I'll be with you, Shortly.

As I look up at them, I often amuse folks by telling them about a mistaken belief of mine. Well into my adult years, I thought I was a tall person. After all, in school pictures, sometimes I was on the second row. Many of my classmates were much shorter than me. No one teased me about being a shorty. Adults, by the time I was around 14, looked me in the eye.

When I left my hometown, I realized the truth. I was vertically challenged. Because no one, from where I was reared, was tall. Most of my classmates, if they were Southeast Kansans, born and bred, with first generation American parents, were the grandsons and granddaughters of European coal miners. Deep shaft mines were abundant in that area, and miners tended to be on the shorter side. Therefore, with the exception of a few outsiders, we were all a bunch of shorties. 

Well, five foot, two inches isn't tall. I soon learned that. However, being short does have its advantages. I can easily reach down and pick up dropped stuff. I'm good at finding lost articles, stored away on bottom shelves. Short people are great at tying shoelaces, their own and those of others.  Decorating the lower branches of Christmas Trees, has always been my specialty. Tall people are normally eager to reach high things, for me. Crawling on my hands and knees is easy, getting up, not so much.

I do, unfortunately have a couple of very tall, cheeky friends who make a habit of resting their elbows on my head. Just part of the "short people" experience. As Popeye always said, "I am what I am. and that's all that I am." Some things can't be changed.

                     .............................................................................................................

Lord, I am thankful for who and whose I am. I will strive to be the best person I can be, within a few physical limitations. I am blessed. You are my strength.

Three Feet in a Yard

There is a terribly funny, Saturday Night Live Sketch about the Founding Fathers of the United States and how they set up "OUR" system of measurement, versus the way the rest of the world measures stuff. I particularly remember the George Washington character relating how logically all of our numbered distances were, especially the fact that there are 5,280 feet in a mile. That number was chosen, he related, because it was such an easy number to remember. How bizarre is that?????

Now, frankly, I have never understood math. Well, I can add, subtract, multiply and work long division. Not easily, in my head, but I can do it. I taught elementary school, for goodness sakes. I can also tell time, both on an analog clock and a digital device. So, imagine my surprise when I got a text telling me to report to the local hospital for tests at 15:00 and 16:00.  Military Time for goodness sake!

I have never saluted anyone. I couldn't tell you who has more stripes, a Private or a Corporal. I can't tell time using the Military System. Who do they think I am?????

Praise the Lord, for the Internet. You can have almost any question answered. The Internet explains obscure knowledge. If my research is correct, I have one appointment at 3, and another at 4 p.m. Easy Peasy. The next thing I plan to conquer is a Sun Dial.                                                                         

                                                 ..................................................................

Great God: Our knowledge is limited. Help us have the sense to ask for Your help when we need it. Life is too hard to do it by ourselves. 

The Wintle Boys

 Before the turn of the last Century, when almost everything in this country was fueled by coal, miners from around the world flocked to the mines of Southeast Kansas. My grandfather, Walter Wintle, a seventeen-year-old English miner, came to America, landing at Castle Garden, NY, in June of 1882. He was accompanied by his father and a brother.

Walter married Jennie Stanley, who had arrived in Kansas, by covered wagon. They produced seven sons and one daughter. The "boys" as they were called, were a gregarious bunch, close in age, and understandably a handful to corral. None of them seemed particularly eager to leave their 2-bedroom family home on Rouse Street in Pittsburg, Kansas. And, the large family stayed together in that house, even after some of the older boys married. My mother was actually born, in that house.

As they became adults, the boys all worked shifts in the mines. Their sister, Hazel, played the piano at local silent movie houses, of which there were several. Then, along came World War I. Three of the "boys" were of draft age and in 1918, they all found themselves in uniform. Thomas, the eldest of the three, my grandpa, was drafted and trained, but never made it "Over There". Harry and another brother,Walter, both served in the terrible trench warfare in France and Belgium. All three were discharged at the end of the conflict.

The "boys" came home. They were definitely not "boys" anymore. They "had seen Paree", electrified cities, the ocean and probably learned a few words of French. Harry had received some serious wounds, and we were cautioned, during his entire long lifetime, not to make any loud sudden noises around Uncle Harry, because he had been "shell shocked".

World War I, "the war to end all wars", wasn't. It has become a mostly forgotten conflict and rarely even mentioned in today's public-school curriculum. But, 9 million combatant lives were lost, in the trenches, in the air and on the ocean. The conflict changed the identity of world powers. My three relatives returned to their pre-war lives, married, raised families and a couple of generations later, my cousins, my sister and I arrived.

Veterans Day is approaching. It was originally established to celebrate the combatants, dead and surviving, who fought in World War I. There is a small brick in front of the only National WWI Museum and Memorial, in this country, that honors the service of the "Wintle Boys" of Pittsburg, Kansas. Their family has not forgotten. 

Please, remember all those who have served their country.

                                                The Wintle "Boys" and baby Nancy (1947).

OOOOOOH NO!!!!!

 

I am my worst own enemy. Sometimes my vanity (I am rather deaf and I pretend that I am not) or maybe my stupidity, gets me into a lot of trouble. 

This tale might seem familiar to some of you. 

Out of the blue, my short hair is suddenly too long. I need a haircut, immediately. If it is late at night, I have been known to take a pair of scissors and cut it myself (often with disastrous results) or rush to a salon ASAP. 

Tuesday morning, I walked into the salon, near me. I'd been there before. The woman at the counter asked my name (I think), she pulled out a card and looked it over, presumably to find out what they had done, for me, in the past. Then, she asked me something that sounded like "the same as last time". I replied, "Sure." I sit down, take out my hearing aids (now I am completely deaf) and she begins. Her first move was to take an electric razor and carve a path through my hair. Too late to stop her, at that point. I was sporting a reverse Mohawk!!!!!

So, I now have the almost shortest haircut of my life. I've had Chemotherapy, and I lost all of my hair. That was the definitely the shortest. My hair will grow back, it always does. Someone once said that a bad haircut only lasts a couple of weeks. Let's hope. It's just such a shock when I look in the mirror. It's really bad.

I'm almost afraid to leave the house. 

Lesson learned. I have to make sure that I really listen. Look before I leap! Pay attention. Don't make any stupid moves. Don't trust anyone. Be sure. Ask folks to repeat themselves....often.

Have I forgotten anything?????????

                                      ......................................................................

Lord: We are foolish. Rescue us from the damage we do to ourselves.