"Aunt Thelma," my niece spoke over the phone, "My dad is visiting and he would like to come and see you and Uncle Howard." How nice! I thought, and asked to speak to this old friend we'd not seen for probably 50 years. He and my sister had been divorced several years, even then, but he would always feel like a member of the family for all of us. He still sounded like himself, his voice just not as strong as I remembered. We didn't talk long, but we looked forward to a possible visit.
Finally, it was set up for yesterday. I was glad I had done some housecleaning the day before, and enlisted my husband to help me finish making the house company ready. We scurried around with excitement, not knowing exactly when they would come, but they would call before the hour's drive from Wichita. Finally, as the day wore on, I tried to contact my niece by phone and internet, but got no response.
"What do you supposed happened?" I asked my husband. "Did I misunderstand?" There were two possible dates for the visit, and I had chosen Tuesday, yesterday. Finally, we ate supper, and I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang.
"I need to tell you why we didn't come down today," my niece said, "I've been calling so many people I forgot to call you. Daddy has had a heart attack and is in intensive care at the hospital!" Oh, no! How I hated to hear that! He is 86, but he had been healthy as far as I knew. His wife had died about a month before, and he was doing some visiting and reconnecting with folks after the confinement of her illness. He was talking of looking up family in Texas, too.
My mind went back to my first memories of Eddie. I was only 5 when he and my sister got married, and I remember him taking a nap at our house. For some reason, I crept up and planted a kiss on his sleeping countenance! Then, to my chagrin, he opened one eye, winked, smiled at me and went back to sleep.
Before that, he would show up at our house unannounced, walking down the country lane, smiling his shy grin and making himself useful on the place, chopping wood, fixing small items or just hanging around. Mama loved him. After the young couple's marriage, and for the rest of her life, he would call her "Mama."
As a newly-wed, he went into the Navy, and I remember them using some of his pay for Christmas presents for our family. I got the first new doll I can remember, and my brothers got tiny replicas of Navy battleships.
When I got school age, my sister begged Mama into letting them take me and send me to school. She had her hands full with a houseful of boys, so I was allowed to go. They bought my books, school dresses, and paid my fees. I stayed with them and went to school again in 3rd grade, and even for a semester in high school. It seemed they were always there for me.
The phone just rang with the news that his surgery went well. A stent was put in, and although he needs a second stent in a few weeks, the outlook is good for a successful recovery. In that case, we will be the ones visiting him, but that visit will take place after all!
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
October Surprise(s)
"Do you smell anything?" I asked my husband expectantly as we entered the door after church. There is nothing better than coming home on Sunday and being greeted by the delicious aroma of dinner in the oven. This morning I had put in a chicken to roast, with carrots, onion and potatoes, but without much sense of smell, I could only rely on him for a mouth-watering description.
"No," he said, "not yet." My heart sank as we headed toward the kitchen. The house was cold, and so was the oven door! Looking at the oven dial, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was set on the lowest temperature! The food wasn't even lukewarm! How could that have happened? I had double-checked it, but misread the direction of the indicator! How disappointing!
"Well," I said resignedly, "let's just make a sandwich and eat this later." He looked doubtful, but I reminded him that we could go out to the farm and feed the chickens, and hopefully our feast would be done when we got back. I ate rather glumly, but I had to admit the grilled ham and cheese tasted good. I hoped I would be hungry later.
My spirits about our poultry project had been a little depressed, too. A couple of weeks ago, we had taken a drive to Stillwater to eat lunch and visit a couple of stores. Since I found some items for myself, I couldn't protest when, on the way out, Howard said with satisfaction, "Now we are going to Atwoods and see if they have any guineas!" We saw lots of baby chicks at the farm supply store, but he wanted guineas. Finally he asked the attendant and she directed us to the right cages.
Howard selected two brown "keets," as the babies are called, and then he expansively pointed to a white one and said, "I'll take that one, too!" They were about six weeks old, but the saleslady said they still had to be on a wild bird food. We had spent about $20 before we left. Howard kept them in the basement for several nights, then in a warm spell, he put them in cages in the backyard.
Everything went fine, until one evening sitting on the front porch I tried to read the words on a white truck that was slowing in front of our house. "Does that say 'A-nim-al Control?' I murmured. When it stopped and a man began walking toward the house, Howard went to meet him with a friendly greeting. They talked awhile, and when my husband came back, he said there had been a complaint that day about a rooster crowing in our backyard! We had moved our chickens to the farm weeks ago! Nothing came of it, and although he told my "farmer" it was okay to keep the guineas back there, we moved them to the farm the next day.
After a few days, my husband and son decided the flock, including the guineas, could be "free range," and let them out of the chicken pen. The brown ones were missing the next day. I hated seeing the disappointment on Howard's face. We dutifully penned the white one we'd found cowering behind a bale of straw, but a few days later it went missing. Charting it up to a hawk or something, we tried to put the fiasco out of our minds.
Driving up to the farm, we saw Greg working on the chicken house, adding new nesting boxes. "Your white guinea is here!" he announced. There it was, pecking among the chickens! Thank you, Lord! (It probably helped that Howard had caged the abusive rooster!)
Our dinner tasted great when we got home a couple of hours later, followed that evening by a wonderful church singspiration and fellowship. What a great day the Lord had made!
"No," he said, "not yet." My heart sank as we headed toward the kitchen. The house was cold, and so was the oven door! Looking at the oven dial, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was set on the lowest temperature! The food wasn't even lukewarm! How could that have happened? I had double-checked it, but misread the direction of the indicator! How disappointing!
"Well," I said resignedly, "let's just make a sandwich and eat this later." He looked doubtful, but I reminded him that we could go out to the farm and feed the chickens, and hopefully our feast would be done when we got back. I ate rather glumly, but I had to admit the grilled ham and cheese tasted good. I hoped I would be hungry later.
My spirits about our poultry project had been a little depressed, too. A couple of weeks ago, we had taken a drive to Stillwater to eat lunch and visit a couple of stores. Since I found some items for myself, I couldn't protest when, on the way out, Howard said with satisfaction, "Now we are going to Atwoods and see if they have any guineas!" We saw lots of baby chicks at the farm supply store, but he wanted guineas. Finally he asked the attendant and she directed us to the right cages.
Howard selected two brown "keets," as the babies are called, and then he expansively pointed to a white one and said, "I'll take that one, too!" They were about six weeks old, but the saleslady said they still had to be on a wild bird food. We had spent about $20 before we left. Howard kept them in the basement for several nights, then in a warm spell, he put them in cages in the backyard.
Everything went fine, until one evening sitting on the front porch I tried to read the words on a white truck that was slowing in front of our house. "Does that say 'A-nim-al Control?' I murmured. When it stopped and a man began walking toward the house, Howard went to meet him with a friendly greeting. They talked awhile, and when my husband came back, he said there had been a complaint that day about a rooster crowing in our backyard! We had moved our chickens to the farm weeks ago! Nothing came of it, and although he told my "farmer" it was okay to keep the guineas back there, we moved them to the farm the next day.
After a few days, my husband and son decided the flock, including the guineas, could be "free range," and let them out of the chicken pen. The brown ones were missing the next day. I hated seeing the disappointment on Howard's face. We dutifully penned the white one we'd found cowering behind a bale of straw, but a few days later it went missing. Charting it up to a hawk or something, we tried to put the fiasco out of our minds.
Driving up to the farm, we saw Greg working on the chicken house, adding new nesting boxes. "Your white guinea is here!" he announced. There it was, pecking among the chickens! Thank you, Lord! (It probably helped that Howard had caged the abusive rooster!)
Our dinner tasted great when we got home a couple of hours later, followed that evening by a wonderful church singspiration and fellowship. What a great day the Lord had made!
Clear as a Bell?
"Did you get the nail?" I asked my husband as he came into the room. We had bought an item of wall decor and I was needing his help to hang it. Instead of answering, he went out the front door. I was standing by the fireplace looking over the mail I had just brought in.
"Is that the mail?" he asked when he came back in. "I thought you wanted me to get it!" He had thought I said, "mail." It was funny, but it happens all the time with two people whose hearing is not as keen as it should be. We've just learned to laugh it off and hope we don't misunderstand something important..
Like the time when our kids were little, and I heard my nine-year-old son ask, "Mom, can I have a hot-dog?" I was reading the paper and answered distractedly, "Sure, if there are any left from lunch." Pretty soon I was aware of him on the phone saying something like "AKC, Registered, and other mysterious utterances. I saw that he had the classified section of the newspaper spread out before him.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, to which he replied innocently, "I'm looking for a hunting dog! You said I could have one!" I reminded myself to start listening more closely!
Sometimes I accuse my husband of having selective hearing, though. I can call him repeatedly from the kitchen, then, thinking he hasn't heard me, I finally go to the bedroom and let him know, "I called you three times!" His response is "And I answered you three times!" (Well, what with the stove fan on, the refrigerator humming, and the microwave dinging, I guess I hadn't heard him!) Anyway he knows that I mean the meal is ready; he just doesn't want to leave his pursuits of reading, TV, or computer. I feel like saying, as I did when the kids were young, "When I call you, I want you to come!"
There is a story in the Bible about young Samuel, who thought he heard Eli, the priest call him, and rose obediently from his sleeping mat. He immediately went to the priest, and said, "Here I am." (I Samuel 3:4). This happened three times, until Eli instructed him that if he heard the voice call him again, it was the Lord. This time, Samuel recognized it as being from God and received his instructions.
The Bible says in Romans 10:17, "So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God." The previous verses have taught that whosoever calls on the Lord will be saved, but first they must hear about him, and how shall they hear without a preacher? It goes on to say, "How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel." Well, my preacher husband is probably in there studying his Bible, hearing from God, so I guess I'll give him some slack. That is the most important hearing, after all!
"Is that the mail?" he asked when he came back in. "I thought you wanted me to get it!" He had thought I said, "mail." It was funny, but it happens all the time with two people whose hearing is not as keen as it should be. We've just learned to laugh it off and hope we don't misunderstand something important..
Like the time when our kids were little, and I heard my nine-year-old son ask, "Mom, can I have a hot-dog?" I was reading the paper and answered distractedly, "Sure, if there are any left from lunch." Pretty soon I was aware of him on the phone saying something like "AKC, Registered, and other mysterious utterances. I saw that he had the classified section of the newspaper spread out before him.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, to which he replied innocently, "I'm looking for a hunting dog! You said I could have one!" I reminded myself to start listening more closely!
Sometimes I accuse my husband of having selective hearing, though. I can call him repeatedly from the kitchen, then, thinking he hasn't heard me, I finally go to the bedroom and let him know, "I called you three times!" His response is "And I answered you three times!" (Well, what with the stove fan on, the refrigerator humming, and the microwave dinging, I guess I hadn't heard him!) Anyway he knows that I mean the meal is ready; he just doesn't want to leave his pursuits of reading, TV, or computer. I feel like saying, as I did when the kids were young, "When I call you, I want you to come!"
There is a story in the Bible about young Samuel, who thought he heard Eli, the priest call him, and rose obediently from his sleeping mat. He immediately went to the priest, and said, "Here I am." (I Samuel 3:4). This happened three times, until Eli instructed him that if he heard the voice call him again, it was the Lord. This time, Samuel recognized it as being from God and received his instructions.
The Bible says in Romans 10:17, "So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God." The previous verses have taught that whosoever calls on the Lord will be saved, but first they must hear about him, and how shall they hear without a preacher? It goes on to say, "How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel." Well, my preacher husband is probably in there studying his Bible, hearing from God, so I guess I'll give him some slack. That is the most important hearing, after all!
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Just Can't Stop Praising the Lord!
"Brother Howard, will you lead us in a testimony service?" the pastor asked at church last night. There was a small crowd for the midweek service, but it seemed almost everybody had an uplifting testimony, especially an exuberant saint in his 90th year. Still preaching, when my husband gave him the microphone he told of meeting up with someone at a service over the week-end who had been saved under his ministry over 50 years ago.
"I had been asked to preach for a brother, and I was working a job at the time, also," he related. "I was just getting into my message when this little girl, about 16, she was, very pretty in a white dress, came up and stood in front of the altar." He said he was irritated about being interrupted, since he had made so much effort to get there after work and he didn't think anyone should break the anointing when someone was giving the Word.
"What do you want?" he had demanded brusquely, to which she replied, "I want to get saved." He replied that there was no better place nor time than right here and right now, and she was gloriously saved.
"When I saw her yesterday, she was thanking me for leading her to the Lord. 'If I hadn't gotten saved, I wouldn't have gone to Bible school,' she said, 'And if I hadn't gone to Bible school, I would not have met my husband. If I hadn't met my husband, I would not have my wonderful sons,' she said, with tears in her eyes. That meant so much to me!" he finished.
"Tell about the Holy Ghost!" his wife prompted from her seat at the piano. "That was good!"
"Well, I didn't want to take too much time," he admitted hesitantly, "But it turns out that after she got home and was still rejoicing and praying in her room, she had the wonderful experience of being baptized with the Holy Spirit. She was praising so loudly and making a racket, that her father heard her and told his wife,
'Make her shut up!'"
"Her mother couldn't get her to be quiet, so she put her in the closet! That didn't stop her, and she is still praising God after all these years. That meant so much to me," the old preacher said, wiping his eyes as he sat down amid appreciative applause.
I thought of Jeremiah, who said in the chapter 20, verse 9 in the book by his name, "Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forebearing, and I could not stay."
Or Paul, in I Corinthians 9:16, when he says, "For though I preach the gospel, I have nothing to glory of: for necessity is laid upon me; yea woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel!"
I think the old preacher feels the same way.
"I had been asked to preach for a brother, and I was working a job at the time, also," he related. "I was just getting into my message when this little girl, about 16, she was, very pretty in a white dress, came up and stood in front of the altar." He said he was irritated about being interrupted, since he had made so much effort to get there after work and he didn't think anyone should break the anointing when someone was giving the Word.
"What do you want?" he had demanded brusquely, to which she replied, "I want to get saved." He replied that there was no better place nor time than right here and right now, and she was gloriously saved.
"When I saw her yesterday, she was thanking me for leading her to the Lord. 'If I hadn't gotten saved, I wouldn't have gone to Bible school,' she said, 'And if I hadn't gone to Bible school, I would not have met my husband. If I hadn't met my husband, I would not have my wonderful sons,' she said, with tears in her eyes. That meant so much to me!" he finished.
"Tell about the Holy Ghost!" his wife prompted from her seat at the piano. "That was good!"
"Well, I didn't want to take too much time," he admitted hesitantly, "But it turns out that after she got home and was still rejoicing and praying in her room, she had the wonderful experience of being baptized with the Holy Spirit. She was praising so loudly and making a racket, that her father heard her and told his wife,
'Make her shut up!'"
"Her mother couldn't get her to be quiet, so she put her in the closet! That didn't stop her, and she is still praising God after all these years. That meant so much to me," the old preacher said, wiping his eyes as he sat down amid appreciative applause.
I thought of Jeremiah, who said in the chapter 20, verse 9 in the book by his name, "Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forebearing, and I could not stay."
Or Paul, in I Corinthians 9:16, when he says, "For though I preach the gospel, I have nothing to glory of: for necessity is laid upon me; yea woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel!"
I think the old preacher feels the same way.
Monday, October 22, 2012
The Birds and the Bees
"How are you doing with your chickens?" our pastor asked Howard across the table as we were having after-church snacks at Braums last night. That gave my husband the perfect opportunity to fill him in on our latest installment in the poultry saga. We had brought the hens home about two weeks ago and transferred them to the country over a week ago, but not without incident either time.
"Funny you should ask," Howard replied with relish. "Yesterday I had dozed off reading on the front porch, when a voice woke me up. 'Howard, Howard,' I heard, and saw our neighbor lady peering through the screen. 'I have a white chicken in my backyard!"
He was instantly awake, though a little puzzled. Grabbing his shoes from the house and calling me to follow, he headed for her backyard. It was our chicken! I suddenly had a flashback of two escaping the first morning we had them, and we'd never recovered one of them. It was limping, obviously a result of vigorous recovery attempts by us and our eager granddog. Our efforts at catching it this time were futile, too, until he called the dog to pin it down, sending the poor thing into shock, from which, thankfully, it recovered in the coop.
"I had just been reading in the Bible about how God had promised the Israelites that their herds would multiply and their flocks would increase," Howard told our pastor, "I prayed that for me, and now he was increasing my flock by one lost hen!"
"It also says He'll give back what the devil has stolen," I chimed in, thinking of how the chicken had been frightened farther away by the dog in the first place. Well, it was satan's fault that dogs are not always the gentle creatures God made in the beginning when they were not carnivorous.
About that time I heard a buzz of conversation and laughter from a group of ladies at the end of the table, and one spoke up that she'd had a prayer answered in church tonight for my husband! "A big old bee was circling around at the back of the church where I was sitting, and suddenly I saw it head straight for the platform where you were playing the guitar," she explained. "Then it looked like it hit your head! I prayed, 'Lord, send that bee back here and don't let it sting Brother Howard!'"
My husband looked surprised and said, "I thought I felt something hit my head, but figured I imagined it and kept on playing!" (I hadn't seen a thing!)
"Anyway," our friend continued, "Just then it did a complete circle and came back and landed right at my feet! Then my husband stepped on it!"
What a curious symbiosis we have with our creature friends. Someday it will be like it was in the beginning, when the lion will lie down with the lamb, and the thorns, thistles and bee stings will be taken away. Until then, sometimes it seems we can't live with them, but we certainly can't live without 'em!
"Funny you should ask," Howard replied with relish. "Yesterday I had dozed off reading on the front porch, when a voice woke me up. 'Howard, Howard,' I heard, and saw our neighbor lady peering through the screen. 'I have a white chicken in my backyard!"
He was instantly awake, though a little puzzled. Grabbing his shoes from the house and calling me to follow, he headed for her backyard. It was our chicken! I suddenly had a flashback of two escaping the first morning we had them, and we'd never recovered one of them. It was limping, obviously a result of vigorous recovery attempts by us and our eager granddog. Our efforts at catching it this time were futile, too, until he called the dog to pin it down, sending the poor thing into shock, from which, thankfully, it recovered in the coop.
"I had just been reading in the Bible about how God had promised the Israelites that their herds would multiply and their flocks would increase," Howard told our pastor, "I prayed that for me, and now he was increasing my flock by one lost hen!"
"It also says He'll give back what the devil has stolen," I chimed in, thinking of how the chicken had been frightened farther away by the dog in the first place. Well, it was satan's fault that dogs are not always the gentle creatures God made in the beginning when they were not carnivorous.
About that time I heard a buzz of conversation and laughter from a group of ladies at the end of the table, and one spoke up that she'd had a prayer answered in church tonight for my husband! "A big old bee was circling around at the back of the church where I was sitting, and suddenly I saw it head straight for the platform where you were playing the guitar," she explained. "Then it looked like it hit your head! I prayed, 'Lord, send that bee back here and don't let it sting Brother Howard!'"
My husband looked surprised and said, "I thought I felt something hit my head, but figured I imagined it and kept on playing!" (I hadn't seen a thing!)
"Anyway," our friend continued, "Just then it did a complete circle and came back and landed right at my feet! Then my husband stepped on it!"
What a curious symbiosis we have with our creature friends. Someday it will be like it was in the beginning, when the lion will lie down with the lamb, and the thorns, thistles and bee stings will be taken away. Until then, sometimes it seems we can't live with them, but we certainly can't live without 'em!
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Howard on Wheels
"Are you ready to go?" I asked my husband. We had been feeding chickens and the dog at our son's place in the country while they were out of town.
"No," he replied, his eyes fixed on the 4-wheeler, parked tantalizingly nearby. "Let's take a ride. Greg said it would be okay." At first, I demurred, but then I thought, Why not? I figured we'd ride up to the pond, turn around and come back. Not!
"How far are you going?" was my anxious query, clinging on behind him on my uncomfortable perch as he revved up the engine and we sped past the lake. What was I thinking? He was headed to the far end of the pasture! I'd had a ride before with my daughter-in-law, but I'd had a pillow they kept for such purposes, and she listened when I asked her to take it easy!
"Don't go over the humps!" I pleaded, as we headed toward the first of several berms in the terrain put there to prevent erosion on the slopes. My words were lost on the rushing air as he yelled, "What?" and ignored me. Each time we approached the mounds, I feared a drop off, then was relieved when the ground magically smoothed out before us.
Soon we were at the top of the pasture, and he was looking for a gate leading to an outer fence by the road. "I want to check out the fences and find where that cow went through!" So that was it! A sedated long-horn that had resisted transport by the former owner had reportedly gone through a section of fence before she was caught, and he was curious about the damage.
On and on we went, circling the whole 30 acres. "Stop!" I yelled, as a virtual cliff came into view. I hadn't seen that before! Trees were clinging by their roots at the edge of a dramatic drop of several feet near the main highway. My energized driver swerved just in time.
"There it is!" I pointed, as we slowed at a damaged section of fence. Now maybe we could go back. Wishful thinking! Finally I spotted the peaceful scene of the large oak holding the rope swing our son had put up for the kids the other day. I couldn't believe it when I was at last allowed to dismount. Oh, my aching back from those unpadded jolts!
"That was horrible!" I complained as I maneuvered my (not long) legs stiffly from behind him and got off. "Did you enjoy it?" I asked, sarcastically.
"Yes! I thought it was wonderful!" he said maddeningly. He would, I realized. A contoured, comfy seat, being in control, the wind in his face, gripping the handlebars with a front-seat view! He was Steve Mcqueen!
Oh, well, I couldn't begrudge him a little enjoyment, I realized. It reminded me of life, as I thought about it later. We can either protest, not trusting our Driver, and see the negative, fearful side of everything or relax and enjoy the ride! I must admit, the view was great at the top, looking down on the bucolic scene below. It would have been fun if I hadn't been so timid. Lesson learned: Don't be afraid to try new things. It can stretch your faith!
"No," he replied, his eyes fixed on the 4-wheeler, parked tantalizingly nearby. "Let's take a ride. Greg said it would be okay." At first, I demurred, but then I thought, Why not? I figured we'd ride up to the pond, turn around and come back. Not!
"How far are you going?" was my anxious query, clinging on behind him on my uncomfortable perch as he revved up the engine and we sped past the lake. What was I thinking? He was headed to the far end of the pasture! I'd had a ride before with my daughter-in-law, but I'd had a pillow they kept for such purposes, and she listened when I asked her to take it easy!
"Don't go over the humps!" I pleaded, as we headed toward the first of several berms in the terrain put there to prevent erosion on the slopes. My words were lost on the rushing air as he yelled, "What?" and ignored me. Each time we approached the mounds, I feared a drop off, then was relieved when the ground magically smoothed out before us.
Soon we were at the top of the pasture, and he was looking for a gate leading to an outer fence by the road. "I want to check out the fences and find where that cow went through!" So that was it! A sedated long-horn that had resisted transport by the former owner had reportedly gone through a section of fence before she was caught, and he was curious about the damage.
On and on we went, circling the whole 30 acres. "Stop!" I yelled, as a virtual cliff came into view. I hadn't seen that before! Trees were clinging by their roots at the edge of a dramatic drop of several feet near the main highway. My energized driver swerved just in time.
"There it is!" I pointed, as we slowed at a damaged section of fence. Now maybe we could go back. Wishful thinking! Finally I spotted the peaceful scene of the large oak holding the rope swing our son had put up for the kids the other day. I couldn't believe it when I was at last allowed to dismount. Oh, my aching back from those unpadded jolts!
"That was horrible!" I complained as I maneuvered my (not long) legs stiffly from behind him and got off. "Did you enjoy it?" I asked, sarcastically.
"Yes! I thought it was wonderful!" he said maddeningly. He would, I realized. A contoured, comfy seat, being in control, the wind in his face, gripping the handlebars with a front-seat view! He was Steve Mcqueen!
Oh, well, I couldn't begrudge him a little enjoyment, I realized. It reminded me of life, as I thought about it later. We can either protest, not trusting our Driver, and see the negative, fearful side of everything or relax and enjoy the ride! I must admit, the view was great at the top, looking down on the bucolic scene below. It would have been fun if I hadn't been so timid. Lesson learned: Don't be afraid to try new things. It can stretch your faith!
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Barber Shop Tales
"Do you ever go to the Livestock Auction here?" my husband asked his friendly barber, a man from our church. We had been helping at a work-day for the church that morning, and Howard wanted to get his haircut in this small Oklahoma town where both the church and barbershop are located. I told him I would meet him there after I checked out a garage sale with two of the other volunteers.
"What?" said the barber, who is quite hard-of-hearing. Another customer, obviously a local resident, clarified loudly, "The sale! He wants to know about the livestock sale!"
Evidently, this was a familiar subject to the talkative patron, for he told us who used to own the auction business back in the day. "Old Sam (I'll call him) had a habit of barbecuing beef after the sale, and he and his cronies would wash it down with whiskey," he began. Then, warming to his story, he said that one day after they had had their fill, one of the cowboys (good ol' boys, as they were known in Mississippi) who owned a pick-up truck was driving in front of old Sam to keep him on the road going home.
He said Old Sam was driving so badly, a cop stopped them and had the auction owner get out of the car. "Old Sam insisted he was trying to keep the man in front of him on the road. When the officer pronounced him drunk, they ended up wrestling in the ditch. He got the best of the cop, jumped in his car and took off for home!" With obvious relish, we were told that the officer recovered and began shooting at the rapidly disappearing tail lights. "They went on home, and the next morning, a friend talked Sam into turning himself in!"
"They didn't do anything to him, though," he laughed, "He was such a good guy...if you needed a hundred dollars, he would just pull it out of his pocket and give it to you." He went on, "One of his friends had a bumper sticker made up that said, 'Don't shoot! Just passin' though!' Pretty soon everybody in town had one!" About that time my phone rang, and I took it to the porch for a long conversation with my daughter until my husband came out.
Later, I thought about the bumper sticker. It made me think of the song, "This World is Not My Home, I'm Just Passing Through." It's nice to have friends in this world who regard you fondly, but I would rather be able to say, like the words of the song, "The angels beckon me, to Heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore." Hopefully, the old auctioneer was able to say that, and heard it, too, when his earthly days were over.
"What?" said the barber, who is quite hard-of-hearing. Another customer, obviously a local resident, clarified loudly, "The sale! He wants to know about the livestock sale!"
Evidently, this was a familiar subject to the talkative patron, for he told us who used to own the auction business back in the day. "Old Sam (I'll call him) had a habit of barbecuing beef after the sale, and he and his cronies would wash it down with whiskey," he began. Then, warming to his story, he said that one day after they had had their fill, one of the cowboys (good ol' boys, as they were known in Mississippi) who owned a pick-up truck was driving in front of old Sam to keep him on the road going home.
He said Old Sam was driving so badly, a cop stopped them and had the auction owner get out of the car. "Old Sam insisted he was trying to keep the man in front of him on the road. When the officer pronounced him drunk, they ended up wrestling in the ditch. He got the best of the cop, jumped in his car and took off for home!" With obvious relish, we were told that the officer recovered and began shooting at the rapidly disappearing tail lights. "They went on home, and the next morning, a friend talked Sam into turning himself in!"
"They didn't do anything to him, though," he laughed, "He was such a good guy...if you needed a hundred dollars, he would just pull it out of his pocket and give it to you." He went on, "One of his friends had a bumper sticker made up that said, 'Don't shoot! Just passin' though!' Pretty soon everybody in town had one!" About that time my phone rang, and I took it to the porch for a long conversation with my daughter until my husband came out.
Later, I thought about the bumper sticker. It made me think of the song, "This World is Not My Home, I'm Just Passing Through." It's nice to have friends in this world who regard you fondly, but I would rather be able to say, like the words of the song, "The angels beckon me, to Heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore." Hopefully, the old auctioneer was able to say that, and heard it, too, when his earthly days were over.
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