Happy Easter, 2013

 

There are no daffodils, lilacs or tulips here in south Texas in the spring. But the season of new life cannot come without showing off its beauty. So the huisache trees are covered with tiny, lacy yellow flowers, the retama trees are all decked out in a new green hue, and buds are beginning to form on the prickly pear cactus. Spring is here!

The spring showers that bring May flowers in the mid-West are several years overdue here in south Texas. Much of the vegetation is parched, brittle and a dismal brown color. Farmers and ranchers of the area are very worried about their future. Hay is scarce and cattle herds are being sold off. Drought conditions in both south Texas and north Mexico are putting some strain on the international agreement regulating the use of the water of the Rio Grande. But spring comes anyway, as it has since the beginning of time. The renewal of nature always brings us hope that good lies ahead for us and for our world.

We continue to enjoy spending our winters in south Texas, about 15 miles north of the Rio Grande. We keep busy with a variety of activities which we enjoy: involvement in a little United Methodist Church nearby, taking dance lessons, coordinating a weekly bicycle ride to some place of interest or beauty in the area, weekly Bible study, various gatherings with friends both inside and outside of our park. Bruce also teaches a weekly dance class here at the park and coordinates a blood donation drive in the park every 3 months.

He also serves as liaison with the staff of a nearby school located in a very poor community just a few miles north of us. That has involved a "Christmas gifting" project for the past several years. A friend, who is one of the administrators at the school, estimates that more than 75% of their students are "economically deprived." The school provides breakfast, lunch and a take-home bag snack for each student. But, during school vacation breaks, many of their families cannot afford to feed all their children themselves. So this year we’ve added a food drive for spring break week.

Our summers we spend traveling in the mid-West visiting friends, family members, and seeing some of the other beauties of the U.S. We don’t travel fast and we don’t travel far in a day’s time but we really enjoy the experiences we have and the sights we see along the way.

God has blessed us with good health, and we do our part in keeping it that way! We continue our daily exercise routines, and wise eating habits. Nevertheless, doctor and dentist appointments seem to be taking over more of our schedule. We have not any major health problems, just nuisances. Floaters in an eye, an abcessed wisdom tooth, a painful corn, soaring blood sugars, and other realities of aging are what add medical professionals to our social calendar.

We are grateful for your friendship through the years. We pray that this season of new life will infect you with hope that lifts you up, joy that cushions the bumps along life’s road, and faith that in Jesus Christ God’s love is stronger than death!

Easter Greetings,

Bruce and MarySue

 

Incarnate God,

Good Friday we understand:

-the prison of unanswered prayer

-the abandonment of sleepy friends

- power politics and mob rule

- military callousness

- the treachery of self-interest

- clouds of doubt and storms of fear

- earthquakes of despair

- the death of innocence.

Yes, Creator God, in our own lives

we understand Good Friday.

But, God of Surprises,

Easter makes no sense at all:

- life springing from death

- a stone seal broken silently

- hope bursting out of a tomb

- women with spices and men behind locked doors

- a Risen One who calls his friends by name

- the powerful helpless and the helpless powerful

- a disappearing body and a visible Spirit

- God Incarnate recognized in the breaking of bread.

No, Mysterious God, we cannot comprehend Easter.

Grant us Your grace to believe what we cannot understand.

Daylight Savings Crime

(This blog was written five years ago on the occasion of  the "spring forward" of daylight savings time.  I repeat it because I feel the same today!)

I don’t like daylight savings time! The very audacity of human beings stealing an hour out of a day at a time of their choosing is shocking to me. Who do we think we are, trying to re-arrange the schedule of time established by the Creator in the beginning?

 Some conservative Christian groups get very upset when the "theory of evolution" is mentioned. Where are they – and their protests – when engulfed by the fact of daylight savings time? I’ve not yet seen any public demonstrations against this subtle but present threat to the time schedules to which we all are so addicted! It’s downright un-American, I tell you!

 I have no doubt that Daylight Savings Time is the result of a powerful but silent conspiracy by some secret chronological enemy of our "American way of life." What else but the threat of national destruction could motivate our entire nation to change its clocks, not once, but twice each year?

 Another demoralizing technique of this "daylight savings time conspiracy" is forcing all of us to get out of bed in the dark. It takes my body months to make that adjustment and, by the time I’m finally in sync with the clock, it’s time to go back on God’s time again!

Arising before morning light seems to me to be highly disrespectful of the Sun, our Great and Gracious Giver of Daylight. For years, I’ve resisted giving offense to the sun by not getting out of bed before it rises. Then, every March, daylight savings time requires it! I often wonder what great disasters lie ahead for humankind if the sun ever tires of our annual disrespect and refuses to shine. Eternal darkness? Global warming? Perpetual political in-fighting? It sends chills up my back even when the temperature is in the 90's!

Some have argued that daylight savings time makes it safer for the children who have to walk home after school. Well, what about their walk to school in the morning in the darkness? If they can carry a flashlight one way, why can’t they carry one the other way?

 Other people defend daylight savings time by saying how much they enjoy the long, sunlit summer evenings. Perhaps, but those who make backyard grills, leisure equipment, gas stations and oil companies are the ones who really benefit from this re-arrangement of time! Whatever its recreational, political or economic benefits, I consider Daylight Savings Time an unnecessary nuisance – or worse. And I don’t like it!

17Mar2008 - mshr

Losing my Wisdom

The soup was delicious: homemade lentil vegetable with chicken.  I was savoring a mouthful when I suddenly realized that I had a hole in the back of my mouth!  It was a big hole and it wasn't supposed to be there.  I had broken off a tooth!  All that was left of my left lower wisdom tooth was a gaping hole extending down below the gum line and a sharp pointed "fang" that threatened to slice my tongue to ribbons.  Amazingly, I had no pain in my mouth at all.

It was Friday, of course, and the dentist is not in on week-ends.  He saw me as early as possible on Monday afternoon, and confirmed my suspicions.  "Yes, it's broken," he said, peering at a fresh X-ray.  "But it wasn't the filling that broke off; it was what was left of that tooth.  All that's left there now is the filling.  And it broke good and deep, below the gum line and it even took half of the root!"

That didn't really surprise me.   That tooth was seriously damaged fifty years ago in a motor bike accident when I was young and even more foolish than I am today.  It wasn't, however, the news I really wanted to hear.

"So, now what?" I asked.   He described to me in painstaking detail what would be required to restore that traumatized tooth.  All the steps he described sounded inconvenient, painful and expensive.

"What about pulling it out?" I said, hoping for a quick and painless fix.  He smiled with relief, and quickly said, "Yes, that's a better option.  I'll refer you to the oral surgeon next door and make an appointment for him to evaluate it."  Off he rushed to personally deliver his fresh X-ray of my mouth to his colleague.

Two days later I was sitting in the oral surgeon's very crowded office waiting my turn.  We waited, and waited.  We waited through lunch time and my stomach began to growl.  An hour and a half after my appointment time, I was called into the inner office, and things began to happen fast.

First, a panoramic (whole head) X-ray.  The technician groaned when she looked at it.  "The tooth is not only broken, it's infected.  It must come out."  Next, a detailed medical history was taken and entered into their computer system.  Finally, an office-nurse type sat down with us and said, "Your tooth is not only broken, it's abcessed.  It needs to come out as soon as possible.  When would you like to have it done?"

"How soon could it be scheduled?" I asked, expecting her to suggest a date several weeks or months in the future.  "How about this afternoon?" she inquired.  For once we had no afternoon plans for the day, so I was stuck!

Bruce went out to get some lunch while I sipped on some clear juice.  In less than an hour, I was ushered into the small "operating room" in the office complex and settled into the tilt-back chair.  A very helpful and efficient dental technician connected me to continuous monitors for blood pressure, EKG, and blood oxygen levels.   The dental surgeon came in, checked me out, and started an IV.  The next thing I knew, the technician was patting my face, calling my name, and saying, "Wake up.  It's all over.  The tooth is out."  The entire procedure had taken only about 15 minutes -- and with no pain.

Soon I was on my way home, gripping a gauze pad between my tooth and the hole.  Homegoing instructions and prescriptions for antibiotics and pain pills would get me through the following days of recuperation.

So, if the next time I see you I can't remember your name, or I get lost on my way home from the grocery store, please be patient with me.  Remember, I've just lost one fourth of all my wisdom -- or is it my wits?  I can't remember!

Port Mansfield from a Bicycle Seat

Our Thursday morning bike rides continue, weather permitting. Sometimes Bruce leads; sometimes others take that responsibility.  Each week we start our ride from a different location.  This week we drove to Port Mansfield to ride.

Port Mansfield is a small village on the shore of the Laguna Madre about an hour's drive from our park.  It appears that the population of that tiny town are all fishermen or boating enthusiasts.  Fishermen and boats of various types and sizes are everywhere.  Every house on the water's edge has a boat dock behind it and there's more fishing gear in the town than mail boxes!

In the winter, the population of Port Mansfield is swelled by Winter Texans, who occupy the nearby RV parks.  Most of the Winter Texans who choose Port Mansfield for their winter home are also either fisher-folks or boating buddies.  Only one of those two passions could entice a person to settle nearly 30 miles from the nearest grocery store!

Sixteen adventurous bicyclists in seven different vehicles set out from our park last Thursday (January 24) headed east toward Port Mansfield.  The weather was great; sunnyand warm, with only a slight wind.  Down here in south Texas, that's affectionately called "Chamber of Commeerce weather" and it's not common in January!

We parked our cars near Sweet Gregory P's Smokehouse, a preview of coming delights.  Then off we pedaled south toward the county park and the public fishing pier.



We watched the brown pelicans swoop and dive for their breakfast.  We admired a snowy egret perched beside the water, and wondered what small island we were seeing far out toward the horizon.  We didn't bother the many fishermen dropping their lines from that pier but we had to express our amazement at one man's catch of a fish -- type unknown -- that appeared to be about three feet long!

Rested, refreshed, and ready to ride again, we headed back toward Gregory P's as the halfway stopping point for those who chose the short ride.  Then seven of us headed southwest, up a scenic inlet of the Laguna toward a small community of lovely big homes on the water's edge.

Over many years, Port Mansfield has become home to a large number of deer.  Why they have chosen that remote location only they know, but they outnumber dogs in that community. 

 

They seem to have little fear of humans, even those on bicycles!  This impressive buck just stood in the side ditch of the road a few feet from our route and watched us go by.  The deer have become so numerous that they have created problems for the residents, destroying their landscaping.  That's unfortunate, but the deer may have been there before the shrubs were!

 

Back to Sweet Gregory P's Smokehouse for the delicious ending of a perfect ride.  His tender pulled pork, smoked turkey, brisket or sausage sandwiches, cole slaw, beans, potato salad, and beverages was a delightful way to replace the calories we had just biked off.  The sign in the restroom at the restaurant gave us a chuckle that lasted almost all the way home:

 

"Fishing: an acquired skill consisting of

baiting, casting, reeling and netting

while balancing, sweating, cussing

and swatting."

 

mshr - 25 Jan 2013



Personal Obsolescence

As the years pass, I find in myself an increasing amount of pity for many historical objects and creatures. Dinosaurs, for example, and Model T Fords; carrier pigeons and homemade dumplings; gas lamps and tree swings; unlocked doors and non-commercialized holidays.

What do these things have in common? They are all extinct, obsolete, old fashioned. Each of them has disappeared or been rendered useless by some new invention or changing social attitude. They are all "has beens," surpassed by something more up-to-date.

I guess my sympathy for them comes from my feeling that I, too, am steadily joining their ranks of obsolescence. I have finally had to admit to myself that I have a "pencil and paper brain" in a computerized world!

Whatever happened to bank deposit slips made out of paper and filled out with a pen? Where did handwritten love notes disappear in the avalanche of texts, tweets, and Facebook "likes"? How can you wrap up the coffee grounds in the on-line news service? Why must I have so many passwords to access my own information that I have to write them down – in the old fashioned way! – to remember them all? When was handwriting outlawed? Who thought up this "computerization conspiracy" anyway?

Technological "intelligence" is already eroding our ability to spell. If you doubt this, just try to read the "txts cnt & recd by a teen"! Will it also steal our ability to use words in writing and talking? Taken to extremes, language will become obsolete and our thumbs – rather than our tongues – will become our tools of conversation!

Yes, I have a "pencil and paper brain" in a computerized world. I may, indeed, be becoming obsolete – but I won’t go quietly! I will yell and scream and scratch chalk and my fingernails on every blackboard I can find to preserve my right to write and scribble and doodle and tap my pencil annoyingly on my desk!

　

Slaughter of the Innocents

 

The most troubling part of the Christmas story for me has always been Matthew’s story of the slaughter of the innocents (Matthew 2:16). As I grew up, the adults around me shielded me from this gruesome tale for many years. But, as an adolescent, when I first heard it, I was shocked.

"Why?" I wondered. "Why would anyone murder babies and children two years old and younger? What could drive someone to commit such a cruel and bloody deed?"

Matthew tells us that King Herod was "infuriated" when he discovered that the Wise Men had tricked him, going home "by another road." By-passing Herod, the Magi evaded his command to "bring me word so that I may go and pay [the newborn Messiah] homage." That was a lie, of course. What Herod really wanted to do was to find that baby – who might be a rival for his throne – and insure that he never grew up!

So Herod was angry, frustrated and fearful for his position of power. He, of course, didn’t actually kill the children. It was the soldiers under his command, who carried out his brutal orders and did the dirty deed. And the mothers of Bethlehem and the surrounding countryside were left with only their tears and their aching hearts.

"Why?" That question has tortured me for many years. Now that heartless slaughter has been repeated in my own lifetime. Again mothers – and fathers – weep with the pain of broken hearts – not in Bethlehem, but in Newtown, Connecticut. An angry young killer has slaughtered twenty innocent children and several of their adult protectors.

Why? Was he, too, frustrated by the demons raging inside him, fearful that they might take away his power over his own life? He didn’t use a sword to kill. Instead, he used a high powered assault rifle and a twenty lifetime’s supply of ammunition to slaughter innocent six- and seven-year-olds.

The question "Why?" consumes our minds again, this time in real life. There is no answer. But there is another, more realistic, question: "For what purpose?"

Unlike the mothers of Bethlehem who could only mourn their slaughtered innocents, we do not live in a monarchy ruled by a cruel and unpredictable despot. We live in a democracy – government of the people, by the people, and for the people – so we have political power those grieving mothers did not have. We can influence our political leaders to make changes that will improve the health and sanity of our society. If we do not exercise our social and political responsibilities, twenty more innocents will have been slaughtered in vain.

Parents of Newtown:

Weep!

Weep for the children

that are no more.

Wail!

Wail for your sons and daughters

stolen from you

by a madman.

Rage!

Rage in your anger

knowing you are not alone;

Bereaved parents

from biblical Bethlehem

to current Chicago

join you in your rage

at the slaughter of innocents.

Scream!

Scream until we hear

– we whose children survive –

and join hands with you

to make our society

a safer and saner place.

 

Dear Santa ...

 

 I’ve never written to you before, but this year I need all the help I can get! I’ve lost my sense of humor! Sometime, somewhere over the past few months, my sense of humor has disappeared.

I’ve looked everywhere for it but no luck . I can’t remember laying it down anywhere where I could have gone off and forgotten it. I’m not aware that any of my other possessions are missing, so I doubt that my pocket has been picked or my purse snatched and it has been stolen. (I rather doubt that there would be much of a market for a used sense of humor anyway.)

It’s just been the past few weeks that I realized that it was gone. Life’s little everyday irritations suddenly seemed like world-shaking threats. People began to get on my nerves; their complaints and bad habits depressed me. I even considered joining the Foreign Legion to "get away from it – and them – all."

That’s when I began to feel that emptiness inside me where my sense of humor should have been. But I checked – and it was gone! Had someone sneaked into my house in the middle of a dark night when I was deep in a sound sleep and performed a "humorectomy" on me without my knowledge? Perhaps it was surgically removed in order to transplant it into somebody else. (But, honestly, St. Nick, I don’t think my sense of humor would be an exact match or a good fit for anybody else. Over the three score and ten years of my life, it has become rather specialized to my unique use of it!)

So, Santa, I’m asking for your help. I’m trying to be good, but it’s hard. Living without a sense of humor is like driving a bumpy road in a car with no shock absorbers!

I’d rather have my old sense of humor back if you can find it. But, if you can’t, I would accept a new model. Just see to it that it doesn’t come pre-programmed with a lot of dirty jokes and stupidity. I’m not sure I could get that erased and re-programmed in time to do me any good. My patience is already growing thin – SO HURRY UP, please!

Desperate and humorless,

Many Sorrows.

(BAH HUMBUG!)

P.S. Santa: Forget my request for my sense of humor or a replacement. I found it again, quite by accident! My feet began to giggle and I discovered that my sense of humor had slipped out of its usual place and dropped down all the way to the bottoms of my feet! I had been walking on it for some time thinking I had lost it!

Thank you for your kind attention to my request – now unnecessary. Happy holidays to you and yours.

Cheerful again,

Merry Sunshine

(HO HO HO)