes of leaving his name as a mark. Those two letter still remain. At a camp meeting in West Texas, antsy teenagers, forced to attend, sat at the back of the tent and whittled while not paying attention to the sermon.

Some form of a sharp blade has been around since the first steps away from foraging and gathering. Early life learned to flake flint to make a blade to hold in a hand or later attach to a pole for that almost unpronounceable word for an spear – atlatl. Different metal ages progressed and prized weapons were made of Damascus forged steel. In frontier times, the Bowie knife was designed for Jim Bowie’s conquests and is now specifically recognized. Knives did not all have to be for fighting. A filet knife was tucked in the back of a tackle box to clean the catch before you left the lake. Supposedly, a Swiss Army knife with its white cross could present any blade you needed for survival. Individual knives are presented when grilled steaks are the center of a meal.

How many knives are in your kitchen depends of on how specific your needs are. I have a large chef’s knife for slicing roasts and a smaller version that rotates to chop piles of onions. A serrated blade is needed for slicing bread, My favorites are paring knives in varying lengths. A son bought me a set of J.A. Henckels knives when he had access to a military base in Europe. Some households prefer an on counter block to store knives and some a magnetic strip near a stove. I have a special knife block that fits in a drawer to hold my set. Always at hand in a center slot is a long sharpening rod. I felt a certain pride when I could hold a knife in one hand and rotate the wrist of the other hand to hone a sharp edge.

Knives are special because along with the instrument itself are the hands that hold them. My mother lay quarters of bell peppers flat with one hand, thumb tucked under, in order to slice strips of red and green to garnish a salad. My daddy cracked a coconut and sat at the kitchen table, carefully inserting a knife tip under each piece to pop the white meat out, ready to grate for ambrosia. A Floridian relative could start at the top of an orange and circle down just under the pith to finish at the bottom with an continuous spiral. A sharp knife in the right hands is useful for its intended purpose: to cut away, to open up, to reveal what matters.

 God means what he says. What he says goes. His powerful Word is sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, cutting through everything, whether doubt or defense, laying us open to listen and obey.

Hebrews 4:12

October/March

If you lived in the Southern Hemisphere you might feel strongly about March moving toward winter. Where I am, I have always leaned toward October. Everyone has their own opinion, so I am only sharing mine. First, though I have spent my life within 50 miles of the Gulf Coast, its summer weather is a burden to be born. I have no friendly attitude toward high 90 temperatures and the matching humidity. With red hair (in younger days) and fair Irish skin, a day in the sun leads only to painful regret. So, fickle as the change may come, I welcome October bearing its hope of some lower numbers on the thermometer and outdoor options being a doable delight.

The Roman calendar named October for its 8th place 2000 years ago before it was moved on by the Julian calendar’s adding January and February. Eight in my favorite number. The circles curve over each other, making it possible to choose different positions to place my dot. I like the number prefix which defines October so specifically. Think of all you can count on because of those beginning three letters: octet, octave, octopus, and octogenarian which tells exactly where I am today.

Another delight is all the robust colors: bright and burnt orange, browns of falling leaves, the deep greens of fir trees, and yellow aspens transforming a hill. My choices. A spring celebration in college called SingSong required all girls taking part to wear pastel dresses. I had to scrounge the dorm to find someone my size who would loan me a dress. It is also a month with a variety of acceptable decorations. A gathering of pumpkins will do or a pot of glowing chrysanthemums or a scary group of ghouls and witches.

Lastly, the holidays are not overwhelming. Columbus Day by whatever the new name is in your town or state is still welcome. It’s the first school holiday after 6 weeks of trudging on. If it weren’t on the calendar, Thanksgiving would be a long haul. Halloween can be feast or famine as you make it. Greet neighborhood children who have become dragons or princess on your front porch or close the door, turn out the light, and retreat to the back room. September introduces the season Fall. October, the middle child, gives it meaning, leaving November to settle in for family and thanksgiving.

One person esteems one day above another; another esteems every day alike. Let each be fully convinced in his own mind. He who observes the day, observes it to the Lord.

Romans 14:5 – 6

Clear the Water

This is a clean my mind worm offering. All week I’ve been thinking how much I love October. On the way there, two poems kept coming up like jingles from a radio ad. After a sleepless night of struggling through how to move past them, I decided just to give them their space and let you take or leave it. This first one is A Vagabond Song by Bliss Carmen, a Canadian. It was a choral reading in Scholastic Magazine in 1957 and for years was memory and performance by various 6th graders: an opportunity for solos and duets and gender groups and community effort. Are there some seventy-nine year olds out there who can say, “Yeah, I remember”? Visually, it is one of the most special evoker of images I know.
There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name. 
The next is a more poignant memory. We didn’t watch TV, and David and I read each other, a variety of fiction, poetry, non-fiction over 56 years. We read John Brown’s Body probably three times. However you feel about its historical presentation, the flow of the narrative is amazing. This section was just southern state enough to call to mind a culture I knew, and we could share the words from our mind as we sat in the yard in a twilight evening.
Fall of the possum, fall of the ‘coon,
And the lop-eared hound-dog baying the moon.
Fall that is neither bitter nor swift
But a brown girl bearing an idle gift,
A brown seed-kernel that splits apart
And shows the Summer yet in its heart,
A smokiness so vague in the air
You feel it rather than see it there,
A brief, white rime on the red clay road
And slow mules creaking a lazy load
Through endless acres of afternoon,
A pine-cone fire and a banjo-tune,
And a julep mixed with a silver spoon.

Your noons are hot, your nights deep-starred,
There is honeysuckle still in the yard,
Fall of the quail and the firefly-glows
And the pot-pourri of the rambler-rose,
Fall that brings no promise of snows . . .

Be on stage. Proclaim a season to an audience or just the surroundings that harbor it. Give life to the moment.

A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver. Proverbs 25:11

Crisp and Crunchy

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

,

Comes with the Territory

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

Humph!

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.

It’s Coming’!

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