Posts Categorized: Peace


Many evenings, I don’t stay up and watch the television weather forecast. Sometimes, I don’t see any of the late news at all. I actually still read a newspaper most every day, and get my information that way. (We do still get a paper each day. And I scan it, reading the headlines and the first paragraphs at least, of most stories. David on the other hand, reads every single word! He’s paying for all those words, and, oh, yes, he’s going to read each and every one of them! But!! I’m not really talking about newspapers. I’m talking about the weather! ref: the title of this piece)

Anyway, Sunday night, I hadn’t watched the weather report. So, I don’t know what the forecast was. But, whatever it was, I was unprepared for what happened.

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Trees! Schmrees!

There was a hang tag on our front door a while back. (Almost a year ago, I also used the term “hang tag” in a post. The post’s content was about how much every day life had changed. My niece wrote and said, that, yes, things had changed. When she read the words “hang tag,” in her head, she said “hash tag,” and wondered where I was going with the information. No, it’s “hang tag.” At least today.)

The hang tag (remember, that’s what we’re focusing on) was a message from Oncor, our electricity provider, letting us know that they were going to be trimming back some tree limbs that were in danger of causing problems with electric lines, in case of wind or ice. Many, many days went by, and I presumed they had decided that our trees didn’t need any pruning. Hah.

Then they showed up. They politely rang the doorbell and told me (as opposed to asking me) what they were there for, and explained, and I said, yes, I remembered getting the information. And they took their big ol’ power tools to the back yard and went to work on the pecan tree.

There have been a few uproars around town over the past few years about the tree trimming, most recently in a neighborhood with many old, old oak trees. Trees that got decimated. People were furious; meetings were held; decisions were made. The electric company agreed to be more upfront with people, give more warning, and be more deliberate about what needed to be cut away and what could safely stay. But the upshot was that, to preserve continuous electricity, to have a safe environment underneath power lines, large tree limbs need to be trimmed.

There was lots of buzzing and whirring in my back yard. At one point, one worker came to explain something to me,

All the nice logs we have to outdoor decor and little boy hammering

All the nice logs we have for outdoor decor options and little boy hammering

and I saw a large chunk of tree lying on the ground. I pointed and said, “I want to keep that,” thinking that I could make a plant stand or something from it, and/or Peter could hammer nails into it. Not only did they leave it for me, they cut it into manageable pieces for me. A few small limbs needed to be trimmed from the crape myrtle tree and the hedge, too.

The pecan tree looked … not quite its robust self. “It’s okay,” I thought. From the street, it looked much worse. “It’ll look better when it leafs out,” I thought. Not much.

The solution is, of course, for whomever is working on that time machine to get busy and have it be operational, so we can go back in time to the winter of 1960 and tell my dad to NOT plant the tree so close to the back lot line! Move it in, by, maybe, 20 feet at least! Then, we will not have this problem. And I can give you a list of addresses of nearby homes whose 1960 (or so) owners also need a heads up.

I do understand that it’s all part of living in community. If I live in a house, isolated out in the country, my trees will be all right, pretty much wherever they are. If I live in a city, in a neighborhood, we have a responsibility to work together to make safe, appropriate choices for each other. Meanwhile, it makes for some pretty odd looking trees.


For you shall go out in joy,
    and be led back in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
    shall burst into song,
    and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.

Isaiah 55:12 (NRSV)

If broken human beings can come to Jesus, then I’m assuming that even deeply pruned trees can still clap their hands in joy. Hallelujah! Amen!

Comic Con

This is a short post.

"You can read this book to me, Mimi. 'Green Eggs and Ham' by Dr. Seuss." Yes, I can, *several* times a day.

“You can read this book to me, Mimi. ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ by Dr. Seuss.” Yes, I can. I can read it in a chair. I can read it in the air. I can read it in my lap. I can read it while I nap. I can read it in the car. I can read it from afar. What, oh, what will make me better? I can feed it to the shredder!

We’ve had a guest this week who’s taken up lots of my time.

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From New York


It’s fun to visit different places and experience different kinds of things and see how people live in different ways. In New York City, in November, there were all sorts of different and new things.

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Thinking Back

Part of every Christmas, I think, is thinking back to —

“Remember the year that Aunt Olive forgot to take the lining paper out of the frozen pie crusts, and she made a bunch of custard pies with paper in the bottoms!” “Remember the year that we bought each other the same things for Christmas!” “Remember the year it SNOWED!!”

One of my most favorite Christmas Eve memories involves a boat, a starry night, and battleships. 1972.

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My Imaginary Childhood

A Day at the Playground

When I was a little pre-reading kid, my parents read aloud to me, and some of those picture books were Little Golden Books. The only one I really remember well (and it’s somewhat because they saved that book) was A Day at the Playground, which I apparently called “Donny Donaldson,” after the book’s main character. The book was illustrated, as many of the Little Golden Books were, by Eloise Wilkin. And there was a standard sort of neighborhood depicted in those books.

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the good chairs

imagesA friend and I meet at Barnes and Noble most weeks, one evening, and read each others’ writings. Oh, we do talk about the families, her nephew, my grandson, what’s been going on, that sort of thing. But, our reason for meeting is the writing part of our lives.

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Hanging…without a Thread

I’m trying to be a good Earth citizen.

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If It’s “Old, Older, Oldest,” Why Does “Old” Sound Worse Than “Older?”

daughter 1I remember the first time I saw the movie Fiddler on the Roof. First, the oldest daughter goes to her father and says, no, she does not want to marry the butcher, which is an arranged marriage, as is the custom, the tradition. She would like his permission to marry the tailor, instead. Her father rants and raves, and at first refuses, reminding her about the tradition of marriages arranged by matchmakers and approved by parents. No, no she cannot. But, he thinks about how much the young couple love each other and how maybe it would be all right, and he relents, going against the long-standing customs and traditions of their Jewish community.

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Ah, Yes, The Circle of … WHAT!!!!!!

I understand the circle of life. Really I do. I know that lions chase and catch zebras and have them for dinner. (They can also take down a giraffe.) I know that cheetahs run fast and can attack gazelles without any thought as to how graceful and lovely those animals are.

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