November 20 – “A WalMart run”

 

 

We had to make a late-night trip to WalMart last night.  Chris thought we had all the ingredients for some of her famous bean soup on hand, but it was not to be found.  Today is the monthly Third Sunday Dinner on the Grounds at Seaside, and her bean soup has become quite a popular commodity.  It works really well for the occasion, too.  It goes a long way, and sometimes we need to stretch the food if not many folks remember to bring stuff.  But on the days they do remember, we can have some serious feasting going on.  Banana pudding.  Chicken made all different ways.  Brisket.  We even have vegetables on occasion. 

 

While we were at WalMart we picked up some toys to donate to the Galveston Urban Ministries.  They are setting up a store for economically depressed folks where they can actually participate in purchasing things for their family instead of relying on handouts.  The donated items are discounted as much as 80%.  I love the idea.  Doesn't foster an entitlement mentality.  Gives the family a sense of accomplishment.

 

I have had a few tough days pain-wise.  Puttying up that fence combined with a change in the weather to kind of overwhelmed me.  Now my left elbow, the original source of all this grief, is still throbbing pretty much all day long.  Thankfully, the rest of my joints have been waiting until later in the afternoon to catch up. 

 

Oh, yeah.  We got some Blue Bell, too.  On sale at Kroger for $3.99.  WalMart honors their ad. 

 

Ecclesiastes 12:13-14 says, "Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole [duty] of man.  For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil."

 

Father, draw some folks to worship today who need you.  And help them find you.  Amen.

November 19 – “Adventure of the tent fence”

 

 

We finally got around to putting up the rest of our back fence that Hurricane Ike took out three years ago.  Wow.  Three years.  Sounds like a long time, but sure feels like just last week.  Especially since most of the people here in Galveston who went through it now date everything by it.  A popular preface to any conversation is "Well, before the storm …"  It's kind of a rite of passage to living on a barrier island to go through at least one major hurricane. 

 

So, a 42 foot section of our back fence was destroyed.  It was one of those six foot privacy fences that you can roll out and wire onto an existing chain link fence.  We figured, "How hard could it be to unroll it and wrap little strips of wire around the slats every so often?"  So we decided to give it our best shot.

 

We weren't sure how much fence was in each roll.  We had three rolls of different sizes that were supposed to equal around 42 feet.  It was every bit of the fencing they had left, since the manufacturer went out of business.  We manhandled the first and biggest one over near the fence and started unrolling, propping it against the chain link as we went along.  About twenty feet.  Chris held one end as I started the process of cutting wire and deciding where best to attach it.  I was in the little alcove area on the side of our house where we have about four or five feet between the house and the fence.  Cailyn was playing in the yard.  And a gust of wind came through.

 

I was just about to feed my first anchor wire through the fence when it happened.  I heard it first.  A scraping sound.  Chris' muffled "Oh."  And Cailyn's excited, "DadDad, I see you."  As I turned it felt like everything was moving in slow motion.  Chris was ducking and moving away from her end as it slowly surged toward her.  The top of the fence slowly leaned further and further toward her head, and like a stack of dominoes, the rest of the fence was following suit.  Instinctively I raised my left hand above my head to try to hold off the impending blow.  With my right hand I reached pout toward Cailyn, who by that time was almost within my grasp, running for a DadDad hug.  Through sheer force of will I was able to match her frolicsome demeanor with a smile and a "Come here, you."  I figured I could protect her by throwing my body between her and the crashing burden approaching.  About that time she realized what was happening.  Well, she realized something was happening.  And it sure looked like fun.  A tent.  DadDad was building a tent.  She reached my arms just before … the six foot fence hit the side of the house, stopping its descent just short of our tensed bodies. 

 

Wow.  That sounded more exciting than when it happened.  I guess that's because I left out the fact that the fence didn't really weigh all that much once it was unrolled.  I've slept under heavier blankets.  That's why it was so easy for the wind to knock it over.  And I guess it did make a pretty cool tent.  Didn't last long, though.  Chris was frantically trying to stand it back up, walking it like one of those big ladders you raise one rung at a time.  I hesitated just a moment, winked at Cailyn and grinned, and joined Chris in her efforts.  We used some old 4X4 posts we had to prop it up while we worked.   

                                                                                                

It took us two days, but we finally got it up.  Part of it kind of leans to the left, but we made some adjustments in the final section so it's not that noticeable.  Check one more thing off our Hurricane Ike to-do list.  And chalk one more thing up to keeping a positive attitude in the midst of a near crisis, thanks to Cailyn and her adventure-of-the-fence-tent smile.

 

Ecclesiastes 10:20 says, "Do not revile the king even in your thoughts, or curse the rich in your bedroom, because a bird of the air may carry your words, and a bird on the wing may report what you say."

 

Father, I always wondered where that saying, "a little birdie told me" came from.  Thanks for protecting us from run-away fences.  Amen.

November 18 – “Manners”

 

 

At the risk of allowing her to monopolize the pages of my blog, I do have another Cailyn tale this morning.  Actually it's just a simple recounting of a conversation I overheard between her and Chris.  Check it out:

 

Cailyn: I have some candy now, Nani?

Chris: No.  You already had some.

Cailyn (after thinking for a few seconds): Candy for her.

Chris: Who is "her"?

Cailyn (after thinking for a few seconds): Me.

Chris: No candy.

Cailyn (after thinking for a few seconds): I get MoeMoe's purse.

 

She immediately heads for MoeMoe's purse, which is hanging on her walker.

 

Chris: Stay out of MoeMoe's purse unless you ask.

Cailyn: (peering at the purse): Candy in there?

Chris: No candy.  Even from MoeMoe's purse.

Cailyn (turning to MoeMoe): MoeMoe, you need candy?

Chris: No, Cailyn.  No candy.

Cailyn (ignoring Chris as best she can): MoeMoe, I get candy for you?

MoeMoe: Go get my walker

Cailyn: (struggling to get walker between a chair and the couch): 'Scuse me,

Chair, 'scuse me.

 

By this time I am fully engrossed in the spectacle.  Chris moves the chair, and Cailyn pulls the walker over to Moemoe.  She continues in her all-time sweetest voice ever.

 

Cailyn: Here momo.  Can I have candy?

 

Before Chris even has a chance to step in, Cailyn turns toward her.  The little eyes become wide saucers.  The smile bursts forth on her cherubic little face.  And she hastily, but quite cheerily adds.

 

Cailyn: I ask nice.

 

You gotta give her something for manners, right?  As it turned out, MoeMoe had no candy in her purse (also an amazingly rare occurrence in and of itself).  Sure now that her disciplinary consistency has once again been upheld, Chris bid a hasty retreat into my office so she could join me in unbridled enjoyment of the mirth of the moment as well as in secret appreciation of Cailyn's budding manipulatory skills. 

 

Ecclesiastes 10:14 says, "No one knows what is coming — who can tell him what will happen after him?"

 

Father, we sure never know what will happen next with our grandkids.  Help us trust you to handle all of our future.  Amen.

 

November 17 – “A brand new trick”

 

 

Our dear, sweet, lovable little only-granddaughter apparently has an evil alter ego.  Not that we have ever seen it, of course.  When she is here she is always the epitome of perfection, saying yes sir and yes ma'am, please and thank you, and using that honed-to-perfection southern drawl that she learned from who-knows-where.  Yesterday she was excited about getting one of the games down from our shelf-full-o-games, and she said "Games aw-er aaaaaaawesum" (In case you missed it, the translation is "Games are awesome").  That's one of the things that cracks me up about her.  She has learned the art of turning one syllable words into two or sometimes three.  DadDa-yad.  Ca-yun-dy.  Get the idea?  Every time she goes into that mode it pretty much melts my heart. 

 

But yesterday she showed us a brand new trick she has learned.  Now understand, there is absolutely no way she learned it from us.  At least not from me.  Chris was encouraging her to engage in some sort of activity that was perhaps not exactly included in the Cailyn itinerary of the day.  I don't remember what it was.  Something to do with eating lunch. 

 

But it struck a hot nerve.  Her countenance began to change.  Her eyebrows furrowed.  The edges of her lips turned downward, just beyond a pout and into near-angry territory.  One hand went to her hip.  The other slowly raised to about eye level.  And on that hand protruded the infamous wagging finger.  And it began its movement, slowly at first, then faster and faster as the words tumbled out. 

 

Now that sight was worth videoing right there.  But I was afraid to move for fear of destroying the mood of the moment.  What could she possibly have to say that would be an appropriate accompaniment to that classic action?  I didn't have long to wait.

 

"No Nani.  You rude, Nani.  Don't say no to me.  You say, 'yes, ma'am.'  One …  two … you go time out.  You go time out right now or you get spanking."

 

Quite the little outburst there, I must say.  She didn't even get to three.  This younger generation never has enough patience.  And our reaction?  It was one of those parent-type situations where in spite of your best intentions there is a laugh that is struggling mightily to be released.  Since she wasn't looking directly at me, it didn't hurt anything when a huge grin exploded onto my face.  At least I didn't make a sound.  It was not as easy for Chris, though.  She was bearing the brunt of the little one's fury, so she couldn't just laugh in her face (like I would have done).  She did her best to maintain proper adult decorum.  And yes, I got one of her patented "looks" telling me without words that I best keep my mouth closed and not dare let Cailyn see I was laughing.  Of course I would never do anything from my position out of Cailyn's sight like put my hand over my grin or raise my eyebrows or join Cailyn in a silent finger wag of my own.  I wonder if anything like that ever happens with her Mom and Dad?  It sure used to when he was just a kid and one of his brothers was in trouble with Mom.  Ah.  This is why they put "grand" in the word "grandparent."

 

Ecclesiastes 10:12-14 says, "Words from a wise man's mouth are gracious, but a fool is consumed by his own lips.  At the beginning his words are folly; at the end they are wicked madness — and the fool multiplies words."

 

Father, thank you for giving me the privilege of interacting with my grandchildren.  Give me enough energy to keep it up.  Amen.

November 16 – “Flex fence”

 

 

We finally got around to replacing yet another thing we lost in Hurricane Ike.  This time it was the fence in the back yard.  A few trees and tree branches smashed most of it into pieces.  Actually we didn't lose the whole thing.  It's kind of complicated.

 

Our back yard is enclosed with a chain link fence.  That weathered the storm just fine.  But on one side we also had what is called some flex fencing.  It was made of thin strips of wood wired together and rolled up.  The idea is to unroll it, and as you go along, connect it with wire to the existing chain link fence.  It's like a poor man's privacy fence.  We want it back on that side, but not because we don't like the neighbors.  The problem is, without it our yard is visible from the main street through the subdivision.  Which means it can be seen as a potential target by criminals (like we have anything worth a thief's time).  It also provides more privacy for if we ever get our hot tub motor replaced (also a victim of Hurricane Ike). 

 

Now, replacing the fence has never been high on our priority list.  The chain link fence keeps the dogs contained, we haven't fixed the hot tub yet, and as I said, we don't have anything worth stealing.  We did make one attempt to get it a while back, but found out that in spite of what was posted on their web site, the Galveston store was not open on Saturdays.  So the other day while Chris was at a doctor's appointment I decided I would surprise her and go get the fence.  They were open all right, but I got some bad news.  The only company that makes that particular kind of fence had gone out of business.  The owner died and left the business to his wife.  She hadn't kept up with very well, and they lost their lease on the facility.  The flex fencing was no longer available.  Great.  So much for my Thanksgiving surprise to Chris.  He took my name and number "just in case something comes up."

 

I told Chris about it when she got home so we could begin thinking about our alternatives.  Leave it like it is?  Pay big bucks for an actual privacy fence?  Too much to process quickly, so it resumed its place at the bottom of the list.  That is, until I actually received a call from the guy at the fence store.  Seems that on a walk-through of their warehouse he had stumbled across one complete roll, and he had found a second roll that they had been using part of in a display.  It amounted to just what I was trying to order, so he wanted to know if we still were interested.  Well, absolutely.

 

We called Nathan and arranged to borrow our truck back (that's a whole other story), and went right over to pick it up.  Each section fit nicely onto our dolly when we got it home, so I rolled it into the back yard.  And there it sits, waiting to answer the questions: will it be enough to cover our fence?  When will we get time to put it up?  Can Chris and I do it ourselves?  Tune in next time.  Same Bat-time.  Same Bat-channel.  (Thought I'd end with a little 70's TV humor there).

 

Ecclesiastes 10:4 says, "If a ruler's anger rises against you, do not leave your post; calmness can lay great errors to rest."

 

Father, thank you for making your peace available no matter what our circumstances are.  We have a lot of errors that need to be laid to rest.  Amen.

November 15 – “Pondering the Peel Process”

 

 

Have you ever thought about what it is like to peel things? 

 

OK.  Where did that thought come from?  Every morning when I get up, I'm usually the only one up for about an hour.  It's a great opportunity to do my quiet time with God and my journal for the day and get started on sermon preparations or life group Bible study or Pastor's class stuff or any of the other pile of stuff on my to-do list for the week.  Sometimes I can get more done in that hour than I can in three or four hours when everyone else is up and about.  There's always some minor crisis to distract attention away from tasks. 

 

My routine usually consists of turning on the computer, getting the newspaper, feeding the dogs, taking my pills with a glass of chocolate milk, pouring a cup of coffee, and having a bowl of fruit.  Now our usual collection of fruit entails fresh pineapple (I get a kick out of using our one really big knife to cut it open), some grapes, and … here it is … some kind of citrus fruit. 

 

We started out with oranges.  I have always liked oranges.  Juicy and messy usually appeals to male children.  But they can be a pain to peel.  If you don't have fingernails, and if you are determined not to use any external assistance (also a male child trait), they can be very difficult to breach.  All efforts can be rebuffed by that leathery hide surrounding the precious fruit within.  I learned when our boys were playing soccer that the easy way within was to simply use a knife and cut them into quarters.  But where is the fun in that?  Besides, then you can't cram your fingers in between the natural segments and gently (or not so gently) tear them apart, giving you not just one or four, but many little opportunities to enjoy that refreshing explosion of juice in your mouth when you chomp down.

 

At some point in my meager past existence I was introduced to a new hybrid orange-y kind of beast.  I'm sure it's Chris who gets credit for it.  This new (to me) taste treat was called a Clementine.  It is much smaller than a regular orange, but it is oh-so-much easier to peel.  The skin is much thinner, I guess, and as a result, it takes little or no effort to poke a finger in there and get started on freeing up the juices within.  In fact I have been successful numerous times at completing the peeling process and ending up with one continuous string of Clementine skin.  Quite an accomplishment.  Pat me on the back. 

 

Ecclesiastes 10:1 says, "As dead flies give perfume a bad smell, so a little folly outweighs wisdom and honor."

 

Father, protect our family from folly.  Amen.

November 14 – “Dancing like Daddy”

 

 

Cailyn was in the mood to dance the other day.  She figured out how to get to the part of my phone where the music is.  Actually she figured it out on Chris' phone, but Chris has no music.  That was frustrating.  The musical note symbol appeared, and Cailyn knew that was supposed to be music, but nothing she did could make any sounds.  So she dumped that phone and found mine.  And not just any music would do, either.  She wanted Christmas music.  Of course.  It is November.  And Thanksgiving seems boring to her.  No gifts.  No birthday party for Jesus.  Just turkey.  So Christmas music.

 

Which brings us back to the dancing.  Once we got the Beach Boys Christmas album going, she was ready.  Which also meant I was ready.  Whether I wanted to be or not.  I tried to swing around in my chair and give it the old arm move action.  Not good enough. 

"You have to be on the floor, DadDad."  So I fell to the floor. 

"No, DadDad.  You have to stand up."  So I stood up. 

"Now you have to dance, DadDad."  So I danced.  And she laughed. 

"Now, wait a minute," I argued.  "I'm dancing.  Why are you laughing?" 

"That's not dancing, DadDad." 

"Well, what is it, then?"

"That's rocking." 

Well, in my day, rockin' was a good thing on the dance floor.  But I was intrigued.  So I continued, "So show me how to dance."

That was followed by a series of twists and twirls that would make any ballerina proud.  Again I attempted to follow her lead and was met by … more laughter.  Determined to get it right, I finally asked her to show me how her Daddy danced. 

"Okay," she replied, with that patented look of condescension I have grown so fond of.  She squared off her shoulders and faced me.  "You put your arms like this."  She demonstrated by holding her arms directly out to her side.  I followed.  Then she slowly began to wave her arms up and down, up and down.  Again, I followed.  And again I received a reprimand.  It just didn't look quite right to her.  She furrowed her brow and frowned, looking at my dance moves.  Suddenly her eyes lit up, always a scary sight.  Here it comes …

"No, DadDad.  You have to do the seagull.  Like Daddy." 

Doing the seagull.  Now that's a nice move, Nathan.  I think I've got it.  My turn to laugh.

 

Ecclesiastes 9:17-18 says, "The quiet words of the wise are more to be heeded than the shouts of a ruler of fools.  Wisdom is better than weapons of war, but one sinner destroys much good."

                                                              

Father, remind me often to twirl and spin for no particular reason.  Amen.