By now we’ve all learned–haven’t we?–that there’s nothing quite so scary as a threat from something that does not, in fact, exist. Man-made Climbit Change. Systemic Racism. Imaginary stuff like that.
My Grandma understood that, seventy years ago.
The Mick-Mock doesn’t scare me anymore.
But liberals do.
The computer will not let me post any image that has anything at all to do with the subject matter. So here’s an angry salamander. I’m allowed to post that.
My brother and I once made a conspiracy to give each other Genuine Oriental Malay throwing knives, available at our downtown hobby shop, as Christmas presents. Yes, it left something very much to be desired, as a way of commemorating Christmas. Fishing pole, yeah, okay. A knife for you to throw at somebody–no, not okay. But I often look back at my youth and wonder, “What was I thinking?”
Our Genuine Oriental Malay (are there any Occidental Malays?) throwing knives were made out of some cheap metal that would have prevented the growth of civilization, had it come along earlier. When you threw them at a target, say a tree-trunk, they struck with a “Blap!” sound–and never, never, never hit point-first! They were great for judo practice, though, because they couldn’t cut anything. Any formless piece of cheap metal could do what they did… which was basically nothing.
I have discovered that “Oriental Malay” (must be a brand name) throwing knives are still available online. Supposedly these are made of steel instead of dried-out rubber. But I have no plans of giving them as Christmas presents.
Before my head explodes, courtesy of flaming computers, here’s a carol which I hope will calm me down–It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, performed by our dear friends and esteemed colleagues, Joshua and Jeremy.
I love this hymn. One of my earliest memories: I’m sitting on Uncle Bernie’s lap, and this carol is playing somewhere in the house.
I wish that we could gather together here.
There’s a lot to be said for a nice back porch. My family got good use out of our old back porch, at our first house. Fully screened, no problem with mosquitoes. How many night, as a boy, I lay in bed with my bedroom windows open, listening to grown-up family and friends chatting and laughing on the porch. I miss that!
Well, we don’t have a porch anymore, so we’ll have to make do with a cyber-porch. You’re all invited. We’ll be home all day.
One of our household customs, on Thanksgiving Day, is to watch this gloriously silly movie while the turkey’s cooking in the oven–Godzilla vs. Megalon. The big robot is Godzilla’s tag-team partner against Megalon and Co. It had the rare ability to increase its size tenfold. Ain’t technology wonderful? “Ah! He programmed himself to do that,” says the robot’s inventor. It came as a surprise to him.
On Thanksgiving Day we set our cares aside and praise the Lord our God, who shoulders them Himself. We used to have these huge family dinners for Thanksgiving, but everyone has either died or moved quite far away. We give God thanks for all those memories.
I’ll be here on this blog tomorrow. I hope most of you can find a few minutes to drop in and share this holiday with us.
Complete with monster movie.
One of my very earliest memories is “helping” my father and Grandpa clear away the ruins of an old outhouse in the back yard blown over by a hurricane. Because I was so small, when I was four years old, it looked positively huge to me. And I had no idea what it was used for–they had indoor plumbing by then.
I remember them going at it with saws and claw hammers, and carting the wood out to the curb for trash pickup. It was just the kind of bright and sunny day you get after a major storm. Grandpa had a double lot, half of it for the house, the rest planted all over with flowers, berry patches, and vegetables. And yes, Grandma knew how to can the produce–pots full of black and red raspberries, Concord grapes, and whatnot. People in those days knew how to do a lot of things that have since been forgotten.
The old house is gone now, everything’s gone, even the beautiful dogwood trees. I’m so glad I can still remember it.
Because I think Heaven will be very much like it.
My family had a border collie pup. My iguana tried to make friends with her, but she kept running under the couch. (He’d always had such good luck with dogs…)
This border collie, though, is determined to play with the cat whether the cat wants to or not. Hat tip to the cat for not losing her temper.
The weather here has abruptly gone from quite warm to uncomfortably chilly. It was still dark when I woke up this morning, and I went back to sleep. So I’m late.
Don’t expect too much from me today. I will do my best, I will give it all I’ve got… Oh, to be a lad of 60 again!
(Go to the bank. Go to the store. Start typing new chapter set. Generate blog posts…)
I need a couple of grandchildren. Now I understand why Grandpa was so happy to have us around. Oh, he loved us–but we also came in very handy on days like this.
It’s seven years since I first posted this. Yes, I still have all those dinosaurs! Only now I don’t care how much money I could get for them. They ain’t goin’ nowhere!
Most of my family has passed on; very few of us left. Little gifts that grandparents, aunts and uncles, and my mother and father gave me… well, sorry, but you just can’t put a price on that.
Handling my now-expensive Sphenacodon, I can almost reach back and touch the summer of 1960.
Something stirred one of my very earliest memories.
My parents went away for a weekend and took me with them. I was either four or five years old. My brother was still a baby, so let’s say four.
We went to what I guess now was a rented house somewhere in North Jersey or upstate New York, in farming country. I don’t know what my parents did all day; but there was a stone wall in the back yard and I sat on it, playing with my toy horsies and making up adventures for them…
And explaining it all to the cows!
See, I wasn’t lonely because on the other side of the wall was a pasture and I had company the whole time I was there–three cows who hung out with me. I petted them. I told them all about my toys. I told them little stories I made up (my father, my grammie, and my aunts told me stories all the time, and I imitated them). They were the nicest cows you could imagine–although I don’t know, maybe most cows are like that. Suburban kids don’t get a lot of experience with cows.
But that little bit of experience I had, I treasure.
I hope I meet those cows again someday. We have a lot of catching up to do.