Veterans' Day at the Nursing Home

The vets got applause and boutonnieres, the girls played patriotic music, and everyone got a chance to remember that freedom isn't free.

Freedom isn't free. The Bible says, If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. Jesus paid a price to make us free from the corruption that dwells within. The corruption is huge; the price paid for deliverance equally hefty.....death to the innocent son of God.

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Another bit about freedom is inscribed on the Tower facade at the University of Texas.

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Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free, it says. The planners lifted a phrase from the Word of God and stamped it on their building, but failed to mention the source of the truth that buys the promised freedom. The full sentence in the Bible reads: Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. Too bad U.T. doesn't give credit for truth and freedom, or for the quote about them, where credit is due.

Many people have died to buy our political and religious freedom. God's own son died to buy our spiritual freedom. Thank you to all of them.

A Little Rain

The power that men enjoy for a brief space on earth is not without the cognizance and the will of God. If we fall into the hands of men, and meet suffering and death from their violence, we are none the less certain that everything comes from God. The same God who sees no sparrow fall to the ground without his knowledge and will, allows nothing to happen except it be good and profitable for his children and the cause for which they stand. We are in God's hand. Therefore, "Fear not."

--Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The Cost of Discipleship

(thanks to Jim T. for the reminder)

Buttoning up the Fall Garden

In the wide world of cornfields that surrounds my house, the big boys are still havesting.

But here at home, we have gathered the last of the pumpkins,

piled squashes on the picnic table,

patted soil over next year's garlic crop,

hidden spinach and brussels sprouts from winter's blast,

and said goodbye to gardening.

In the blink of an eye, February's flurry of seed catalogs will hit the mailbox

and we'll start again.

But for now, it's time to rest.       Time for ThanksGiving.

Curious Dog

Apple Picking

Isn't this sweet? Great family time in the fall sunshine, with three generations picking apples from my generous neighbor's generous tree.

We wound up with enough apples to dry, enough to can applesauce, to make apple cake and apple crisp, enough for two batches of apple jelly.

I thought we were all working nicely together picking apples, when, suddenly, an armed native appreared in the tree.

Then my own father turned on me.

He muttered something about Tom Sawyer. Yes, picking the apples had been my idea, and yes, he and the others were doing the lion's share of the work.

But somebody had to take the pictures!

More House-Hugging Critters

Audrey tells me that this, a praying mantis, is the only insect that can swivel its head. I snapped his portrait from numerous angles; everywhere I went, he followed me with a robotic pivot.

Rachel asks if the ladybug was really there, or a figment of my Photoshop imagination. It was there. I cropped this photo and bumped the contrast; other than that it is unedited.

In the Dry

John and the farrier worked in the machine shed last week. They talked about horses and homeschooling over the whisper of grey drizzle falling on the tin roof.

Midnight

Watch ye therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cockcrowing, or in the morning:

Lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping.

And what I say unto you I say unto all,

Watch.

Mark 13:35-37

Keeping the Creepies Out

The down trend in the outdoor thermometer means lots of creepy crawlies are trying to get into my house. This guy slept on the front door for half a day, taking life from whatever warmth radiated through the glass. The worst autumn offenders are the mice who find their way in. They are nasty and destructive. The war rages every year---I'm armed with traps; the mice with determination and a will to survive. But this fall I have added a new and powerful weapon to my arsenal.

We don't usually keep cats indoors, but Sage had a mishap that fractured her hip. The vet prescribed six weeks' of house confinement. Midway through, John saw Sage padding across the floor, a mouse tail dangling between her teeth. And I have seen no sign of rodents, even though October is generally prime real estate season for mice hunting new winter digs.

Sage has earned a cozy place indoors, even though her hip is long since healed.

And, with winter coming on, I might just get used to having this personal heater at the foot of my bed.

Poultry in Motion

We like a little variety in the laying flock.

This Golden Laced Wyandotte is stealing a sip from the dog's water bowl.

This one's a Rhode Island Red. She's thinking she'll head back to Rhode Island, but we know the car will never make it that far, so we took the keys away.

And this fella is a Black Australorp. He is as stately as his name.

Moon Shots

When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers,

the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;

(black night moon photo by Erica. Thanks, E.)

what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

It happens every year: John Deere green overtakes the green of summer.

Cubs!

The Cubs are in the playoffs, which is like setting bulls loose in a china shop. It is almost always unruly, noisy ... and something is bound to come crashing down. Usually the Cubs.

Mike Lopresti, USA Today

If you love baseball, you've got to love October. I'm listening to every game I can, determined not to let the memory of unused tickets to World Series Game 5 detract from my enjoyment of this year's tournament. Yep, that's right, THE WORLD SERIES! I had a ticket to the biggest party in baseball; I loaded up the crew and buzzed out to Denver for the game, but never unpacked my suitcase. The STINKIN' RED SOX swept the Rox in four games, so there was no Game 5. I'm still a bit miffed. Couldn't they have let the STINKIN' ROCKIES win one measly game?

"We would really love to ... you know ... there's no sense even mentioning it," (Cubs Manager Lou) Piniella says. I know what he means. I would have loved to, too.

Espanol

Los estudiantes aprenden en casa y en colegio español. La maestra en casa también.

Monday Morning

If you ever get a chance to build a house, try to face your kitchen windows east. Sunshine splashing around my breakfast is a better kick-start than caffeine, even on a Monday morning.

A Short Century

This is one of my two favorite grandmothers. She lived all her life in south Texas, where she taught me to play Spite 'N Malice and Canasta, and taught me to make candy: toffee, divinity, fudge, pralines. She taught me that fresh strawberries were extra good if you held them by their green tops and dipped them in a bowl of sugar before you ate them, and that I shouldn't watch soap operas, even though she did. Her Sunday-after-church dinners were a southern feast: ham and okra gumbo, black-eyed peas, mustard greens, cornbread and the best cobbler I've ever eaten, made from wild, thorny Texas dewberries.

Besides cooking, she liked to sit and visit. As a child, I would lie after supper on her thick living room carpet, eyes closed and ears open, listening to stories that bobbed and rebounded through the air above me. Avoiding bedtime banishment, I pretended to be asleep until I actually was asleep, wrapped in the comfortable conversation of aunts and great aunts and adult cousins who knew and loved each other well.

My grandmother was born in October of 1910. October the tenth --- 10-10-10. The rhythm of her birthday numbers underscored what I already knew: she was one-of-a-kind and very special. Through her, 10-10-10 leapt out of the history books and became real--playing cards and eating cobbler with me in my very present daily existence.

Decades later, I still think of my grandmother every time the month and date and year align, and even when they almost align, as they did twice last week. The time I spent with that 10-10-10 grandmother seems not so far away, and yet I can almost touch the next 10-10-10.....October 10, 2010.

How can a century be so short?

Corn, Corn, Corn

My sister-in-law is passionate about sweet corn, especially when it is fresh off the stalk. But she lives in the midst of the Dallas/Fort Worth concrete metroplex. When she sees cornrows, they look like this:

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Not like this:

An old retired farmer was selling sweet corn, still in the husks, out of the back of his pickup last week. His son had picked it that morning. On a whim, I scooped a dozen ears into his empty WalMart bag as he held it out. Not wanting to drive the ten miles home and back for a box, I buzzed into the post office and thumped my bag of corn up on the counter. "How much is it going to cost me for a box and priority postage to Texas?" Not as much as you would think. "Here--pack these around your corn," the postal clerk offered as she lifted a stack of free farm newspapers from behind the counter. Promising to return, I took the box and drove six blocks to the vet: "Do you have an extra ice pack?" The vet usually has leftover ice packs from pharmaceutical shipments. "How many do you want?" asked the receptionist. I told her one, to chill my sweet corn on its ride south; she gave me two. "Oh, and if you're going to the post office right away," she added, "would you mind mailing this box for me?" Another six blocks to the dollar store for a birthday card, and then I was back at the post office with my package and the vet's package. Two days later, my sister-in-law shucked and ate fresh, juicy sweet corn in her Fort Worth kitchen.

I love the way things work in small towns. Happy birthday, Miss Wusan!

Cinderella

Thank you to the princess who did my sweeping for me.

Visitors

Sophie doesn’t live here.

Rachel doesn't live here either, but when they're both here at the same time, I get to see a fresh subject through a fresh photographer's eyes. Thanks for the photos, Rachel. Nice.

Summer's Last Fling

Four families gathered last weekend for a final stab at summer.

We've gone round the seasons with these particular friends for nearly twenty years.

Fall's coming again. Don't blink.

This garden has everything:

Sunflowers drying to attract birds when the rest of it is covered in snow.

A tall spike of lettuce seeds drying behind the gate, to be harvested and planted next spring.

Blue jeans drying on the hot fence (electricity turned off, please).

And three kinds of tomatoes – not drying at all.

Inevitable

You may not get a funnel cake.

You might not ride the rides.

But if you go to the State Fair with this family, you WILL see the draft horses!