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.

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.

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.

Fairy Tales

The first and foremost rule of my job is "never argue with the residents". Today was a perfect example of  the extremes that I must go to, to appease the senior masses.

Friday, was Grocery Store Day. Normally we take people to the local supermarket, twice a week, but this week, due to scheduled vehicle maintenance, we used our shuttle only once. Our driver generally takes one assistant and 8-10 shoppers. But today, 20 seniors were eagerly waiting to board the bus at shopping time. 

Since we have always asked out shoppers to sign up prior to shopping day, the number of prospective shoppers surprised all of the staff. 10 extra shoppers is a big deal!
Now, if one wants to go shopping, one is supposed to sign up, in advance, with the Concierge.......me.
So, casually I asked, "Why isn't your name on my list? "(to each of the ten shoppers not registered). To a person, they each replied, "Well, I told you I wanted to go."
Okay. Okay. We found room on the bus and took another vehicle to carry the groceries. But, there is no way that I forgot to register 10 people. One or two possibly, but not ten.
I shouldered the blame. It was my fault. My mistake. Everyone got to go shopping and everyone was happy. No one was harmed and no one was offended.
There you go, folks.  I hope you enjoyed the trip.

Great and gracious God. Your people are odd creatures. We want to be in charge. Each and every one of us, but You know that we are not in control. Teach us how to love one another and put ourselves in Your most capable hands.

Small Blessings are Huge

Today, a resident came to my desk and told me that she loved having a mail room available to the residents. She enjoys not having to go outside to pick up her mail. Her mail is always dry and she stays dry, too. She appreciates having a protected mail box, where she knows her deliveries are safe and monitored. Being able to mail letters and packages, without making a special trip to the Post Office, makes her happy.

Her comments made me even more happy! I was the happiest!

As I have written before, mail is a huge thing to the over 80 set. And, I can say with absolute certainty, that her comment was the first positive statement that I have ever heard about the mail delivery at our Retirement Community. Every item, that "my new best friend forever", mentioned about our mail room, is true. We offer a lot of great perks with our superbly managed mail room, but up until now, it has never been enough. In four and one half years, I have heard nothing but complaints!

Until today. What a blessing.

Dear God, Thank you for positive people. Many of us cannot count our blessings, because we are too busy complaining about what we don't have. Keep us focused on the Prize. You!

Rewriting History.....

Currently, there is a heated controversy raging over which of the two statues honoring Missourians, should remain in the U.S. Capitol Building. Each state can only have two, and because wise pundits want to replace one of the statues with a likeness of the only Missouri president, Harry S (no period) Truman, one of the existing ones has to go. Seems like a good enough idea. Then, with Harry in place, we would retain the one statue, honoring the best and most noteworthy man, of the original two.  But, which of the two should be removed?
One of the current honorees, a Mr. Blair, was an avowed racist, but he is credited with founding the Republican Party in Missouri. The other, Thomas Hart Benton (not the artist, but the Senator), owned slaves, and held a seat in the U.S. Senate for 30 years. Uh oh.
In order to meet current purist thought, let's just eliminate all traces of slave holders in U.S. History. That would mean every city, State, building, street, school and park named for George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Then, remember to take down both monuments honoring them on the Capital Mall.
Then, while we are at it, let's destroy all records of any of our own ancestors that were slave holders. That would erase traces of folks all the way back in history, to pre-historic times. Slavery was not invented in the U.S. of A. Many cultures had slavery.
This is all a bit drastic, of course. History, it seems, cannot be re-written. And, furthermore, it should never be erased from our memories! If we don't remember our errors, we are apt to repeat our mistakes.

Dear Lord. We are who we are. We are products of our ancestors and of our own history. Allow us to see our own sins and show us how we can become better children of God.

Read

Rarely, all teachers will tell you, do students read directions. A math teacher can give out a sheet of problems and the students will all start to work them....even if the directions, written right at the top of the page, say "do not work these problems." Teachers try and try, but most students consider directions a waste of time. Children are impatient.
A lifetime passes and you would think that folks would get wiser. Somewhere along the line, people should learn to read directions. But, they don't. I see it every day.
There is a nice big sign, right by my desk. It is hung in front of the mailbox room. It's a sliding sign that either reads "The mail is in" or "the mail is not in." I make sure the sign is changed, every day after the mail is delivered. Yet, without fail, at least five folks, every blessed day, will ask me, "Is the mail here?"
I put signs on everything, mistakenly thinking someone might read them.
My signs often request, "Read this", "Please take one", or more importantly, "this event has been moved" or even "cancelled". No matter. No one reads them! It's just easier to ask the concierge.
I'm used to it. Some things never change.

Dear God. We need you help. Show us how to love and listen. Remind us to care about others.