Tag Archives: my family

‘Sweet Sacrament Divine’

Here’s one for Phoebe and other Catholic members of our little blog community, shared with us by “Optimal Play” from Australia–Sweet Sacrament Divine, sung by Marilla Ness.

It must be Catholic Day here. For the first time ever, we have a hit from Vatican City. My Aunt Betty, the nun, sure would’ve gotten a kick out of that! I miss her.

It would be silly to deny that there are controversies that separate Catholics and Protestants. But I don’t know how much that label, “Protestant,” is worth anymore. R.J. Rushdoony hired Catholics to help run Chalcedon and also published books by Catholics–and who could be more of a Protestant than he?

Anyway, the Lord has richly endowed His Church–the whole Church, the whole community of believers worldwide–with enemies: and we do well to remember that. We belong to Jesus Christ and ought to love each other.


The Peep Report

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We got the results of Peep’s blood work today, and were very happy to hear the doctors found no problems that would have to be addressed. She does have a ding of some kind on her shoulder, but maybe special shampoo will make it go away. And she has a little arthritis in her lower back. Other than that, tickety-boo!

She carried on in the car like crazy, and hissed and growled at the doctor. By now she’s back to normal. Thank you, Lord.


Urgent Prayer Request: My Brother-in-Law

My brother-in-law, Ray, my wife’s last living blood relative, is in a very bad way with his dementia, and there doesn’t seem to be much medical science can do to help, other than pump him full of assorted medications to keep him calm. Again, I’m not free to give many details. But he really does need our prayers.

O Lord our God, a God who delights in mercy, in Jesus’ name, have mercy on my brother-in-law and deliver him out of his trouble: because you are the only one who is able to do it. We have recourse to you in prayer: In Jesus’ name, Amen.


Back from the Vet’s

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Now Peep is going to see my as Darth Vader for the rest of the month, because I took her to the vet this morning.

Thank you for your prayers: there’s nothing much wrong with her. Touch of arthritis. A bit of overgrooming. And this patch of something on her side, which the vet thought might be ringworm: but it doesn’t seem to bother her much.

Ah, but the fifteen-minute ride to get there! You’d think we had a swarm of scorpions in the carrier with her. Now that she’s home, she growls at me. *sigh*


Sanity Break: Flight of the Knuckleball

My brother-in-law has had to be hospitalized for his dementia, and who knows how it’ll turn out? Please pray for him.

Meanwhile, permit me this indulgence. All my life I’ve wanted to throw a knuckleball, and have yet to accomplish it. Watch the video and see how the ball wobbles and wanders on its way to the catcher, who almost drops it. No wonder it’s so hard to hit.

The shortstop on our softball team, Sandy, had a terrific knuckleball. You really couldn’t tell where it was going to go. It’s hard to describe what I saw while waiting to catch it. A softball isn’t supposed to flutter like a moth! As a first baseman, I used to dread the possibility that someday Sandy would give in to temptation and throw me one of these fluttering moths during a game; but he never did.

It’s raining now, so I can’t go outside and try again with some black walnuts. By the time I was fifty I’d finally mastered the curveball, then the screwball; but the knuckleball continues to elude me. I’ll keep trying, though. It’s goofy things like this that keep you young.


Not Honest! (Plus a Prayer Request)

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Patty and I wanted to watch a ghost story last night; and, lo and behold, we found a movie treatment of M.R. James’ Oh, Whistle and I’ll Come to You, My Lad, one of the best ghost stories ever written. There’s a 1968 version starring Michael Hordern as the intellectual know-it-all who gets a very rude awakening, but this new one is longer and stars another great actor, John Hurt.

But first we read the viewer comments.

It turns out there’s no ghost in this rendition, and no freakin’ whistle, either. Instead, it’s a story of dementia. All they did was lift the title–not honest! The story in the movie has nothing to do with the one M.R. James wrote. So we didn’t watch it.

Sorry, but dementia is very much wanting as a source of entertainment, especially when it’s eating up certain members of your family. My brother-in-law, Ray, has it: has it bad. Because it’s not possible to get his permission to divulge any of the details, all I can say is that he needs our prayers. I mean, he really needs them, and I ask you to join me in offering prayer on his behalf. Please, Lord, in Jesus’ name, do something to help him!

I know you can’t copyright a title, but this goes beyond just “based on” and is a highly blameworthy attempt to trick the audience.

Meanwhile, we thank you for your prayers.


The Awfulness of ‘Queen for a Day’

My Grandma had what I could only think of as a very strange taste in television. I ought to know: I spent many an afternoon at her house, just the two of us.

She loved those old soap operas with the creepy organ music, most of whose plots seemed to consist of old ladies getting a raw deal; but the show that really gave me the willies was Queen for a Day. As I remember the format, the poor old trout with the most baroque sob story got to be Queen for a Day and received a lot of rather cheap prizes. This pioneering effort in reality TV ran on NBC from 1956-1960, and on ABC till 1964. It has since been equaled many times for sheer horribleness, but never surpassed.

For entertainment and edification value, it ranked somewhere between a deep paper cut and stepping in what your neighbor’s Great Dane left on your lawn when he got loose.

Oops! Wrong video! Somehow I got the 28-minute sample instead of the 2-minute one. Please don’t feel obliged to sit through the whole thing. Two or three minutes is more than enough.


Help Me Stay Awake

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The cats started agitating for food before the sun came up today, so I groped my way downstairs and fed them because I didn’t want my wife to have to get up, didn’t want them to wake her.

Now getting up before the day itself gets up is the worst possible thing in the world for me. It’s on a par with reaching out to turn on my bed lamp in the dark and encountering, instead, a hairy hand with claws eagerly fumbling for your own. It’s hard to get back to sleep, after a thing like that.

And after my grim errand is concluded, she gets up anyway.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Getting up.”

“Well, don’t! Go back to sleep at once!”

“But I’ve had my sleep.”

So, sigh, there I was, and I’ll bet it took me two hours to get back to sleep.

Now I’ve got to go to the nursing home, then to Wal-Mart to pick up a prescription, and by then I ought to be ready for the glue factory.

Some of you may want to check from time to time to make sure I’m not lying face-down on the floor.


‘Shall We Gather at the River?’

This was one of my Uncle Bernie’s favorite hymns. Obliged to rush out to the doctor’s this morning, I don’t have time to be very selective. Note the baby sort of taking part with the other two generations: courtesy of Nathan and Lyle from Denton County, Texas, music-folk-play-hymns.com .


The Robbie Report

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Okay, we’re back from the vet and I want to thank all of you who’ve prayed for Robbie, and thank the Lord Our God for hearing our prayers, and granting them.

The doctor was surprised by how much better Robbie has gotten in a month. Last month she was a poor little bag of bones, 10.25 pounds. Today she weighed in at 11.50 and just looks so much better! The treatment she’s getting has been working, and will continue for some time longer.

Again, everybody, thanks.


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