Posts Categorized: Faithfulness

I’m Not All that Great a Gardener

| Faithfulness, Joy, Patience

Years ago, when we lived in our house that was built in 1912, I saw an idea for a small, compact garden, described in a women’s magazine. A ring garden. The plans said to dig up a nine-foot circle. Then, with metal stakes and wire mesh, we made a three-foot diameter compost area in the center. The plans gave specific instructions for what to plant and where, in the ring garden, with the plants that needed staking at the edge of the compost (like beans and tomatoes). Plants that needed the most moisture and nutrients were planted closer to the center. Plants needing less, were planted closer to the edges. The suggestion was to pour a bucket of water into the center, compost area, once or twice a week, if it didn’t rain. We followed the instructions to the letter. This, however, was a garden plan for some other part of the country–someplace where it rained more and the summer wasn’t scorching hot. We got some beets, I think, but not much else. We kept putting peelings into the compost, along with the errant squash or tomato that got left behind on a garden plant. Then, in the spring, as suggested by the magazine article, we pulled compost from the center and dug it into the garden to begin anew.

And, we did begin anew, but with seeds and plants that we knew we liked–summer squash and zucchini, tomatoes, and cucumbers.

Early one spring, I saw a little vine pushing from the edges of the compost bin. Obviously a squash, it was growing, I imagined, from something spoiled or bug-eaten that had been tossed into the compost the previous summer. Deep in the warmth, with rotting leaves and vegetable peelings, the seed germinated, and the sprouting plant pushed out into the sunlight. I watched as it grew, more vigorous than the squash vines I had started in the garden. It thrived, flowered, and began to set fruit. Hmmm. The two little round, green fruit on our vine were certainly not summer squash or zucchini, the only kinds of squash we plant and eat. I wondered what they were, thinking hard to recall some other kind of squash we might have had.

The squash grew bigger and greener and rounder, and I grew more and more perplexed. Not knowing what they were, I didn’t know when pull them from the vine. Then they began to turn orange.

One year, we planted cantaloupe. I think this was the total harvest. But, that is the ring garden, behind the boys.

Oh. Of course. Pumpkins. From last Thanksgiving.

When they were completely ripe, I picked and cooked and froze them. The next Thanksgiving, we enjoyed pumpkin bread and pumpkin pie from our surprise pumpkins.

 

A tree is identified by the kind of fruit it produces. Figs never grow on thorns, or grapes on bramble bushes.

Luke 6:44 (The Living Bible)

 

Squash, however, come in many varieties, most of whom grow on vines that look deceptively alike. Sometimes, you just have to wait and see what shows up.

One year, we had several volunteer tomato plants, scattered around in the ring garden. And, another year, the little garden was rife with, oh, yes, pumpkin plants. They are pretty aggressive, those pumpkins.

They’re Just Birds, After All

| Faithfulness, Gentleness, Peace

We’ve had some problems around here, over the months and years, with birds. City birds. Grackles. For several years, they’ve been congregating, especially in the evenings, around intersections where there’s lots of traffic and lots of people, especially in places where people are having fast food and leaving crumbs. And dropped French fries. And crusts of buns. Etc.

I think all the instinctive behavior of eating, like finding worms and bugs, has given way to the easy route of people food. I don’t know what the biological issues are. Maybe they’re just as healthy, living on a diet of food from McDonald’s and Wendy’s and Jack in the Box. It seems like not, but they’re thriving, from a population standpoint. This is not a phenomenon I recall from my childhood, or even my kids’ childhoods. But, it’s certainly part of Peter’s childhood.

My local grocery store, years ago, planted attractive trees at the ends of the rows of parking spaces closest to the store’s doors. They didn’t provide much shade, but they looked nice, and, in time, they might have made some shade. But, after a few years, the grocery store folks cut them down. There was a whitewash of bird poop under all the trees, and also on cars that had parked at the ends of the rows. Messy and unattractive. There are some trees growing at the farthest ends of some of the rows. And, I do park there, in the heat of the summer. It’s an acceptable trade-off for me. I have to walk through the heat, and I might have to clean off the windows, but at least the car’s not scorching hot, May through September, when I get in with my groceries.

Lack of lots of trees doesn’t mean that the birds have left the area. Nope. They have not conceded.

Here’s what those annoying, pesky birds do instead. As soon as the sun gets close to the horizon, they gather themselves up, from whatever fast food restaurants they’ve been hanging around, and arrange themselves on the utility wires. And they sit there. Until the sun goes down. If you watch them for a while, you’ll see that a few of them fly away, or swoop around, and then settle back into place. If there is an empty space, a bird will drop down into it. If a bird tries to land in a space that’s not really big enough (from the birds’ reckoning), the other birds won’t give up their place. The interloping bird will have to fly away, swoop around, and find a new settling place. But, for the most part, they just sit there. Staring down at the humankind, driving, walking, jogging down below. It’s been like this for years, but it still seems creepy to me. Many years ago, I was driving my dad home after a dinner together. I commented on the precise spacing between the birds. (And, my dad passed away more than ten years ago, so, again, not a new thing the birds are doing.) Daddy looked at them carefully and said, “I suppose it’s the amount of space that they need to take off.” That does seem right, doesn’t it?

 

Meanwhile, when Peter was here a month or so ago, I was driving him to the Baylor area to meet David for their Thursday evening “Late Night at the Mayborn” museum rendezvous. We drove through Chick-fil-a to get them some dinner, and there are many fast food places in the area. So, of course, birds were gathering on the wires for their eveningtime meet-and-greet.

“Look, Mimi,” Peter said, calling my attention to the CVS pharmacy sign. “There are so many birds, I think they’re going to fall off.”

Indeed. Pharmacy birds apparently do not need the same amount of space for perching as do the other birds. Or, maybe, as Peter suggested to me, it’s just warmer up on that lighted sign than it is on the wires.

 

 

Look, if you sold a few sparrows, how much money would you get? A copper coin apiece, perhaps? And yet your Father in heaven knows when those small sparrows fall to the ground. You, beloved, are worth so much more than a whole flock of sparrows. God knows everything about you, even the number of hairs on your head. So do not fear.

Matthew 10:29-31 (The Message)

And I guess I’m also supposed to consider what it means that I am worth so much more than a whole flock of sparrows. If I’m worth that much, then so are each and every one of my brothers and sisters who are walking in this world.

I Haven’t Counted Them and I’m Not Going To

| Faithfulness, Goodness, Joy, Kindness, Love, Patience

I mentioned  before that David’s mother passed away in July. In the weeks and months before that, David and his five siblings began to decide how to divvy up a big household’s worth of belongings. There was furniture and dishes and silverware and books and jewelry and clothes and a big assortment of all sorts of stuff. There were things that several folks wanted and things that NO ONE wanted.

David went back again a couple of weeks ago. He brought home his parents’ college yearbooks and some documents and photographs. He packed up a nice sewing machine that his aunt in Memphis thought would be nice to have. He left it at her house on his way back home. And, he brought home some yarn.

A couple of David’s sisters, who live in the area, worked (and worked and worked and worked) to organize the house’s material goods. There were a lot of bags of clothing that went to helping agencies in the area. They bagged up pieces of jewelry that no one had already asked for (each sibling is supposed to take a bag, to dispose of how they wish). And they bagged up some yarn.

If you don’t participate in the yarn-based arts (knitting, crocheting, weaving), then you don’t quite understand what yarn workers are like. And what yarn workers do like. We like yarn. We might purchase some yarn that is perfect for a new project. We also might purchase some yarn that we just like, even though we don’t necessarily know what we might use it for. Or when we might use it. Some of you might suggest that we could have an obsession with yarn. We do not plan to pay attention to you.

David didn’t want very much from his parents’ house. We have a house with plenty of furniture. We have dishes and pots and pans and lamps. I don’t wear much jewelry (David did bring home the required bag of jewelry, and I have offered it up to some friends. Some of it is going to church for the preschoolers to pretend with.) I did bring home, when we were there in July, a few small Corning Ware pans. I already had a couple and they’re pretty useful. Beyond that, we didn’t collect very much. But, before he left for his most recent trip, I said, “Bring yarn.”

My sisters-in-law said that they unearthed LOTS of yarn. I think there were 60 white trash bags full of yarn. Seriously.

I belong to a knitting/crocheting group that is very helping-oriented. They create items to make chemotherapy patients comfortable, they make shawls and lap afghans for people in nursing homes, they craft handmade hats for children in a low-income child development center in town, they knit and crochet items for homeless folks. These are yarn workers on a mission.

So, I said, “Bring yarn.” He was able to pile 20 bags in the car. Here’s what 20 bags of yarn looks like:

Actually, there’s quite a bit missing. I invited a yarn-desirous friend over a few days ago. She carefully went through several bags and took a couple of bags’ worth home. I’m pretty confident that I’ll be able to find loving homes for all the skeins. It may take a few weeks; there’s a limit to how much I can transport to the knitting/crocheting folks at a time.

Some of the yarn won’t really work well for places where the hats, shawls, etc. will need to be machine washed and dried. My mother-in-law purchased some really nice, quality yarns, like wools and cottons whose care tags read: “hand wash and lie flat to dry.” But, I think there will be enough to go around for whomever and whatever and however. I might even keep some for myself.

 

She opens her hand to the poor,
    and reaches out her hands to the needy.

Proverbs 31:20 (New Revised Standard Version)

Not all the members of my yarn group are “shes.” But they are all pretty much on board with that helping and reaching out business.

 

Yes. It’s Thyme.

| Faithfulness, Patience

The backyard today, with the garden in the back corner

The plat of this house, built by my parents in 1959, clearly shows a garden, at the back, east, corner of the lot. My dad planted a vegetable garden there, but it didn’t do all that well. Then, he planted cannas, then some irises, and other things, over the years. As my parents aged, they did less and less yard work, and by time we moved in, that garden area was a huge, overgrown mess, with pecan trees (from squirrels, who put pecans into the ground with the idea of going back and getting them to eat during the winter, but, as far as I can tell, they immediately forget where the pecans are, and the pecans sprout and grow new trees). Those original cannas, sturdy plants that they are, were still growing there.

For my birthday and Mother’s Day, the first spring we lived here, Kevin and April completely cleaned out the garden. I kept the canna roots, and planted them elsewhere. I tried vegetables in the garden, without much luck. The next spring, I tried again, purchasing six nice tomato plants. I tried to be a better caregiver, and I did get a harvest. Six tomatoes. Not six tomatoes per plant, but six tomatoes, total. I couldn’t get squash to grow. I couldn’t get green beans to grow.

The compost bins–the right-hand one is for current peelings, etc./the left-hand one is cooking

I made a nice compost area in the yard’s very back corner, and, each year, spread the compost, with great hope, into the garden. So, at some point, I should have had really great dirt. But, somehow, not great plants.

One spring, a local garden center offered a Groupon: $10.00 for an hour of yard work. I bought it and used it for a guy to come and dig in that year’s compost. (He said I had really nice compost.) When he finished, I explained my lack of skill at growing things and asked what he thought would grow there. (I had identified one possible problem–maybe not as much sunlight as tomatoes, peppers, and squash might need.) He said “herbs.” I said, “What kind of herbs?” “Thyme,” he said. And thus was the thyme garden born.

The first year, I bought lots of thyme plants, and lost a lot of thyme plants. Then, I tried, maybe, three plants. When they lived, I added another one or two. And, over the years, I have, indeed, grown myself a very nice, thriving thyme garden. I don’t really grow it for its usefulness in the kitchen, as I don’t cook much these days. I grow it because it will grow in my garden. But, when I do find an interesting-looking recipe that calls for thyme, I’m very excited.

Last November, I saw a recipe in the newspaper’s Sunday magazine that looked interesting (and called for thyme!): Jerk Turkey. (That recipe called for turkey breasts, while this link calls for a whole turkey, but the recipes are essentially the same, but without the star anise and lime. And a baking time of a hour.) We had it for Christmas dinner. It was delicious, probably due to the home-grown thyme, don’t you think?

Recently, I was flipping through a copy of Cooking Light magazine, and saw a recipe for “Amp up your Plant Intake with Mushroom-Based Meat Loaf .” I’ve never cared much for mushrooms, but last Christmas, in addition to Jerk Turkey, I also made “Modern Green Bean Casserole,” in an effort to make our holiday dinner a little more interesting. It had sautéed mushrooms in it, and was really tasty.  I glanced through the meat loaf recipe and saw that the mushrooms were sautéd in that recipe, too. (I think I’ve not cared for mushrooms in their raw state.) And, bonus–Thyme! I made a list and went off to the grocery store. I did walk back and forth in the fresh foods section, searching for “cremeni mushrooms.” I could not find them anywhere, and I touched and read the labels of just about every mushroom package. I looked up “cremeni mushrooms” on my phone and read that baby bella is just another name for cremeni mushrooms, and there were baby bellas all over the mushroom section.

At home, I sautéed my mushrooms, stirred in the other ingredients, and, with great joy and love, stripped 2 teaspoons of thyme leaves from their stems and added it in. It was great meat loaf! And, we amped up our plant intake.

Then God said, “I’ve given you every sort of seed-bearing plant on Earth
    And every kind of fruit-bearing tree, given them to you for food.
    To all animals and all birds, everything that moves and breathes,
    I give whatever grows out of the ground for food.”
        And there it was.

Genesis 1:30 (The Message)

 

God is good to us.

 

Housework

| Faithfulness, Love, Patience

The company started leaving last Friday. Peter was with me as I was doing post-guest cleaning and getting the house back to its regular self. Putting stuff away, like dishes and napkins. Going through the fridge and tossing the tiny bits of leftovers that got stored and saved. Laundering the towels, which mostly got folded up and stored in bins in the linen closet, waiting for the next guests. And washing the sheets, which got put back on the beds. Before the guests came, I also laundered the mattress pads and pillow protectors when getting the clean sheets on the day bed and trundle ready for guests. When I removed the sheets and pillow cases from the guest room bed, post guests, I thought, Hmmm. I should wash this mattress pad and pillow protectors, too.

That load was a washer-full, and I gathered up the pad and pillow cases and protectors and put them in the dryer by themselves, so there’d be enough space. Later, when I went back out to the laundry room to retrieve them and put the sheets in, I discovered that I’d put the big ol’ mattress pad in first, and then added the pillow protectors and cases. The mattress pad had rotated itself around and around in the dryer, trapping the pillow cases and protectors against the dryer door. They weren’t sopping wet, but they were damp. Really damp.

I carried them to the guest room which is also where I sew, and iron. I put up the ironing board (with its lovely new ironing board cover) and plugged in the iron. And spent the next few minutes doing the same thing I had done when I was nine or ten years old and learning to iron. Ironing pillowcases. JoAnne remembers doing that, too–our mom handing down her “taking care of the house” skill set.

A couple of the pillowcases were 100% cotton. One was really damp and ironed up easily and all and starchy-ish. The other one had dried completely and was badly wrinkled (as 100% cotton things sometimes are, especially those that are really old and don’t have the tiniest bit of man-made fibers in them). This one should be sprinkled, I thought.

And when the weather was rainy …

I didn’t actually sprinkle the wrinkled pillowcase. (I really did once have one of those sprinkler tops. I got it in a collection of gadgets and things that were a wedding gift. I haven’t seen it in years.) But I do have, in the sewing room closet, a spray bottle with rose-scented water in it. When things need ironing, I spray the wrinkles, and then iron them. It seems to work as well. And smells good.

Do your work willingly, as though you were serving the Lord himself, and not just your earthly master.

Colossians 3:23 (Contemporary English Version)

I’m going to try to remember that, next time I’m cleaning the bathrooms. Or cleaning up the kitchen. Or pulling weeds. And all the other things …

 

In a completely unrelated issue, here are photos from July 6, when Peter and the little boy next door made chalk pathways, and from August 5, when I was explaining to Peter how I knew it hadn’t rained at all here.

Late this afternoon, rain poured. There was lightning, and thunder. There is not a speck of chalk dust on the porch, the sidewalk, nor the driveway. Peter’s idea was that, if it did rain, he and Ford should chalk things up again, so we can continue to keep a running record of the un-rainfall rate around here.

Company’s Come! (Part 2)

| Faithfulness, Joy, Love

Sunday morning, I dropped Natalie at the Shipley’s donut place across the street from Antioch church, where she attended while she was at Baylor. After Sunday School with preschoolers, I went back to the Shipley’s, where Natalie was waiting, after the Antioch first service was over. Then we picked up JoAnne for a trip to Fort Worth to visit Kevin, April, and Peter. A nice visit, fun games, ate a soup and sandwich dinner, then took April with us to Dallas to visit our cousin Suzy.

 

On the way to Suzy’s, I had my phone’s maps on, so we could get quick directions. I plugged in my phone, to recharge the battery. The phone’s instructions came through the car’s audio system, as did the music I had on my phone. They fiddled with the system, trying to get the driving directions exclusively. So, three ladies with suggestions, some music, and me, uncertain about the route. They persevered, and we arrived just fine (after a small detour when I did not “turn at the second exit from the roundabout,” but instead, turned at the first exit from the roundabout).

JoAnne and Natalie hadn’t seen Suzy in years! We chatted and caught up, and slept soundly in comfortable beds.

Monday-Got up for breakfast, and chatted on and on until a late lunch, and chatted on and on until 2:00 or so. And, in there somewhere, Natalie and April took my phone out to my car and enabled the Bluetooth, which (of course) means that the music will stop when the phone gives me driving instructions.

When those younger girls were getting some information from Siri on their phones Suzy was interested, and they worked to help her get the Siri function enabled on her phone. Two or three times, Suzy went through the steps, all the way to completion. Then, when she said, “Hey, Siri,” Siri immediately popped up, ready to help … on JoAnne’s phone. They needed a few more attempts to be successful.

The newly installed Bluetooth worked wonderfully well; we got ourselves back to Fort Worth effortlessly (pretty much). And then on back to Waco.

A box for what to keep, what to toss, what to forward to our cousins, whose dads had written, too.

Girls’ Night Out at the Movies. We went to see Ocean’s 8.

More letter-reading. (See last week’s blog.)

Natalie’s friend Hillary has come to Antioch Church for a training event. She’s staying here, too.

Tuesday-More letters. Some shopping. Some Bush’s fried chicken tenders. More letters.

 

Wednesday-After so very many days of scorching heat, this morning is really nice. Ninety-five in the afternoon, but after three-digit numbers the past many days, it seems, well, not exactly nice. But “not-quite-so-bad.”

I’ve hit a letter-reading wall. There’s so much emotion, so much anxiety. I’m having to take a break.

Childhood friend, Debbie, came over to visit. She said, “It’s just like it used to be.” (She’s sort of right.) “It even smells the same.” It is the house where she came to visit and play and spend the night with JoAnne. And maybe it does smell somewhat the same. But Daddy stopped pipe smoking in 1976. Maybe there’s a little bit of lingering pipe smoke smell. Personally, I don’t notice it. But she did say that it was just the same, but the garage door was down.

For all my growing up years, we did keep the garage door open. When Daddy went to work each morning, he lifted the garage door and it stayed up until late evening, when he was closing up the house for the night. When we moved in, twelve years ago, I kept up the habit, lowering the door when I left the house, but keeping it open when I was home. It just seems friendlier. When we were kids, all the garage doors stayed open, and that’s how we went in and out and knocked on the kitchen doors, looking for friends to play with. Recently, there have been several car break-ins in the neighborhood. A neighbor warned me that somebody could come in the garage while it was open, and hide (which is perfectly possible) and, when I left the garage and lowered the door, that thief could easily get into the house and ransack it. So, I’ve started keeping the garage door down all the time. When I remember to. And Debbie found it unusual. And somewhat wrong.

 

We went to the James Avery jewelry store and to the Bundt Cake store. Kevin and Peter arrived. Kevin, Hillary, and team Natalie/Peter played a rousing game of Survive, a family favorite that Natalie remembers playing at our house when she was a little girl. I went to bed really early. Later, they went to Target for more games to play. I slept through all that.

 

Thursday-Trying to tie up loose ends, finish up, squeeze out all the love and joy and fun.

 

 

And because we haven’t had enough company, another of Natalie’s friends who in Waco for the Antioch Church training. Her name is Robin.

 

Friday morning, they’ll be getting into a rental car. Kevin will be leaving, too, for the Bell County Comic Con. Peter and I will be somewhat lonesome. Maybe we’ll make some cookies.

 

 

 

People who don’t take care of their relatives, and especially their own families, have given up their faith. They are worse than someone who doesn’t have faith in the Lord.

Timothy 5:8 (Contemporary English Version)

 

There are lots of ways to take care of family, our biological folks, and our faith family. We often think first of the financial and physical needs. Emotional needs are important, too. Working, playing, and laughing together feed us significantly, in ways that are sometimes as, or more, important than a healthy meal. Doing those things with family and friends also makes us all healthier.

New Year’s Reflections

| Faithfulness, Love, Patience

The new year (I know, I’m a little behind) is a time for looking back and seeing how things have gone (or, are going).

The fingernail report–

Back in the fall, I had a cyst removed from my nailbed. It took forever to grow all the way out. If you’re interested, you can read the story.

It seems I’m always loosing plants during cold weather because I’m not diligent about taking care of them. Here’s:

The plant report-

Another year older

The boy report–

Three years from “head all the way below the bar” to “head all the way above the bar.”

So, my health, my yard, my grandson. Things that preoccupy my thoughts and time and energy. I could place a lot of “happy face” emojis here, but … I guess I’m still more a word person.

 

 

Every desirable and beneficial gift comes out of heaven. The gifts are rivers of light cascading down from the Father of Light. There is nothing deceitful in God, nothing two-faced, nothing fickle.

James 1:17 (The Message)

 

This is how I feel sometimes–like rivers of light are cascading down on me, in the things that give me such joy and delight.

Autumn Update

| Faithfulness, Joy, Kindness, Patience, Uncategorized

The first time I handed out apples for Halloween, was, I think, the year before Jeremy was born. David was taking Kevin around to family and friends, and I was home with the porch light on and apples in a bowl. Most kids seemed happy about the apples, but not one. He knocked on the door and I opened it and held out my bowl of apples. He looked down at it and said, a little angrily, “Apples! I don’t want an apple!”

“Well, that’s all I’ve got,” I said. And he turned around and stalked back down the sidewalk to his dad, who was waiting at the curb.

“What did you say to her?!?!” Dad yelped. And I shut the door with a bit of a smile. Halloween is a nice time to learn manners and appropriate behavior.  And I’ve persevered.

This year, I bought four bags of apples for Trick-or-Treaters. I emptied three of the bags into a basket to take to the door. I didn’t count the apples, but it seems like I maybe gave out about one-and-a-half bags worth.

The weather forecast was dreary, but the rain had fallen late in the afternoon, and by time kids came, things were just damp. I think our house might have been the only one on our block with the porch light on.

A group of three or four came early, and then there was quite a lull. But, later, there were several doorbell rings and small groups of children, all ages, and all dressed up.

I’m still a little amazed that most kids think that apples are a cool thing to get for Halloween (and I’m determined to be the lone voice of reason in a sea of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups–which I would eat six of every day, if I was allowed that sort of thing–the Reese’s, not apples).

One little fellow, the smallest of his group, the ‘way smallest of any group, stood solidly by the door as his companions reached, one by one, into the basket for their apples. For every apple they put in their bag, he put another apple in his little plastic pumpkin, saying, rather zombie-like, “Apple! Apple! Apple! ” with every one. I finally stopped him, because I was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to get safely down the steps without falling over sideways from the significant weight of his apple-filled pumpkin.

Lots of apples remain, which is not as much fun as an apple basket full of Butterfingers, but better to have around. We may need to make applesauce in Sunday School.

Meanwhile, the fall plant report.

As long as the earth remains,
there will be planting
    and harvest,
    cold and heat;
winter and summer,
    day and night.

Genesis 8:22 (Contemporary English Version)

 

 

And, I suppose, squirrels.

 

We the Jury . . .

| Faithfulness, Patience, Self-Control

I got this jury notice. I don’t even remember when it came, but I was supposed to report last Monday.

The card always says to call their recording after 5:30 on the Friday before report time, to see if we actually have to report. I called. We had to.

My jury duty history has been rather spotty. When Kevin was a toddler, I got a summons, and there’s an exemption if you have a child at home with no one else to care for him. So I circled that one and sent it back. Then we moved to Lubbock for a year. Then we lived in a rental house for a couple of years. Then we moved into the house we bought. So, I’d forgotten about juries. I guess they lost track of me, as my address kept changing, and, I guess, those cards kept getting returned.

Then, once, when neighbors were out of town and we were getting their mail for them, our mail got mixed up with theirs, I completely overlooked a jury notice. When I found it, I was panic-stricken (thinking they might arrest me or something). I called frantically. Turns out, it was one of those days when the prospective jurors actually didn’t have to report.

Then, 1991, I had to go. And I actually got picked to be on the jury. And I actually served, start to finish, for the only time ever. It was a Workman’s Comp case, and, we the jury, did not think the guy was owed any more money.

I did get picked another time. It took so long that they sent us off for lunch before the trial began. When we got back, and were sitting in the jury room, someone, I guess one of the prosecutors, came in and said that, while we were at lunch, the case had been settled. He assured us that our presence had not been for naught. Our being there and having the jury chosen and the case ready to be presented, made whomever was on trial decide that maybe that deal that had been offered wasn’t so bad after all. He said that our willingness to be part of the judicial process helped the case get resolved. And thanks. And our checks would be in the mail. ($7.50, I think.)

Once, I got a summons and showed up for a case that involved a drunk driver. Oh boy, I thought. I am going to fry this guy. But then the lawyers began to talk about being unbiased and listening carefully to all the testimony and making a good and honest decision, and I felt bad and resolved to be a good juror. And then they asked if anyone was a non-drinker, and I raised my hand and that was that.

Then, more recently, I had a summons. They come a few weeks before jurors have to report. I forgot about it. I felt really bad about it. And really anxious about it.

A few months ago, one Monday morning, so few potential jurors showed up that there barely were enough people to handle the week’s court cases. Needless to say, the judge was FURIOUS!! This was after I’d neglected to show up, but, I’m being more careful and attentive now.

So, I showed up. But I wasn’t quite as anxious as I’d been when I first got the thing. For those of you who haven’t kept up with local legal events here, the first Twin Peaks shooting case has begun. The ladies who were sitting on either side of me in the potential juror room, and I, were all grateful that that’s not the case we’d be hearing. (It started a couple of weeks ago. The shooting happened two-and-a-half years ago.)

So, quite a few people who felt they had legitimate exemptions went up and talked to the judge. Most of them got to leave. Then, they called the names of 60 folks, and told them to leave but to return on Tuesday morning. Then, they called the name of 62 more people (including me), and also said to come back on Tuesday.

I went back on Tuesday. And this time, not to the juror room in the Annex building, but right up to the third floor of the courthouse. At 9:00. I didn’t want to be at all late, and I wanted to be sure I could find parking (which isn’t all that hard, after all), so I arrived at about 8:15. But, I brought some work to do. At around 9:15, I got up and walked around a bit. Actually, around and around and around the big open space that looks down on the rotunda. I stopped and talked to a friend I haven’t seen in many years. And talked. And talked. Finally, at 10:15 or so, they opened the doors and called us, by name, to enter the courtroom. They lined us up on the benches, six per row, all going in in the order in which they had called us. That took a few minutes.

Then, the judge said, “We’re sorry we had to keep you out there so long. And we’re sorry that we couldn’t tell you anything. But if we started talking to you about what was going on in here, then it would have undermined the whole process.” There were several cases on the docket, and all of them got resolved with pleas and deals. And we were done.

And again, the judge was sober and serious about the fact that our showing up and our being ready to be part of a jury had made the process work. Cases were resolved.

I looked at my watch and thought, “Hmmm. I can actually get over to West Avenue Elementary School in time for the Reading Club time that I thought I was going to miss.”

Everything you were taught can be put into a few words:

Respect and obey God!
This is what life
    is all about.
God will judge
    everything we do,
even what is done in secret,
    whether good or bad.

Ecclesiastes 12: 13, 14 (Contemporary English Version)

I guess if God’s doing the judging, a jury of my peers might not be all that reliable. They might have a bias.

 

 

 

Bag Lady

| Faithfulness

I wonder if that what’s the employees at the grocery store and Wal-Mart and Target say (or just think) about me. Because I am a bag lady.

Whenever I go to those places, I almost always have a bag full of bags slung over my shoulder. And I’m a little surprised that more shoppers don’t.

My parents, and generations before them, used up, reused, and recycled (before it was a thing). They save used envelopes for list-making and note-taking. They kept wrapping paper from gifts, ironed out the creases, and re-wrapped and re-wrapped gifts. They kept all their leftovers and ate them all up in subsequent meals.

And then things became disposable, not-worth-the-effort-to-keep, and groceries went home in those flimsy plastic bags instead of the nice brown paper, stands-up-by-itself bags. If those brown paper bags got blown away in the wind, they just ended up stuck behind some garage or in some ditch, where they got sunshined on and rained on, after which they deteriorated and became mulch and enriched the earth. And when those flimsy plastic bags got blown away by the wind, they got stuck high up in tree branches where they are to this day.

So. I try to do my part. We recycle the cans and the bottles and the plastic and the paper, and sometimes our blue recycle bin is filled to the brim on recycle pick-up day.

And I take my bags to the stores.

Target has a variety of sizes and weights of reusable bags. They are pretty and red and useful. I’ve purchased several. One of my favorites was a bag that folded up and there was a zipper that held the whole thing closed. It disappeared. I think that maybe it was on the edge of the car’s seat and may have fallen out, unnoticed, when I opened the door. But then, they made another kind, similar, but it had a Velcro fastener that kept it all together.

 

I love this Target bag. It’s canvas and big and heavy-duty; holds a lot. Typically, I’d put all my other, smaller Target bags in it and go off shopping to Target. See this bag? This bag from the inside? It’s empty. It’s empty because it’s a brand-new bag, and it’s the only Target bag I have now. I think what must have happened, because I have searched and searched the house, the car, the house and car again. And again. No bags. I must have gone to Target, with the bags, down in my cart, didn’t find what I was looking for, and, without thinking, put my cart back at the front of the store, and left. After several days, of looking and wondering, befuddled, and finally thinking that maybe I knew what happened, I went to Target to check the lost and found. No luck. No luck at all. And, after shopping that day, I was checking out and saw, behind my checker, the nice canvas bags. “I’ll take one of those,” I said. I’m starting over.

 

Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof.

Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein: then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice

Psalm 96:11-12 (King James Version)

Let’s hear it from Sky,
With Earth joining in,
And a huge round of applause from Sea.

Let Wilderness turn cartwheels,
Animals, come dance,
Put every tree of the forest in the choir—

Psalm 96:11-12 (The Messge)

Once, when I was checking out at Wal-Mart, but using my HEB grocery store bags, the Wal-Mart checker sort of took me to task. “You’re bringing those HEB bags here to Wal-Mart,” she asked, sort of skeptically. “Really,” I said. “Here I am, with my HEB bags, but I’m shopping at Wal-Mart, instead. You’d think that the Wal-Mart people would be overjoyed.” Nobody at Wal-Mart has ever again said anything to me about it. And me, I’m just trying to do my part to keep the sky, the earth, the sea, and the trees all singing their happy songs!