Isn't Life Wonderful

(Dedicated to Sarah and Mike.)

This morning I awoke to a wonderful world. God has given us a nice cool cloudy morning and the pollen has my allergies on full alert which keeps my nose on a regulated drip. When I jerked my first cup of the day I dripped a long line of coffee across the wife's white tile floor. Both The Drudge Report and Fox News report possible hostilities in the Ukraine. Much of our nation is under a cold blanket of white and Susan's old goat died. She reportedly cried for three days. She emailed and said her will to live and work the land of her organic free range homestead had come to an end, and asked what price should she paint on the for sale sign.

Take it easy. Relax, for Pete's sake.

Millions across this great country are without work, or purpose, and find the meaning of life pointless. 'Ole Harry Sanders, out in his desert cabin, found dried mouse turds in his beer. It's said he almost commented suicide over the waste of it. Marriage has become secondary to the thrill of momentary lust. The lack of funds, money problems and corporate layoffs, have taken a great toll on otherwise rock solid relationships. Hundreds of thousands have lost their healthcare and suffer pain needlessly.

Want my advice. Smile. Cheer the heck up. Pet your dog and kiss your wife. Take your grandchildren, or your pet, for a walk. Enjoy the snow, or the rain, or the gray black satin city streets and while you're there, reach over and give your neighbor a handshake. God is good - He's given you life.

Granted, we live in a changed America. Yes, we have beyond a shadow of a doubt the most inept destructive presidential administration in our nation's history, but trust me, we'll walk out together, hand in hand, from the other side.

I receive, as Little Bit is fond of saying, 'whole lots of email.' Many I truly enjoy. Others, not so much because the latter are inevitably filled with lost hope and most of all, fear. They begin, "Mr. Stephen, Harry lost his job and we just don't have enough money to buy beans and bullets and our bread has grown moldy and what should we do? Oh my Lord we're scared and the world is about to end, please help us." I paraphrased, of course. Bless their hearts.

(I write this tongue in cheek but I take your letters seriously, and with respect, and treat all confidentially.)

Hey, folks, chill out. Smile. Take a deep breath and relax. Trust me, if the world ends tomorrow a bag of beans will not help you one little eddy bit. Several years in the past I gathered together a group of friends. It took me over four years but eventually I found several nice families with like minded world views much like mine own. I restricted my search to hardened military minds, men of violence. My first advice to these men, are you ready for it - 'Don't Live In Fear, Live Prepared.' Today each of these men, some combat vets, are gentle, intelligent, fun loving, men. They walk through life with a smile on their faces and live life to its fullest.

Why, because they are not afraid. They take life's lumps with heads held high, and because they know the rest of the group has their backs and God will provide. They don't complain. They don't whimper and cry for they know tomorrow will be another beautiful day under His beautiful benevolent care.

No person need walk through life in constant fear, it isn't healthy. Just because you're a Prepper (or Survivalist) do not allow the lifestyle to badge you paranoid. You have friends, family, and if you are a believer in a higher power - God and His church.

Paranoid gives birth to fear and fear is a sneaky old bitch. It warps the gray matter and whispers bad advice. It'll make you climb trees for sleep and one morning you'll awaken to find you've lined the walls of your home with canned tomatoes and you'll have coated your underwear with lead and when you glance into the mirror find loaded magazines dangle from your ears instead of those pretty diamonds Jesse gave you for Christmas.

Hey, relax. I'm here. I too suffer from depression and I still function, sort of. I'll be your friend. If you must, write me. I'm well aware times are difficult and the unemployment check is late or is about to reach its expiration date, but please hang in there - you are loved. You will find a new job.

Which brings me to this: those prepping supplies will wait. When money is tight - take a friggin break. It isn't necessary to buy twenty extra rounds of ammunition. Leave off on the beans and pressure bandages. Stockpiling that extra one hundred gallons of gasoline can wait until next Spring. Take care of your children and families. Pay the mortgage and utilities, the end of the world as we know it will be placed on hold, I promise.

If the evil whispers in your ear and suggest it would be a wonderful idea to take your battle rifle and walk towards the school grounds with ill intent - please pause a moment and sit and write me an email. I will listen. If this same evil has painted your life into a corner and believes it's best if you offer your God given life as a sacrifice, please remember I will be here - allow me a moment to suggest otherwise. Walk outside for just a second and take a deep breath of our Lord's clean air and look at that sky, isn't it beautiful. Listen to the birds sing. Hold a child in your arms. Bake a batch of cookies. I promise - life is wonderful and tomorrow the cherry blossoms will bloom.

Be happy.

Stephen

       

     

Just for Little Bit

It is with considerable difficulty I write this piece. Yet, it's time. Bare with me.

Allow me please to step back in time. Years ago I decided to carry a piece of silver in my pocket. Silver, in whatever form, has been my luck, always.

A few months back, early of a morning, as I went about the routine of pants rotation, as is a man's way, I removed all the bits and pieces from my trouser pockets. Off came the belt, out came the Benchmade, the Surefire, all the loose change, wallet, and well you get the picture. Among these items was my 1880 Morgan silver dollar. (Remember I recently mentioned it.)

For some odd reason I placed it on my bedside table where it was forgotten. I had set aside my luck. Sadly, too, my luck forgot about me. Perhaps my subconscious substituted my silly dependance upon luck to the vintage silver bracelet and Navajo ring I wear daily. Anyway my luck didn't hold. Shortly afterwards my heart was taken from our lives.

Late last year, a few days prior to Christmas, I was piddling in the bedroom in search for something or the other when I brushed aside a loose piece of paper and found my Morgan. I gave it a flip and absently returned the old coin to my pocket. My luck came home.

To those long time followers of this blog you well know my dear wife hasn't seen, nor heard, and certainly hasn't held our grandchildren in almost two years. I'll not repeat the details of how they were ripped from our lives. If you have half a heart you truly understand the sorrow and pain.

She's prayed. Hard. I'm certain her pattela has formed a deep hard callus.

I'll always give credit where due. Certainly our dear Lord heard her prayers but I'd like to believe my old shiny and worn coin, the token of my superstitious luck, played a small part of what I'm about to relate to you.

My lovely wife spent hours in the selection of Christmas gifts for grandchildren she was certain she'd never again visit or allowed her love's expression. Even denied the pleasure of personal delivery of these Christmas gifts she spent hours at our kitchen table and wrapped the boxes with love and care. Out of her sight I'd stand silent and watch as she carefully dressed each gift. Sadly her labor fueled my quiet anger.

As deeply as she felt personal hurt and pain I was the same but with anger.Time developed within me a cold heart of stone. Prayer seldom if ever escaped my lips. I was yin to my wife's yang. I wished to hurt. They, had taken my love, my Little Bit. They, had refused to allow us to know and love our grandson. Many an hour I had sat and caressed my chosen tool of punishment. Wisdom held. Patience is a virtue.

(I guess by now you understand why this is difficult for me, this glance into my soul.)

Then came the eve of Christmas.

She asked if I'd attend the candle light service at her church. Her request came tender with big sad eyes. She knows me well. I am not of her faith but I do respect and believe in Him.

Allow me please another step back. Without the grandchildren in our lives we had settled into a comfortable routine, our daily lives became fairly normal in their absence. As husband and wife our love and respect for each the other grew. When the calendar flipped to December we agreed, silently, to place a hold on Christmas festivities. For the first time since I'd left the service of my country I did not purchase nor decorate a Christmas tree. Outside lights were banned. It was business as normal. After all, other than the birth of our Lord, we had nothing to celebrate. They were absent.

The holidays were, for us, dark and filled with depression. Any hope of a surprise visit from grandchildren was completely out of the question. With this in mind and with my knowledge of her depression I agreed to attend the candle light service. The peace of it was welcomed, and I do tend towards periods of moodiness and to see her smile and laugh would surely dispel my dulled anger.

Along towards sunset on Christmas Eve we loaded the children's gifts. As I drove towards church she said we should wait until after the service to deliver the presents. I absently reached into my pocket and touched the old silver coin, and said, "Let's do it before the service." She agreed. Just like that....

Luck and prayer took hold.

If we'd arrived a minute later we'd have missed them. My son had just, seconds prior to our arrival, returned home from work. He stood in the middle of his driveway and his wife was bent at the back door of her car securing our grandson into his car seat. Our son put on a face not unfamiliar to a deer caught in the hunter's headlight. Sweet Wife asked, "Now what?"  

"Be still and wait," I said.

I stepped from our car and opened the rear and took a armload of gifts and turned towards him and said, "Merry Christmas." He stood gap-mouthed. Then, I glanced over and there sat my Little Bit. She was in the back seat of her step-mother's car. She'd twisted around with only her big brown eyes visible and waved frantically. I waved back.

Sweet Wife appeared at my side and to our surprise and shock our daughter-in-law (She, the one person responsible for all this turmoil.) approached and threw a hug on Sweet Wife. Tears streamed down her face. Then Sweet Wife's dam of sorrow broke and there stood two women in a hard hug and then I felt my heart wrap her arms around my waist. So long, it had been so very long.

Little Bit released me and went to her Nana and gave her grandmother the first hug and kiss either had had in almost two years. My son still had not said a word. He had not moved. Our daughter-in-law then gave permission for us to visit our grand-son, Sport Model. She reached and took us both in her arms, an embrace that so shocked me I didn't know how to react. Then she said, "It isn't right for a family to go so long without speaking to each other."

As Little Bit held my hand we walked to their car and bent to visit our grandson. The little fella looked at me and pointed towards my face. Sweet Wife gave him a kiss and hug and then he pointed at his shoes, turned to her, and spoke the very first word ever uttered in her presence....he said, "Spiderman."

Every second or two I'd bend and give Little Bit kisses. I whispered over and over how much we loved and missed her. She's grown tall and thin. She seemed to me a frail and tiny bundle yet her pretty brown eyes flickered with joy. My last words to her, "You are the light of my life," I pray she remembers.  

Then it was over. They too were to attend a candle light service at their church. Then came another shock. Just before we departed my son shook my hand, hugged me and said, "I'm sorry about all this, Dad."  I replied, "Me too."

I extended a welcome for a visit. Told him we'd be home all of Christmas day. They were invited anytime even if for just a few minutes. He smiled and said, "Maybe."

On our drive to the candle light service Sweet Wife repeated, over and over, "Thank you, Jesus, oh thank you." Her face was a study in tears and joy.

Later, the lights dimmed and hundreds of candles flickered, held high, and I smiled. It was beautiful.

They say God works in mysterious ways. I'm but a mere mortal man so my thoughts on the subject of His actions are not important and still a mystery to me. Perhaps it was my new found coin of luck, or the Good Lord himself, or a combination of both, either way a crack has appeared in the dam, and my wish is for this flaw to deepen and grow and allow our family once again unity, and love.

Until that day we wait. Since the eve of Christmas we haven't a word.

(I post this piece without the effort of edit. Please forgive me any mistakes.)

Stephen










 
 

Sunday Morning, Church & Fried Chicken

Before I begin with my ramble I have a request; will the person that clicked my blue follower button yesterday (or the day before) please give me your name. I'd like to properly thank you.

*****

Now, as you well know my blog has suffered of late. Our life has become hectic and busy and filled with anxiety, and to a degree, sorrow. My writing has had to take a place far in the background of my daily life, and for this I do apologize.
Sweet Wife has a bad case of butt dragging depression. I have asked her to seek medical help. She turns to her Bible, which is fine, but I feel it lacks the proper support I know she badly needs. Enough.

She came into the family room this morning and asked if I'd attend church with her. She had spoken to a close friend this week and the friend had recommended a local Methodist church located in the university district not far from our home. She asked and then said, please. 

I'm not a church man. I don't like to attend church. Please understand the Good Lord and I are close friends. I believe in God and I hope the Lord believes in me. I'm fairly certain if Christ were to honor me with His presence we'd both sit and share a fine cigar and either a glass of wine or a good stiff brandy. I'm sure we'd discuss art, literature, world affairs, the sorry state of our nation, and of course, fine firearms. Without a doubt the good Lord appreciates the finer aspects of well bred bird dogs, and loves the quick rise of a covey of quail on a cold November morning. 

We'd share our thoughts as to why Gertrude Stein insisted Hemingway's 'Up In Michigan' too crude for publication, and why she was wrong. Why gold and silver should replace our current monetary system. God is, after all, one cool dude, and we like each the other.

Please understand I have nothing against churches. If you attend your local church and it helps you deal with life, then bless you, and please continue. My Sweet Wife loves church, and church life. Its not for me. Church was a creation of man, not God. Please, don't argue with me. It's my viewpoint and nothing more. Remember, it is written, where two or more are gathered. Church is where you are located, not where you attend. 

I do like physical church buildings, its architecture. Church's, for the most part, are beautiful. Cathedrals are by far so marvelous as to be out-worldly gracious and spiritually inspirational. I'll walk into a cathedral in a heartbeat just to light a candle. That, is church to me. Not the gathering of kindred souls for social reasons, or to hear a preacher spout a sermon, or to shack hands with my neighbors. Church for me are those quiet moments of grace where I ask my Lord to give me peace. Moments of such are rare indeed.

So, Sweet Wife stood before me, all lovely and very lady like in her Sunday morning dress with a tiny smile on her face and asked if I'd please attend with her. I am given thirty minutes to shower, shave, and dress. 

I can't say, no. I jump and within twenty minutes have my jacket in one hand, my handgun in the other and we're in the car and backing out of the garage. We arrived as the two little girls walk down the aisle with candles in hand. Cute. We take a place on a rear pew. Then stand and she sings. I observe. I count three men besides myself with ties. One is the minister and he doesn't wear a jacket. Suits are passe. 

The other men are dressed as if for a day at the fish market. Class tells. Listen, I don't give a damn how hot the weather, nor how cold. You are in attendance in the house of God. Show some class.  

*****

For some time now, on my way home each evening I pass a restaurant. It only recently opened. Its called Cleoda's. The sign reads, 'Southern American Cuisine.'   Each time I pass this new place the parking lots are filled. Well, well.

This morning after church I asked my lovely bride where she'd like to eat lunch. She didn't care so I drove to Cleoda's. 

We had a jump on the Baptist - when those good folks are released they're not unlike a wave of locust descending on a field of corn. We beat them by thirty minutes. We parked and were met inside Cleoda's by a nice elderly lady and given a window booth. I was pleasantly surprised. Jazz themed art covered the walls. The wait staff were helpful and kind. I noticed a sign, 'We serve soul.' Well hell, why not.

Our waiter came over and said Sunday was family dinner day. We had our choice of two meats. Then we each were to agree on three vegetables and side dishes which we'd each share. The list was long. We chose fried chicken, and smothered pork chops, with mashed potatoes, greens, and butter beans. Gravy. 

The food was excellent. The fried chicken was the best I've eaten since, well, I cooked it last. The pork chops were wonderful and reminded me of my late mother's Sunday dinners. I sucked the bones. My only criticism was the lack of homemade biscuits or cornbread. They served out of the package yeast rolls. The iced-tea was excellent. 

When our meal was finished our young waiter asked if we'd like desert. I glanced over the menu and selected bread pudding with bourbon sauce and told him to make it to go....so, if you'll excuse me I think I'll give it a try.

I'll save you a bite.

Stephen