Thursday, June 21, 2018

Going Postal....again.

In the past few months, I have been faced with a new type of demand. Apparently, all of the delivery agents, in this fair country, have developed a new kind of phone APP, that allows folks to check on the delivery status of their on-line purchases. Well, on the surface, this seems like an excellent idea.
It's not. No, it's not. Lord Almighty, it's not!
Since this electronic light-bulb became readily accessible, my life has taken a whole new turn....for the worse! Residents, their children, their friends and even their lawyers are all demanding of me, the lowly concierge, "Where is my package?"
I look around, everywhere near the postal room. I look on my counter. I look on the counter at the main desk. I look under the counters. Often times, the package is no where to be found.
The residents, their children, friends and lawyers all respond, "Well, it says right here (as they menacingly wave their phones at me) the package was delivered today."
I try to explain, although they don't listen, that their APP is wrong. The package may have been delivered to the UPS, USPS, FedEx or Amazon dock, or it may be on a truck, somewhere between God only knows where, and here, but it is not here.
I am the bad guy. The phone isn't wrong, I am.
But, what do you know? In a couple of days, the package shows up. Life is good. Delivery time, like all time, is relative.

Great and all powerful Lord. Patience is a virtue, but patience is sometimes hard to come by. Teach us patience and mercy, for all of God's creatures. We know that we must wait upon the Lord, but show us how to wait on others.

Sunday, June 10, 2018

Triple Crown

I grew up in a household of girls. My husband grew up with only brothers. As you can imagine, we played with different toys, as children, due to what was considered "gender appropriate", for the era.
However, one toy that both of our 50's and 60's households shared, was a simple horse racing game.
We both remember that the game was housed in a rather narrow, flat box. There was a metal "spinner" that showed which horse made a move forward. The plastic horses stayed in slots, that ran the length of the box, and each individual player got to chose which horse represented him or her. The winner, of the race, was the horse that reached the end of the box, first. We agreed that both of our families enjoyed playing that simple little game.
One thing, on which we could not agree, were the horse's names. We toyed (bad pun) around with Whirlaway, Man O'War, Citation, Gallant Fox and Native Dancer. But then we remembered Twenty Grand and Sea Biscuit, All great horses, but too many names for the little game. There were, at tops, only four or maybe five horses.
I did a bit of computer research and made an interesting discovery. The original game had a copyright date of 1938. The manufacturer was named Whitman. Over the years, various horse names were added or subtracted. So depending what year your game was made, only the most popular horses, the real life winners, were the racers.
So, maybe the two families had different versions of the game. We will never know.
Nice memories.

Good and Gracious Lord. We thank you for our long lives and for the memories we hold dear. We are so blessed. Your steadfast love endures forever.

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Big Things/Small Packages

One of the cleverest Brand Names to ever hit the market, has to be that little package (Do you remember when it cost a nickel?) of flavored drink powder. As a kid, it was my drink of choice. All the moms served it and according to the advertisements, it was "a great source of Vitamin C". I loved making it.....the more sugar the better!
The Kool-Aid name was coined in 1927, by Edwin Perkins, who worked for Kraft Foods. How clever was he? Kool.....because it was served with iced and it kept us cool, and Aid, has to be a play on lemon"ade". Lemonade was such an old-fashioned drink! But, Kool-Aid, was so modern!
Best name ever! "Kool-Aid, Kool-Aid, tastes great. You'll love Kool-Aid, can't wait."
My favorite flavor was Grape. What was your favorite? I haven't had a drink of Kool-Aid, in years. Probably, since that big pitcher became the spokes-thing. However, it may be time to take a little ride to the grocery store. Time for a small package, with the big taste from the past.

Gracious God. Why can't we be more thankful for the small joys that we have in life?. We are always looking for the next big thing. Good things can be very small. Show us how to be more grateful. Slow us down and help us to enjoy the small things in life.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

Try it, you'll like it!.......

My husband and I both use electric toothbrushes. The twirling, pulsating brush does a great job cleaning our teeth. Our Dental Hygienist suggested it years ago, and we began using them. We like them, a lot.
Not so much, the water-pick appliance, that we recently purchased. For a change, I read the instructions. I really did. But, the first time I tried to use it, I nearly drowned. I loaded the machine, with water, and put the appliance in my mouth, just like the instructions read, BEFORE turning it on. But, somehow, after flipping the switch, I missed the part about opening my mouth, leaning over the sink, and letting the water run out.
My mouth filled up with water. I started choking. I pulled the appliance out of my mouth and the water started spraying everywhere.
Finally, I got the thing turned off, but not before the mirror and counter were dripping wet.
Not one to be defeated, I tried it again, several days later. This time, I must have tilted it wrong, or upside down or something, because it ran out of water. The tank was still full, but no water came out. It worked on one side of my mouth, but not the other.
I'm not giving up yet. In order to effectively use this appliance, I am going to have to learn a whole new set of skills.
Success is just around the corner. You know, "Practice makes perfect".

Dear Lord. We need Your help. New experiences are a challenge. But, how blessed we are to be able to experience change. We honor your name.

Sunday, May 27, 2018

Read me a story.

I'm a reader. I read nearly everything that comes my way. I read the local newspaper, daily.
('The print copy, of course. Not the digital.) The Holy Bible, ads, flyers, and magazines. Currently, I am reading an Agatha Christie novel, on my e-reader and a hard-bound non-fiction story, The Residence, about life in the White House. It is unusual for me not to have a couple of "reads" going, at the same time. And, I re-read books that I really like. I think I have read all of the Jane Austen novels, several times. My favorites are Pride and Prejudice, and Persuasion. Last year, I read Alice in Wonderland and Dickens' Christmas Carol. Great books worthy of a re-read.
My enjoyment of reading is hereditary. Some of my earliest memories are of the Carnegie Library in Pittsburg, Kansas. My mother took us there, regularly. It was probably the cheapest activity, for her two girls, that she could imagine. But, what a gift! My sister continued the practice, when she was old enough, to walk us on summer mornings, to the marvelous stone library, on Fourth Street, where we could check out lots of books and learn all kinds of great stuff.
I had a favorite aunt, who would send my sister and me wonderful books at Christmas. Okay. I liked toys and dolls and things, but the books are the items that I kept. To this day, I still read my copy of Better Homes and Garden Storybook. I can recite most of it from memory.  And, the really cool thing is, my sister sends my grand kids books, on special occasions. Hereditary!!
Reading is a wonderful pastime. It can continue even after your eyesight is gone. I am acquainted with numerous folks who listen to audio books, on a regular basis.
I believe that readers are dreamers. It doesn't matter how old you become. Read on dreamers, read on.

Gracious God, We thank you for the gift of language. Thank you for teachers. Thank you for parents and siblings who care. We are truly blessed, in so many ways. You are good.

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

A Tisket a Tasket...a Bloody, Bloody Basket.

Now, I'm a city girl....but, not always. I grew up in a small mid-western town, where we did small town things. Today, I happened to ask a fellow employee, a native of Russia, whether she had ever killed a chicken. It's a long story about how we actually got to the point of discussing killing chickens, but just let me tell you, in brief, it involved wild turkeys doing mating dances and a rogue coyote, in the trash, in New Mexico.
"No", she replied. She had grown up a city girl, in Moscow, and understood nothing about killing chickens.
Well, I knew right then and there, I had to tell her about backyard chicken coops and how, as a preschooler, I participated in the slaughter of numerous fowl, and lived to tell about it.
My grandparents "kept" chickens, in their backyard, behind the garage. I remember feeding them and that they frightened me. "Keeping" chickens also required collecting their eggs and eventually killing some, for our family to eat.
My dad and grandmother were the deed doers. Grandma would grab the chickens, give them a yank and break their necks. But, that didn't kill them. The bodies of the chickens would then be placed, neck out, under a bushel basket and round, little Nancy, would get the job (they must have thought that I liked doing it) of sitting on the down-turned basket.
Dad would then use a small hatchet to lop off the head, while the body continued to flop around and I would have to hang on, to the basket for dear life, until the body stopped moving. It was not fun. I remember it all quite vividly.
My friend was horrified.
However, the experience did not make me non-chicken eater. Fried or baked. Chicken is my favorite meat. But, to this day, I am a wee bit leery of anything in a bushel basket.

Dear Lord. Memories can be a blessing. We learn from the past. Lead us toward a better future. Show us how to become better Christians.

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Me, My, Mine!

Once, when one of sons confessed that he actually liked Cole Slaw, another of our boys announced that he had dangerously crossed over to the Dark Side. Now, I have to admit, that I have also made the leap.
I know, from my place of work, that Seniors are, as a rule, very territorial. They speak of MY parking space, MY yard, MY mailbox, MY this and that. Because, their lives have been downsized to an apartment in a communal build, they are very jealous of what they think they possess.
Well, the other day, a resident wandered behind MY desk and made an exorbitant number of copies on MY copier. Boy, was I peeved! Then another resident announced that she had been watering MY cactus plants, because she thought the dirt was dry. Cacti, folks! Egad!
Well, I just had to calm down.
That copier, just like the parking space, is something that I have the use of. I don't OWN it. The desk,  just like an apartment, is something that I am allowed to use. I don't own it.
Just stop and think about it. We are temporary residents of this planet. We need to remember that God is allowing us to live here. We need to appreciate our gifts and open our hearts and share. Sharing is  a wonderful thing.

Great Holy God. Thank you for our many blessings.