Mirror, mirror on the wall

It was dark and snowy day. I was sitting on an old floor at Kim's house, looking into a mirror leaning against the wall, minding my own business and getting ready to put down a new floor.
Out of the blue I heard a voice,"If the mirror is in your way you could remount it if you want to."
So after Kim left for work I installed the mirror back in the bath room where it belonged. Then back to the floor.

When Kim got home she saw the mirror back on the bathroom wall and advised me that I had
put it up vertical instead of horizontal like it was before. We argued a while and she said she liked
it better the way I had put it up. I threatened to change it to horizontal but she advised that if I
did there would be no more rubarb pies.

So the next time she left the house I turned it upside down. Now all the images are upside down.
Shortly after I had completed this, an upside down religious image appeared on the mirror and
advised that I had committed a bad. She called up for a higher spirit to come down and select
my punishment. A misty hazy image came onto the mirror upside down and named the punishment. "It will be Montezoma's Revenge." The upside down religious image said,"OH GOD". The nest 12 hours were different. The mirror is still upside down.

Just a story, dated 9/17/85

I just saw a beautiful sight.


At the Cracker Barrel. A 4 year old girl having breakfast with her father, alone.

He was eating and listening and reacting. She was talking, jestering, questioning. A little blonde girl with a pony tail.

When the father had finished eating, he sat back. light a cigarette and studied the check for errors. Then he relaxed. The little girl continued talking, asking, inquiring with her hands and verbally.

Soon they left their table and walked out of my life, as they had walked into it.

Dust On The Rose

I think it's time for this poem. I wrote another one titled Homeless. It says what it says and means what it means. Another writing can't really be called a poem. It's mainly just a message
to myself.

Standing high on the mountain side,
Lookomg at forever,
The barren land and the single rose
Reach deep into my memory.

Running far across the plain
The wooden statues stand
The barb threads run to the end of time,
Stealing your freedom from you.

The old weather beaten shack
Atop the mountain range,
Its tumbled and gone now
Left empty for so long.

Now he lives in a sea of grass.
The clear blue sky to share his day.
The soft blowing wind forever there,
Caressing the rose of the morning.

There is dust on the rose in the quiet
Of the morning--as the last petal falls.

Written in 1975.

Dear Santa

The year was 1936. A mother had a child out of wedlock but would tell no one in her family. She named the child Ellen. The mother had no idea what to do. A nurse, Ru th, found the new mother in tears and offered to help. She arranged for her parents to take care of the child until the mother could get things in order. She never came back for the child. Ruth's parents, Jesse and Evertt, never formally adopted Ellen but raised her as their own. This is where I skip a very great part of Ellen's story.

Ellen married Ted in 1956 and Ted became part of Ellen's family. Ted must have impressed someone because "out of the blue" in 2010 he received a call that he should contact Met Life Insurance. It seems he was named contingent beneficiary on an annuity life insurance policy purchased around 1970 by Ruth on her daughter, Pamela. Pamela had twin girls around 1967. The primary beneficiary was Ruth. Ruth died around 1980. Pamela died around 1990. Met Life finally found me in 2010. I'm suprised that Ruth didn't name one of her sons as contingent beneficiary. Anyhow I contacted Met Life, received the money for the annuities issued 40 years ago and sent one half to each of the twins.

Merry Christmas!

Hands

Read Kathleen's blog of Oct 30 and was going to comment but thought my comment was a little long and I needed to a blog anyway.

I was walking across the campass here at Sagar Brown last January when a new employee
responsible for a program called Circles (A family support service) said to me. I'll bet you are
a minister down here to help out. I smiled and answered, no I am not a man of the word, I am
a person of deeds.

In the search for life I was born, I was a child, I was a teenager (fun) , I went to school, I went to
war, I went to college (loved it), I engineered, supervised, managed, directed, was a father ( the
best of times), built things, and fixed things. I have found that using my hands to perform any
task is my strengh. Without this I would just wither away. I wonder what Epictetus would say?

But then, Epictetus would remind me not to be concerned with what he would say.

I like that because on the day I elected to start blogging my main thought was not to worry
about any negative feedback it any form that I received about what I wrote.

Sitten of the bayou

Saturday is laundry time. I gather up the dirty duds, soap and dryer sheets, my coffee and my
book and head for the campers bath and laundry facilitity. The is located on the bayou.
After I get the loads started I pull a chair out of the broom closet, grab my coffee and book,
sit outside the door to drink, read and watch the tide roll in. This morning the tide was moving
big islands of green folage created by the sugar cane harvest up the bayou really slow. I dropped my observation to read a little and take a sip and when I looked up the islands were flowing
down stream. The only activity was fishermen heading out to try their luck in in their not so fancy boats.

After the laundry was completed I started to make a picture frame for the lady in charge
of the depot. I was almost done but came up short of material I needed to complete it. So
I repaired the old frame instead. They have the various tools and material I needed
scattered in three different buildings. So even a small job takes a lot of time hunting and
gathering just like our ancesters had to do to survive.

The other day I heard that some lady doesn't believe in the here after. The way I feel
about it is that if you are not her after, what I'm here after, you will be her after I'm gone.

Joke and more

The Methodist Church moves their ministers from church to church every few years. This
little church received a new minister who happened to be female. Of course this set some
of the congragation on edge and concerned that this might not work. One fine gentlemen
decided they should try to make the right moves to help her out so he and his wife invited
to go fishing with them. She allowed that she didn't know how to fish but would love to go with
them. So in due time they reach the boat and motored to a good fishing spot. As time passed
it grew cooler and the minister got cold and needed to go back to get her sweater she left in the
car. The gentleman quickly offered to take her back to get it. But the lady said, no I can get
it my self. Where upon she got out of the boat and walked on the water to get her sweater. When she was about half way back the gentlemen said, wouldn't you know it. She not only doesn't
know how to fish, she can't swim either.

That was not part of the message at vespers but I thought the first part of what she said
was good and the second part was a waste of time. The part I liked was that a church
was where people gathered to meet and get to know their neighbors and community
members, become friend, develop helping and lasting relationships. She said that was the
primary benefit and purpose of the church. The second part was to praise an individual
who had past away that most of us did not know. It would have been ok in their local
church where he was well known.

The title of her message was, "Do We Really Need the Church?"