priorities

In my second year of high school algebra, I can name two female students who were in the room. There was Tracy, the petite blond who at any time of year seemed to have tan legs to show off. Back in the late 1980s just one - any one - of those blue denim skirts you had bopping around simply shrouded a thousand mysteries. Tracy was not what you'd call "popular" but she definitely had the look, bright and noticeable, yet, probably too much grit to be part of a "crowd" per se. She didn't make a big deal about who she was dating, and she didn't hesitate to join in conversations with anyone else. But, she got the dudes' attention in those skirts nonetheless…overall: cool and hot; what's there not to like?

Then the other babe was Nellie. I'm not sure what it was that made me notice her. Most guys naturally go for the little firecracker blonde and that's that, and the side remarks shared among us dudes backed that up. But, Nellie was not Tracy. She's not petite. Actually, Nellie's tall for a girl, with legs from there to you-know-where. You'd never really know whether she's got a tan or not since you usually see her in jeans and t-shirts, or maybe a basic "top" as they say. Not much regard for color; then again, maybe there wasn't much need for it either. The important thing was her jeans fit her like a second skin forming a daily must-see. She's got a simply lovely face, warm smile, happy eyes, perky cheeks with some freckles and long light-brown hair to complete the package. She's a mild, unassuming, subtle – yet beautiful and charming - presence.

Over the course of the school year I pick up on a few things. She lives with her mom in a house trailer with their pit bull whose breed she defends vehemently. Pit bulls get a bad rap in her view, and hers is sweet as plum. Big-time Broncos fan and especially into John Elway (who was still tearing it up yet ten years later, btw). Heh, the way she talked sports almost made her one of the guys. But, there's a lot I never do pick up on. She's kind of, well, a dead zone. She doesn't project much emotion; there's no vibe or force field like with other chicks. And, so many questions… what do you think about as you fall asleep at night? Where do you see yourself in five years? What's your phone number? Of course, I never got around to that third one…

(to be continued)

Ministry Opportunity

Local congregation comprised mainly of ages 50 and up with traditional values and very sane political outlook.

Requirements for pastor:

Preferably a mature married male but with no young children that would disrupt services. Sermons should comfort congregants in their inherent perfection plus grant assurance that God will smoke everyone else for their sinfulness. Weddings are rare but we average 15-20 memorial services per year. The Church would like to maintain present activities without introducing any new ones whatsoever, and outreach is strongly discouraged as it would only bring smelly communist hippies into the Church. Furthermore, pastor's wife must be willing to patiently listen to concerns of patrons on a 24/7 basis, lead worship from the piano, and dutifully organize all social activities. She will answer to the unofficial Church Ladies' Committee, chaired by Mrs. Helen Earth.

Applicants should send resume and blood type to First Blessed Church of Curmudgeons, 666 Nowhere Road.

the bowl

The other day as I awoke it seems as though I were standing in a place I knew well as a small child. It's a shinesunny day and there I am at the most notable part of the private campground where we spent many a weekend back in the day. It's a flat clearing of mowed grass with a ridge to one side and the edge of forest around the rest of it. The ground is rather concave and so we call it the bowl. Not only is it surrounded by nature, the campground itself is amidst country homes and farm fields; it doesn't get any more peaceful. In the bowl you are free to chase butterflies or even try to catch a rabbit, or, if you dare, examine your conscience. Right about now as I look toward the ridge there's a nice shady spot that tempts relief from the sun. But, as my eyes examine the underbrush a little closer it seems…well…blending in with the sod and leaf-covered trees…hello there…it's an enormous grasshopper leg. The rear leg; just like when it's attached to a grasshopper except, hmm, there's just the leg. So...well, I don't think I'm gonna get too close to that. This is kinda different. What if that's the only part of grasshopper that I can see? This is so far fetched that by now anything's possible. I mean, if that leg alone is covering 20 feet of ground then…yeesh maneesh. Umm…aren't they vegetarian? Can't remember. Wonder if I should get in a safe place and throw a stick at it. I dunno. Aye…well I could just take a walk in the woods for now…'cept, that would be a just a lil creepy at this point. Howbout if I just get one of the other campers to take a look at it? Shoot, Carl and Bob would probly just haul it to the fire pit for supper. I don't think I would want any cuz it probably smells like, I dunno, moth balls or KMart ladies.

morning prayer

O Lord, in your infinite power and wisdom, grant thy servant thy strong arm of protection from harm, thy grace to withstand temptation and trial yet humility that wouldst glorify thy name. Then above all, grant thy quickening that wouldst enable thy servant to kicketh copious amounts of "thou knowest what."

Amen; and, amen.

Duke Fabulous Reporting

You jest won't believe this. Shoot I don't believe this an' here I am a tellin' it. Tha' other day Duke flew down to Hot Lanta – that's in Georgia, y'all – and met up with THE finest peach they ever plucked from one a 'em there groves. She and I go back a ways, and come to find out she went thru a rough patch in the past couple-ten years with a feller she never could pin down. Guess she finally called it quits an' moved on, glad to say she's doin' fine and dandy for it all now. So we sit down for some a those root beer floats and talk about it. Guess it got messy cuz they'd moved in and all, same bank account, you name it. After a while I had to ask, now, darlin', is this dude still a wearin' his entrails or did ya get those in bronze? She looks me in the eye and says, I reckon, right there on my night stand. Well I took a sip right then an' pretty near gave this gal a sarsaparilla shower, the way she turned it around like 'at. All the same it got me to thinkin' how some boys like to play with toys rather than girls, some just wanna play with as many girls as they can, and others, well, they just don' play at all. She'll put up with it for a while but then watch out. Hear what the Duke says. Seems the Lord had it right with that there Love thy neighbor. A feller's gotta ask for him self, is she, I say, is SHE my neighbor? Duke out.

nyet mookah

I had just lay down for a rest when I realized that I had company. The kind of company that buzzes around the room. And this was no ordinary fly. Newww...this one seems to be equipped with an extra loud buzzer, the kind you can hear three rooms away. I found this out after trying to zone in on it with a swatter, only to realize that, at times, I was at the opposite end of the house. Then I see it going into the bedroom so I go in there and shut the door. Silence. After about a minute I resign to the probability that it had not actually come into the bedroom and that I had merely trapped myself away from the fly. So, I exit bedroom, closing door behind me, and proceed to corner it in living room. It was then that I realized the silliness of the situation: how God's created order allows for a being one thousandth my size to so easily evade my wrath. My eyes are not strong enough to track its path and my reflexes no where near quick enough to swat it in mid air and my energy is no where near what it takes to pursue it for long. So, I give up. Once again, I am humbled; this time, by a comparably insignificant creature. Eventually, however, I killed it. Just had to remember that flies are suckers for a slightly-open window pane, even if there's a screen waiting to trap them in once it's shut...

*thought attack*

if I can't see the good in someone...

then,

what good am I?