AMERICA IN PERIL

This began as an email, as I forwarded this video to my list.  I decided to copy it here.



Friends, just in case there are still a few who think the concern over the spread of Islam is just a tempest in a teapot, I urge you to watch this five-minute video.  Much of Europe has already fallen, and whatever remains is under serious threat.  It IS happening.  

CLICK HERE

It can, and it will, happen in America.  It has already begun.  Just Google "Dearborn, Michigan."  Our leadership is doing nothing to stop it, and is in fact paving the way, by allowing religious freedom to be suppressed right here on our own soil.  That young man who found his mike turned off as he gave his valedictory speech and dared to mention the name of Jesus?  Remember that one, just a few weeks ago?  Well, what do you think would have happened if he had thanked Allah, or praised Mohammed?  Nothing, that's what.  Nothing.  No one would have dared to turn off the mike, or criticize his speech.  His guarantee of freedom of religion would have been honored and protected, because the Muslims would have had a global tantrum and accused us of not honoring our own Constitution by denying them their religious freedom.  However, when it's a Christian involved, we must be careful not to "offend" anyone.  I've heard of double standards before, but this one raises the bar.

In the past couple of weeks, a young woman at Sonoma State University in California was told by her boss at her campus job that she had to remove or hide the cross necklace she wore.  She didn't, and he insisted.   She pushed back and took it to the mat.  At that point, the chancellor intervened, apologized and said she could wear it.  He should have done so, and he did.  The point here, however, is that the girl's boss apparently felt that he would be supported in his orders to the girl.  The political climate, and the examples he's seen in the news recently, evidently gave him the courage to tell her she couldn't wear her cross.  Now, let's suppose she had been wearing a hijab - the headscarf Muslim women wear, or even the all-covering burqa.  Would he have told her she had to remove her scarf, or wear regular clothing instead of the tent?  Certainly not, because again, there would have been a Muslim backlash, a screaming hissyfit, probably complete with a few random bombings.

Why is this?  It's simple.  America is running scared.  Our government hasn't got the guts, the backbone, the cojones, whatever you want to call it, to stand up to these invasive extremists.  Barack has said he is a Christian.  Well, many years ago, my husband told me that you never listen to what a person says, instead you watch what they do.  He was right.  Our fearless leader fawns over Islam in all its manifestations, and is strangely silent or absent when Christians are being abused. 
 
I realize that probably 95% of the people to whom I'm sending this are aware of the problem.  I'm hoping you'll send this on, like ripples in a pond, because there may be a little percentage on your list, like mine, who haven't yet awakened to the threat we face.  If we keep things like this going, maybe somewhere in those ripples an answer will emerge.
 
"If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from Heaven, and will forgive their sins and heal their land!"  II Chronicles 7:14.
 
This is our only hope.  "If God be for us, who can be against us?"  Romans 8:31.  There's just one little hitch in this.  We must first be "for" God.  When you look at the moral climate of America today, drive by our empty churches, listen to the garbage our children are being fed in their "music" and other entertainment, consider that the very mention of God's name can be a punishable offense in some places, can we even dare to think that God would be "for" us, when we're so blatantly against Him?
 
America needs to wake up, and realize that we have only one hope.  We need to remember that He will not always battle for us, when we persist in ignoring Him.  Oh, He will not abandon us completely.  Like He has done over and over with Israel, He will always preserve a remnant, just as He promised.  But He did let them take their lumps in the past, and He may very well allow us to take ours. I don't think I want to find out what those "lumps" will be.  Today, more than ever, I'm glad I'm old.  Still, my heart breaks for my grandchildren.

DID YOU KNOW FLOWERS COULD SING?

I received this video link in an email from a friend, and sent it on to my family and friends. Then I thought to preserve it here on this little old blog. Here's what went out:

Thank you, Suzanne! This is a keeper. I've added a few corroborating scripture references. Enjoy, everyone! You'll find the link to the video waaay down at the bottom!

Isaiah 55:12 For you shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.

Luke 19:40 And he (Jesus) answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.

Psalm 148:5 Let every created thing give praise to the LORD, for he issued his command, and they came into being.

I Chron. 16:31-33 31 Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice: and let men say among the nations, The Lord reigneth. 32 Let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof: let the fields rejoice, and all that is therein. 33 Then shall the trees of the wood sing out at the presence of the Lord.


This is enough for me. If the mountains and the hills sing, and the trees clap their hands, and the very rocks cry out in praise of our Lord, I have no problem believing that the blooming of a flower is a song of praise as well.

I have a little plaque in my garden that reads "The kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of a bird for mirth. One is nearer God's heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth." It had been in my mom's garden for years, and I brought it home when we closed out their house. I thank God for parents who brought me up to know and love God, and to recognize the beauty He has placed all around us.

I sit at my big old window and look out over my yard, and there are already flowers everywhere. A bed of pansies is just so bright and beautiful, you can almost hear their voices when you walk near. The "windflowers" (ranunculas) are all dressed in red and blue, and sway in joyful song, in rhythm with the vagrant breezes this morning. A few daffodils have opened, their little center trumpets surely praising God. Some hyacinths have added their soft, pink and blue voices to the chorus, and judging by the fat buds I see rising, it won't be long until the rich altos and mezzo-sopranos of the irises will be heard. The roses have been deeply pruned, but it won't be long until they'll rise up, bud out, and take up the chorus. A few tiny crocuses remain, their little peeping voices must sound to the Lord like our little children sound to us when they sing at church.

Song - a gift within itself. The song of birds, the songs of children, the magnificent presentations of a mighty choir, the rumble of the voice of my husband so many years ago - a little off-key, but who cared? God surely gave us the gift of song to gladden our hearts, and how lovely to realize that the very flowers are singing, too. l will never look at a beautiful bloom again, without hearing its voice as well.

Blessings!

Lanni

Click : La vida de las flores

Children and Santa Claus - good or bad?

This little commentary has been brewing in my mind for some time now. It was sparked when I overheard a very earnest young woman remark that she did not allow her children to believe in Santa Claus, because he was just a myth, and once her children found that out, she feared they would not believe anything else she told them. To her credit, she was particularly fearful that they would not believe what she told them about God.

Well, I thought, she has a point. And so began the "brewing" process in my mind. Was she right? It all sounded so logical, so I resolved to give it a good "think" and see where I ended up. Here it is.

In all honesty, however well-meaning she might have been, I believe she was wrong. First of all, I have my own experience as an example. I was told of Santa Claus, he left me gifts each Christmas morning, my grandfather pointed out what was probably a passing airplane in the night sky on Christmas Eve, and told me it was Santa's sleigh, and trust me, I was a believer! I got in an awful schoolyard fight in the first grade, with a smug little girl who laughed at me for believing. I think that awful child is still there, in the first grade, over sixty-five years later, and she's still trying to burst other children's Christmas bubbles. Why don't her parents sit on her?

Anyway, as a believer in Santa Claus, I can attest that when I finally grew old enough to reason it for myself, and knew that the old gent was not real, at least not in the physical sense, I do not recall that my faith in God ever wavered. It was never even a question in my mind. Santa is a lovely story told by parents to their children, to foster the wonder and joy of childhood. God is a real presence, the One who fills that God-shaped void we all have in our hearts. The results of His existence are all around us, in nature, in the magnificent skies and all that lies therein, in the tiny smile on the face of a sleeping baby, and in the love we feel in our hearts for our families and our friends. Oh yes, God is real, and children accept that as they grow older, if they are taught, just as easily as they accepted old Santa when they were little.

Let's examine Santa for a moment. Every child knows that Santa is all-seeing, all-knowing, and wise. They know he wants the child to be good and loving and kind, just like Santa himself. He loves us, unconditionally. Oh, he expects good behavior, but if a child repents on Christmas Eve and decides he will always be "good", he finds toys, not switches, under the tree on Christmas morning. Santa always offers a second chance.

So - along about the time that a child begins to realize that Santa is not physically real, in most cases he is beginning to hear references to God and if his parents are God-followers, he is being taught about the wonders of God, and the love He has for us. He is hearing about the greatest Gift of all, the Son of God, who was given by God and who indeed gave Himself for us, to atone for our sins, because perfection is not possible for us. We just can't do it in our human frailty, but God has offered us a second chance. He loves us that much.

Some children do not have parents who teach them about God, but there is still that God-shaped void in everyone's heart, that need that causes us to seek an answer. I once had the opportunity to counsel with a young woman who wanted so much to trust God, but because we refer to Him as our Father, and she had been raised by a cruel and abusive father, she just couldn't let go and trust. Finally, she said the words that gave me the clue, and God gave me the words to respond. She said she wished her father could have been different. I asked her what kind of father she wished he had been. She replied, "One who really loved me." I said, "Well, God is that Father that you dreamed of. You didn't have a proper earthly father, but God has been there all the time. He does love you. All you have to do is reach out and acknowledge Him, and He will be your Father from now on." It was the answer she needed, and I thank God for giving me that answer.

So, maybe old Santa isn't a villain, a destroyer of children's fantasies. Maybe he's a gentle introduction to the wonders of God's love, in a form a tiny child can understand. A toddler isn't going to understand much about God, but they sure do catch on to the Santa thing early on.

It's not hard to imagine a loving father or mother, with a questioning child on their lap, explaining that Santa is real, in the sense that love and kindness and generosity are real. They can tell how he represents the loving spirit of God, who is indeed very real. Just as Santa brings joy and fun into a child's life, God brings joy and peace and yes, even fun, into the lives of His children, and it makes Him happy when we are happy, and it pleases Him when we go out and try to do good for others, and love each other.

One more thing, and I think this fits in here somewhere. My beloved former pastor, who has now gone on to be with God, used to carry candy in his pockets all the time, little wrapped candies. When the children in the church would see him coming, they would run to him, waiting for a piece of candy. He always ruffled their hair, called them "little part-time angels" and listened to their little stories. He explained it to me once, when he said, "I figure if I can get them to love the messenger, maybe later on they'll listen to the message." That's how I see Santa. He's a messenger, a forerunner, a stage-setter. Children learn to love the spirit of Santa, and it's not hard to transfer that love to the very real Spirit of God, and to trust Jesus, the one Gift above all other gifts.

Merry Christmas!

HAPPY FALL, Y'ALL!

I absolutely love this time of year. Spring is beautiful, all fresh and green and flowers everywhere, but this time - autumn - has a charm all its own. My yard is just beautiful right now. It's a bit shaggy, (OK, it's a LOT shaggy). The grass could use mowing, and leaves are lying everywhere on the lawn, and piling up in billowy drifts in the flowerbeds. Those that remain on the trees (and there are still a LOT) are a beautiful mixture of yellow, gold, red and still quite a lot of green). The crape myrtles quit blooming a few weeks ago, and are almost finished shedding their leaves, but the ones that still cling are a brilliant red. The biggest tree, or trees - it's actually a clump of six trunks - is now completely bare. My prized little Satomi dogwood out front is now in its second year, has grown several inches, and I think is going to make it. Right now it's sporting ruby-red, crinkly leaves and it's lovely. I'm hoping that next spring it will set the gorgeous blooms so typical of a dogwood, and which will result in beautiful red berries for next fall.

The planned-for reblooming iris are putting on their show. That was one idea of mine that actually worked out like I planned. I love iris, and have them growing all over the yard. Their bloom time, of course, is in the spring, and they put on a spectacular display then. Certain ones, though, are classified as "remontant", which means they will bloom again in the fall. I had a half dozen or so of those, scattered around the yard. Having one lone plant blooming here, another there, just isn't very impressive, so my friend Joe and his helper created a new flowerbed, up fairly close to the house, easily seen from my window. We took "pups" from the iris (iris can be both singular and plural) that I knew would rebloom, and planted them in the new bed. I also ordered about a dozen more from my favorite iris supplier. It's paying off - I've had a lovely display of iris out there for the past couple of weeks, and next year they will do even better. The blooms are surviving the colder weather very well, though I suspect a real freeze will get them. No matter, the plants will survive.

There are roses blooming all around the yard. The knockouts along the fences are blooming, and some of the bushes in the rose island are sporting fat buds and lovely full-blown roses. The impatiens on the back fence haven't felt the nip of winter yet, so are still blooming, though the plants look a bit tattered. The periwinkles I put around the pond last spring are nearly two feet tall and blooming madly. Of course, the pansies and snapdragons Joe just planted are blooming, and will continue to do so, even after winter hits. The lantana beside the path is still covered with yellow blooms, to the delight of the last stragglers of the butterflies that have moved through here for the past few weeks. There are mums blooming in random placement, the result of potted gifts after some occasion or maybe an illness - I always plant them after their initial bloom is done - just find a place and stick them in the ground. They will bloom every fall for years! Then, of course, all the nandina bushes (about fifteen in all, scattered around both front and back yards) are wearing great huge clumps of bright red berries, like Christmas ornaments. So pretty!

It smells of autumn out there. Spring graces our noses with the rich scent of new-mown grass, and bursting flower buds. Summer smells of heat and dry grass and someone's barbecue grill, and the promising scent of rain, if you're lucky. Winter freezes one's nose, but the fresh, clean smell of ice or snow or even just cold air somehow makes it through. Fall has its own unique scent, an earthy smell, an aroma of dry, crunchy leaves, and wood smoke from some impatient person's fireplace.

The things one can see from this window at this time of year! The birds are not as plentiful as they are in the summer, when life is good and they hang out around the feeders and seem to especially enjoy the birdbath. They'll be back in hungry numbers when the weather gets very cold, and especially if there's ice and snow, and while the birdbath will be ignored, the feeders and the flat feeding stones will be popular again. However, right now, with flowers and grasses everywhere going to seed, the birds are very independent. They don't need my meager offerings, their Father is feeding them abundantly right now, helping them store up a little fat for the cold that's to come. Once it arrives, and all the natural seeds have been eaten, they will accept my bread, crackers, suet cakes, cereal and store-bought seed, and will consider me to be God's emissary, charged with the responsibility of feeding them temporarily.

This autumnal dip in the bird numbers, however, does not mean that there's nothing to see here. The squirrels make up for the birds, never doubt it! They are out in numbers. They're frantically scurrying around, searching in and beneath the pear tree for an overlooked pear (they won't find any) and shuttling between my neighbor's pecan tree and my flowerbeds, burying a stash. I wouldn't mind, if they'd go back and dig them up later, but the little critters forget where they are, and in the spring I'll have a small forest of pecan trees sprouting in the beds.

They planted some of the peanuts-in-the-shell that I put out for them and the bluejays last spring, and when the peanuts sprouted, I allowed a few of the vines to remain. They flourished, there were peanuts in clusters beneath the ground. I left them too, and now the squirrels have returned and harvested their crop. Surprisingly, they replaced the soil where they dug the peanuts up, and I actually had to dig to be sure they're gone. They are!

The level of activity out there is high. I wish I had half their energy! They work hard, but still find time to play, and carry out their little flirtations. Two females have scouted out my nest boxes, and one, maybe both, have staked their claim. There will be babies in those boxes in the very early spring.

I love this time of year. Spring, I guess, is my favorite, when the yard has been cleaned up and groomed, and new bloomers planted, and all is bright and colorful and tidy. Summer is a struggle, with the heat, but the roses and lantana and a few other things thrive in it. Winter is a time of rest and repose, with only a few things popping up with a bit of color here and there. But Fall, that transition from summer's heat to winter's chill, is such a lovely, carefree time. Weeds have given up, neatness doesn't seem to count anymore, and the yard is just a somewhat untidy place of leaves and random flowers, where kids and dogs can romp, squirrels can dig with impunity, and the gardener can just relax and enjoy the casual beauty of it all.

God is good.

WHO FIRED THAT SHOT?

http://www.moonbattery.com/archives/2010/11/a-shot-across-o.html

Folks, this is really scary. I'll admit, I know nothing of the credentials or credibility of those who have prepared this and started it on its way. I'll grant that this event will probably end up in the same vault where the Roswell files are hidden - never proven, but never disproven either.

I'm not really hiding under my bed, thinking that the Chinese are about to overrun America. I do not believe that will happen. They won't need to resort to this, they'll just simply call in the loans!

Be that as it may, I have to say - what really scares me the most is that many, if not most of us are fully prepared to believe it. Our confidence in our government is so shaky right now, that we are prepared to believe that our defenses have been so weakened that something like this just might be true. We can believe that our own political structure, our own government and our defenses appear to the rest of the world to be so weak and so poorly supported that China or anyone else can just take a pot shot at us and get away with it.

The Islamic Arab world did it on 9/11, and got away with it. Granted, no "official" government was involved, so we couldn't go to war, like we did after Pearl Harbor. No, they're too smart for that now. Like the monkey using the cat's paw to pull his chestnuts out of the fire, the Islamic nations are using the deluded extremists among their people to do the dirty work for them. How do we retaliate? We can't!

Like I said, the scariest part is that we're prepared to believe this was a "shot across our bow" and nothing was done about it. Well, this is one American who just doesn't believe that our historic American spirit is dead. Maybe our leaders are running scared, maybe they're wimps, maybe they're even subversives intent on destroying us from within. That I CAN believe. However, I also believe in the remnants of patriotism, the last shreds of the spirit that fought WWI, WWII and that still is ready to try to protect the weak and liberate the oppressed where we find them, and that will most definitely defend our own shores.

I'd like to make a prediction here. I predict that if China or any other nation actually launches an attack against us, and our highly-questionable leaders don't respond immediately and forcefully, there is going to be an uprising of the American people that will make the Caine Mutiny look like a child's tea party. Hey, that's pretty good! A tea party. Where have I heard that before?? Seems to me that the American people have fired a "shot across the bow" of their own. Did you hear it, Mr. President? Are you listening?

HOW MUCH MORE ARE WE GOING TO TAKE?

It's hard to believe, but the lunacy contest continues. The idiots are on parade. It began with Ms. Napolitano and her daft Homeland Security department, with their outrageous policies and techniques. In their infinite wisdom (ha) they decided that we must now all pass through an x-ray scanner (creatively named a "back-scatter imaging machine") that provides a nude picture of your body to whomever happens to be seated at the viewing screen. It may or may not store, forward, transmit and/or sell those images to whatever voyeur might be interested - depends on whose accusation or denial you choose to believe. It also may or may not be harmless - no one has come forth with a total, unchallenged opinion on that. "Oh, just go on and pass through it, it probably won't hurt you."

Should you object to that, your option is to submit to a procedure lovingly named the "enhanced pat-down." The enhancement is that you get groped and felt up apparently quite thoroughly by a "same-gender officer." Well, that's comforting. Girls, have you seen some of those agents? Scary! I think I might just prefer a male agent!

Now, here's where the other side of the idiot's challenge comes in. The Muslims have flatly declared that their women will NOT be subjected to either screening procedure. No nudie photos, and no groping. Can't say I blame them, in fact, I'm on their side in this one. However, I'm pretty sure my two year old grandson could see the disparity, the mind-bending violation of American rights that is inherent in this whole situation. Just in case someone doesn't get it, though, I'll spell it out.

The whole purpose of all this touchy-feely stuff is to identify and stop potential terrorists, which of course have been Muslim extremists, about 99.9% of the time. Very few 80-year old nuns or three year old baby girls have proven to be terrorists. So, these Muslims are so concerned about the rights of their women (wow, I got a cramp in my fingers while typing that one!) that they are demanding exemption from the screening, and serious consideration is being given to granting them that exemption. Meanwhile, every non-Muslim American, male and female, who wishes to board an airplane is being felt up in airports all over the nation. How do you teach an innocent child that they are not to permit anyone to touch their bodies in such an intimate way, and then stand there and watch while the child is forced to submit to being groped by a total stranger? Answer that for me, Ms. Napolitano.

There are two points I wish to make, and I'm serious. I want to see Ms. Napolitano, on TV, going through a screening. I want to see her stand in the back-scatter box and allow it to bombard her body with the same radiation the rest of us are being asked to accept. Then I want her to step over to the gropers pen and stand there and submit to the "enhanced pat-down", and let us all see how easy and non-invasive it is. Don't tell us, Janet, show us.

Second, if they really do allow the Muslim women to pass through unscreened in any way, then I will buy or make a burqa, and it will become my traveling garment any time I'm flying commercial. If Muslim men can hire a prostitute and the relationship is called a "temporary wife", and it's legal in Islam, (don't believe me? Google it!) then I can be a "temporary Muslim" on the day I'm flying somewhere.

Where is this insanity going to lead us? When is it going to end? I can only pray that it ends with some voice of reason stepping in and saying "Enough!" - before it ends in a more forceful and destructive way. People have just about had all they're going to take.

TAKE THIS, AMERICA!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxFzFIDbKpg

Oh, dear Lord! How diabolical are those people? And how stupid are we? That mosque is nothing but bait. Very expensive bait, with the added benefit of providing an in-your-face insult to the American people. I doubt you could find so much as a three-year-old child who believes their propaganda of it being a gesture of respect, memorial, good will, etc., ad nauseum. No, it starts off as an insult, and will continue as bait.

Can you imagine what will happen once that monstrosity is erected? It will be egged, spray-painted, maybe even bombed - constantly. It will require a full-time guard, which the city of New York can ill afford to provide. It will be a sore thumb, sticking out there for every American to see, and to resent and hate. It will give the "peaceful" Muslims the thing they love the most - a cause. A reason to cry foul. An excuse to retaliate. They have taunted and insulted the rest of the world for several decades now, and America as well for quite a while, culminating on 9/11.

If this monument to mayhem is built, there will be war. You know it, I know it, and anyone with a teaspoonful of brain cells knows it. That's their plan. The thing will be used to goad, to taunt, to insult America until someone snaps, and the Muslims will then have their reason to escalate the jihad they have already declared against us.

Can you imagine? Suppose you're a New Yorker, who witnessed firsthand the horror on 9/11. You saw people jump to their deaths to avoid the inferno at their backs. You watched in disbelief as the towers buckled, first one, then the other, and collapsed in a flaming heap of torment and death. Maybe you stood in the streets and watched, or ran from the choking clouds of dust and debris that roiled down the canyons of the city. Perhaps you lost a friend, or even a family member in that holocaust. Or maybe you spent the day with your eyes glued to your TV set, as most Americans did, unable to wrap your mind around what you were seeing. We all became New Yorkers on that day.

Maybe you heard the screams from the almost three thousand people who died in that horror. Did you also hear, did you perhaps sense, the chuckles of satisfaction from the masterminds of the attack? They weren't in those planes, they were holed up in a cave somewhere, pulling the strings of their deluded puppets who thought they were earning a one-way ticket to Nirvana when they flew those planes into the buildings. Make no mistake, there are more puppets where those men came from.

Now imagine that you're in New York, standing at Ground Zero, at the memorials that have been erected, and you're remembering what you saw that day. You can still hear the roar, the screech of twisting metal, the screams of the dying. Then, amplified and spreading over the city, you hear the adhan, the Muslim call to prayer, which our President publicly stated was "one of the most beautiful sounds on earth." It is emanating from the huge obscenity that sits just a few yards away. The muzzein is calling the faithful to prayer. And the "peaceful" Muslims, from whose belief system the seeds of evil sprouted on 9/11, will troop inside, remove their shoes, spread out their little rugs and kneel with their faces to the floor, to worship the twisted manifestation of error they call Allah, or God.

With this in mind, how long do you think it will be before someone does something that will light their fuse once again? Build that embodiment of evil, that warehouse of hate, and there will eventually be war. I would hope not, I pray not, but I fear it will indeed happen. Dear God, how much can people take? You can't even carry a Bible publicly in their countries or they'll cut off your head, but they want to build that insulting edifice right alongside Ground Zero? The whole Islamic world is laughing at us now, with Barack Hussein Obama as our president, and they will be rolling in the aisles if this move is accomplished. God help us!

AN OPEN LETTER TO BLACK AMERICANS

It was time, and past time, for America to elect a black President. Had the right man been running, I would have voted for him. I believe that the election of such a man could have gone a long way toward healing many of the hurts that still plague this nation. When Barack Hussein Obama announced his candidacy, hope rose in the hearts of black Americans. That's understandable. He looked so good, like the answer to prayers. He's charismatic, delivers a speech remarkably well, as long as his teleprompter is working, and it usually does. He spoke eloquently of "hope and change." He promised to right the wrongs done to the down-trodden (presumably meaning blacks) over the years. He promised to share the wealth, to give everyone "a piece of the pie." Most important of all to a lot of people, he was black. I overheard one very young woman say, "Well, I voted for him. He's cute and he's black and that's all I needed to know." However, I also heard one older, more experienced black man say, "He's just an empty suit. He talks, but he doesn't say anything."

Yes, it's easy to see why the black community would vote for him, at least at first glance. However, let's dig a little deeper, let's examine the hope that was in the hearts of the voters, and let's take a look at what they got.

They thought they were electing one of their own. A black man, a brother, someone who understands, who was a part of their struggle over the years. Well, he's black, I suppose, at least partly. Never mind that his mother was lily-white, and apparently was a woman of unusual social and political proclivities. His father did have black skin, but he was a Kenyan, not an American black. So what we actually got was a half-blood Kenyan, someone who has absolutely no knowledge of what it means to grow up black in America. We needed a man who was a child in America in the forties and fifties, who might have grown up in Birmingham or Atlanta, who experienced segregation and separate water fountains, who personally remembers Selma, who might have been among the first students to integrate a school. We needed a man who knows what it feels like to hear his father addressed as "boy." We needed a man who slept on a pew in an AME church, with his head on his grandma's shoulder while his mama sang in the choir, and where the pastor preached love and forbearance and the promises of God.

Instead, we got a man who grew up in Indonesia, far removed from America, who was educated in Muslim schools, who still thinks the Muslim call to prayer is "one of the most beautiful sounds on earth." This man's black grandma, presumably, was still somewhere in Kenya, living in poverty and in the fear that dominates most Muslim societies, particularly for women. Little is known about his contact with his black family, but it appears that it was limited to a few visits. His white grandma wasn't beside him in church, either; instead, she and his grandpa were busy consorting with known Socialists, Marxists and two-bit terrorists. His mother deposited him with her parents at some point and left him, so we can imagine that he sat in their living room and absorbed a boatload of Marxist ideology.

His mother split with his Kenyan Muslim father, and later took up with an Indonesian Muslim. (There's just something about those Muslim men, apparently, to some women.) Little Barack was adopted by this man, and became "Barry Soetoro". He attended a Muslim school, registered as a Muslim. As nearly as can be determined, his Christian experience consists of listening to the rants of Jeremiah Wright, and that took place in the last twenty years or so, as he was being groomed for the political role he was to assume. His handlers obviously knew that an outright Muslim wouldn't be elected President of the United States, at least not yet. Still, his early background appears to be primarily Muslim, and as my own grandma used to quote, "As the twig is bent, so grows the tree."

So, to my black friends I would say - I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you were misled, sorry that the man you thought you were getting wasn't who you hoped he would be. I can understand why you voted for him, I really can. You had high hopes, and who can blame you? Now, as for those few of my white friends who voted for him, I have to say - I don't understand. I guess your daddy was a Democrat or something, and you just can't make the break.

So, we've got him for another two and a half years, and then we get another chance! That's the good news. This IS still America, at least for now. We don't have a dictator-for-life. Every four years, we get another chance, and if necessary, we can right a wrong. We and our children and grandchildren are going to spend a lot of years paying for this particular wrong, but at least we can start over and try to correct some of the democracy-threatening, Constitution-smothering, Socialist disasters he has created.

Again to my black friends - I would hope that you will start now, and find a man who really is what you hoped Barack Obama was. Find a man with a personal knowledge of the black experience in America. We don't need a hatred-spewing, pot-boiler of a man like Jesse Jackson or Jeremiah Wright, or a bitter zealot like Louis Farrakhan. We need a good and godly man, with solid political and administrative experience, someone who has actually held a job, one with great responsibility, and proven himself worthy. We need a man who loves America in spite of her faults, and who will work to rebuild her into the great nation she can and should be. Present such a man (or woman) and they will be elected. Black, white, brown or green, it doesn't matter. Color is not the issue. It's just as wrong to vote FOR a person because of their color as it is to vote AGAINST a person because of their color. What matters is WHO they are, and what they believe in, and that they have a positive vision for this country, this democracy, this America of ours. That's what matters!

IF YOU WORK THE SYSTEM, THE SYSTEM WORKS

In the last post, I said I'd tell you about someone who found out the system isn't as broken as we might think. Here goes:

Several years ago, I had an acquaintance who had serious health problems, no education, no job, not much going for her. She was a severe diabetic and couldn't have held a steady job if she had found one. When she was feeling up to it, she cleaned motel rooms for minimum wage.

She would run out of her glucose monitoring strips, and out of insulin, and her blood sugar would rise to life-threatening levels. At that point, she would appear in the ED at the hospital where I work, and would usually go into ICU for a couple of days, then another week or so in general care. During the last phase, she would attend classes in our diabetic clinic and would be sent home with a supply of strips and insulin.

Since this hospital receives no government assistance, it does not provide ongoing free care. The care she was given during her admissions was not intended to be free, but she would be admitted nevertheless, because that's the law. She was ill, and could not be turned away. She was admitted, with the hospital knowing full well they would eat the bill. The end result of all this was a bill totaling over $200,000. She volunteered this information to me one day, so that's how I know.

I asked her if she had ever considered going to Parkland's free diabetic clinic. She replied that she called once, but they gave her an appointment about six months down the line, and she got sick and went to our hospital before that time arrived. She said she would like to get in the clinic, but just couldn't wait that long.

I suggested to her that she wait until she knew her sugar was rising, then pack a lunch and a good book and go to Parkland's ED. I told her she would have to wait, but it would be worth it, because that would put her on the fast track for their clinic. I could tell she wasn't buying it, so I dragged out some bigger guns. I told her that many hospitals were struggling financially because of unpaid bills like hers, and that if it continued, there might come a day when we would no longer be there for her! She said she'd think about it.

Well, just under a year later, I encountered her one day and she was just joyful, gave me a big hug and thanked me over and over. It seems she had followed my suggestion, and went to Parkland's ED one morning. She waited all day, but was finally seen in the late evening. They treated her rising sugar levels on the spot (not severe enough for hospitalization), gave her strips and insulin, and made an appointment for her for the next week with the diabetic clinic. Through the clinic, she was given strips and insulin as needed, she received laser surgery on her diabetes-damaged eyes which halted the advancing damage, her ulcerated feet were treated and healed, and she was put on medication to help her neuropathy. She had a hot-button number to call if she was in distress.

Naturally, she was just elated, and for the first time, had real hope. Because Parkland is tax-supported, they can offer these things. She just needed to position herself to receive them.

The point here is simple. Healthcare is available, if you do your part first. Someone just looking at her pre-Parkland situation might conclude that our health care system was letting this woman down, but that would not be true. It is true that she can't just waltz into a private endocrinologist's office at her convenience, and be given everything she needs, all the time, with no requirements on her. For that matter, neither can I. In order to do that, I have to do something first. I have to hold a job that provides insurance, or I must pay the premiums on private insurance. If I don't - or can't - do that, then I would need to go to Parkland. I am able to hold a job, so I have insurance. She was not able, so her responsibility was to play by the rules and make herself available to the Parkland system.

I'm sure there are people who, for whatever reason, don't fit in anywhere. Maybe their income is a little too high for one and a little too low for the other. I don't know, but I do know there are those who fall through the cracks. I believe it's in this area that some tweaking of the system is needed. Identify these folks, determine what the glitch is, and fix it.

Along with that, identify the wasteful spending and plug the leaks. These measures would, in my opinion, go a long way toward fixing our "broken" system. I really don't think it's broken nearly as badly as we're being told. Let's fix the obvious things first, and then we can see if it needs anything more.

HEALTHCARE REFORM REVISITED

Well, it has been about five months since I last posted here, and it would appear things haven't changed much. The battle still rages over that ridiculous monstrosity our President and his Socialist comrades are trying to shove on us. They are employing their usual tactics - throwing up smoke screens, making ridiculous charges, trying to confuse the issue any way they can.

A favorite ploy is to accuse the conservative right of being so stupid that we don't even realize that healthcare reform is needed. This, of course, is utter nonsense. Of course we realize that reform is needed. It's just that we don't believe this bill is the answer. It's too complicated, no one understands it, few on the left have even bothered to read it, and it gives with one hand while taking with the other.

The left always assumes that the right has made an all-encompassing judgment. They never seem to understand that we can acknowledge a problem, but not necessarily fall in love with their solution. Case in point - our president. I have said many times, as have thousands of others, that America had reached a point where we were ready for a black President, that such a choice would go a long way toward healing the hurts that still exist in this country. Silly me - I guess I thought that when such a man was found and elected, he would be an American black, a product of this country. He would naturally have African ancestors, as all American blacks do, just as most of us American whites have European ancestors, but he would be an American born and raised, and would have some sense of what it means to be an American.

As I said - silly me. What did we get? We got a half-blood Kenyan, who spent most of his formative years outside this country, who does not share much of the experiences we all had growing up here, and who apparently does not even share the Judeo-Christian religious beliefs of the majority of our citizens. He says he does, but his actions and words spoken in unguarded moments cast doubt on that.

So, I'm still waiting for that black American President. If the Republicans have any sense at all, they'll find such a man, vet him VERY carefully, be prepared to disclose everything about him down to his shoe size and a copy of his first-grade report card, check his closets for skeletons and shake his tree to see what falls out, then run him against the incumbent in 2012. That should be extremely interesting.

Now, as for the original intent of this entry, to point out some things about healthcare reform. I repeat, we conservatives do see that there's a problem, and we acknowledge that reform is needed. This bill just isn't the answer.

One problem is in wasteful spending. Money is spent where it shouldn't be, which makes it impossible to spend it where it should be spent. Example - when my dad had a knee replacement, Medicare dictated that he was to have a bracing device that would force his leg into straight-leg extension, to be worn for an hour three times a day. It cost $1600 and Medicare paid for it. My dad didn't want it, told the doctor he didn't want it and wouldn't use it. The doctor told him Medicare would consider his treatment incomplete and would pay nothing, if he didn't order the brace. So we brought the thing home and put it in a closet.

My ever-resourceful dad took a large dishtowel, tied a knot in two opposite corners, and tucked large heavy cans of pork-and-beans in the resulting pockets. Sometimes he used 5-lb bags of flour. He then sat in his chair, heel up on an ottoman and hung the dishtowel across his knee. Voila! Straight leg! He could hang the towel there in two seconds, vs the ten minutes it took to strap into the brace, which was very heavy and uncomfortable. If he needed to get up, he just dropped his foot off the ottoman, and his make-shift appliance settled to the floor.

Final note - when cleaning out his home at his death, I found the brace, carried it around in my car trunk for a while, and finally gave it away. I tried to give it back to the rehab center, but they refused, explaining that those braces are "custom-fitted." That's wasteful, any way you slice it, and I suspect something similar happens every day.

We need to examine things like that - cut out the waste, trim the fat, ask questions like "Is this necessary? Is it effective?" We should go through the Medicare regulations and look for words like "always" and "must", or "never." Words with absolute connotations are usually a red flag, and bear investigation. My mother taught me - and surely yours did too - to "never say never." Good advice. In my dad's case, you can bet there's a line somewhere that reads something like this: "Rehab following knee replacement surgery must include the use of a custom-fitted brace in order to achieve straight-leg extension. Failure to do so will result in incomplete rehab and therefore will not be reimbursed." There's that "must." Why couldn't it say "Rehab following knee replacement surgery will have as a goal a return to straight-leg extension, and the therapist should employ any reasonable means to achieve that goal. If an appliance is necessary, it will be reimbursed."

Of course, all of this makes too much sense, and therefore would just never work in Washington. In order to pass there, any document must be confusing, obscure, double-tongued, and must have many little loopholes and pockets where pork can be tucked in. I wouldn't be surprised if the brace-makers had a hand in engineering the little requirement that resulted in my dad receiving a brace he didn't want or need.

I just have to say this, though. While the system is broken, it is perhaps not as broken as we are led to believe. In another entry, I'll tell you about a friend who found that out, much to her surprise.

Mike Rogers on Healthcare Bill

This first Youtube clip is interesting. It's Mike Rogers, (R-Michigan), on the new healthcare bill. Hooray for Mr. Rogers, he sees the truth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G44NCvNDLfc&feature=player_embedded


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOOfQOwcdBY&NR=1

The second one is just funny. It illustrates the difficulty one encounters when trying to make sense of nonsense, or trying to describe the indescribable. It's a bit like unscrambling eggs. Watch it once, maybe several times (it's very short), and then try to tell someone else what he said. Good luck! By the way, while you're in Youtube, check out some of the links on Mr. Waxman. He's actually pretty articulate. It's just on this preposterous bill that he loses it. I think that's understandable.

One more thing - we are never, EVER, going to get a "real" healthcare plan out of Congress until and unless they are made - forced, if necessary - to place themselves and their families in the hands of whatever solution they concoct. Right now, in the "let them eat cake", protected circumstances in which they dwell, they have nothing to gain by putting forth much energy to craft something other people can live with (literally). Nothing but their hope of reelection next time, but I'm not sure that has dawned on many of them. And even if they're booted out, who cares? They have a generous pension, for life.

Friends, I will be the first to agree that we need healthcare reform. This bill just simply isn't it. It needs to be scrapped, the laws changed so that Congress will have to personally live with whatever they craft, and then they can be given the charge to go out and come up with a plan for the nation as a whole. You can bet they'd come up with spun gold.

Of course, we all know that changing the laws to bring Congress under whatever national healthcare plan we have is not going to happen. To do so, Congress would have to propose the bill, and pass it themselves. Dream on, for therein lies the rub. Right now, Congress is like a six-year-old who is allowed to set his own bedtime, limit his own candy consumption, and stroll through any toy store, taking things off the shelves and never having to pay. Do you think he's going to voluntarily surrender that freedom and place himself under parental control? Ha!

I'm beginning to hold out some real hope that this bill will fail. However, the pork vendors are still at work, so we can't be too sure, not yet. Maybe with the passing of the Bull of the Woods, the climate may change a little bit on Capitol Hill, but I doubt it.We can only hope that there are enough men (and women) who think like Mike Rogers, to keep this travesty from passing.

DON'T TRY TO KID ME, BOYS!

This was sent to me by a friend. Thanks, Kathy. Check it out:


http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/2529545/A-bra-for-men-is-the-new-hot-item.html

This is absolutely the silliest thing I've seen yet. I no longer wear the things, since I no longer have anything to put in them, but back in the day, at a hefty 36C, I found them more annoying and confining than anything. I never liked them, and would go without when possible, such as when wearing a sweatshirt.

Just to illustrate how brain-washed we women are, I spent several years, a lot of money and effort and endured a lot of frustration after my surgeries, trying to fake a "chest". First it was just one, in which case I had no choice, obviously. One can't run around one-sided, though I did, at least at home. That was a real bother, over a period of more than twenty years. The fakes never matched up with the real one, and they were heavy, hot and expensive, as much as $300 each. Also, they required constant readjusting. Miserable.

Then several years ago, when the remaining one was removed, I thought I'd find it easier to match up since both were fake, and could go smaller and lighter, with little bags of fluff instead of the heavy silicone things. etc. Well, it didn't work too well. The surgeries weren't identical, so what works on one side doesn't work on the other. "Small and light" is a pipe dream, too. I quickly found that weight helps a lot in keeping things in place, while "light" tends to migrate to astonishing locations. However, weight soon digs the straps into one's shoulders and becomes very uncomfortable. Also, if a heavy fake did manage to escape its holder, it would drop to the floor with a thud. That wouldn't be cool.

A regular bra refuses to stay in place, and is constantly riding up. You must remember, there is no longer anything there to hold it in place. (Those men in the "man bras" are going to have the same problem.) Oh, the specialty shops offer all sorts of contraptions - I call them industrial strength bras. They're equipped with all manner of straps and pulleys, and have snaps, hooks, velcro and laces. There are sewn-in pockets to keep the heavyweights from falling out. For the problem of "riding up", they have a three-inch wide band with a rubberized layer next to your skin, and the whole thing is fitted so tightly that breathing becomes your highest priority and you forget all about the weight of the straps on your shoulders. Naturally, that rubberized part quickly becomes hot and irritating, and blisters are a distinct possibility.

These things wear on one's patience at times, and once in a while, I confess I think "why me?" I don't tarry long at that place, though. Cancer happens, and for some, the outcome is not good. When it happened to me, I was one of the blessed ones. Even though the first one was in a fairly advanced stage, through the hands of a good surgeon, the skill of a good oncologist during a year of treatment, and most of all, the blessings of a loving God in response to the prayers of a whole lot of family and friends, I am now thirty years down the road from that original cancer, with no recurrence. The second one was an incidental, a new occurrence caught in a microscopic stage after an elective surgery done to try to simplify the prosthetic situation. We didn't even know it was there until after the surgery, and Pathology found it. No treatment was needed. Again, God was good. That forces me to ask again, from a different perspective, "why me?"

After that second surgery, I struggled for a few months with this bra and that one, this prosthesis and that, even tried birdseed in a nylon stocking tied to make a small bag (suggested by a friend who knows a female impersonator and that's what he uses!) My birdseed promptly got ants in it, so that didn't work too well.

Believe me, I've tried everything. So, one day as I was pinning, and nipping and tucking, adjusting and sweating, it hit me. Why on earth am I putting myself through this?? I've done nothing wrong, committed no crime or sin, I simply got breast cancer. No fault of mine, I was a random victim. It happens. I am not required to punish myself because of it. I pulled off whatever annoying thing I was working with at the time, stuck it in a drawer, and there it remains, with all the other relics of my attempts to look like I once did. (I threw the birdseed out to the birds, ants and all.)

The best option I've seen so far was discovered by a friend with a similar problem. She just wears a little cotton camisole, pins her little fluffs to it in the appropriate places, and pins the camisole to her panties so it won't shift around or ride up. It works for her. I hate it. First of all, she's thin and I'm not, and I think that makes a difference in how the whole plan works. Also, she's always cold, and I'm always too warm, and that camisole under whatever else I'm wearing doesn't help. Still, as I said, it's the best option so far, and one of these days, maybe if I lose a little weight and cool off some, I might employ it. Or I might not.

For now, I'll continue to do as I've done for the past six years or so. Go without. So sue me. I have no gripe, no complaint, no whine. I have only gratitude that I've been given these last thirty years, and with God's approval perhaps a few more. Without those years, I probably would have seen only two of my ten grandchildren, and perhaps only one, if the disease had moved rapidly. If I look a little funny, I really don't care. Well, that's not entirely true. I do care, a little bit, but not enough to make me put up with the discomfort and inconvenience of trying to simulate what is no longer there. Okay, that's not completely true, either. I do have this new bra, which shows a bit of promise, but I don't care enough to make trying it out a priority. I've had it for two weeks and haven't worn it yet.

Now, to speak to the original point of this whole thing - who on earth do the makers of those "man bras" think they're kidding? And who do the wearers think they're fooling? “They’re not interested in cross-dressing, they just find wearing a bra relaxes them.” Oh, please. Give me a break. Come on, girls - just how "relaxed" does your bra make you feel? What's the first garment you shed when you get home, after you get your blouse off? Right! Please don't try to convince me that there's anything remotely "relaxing" about wearing a bra! That dog won't hunt, it really won't.

Apparently this phenomenon originated in Japan. I suppose the men will be mincing around in kimonos next, wearing big black wigs with knitting needles stuck in them, and trying to convince the world that they feel "more relaxed." Come on, Japan, admit it. You've got the same problems we have, yours are just still in the closet. Sorry, but all the well-worded advertising hype in the world isn't going to hide the truth.

A woman with two mastectomies is never going to look perfectly natural, and a man wearing a bra is never going to look relaxed. It's a law of nature, like gravity. And as we all know, it's not nice to fool Mother Nature.

NANNY, NANNY HAS MADE A BOO-BOO

Dear Reader...

Please take a minute to follow this link:

http://townhall.com/columnists/TerryJeffrey/2009/07/08/the_light_bulb_liars

I haven't vetted this article through my usual, trusty Truthorfiction.com. The reasons are: it is from a well-known news-reporting agency, and I have read and confirmed everything in this article before, when doing my own Google searches on the silly little curly light bulbs, and was as astonished then by the contradictions as I am now.

One very official-looking document I read gave detailed instructions for cleaning up a broken fluorescent bulb, part of which is repeated in the attachment here. The one I read went into greater detail with regard to ventilation, using sticky tape to pick up fragments, and using a wet paper towel to wipe over the area. It assumed the break was on a hard surface - (I guess they just don't break over carpet) and then went on to state that the clean-up materials and the broken glass must then be placed in a plastic Ziploc bag, and that bag placed inside another one. I notice this article mentions a glass jar with a metal lid. It is then deemed safe to put it in your garbage, as the double bagging (or the jar) will keep the mercury from escaping into the environment.

Excuse me? Have any of you ever visited the local dump? Well, I have. The garbage is piled into huge hills and dunes, and is continually being pushed around and redistributed by huge, chugging bulldozers. If one of those little double-bagged packages or a glass jar (with a metal lid!) survives being mauled by a bulldozer, then all I can say is, the Ziploc manufacturers are missing a wonderful Kodak moment to use in their ad campaigns. Also, when I die, my kids can save a lot of money by just burying me in a big mayonnaise jar.

Another recommendation is to return the bulbs to the place where you bought them, or to your local Fluorescent Bulb Recycling Center. Well, to the best of my knowledge, we don't have one of those critters around here, so I ran a little test. The last time I visited Lowe's, I walked up to the service desk and spoke to the young man behind the counter. I lied and told him I had a broken fluorescent light bulb in a double plastic bag in my car, and wondered if I could return it there for recycling. He just stared at me, and finally called his manager, who also stared at me and stammered something about "that disposal system has not been set up yet." So - it would appear that if you're planning to break any fluorescent bulbs, you had better wait a year or two.

Now, do I use any fluorescent bulbs at all? Yes, two. The light in my front hall bathroom stays on at all times, simply because I don't like having a whole section of my house in darkness. It is a visible light to anyone passing by, and if I go into the entry for something, that whole three-bedroom section down the front hall is not a dark cave. Also, the lamp beside my chair in the living room remains on. That one lamp illuminates the central core of the house well enough that I could see anyone who might enter, well before they could see me. My house is three rooms wide and three rooms deep, basically a square, so the center does not have windows. A light is a necessary thing for me, since I live alone. I'm not afraid, but I am cautious.

Also, if someone develops a fluorescent bulb that will work in my colored landscape lights out back, I'll gladly use them. They come on at dusk and go off at dawn, and I won't mind their two-minute warm-up. There are seven of them, and I wouldn't mind at all having energy-saving (and money-saving!) bulbs in those fixtures. However, to the best of my knowledge so far, such a bulb is not available. If anyone has different information, please let me know.

Though I hate the greenish light the things put out, I'll put up with it in those two continually-burning fixtures. However, for lights that are frequently turned off and back on, the fluorescents are unacceptable. When first turned on, they are very dim, emitting a sickly, pale green light, and they take a good two minutes to achieve their full potential. I'm not about to put up with that. By the time the thing is bright enough to be functional, I'd be turning it off again. Who needs that? Also, most of the lights in this house are on rheostats, or dimmers, and the fluorescents don't work well in them. They whine, buzz, ring, and usually go out. So instead of a nice, subdued, candle-glow light, you have a choice of bright greenish glare (eventually) or nothing. Can you tell I don't like the fluorescents? Any woman who has ever tried on a swimsuit in a department store dressing room will not have a very positive opinion of fluorescents, either.

As usual, government has gone off half-cocked, and mandated a Chicken Little action in response to a report that the sky is falling. Thank you, Al Gore. Wonder what kind of bulbs he uses in that energy-guzzling house of his? http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/g/gore-bush-houses.htm

Why does government always take an all-or-nothing approach to things, insisting on being our nanny, our policeman, our boss? Why not make both bulbs available, and let people make their own choice? The fluorescents are fine for long-term, continuous use, and the incandescents are much more attractive for short-term, on again-off again use. Mr. Gore might just be surprised how many of us would make good choices. Not all-encompassing choices, perhaps, but enough to make a big difference. Most people would probably weigh the pros and cons of the things, and use them where they can, as I have - or would, if the bulbs I need were available. Why can't we be trusted to make good decisions? Most of us would, I think. Any good parent knows that most children will respond well when given reasonable choices, but will balk and resist when everything is an order, never a request. But no, it has to be a big old hairy law, forcing us to use the bulbs everywhere, whether we like them or not.

Personally, every time I visit the grocery store, I buy a couple of boxes of incandescent bulbs. I now have enough of them stored in my garage to last until I leave this planet, but just in case, I'm still buying them. Who knows? Maybe I can sell them on the black market in a few years and get rich.

Be blessed, my friends.

SPRING SPRANG, AND DEPARTED.

We are now well into July, and this is the first time I've visited the blog since my granddaughter's wedding. I'm glad I have those memories to fall back on, because the yard surely looks different now!

The heat has taken its toll. My pansies are gone, fainted dead away. The snapdragons are all gone as well, as are almost all the dianthus. I'm glad I planted some petunias around and between the cool-weather lovers, since without them there would be almost no color out there. There are a few roses, the crape myrtles are starting to bloom, and the oakleaf hydrangea is fully loaded with reddish-brown blooms. An interesting plant, the oakleaf. The blooms start out snow white, just elongated clusters called pannicles, many reaching over a foot long. Once they're all open, they begin to turn pink. First they're a faint, shell pink, then they darken until they're a russet red. Finally, the red turns into a mahogany brown, and that's how they remain, into the winter. The bush itself is a thick, sturdy, handsome shrub in its own right.

My beloved irises are long since finished, but a few of them are remontants, and will bless me with another show in the fall. The plumeria is fully leafed out, but so far has no flowers. My friend Beverly has a couple, and both of hers are blooming. I think I'll have to go have a chat with mine. There are a few tired roses, borne on heat-wearied bushes. I need to deadhead those bushes, maybe just go on and prune them deeply, and I'll get another flush of blooms in a few weeks.

It's a constant battle to maintain the pond. The sun causes the algae to proliferate unmercifully. I have a UV light set up on one of the water lines, and it kills the algae that's released in the water, but more is growing and setting itself adrift from the matrix on the sides and bottom all the time. The light keeps it under control so the water isn't green, but the box filter catches all the dead algae and about every twenty-four hours, it has to be pulled up, dismantled and washed out. If this isn't done, the main pump can't run, the waterfall stops, and the fish don't get sufficient aeration. Eventually, the pump will burn out, so I'm careful to clean the filter when it's needed.

The sun. Ah, yes, the ever-present, unrelenting, brutal Texas sun. I finally bought a nine-foot-wide beach umbrella, bright blue, and it helps to shade the pond, thereby reducing some of the sun exposure and slowing the algae growth to a small degree. It's a handsome umbrella, quite reasonable at under $100, tilts, and cranks to furl or unfurl it. It has an airvent in the top, with a circle of loose fabric covering the opening. I named it Fatima, because when it's collapsed down, it looks for all the world like a Muslim woman in a burqa.

My dear friend Eloise bought me an early birthday present. It's a bronze fish, poised on his belly, with his head and tail arched into the air. With the aid of a pump in the pond and a line connected to a point beneath him, he spits a jet of water back into the pond, thereby providing additional aeration. He's adorable, and useful as well.

As I said, the yard is looking pretty tired. That goes for the local wildlife too, especially the birds. I've never seen such tacky-looking birds, as the specimens who are haunting my yard these days. Skinny, molting, sad-eyed critters, of a variety that under the best of conditions would not necessarily be called "pretty", and right now, "tacky-looking" is a compliment. Absent tail feathers in most cases, and when they do have one or two, they're bent or broken. The poor things are hot, and they just stride around in the yard, beaks open, tongues protruding, looking frantic.

There are numerous water sources out there, including a very nice birdbath which I wash out daily and refill, and which is filled again at night when the sprinklers run. There's a large flat boulder with a natural depression, and I keep that washed out and filled as well. Then there's the little fountain/waterfall at the pond, and it always draws a crowd. I keep seed out as well, because I know they're just too hot and tired to hunt for food, and there's plenty of water. I don't know what else I can do to help them, but they just look so pitiful. The cardinals, mockingbirds, bluejays, flickers, robins and sparrows all seem to be doing okay. The grackles are a little ragged, but it's those other birds - cowbirds or whatever they are - that seem to be faring the worst. I haven't seen any starlings in a couple of weeks - I wonder where they went? Wherever it is, I hope they stay.

The squirrels haven't been around as much lately, either. They come by early in the morning, eat their fill if there's fresh feed out, or snuffle through the grass if the table has not been set for them yet. They jump up on the big birdbath and get a drink, or sometimes give me a special show when they come to the little tiled birdbath beneath my window. It has a small boulder beside it, so they can perch on the boulder while they drink from the birdbath. This puts them only about five feet away from me, and they can see me, but they don't seem to mind. Occasionally one will jump onto the window ledge just a couple of feet from me, and will peer in at me, or scratch on the glass, as though to say, "Hey, lady! We need groceries out here!" I usually respond to the demand, and the squirrels will skitter up the tree when I open the back door, but I'm barely back in the house when they're in the middle of the offering I've left them, munching seeds and carrying peanuts away to be buried.

I have amazing things that sprout up in my garden, things I never planted, but they're there. I'm picking tomatoes now from a vine I never planted, there is a cornstalk in the rose island, and last year there were peanut vines everywhere, which produced a lot of peanuts, which were in turn harvested by the furry little peanut farmers. My pear tree is drooping with a heavy load of pears, but the squirrels will get most of them. I don't care, I hope they enjoy them.

The Bible says "To everything there is a season." This seems to be the season for being hot, sticky, weary and thirsty, but just think how good that first cool Texas Norther will feel!

AMANDA'S WEDDING

It's one of my favorite things to do, to sit at this window and look out into the back yard. Now, after the events of a couple of weeks ago, it's even more soul-satisfying, because I have such a lovely memory to enjoy.

On the Saturday before Easter, my granddaughter was married, right here in my back yard. It was a beautiful, simple ceremony. It was not without a small glitch here and there, but what wedding is? That only adds to the fun. The primary responsibility for the preparation fell to me, because of the geographical constraints. The bride lives in Port Aransas, eight hours away, and her mother lives in Fredericksburg, four hours away, but the wedding was to take place here in Irving. That pretty much translates to me doing most of the preparation. Not a problem. I volunteered, after all, and it was a total joy.

I couldn't believe how people stepped up and took an interest in the whole thing. My trusted friend, Joe, who has been the driving force behind the development of this yard of mine was on the bandwagon from the beginning, a year ago. He helped me plan and prepare, and kept me on course. He was here several times during the weeks before the wedding, with his helper Jorge, and they groomed and pruned, pulled any weed that was bold enough to lift its head, and planted flat after flat of "bloomers". They planted some new roses, and carried in some temporary potted things. His brother, who happens to be my neighbor, and owns the garden center where I obtain about 95% of what is planted here, also joined in. He loaned me some plants which I would not normally have bought, but which were needed for this occasion, and would not allow me to pay rent for them. Good friends, and God.

A large part of my joy in the memory is in reflecting upon the effort which God put into making the day perfect. For ten days beforehand, the long-range weather forecast had been threatening us with rain, and my only backup plan was to move the whole thing (65 guests) into my living room. Eeek! Not only that, but due to the very warm weather we had in March, most of the irises were in full, furious bloom, and I had every reason to fear that they would be finished before the wedding. The roses, because of the current cool weather, just sat there, beautiful bushes with tiny buds, and refused to progress. I had visions of a wedding with no flowers.

I had arranged for a friend, who plays just about any musical instrument, to bring his keyboard and play the wedding music. Two weeks before the wedding, he very reluctantly informed me that he couldn't do it, as his family had tickets to fly to the East coast to visit his son. When he agreed to play, he hadn't realized it was the same weekend. He felt terrible about it, but I understood. Wives make arrangements, men just carry the luggage and get on the plane when they're told to do so. I do understand that.

Still, I had to regroup. I thought of a church friend who is active in the local high school music programs, called her, and she put me in touch with one of the directors. No problem. She would arrange for a nice little string quartet of talented kids. God had fixed it for me.

During the week before, the weather remained cloudy and cool. The irises slowed down without the sun to coax the flowers out. My pansies fairly burst with color, and redoubled their bud-setting efforts, loving the cool weather. A few rosebuds swelled with promise. We had one little rain shower, which turned the already-green grass a vibrant emerald. God again.

While I was wearing myself to a nub trying to get the house clean (why, I don't know, as everyone would be outdoors), my neighbor mentioned that she had a lady in her house helping with some cleaning. Hmm. Would she be interested in a couple of hours more work when she finished? Yes, she would. So I met the helpful Rue, who came over and in two hours had dusted my office, living room, and dining room, and vacuumed those rooms and the sunroom and kitchen. They are large rooms with a lot of furniture. She also helped me unload at least twenty bags of groceries from my car and put part of it away.

When I asked her what I owed her, she wouldn't say, just told me to give her whatever I thought it was worth. I gratefully gave her $40, because her help had gotten me to a point where I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and could even imagine being able to go to bed that night. So, imagine my shock when tears came to her eyes and she gave me a hug, and whispered that I would never know how badly she needed that amount right then. Then she said, "God must have known I needed you." She needed me?? Later, I learned that my neighbor had employed her through an agency, and Rue would not be paid by them until the next week! I think that $40 was all that stood between Rue and her children, and hunger for the weekend. God again.

A couple of weeks before the wedding, my trusted and reliable friend Ted, who does all the repairs, electrical work and such around this house was here to repair a decaying door facing on the back door. In doing so, he discovered termite damage. He recommended an exterminator. I've learned to trust Ted's recommendations, and so I called Johnny to come and dispatch the termites. He did, and I enjoyed a couple of hours of conversation with a delightful young man, a devoted Christian and family man. I told him about the wedding, and he was very interested. I made some offhand comment about hoping the mosquitoes wouldn't be too bad. On the day, I never saw a single mosquito. Later, I learned that Johnny had dropped by a couple of days earlier, while I was out, and had sprayed all the shrubbery with an organic compound that repels mosquitoes. No charge. God again.

Good Friday was cloudy, with a tiny sprinkle here and there, but no rain. Then Saturday dawned beautifully clear, still cool but not cold, soft breeze making the trees sway gently. Irises I hadn't even realized were budding suddenly unfurled huge, ridiculously beautiful flowers, and even some of the roses opened. My favorite, the lavender-pink Angel Face, had nine large, perfect blooms on its compact little bush, each one redolent with the intoxicating fragrance that seems to belong to Angel Face alone.

That rose is special to me. My dear little Maltese dog, Sugarplum, was my companion for nearly thirteen years. I lost her a year and a half ago, and she's still sorely missed. I often called her Angel Face, and when I saw that little rose in a catalog, I knew I had to have it. It's a sturdy little thing, and blooms so beautifully, but never more beautifully than it did on the day of the wedding. God again.

The day was absolutely beautiful, all day. Bright and clear, stayed cool enough for comfort, even though the sun was bright. The caterer, a friend from work, had a very competent crew working in the kitchen during the ceremony, and afterward, while pictures were taken, they brought in and set up large round tables all around the yard, so people could be seated and eat comfortably. Everyone just brought their chair from where they had been near the arbor, and sat at whatever table they chose. The caterer had set up a little tent, and served the simple food from there, and all went smoothly. Then the caterers cleaned up, removed every vestige of their preparation, left my kitchen cleaner than they found it, and left the yard completely free of any debris. God again.

Because of the cloudy week we had just come through, there was absolutely no algae in the pond, and the pumps were running smoothly. The fountain burbled happily, like a soft, tinkling hymn playing in the background. The little umbrella fountain made its glass-like bowl over the water, smooth and silent. The water was crystalline, the fish clearly visible, bright and beautiful. God again.

The string quartet consisted of three lovely young girls in long black dresses and one young man in a tux. They played beautifully, their sweet string music drifting through the yard. Then Amanda came down the stone pathway, so beautiful, looking like an angel, with her perfect figure in her gorgeous dress. She moved so gracefully, to the familiar strains of the wedding march, performed perfectly by the little quartet. It was much more appropriate in the outdoor setting than my friend's keyboard would have been. God again.

My two little grandsons served as ringbearers. Each carried a ring, since it was a double-ring ceremony. They behaved beautifully, looked so handsome, and did exactly what they were supposed to do, right on cue. Charming!

When she decided to have the wedding here, Amanda realized that her pastor in Port Aransas would not be able to do the ceremony, and was wondering who could do it. I remembered that Ted is also a licensed minister. I mentioned it to him, and yes, he'd be happy to do it. Amanda knows Ted, and happily agreed, and so it was that my friend Ted stood under the arbor with Amanda and Kelly on that Saturday before Easter, and heard their vows, and pronounced them husband and wife. It was just what Amanda had wanted - a simple ceremony with family and friends. God again.

When the bride and groom were making their getaway, in a limo so very thoughtfully provided by a friend of the bride's mother, everyone stood out on the driveway and showered them with birdseed and rice. (The local birds were delighted the next morning.) Just as the car pulled away, a light misting began, which later progressed into a sprinkle and some actual rain that night, but not a drop fell on the wedding. God again. He stayed with me all through the week, opening doors and smoothing the path, and stuck with us all right to the final getaway.

Lovely memories. In a little while, my precious daughter-in-law Brittney, who was the official photographer, will have pictures ready and I'll enjoy them so much. Meantime, I can sit at this window and visualize every moment of that day, in my memory. Sometimes, that's even better than pictures! Thank you, God.

MORE SPRING!

Yesterday, I sat at this window and probaby spent too much time, just ruminating on the beauty of nature and the joy it brings. I think it must have given God a great deal of pleasure to design this world we live in, making it so lovely that it can cause us to forget what we're supposed to be doing and just sit and gaze upon it. If a backyard in Irving, Texas, can cause that response, just imagine what a Rocky Mountain vista, or a helicopter flight over Maui, or a trip through Grand Canyon could produce. Still, since I'm not likely to ever again have the opportunity to drink in one of those sights, I'm content to sit at my window and contemplate the beauty on the other side of the glass. Indeed, I'm grateful for the opportunity.

It was one of those green and gold days, fresh, warm and bursting with life. Just how much life, I was soon to discover. As I sat looking out at the swelling buds on the iris, and the white froth of bloom on the spirea, I caught a movement beneath the shrubbery. Thinking it was the neighbor's cat, back for another attempt to catch some hapless creature that had come to feast at my feeders, I reached for my sprinkler remote control. But no! It wasn't the cat! It was a large gray possum!

Now, that's a completely different story. Not only do I not mind his presence, I welcome it. He doesn't bother birds, squirrels, or me. He does, however, root around and dig up grubs that would cause damage in my yard. Yes, he leaves a few holes, but I can kick the dirt back in with the toe of my shoe, and there's no permanent damage. The little holes are shallow, and in fact they probably help to loosen and aerate the soil.

I reached for my ever-ready camera, and got a couple of shots of him as he bumbled along through a flowerbed. They're a bit hazy, as they were shot through the windowpane, but he's clearly visible.



Today is another beautiful day, just as pretty as yesterday. The temperature is a pleasant 81, with a balmy breeze causing the trees to sway slowly in their new, soft green dresses, like young girls in a gentle minuet. I just love this time of year.

I haven't seen the possum today, but I suspect he/she is around. Actually, I think it may be a female. You can't tell it in the pictures but it was one portly possum, especially around the middle, so there may be little possums soon. I hope so. I will definitely keep the camera charged up and ready, should that little parade appear. Not likely, though. Possums are mostly nocturnal - yesterday's appearance was a bit rare - and I doubt that a mama possum would bring her babies out in broad daylight.

I may get to see them, however. I have a night vision scope, and often am treated to things that I wouldn't be able to see otherwise. Just can't photograph them, unfortunately.

Well, I'm off to buy more impatiens. I finally found a nursery that has some in the color I want, so need to go get them. I'll take little Toye Starr along, the nurseries never seem to mind, and she loves to go with me.

Peace, friends.