Water Walking

Since the weather has steadily and uncharacteristically maintained August-type heat through June and July, and since the only time to exercise outside and not feel drained by said heat is at five-thirty before the sun comes up to sizzle in the sky and wither everything usually green to a nasty brown, the powers-that-be have provided an alternative of sorts. They call it water-walking. The pool doesn't officially open until one o'clock, but from nine until noon five days a week the older women of the town come to walk back and forth across the pool and thus exercise in comfort. Some wear hats and sunglasses; some wear shirts and shorts; some drag out matronly-looking bathing suits and an over-sized pair of water-weights. Occasionally, you'll see someone swimming across the pool, but mostly they just walk. Walk and talk. They never cease.Talk and walk. It's our answer to the plaza. Best of all. It's free. Our little town does some things right.

Potential

I think it's probably a carry over from my youth, when we occasionally worked on rent houses. Cleaning, painting, roofing, shampooing carpet--turning something foul-smelling, grubby and abandoned into a brave, little humble home that was livable. Anyway, whenever I see neglected houses, I repair them in my mind...and if  I get the chance to walk through a house, I automatically imagine it clean, painted, and freshly carpeted. Here's one I noticed on my walk this morning:

The roof's in terrible shape, and it needs a front porch, but I found myself wanting to paint it all white and yellow, mow the grass, and put it in shape. There it sits at the edge of a huge lot--half a block of lawn with a massive tree in the center--a tree with low-hanging branches just right for climbing.

There's a lot of these little houses in our town...because small towns are becoming smaller and dying away. It's sad. The prime time properties around the courthouse square sit empty. They don't cost much, but there's a hitch: businesses can't make enough money to survive. There are no customers. Everybody rushes to the city to shop at huge stores, spending lots of money on gas, yet thinking they've found great bargains. 

Here's a gorgeous building right on the square, all painted and ready for someone to rent. In my mind I've turned it into all sorts of shops--music shops, clay shops, a place for lessons and consultations, even an apartment.

If you walk behind the large buildings on the square, there's another surprise waiting. Just look at this private courtyard waiting to happen. If you built a couple of high fences, there'd be a lovely little hidden garden, right behind the store. If the old rooms on the second floor were restored and turned into an apartment, someone could live above the business. I've been in some of these buildings. The old wooden staircases lead to wainscoting and half glass doors--a set of rooms and offices right out of the forties. With a little modernizing, you could be in retro style without trying. Sigh.

I'd put in new windows...just as large as they ever were and a lot more energy efficient. Then I'd rake this yard and get rid of all the trash...put in a fountain--just a little one against the wall-- and a cement bench or two.  If you walked by the front of my building you wouldn't know it from the rest--the line of bustling shops so uniform in their stolid facades. I'd probably be sitting out in the garden reading a book...or painting something.

Odd little things about a Small Town

There's that tiny post office, squished between town hall and the Sunshine Cafe. Only it's not really a post office. It's just another dining area for the cafe. So why does it say Post Office? Well, several years ago they filmed a movie in this town and made a lot of changes so that we would fit their decor and specifications. We thought they'd put everything back like they found it...but nope. They finished filming, pulled up all their "road blocked" signs and rushed back to Hollywood. Now our courthouse steps are the wrong color...and occasionally a person passing through town tries to mail a letter at the Sunshine Cafe.

A Wonderful Celebration

Yesterday we celebrated my parents' sixtieth wedding anniversary. It was a very special event, an event that is becoming increasingly rare within our society, a precious example of commitment and faithfulness, of promises made and kept sacred. We, the six children, were all there, gathered together to affirm something about our parents--their love for each other, their example to us, and the teachings they instilled in each of us. Marriage is for keeps. It's not about whether a person perfectly meets your every need. It's about promises. It's about real love. Love that endures through bliss and pain...through daily drudgery as well as through excitement and joy.    Marriage is about families, accepting each other's family and becoming responsible for them as well, about children and the years and years of loving them and sacrificing for them. It's about encouraging each other in gifts and callings, in faith and good works, about learning to read each other so well you speak sometimes without saying a word. It's about an intimate friendship.

 


Here's three brothers and three sisters-in-law, remembering
events from three weddings over half a century ago.

Aunts and cousins, so many people who now look like their mothers and fathers did only yesterday, I think.

And pictures of grandchildren and great-grandchildren; inevitably,  someone's eyes are closed.

My brother and his wife, a love story unique and worth the telling. Someday, I'll try.

Fancy tables with flowers and lights and cake.






Friends from church and from past ministry,

Family pictures, once again.

Mom, Dad, this was a wonderful day!

We, your children, would like to say that, though by some people's standards we may have been considered deprived as we all grew up together, we were never poor. You gave us all you had, showed us right paths, taught us wisdom and truth. You introduced us to the One who lives beyond age, beyond death and who gives eternal life.
 We never felt unloved.

A Good Dad

A good Dad is a Godly man
who teaches his children by his life,
faithful, not just in the pulpit or pew,
but at home where he reads the Bible
and talks about what it means
and how that applies to whatever we're facing.
He prays for his children, hours sometimes,
because he loves them.

A good Dad is a busy man.
He works, provides, and shows his children
the joy of accomplishment,
and the contentment
that comes from the words: "well done"

A good Dad is a loving man; he does without, so he can give,
trains his children to love one another,
teaches them faithfulness
by the way he is faithful to their mother.

Even when they're old, his children want to please him.
His smile reminds them of all those years
of courage in a dangerous, disappointing world,
of a steady heart...a strong hand.

Thanks, Dad.
I love you.

Fiery Furnace

It's 105 degrees outside--hot, hot, hot.  We've never had a June so hot--August maybe, but not June. Added to that is the need for rain. Last week we got two tenths of an inch, but the ground is in terrible shape again, and the grass is toasted. I'm really ready for rain and some cooler weather.

 I've been leaving the house before six in the morning just so I can get home before the heat. When I start walking the sky looks like this. That's the moon up there, not the sun.

 By the time I get home, it's bright and sunny. Too sunny if you ask me. I could do with less cheer and more clouds and mist and drip, drip, drips of drop, drop, drops. I think it's becoming an obsession with me.

Just leave it on the Doorstep

"I know I've called twice today, but I really need to know when the kiln is going to be delivered.You see the owner of the shop is on vacation, and we're not open every day. Someone needs to be there to open the door so you can load it right into the building"

"Don't worry. I have the tracking number. Right? It's the one you gave me?"

"Yes, but there won't always be someone at the building. If the delivery people could call us a few minutes before they get to town we will make sure someone is there to meet them and open the door."

"Don't worry. I'll take down all your numbers and they will call you before they get there."

"Ok. Here are four numbers: my house number, Turtle's job, Claye's cell, and my cell number."

"Don't worry. I've got the numbers. They'll call."

That was Tuesday. On Wednesday, Claye got a call from her boss who is in the Caribbean. She came rushing into the living room to tell me the kiln was here. The delivery truck driver had read the number on the door of the shop and called him. So we jumped in the car and drove as quickly as we could to the shop ten blocks away. Too late. They were gone. But they left five hundred pounds of equipment outside on the sidewalk. Man! Doesn't anybody listen?

Nothing Quite Like an Early Morning Hike

Prayer for a Raging Tempest

The sun, as it rises this morning, 
is tranquilly bobbing in an apricot sea.
No rain in the sky, no rain on the radar, 
no promise of rain for the upcoming week 
Cracked and parched, limp and wilted, 
pale green of despair--are the fields that compel me to offer this prayer:

Lord, alter the winds 
that swirl in from the oceans
Send us clouds full of water, 
great sheets pouring down
Mists and drips, 
drops and torrents, 
splatting onto the rooftops
And thunder, that shatters the skies with its sound.

I'm not fond of lightning, but I'd gladly bear it...
Just send us some rain, Lord, I know you can spare it.





Alter; verb: Change or cause to change in character or composition, typically in a comparatively small but significant way.

Fond; adjective: having an affection or liking for; affectionate, loving.

Tranquil; adjective: Free from disturbance; calm.

So, Do you Think I should Lose a Few Pounds?

On dieting advice, you will find
That your sweet friends will say: Nevermind,
My dear, you're a star 
Just the way that you are!
Better find one who's brutally kind.

Sweet, Syrupy, Sweet
Delectable, Sugary,
Sweet, Sweet, Sweet Poison*















*As you might have deduced, I'm still on my diet. Sigh!

Bocce

So what are all those people doing standing there? They're playing what I call "poor man's golf" or "an activity for all ages to enjoy out on the lawn on a neither cold nor hot afternoon", in short Bocce Ball. 

 One person throws a small white ball, called a boccino, out on the lawn somewhere. Then everyone else takes turns throwing a colored wooden ball toward the boccino. Whichever ball lands closest to it gets a point for that team.

 In addition, any colored balls from that person's teammates, which have landed closer to the boccino than any ball from the opposing team also earn a point. If someone else's ball hits your perfectly placed one and knocks it away into neighboring yards, too bad.

Since each round must be played from the spot where the boccino rested last, each new throw causes the players to migrate.

It's a pleasant game for a warm evening...but I wouldn't rely on it for exercise.