Anybody Need "A Coke"?

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The Four Gals’ Farewell Tour

This month, three of my sisters and I are getting together for what one of us has entitled, “The Four Gals’ Farewell Tour”. We’ll be trying to find the places we knew in younger days in Benton County, AR. One of us is from OK, one from TX, one from KS, and the youngest, after years in CA, lives in Benton county, of all things!

When we were teens (not the youngest - she was a toddler) along with my younger sister, now deceased, we’d often find ourselves in dire need of “a Coke”. (short for any soft drink) Now let me explain, when you lived out in the Ozark hills, you occasionally realized the need for “a coke”. The drive of 15 miles to the county seat was nothing - gas was only 20 cents a gallon. But first you had to get permission 1) to take a car; and 2) to go.

So in our honeyed voices, we’d descend upon our poor, tired, hard-working Daddy with hugs and kisses and batting eyelashes and sweet, so sweet voices, wheedling, cajoling, importuning. It went something like this:

“Daddy? Oh, Daddy, we just want to thank you so much for all you do? We appreciate how you work so hard to provide for us? We know how tired you must be? {Slight pause here.} Daddy? Would it be OK for us to go to town and get “a coke”? We really need “a coke”? Please, Daddy, please?”  

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

At this, our beleaguered Daddy would put down his Zane Grey or Louie LaMour book, sigh deeply, put on his hardest face, and bark, “NO!”

Now, right there, we knew we had it made! We could practically feel the taste of “Coke” on our lips! When Daddy used that tone of voice, our cause was a slam dunk case (only I don’t think we used that phrase - slam dunk - back in those days). Since the keys were always in the car, all we had to do was stand there expectantly fawning over him, sweet smiles on our expectant faces.

Finally, with a deep sigh, reaching for his wallet, he’d pull out some money, and we’d grab it and go! Happy girls! Happy Daddy! And it made Daddy happy to give to his beloved (precious, lovely, sweet) girls.

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Our Heavenly Father’s Gifts

You know, we didn’t deserve those “cokes”. We’d not had to work for them. And it’s just the same with our Heavenly Father. Everything we have is a gift from our loving Heavenly Father (except for the frowny-faced “no!”). We’ve not earned it. We’ve not even known enough to ask for it usually. And He gives.

So often, though, we get tied up with thoughts of - you know - altogether now - “STUFF”. Things, lifestyle, those tangibles we use, live, and EXPECT. In the book of James, we’ve learned “Every good and perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of Lights.” (Jas. 1:17)

But do we think of people as gifts? (Well, except for our perfect and loving son and daughters!) One lady in our Bible Study shared this with us:

““Every person who comes into your life is a gift that God has specially selected and wrapped for you and put into your life. Our job is to unwrap it and respond.””

— Bible Study Member

So here we stand with gift in hand. In the title of an old stewardship study: “WHATCHAGONNADOWITHWHATCHAGOT?”

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Types of Giving

““There are three kinds of giving: Grudge giving, Duty giving, and Thanksgiving. Grudge giving says, ‘I hate to.’ Duty giving says, ‘I ought to.’ Thanksgiving says, ‘I want to.’ The first comes from constraint, the second from obligation, the third from a free heart. Nothing much is conveyed in grudge giving, since the gift without the giver is bare. Something more happens  in duty giving, but there is no song in it. Thanksgiving is an open gate into the Love of God.””

— Robert N. Rodenmayer

As we head joyfully into the wonders of beautiful June, as we celebrate Father’s Day, and as we give as we have so lavishly received, may I leave you with one more quote?

““Go break to the needy sweet charity’s bread;

“For giving is living,” the angel said. 

“And must I be giving again and again?”

My peevish and pitiless answer ran.

“Oh no,” said the angel, piercing me through,

“Just give till the Master stops giving to you.””

— Angel

God bless you. 

Oh, and Happy Father’s Day!

Hey, Remember that Time . . .?

As I was ruminating on what this month’s blog would be about, I kept having little snippets of memories and conversations wandering through my brain. As the detritus gelled, it suddenly shocked me to realize that my blog this month would be totally unlike any other I have ever written. It didn’t seem appropriate, somehow, but it wouldn’t leave me alone. And so here we are discussing memories, or lack of them.

Banner Photo by JD Mason on Unsplash

So many of us take our brains and stored memories for granted. We say,

“Hey, remember that time we rode horseback almost all the way to the next town?” Or perhaps,

“Do you remember when you decided it was time to teach me to drive? (And you were 13, and I was 10!)

Or, “Do you remember how she used to chase us away with a broom, because she didn’t like us?”

Some memories are crazy, some are funny, and some are sad, but they are always there. We think. Until they aren’t.

When my paternal Nana died, she had a form of dementia—I don’t think they had particularly labeled Alzheimer’s then. My mother died having suffered from Alzheimer’s for a few years. Another of our family is exhibiting signs of “forgetfulness” and making us all doubt our own brains when we can’t come up with a word, or name that we really know. It’s unsettling.

Let me tell you a true story. When we moved (40 some-odd years ago) from Phoenix to Olathe, KS, I was determined to continue to take my children to visit folks in a nursing home, as we’d done weekly in Phoenix. Sometimes the kids would sing songs, or quote Bible verses, or just sit on a “grandmother’s” lap. Or we’d bring cookies. Or we’d bring books and let the elderlies read to the kids. It is my firm belief that children need elderlies, and vice versa.

Well, we went to the local (kind of upscale) place close by; the kids knew just what to do. They would walk around the room and visit or ask the person if he wanted to read them a book, or whatever happened. I sat down next to a stately lady who greeted me warmly. She had her hair and nails done, lovely skirt and sweater set on, beautiful jewelry. She was so pleasant. We sat and talked, oh, probably for about 10 or 15 minutes. Then I gathered up the children, and we left. Why? Because it had occurred to me suddenly that even though we’d been carrying on a lovely conversation, I had realized that vocal modulation, smiles, and nods later, she had not said a single thing that made sense. Suddenly I was fearful—not of her, but of myself! How can one have a conversation for 10 or 15 minutes before he realizes it wasn’t really a conversation?!

Since then, I have learned to laugh at myself. And I’ve probably told the story too many times. But a couple of weeks ago I ran across a letter written to a columnist in the Lawrence paper. Here, let me share it with you:

“Some years ago, I went to a nearby office supply shop, where I saw a local couple looking around. The woman, a local musician, had Alzheimer’s, but she seemed to recognize me, so we began a conversation. I don’t recall what it was about, but it was the silliest, most illogical, and the most fun conversation I’ve ever had with anyone. I just went along with whatever she said, never trying to force reality onto her and augmenting whatever her ideas were when I could.

Meanwhile, her husband seemed to be mortified beyond embarrassment. 

I later left the shop, having purchased what I needed and I felt so happy at connecting with this woman, as ridiculous as the conversation had been. 

I think it is not good to try to convince such people about what “now” is like. In a way, that is reminding them that they are not well: this will make them feel bad and feed their depression. It is better to greet them “where they are” and find a way to spread some cheer in that.”

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And then recently I had a discussion with my perfectly wonderful daughter-in-law, who is a nurse and also had been a director for a memory unit home in town. As we discussed the pros and cons of dealing with “forgetful” folks, she said something that also reaffirmed what the letter above said. It turns out that lady was exactly right. Sweetie said that the standard for many years was to try to make the forgetful one realize he was wrong. To correct him. To try to help her think correctly. Now, however, the medical people are saying: 

1) They cannot overcome what their brain has become, and it is not kind to try to make them “snap out of it”. 

2) The process now is to go along with them as much as is feasible, and if you do that, you can keep them calm, and not fearful or drag them into a past time which isn’t there for them.

Her example was, if one has lost a spouse—even many years ago—and they are waiting for the spouse to show up for dinner, encourage her to go ahead and eat while it’s hot and someone can always warm his up. No sense in both eating cold food, right? If you tried to correct her and said, “Gladys, Walter died 12 years ago. He’s not coming.” Or whatever, then the forgetful one has to go through the shock of loss and the grieving all over again. Better to keep her calm and enjoying her food, than to put her through losing her husband all over again. Pretty soon, she has forgotten the problem.

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Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash

And now you are saying to yourself, “This is one weird blog!” And it’s my turn to say, in the words of the immortal infomercials, “But wait! There’s MORE!” Here’s something to think about. I tend to be a bit of a harpy about people not telling stories, or whatever, correctly. It has suddenly dawned on me, since I started this piece, that I need to apply the above information to everyday situations in which the other person does not have dementia. If it is a bit exaggerated or even flat out wrong, why should I make a big deal of it? It’s not my story. I’m not the final arbiter of storytelling. Maybe I have even “mis-remembered” a few things myself. Who made me the mind-policeperson?

So there you have it! I hope this causes some of you to take a deep breath and give the people in your life a little breathing room. But I really hope it makes me do the same. Life’s too short. Let’s make it kinder and gentler. 

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Oh, and Happy Mother’s Day!

Photo by Brigitte Tohm on Unsplash

Life Scripture Habit

“. . . walk in a manner worth of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing forbearance to one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”

Ephesians 4:1b-3

I was sharing this with a friend of mine recently, and it occurred to me it would be good to share it with the readers of my blog. Several years ago I stopped making New Year’s Resolutions. It had seemed that they were the same nearly every year, and every year, since I had failed to meet these little self-made obligations, they were unfulfilled. As would any discerning individual, I had to stop and ask myself a question. If I couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) keep my vows that I had made to myself, what was to be gained by making them? (Of course, this begs the question that if I could not to myself be true, how could I be true to others? And on that goes.) At any rate, I decided it would be much more profitable, not to mention honest, to choose a scripture passage to act as my guide for the year ahead. And so I have done that.

The above Ephesians passage was my selection for 2022. 

And so, you might ask, why am I sharing this with you in April? Excellent question, my friend. I think it might have something to do with things like circadian rhythms, or perception versus reality, or maybe it’s just the phase of the moon. Do you remember when you were in school (or when your children were in school) and school always started in September? (Yes, my dears, back in the old days school started AFTER Labor Day!) Somehow it became more or less ingrained that the year really began in September, rather than January. Even long after I had graduated and my children had graduated, it still felt like September was a beginning, rather than merely #9 out of 12.

As I have aged, I have seemed to accept that, OK, January really is the first of the year. And I no longer have those impulses in September. However, there is a niggling little part of my brain that there is something wrong about having January lead in the new year in the dark and cold. A new year should be joy-filled and forward-looking. All I want to do in the deep-freeze of January is hop back into bed and cover up my head and wait for spring. And therein, dear ones, is your answer. April just fits better.

So let me think of these things. Let me mull over the thoughts and depths of my passage in Ephesians. Let me answer the deep questions: Am I walking in a manner worthy of the calling with which I have been called? Do I display humility and gentleness, with patience, to those around me? Have I shown forbearance to others (regardless of whether the other shows forbearance to me) in love for that one? Am I diligent in preserving “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace?” Wow, those are deep questions. They deserve some serious contemplation. They call for the quiet reasoning in the presence of the Holy Spirit.

That’s a lot more substantial than having to ask myself those other questions. You know the ones.

• Have I exercised 5 days a week?

• Have it lost 30 pounds?

• Have I read 2 books a week?

• Have I written the thank-you notes?

• Am I seriously going to go on that trip this year?

So let me just encourage you to think about substituting a Life Scripture habit over a list of unfulfilled “shoulda-woulda-couldas” hanging around your neck like the proverbial  albatross for the next eight months. Come into the sunshine with me. Let us skip gaily through the green spring grass with the light breezes playing through our hair, thinking of higher and better things. Doesn’t that sound like a better way of life? 

Or not. Just an idea. Just a suggestion. At any rate, enjoy a joyous Resurrection Day knowing the love and care of the Savior.

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Happy April!

In One Short Hour, the Whole Trend of Our Life Is Changed

Happy March to one and all!

Yes, we have made it through February and are turning that corner to spring!    

As one would expect, I did some reading this past month—one rotator cuff surgery, a biopsy, and two lumpectomies give one time to read and reflect. And, of course, I must share something I read with you!

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 A friend loaned me a book which is the diary of a lady coming across the plains in 1865. It is entitled Days on the Road: Crossing the Plains in 1865; The Diary of Sarah Raymond Herndon.  She was a single lady, on the road with her widowed mother and two younger brothers, and she was a delightful writer, so full of wonder, joy, and perseverance. 

The pleasant thing about this writing—there have been many “on the road” diaries published - and as mentioned in the prologue, this one stands out because it is not just a laundry list of complaints. As Mary Barmeyer O’Brien wrote:

“Women’s diaries in general differ from those of the men who undertook the westward journey. Men, of necessity, were nearly obsessed with the logistics of the trip, and wrote about their concerns in their journals. They recorded how many miles were covered each day, which rivers were crossed, and how the animals were holding out. The constant search for adequate grass and water for the livestock made its way into their diaries regularly. Guarding the camp at night, greasing the wagon wheels, hunting for meat – all these formed the basis of a typical overland account written by a man.

 Women, on the other hand, wrote more often of the human issues, offering an entirely different – and invaluable – perspective on western history. Their diaries described the warm friendships they formed, worries about their children, and their selfless and compassionate care for those who were sick. They told of agonizing deaths from cholera or injuries and about the flirting that went on between single young men and women around the campfires. They described their frustration at baking biscuits in a finicky sheet-iron stove or burning beans over a smokey campfire (and the disgusting buffalo chips they had to use for fuel). They showed their joy at finding a goose egg or a handful of ripe currants along the way, and described what it was like to roll out piecrust on a wooden wagon seat. They expressed their strong faith in God and their pleasure at occasional trailside church services. And, despite fatigue and overwhelming amounts of sheer labor, they took time to record these events faithfully.”

— Mary Barmeyer O’Brien

One of Miss Raymond’s (for she was a single lady at the writing) entries spoke to me so beautifully and I must share it.

“We passed the summit of the Rockies today, and are camping on the western or Pacific slope tonight. The ascent has been so gradual we should not have known when we reached the top but for the little rivulets running in different directions. Quite on the summit and very near to each other we saw two little rivulets starting on their way; one to meander toward the Pacific, while the other will empty its confluence into the Mississippi, and thence on to the Gulf. Just a scoopful of earth could change the course of either where they started – from the same spring really.  As it is, how widely different the scenes through which they will pass. So it is with human lives – a crisis is reached, a decision is made, and in one short hour the whole trend of our life is changed with regard to our surroundings, associates, environments, etc.”

— Mary Barmeyer O’Brien

What a statement! “In one short hour the whole trend of our life is changed…” As we begin this bright, shiny, greening month of March, perhaps one thing we should consider is how our decisions can change entire destinies. It is my prayer that those of you reading this will stop to consider it as well. As we begin this new season, let us attempt to choose wisely. Choose well. And choose God.

Happy Spring!

L. K. Houk

I have four books out in the Down Home on the Farm series. You can find them listed on Amazon or you can get them directly from me. For information about my books, further reading comprehension questions on each book, and future releases, please visit my website: LKHouk.com

Ok, Folks. Let's Hear It For February!

Photo by Chandan Chaurasia on Unsplash

Ahhh… February. Amazing. Surprising. Wintery February! I bet there isn’t a person reading this who has yearningly longed for February. Unless I have readers in the southern hemisphere! (Which the dark depression of winter chides me for even thinking!)

Here’s something I bet no one in the world has thought of.

Do you remember how exciting it was around February 14, when you celebrated Valentine’s Day in your elementary classroom? How important it was to have a shoebox to take to school. You would decorate it just right and make it an absolutely beautiful mailbox for all those valentines you just knew you would receive at the Valentine’s party! What a disappointment that, hard as you worked and planned and created, it was never nearly as beautiful as Marsha’s or whoever. Of course, it might have had something to do with the fact that your shoe box was your grandfather’s cigar box. Too small to hold all those cards. Or your father’s work boot box. It was too large to be completely decorated by the time the class had finished. (At least it would hold a lot of valentines!)

Photo by Tim Bish on Unsplash

And the moms made real, home-made valentine cookies, or sometimes cupcakes, to go with the red Kool-Aid. (Now, not permitted as the red dye might stain the carpet.) Carpeting! We never had carpeting in our classrooms! None of this stopping by the bakery for the most recent yuppie concoction. 

Then it was time to open your love letters. What excitement! You knew you would have them forever. You loved them. You oohed over them. You giggled over them or swooned over them with your friends. Two days later, you relegated them to the back of your closet. You never saw them again. And you never missed them.

Isn’t that funny? How quickly we forget items that look so important at the moment. We LIVED for the entire time between getting back to school from Christmas break (not winter holiday) until February 14th. And its importance is now as the smallest fragment in time. 

That makes me think about life. The Bible tells us we are but a breath, a snippet of time. Our planet and its entire lifespan are but a snap of the fingers of God. And we think it’s so important, so necessary, so all-encompassing.   

Photo by Wil Stewart on Unsplash

As the advertising hucksters say, “But wait! There’s more!” Let’s not lose the understanding that a thousand years is as a day, and a day as a thousand years to God. Let’s not think of ourselves so much that we lose the big picture. Here we are. Right here in the smack middle of everything. But guess what? (Here’s the good news!) It’s not about us. It’s about God. Let’s keep our minds focused on Him. Wherever He got that time to give us here on earth, there’s a lot more where that comes from for us to live in eternity. Don’t miss it!

Oh yeah. And Happy Valentine’s Day!

Blessing in the New Year

Photo by Guillaume de Germain on Unsplash

Happiness vs. Joy

“Happy New Year”. That’s the saying. Everyone is going to be bringing in the new year whether or not he is ready. Time marches on. What would happen if, instead of bringing in the New Year, we blessed it in? Do we really want a happy new year when we can have a year filled with joy? Happiness is fleeting. Happiness has to do with circumstances. But we learn from many sources that, while happiness seems good, genuine joy is what we really need. Joy does not depend on what circumstances you find yourself in - happiness does. Joy will not abandon you as soon as the going gets tough - it walks beside you, holding your hand and your heart. Let’s reach for a joyful new year. 

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

And as we contemplate that, here is a thought or two about time, since “Father Time” is the symbol of the new year. As you well know, if you have read my writing very long, I love quotes that speak to my heart. As we go into the new year, we need to consider what we are spending our time on, because that is really what it’s all about, isn’t it?

Antoinette Bosco said, “Time isn’t a commodity, something you pass around like cake. Time is the substance of life. When anyone asks you to give your time, they’re really asking for a chunk of your life.” Down home on the farm, we have always felt that to be the truth. When folks come to visit, or to stay a few days, we are always so grateful and try to remember to thank them for their gift. The gift of time is sacred, and once given, it is never regained. 

I’m sure we have all had someone, hardworking, earnest, well-meaning, request that we help or head or do something. Sure, it’s easier, even with limited resources, to find a little money to throw in that direction, saying we don’t have time. But does the person asking you realize he is actually requesting not just some time but a chunk of your life? Someone once said, “What I do today is important because I am exchanging a day of my life for it.”

 I recently heard my beautiful daughter say something that I have often since wished I’d known earlier. She said, “My free time is not my availability.” How many times have we had some free time only for someone else to assume that they may fill it for us? And the use of the word “free” is even a little questionable. If it is something that you can never get back, is it truly free time? What does it cost you? It costs you your life.

Photo by Isabela Kronemberger on Unsplash

But back to the new year: For a long time, people have made resolutions for their new year. Several years ago, I decided that doing that was planning on failing. So I selected for many years a piece of scripture on which to base my year. When we begin each new day meditating on a verse (or verses) from the Creator of time, we can find that not only is our time better spent, but it is truly a treasure, a gift from a loving Father. Benjamin Franklin wasn’t setting down a list of resolutions when he said, “Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man.” I just bet you can find a scripture or two to concentrate on in the coming year.

Richard C Woodsome once said, “You can never change the past. But by the grace of God, you can win the future. So remember those things which will help you forward, but forget those things which will only hold you back.”

How about it? What are your New Year’s scriptures?

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

One hardly needs to say this, but kids get really excited about Christmas. Why am I saying something that hardly needs to be said? Probably because 

1) I’m not a kid; 

2) Christmas is indeed a wonderful time of year; and

3) somehow your “favorite things” change as you age. 

(That reminds me, I never understood why the radio stations play “My Favorite Things” pretending it’s a Christmas carol. “Packages wrapped up with string” seems to be the only phrase I can find that might come close to making it fit. Really? With string? Oops! There went my brain again, doing its independent thing!)

Back to reality:

Of all the music of the season, my favorite is really from the season of Advent—not Christmas. I dearly love “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel”. And, now that I think of it, I think I actually like Advent as much as I do Christmas. Not that I don’t find Christmas a tremendously important time of life, but just because the anticipation is so high with Advent. I especially love the lighting of the Advent Wreath each Sunday leading up to Christmas. I love the holiness, the reverence, the candlelight, and the hymn at the end. 

Since the hymnal tells me it originated from the 12th century, I suppose it’s OK for me to print it here. 

O come, o come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the son of god appear

Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, o Israel.

O come, thou rod of Jesse, free

Thine own from Satan’s tyranny

From depths of hell thy people save

And give them victory o’er the grave

Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, o Israel.

O come, thou day-spring, come and cheer

Our spirits by thine advent here

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night

And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, o Israel.

O come, thou key of David, come,

And open wide our heavenly home;

Make safe the way that leads on high,

And close the path to misery.

Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, o Israel.

O come, o come, thou lord of might,

Who to thy tribes, on Sinai’s height,

In ancient times did’st give the law,

In cloud, and majesty and awe.

Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, o Israel.

Can’t you just feel the earnest anticipation and excitement and hunger for the appearance of our Lord and Savior in the words? 

But since I know many people are eagerly awaiting Christmas day, especially those with small children, I feel the urge to share a parody written by P.R. Van Buskirk which plays upon the emotions so genuinely. I first heard it at College Church of the Nazarene and have enjoyed it a few times since. So here is my gift to those of you with small children. I hope it plays right to the fawning parents’ hearts.

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Photo by Greg Boll on Unsplash

‘Twas the Bike Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our house

Not a creature was sleeping, not even my spouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with screws.

(If you can’t find the nails, what else do you use?)

The children were restless, awake in their beds,

While visions of spanking them danced in our heads.

I worked in my bathrobe. My husband, in jeans,

Had gone down to the den with directions and dreams

To assemble a bike that came in small pieces

With deflated tires and fenders with creases.

Soon down in the den there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my task to see what was the matter. 

Away to my husband I flew like a flash;

He was shuffling through cardboard; his actions were rash.

The bike on the rug by this now flustered Dad

Soon gave me a hint as to why he was mad.

He needed a kickstand. It had to be near.

I shuffled some papers—he saw it appear!

We twisted the screws; we were lively and quick,

And we soon knew assembly would be quite a trick.

Fast as eagles in flight the pieces were found, 

And he whistled and shouted for parts all around:

“Now socket! Now pedal! Now tires! Now brakes!

On handles! On kickstand! On Horn!... oh… but wait!”

In the top of the toolbox, he fumbled around;

“I need two more screws!” he said with a frown.

And like all good parents determined to please 

When they meet with an obstacle late Christmas Eve,

We shouted and yelled some complaints to each other.

There was never more frustrated father and mother!

And then, in a panic, we heard on the stairs

The prancing and hopping of feet…’bout two pairs!

I opened the door and was turning around,

When kids burst from the hall with a leap and a bound.

They were dressed all in flannel, from their necks to their knees,

And their nightgowns were soiled with sugar and cheese!

Excuses poured forth from each pair of lips;

They stood in defiance with hands on their hips.

Their eyes were wide open, and each little child

Jumped when I yelled with a voice hardly mild.

They were frightened but cute, though much bigger than elves,

And we laughed when we saw them, in spite of ourselves.

A wink of the eye and a pat on the head

Soon let them both know they had nothing to dread.

They saw not a thing but went straight to their beds,

And we finished the bike and put bows on the sleds.

Then wheeling the bike by the tree (out of sight),

My hubby announced we should call it a night.

He sprang to his bed, to the clock gave a whistle,

As the time had flown by like a large Titan missile.

But I heard him exclaim as he turned out the light,

“Merry Christmas, my dear, but next year NO BIKE!”

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Have a beautiful Advent season and please know that I wish you a very merry Christmas.

Lura K. Houk

WORDS! WORDS! WORDS!

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

My sisters and I used to get together once in a while and when we were talking, if we couldn’t think of a word, we would just say, “Word-word…” and continue talking. Since we no longer get together—all living in different states, all (except one) older and less likely to get around much, and all trying to stay safe from the plague, that means that most of our conversations are phone conversations.

But, to get on with what I am saying, why is it that some words just simply slip away from our memories and others are always there? For instance, having just had a knee replacement six weeks ago (Sorry for no blog post last month.) I currently need to do a specific procedure on the scar tissue. Why? In order to keep the underlying tissue from forming…. Word-word… what? Why is it I can NEVER remember the word “adhesion”? No matter how many times I have repeated it, (old people spend a lot of time discussing their aches and illnesses) no matter how many times I have heard it, it always takes wing and departs.  

Or like when I was talking to a sister about the thing you drive around while you are walking when you first have surgery. We both blanked out and were calling it a “crutcher”. Are you kidding me? A “crutcher”? The thing that helps you WALK? At least I have the consolation that it is no longer needed, so I don’t have to think of its name. (Maybe I should associate it with the old TV show, “Walker, Texas Ranger”…)

So why is it I can ALWAYS think of certain words and phrases which irritate me? Phrases like: “reason why” (It’s a reason. Or it’s why something happens. It is redundant to say “reason why”.) Or why do I cringe when I hear someone say she was about to “jump into the shower”? Yes, having just had knee surgery may make me paranoid about this one, but do you really know anyone who JUMPS into a shower?

Ah, the ruminations of the aging wordsmith. It will probably get worse rather than better. I am now wearing a sling and looking forward (why does that phrase have the connotation of eager anticipation? Is it still “looking forward to” if it’s into a raging forest fire or a raging lion?) to surgery at the end of the month for a deep tissue rotator cuff tear. Be prepared for more thoughts and vague wanderings of my mind. The sweet fruits of age and curiosity.

Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash

I wish you a lovely Thanksgiving. Look forward to it. And don’t forget to play lots of word games with the family! 😊

Let's READ!

Hey, there, guess what! It’s September! I don’t know about the rest of you, but I still get that little tingle of excitement when I turn the calendar to September, just remembering all the years of excitement and anticipation at the beginning of a new school year! Yeah, I know, and yes, I am a little old for that, but some things don’t change.

One thing that never changes is my love for reading. My son and daughter were reading at the age of three. Their love for the written word is limitless, and they have passed that on to many others, including my granddaughters. Lucas wears a shirt that reads, “So many books; so little time!” And Lacy loves this from Kenko Yoshida;

“To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations—such is a pleasure beyond compare.”

When we began our ministry to Sierra Leone, West Africa, we brought our two younger girls. They weren’t three—they were about 11 or 12. They didn’t speak English. They didn’t read. We soon began working to change both of those situations. One thing they probably had nightmares about was my unswerving determination that they should read. They can probably repeat the mantra I used. “You must learn to read. If you can read, you can do anything in this world. If you can’t read, it doesn’t matter what else you can do.” But they love me anyway. I must be a soul mate to Dr. Seuss, who said, “The more you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go!”

Jane Austen wrote in Pride and Prejudice,

“I declare after all, there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!  — When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

And I suppose that would include listening to books on tape, or reading on a computer or Kindle, but somehow there is nothing like the heft of a good book in one’s hands, the crisp pages that whisper to you as you turn them, the amazing, great things you are introduced to  - as Jane might say, “It’s all too wonderful!”

On the other hand, in Clockwork Angel, Cassandra Clare declares that “Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.” And, of course, we have that rascal Mark Twain describing classics (not knowing that we would long consider his books classics themselves) as “a book which people praise and don’t read.”  

Photo by Josh Applegate on Unsplash

Since my husband and I don’t have TV, that has not been a big time-waster in our lives. We have always read, either quietly or aloud, to one another. However, I do have to fear for the other time-waster—the one everyone carries in his hand—which can replace TV. I wish everyone carried a book like that. I kind of like what that great saint and philosopher, Groucho Marx, said,

“I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns the set, I go into the other room and read a book.”

Of course, the great science fiction writer Ray Bradbury really says it all when he comments,

“You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”

So as my team and I are working to get my Down Home on the Farm book #5, A Job for Dancer, ready to go to press, I think a lot about books. About how so many people have written so many billions of words over thousands of years which have taught me, encouraged me, opened my mind to worlds beyond my own. Yes, Dancer is a children’s book. I hope that the adults who read my books to children like them as well as the children do. I love C. S. Lewis and he wrote children’s books as well. I leave you with his thought on children’s books:

“A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.”

So, let’s all just settle down and read, shall we?

~ Lura (Katy) Houk

"MOMMY, BE KIND!"

We recently had a lovely visit from our equally lovely daughter, Sia, and her four-year-old daughter, Malika. It wasn’t nearly long enough. And yet it’s taken all day today for us to get off the recliners to get ready to go out to eat in order to celebrate our 53rd wedding anniversary. I wonder how older folks who have custody of grandchildren manage to parent. It’s not a question of lack of experience or knowhow, but rather, how do they find the energy? I salute you if you are in that situation.

We loved having them here. Sia is a CNA working 12-hour shifts in order to raise her sweet girl. I just had to share a few “out of the mouths of babes” stories, and hope you will bear with me. After all, I am old and should be allowed to ramble from time to time!

As she decided to play “school” with four adults sitting around the living room, she pulled out several toy cars (ones my son played with when he was a child), and announced, “Now we will talk about colors,” going through them, and then concluding with,

I’m really proud of you. Good job!

Next came recalling numbers on playing cards, which brought an evaluation of,

That was very good.

On we went through the afternoon as we (adults) rested and caught our breaths. Later on, as my husband was walking down the hallway, he passed her, and she announced,

You may pass, Sweetie.

As I think back on their visit, I am awed to think that she picked up her mom’s affirmations as well as her teachings. She will go to school in another year, and already is learning so much and able to carry on conversations in a logical way. No doubt she will be a leader in her classroom and be ready to help others who are struggling.

I remember one time sharing with Sia how I used to play a game with my kids when they were young (Sia didn’t come to us until they were already adults.). We’d read a couple of books I certainly wish I could find entitled “What Do You Say, Dear?”, and “What Do You Do, Dear?” The book had hilarious scenarios, with great pictures, setting up a problem and then ask, “What do you do, dear?” Like, two people eating in a restaurant and a giant ape enters suddenly. People are running and screaming. What do you do, dear? Answer, “Always place your napkin beside your plate before leaving the table.” Or something like that. (Like I said, I’d love to find copies of these books!)

So we had a game we would play. I would make up a situation and ask, “What do you do, dear?” Then we would figure out the best answer. Like, you are playing in the house, and Mom has gone over to the neighbor to borrow a cup of sugar. The doorbell rings. What do you do, dear? Or you are visiting an elderly neighbor for the afternoon while Mom goes to an appointment. The neighbor suddenly can’t talk or move. What do you do, dear?

I’d also realized, being military and often not near any relatives, that they should have our names, information, and phone number (before cell phones) memorized. I’d just recently shared this with another single mom, and while Sia and Malika were here, a relative asked for Sia’s contact information so she could send her a picture. Sia said, “Malika, tell Auntie Sara Mom’s phone number.” Which she could do. And did.

It really makes you feel good to see your daughter bringing up her child right. And with this I will end: As Malika was playing on the floor, G’Daddy and Mommy were playing Skipbo while Granny worked on lunch. G’Daddy was moaning and complaining because she was beating him so badly, and Malika looked up from her play. In her best schoolteacher voice, she cautioned,

Mommy, be kind!

I had to smile. What would you do, dear?

Lura (Katy) Houk

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