Time After Time

            It seems to me that when the United States switches back and forth to Daylight Savings Time the problems that it causes is not worth any gains that it may make. An old proverb that expresses my feelings is attributed to a Native American. “Only a white man believes that by cutting six inches off the bottom of his blanket and sewing it to the top, he will make his blanket longer.” That’s such a foolish notion, but isn’t that exactly what the government has done?

            The other pithy saying I heard was while our church group was tenting out west quite a few years ago. An older farmer’s wife heard us trying to decide what time zone we were in. When we asked her for the correct time, she said, “It don’t matter to my cows, so it don’t worry me either,” and she laughed. Well she was correct. Cows can’t tell time. Only us sheeple are so involved for making appointments, being on time for buses, trains, or arriving on time to punch-in at work.

            Now that I’m retired I have partially escaped the “time” net. I rise up and go to bed whenever I decide that I’m sleepy (nap times included) or eating when I’m hungry. Arriving for my appointments are the only real vestiges that remain from that being punctual world, but I’m glad for those commitments that remain. They are the only anchors that persist to let me know what day it is.

            My dad was more than just punctual and that habit has rubbed off onto me. His one thought about being on time was, “If you’re not early, you’re late.” It would upset him if we caused him to wait when he was ready to leave. When a snow storm caused him to be late for work or for church, he never forgave winter for it.

            I firmly believe that the government should add thirty minutes from one time change and subtract thirty minutes from the other. There would be no more springing ahead and no more falling back. The ebb and flow of time would return to being a steady rate without the interfering hands of government yanking back on the reins or driving us ahead,. It would save us from adjusting the clocks throughout house and the car. It also would make it less likely I we will arrive late to an appointment or to church services. It makes much more sense than the system we are being told to use now, but common sense hasn’t always grown in the government’s garden.

 

 

Will My Voice Be Heard?

            When my Friend and I visited her aunt near Sacramento, California, we wore out Trump hats and shirts. My friend’s aunt wore the Trump hat and shirt we’d brought her as a thank you gift for allowing us to stay at her home and as her birthday gift. I was pleasantly surprised about two things. One was that there was so much support for President Donald Trump. Almost everywhere we went from Lake Tahoe, to San Francisco, to Big Trees Park with giant sequoias, we were greeted pleasantly and enthusiastically. There were a few rude confrontational people who fussed about our garb. One was at Lake Tahoe where a man became agitated and tried to shame me. He became almost livid when I said I wouldn’t vote for a man with dementia.

            Another was in downtown San Francisco. A man was about to close the passenger door of the car with a cup of coffee on the roof. I mentioned it. When he climbed out to retrieve it, he turned to face and probably thank me, then recognized what I was wearing. Without a word, he climbed back into the car and sped off after the radio began to blast music, “F___ Trump.”

            I saw many friendly faces. One was a Navy Seal who said, “I’ll watch your back “as we strolled in the crowds.” It helped that it was earlier in the day. Many of those who “protest” and riot were probably still in bed where they couldn’t hide in the darkness.

            In San Francisco, we gave a man a Gospel tract. He said he’d tried several other religions before becoming a Christian. His job required him to drive through cities along the West Coast. He also said southern Oregon boasted a forest of Trump campaign yard signs.

            This past Monday, I was to gather my friend at car dealership. Her truck needed service. As I waited, I spoke with a gentleman who traveled along the East Coast for his job. He said as he drove up a ramp into New York City, he saw a building with a row of flagpoles on top. American flags alternated with Trump flags in downtown New York. He shared that he was quite surprised at the sight.

            Are we being lied to by the media and their pollsters? After their embarrassing misjudgment supporting Hillary Clinton, there is only one way to stop their power of misrepresentation of facts and that is to prove their ideals and attempts to direct Americans to swallow their lies as truth and that is to VOTE for Trump and have him win by an undeniable landslide.

 

Weary of Dreary

After several days of bright, beautiful, and sunny weather, Saturday and Sunday were such a letdown. Thick clouds lowered Friday night into Saturday morning. A cold drizzle replaced the warm late autumn days that I’d just enjoyed. Why do the temperatures of a chilly day always seems more intense when it’s damp? There are only two things that would have made me less happy. One is that the temperature was even colder and it had actually snowed like my relatives out west had shared photos.

If another thing that often occurs and would have really bummed me out would have been to hear flocks of geese singing their lonesome autumn song as they make their way south. That event would have meant winter was close on their heels. Many times the geese fly over just before a snow storm blusters in, close on their heels.

Why is it that the same song from the same flock’s sounds are so much different on their return trip heading north in the spring? Is it because of my own imagination and anticipation that I hear a difference in their songs? One is the forbearer of frost, ice, and snow while the other is the herald for springtime with the melting of the ice and snow and the warming and thawing of the frozen earth.

Once winter arrives, I’m glad that I’m retired and no longer have to leave my house, only if I decide to do so. There’s no longer the responsibility of a job that pries me from my warm bed or compels me to shovel out my driveway if I don’t want to. I usually have food stocked in my pantry and more in my freezer. If I’m snowed in, there’s always dried beans, rice, and pasta. I have a gas stove, so even if the electric fails, I can cook. With candles and several kerosene lamps, I still have light. To keep warm, I have a wood burner in the basement and a stack of wood outside.

I have tons of unread books that fill several shelves to keep myself amused if there’s no computer or television to divert my attention and I can limit the use of my cell phone to make the battery last longer. I will admit that the house might feel a little quiet with only Willow my long-haired cat to keep me company. Even her meows are quiet. Her galloping run through the house is often louder than her voice.

Harvest Time and Harvest Pan

A friend and classmate posted a photo of a meal that he and his wife shared while on vacation. The plate was filled with crispy fish, French fries, and HUSH PUPPIES. Those crunchy, steaming corn meal balls are spiced and deep fried. The Hebrew people had the right idea with matzo, but forgot to add southern flavor and deep fry it in oil.

When I was stationed in Orlando, Florida as a Naval corpsman, I would occasionally go fishing with friends off Cape Canaveral in an 18 foot fishing boat. Even with 6 foot ground swells, I didn’t get seasick until they told me I had to sit. I became queasy sitting, but was okay while standing and fishing.

After several trips and freezers filled, a date was set for the fish fry. A chief petty officer would invite us to his home and set up an old round charcoal grill and place his huge harvest pan on it. His harvest pan was a skillet that covered the entire top of the grill. It took 3 cans of Crisco to fill it. Then the frying began. Wives and girlfriends made coleslaw and made the batter for the hush puppies. Chunks of fish and the cornmeal balls were dropped into the fat.

Plates were filled time after time with steaming pieces of golden brown fish, mounds of savory coleslaw, and of course the tasty, flavorful nuggets of hush puppies. All too soon, stomachs were filled. The feasting slowed to an occasional bite or two. With appetites slaked, we would sit and talk, wondering if we could maybe eat one more hush puppy or a sliver more fish. Satisfied sighs and an occasional belch answered that question and sealed it.

Harvest time is nearly at an end here in southwestern Pennsylvania. Fields that once were forests of bright green corn stalks are now barren. Only sharp stakes of stubble dot the empty fields. Fields were once golden lakes of wheat and barley are now only a carpet of browning stems. Occasionally I see a bright orange pumpkin, but for the most part farmers have their reaping done and stored into silos or barns.

Women have their canning finished. Some will still put up fruits and vegetables in glass jars, while others have frozen their garden’s harvest. Relishes are cooked from the left-over vegetables not completely ripe or not enough for another round of canning. Cold cellars fill with potatoes, carrots, and turnips. Cabbages have become sauerkraut; cucumbers pickles, a time for Thanksgiving approaches.

 

One Day

As I opened the desk drawer to gather my medications for the morning and seeing the hoard of bottles inside, I thought, “There will come a day when I won’t need all of this. I’ll obtain a new and perfect body. I’ll rise from the grave and I’ll greet death as an old friend,” not fearing what is beyond that great divide of the living and the dead. I’ll open my eyes on that great and eternal morning and I will have no more aches and pain. I won’t have fillings in my teeth, my joints will be new, and I’ll have muscles that are made to do what I ask. I’ll again have hair, I won’t have allergies, and I’ll no longer need glasses.

I’ll have the strength and endurance that I’ll need. My heart will overflow with joy, thankfulness, and gratitude. I’ll see the city of God behind huge, wide-open pearl gates. Streets there are paved with gold. The buildings will be constructed of bright gemstones: jasper, beryl, sapphires, emeralds, topaz, and amethyst. They’re so common that they’ll be used as building material. There will no longer be a need for the sun or moon. The light will emanate from Father God Himself. All glory shall surround His throne in unimaginable brightness. Angels, seraphim, and cherubim shall hover near calling out hosannas and praise.

Jesus, God’s only begotten Son will sit at His right hand. There with the Holy Spirit, they will make up the Holy Trinity; Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Their awesome majesty shall be unequalled, unmatched, and indescribable. In the heavenly courts I will wear a spotless white robe of righteousness and dwell there with other saints who have gone on before.

I’ll be lifted up when Christ appears in the clouds with other saints that will be raptured into glory. It will be a time of casting of crowns at the Lord’s feet and we shall receive eternal rewards. It is only by Christ’s blood that was shed on Calvary that sins are washed away and by His stripes we’ve been healed. It is the key to the entrance into Heaven.

Why should I fear death when so much more awaits me in that land beyond the stars?

I would be remiss if I didn’t share the only other option of an eternal dwelling place. It was created for Lucifer and other fallen angels, but has been expanded to receive those who reject Jesus as their Savior and refuse His gift of salvation. I won’t describe the horrors, pain, and tortures of Hell, but suffice it to say that Jesus offers life and in the Bible speaks warnings about Hell more than promises of Heaven.