Church Dog

Church Dog
Sunday mornings are a leisurely time in many households, but they certainly weren't in our Ogilvie, Minnesota home back in the late 1920s.
Church services began at nine-thirty in the morning. Mother was the organist, so she had to be there early. That meant all of us kids had to be washed and dressed with our hair neatly combed by the time Mother left the house.
As you'd expect, there was a lot of hurrying around to make sure everyone was ready on time. That was trouble enough, but one day, we had another problem on our hands: our dog, Brownie.
Every morning, Brownie was let out by the first person who got up. When we called him back in, he'd usually come running right away, but not on this particular Sunday.
We called and coaxed for as long as we could, but Brownie was simply nowhere to be found. Unable to locate our disappearing dog, we gave up in despair and headed off to church, leaving Brownie outdoors somewhere.
We arrived at church and got settled in, with Mother at the organ. After some hymns and prayers, the minister began his sermon. We kids tried to sit still, just as we had been told to do, and not fidget. But as the preacher began to warm to his subject, I thought I heard something unusual. No one else seemed to hear it though. But then it came again, louder. It sounded like something was scratching at the church door. We kids all exchanged silent glances and stifled our giggles. Then the scratching sound was followed by the plaintive sound of a lonely dog howling. All the grown-ups pretended not to hear anything, leaning forward in their pews so that they could hear every word of the minister's oration. But we kids knew that howl. Only one dog in the neighborhood made that sound.
The wailing continued and the minister paused for a moment, furrowing his brow in frustration. He didn't want to have to compete with a howling hound, so he signaled to the usher to open the door and shoo the dog away. But the usher was not quick enough for Brownie. As soon as he opened the door, in bounded our dog with a smug look on his face! He strolled up the aisle, cool as you please, as the congregation and minister looked on aghast. When Brownie got to where Mother sat at the organ, he just plopped down and sat quietly. A murmur went around the church and there were some smiles and nodding of heads. The minister, determined to ignore this unusual canine caper, resumed his sermon.
The following Sunday happened to be one of those rare Sundays when we didn't go to the morning service. However, no one had informed Brownie of the change in our schedule. After we attended the evening service, we heard the story. In the morning, Brownie had made a commotion at the church door until once again, he was let in. Again, he sauntered down the aisle until he reached the organist, who was about to begin playing. Brownie stood stock-still for a moment, staring at the female organist. Then when he had determined to his satisfaction that she was definitely not Mother, he returned to the church door and made it clear that he was not interested in attending this particular service.
There were many Sundays when Brownie repeated his demonstrations of religious piety and family loyalty. As you can imagine, this was quite embarrassing for Mother. There were some people who weren't all that happy to see a dog in church. And each time we got a new preacher, Mother had to explain our unusual dog to him. Since Brownie lived to be nineteen years old, quite a few preachers got used to having that little brown dog interrupt their Sunday services.
Shortly after Brownie passed away, our minister came to call. After consoling us over our loss, he said, "If there is a heaven for dogs, you can be assured Brownie will be scratching at the door, and when it is opened, he will be given a place right up front with the best of them."

Thought this was a cute story for all the little ones....enjoy~~~!
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Age

Age
A glance in the mirror. Simple, yet altering somehow. I see that I am not the little girl I once was, yet I can still see me there. Bright, happy.

But wait, I pause to truly see the me I am today…lines and wrinkles mar the unspoiled face of childhood, showing the many paths I could have chosen.
I am not sixteen, I am not twenty one, and I am no longer fifty. Time has marched across my body and I can scarcely remember the land of childish memories.
As I continue to gaze in the reflection, I see the features of family older and wiser in the shape and contour of my face. These family members remain while others reside in my memory only.

One day, those gathered in my mind will be the stuff of legend with a bit of fable thrown in. Family stories will be passed along to those who never knew the flesh and blood reality. Given enough time, most will be forgotten.

This chance encounter with the me in the mirror brings about a midlife crisis of sorts. I find myself needing to make a choice. I can mimic the me I recall in faulty memory or I can attempt to honor the memory of those I have known being more like them. Yet, neither choice seems entirely agreeable. Perhaps there is another choice.

The good old days are often the best of memories, sifted often and embellished with time. The future holds much promise, dreams, adventure, danger, new generations who do not see eye to eye with the past, declining health, perhaps loss of job, loss of memory and loss of my spouse.

My life is neither at the beginning and it may not be at the end. God delights in the heart of a child, so I choose that heart. God delights in maturity, so I chose this path.

God gave Moses his greatest assignment at the age of 80, Abraham became a parent at 100, Paul and John wrote significant words later in life. Through aches and pains, flesh thorns and heartache, God used these men.

I will not cower at the thought of the coming years. I want to run eagerly to my Home and take His assignments gladly. I want to do so willingly.

Rather than looking back at the way things were, I want to look ahead to the way things could be. I want the heart of a child and the maturity of a wise person. I want to greet each day with a willingness to pursue the adventure called life. I won’t do it by acting like someone half my age. I will do it with the help of an ageless God who loves me and understands that I am but dust.

I will associate with younger people. I will need to know what they think and how they see their world. I will surround myself with older people. I will need the wisdom they can offer. I will not contribute to the widening of the generation gap.

The me in the mirror is not what I once was. The me in the mirror is not the final word on who I will become. The me in the mirror is simply a reflection of today. A day that the Lord has made for my enjoyment and, more importantly, His purpose.

I turn and walk away from the mirror with a smile on my face. I have things to do. I have things to learn. I must not waste so much precious time.

Inauguration 2009

Last night I asked me to wake me up in time to see the beginning of Inauguration 2009 from the beginning to the end. My eyes popped open at 5:59AM just in time to flip on the television and wrap up in a blanket. Six AM and all is well~~~!

I came, I saw, I heard, I cried through a day of history that I shall never forget. Over two million of we humanity did so. We shall all remember this unforgetable day. It will be a piece of history that will live on for centuries in the future.

This may well be the last time I'm priviledged to see the outgoing and incoming president event in United States of America.

I couldn't help but wonder what was going through the heart and mind of President Bush. Was he feeling relief that the burden was about over...Would he and Laura be glad to return to the ranch in Texas or would they miss the home they'd lived in these past eight years? Tomorrow morning would they be lost without the usual White House affairs to tend to? Would they perhaps sleep in, then get up, have a coffee and kick off their shoes, mix a stiff drink, lean back in their easy chairs and breathe a big sigh of relief that their job was now over? Were they thinking that now they could have a private life of their own again?

The new president and family....are they ready for the big job ahead? Are they ready for the extreme change in their lifestyle? Are they anxious to begin this new journey? Are they ready to pick up all the left over problems of America tomorrow morning?

I'm not ashamed to say the day was very emotional for me also.
I cried.
I had chills.
I stood beside my Harley "walker" and saluted out flag during The Star Spangled Banner.
I prayed the Lord's Prayer with all.

I'll leave you now with another thought I had while I sat in my ringside seat in front of the television...."I wonder how many people out of those thousands might have Crohn's Disease like myself. What was that journey like trying to find one of those 5000 porta-potties when in need???"


A few years ago my grandson Ryan and I had a conversation about different cultures, colors etc.
Ryan's thought was that it was important for each country and race to keep their own culture.
I thought the future might see all colors blended together sharing their culture and their skin tones would be a beautiful gold.

Who is right?
Who is wrong?
It doesn't matter.
One day there shall be Peace for the World.

Dark, Heavy Fog~~~!

Foggy days get to me...so many in a row...the world gets dismal.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.
Albert Einstein

So, to keep from going insane I shall think of something cheerful. I think I'll tell my 'Greats' a true story. I've never made up stories...seems like I have to write about something that I remembered really happening. I'll write something that the readers can read to you younger ones.
The Readers....Caleb and McKenna~~~!
Lets see...Once upon a time...OH I know...I'll tell you about a little girl I grew up with.

She had red hair and big blue eyes. She was a quiet little girl. Those eyes were busy watching the world about her at all times and one could tell she was storing away all sorts of things to investigate when the right time to do so. She built her own private world to live in.

Her first big discovery was a new home to find her way around in. She didn't like this move at first as she liked where she had learned to crawl around and find her favorite places to play. The new home had a long hall and many doors and she would get lost. She would crawl down that hall over and over again crying tears of sadness. She was lost and it was a long trip crawling back and forth looking for some familiar spot.

She began to grow and learning to walk and talk took all her time and she was at last home again. As she grew for a year or so her hair changed to a Strawberry Blonde color and her eyes kept growing bigger and bluer. She was beginning to be a pretty little girl but she was still quiet and liked her own little space.

Things would begin to get lost around the house. They would be in their special place and then 'whoops' they were nowhere to be found. One day while cleaning the house I picked up the pillow from a green chair in the living room and there would be a pile of lost things. Ah ha...a favorite hiding place. One day while getting the mail from the wall mail slot out fell other lost articles. We didn't make a fuss about these things...I just left them where she hid them and if I needed something I would just borrow it and put it back.

She named everything. I let her play with marbles that I had won in games at school when I was a little girl.....I had shooters , and steelies and lots of precious keepsakes. She would play a game of rolling all these marbles back and forth down the long hallway. The funny thing was...she had named each marble. She spent hours racing them and talking to them like they were alive. Then she'd tuck them away in the bag, hide them away for another day.

Now she didn't really like dolls and girl things as well as she liked her brother's toys...trucks...blocks...sand piles etc. She liked tools. She was always hiding her dad's screw drivers and such. I discovered all the covers over the electric outlets were missing screws and barely hanging on the wall. Of course that meant covering all the outlets. Anything that was put together with nails and screws were loose all around the house.

She looked so dainty like girls do but she wasn't graceful like girls move. In fact she was quite clumsy. This didn't improve much even as she grew. She had found two little friends. Of course they were boy neighbors. With one she and he would build highways in a big sand pile. They would play hours together in the sand and never hardly talk. They didn't have to talk. They had this special way of knowing what the other was thinking in silence. The other little boy was more active and they played the cowboy and indian thing. For one of her birthdays she was given all these girlie things but.....that wasn't what she wanted. I knew what she wanted and had it hid away in case the other presents weren't accepted. When she unwapped it....her eyes became bluer and bigger and she was very happy....A Davey Crocket Suit with fur cap and all. She had wanted a suit like the noisy little boy had. They would dress up and chase one another for hours at a time.

I decided to try ballet lessons to see if she might learn gracefulness. It didn't work. Skating lessons didn't work. She was now on her way to growing up. The emergency rooms at the hospitals knew her by her first name. We were always there with bruises, cuts, etc. Growing up pains. I finally gave up and let her be. She found her grace in her own little garden. She liked the dirt and she planted pansies and lillies of valley. Of course each one had a name. I don't know where she dreamed up all the names for everything. Having a name seemed an imortant thing to her.

At the dinner table in the evening we would all sit down and sort of wait. What were we waiting for....we were waiting for her to spill her milk. This happened about every night. When the milk was cleaned up we could all settle down and eat. At that time I gave her the name of Grace. From then on Grace took over for the rest of the clumsy period. She did finally grow out of it.

Before I quit this story I must tell you about something funny .... We all sat down to dinner and we were waiting for Grace to spill her milk when the table sunk to the floor. There were five people staring at the table flat on the floor. She had unscrewed all the bolts holding the table together. Now that was a shock for all. At first I feared for her life from the expression on her father's face....but we ended up have a wonderful family laugh and we have a memory we shall never forget.

By now I'm sure all you Greats know this is a short story about your Grandma Connie. Look at her now...such a giving and loving grandma, wife, mother, sister, friend, etc. that one will ever wish to know....we all love you Connie Jo.

Dark, Heavy Fog~~~

Dark, Heavy Fog~~~

We Don't Live Our Lifes In One Day

A few years ago I read a book titled "Out of My Life."
It was around the time of starting a new year and I try to remember something Betty Bycroft, the writer, said at the beginning of each new year. It read like this.......

When I was young I kept looking forward to doing all the things I wasn't old enough to do. Mother said, "Have patience! We don't live our lives in one day."
How true that is ! And it applies both to looking backward and looking forward. I can no longer race like a wild thing over the meadows in spring. I no longer have the desire, let alone the stamina, to dance the night away.
Each age has its compensations. Now, while my children are young, I experience the thrill of being the center of their existence. I share with my husband pride in their achievements.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking, "When we build a new house....." or "When the children are older....." or When we have more money...." Then I remember that moving means leaving neighbors we enjoy: that when the children are bigger these little ones will be only a memory; that when we have more money we may look back to these struggling years as the closest and best.
We live life best when we savor each day and each age of life. Then we can look forward with courage and back without regrets.

......Happy New Year Everyone~~~!
How true her thoughts are.