She’s here. Well not here as in my house, but near. In Williamsburg. That’s right, Queen Elizabeth II. It’s the whole Jamestown 400th thing. It’s really supposed to be something BIG. And, I guess it’s nice that she’s coming for it.
Doesn’t do a thing for me. So we’ll be avoiding the royal entourage and heading to Busch Gardens to see ROLLER COASTERS. Much more engaging – especially for a 3-year-old.
Zach is finishing up a long morning nap. I sneaked into the house to check on my little boy, leaving Bump in the back yard where we had long been playing and running around. As I came down the stairs, I heard the “roller coaster” sound. This is the screaming type noise that Bump makes whenever he is pretending something is a roller coaster (belts, ties, lines on quilts, bead toys, train tracks, hot wheels tracks, you get the picture).
Now I tiptoe out to the screen porch and find him sitting in a big pile of clay (dry) and using the big clay blobs as the roller coasters. He moves them up and down the sides of the pile. I wish I could get a picture, but I’m sure I would destroy the moment for him.
Even now I can still hear him – a boy in his own world.
From my email box this morning. Sad but true commentary on the state of hearts in this country.
As you well know, we are getting closer to my birthday. Every year there is a celebration in my honor and I think that this year the celebration will be repeated. During this time there are many people shopping for gifts, there are many radio announcements, TV commercials, and in every part of the world everyone is talking that my birthday is getting closer and closer.
It is really very nice to know, that at least once a year, some people think of me. As you know, the celebration of my birthday began many years ago. At first people seemed to understand and be thankful of all that I did for them, but in these times, no one seems to know the reason for the celebration. Family and friends get together and have a lot of fun, but they don’t know the meaning of the celebration.
I remember that last year there was a great feast in my honor. The dinner table was full of delicious foods, pastries, fruits, assorted nuts and chocolates. The decorations were exquisite and there were many, many beautifully wrapped gifts. But, do you want to know something? I wasn’t invited. I was the guest of honor and they didn’t remember to send me an invitation.
The party was for me, but when that great day came, I was left outside, they closed the door in my face……… and I wanted to be with them and share their table. In truth, that didn’t surprise me because in the last few years all close their doors to me. Since I was not invited, I decided to enter the party without making any noise. I went in and stood in a corner. They were all drinking; there were some who were drunk and telling jokes and laughing at everything. They were having a great time. To top it all, this big fat man all dressed in red wearing a long white beard entered the room yelling Ho-Ho-Ho he seemed drunk. He sat on the sofa and all the children ran to him, saying: “Santa Claus, Santa Claus”… as if the party were in his honor!
At 12 midnight all the people began to hug each other; I extended my arms waiting for someone to hug me and….do you know ….no one hugged me. Suddenly they all began to share gifts. They opened them one by one with great expectation. When all had been opened, I looked to see if, maybe, there was one for me. What would you feel if on your birthday everybody shared gifts and you did not get one? I then understood that I was unwanted at that party and quietly left.
Every year it gets worse. People only remember to eat and drink, the gifts, the parties and nobody remembers me. I would like this Christmas that you allow me to enter into your life. I would like that you recognize the fact that almost two thousand years ago I came to this world to give my life for you, on the cross, to save you.
Today, I only want that you believe this with all you heart. I want to share something with you. As many didn’t invite me to their party, I will have my own celebration, a grandiose party that no one has ever imagined a spectacular party. I’m still making the final arrangements. Today I am sending out many invitations and there is an invitation for you. I want to know if you wish to attend and I will make a reservation for you and write your name with golden letters in my great guest book. Only those on the guest list will be invited to the party. Those who don’t answer the invitation, they will be left outside.
Do you know how you can answer this invitation? It’s by extending it to others – some who you care for… and some who you don’t even know….
I’ll be waiting for all of you to attend my party this year…
See you soon…. I love you!
-Jesus-
I said it before and I’ll say it again – the Pilgrims were not the official first celebrants of Thanksgiving. Virginians actually were not either, but on the Berkley Plantation in 1619, they officially declared a day of thanks to the Lord and celebrated it in subsequent years until they were wiped out by indian tribes…. I still wonder why Virginian celebrations are not mentioned in the teaching of such in history books in our public schools. I could ponder this with an incredible sense of sarcasm, but since I’m not in that mood tonight – I’ll take a pass and leave it to your imaginations.
This whole week has been a big walk down memory lane for Sal. Because of a split family and the distance required to celebrate a Thanksgiving in Wisconsin or Michigan with my kin, Turkey Day has not been a jubilant holiday for me since I left the Midwest. Even with the whole family together, it still feels like something is missing. Maybe as Bump gets a little older and we show him how to make a turkey out of your hand print and hats like they wore at Berkley Plantantion, it will pick up some of its old cheer.
I keep getting sling shot back to the holiday seasons of my college and adult years where I celebrated with my family by day and then partied with friends at night. I often found myself at Sam’s house with his family playing board games and a few times in an area tavern with people I hadn’t seen in a while. In fact, even when I was married the first time, this seemed to be the Turkey Day trend as my ex was a rabid deer hunter and the nine day Wisconsin gun season was far too short to waste a day off of work with one’s family. (We never in the four years we were together had Thanksgiving dinner.) The last Thanksgiving I spent in Wisconsin, I stayed in Green Bay. I was still skittish after the divorce and didn’t want to be with my family. My neighbors invited me over for the meal. I remember it being a cold and snowy day. At that time I didn’t know it would be my last Thanksgiving in Wisconsin.
Every turkey day since then, I’ve been with Gil. We’ve celebrated alone much of the time. I used to make my Christmas beer on Thanksgiving day – a tradition I started that last Wisconsin holiday. I think that I carried it for about four years. A few times we’ve been with his whole family – which is hard and intimidating when you’re used to small family gatherings. Gil doesn’t do well during the holidays. I never figured out why, and I don’t think he even really knows. But I stand in faith today, that every Thanksgiving from here on in is going to wonderful, joyous and blessed.
My pies are cooking as I type and I’ve just returned from a turkey eve jaunt with the pups. Gil and Bump are sawing logs and I’ve got a loaf of bread to make yet….it’s almost better than Christmas I think. Tomorrow we’ll get up and watch the Macy’s parade, run around in the back yard and wait for the big kids. Then it will be football at noon followed by dinner at 2 pm. Who knows what will go on from there?
Blessings to you and all of your families this Thanksgiving day!
Yesterday Bump and I went on our weekly Walmart excursion – grocery shopping. Outside the main entrance, there sat a VFW stand with their poppy display. I whispered to Bump, “We’ll catch him on the way out.”
I prepared my donation before we exited the automatic doors. The man was thankful, and reminded me of my grandfather with his speech and demeanor. I thanked him for serving our country and handed the poppy to Bump, who proceeded to try and sniff it. He held firmly onto it as we wheeled back to the van.
I had a hard time getting it away from him once we got there. I wanted to hang it from my rearview mirror, as my parents often did. It didn’t fit, so I wrapped it around a clip on my visor. Then I told Bump the story.
In my hometown on Memorial Day and Veterans Day, these former soldiers, these men who had served our country stood at the busiest intersection in town with their poppys. When you pulled up to the stop sign, you’d make your donation and get your flower. If you already had one, they’d give you a little smile and a wave. My parents always made sure they had one in each of their cars. The poppys would fade in the sun, and eventually be replaced when the next distribution time came. It’s just a fond memory I have of growing up.
I believe that this is the first poppy I’ve purchased as an adult. I don’t remember ever seeing them around until yesterday, although I’m sure they’ve been places I’ve been.
I also looked up the origin of the poppy as a symbol for our veterans today and found it along with the above graphic at a site called Class Brain.
The poppy seed can lie for years before it spouts nodding buds and then blooms four crumpled petals. It is a vivid mix between red and orange in color. These simple flowers grew en mass over the grave sites on the Western Front (during WWI). They soon became a symbol associated with Veterans.
As Bump grows up, I never want him to forget the sacrafices made for our country by the many veterans. Growing up here in Virginia, he’ll have a special appreciation with the number of historic battlefields for wars waged on our own soil, along with our proximity to the many bases and military instilations in the Hampton Roads area that have fought and continue to fight for our freedoms and the freedoms of others abroad.
Don’t forget to thank your favorite Vet today!
There seems to be a misunderstanding about when and where the first Thanksgiving took place. Legend has it that it was celebrated by the Pilgrims in New England. But down here in Virginia – we beg to differ.
The race for Governor in Virginia is in full swing. The two candidates are literally neck in neck. They are Tim Kaine(D), the current Lt. Governor, and Jerry Kilgore(R) who I believe is currently serving in the House of Representatives. In the last weeks we have had countless messages (primarily for Kaine) left by various organizations on our answering machine. Our mailbox has been filled with fliers. But today, this headline screamed to me from the Richmond Times-Dispatch website.
Michael Schiavo endorses Kaine
It stunned me. Why would Michael Schiavo, as a resident of Florida comment on our governor’s race? The article states:
“Michael issued the statement because he is interested in getting more involved in the political process,” Newton (a Schiavo representative) said.
Kaine is kind of a fence sitter on the issue – “let the court decide it.” Kilgore takes the “living will” approach – if an individual has not had a say in it, then no one else can make that call. It’s not been one of the topics we’ve been drilled about through these final weeks, so I thought it was an odd thing to do.
My other question is, “Will it hang Kaine?” That topic was so controversial. People were definately very passionate about their stance. Since this has not been a huge issue throughout the campaign, will in become one in these closing days?
I’ve been waiting for Hurricane Ophilia all week. Once it became obvious that she wasn’t going to give us a direct hit, I welcomed the idea that she would bring instead much needed rain.
Our back yard is a dust bowl. Gil is roto tilling the entire back yard (when we do project, we do it big) hoping to grow some grass in some of the less shady spots. But the things he needs to with the tiller and the lawn mower kick up a “Grapes of Wrath” size dust storm in our neighborhood. So he’s decided to wait until we get rain.
And our plants need constant attention. I’m out there watering them like it’s the middle of summer. Our tomatos are coming out like crazy and we even have a tiny watermelon on our otherwise fruitless vines. My annuals still looks so pretty. But we need water, water, water. A frog has even taken up residence in my watering can – which I usually leave a trace in. It’s bone dry in these parts.
So the forecast showed since Tuesday that we could expect rain. And every day I watched the radar, saw the green patches, pulled Bump’s toys in the garage and waited to park my little one on the back porch to watch the showers. Every day, I’ve been disappointed. I have given up waiting for the rain for the plants and just keep watering them – thinking if I do, it will most certainly rain. I’ve even gone so far as to threaten to wash my van.
Tonight there was a huge green patch on the radar heading right this way. No way it could turn. Instead, it just fizzled out. Gone. Kaput.
So, we wait….
Rain, rain, come our way, don’t wait another day!
If I wasn’t a Christian, I might even suggest a rain dance. But since I am, instead I’m looking for someone named Elijah.
That’s all I can say. I’m not going to go back and rehash it all. I watched some on line tributes with powerful images. You should, too. It was a dark day for this country, and I pray that not only will we not forget that day, but we will honor those who lost their lives by remembering the lessons of that day.
Do not forget my friends. Do not pretend it didn’t happen. Do not use it to further something else or diminish something else. Remember, 9/11 was a deliberate planned attack to demoralize this country. There was no evaculation order. There was no warning. We didn’t see it on the radar. It just came upon us.
I can’t imagine what that day was like for those who lived and died in it. I continue to pray for survivors and families that lost loved ones, and thank God that we live in the country we live in.
|
I’m Not Sure What Color I Am
I am not green. Being green is not a priority in my life. I put my recycle bin by the curb every week, but I also put some things in the trash. I like plastic, not paper – and use my plastic bags for other things around the house. I hate the fact that Bob the Builder has become a green, tree hugging socialist. I drive a mini van.
I am not green, but I do want to save the planet. But not in the same way that the green folks do.
It really struck me today when I saw Madonna’s picture from the Live Earth concert with the headline Save the Planet. Despite the apparent personal hypocracy for the Material Girl, I thought about the many ways we are dying everyday – not from too big of a carbon footprint, but from the degradation of our society, the lapse of morality, the disrespect for life in general.
I thought of Jessie Davis, Lisa Steib, Nancy Benoit, Daniel Benoit, and others whose names I don’t remember but whose stories I have read over the past weeks. What has our society become that these things happen with such regularity? And other violence – shootings, theft, corporate crimes, drugs, alcohol, indiscretions. It’s sad, very sad.
But none of these rockers will stand up for these causes – stop crime, MADD, right to life, purity, Jesus saves, etc. They won’t stop to fight the real decay that exists in our society. They instead, promote it with their lifestyles.
So Al, go home and take care of your son. Help him rise to new levels. Stop worrying about the carbon footprint and instead be concerned for the moral imprint we all leave behind.
What color is that?
Posted by Shelly on July 8, 2007 in Current Event Commentary