June 13 – “Ready position”

I got a haircut the other day. I know, how boring can that be, right?  I did draw the new stylist, though.  Not like she was fresh out of school or anything.  She had just moved here from Huntsville, but she obviously didn’t know the routine.  The computer couldn’t even recognize her fingerprint.  She had to stop working on me twice to get that straightened out.  I do like the haircut, though.  Shorter than usual, but great time of year for shorter than usual.  She did ask some curious questions.  “Is it OK if I clean out your ears?”  (Not sure what to expect there.  A Q-tip?).  “Would you like me to trim your eyebrows?”  I know I don’t have one of those caveman eyebrow lines that cover your whole forehead, so I said sure.  She then assured me, “Your wife is sure to notice.”  It doesn’t take much for Chris to notice things.  She noticed right away the hair was much shorter than usual.  Can’t say she noticed the eyebrows, though. 

The haircut did make it a bit cooler for when we worked in the yard yesterday.  Mowed and edged and trimmed some trees and cleaned out our little shed.  Our task was delayed briefly at its start, though. We had to go get a new air filter and some gas for the lawn mower.  Who knew clogged air filters were such a problem on lawn mowers?  Not something my Dad ever taught me.  So pay attention, oh my sins, to this bit of sage advice.  Clean the air filter. 

While I restocked the weed eater with line, our neighbors from across the street came over to talk.  Actually they wanted to let us know that they were moving because the landlord was going up on the rent by $300 a month.  Yep.  Pretty ridiculous.  When they asked him why, he replied, “Because the curb appeal is so much better now.”  And who made the curb appeal?  Yep.  Mario and Carolyn, the renters.  Out of their own pockets.  Sure doesn’t seem fair.  They would have every right to pull up all the flowers and take them with them (except they’re moving to an apartment).  They could reseed the stickerburs they have eradicated, but Mario and Carolyn are good people.  I don’t foresee that happening.  We’ll miss them.

Kel’s kids came over last night.  Mom and Dad were originally supposed to go look for a house to move into, but the realtor canceled on them.  Since they already had babysitters, they decided to go see Jurassic World instead.  That’s OK, I smoked all the kids in a rousing game of CandyLand, so there.  I got a kick out of the new game they created.  Mario Cart.  No, not the video game.  They were the actual character and ran races through the kitchen, around the hall, into the office, and back into the kitchen.  I’m not sure why, but it was obviously the most fun thing they have done in weeks.  All three of the boys were laughing so hard they had to stop several times to catch their breath.  Gotta love the unfettered joy of youth.  In recognition of the huge first inning the Astros had (8 runs.  And yes, I was watching the game), they switched from Mario Cart to kitchen baseball.  Small rubber ball.  Hand-bats.  First base in the counter corner.  Second is the fridge.  Third is the stove.  Home is the bookcase.  Pretty wild game that baseball.  I did some umpiring, but they decided they could handle any disputes by just redoing the play (That, my friends is how you play sandlot baseball).  Chris even joined in the fun.  Josiah managed to toss a ball up into the light fixture in the ceiling.  Hey, some pitchers have those days where they just can’t find the plate.  It’s a little tougher when there is no plate.  Noa made her way onto the playing field more times than they cared to be patient with, but her appearances were always hilarious.  Once she eased her way behind Micah who had dug in to bat.  She duplicated his stance perfectly.  Another time she went onto the playing field, spread her legs just a bit and squatted into a perfect “ready position.”  Coach Dad … someone’s been listening. 

Psalms 33:21 says, “In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.”

Father, thank you for those youngsters you have placed in our lives.  Help us remember that they really are listening … and watching.  We never cease to be models for their behavior.  Make us Holy Spirit models.  Amen.

June 12 – “Fire Department Check-in”

It took almost a week of catching up, but I was finally able to make it to a few of the fire stations yesterday.  Three of them, actually.  Spent some time talking with the crew that included one of the newer hires over at Station Four.  Adam is a Jamaica Beach product, so he was already family to me.  At Station Five I just listened in on the lively chatter about promotions and refrigerators and how stations should be constructed.  You know, just family stuff.  I actually went to Central first to check in with the chief.  We are hosting a big fire convention in town this weekend, and he and I both have a spot on the program, so I wanted to let him know I was back and would be there.  And, yes, I wanted to show off my own personal souvenir from our trip (the baseball bat cane from the Louisville Slugger museum).  The chief is quite a fire department history buff, so I took him some photos from that fire museum we discovered in Indiana.  Apparently when our new station one is built there will be a spot for displaying some of the historical artifacts we have related to Galveston’s history.  And the station’s design will match the historical feel of downtown Galveston.  I’m anxious to see that.  He gave me a copy of the department’s 2014 annual report. Very slick magazine format.  Nicely done.  And I’m even included in the organizational chart.  That was quite an honor for me.  I’m listed across the chart from none other than the Amazing Trish. That’s an honor in itself.  I hope someday I can approach knowing some of the things she does about fire department operations.  Oh, and speaking of magazines, the Galveston Monthly has a good historical article about that home dedication we went to a while back.  It’s about the home of the guy who was fire chief during the 1900 Storm.  Even has a Galveston Fire Department photo within.  Get one of your very own free at your local bank or barber shop. 

There was a group touring Station One under the watchful eye and well-informed tutelage of Trish.  That’s a fairly common occurrence.  For this group Trish had to speak a line or two and then wait for the English to Spanish interpreter to catch up with her.  As usual she handled it masterfully.  They were fascinated by the pictures of fire fighters on the walls.  Standing in the background trying to learn from the master myself, I was approached by one lady with a question: “Are there any women?”  I was happy to point out the photo of Tanya Ovalle.  As they left the office area, another lady noticed my cane and said, “You should really Pinterest that.” (Pinterest?  What’s that?  Chris just found a good place to display it.  I’m not going to stick pins in it).  As luck would have it, Engine Two arrived right after that for the group to see.  None other than (drumroll here) Captain Tanya herself was on duty.  And after the demonstration, the crew got a call and had to rush away, lights and sirens blazing.  Quite the inspiring scenario for the youngsters.  Kind of a proud feeling for me. 

Psalms 33:20 says, “We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield.”

Father, protect the fire fighters as they carry out their calls on shift today.  And give them rest and peace when they are at the station and at home.  Amen.

June 11 – “A Monkey or a Monk?”

Pigeon hunting.  Now that’s not something I expected to ever do.  I can’t say that pigeon noticing was particularly in my wheelhouse, either.  All that changed after a simple walk that Chris and Cailyn took to the end of our street and back. 

Cailyn was excited to show me something upon their return, but that in itself wasn’t unusual at all.  It was a picture Nani had taken on her cell phone.  Cailyn was sidling up to a bird, within just a few feet in fact.  And they had a close-up of the creature as well.  It was a pigeon, all right, but it looked like someone had starched its collar and turned it upside down so that it stuck straight up in the air.  Well, maybe that’s not quite accurate.  It was more like the thing was wearing a mink stole and had it pulled up to cover its ears.  Now I’m not at all good with colors, but this was pretty colorful.  It had a white head and a reddish brown body.  Chris texted Nathan to get an opinion as to its nature from pigeon aficionado extraordinaire, “Uncle Andy.”   The first command was to let the thing go.  “Pigeons are better off in the wild.”  We didn’t have a cage or anything, so that was easy to follow.  Chris did some research and found a picture that seemed to match, a red capuchin (sounds like a monkey to me), one of the breed of fancy pigeons (who knew there was a breed called “fancy pigeon”?).  Not long after that, however, a second word came down from the venerable Uncle Andy.  In his opinion the bird was not a red capuchin (still sounds monkey-ish), but rather a Jacobin monk pigeon (so Cailyn was disturbing its prayer time?), and they are very rare.  He said, in a word, “Catchit” (I always knew that as two words).  Apparently capuchin monk pigeons can’t eat on their own.  He assured us if we could catch it and put it in a box, then he would come get it.  So, we left the comfort of the Astros game, grabbed a box, and headed down the street.  I wondered at the time if we should also bring along some salt to put on its tail.  I heard that’s how to catch a bird.  Maybe there are more scientific methods available now, though.  It had been an hour or two since first contact, so of course the critter was long gone.  Sadly, Uncle Andy won’t be getting his rare pigeon to hand-feed.

Later on last night, however, we were in the front yard, and we had another visitor.  Yep.  Another pigeon.  Not the same one, though.  This one was almost completely white, with a few specs of brown mixed in.  It had a similar cowl as its counterpart, but slightly different.  This one reminded me of something the Queen of England might wear.  You know, the cape with the massively high collar.  Very strange looking.  This one strolled around under the car and even up on the front porch.  Cailyn and I briefly had it surrounded, but neither of us had the salt shaker, so the bird managed an escape.  I vowed that next time I chased a monkey or a monk I would do it with a fishing net instead of a salt shaker.

Oh, and then, just to make things interesting, just as we were leaving for Jachin’s baseball game around 7:30 last night, it was back.  The monkey … or was it the monk.  Wait … it was the white one.  We never got a determination on that one.  Either way, it had returned to laugh at our meager efforts.  Curse you, White Monkey-monk.  We’ll get you next time.

Psalms 50:11 says, “I know every bird in the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine.”

Father, thank you for the wide variety of, well, pigeons that you created.  They really were pretty.  And to think … you know every sparrow that falls, so I’m pretty sure you keep track of those pigeons as well.  And us.  Amen.

June 10 – “Great”

Since the beach waters have been in prime condition for fishing (probably ever since we’ve been out of town on vacation), I decided to give it a whirl and try for some specs.  My back has been giving me some serious fits, though, so I had to find a new spot that didn’t involve climbing over massive granite boulders and leaping into the water and then climbing back out again.  My two basic options were driving all the way out to Jamaica Beach or moving closer to 61^st Street and paying for parking.  As much as the Jamaica Beach idea appealed to me, I decided it might be better if I could stay closer to home.  So I entered the world of paid parking on the Seawall. 

Actually I have paid before, sometime last year, and that was only one of a series of problems.  The city no longer accepts Discover Card, and that was what was on the account from last year.  I tried to open a new account, but the automated system wouldn’t let me override the already existing account.  Great.  I finally called the city manager’s office.  The city website said they would do it for you.  Whoever I talked to was very helpful.  She assured me a new account had been set up and I would be getting an email confirmation that we are paid for a full year of seawall parking.  Great.  Sure enough, the email came, but she had entered the wrong cell number as a login.  I called her back, but she said only the pay by phone people could help me.  So I called them.  Phew.  As it turned out, I would have to completely delete that account and start over again if I wanted to change the phone number.  That was the only piece of information they couldn’t change.  Great.  So rather than do that, I agreed to just learn a new login number.  Great.  However, there was no record that the city manager’s office had indicated a request to pay the fee.  Great.  I finally gave up and went fishing.

As I arrived (a full hour after I intended to be there), I saw one of the fire fighters just leaving with his limit of trout.  I took his picture for him.  He also gave me one of the lures he had been using.  Guaranteed to catch ‘em.  Great.  As it turned out I caught one spec and a few whiting, all with the shrimp I brought.  And as for the lure, I did use it, but I only caught one thing with it.  My thumb.  Great.  I hooked myself pretty good, too.  Had to pull it out with my pliers.  That was some serious pain.  Probably number two on my list of pains that I have experienced.  But I didn’t pass out.  That would have been quite inconvenient.  And it didn’t even bleed, so I was able to continue fishing.  Great.  Later on, though, on the way home, I noticed a tiny hair sticking out of the cut.  At a stop sign I gently pulled it to remove it from the wound.  And the pain was back in all its severity.  What was that tiny hair, anyway?  Was it the nerve?  Well, at least that would mean I have some nerves that work in my fingertips.  I guess I do need to listen to my pain, though.  I’ve gotten too used to it.  Great.

There was one other thing that happened.  A tourist next to me was, in his words, “messing around” - fishing with his kids.  He caught something that made him very excited, and he took it to shore to show it off.  A few minutes later he brought it out to me and asked if I wanted it.  Cautiously, I asked what it was.  He replied, “I’m not sure.  It’s either a flounder or a halibut.  If it’s a halibut, you have yourself quite a catch there.”  Indeed.  We enjoyed a nice stuffed flounder supper (or was it halibut?).  Great.

2 Samuel 7:22 says, “How great you are, O Sovereign Lord! There is no one like you, and there is no God but you, as we have heard with our own ears.”

Father, thank you for the little things.  Flounder over halibut.  Great.  A pair of pliers over a doctor’s visit.  Great.  I could sure use some back pain relief, though.  That would be great.  In any event, thank you for being there and being … Great.  Amen.

June 9 – “Fruit Trek”

Sigh.  Back into the swing of things.  Chris and I went for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday.  About two miles.  Other than my aches and pains from my various ongoing maladies, the walk was easier than the Terrible Teva 2.5 hike we took on vacation.  For one thing, I was wearing tennis shoes rather than Tevas.  And for another, the path was totally flat, not uphill over stones and tree roots.  But it was really humid.  Gotta get used to that again, I guess. 

We also went on a fruit trek.  Ever been on one of those?  When we went to WalMart the day before to replenish our supplies, their selection of fruit was, to be nice, poor.  It was finally time to look for another source.  And that is kind of like choosing to move to a new city.  You have to scope it out first.  Talk to some people (we have done that.  Narrowed the list to two, if you don’t count the all-time winner, HEB.  We don’t have one on the Island, and you know we’re not driving into Texas just to get some fruit.  That meant it’s between Randall’s and Kroger). 

So yesterday we decided to try Randall’s.  The difference in the store atmosphere is, of course, immediately noticeable.  Much smaller.  Way slower pace of the people inside.  Temperature is kept really cold, though.  Chris always notices that, so she brings a sweater.  Great pharmacy.  They get to know their customers, at least by the various maladies they come to seek relief for.  We have just never consciously gone to the produce department with an eye for specifics.  This time the cupboard was bare.  We needed every fruit known to man (well, every one that we might actually eat.  There are some strange looking, and tasting fruit out there).  We came out with bananas, grapes, oranges, a cantalope, a red bell pepper (is that a fruit?), and strawberries.  We passed right by the watermelon, though.  Really surprised me, given that it is Chris’ favorite among the fruit food group (right up there with strawberries).  And to top it all off, they started carrying chocolate milk.  Not that one percent water kind, either.  Real, whole-milk, chocolate milk.  Yum. 

We still may try Kroger’s at a future date, but it’s on the seawall and full of tourists and has a weird parking lot, and worst of all, it’s east of 61^st Street.  I vote Randall’s.  After all, I’m just a small town guy at heart.

Psalms 33:18-19 says, “But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love, to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine.”

Father, thank you that things like fruit are easily available to us.  You did a good work when you created those things and made them edible.  Tasty, too.  Amen.

June 8 – “Critter action”

Just remembered another fun little anecdote from when we were in Waco.  Very early one morning Nani found a small centipede-like creature crawling across the floor.  But did she scream and run the other way?  No, it wasn’t a cute little mouse.  Did she step on it and squish it like the bug it was?  No, it wasn’t a flying roach.  Not this Nani.  She did what any great Nani would have done.  She got a paper towel and let the critter crawl onto it so she could show him off to Luke.  Luke was the only one of the boys awake at the time.  He was fascinated for at least five or six seconds.  Chris didn’t want to press her luck with Mommy, though, so the critter was returned to the great outdoors.  Sorry Zak and Caleb.  Missed out on that one.

It was good to get back to Seaside after two weeks on the road.  Didn’t get to see everyone, of course.  It is summer.  But we had a nice crowd, and it was fun to connect with some of the visitors.  One group wanted to know why they hadn’t caught any fish at all the day before.  Hard to answer that one.  Another group with relative in from Iowa invited me to come to their beach house (and bring along some fishing poles).  I may have to take them up on that one.  Why all this talk of fishing?  The water is beautifully clear and flat.  The fishing reports in the paper indicate lots of action along the Gulf side of the Island.  I did accept one invitation, though.  Last night I went to the home of one of our Seasiders who has a house on a canal … with fishing lights.  They had been seeing lots of game fish swimming around, taking advantage of the loads of bait drawn to the lights.  I got there about 7:30 and stayed until just after ten.  It was great talking to my hosts, and it’s always nice when you have a pole in the water, but the reds and specs just didn’t come around.  Plenty of bait working, but all we caught were a few hardhead catfish and one croaker.  But, hey, it was fishing.  Ah, it’s good to be home. 

Psalms 33:11 says, “But the plans of the Lord stand firm forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations.”

Father, thank you for the family you put together over at Seaside.  Please remember them in your forever plans.  Amen.

June 7 – “We’re Back”

Thank you so much to all you great folks who wished us well yesterday.  And add to that all of you who joined us on our little journey over the last few weeks through reading the blog or checking out the occasional FaceBook posts.  Special thanks to Larry and Diane Huntley for being incredible hosts to us for our few days in Huntsville, Alabama.  The “Five Starfish Bed and Breakfast” treatment went far above and beyond what we ever expected or deserved.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Thanks as well to David and Kim Cullison for the great lunch you treated us to there in Evansville, Indiana, and for giving us a place to attend church with a familiar face or two.  Thank you to Mike Bell and Bryan Holt and Wes Foshee and all our “regulars” for teaching in my stead and for holding down the fort at Seaside while we were gone.  It really helps to know the Body was in great hands. 

We pulled into Galveston on Friday afternoon and have been recuperating ever since.  Anyone who has been on a vacation anywhere knows that it takes a while to get back into the swing of things when you get home.  We have seen all our Galveston area kiddos and grandkids, so that much-needed fix has been dealt with.  I still have to sort through the literally hundreds of pictures Chris took (OK, so I took a few as well).  Anybody want to come over and watch some home movies?  We could pop some popcorn.  I have a really scary one from the Babyland Hospital in Cleveland, Georgia.  See, even the name of the town is spooky.  Cleveland is supposed to be in Ohio (or maybe Texas).  We would be happy to rehash old memories (Wow.  “Old memories” from way back last week). 

I think Chris really liked her 40 yellow roses.  My accomplice couldn’t fit all of them into one vase. So he put three in a separate vase in the bathroom.  Guess which ones she found first?  Yep.  The bathroom.  She thought it was very sweet that “someone” got her a rose for every week of our vacation.  I assured her that was exactly the case.  When she saw the others, she asked if I knew anything about what was on the table.  I managed to come out with a little flower-lips speech professing my undying love, but I don’t know how well I sold it.  I think she might have a bit of an idea since she has stuck around for 40 years.  She liked the poster, though.  Took her about twenty minutes to track through all the pictures and find the one for each year we have been together … in order.  That’s my organized wife. 

She made some turkey enchilada pie for our big anniversary meal.  We decided it would be foolish to fight the tourists for a spot at any restaurant table on the Island, and who wants to drive clear into Texas just to eat?  Yep.  We’re back to being Islanders again.  Oh, and she presented me with a quilt she has been making for me by hand.  She’s been working on it for a while, but it’s not quite finished.  The best part of the presentation, though, was the letter that accompanied it.  She apologized for not being as adept at being “flower-lips” as I am, but the letter was incredible.  The binding around the outside of the quilt representing Jesus being the binding of our marriage was a great touch.  Even down to the part she added about it not being finished, but then neither are we.  We are constantly growing together.  Very sweet.  And yes, I couldn’t help asking if that meant when she finished the quilt, then we were finished as well.  If so, I’d just as soon she stop where she is and I’ll live with some frayed edges. 

It’s good to be back on the Island.

Proverbs 31:30-31 says, “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.  Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.”

Father, thank you for a really good time with the fabulous gift you have given me.  Help me to cherish Chris as just that – a precious gift from you.  Amen.