No Dominos Allowed

Today's paper carried a good amount of stories dealing with the tornadoes from last week.  Considering the devastation they brought, that's natural.  We expect more stories to come.  One particular tale in today's paper concerned a man who perished saving his wife.  His son was driving to check up on them and saw his father perish.  The man could have made it, but he refused to leave his handicapped wife and died covering her with his body, letting the falling debris crush him.

To many in this day and age, that man would be classified as a 'sucker.'  To a great deal more, he will be remembered as a hero.  To the son, who according to the paper, already had a good deal of fond memories of his father, his last memory of him will be that of him saving his mother.  I would say that man will be remembered well.  The people of the community say he was always there for you.  I'm not surprised.
A man like that - - one who's always there for us - - is a hero.  It's the way a person acts that makes them heroes.  This man was already a hero to his family, and now he is one to the community as well.  It's just that now he's getting attention statewide, due to the newspaper. 

You want to be a hero?  Just think of how your actions affect others.  Before you scoff, think of dominoes.  Tip one over, and they all fall.  We're much like that game.  One of us falls, and it can cause a great deal of devastation.  Don't be a domino.  Be a hero.

                                                                                                 

Playing Bang-Bang

When the world, my sister's kids, and I were considerably younger, I used to babysit Diana's quartet.  I have to say they were sweet and angelic, as she reads this blog.  Actually, they were well behaved, as they knew Uncle Mickey was a snitch.  Also, their mother had told them Uncle Mickey was the Big Bad Wolf.  So while they loved me, they were scared to death of me.

But we had fun.  You see, we played the entire time, and the kids loved it when we played bang-bang. 

Oh, I know.  The ACLU, PTA, and OEA (Oklahoma Educational Association for you non-Okies) would be down on me had they but known.  Matter of fact, I'd probably be in jail for teaching such a dangerous game to minors.  Yet we had an educational form of bang-bang.

Yes, I said educational.

You see, we'd start out with a fast draw contest.  I'd always tell the kids, "Draw on the count of three."  Of course, I shot them on two.  Now, don't even think of scolding me, telling me what a cheat I am.  But I'm not.  You see, I never said I would draw on three, did I?  Hmmmmmmm?  It took the kids years to figure it out. 

When they finally shot me on two (the cheaters!) I started drawing on one.  Again, it took them months.  Alas, they started cheating again and they drew on one.  It finally got to the point, I'd tell them to draw on the count of three and they would immediately shoot me.

I get a tear in my eye, thinking about how well they learned.

Years later, Mom chastised me, telling me I'd taught her grandchildren to cheat.  Not so, I pointed out to her.  Her oldest grandson, Justin was walking by, and I asked him, "Justin!  What did Uncle Mickey teach you?"

"Never trust anyone," he said, continuing on. 

Mom thought that was horrible, and I pointed out they'd never been accosted by strangers, never hurt by anyone, etc.

I did my uncle's job well.

If only I could outdraw them now.

It Ain't Broke, People

I just finished watching an interesting documentary on our national anthem.  It's interesting how people have wanted to change it throughout the years.  Many have not cared for it due to the reason it's 'hard to sing.'  Others don't like the fact it's a 'violent song.' 

Okay, so it's not an easy song to sing.  Yet this is a country that is supposed to be comprise of people who thrive on challenges.  That's how we got started back in 1775.  And now, many of us are saying that a tune defeats us?  Sad is the only word that comes to mind.  This documentary had a voice teacher saying The Star Spangled Banner is actually a perfect song, as when we sing it at sporting events, our blood is stirred.  He pointed out the other tunes considered wouldn't do so.

For the PC crowd, yes, the song describes violence.  Yes, it talks of destruction.  But this nation wasn't won in a poker game or quilting bee.  Francis Scott Key's ballad reminds us of this, and not one of the other songs considered remind us of this.  Each and every one of them were wonderful songs telling of the beauty of America, but The Star Spangled Banner truly deals with the sacrifice needed to win our freedom.  The veterans interviewed in this documentary wondered if those wanting to change the national anthem had served.  Each of them said when they were in the military, The Star Spangled Banner gave them chills, and it still does.

It isn't busted, so let's just leave it alone.  Keep the ballad reminding us why we're a nation.  When there was once a movement to replace it, Irving Berlin, our nation's foremost songwriter, and Arthur Fielder, conductor, conductor of the Boston Pops, spearheaded a movement to head it off.  They pointed out that no one less than John Philip Sousa had led the way to make the song the national anthem, and who better to tailor America's taste in music?

                                                            

So when you next hear our national anthem, do the correct thing.  Take off your hat, put your hand over your heart, and remember why you're grateful.  Sing out, and do so properly.  You may not have the best voice in the world, but you are able to do so, due to the generations that came before us.  Do it for them.

                                                                                               

Joe Louis Knew The Key

This has been a somewhat bleah week.  Not the worst for my family, but well . . . we've had better.  I sit here with a somewhat bum foot, wanting to cry out like Job, asking what is next.  Then I remember the words of Joe Louis.

You remember Joe Louis. Even if you're not a sports fan, you know who he is.  (If you don't, shame on you.)  He was one of the greatest boxers to step into the ring.  During World War Two, he gave a speech in which he stated, "We'll win because we're on God's side."

Louis was chastised by his manager, who pointed out he was to have said, "God is on our side," but the fighter stated he said what he meant.  The next day the papers lauded him for his words, and Louis pointed this out.  It has since gone down as one of his finest moments.

I know our family will persevere for the simple reason that yes, we are on God's side.  Trust me . . . if we weren't, we have the family and friends who would kindly pull and nudge us back, letting us know.

Right now, what we've experienced are setbacks.  I go online to Google News and read about what's happening to others around the world.  You know, compared to them, it's not that bad.  I still have my family, my friends, and my health.  (Okay, so the ankle hurts.  Whoop de doo.)

In the meantime, we persevere and remember Louis' words.  The setbacks are minor compared to what has happened to others, and we are like the little engine who could.  We continue on throughout life, chugging along.
                                                                                                 

For Mom

With today being Mother's Day, we all like to post on Facebook "I love you, Mom!", as it's cheaper than sending her a card.  We also like to argue as to who has the best mother.  This is ridiculous.  After all, my mother is the best.  Hands down.

Think about it, people.  She's put up with me for fifty-two years and not once has she killed me. 

Oh, she's thought about it, but she's never once carried out the act.  (There are times, though, when I stay out of the kitchen if she's using sharp objects.) 

Mom also used to fantasize about flushing me down the commode and waving goodbye.  I kid you not.  And she would tell this story to ladies' groups.  Once, a woman came in to the church library I run, and said, "Your mother told the funniest story about you."  I replied, "Is it about flushing me down the toilet and waving goodbye?"  She then repeated what I had just said, and laughed all the way down the hall.  (By the way, I had no idea who this lunatic was.)  At lunch, I told Mom, "You have some weirdos in your audiences."


Mom and Rod Cranford, one of
the people from their Study

Seriously, if I was asked to describe Mom in one word, it would be 'there.'  She's been there for many a person, and will continue to do so.  I know . . . I've used that for my sister, but just who do you think taught that to Diana?  Mom's hands are helping hands, and I for one have given them plenty of practice over the years.  She's been my 'Dr. Mom,' and still is.

She and Dad had a Bible Study for teenagers for fourteen years.  To this day, some of those people - many of them grandparents now - come to them for advice.  They haven't forgotten the Saturday nights at the Fishers, and the fact the folks were always there for them. 

Mom loves being a grandparent and great-grandparent.  It continues keeping her young, and watching her, you sometimes wonder which one is the young one.  One of her favorite pastimes is playing with her great-granddaughter, running throughout the house, shouting at the top of her lungs with Amelia.  I wish I had her energy.

She loves going through recipes, always searching for something new.  We constantly tell her she's the best cook in the world, so why try to change anything, but she always wants to improve. 

It's a hoot watching mysteries with her, as five minutes into them, she'll turn to me, asking, "So and so did it, didn't they?"  Five minutes later, I'll get the exact same question.  This will go on . . . and on . . .and on . . . all through the show.  Now, if I've seen it, she knows darn well I'm not going to tell her.  And if I haven't seen it, I have to tell her each and every time this movie is new to me as well.  Then, at the show's end, she's flabbergasted to discover she was wrong.

Mom's our rock, our right arm (even though she's a lefty.) .  I don't think she realizes just how loved she is.  But a lot of people do love her and care about her.

And I'm one of them.

                                                                                                

Yeah . . . Right

I sit here, nursing a sprained ankle in ice water and Epsom salts.  My gall bladder has been acting up for month, and the doctor says it will probably need to be removed.  The optometrist told me I'd only need my glasses for driving at night.  He lied.  I need them for watching television, reading, being on the computer, and seeing who I'm talking to, not to mention telling if I'm petting the cat or the dog.

You know why they call these the golden years?  Have you seen the price of gold?  It, like the price of gas, keeps going up.  That, my friends, is why middle age is the golden years. 

My doctors and pharmacist are on my Christmas card list.  Hey, I know who to take care of. 

The people at work . . . who are young enough to be my children . . . talk about their interests, then ask what I'm interested in.  Unfortunately, the actors, musicians, etc., all died before these kids were born.  The kids all nod, going, "Uh huh," to be polite, and wonder who this weird person is.  At least my cat understands me.  Oh well, I don't know who they're talking about, either.

But I'll survive.  Heck, there are worse things than middle age.  I'll know what they are one of these days.

                                                                                                   

Out With the Old, In With the Old

It's been pointed out to me there are a good amount of blogs out there with the titles of This 'n That.  This being the case, I decided it was time for a switch.  The only problem was what?  The answer was quite simple.

Welcome to Mizpah.

If you ask why that particular title, there are several reasons.  First off, I like the sound of the word.  Second, look up Genesis 31:49.

"And Mizpah; for he said, The Lord watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another."

That is really the purpose of the Internet, keeping in touch with one another.  And I do hope that God watches over each and every one of us.

The third reason for choosing this title is when I was in college - - - back when i was thirty pounds lighter and had hair - - - I put together a newsletter for my church's college group.  It was called Mizpah.  Naturally, I couldn't get anyone from the group to write for it.  I mean, anyone.  I think in the year and a half of the Mizpah's existence, I got a total of three people from the church to write for it.  I mean, I even asked our then pastor for an article, telling him I didn't need it for three months.  His answer was he didn't have the time.

But I had writers.  Oh, I had writers.  My buddies at the dorm a a young lady at the ladies dorm stepped up to the plate.  (Tami's articles were always the best, putting all of us to shame.)  Ketchum's Krackers, Paul's Perspective, Talk From the Typewriter . . . . it was all in fun.  One issue would be serious, another would be farcical.

One issue I let my writers know their articles were due the next day.  As a result, a revolution was staged in print, and I was overthrown by my roommate, Paul Hammond.  Of course, justice prevailed.  It had to, as I was typing up the issue.

My typing was another matter.  I won't say it was bad, but around the dorm, our paper was dubbed the Mizprint.

We even had a song that went along to the tune of the "Rawhide" ballad.  One night, Paul, Darrin Russell and I worked on it and we chased Darrin out at midnight after coming up with fifteen verses.  After Paul and I went to bed, one of us would come up with another verse, and it went on . . . and on . . . and on until 3:30 a.m.  Sadly, we only remembered the first stanza, and it's pretty bad.  Today, it would be a hit.  (Let me know if you want to hear it.)

So humor a middle-aged man as I change the name.  I'm merely having some fun and remembering some durned good times.

Mizpah.