If our dear friend Erlene were up and about today, she might well ask for a hymn by Carroll Roberson. Dear sister, you rest easy, we’ll serve it to you in bed: How Great Thou Art, by Carroll Roberson. This is another one my mother and my aunts used to sing as they went about their housework. I can almost hear them when I play it.
Huffin’ and puffin’, I’ve finally crossed the finish line. Ozias, Prince in Peril–all 51 chapters of it–is finished!
I shall celebrate with a Cadbury Creme Egg.
Of course, now I have to type it all up, edit and polish it, and send it off to Susan, my editor. It’s a big job. I’d like a bit of snow to pep me up for it.
Meanwhile, yes, Patty has a hernia, we’ve found a doctor, she’ll see him next week and hopefully we’ll then know what’s what. Please pray for us.
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Ira “Bob” Born, the inventor of Marshmallow Peeps, has died at 98. He also invented the machine that makes the famous Easter candies. They mustn’t have been very easy to make by hand.
They came out in 1953, and I have loved Peeps all my life. Today they stir up fond memories of my family, and little pink and yellow chicks nestled in the green plastic “grass” in my Easter basket. I know it has nothing to do with the true joy and meaning of Easter–except that everything we know as wholesome, benign, and good comes to us as the gift of God.
So I couldn’t let this go without thanking Mr. Born for something sweet and pleasant in my life. I have a couple of packs of Peeps sitting on my table as we speak. And memories. I won’t let go of those.
My Aunt Millie used to sing this hymn as she did her housework. The pastor of her church called her “Our ewe lamb.” She was very well loved.
No hymn requests this morning. Well, the hymn shop’s open–come on in.
This lifelike, life-size doll came onto the market in 1959. Not long afterward, my sister got one as a Christmas present. She and the doll were about the same size.
I soon learned that if you left Patty Play Pal sitting or standing in a dimly-lit room where she wasn’t expected to be, you could really give someone the willies if they suddenly encountered it. I mean, an extra person in the house, just staring at you… If the doll could have broken into a grin, it would’ve put my mother in orbit.
I’ll have to ask my sister if she still has her Patty Play Pal. Betcha you could sell it on eBay for a tidy sum.
I think our order wasn’t quite this ambitious…
Today is the 46th anniversary of our first date, Patty and me… the day my own life changed altogether for the better. Thank you for that, O God!
I was the managing editor of The Bayshore Independent. She was the bookkeeper. On Dec. 26, 1976, we went to dinner at The Islanders Restaurant in Matawan (they advertised with us–and really, it was a great restaurant: Steve Wong really made it into something special)–followed by a movie (The Voyage of the Damned, bit of a downer)… and then lots and lots more dates. “Don’t you let this one get away!” my mother chode me. Well, I had no intention to.
The Bayshore Independent is gone, The Islanders is gone, most of the movie theaters are gone… but we’re still here. Praise the Lord.
Just to let you know, we got our tree decorated today–although I’m just totally exhausted (I had to vacuum, too, and dust the stairs) and Patty says I don’t look like I’ll make it to suppertime. But we’re having duck, so I’ll remain conscious for that.
Our tree is much smaller than what we usually have, and it wasn’t possible to use all the ornaments and I didn’t even put on Grandpa’s string of lights. I just wanted to be sure to use most of our family heirlooms. Just didn’t have the energy to do more.
Uh… got to clean the litter boxes now. I wouldn’t want our cat to face used litter. Not on Christmas Eve.
Two and a half hours at the vet’s this morning, first thing. That’s where I’ve been.
The bad news is, Robbie has a number of serious health problems all laying siege to her at once. Her whole life has been one damned thing after another. The good news is, she’s fought them off, year after year, and is still here.
Rather than put her through all kinds of major treatments, when she doesn’t seem to be particularly uncomfortable, we’re just going to rely on prayer and care. At her age (almost 17) she doesn’t need invasive tests and surgeries. Let her nap under the Christmas tree, when we put it up.
I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble, these past three days; only when someone in your family suddenly keels over, you’re supposed to do something about it.
Anyway, she’s back where she belongs.
We were just about to sit down to dinner last evening when Robbie gave a loud cry, wobbled a few steps, and then fell over. Rush visit to the emergency vet!
To get there I had to drive the old Lincoln Highway in the dark of night. I find it VERY had to see when all the cars in the oncoming waterfall of traffic have their high-beams on. Of course the animal hospital is on the other side of the road, so I can’t see it. If I try to slow down for a better look, someone will be up my tailpipe. “We are going to get killed,” I thought. And meanwhile I can’t find this place.
I had to travel almost to Rahway before I could find a chance to get onto the other side of the road and start my search over. I prayed hard… and in another two minutes or so, there it was.
By now Robbie had pretty much recovered and the doctor couldn’t find anything visibly wrong with her. So tomorrow it’s back to her regular doctor whom she only saw last week. Her blood work etc. was okay then, nothing wrong. But cats aren’t supposed to fall over when they walk. Maybe it’s an inner ear infection: I don’t think anybody checked for that.
Coming home was easier because I was able to get off the highway and go the back way. I do not understand why everybody is driving these crowded, busy roads with their high-beams on. I find it rather nerve-wracking to be unable to see while I drive.
Supper was two hours late. Robbie seems all right now. But it’s back to her regular vet tomorrow to make sure.
We’ll go during the daytime.
She wanted to play “Maverick,” so she played “Maverick”–no big deal!
Eight years go by, and we’re still being clouted over the head by “transgender.” Even Christmas isn’t safe anymore.
Why do leftids object so strenuously to the existence of men and women, male and female? Why does that have them chewing the rug?
Had my sister, as a little girl, wanted a toy truck for Christmas, she surely would have been given one. She preferred stuffed animals and cowboy items. No one forced her into any kind of stereotype. And those were the 1950s and the early 60s!
In so very many ways, the times were better.