Category: Habits

“Stop blaming guns and start teaching the value of human life.”

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Addy-Combs-9-24-2012-profileThe sign said, “Stop blaming guns and start teaching the value of human life.” Made me think about all the death of young people perpetrated by young people in Chicago and other gang infested cities. As we all know, the majority of people being killed are in black on black crimes. We also know that there are more abortions among black females that there are in any other race in America. This causes their religious leaders and communities to lament the loss of the next generation.

Here’s the thing, if kids in the gang culture are taught that being a man means shooting and killing anyone who might have insulted them, come into their territory, or impugned their manhood, they are taught to take a gun to even the score, Then what is the value of human life? If girls in the gang culture are taught that if they get pregnant sleeping around, prostituting themselves, or because they are careless, they are taught to kill their babies by aborting them, then what is the value of human life? And that is why there is a huge decline in black Americans throughout a large portion of American cities.

Along with that particular culture and race, are the rest of the kids who fall into the violence and uninhibited behavior of the gang cultures. The value of life of a human is treated as unimportant as a sneeze. Not even the gangs themselves mourn the loss of a member for long. In too many gang cultures, it is simply the way it is. So, if people are going to die from violence or drug use, why bother to care about them? Again, girls are taught that abortion is a form of birth control and that tissue is not a human being – even though it does have human DNA – so getting rid of it is no more important than blowing one’s nose.

Even among those who are affluent, or not part of gang culture, the idea that human life is valuable is laughed at. The exception being those who are religious who do not practice their religion as a reason to make war and kill others who do not believe as they do. However, those who are raised in a secular society without a moral platform based in caring about their fellow mankind, simply do not see a reason to care beyond their particular circle. Kids sit in front of a screen “playing” violent games where killing is the main focus of a game, numbing them even more to the value of human beings.

Guns, Thank God, are part of American culture, and a means to protect one’s property, self, or family. They are also there to protect ourselves from a tyrannical government. Weapons, however, that are used to murder and injure others can be anything from a gun to something as simple as a belt used to strangle someone. It is not the weapon that kills all on it own, it is a person deciding to take a life for some implied slight, because a child would ruin their plans, or because someone has gone mentally ill.

It is the failure to teach our children that human beings are valuable that worries me the most. Are we a raising generation of people who are so selfish and self absorbed that they cannot see the value in others? Are our children remaining childishly concerned about only themselves? Do they find the suffering of others unimportant, and will they simply ignore the loss of life because it isn’t happening to someone they know? Do they know how to love others? Or are we raising a bunch of pack animals who only bond together to mate, commit violence against other packs, and keep their numbers under control by killing off the weakest of the children?

It worries me that so many kids today, and in many cases, their parents, have no manners, no sense of a moral boundary, and no understanding of the value of human life. Our information sources, books, entertainment, and education makes it clear that human beings are the scourge of the earth. Except, naturally, their generation. They are so self absorbed that many of them simply do not recognize they are no different than the kid standing next to them. They are both humans. They are both valuable. They are our future, God help us.

Sniffle . . .

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Did you know that the highest recorded speed of a sneeze was 102 miles per hour. The Guinness Book of Records has it listed at 115 miles per hour. It is a wonder then, that I haven’t scattered half of my brain matter all over my house. I have a bad cold and sinus infection. Hence, the constant sneezing. This isn’t a new thing. I get sick like this every year about now. But it sure is getting to the point where it wears on me, like a gigantic, annoying, never ending hum.

Why is it, I wonder, that something as simple as a bad cold feels so awful. People survive the most horrendous injuries and illnesses, and they suffer a great deal more than someone with a bad head cold, but they don’t whine nearly as much. I ought to know, I’ve been on both sides of that argument, and I whine much more about my piddly little illness.

I whine because I feel poorly, not desperately ill, but miserable enough not to feel like doing anything productive. I whine because I ache, sniffle, sneeze, cough, sputter, and run a fever. I feel chilled, then hot, then freezing, then boiling, and back to the general malaise of blah. I’m not dying, not even close, but I think I may, just because I feel so rotten.

Some things make me feel better for a bit. A warm blanket, cup of herbal tea, medication, soup . . . but in no time at all, I am right back to the normal moan and whine mode. I don’t want to be like this. Honestly, I want to act like a grown up, standing up to the whole thing, and being brave. I’m not.

I was at the doctor’s office the other day, it was filled with sick kids and parents. One little boy, about a year old or so, was being rocked in his mother’s arms. Every breath he took came out with a monotone whine of deep misery. It was obvious that the moaning helped him communicate how rotten he felt. Another kid, around four was being bratty and crying because he felt so awful. Parents all around me were trying their best to comfort their kids. It was OK for them to whine . . . totally not fair as I had to sit there and act like an adult when I wanted to throw a tantrum too.

So, here I sit on day four or five, I’ve lost count, of fighting this infection and head cold. I feel a bit better, but still worn out from all the coughing and the rotten headache. I have moved on from whining to feeling irritable and grumpy. Phase two has commenced, and people, it can get ugly from here on out . . . sniffle .. . hack . . . grumble.

It is Christmas, damn it!

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So, here we are again at that time of year when we are supposed to be filled with love, peace, and harmony – celebrating the birth of one of the best loved men in the world and beyond. Right. Sure. At least that is how it was when I was a kid, and when my children were small. Not today.

Today we have the progressive left, atheists, and general whiners and moaners who try to stand in the way of Christians celebrating one of their most important HOLY DAYS. Christmas, people, is a Holy Day for Christians. Yes, I know, it is also the celebration of Hanukkah for the Jewish people. It is also the winter festival for tree huggers, pagans, and people who like to dance naked around a bonfire. Fine, wonderful for them too! A Holy Day that is sacred to so many is something to enjoy.

Not Christians, however. We aren’t supposed to be allowed to have a Holy Day. No celebrating in our traditional ways that have come from all corners of the world along with early immigrants. Nope, not according to atheists, who worship non religion more fervently than most people who profess to be religious – no matter their faith. No celebration for Christians according to the progressive left, because someone, (THEM), just might be offended by the American traditions of celebrating a religions HOLY DAY.

However, having a secular day of celebration with Santa Claus and presents is fine. But no Christmas tree, it must be called, instead, a holiday tree. Holiday tree? But that has the words HOLY DAY in it, and therefore can be construed as religious. Still, those that hate Christians can go with the holiday theme, as long as it stays secular.

If a town has traditionally put up a manger with Joseph and Mary, and the usual cast from the story of the birth of Jesus found in the New Testament, in the book of Luke, the secular anti Christian people have a tantrum, file law suits, and insist that it be removed because it might be insulting to some. Yet, no one complains about a menorah, being placed in the town center, or pagans doing their dances, or Muslims, Hindus, or Buddhists doing what ever it is they do for this season. So why the war on Christians?

The Constitution says nothing about separation of Church and State only that there will be no state religion. Try telling that to an atheist or secular progressive wonk. American was founded by Christians. It was settled by Christians. The very fiber of America comes from a solid base in law and morals of Christianity. Granted, the Indians were here first. But even they had strong religious beliefs that often mesh with Judeo-Christian philosophies. But there is still a war on Christians.

It is bad to be religious, it is bad to have our beliefs displayed by having a Christmas Tree, bright lights, candy canes, gifts for our loved ones, and a feast to remind us all of the feast of words from the Scriptures. But, you see, for Christians, it is what we do to celebrate our Holy Day. So, we are under siege to forget our traditions, forget our religion, forget the meaning behind all we do at this time of year, and simply go with the Santa Claus theme.

Sorry, folks, but in my house, it is CHRISTMAS, damn it. And that is what it will always be. If you don’t want to be part of the Holy Day as we celebrate it, more power to you. Don’t celebrate as I do, do your own thing, or not, as you choose. However, I have the same right to do as I wish.

Without Christians, and Christmas, there probably wouldn’t even BE a holiday this time of year across the world. December 25th would be just another dreary winter day, or summer day if you live at the bottom of the world, without meaning or great value. Now wouldn’t that be miserable? Instead the world has the joy of Christmas, (or secular holiday), to lighten our lives for a few minutes.
It used to be that Christmas was just a simple day of prayer and worship for Christians. Then the pagan feasting and other traditions were added, followed by gift giving, Christmas trees from Germany, and Sinter Klaus from Holland, nativities from Italy, songs from all over the world, right up to modern lights and decorations. But, at the end of the day, it is still a day for prayer and worship, and remembrance of the baby that was born who changed the world – and died for our sins.

It is CHRISTMAS, a time to count our blessings, love one another, forgive one another, and let one another celebrate as their beliefs dictate. May God Bless and Keep you, each and every one. Because it is CHRISTMAS, damn it!

Sometimes, women really tick me off.

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Today, my husband told me about an exchange he had on his social media site. It was with an obviously very uninformed woman. She posted a photo of a person holding a sign insisting that incoming Freshmen boys have a mandatory course on not raping women. It should be what all Feminists would want. What?

First of all, sexual assault is a horrific act of violence, and I think men or women who do that sort of thing should be de-sexed and put on death row, especially if it involves children. So put that in the back of your brain for a moment.

Having said that, nothing annoys me more than a helpless woman. Suck it up sister, and get some training on how to protect YOURSELF. If a woman is a true feminist, then her whole mantra for the past 30 odd years is, EQUALITY. But, you say, men are stronger than women. True, so you equal things up by learning self defense, or better yet, carry a gun and shoot the jerk. You don’t have to kill him to stop him, just take out his knees or put a bullet center mass.

In a pinch, almost anything can be used as a weapon, including your own body, the nearest rock, sand, dirt, alarm clock, dish, shoe, or even liquid. Get off your princess cushion and be a real woman who CAN take care of herself instead of waiting to be rescued like some wimp.

By the time a woman is off to university, she should be smart enough and trained enough to know better than to do certain things. Don’t go out alone. Don’t get so drunk you don’t know what you are doing or who you are with. Don’t dress like a street walker and rub up against men (or women if you are that way inclined) and tease them with sex. Don’t dance with someone and hint that you want more than a dance if you aren’t going to follow through. There are names for girls like that, and they aren’t kind at all. Don’t walk places in the dark that are dangerous. If you are afraid, or untrained, get campus security to walk you home or to your car, it is their job to do so. Don’t expect some randy boy who thinks more with his nether regions than his brain to keep you safe, or to keep his hands off you if you so much as touch him. Flirt and you get what you ask for.

OK, you say, well boys need to be taught to be in control. Excuse me, woman, but if that young man hasn’t been taught by his parents how to treat a girl with respect by the time he is off to university, it is FAR too late. Some wimpy two hour class on how not to be a date rapist or stalker isn’t going to make a difference. Besides, most girls know by the age of 12 that they control the guys around them by the way they act toward them. If you don’t, then you are far too immature to even be out of the house on your own, let alone at college.

I can hear all you anti male feminists gasping in outrage from here. Get over yourselves. You want equality, you got equality. Deal with it and stop trying to play at being both an independent feminist woman and a helpless little princess. Either you learn to take care of yourself, or you learn to be weak and dependent on others. There is no way in hades I am going to allow myself to be weak and at the mercy of others.

True story. When I was seven months pregnant with my first child, we were living in rural Oklahoma. I came home one day to find my house being burgled. I slipped in the back door, grabbed our hand gun, and walked into the living room. They took one look at my gun, another at my belly, and thought I would be an easy mark. I wasn’t. They ran like hell when I pointed the gun at them. They also had four very large bullet holes in the back of their van. Made it easy for the cops to find them. Fortunately, they hadn’t had time to actually put anything in their van. But they had made a huge mess of my house. I protected myself, my child, and my home. I would do it again today. There is a reason why I have a carry permit and keep a gun near or on me at all times.

It is NOT the university’s responsibility to train boys about sexual assault. It is the responsibility of the individual female to know how to take care of herself if she finds herself in a bad situation. But, you say, what about being kidnapped or given date rape drugs? Back to the rules, don’t go anywhere alone. Guard your drinks, and if you get off the dance floor, get a fresh drink – don’t drink from the old one unless someone has been keeping an eye on it. Don’t go home with a stranger, or allow him to take you home. Girls watch out for each other, and that means keeping each other from doing stupid things. Stop getting stinking drunk and making yourself a mark. It is up to YOU to do what you need to do to be safe. And stop blaming guys for everything when you don’t do the basics to take care of yourself.

To be clear, I think feminism is a joke. All blather and screaming and no substance. Because when things get difficult, they always return to the same crap. I am woman, hear me roar, but I am helpless in the face of men, so protect me. Gag a maggot, grow up and be responsible for your own safety.

I Love Words

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Being in the middle of my first century, I have a different understanding of words and their usage than kids young enough to be my grandchildren. Sometimes it bugs me to no end when I hear kids talk in what is generally text speak slang, and I loathe reading text messages that use “UR” for “you are, or your” and the like. But, what bugs me most, is how the meaning of words are twisted around from the way I learned them.

The word ‘nice’ used to be a compliment. Now it isn’t at all. I have come to loathe the word as it is used as a dismissive, if subtle, insult. When I hear anyone under 60 use the word, it is always drawled in a tone of voice that absolutely grates on my nerves. Superlatives have to be super words now. We can’t say, “oh, that’s a lovely dress.” Now it needs to have more “oomph” when we compliment someone. We have to use words like amazing, cute, darling, smashing, hot, sexy, and always a word or phrase that invokes a meaning of thin.

I think a lot of the super superlatives are due, in part, to two generations, or more, of kids sitting in front of televisions as companies hype the products they sell to stay in business. Loud, excited, or oozing suggestions of seduction and sex, commercials overwhelm our senses with the urgent need to buy a product that will make us all beautiful, rich, popular, smell good, eat well, or any number of things. All of it is, of course, hyperbole. However, all those super Superlatives have become ingrained in our cultural brain and skip around in our verbiage. Insincere, in the deepest way, gaggles of teenage girls and middle aged women squeal and giggle at one another from the moment they meet until they finally shut up and go home. Generally, less than five minutes of meaningful conversation will take place in an hour.

I was shopping with my granddaughter last week. She is five, and very into shopping. We were standing next to a mother and daughter as they looked at clothes. Every other word was something inane. “Oh that’s cute. You will look hot in that (the kid was all of nine). That’s cool, you will rock that color.” Bella looked at me after the mother held up one particularly horrific outfit and said, loudly, “Nana, that girl is too fat for that outfit. She will look like a fat grape.” It took every bit of self control I had not to laugh. She was right. She was also not buying the babble. I was very proud of her for being both honest and straight forward in her comments. We will, however, need to work on her vocal volume a bit. The mother stomped off in a huff. The kid didn’t even pay attention to Bella. She was too busy cooing over the outfit that will make her look like a grape.

I, like, you know, hate it, when people, like, kinda, you know, never really say a full sentence without one of those, you know, like stupid phrases. I also get impatient with folks who hesitate and pause every other word, and fill in the silence with uhh, mmm, err, ahh, or any other nonsense noise. How about simply stating, “I need to think for a second before I answer that question?”

Now the Christmas season is here. Yes, I said, gasp, the C word. CHRISTMAS. I know all the history behind the X in Christmas as the symbol for Christ. Got it. Greeks, spell things weird. I also know that it is a holiday season for the Jewish and the made up one for all the ‘former slaves’ in America. And I also know that it is held during what was a Roman celebration of some god or another. However, traditionally, since the death of Christ, and the rise of protestants, Christmas has been a holy day celebration for CHRISTIANS. So, I don’t like words and phrases like holiday tree, and Xmas. I dislike people trying to secularize what is a sacred holiday for me. So the modern terms that take all the true meaning from the holy day annoy me.

With all the new technology around us, people don’t actually speak to each other very much. I know my teen texts her friends more than she every rings them on the phone and chats with them. Chat has come to mean typing furiously on the keyboard while on line with a bunch of other people. Chat rooms, a new use of an old term, are now electronic pretend places on line where a bunch of strangers type at each other and generally end up in “flame wars” over their comments. In my mind I see a vague, hazy room with a fire in the middle of the floor and people screaming at each other.

Sometimes I long for an intelligent conversation with someone who actually knows how to have a conversation. One where I speak, they listen, then they speak and I listen. A conversation using words that have more than two syllables would be good. A conversation that invokes laughter, concentration, and lightening quick thinking would be incredible.. A conversation with an adult, teen, or child that doesn’t have slang and hesitations throughout, but the proper use of complete sentences and a tendency to maintain at least a hint of a link to the original subject would make me happy. Too many of us are simply too distracted by shiny things, ringing cell phones, and movement to concentrate on a long conversation. Soon, like handwriting letters, conversation will be a lost art. Eventually, we will all communicate through the typed word, and only gesture and grunt like original cave dwellers when we actually meet in person.

Oh well, I still love words. Shakespeare, Spencer, Pope, Bronte, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Dickens, and even a few Science Fiction/ Fantasy writers use words that say what they mean and mean what they say. The words can make me laugh out loud, cry, ponder, and fill me with an overwhelming urge to write. I can only hope that future books aren’t filled with one word pages written in text speak.

‎Big Fish, Small Fish, Fisherman or Cat?

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‎”Some people like to be a big fish in a small pond, some a small fish in a big pond. Me, I would rather be the cat that knows the fisherman.” KJC

In an exchange on a social network, I posted the above. It was simply something that fell out of my head and engendered a bit of conversation.

So, to explain it in a way that made sense, I started applying it to areas of my life. The more I thought about it, the more I could find metaphores that fit the example.

‎1. Poltics: The cat, one can go for either fish. A good fisherman, like a cat, is independent and thinks for him or herself. They both tend to go their own way to do what they want to do. However, the fisherman can be lured away to a different fishing hole by promises and stories. He or she can also be tempted to use a different bait than usual so that the fish bite less, but if they are big enough, he feels he has a good return. The cat still gets to eat, either way. So, in a political situation the only one who comes out ahead, without compromising its position or morals, is the cat.

2. General Life: However in other areas of life, a cat is simply someone who stands above the fray, keeps a calm head, and does what has to be done. Those who do well tend to think smart. have a plan, skip the big pond and other competition, skip the small pool and the big fish, because they will all be food for the fisherman. Who, once he catches them, will clean the fish and leave behind food for the patient cat. Be prepared, be patient, and be strong to succeed.

3. As a religious metaphore: the Fisherman is the Savior, the fish in the large pond are lost souls, and the fish in the small pond is evil. The cat is the wise person who knows that as long as he is friends with the Savior and stands by his side, then he will be spiritually fed.

I get it. My brain works in weird and weirder ways as I age. But, hey, it works for me.

60 years.

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I was sitting in the doctor’s office this morning waiting , as usual, and filling out paperwork, when an elderly couple came in. She was a tiny, sprite of a woman, who moved with quick, birdlike starts and stops as she urged her husband across the floor to the sign in desk. He was a tall, heavy set man, with a manual laborer’s hands, and pure white hair that contrasted beautifully with his dark mahogany skin.

She was talking as fast as she could, and just kept on talking as the receptionist asked the man questions. He was, I understood, the patient. She was, however, his designated speaker. She answered every question, told him where to sit, told the receptionist that she didn’t want to wait long, and to hurry up the nurse and doctor so they could go have lunch. She fussed and fiddled until the elderly man reached up and took her elbow. And just like that, she stopped talking and sat down next to him.

While he filled out paperwork, she started telling him what to write down, he just kept on doing what he was doing, as if he didn’t hear a word she said. Soon she was carrying on a conversation with the woman next to her, and they set about solving the problems of the world. Well, she did, the other woman’s end of the conversation was pretty much, “mmhum” and “I hear ya on that one Sister.”

When the man got up to return his paperwork, he reached over and patted the old woman’s shoulder. She stopped spouting words, and sat still in her chair. When he got back and settled, she started talking again, and he reached over and patted her knee. He noticed the other woman and I exchanging a “can you believe that” look, he grinned at me and winked. Leaning toward me, he said, “It’s the signal we came up with years ago when she was talking too much or too loud. She can’t hear a thing, deaf as a post, but she surely does like to talk anyway. She reads lips real well, so you’d never know she can’t hear a word you say.”

I asked him how long they had been married. “Almost 60 years, now. And she is still the most beautiful woman I ever seen.” Then he turned and patted her arm, as she was talking a mile a minute to the woman next to her. He pointed at the door where the nurse had just called his name. The woman got up and started fussing and hurrying him along as if he were a toddler. He winked at me again. “Don’t tell her I said that though, cause I will never hear the end of it.”

When I left the doctor’s office, they were getting in their car. She was fussing and fretting as usual. I wondered if she was a backseat driver, or if she just prattled on until he reached over a patted her to remind her to let other’s get a word in edgewise.

The Day before Mother’s Day – 2006

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There was a funeral on Saturday. It was attended by dignitaries, police officers from across the country, a motorcade of cars miles long. In one of the black limousines sat two young children with their father. Their mother was in the hearse in front of them. She had been shot and killed in the line of duty trying to stop a madman from killing other police officers. As with all tragic deaths, hers was senseless and inexplicable. She was one of the golden ones who changed the lives of those who knew and loved her. It was a sad day and the community grieved for the family so brutally torn apart.

Sunday was Mother’s Day. I couldn’t get the thought of those young children off my mind as I sat with my family and celebrated my years of motherhood. Those children will, forever, have to take flowers to their mother’s grave to honor her on Mother’s Day. No early morning breakfast in bed, sticky kisses, home-made cards, or presents hand-made with too much glue and glitter will be handed to their Mom. There will be no flowers from the garden, whispered secrets, or silly jokes to share with her. From now on, Mommy will become more and more of a memory and less real by the day. The grief will follow them for a long time, and then be pushed into the back of their minds as the move on into adulthood and life.

But, deep inside, that little girl will long for her mommy to help her grow into a woman and that little boy will long for her to help him understand how to be a good man. And every year, when it is Mother’s Day, they will remember the long line of cars, the speeches, the music, and the sadness on the day they lay their Mom to rest. In the blink of an eye, life changed for them, though they don’t yet know life will never be the same. They will have their Daddy, true, and he will love them with all his heart. But a Mother’s love, a Mother’s care is irreplaceable in a child’s heart and mind. They knew her very heart beat from the day of conception, and now it beats no longer. The rhythm of life is shattered beyond repair, and they will have to find a new rhythm with a heart that skips a beat where their Mother’s used to be.

I pray that she can be an eternal influence on her children. I will remember, even when I am very old, the quiet respect shown by all the bystanders as the funeral cortège slowly rolled by, and I will always remember the long black limousine where two young children sat as they followed their mother to her final resting place the day before Mother’s Day in 2006.

Maybe . . .

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Friendship is important to me. I have friends from all over the world, people I have actually met, not just people on line. I miss them, and I appreciate them, even if I don’t often say so. For the most part, my friends are wonderful, and I am so happy I have them in my life, albeit, distantly.

Every now and then, however, I make a mistake and end up with one of those friends who sucks the life right out of me. They are always needy, always wanting, always talking, and always have to be the center of attention in the relationship. They make me tired, and I know if I needed help, they would never offer. However, if they need help, and I am not quick enough to help, they will use everything from guilt to anger to get even with me. I have learned, the hard way, over the years that it is better not to have friends than have someone eating into my life like that.

I realized the other day that I hadn’t spoken to another adult outside my husband, Crystal, or Drew in weeks. (Making a doctor’s appointment doesn’t count.) Since moving to Mississippi, I have really gone out of my way to not to get to know people – women especially. I should be lonely, but I’m not. I should be feeling left out, but I don’t. I should feel isolated, but it hasn’t happened. And that makes me wonder why.

Maybe it is my age, I am comfortable with me, as I am, as long as I have access to books, computers, music, and my family. I keep up with my friends via social media, and letters, so I don’t feel lonely.

Maybe it is because I am too tired to make an effort to get to know people. When I think about it, I just can’t be bothered to go through all that social yada yada and make nice to strangers. I guess I want that feeling of instant recognition I had with those who are my dearest friends.

Maybe it is because people annoy me most of the time, and I am turning into the crabby cat lady that seems to live in every neighborhood. Because, I honestly think my pets need me more than most humans over the age of 16 need me.

Maybe it is because I don’t want to be friends with people who bore me, or worse, who are shallow and unsubstantial in their beliefs, actions, and thoughts. Heaven save me from women who shop, lunch, shop, do spa days, shop . . . I would go stark raving mad after one day with someone like that.

Maybe it is because I have the neighbors from hell with whom I have issues concerning their bullying behavior toward everyone else. The two of them are chummy as all get out, and try to force their idea of how things should be on everyone else.

Maybe it is because I just don’t quite trust the syrupy souther belle types, who bless my heart to my face, and treat me as gossip fodder when I am not there. Well, actually, they gossip about everyone who isn’t with them at the moment.

Or maybe, I just don’t care one way or the other. I think I should care, after all, humans tend to have that latent gene that makes them want to be part of a group. But I don’t care, and maybe that makes me a bit odd. Really, I would much rather read a book, be on line, researching, writing something, or spending time with my family that talking on the phone, chatting with people, or doing anything social. I guess I am turning in to the local crabby cat lady after all.

At A Little Stone Church

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At the little stone church on a dusty country road, cars and trucks park in a row in the evening sun. The people stream into the building, dropping off homemade snacks while the aroma of coffee begins to fill room.

It is obvious that the people are long time friends as they greet one another. Slowly the stage fills with amplifiers, guitars, fiddles, mandolins, and a smiling man settles himself to play the piano. The men pick up their instruments, the audience quietly chatters, and with a downbeat the band begins to play.

This isn’t your ordinary band. The youngest member is in his early twenties, but the oldest is nearing eighty. The music is pure country and gospel – American style. They have hundreds of years of combined talent and ability between them, and it shows. There is no set pattern to the songs they play. In turn the singers, young and old alike, stand to sing songs that have been part of American music for generations. Sad songs, gospel songs filled with hope, and songs that create memories of days gone past. The band catches the downbeat and simply needs to know what key the singer wants to sing. Then they bring the music alive.

White heads nod in time to the music, worn hands clap out the beat, and faces smile in recognition of the talent of the musicians and singers. The younger faces in the crowded room smile and listen intently to the words of each song, knowing they were learning at the feet of masters.

As I sit and listen, I am transported back to the days of my childhood when I would listen to these same songs on the radio. Suddenly, my eyes fill with tears of nostalgia and the yearning for days that are long past.

I can’t help but wonder where the good in the world has gone. In the rush of getting ahead, making progress, and living large, the world has lost touch with the simple joys of life. Singing on the front porch with a guitar and mandolin, sitting around the kitchen table laughing at old stories, walking out into the sunset to enjoy the beauty, all seem to be lost in the hurry of life. Where are all our simple joys? What has happened to our traditions?

For the time being, they are alive and well in the small stone church on a dusty country road in Oklahoma. As the sunsets to the rhythm of country music, the world seems to stand still just to listen, with pure joy, to the melody.