I admit that I have a terrible habit - I pick on my grandchildren. Now, I do pick on them, but it isn't out of meanness - mischievousness would better fit the situation. Unfortunately, as they have grown older, they have learned how to play the game and I am frequently on the receiving end of their wit.
My youngest grandchild is August, who is almost 9 years old. When she was about 4 or 5, she was riding in the back seat of the car and she was pretending to be a policewoman writing tickets. I'm sure you can guess who was the recipient of all those tickets - it appears that I couldn't do anything right. Finally, I complained about all the tickets and why she was being so mean to me. Well, she didn't answer me directly - she merely said, "I love my job!"
Fast forward to this past Sunday - she was going to church with us and, as per our routine, I was teasing her. After this long back and forth about something, she just kind of shook her head and said to me "Grandaddy, you have sooo many things wrong with you."
Out of the mouths of babes.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Have I ever mentioned that Eileen and I have 2 dogs? Here is a photo of Shamus Lochlan MacGregor when he was just a couple of months old. He and Eileen fell in love with each other at first sight. She was "browsing" at the pet store while I was doing something else in the mall and she said that all these folks walked by him and he just lay in his cage looking at them. However, when she walked by, he got up, came to the window and put his paw on the window so she put her hand to the window as well and they just stared at each other for a while.
As fortune would have it, our youngest daughter (Katie) happened to be in the mall and when Eileen saw her and told her about the puppy, she wanted to go see him. I had already checked on the price and told my daughter that there was no way I was going to spend that kind of money on a dog (big bucks!). Anyway, while back in the pet store, Katie had the girl get the puppy out and give her to Eileen. Tears just blew loose from her eyes and I knew that I was sunk - big bucks or no, that puppy had to come home with us.
I'll have to tell you the story of our other puppy some other time - I don't have a photo of her in this computer.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Joplin, MO
I was involved last night in leading a session of The Truth Project at a friend's house and when we ended the session and I asked about prayer requests, one of the folks indicated that he was mad at God for the damage done to people's lives in Joplin, MO. He asked the proverbial question "How can a merciful God allow these things to happen?" He didn't say this, but implicit in it, I believe was that God was at fault for the loss of lives and the loss of homes and businesses.
I think that is a fair question to ask but a hard one to answer and unless one is solidly of the belief that God knows best, there can probably be no answer that would satisfy those who do not have that solidity of belief.
We could talk about the fall of man bringing all sorts of calamity into the world; we could talk about that in a natural world, these events will always happen; we could perhaps come up with many other explanations - but there is no way that we can truly know the answer. And, the question presupposes that life on this earth is preferable to anything else that God might have in store for us. While death (especially to a family member or close friend) is a terrible tragedy for those remaining, is it a tragedy to those who died? We are all going to die at some point (unless, as I frequently ask of God, I am caught up in the Rapture instead!!) and make the transition from life on earth to life in heaven or hell. The real tragedy, of course, is those who die without Christ as their Lord and Savior. I believe, in the final analysis, that is the only real tragedy of this world; everythng else is short of tragedy even if long on pain and suffering.
I think that is a fair question to ask but a hard one to answer and unless one is solidly of the belief that God knows best, there can probably be no answer that would satisfy those who do not have that solidity of belief.
We could talk about the fall of man bringing all sorts of calamity into the world; we could talk about that in a natural world, these events will always happen; we could perhaps come up with many other explanations - but there is no way that we can truly know the answer. And, the question presupposes that life on this earth is preferable to anything else that God might have in store for us. While death (especially to a family member or close friend) is a terrible tragedy for those remaining, is it a tragedy to those who died? We are all going to die at some point (unless, as I frequently ask of God, I am caught up in the Rapture instead!!) and make the transition from life on earth to life in heaven or hell. The real tragedy, of course, is those who die without Christ as their Lord and Savior. I believe, in the final analysis, that is the only real tragedy of this world; everythng else is short of tragedy even if long on pain and suffering.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Just wondering
I heard (briefly) President Obama's talk about Israel, "Palestine" and a 2-state solution to their issues. Just wondering why Obama thinks that Israel will agree to the 1967 borders that had Israel at just 9 miles wide in one spot, had Jerusalem partitioned so that part was Israeli and part "Palestinian", that had Jerusalem's Jewish holy sites predominantly within the non-Jewish part of Jerusalem. Jews were not allowed to visit their holy sites prior to 1967; 86 (or so) mosques were destroyed in Jerusalem under Muslim rule. What is the purpose of Obama's "solution"? It doesn't make a lot of sense to me, particularly considering the fact that the "Palestinians" constantly send thousands of rockets into Israel with the borders as they are... imagine if Israel was back to its 1967 borders.
And, just for the record, "Palestine" and "Palestinians" are in quotes because there is no such group of people. These people were either Turkish (way back), Syrian, Lebanese or Jordanians living in that area prior to the establishment of Israel as a nation. There has never been a state/government that was known as "Palestine".
And, just for the record, "Palestine" and "Palestinians" are in quotes because there is no such group of people. These people were either Turkish (way back), Syrian, Lebanese or Jordanians living in that area prior to the establishment of Israel as a nation. There has never been a state/government that was known as "Palestine".
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Here's the next part of my 60-word sentence story.
The band played on but I was in no mood for frenetic frivolity as I furiously stomped away from those frantic fools infatuated with the flugelhorn-playing fop tooting like tomorrow was never going to arrive and we could continue to frolic in the fatuous style of fulsome lasses let loose upon a hapless world of binge-dancing and sloe gin fizzes.
Didn’t they know that the Four Horsemen were approaching and our way of life was teetering precariously on the precipice of destruction and doom? Life isn’t just about fun and frivolity; someone has to be aware that an immense danger to our way of life lurks in the shadows and hidden corners of our foolish society.
I am that someone. No, I don’t look all that impressive and I can’t leap tall buildings at a single bound but underneath this mild-mannered exterior resides a Hero. I see things no one else sees, I hear things that go unheard in the public venue, and I sense things that those intent on pursuing mindless activity cannot sense.
But back to the band and the fools dancing and drinking. They were celebrating the end of the year when they should have been planning for the end of the world. All the signs were in place and anyone with the teensiest bit of sense could tell that disaster was not far down the road; in fact, it was actually within sight. Sense, however, was no longer in vogue and hadn’t been for some time. Probably disappeared forever about the time of the World Trade Center disaster – 9/11/2001. The date was significant but no one had figured it out but me. Add all the digits together and what do you get? 2021. That would be the year it all happened. And the year end they were celebrating was 2020.
So how did I know that adding all those numbers together was what one had to do to arrive at the date the world would end? I don’t know but it was apparent, that’s all I can say. As far as the actual day, I wasn’t sure – it could be September 11th, or it could be November 9th depending on whether the 9/11 was month/day or day/month. See, I told you those numbers were significant!
However, common sense, again, dictated that it would be one or the other of those 2 days. So, I had either 8 months and 10 days to save the world or 10 months and 8 days to save it. I was secretly hoping for 11/9 but I was fearful that it was more likely to be 9/11. 9/11/2021 would be a Saturday and 11/9/2021 would be a Tuesday… hmm, which of those was the more significant? Aha! It had to be Tuesday – after all, the word Tuesday comes from the Old English Tiwesdaeg and the Middle English Tewesday both of which translated from the Latin dies Martis or MARS! The god of War! How appropriate – the world was going to end in a massive war.
Hold on just a minute, hoss. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions – I should think about the possibility of it being Saturday. So, the word Saturday comes from the Roman god Saturn who was the god of agriculture and harvest. Therefore, it could still be 9/11 since there would undoubtedly be a harvesting of souls when the earth was destroyed. And, perhaps the harvest was going to have something to do with food – a pandemic caused by the outbreak of some hitherto unknown fungus or spores developing on the food supply! Oh, how devious it was all getting to be.
Well, regardless of whether I had 8 ½ months or 10 ½ months, I needed to get busy – I didn’t know how the earth would be destroyed so how could I stop it? Obviously I needed more information. And I knew just where to get it.
With a certain degree of disdain, I looked back at the festivities one more time before I left. Fools, I thought, they’re just fools. Too bad my girl friend Rosetta was part of that crowd – I was gonna miss her. Still, sacrifices had to be made, so I resolutely turned my face away and started the lonely trek away from the party. I hadn’t been having a good time, anyway, since I can’t dance and alcohol turns my skin a crimson red with yellow splotches – some kind of allergic reaction the doctors said. Rosetta, on the other hand, loved to dance and could drink almost anyone under the table. I have seen her drink a full quart of tequila in a night of partying and still get up at 7:00 to go bear hunting. Tough, tough girl, that one.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too far to 34th and Vine – that’s where I would find out the rest of what I needed to know. There’s a certain gypsy that lives there – Madame Rue. She looks a little odd with that gold-capped tooth but I’ve tried her products before and they work. Hey, how did you think I would get a sweet gal like Rosetta without Madame Rue’s help? That little potion she mixed up in the sink worked wonders for my love life.
Now, though, I needed to think about how best to approach Madame Rue. If she was aware that I was trying to find out things like how the world would end, she might charge me more money than I could afford. After all, my government stipend would only cover so much. I know, I know – I’m supposed to be happy with my government dole but sometimes I think that it might be better to get a real job. Gosh, I hope my case worker doesn’t read this – I’d be in real trouble with him. He might have me assigned to the Obama Youth Brigade and those are some real hard-core, scary folks. Gives me the shivers to think about it.
In less than 10 minutes, I was at Madame Rue’s but she was closed. Gosh, what had I been thinking – it was a quarter after midnight on January the 1st! I just shook my head and started to turn away when I noticed that the door to her pad was slightly ajar. I know, I know… one is not supposed to break into someone else’s house but the door was open and it wasn’t like she didn’t know me.
The band played on but I was in no mood for frenetic frivolity as I furiously stomped away from those frantic fools infatuated with the flugelhorn-playing fop tooting like tomorrow was never going to arrive and we could continue to frolic in the fatuous style of fulsome lasses let loose upon a hapless world of binge-dancing and sloe gin fizzes.
Didn’t they know that the Four Horsemen were approaching and our way of life was teetering precariously on the precipice of destruction and doom? Life isn’t just about fun and frivolity; someone has to be aware that an immense danger to our way of life lurks in the shadows and hidden corners of our foolish society.
I am that someone. No, I don’t look all that impressive and I can’t leap tall buildings at a single bound but underneath this mild-mannered exterior resides a Hero. I see things no one else sees, I hear things that go unheard in the public venue, and I sense things that those intent on pursuing mindless activity cannot sense.
But back to the band and the fools dancing and drinking. They were celebrating the end of the year when they should have been planning for the end of the world. All the signs were in place and anyone with the teensiest bit of sense could tell that disaster was not far down the road; in fact, it was actually within sight. Sense, however, was no longer in vogue and hadn’t been for some time. Probably disappeared forever about the time of the World Trade Center disaster – 9/11/2001. The date was significant but no one had figured it out but me. Add all the digits together and what do you get? 2021. That would be the year it all happened. And the year end they were celebrating was 2020.
So how did I know that adding all those numbers together was what one had to do to arrive at the date the world would end? I don’t know but it was apparent, that’s all I can say. As far as the actual day, I wasn’t sure – it could be September 11th, or it could be November 9th depending on whether the 9/11 was month/day or day/month. See, I told you those numbers were significant!
However, common sense, again, dictated that it would be one or the other of those 2 days. So, I had either 8 months and 10 days to save the world or 10 months and 8 days to save it. I was secretly hoping for 11/9 but I was fearful that it was more likely to be 9/11. 9/11/2021 would be a Saturday and 11/9/2021 would be a Tuesday… hmm, which of those was the more significant? Aha! It had to be Tuesday – after all, the word Tuesday comes from the Old English Tiwesdaeg and the Middle English Tewesday both of which translated from the Latin dies Martis or MARS! The god of War! How appropriate – the world was going to end in a massive war.
Hold on just a minute, hoss. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions – I should think about the possibility of it being Saturday. So, the word Saturday comes from the Roman god Saturn who was the god of agriculture and harvest. Therefore, it could still be 9/11 since there would undoubtedly be a harvesting of souls when the earth was destroyed. And, perhaps the harvest was going to have something to do with food – a pandemic caused by the outbreak of some hitherto unknown fungus or spores developing on the food supply! Oh, how devious it was all getting to be.
Well, regardless of whether I had 8 ½ months or 10 ½ months, I needed to get busy – I didn’t know how the earth would be destroyed so how could I stop it? Obviously I needed more information. And I knew just where to get it.
With a certain degree of disdain, I looked back at the festivities one more time before I left. Fools, I thought, they’re just fools. Too bad my girl friend Rosetta was part of that crowd – I was gonna miss her. Still, sacrifices had to be made, so I resolutely turned my face away and started the lonely trek away from the party. I hadn’t been having a good time, anyway, since I can’t dance and alcohol turns my skin a crimson red with yellow splotches – some kind of allergic reaction the doctors said. Rosetta, on the other hand, loved to dance and could drink almost anyone under the table. I have seen her drink a full quart of tequila in a night of partying and still get up at 7:00 to go bear hunting. Tough, tough girl, that one.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too far to 34th and Vine – that’s where I would find out the rest of what I needed to know. There’s a certain gypsy that lives there – Madame Rue. She looks a little odd with that gold-capped tooth but I’ve tried her products before and they work. Hey, how did you think I would get a sweet gal like Rosetta without Madame Rue’s help? That little potion she mixed up in the sink worked wonders for my love life.
Now, though, I needed to think about how best to approach Madame Rue. If she was aware that I was trying to find out things like how the world would end, she might charge me more money than I could afford. After all, my government stipend would only cover so much. I know, I know – I’m supposed to be happy with my government dole but sometimes I think that it might be better to get a real job. Gosh, I hope my case worker doesn’t read this – I’d be in real trouble with him. He might have me assigned to the Obama Youth Brigade and those are some real hard-core, scary folks. Gives me the shivers to think about it.
In less than 10 minutes, I was at Madame Rue’s but she was closed. Gosh, what had I been thinking – it was a quarter after midnight on January the 1st! I just shook my head and started to turn away when I noticed that the door to her pad was slightly ajar. I know, I know… one is not supposed to break into someone else’s house but the door was open and it wasn’t like she didn’t know me.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
A 60-word sentence.
The band played on but I was in no mood for frenetic frivolity as I furiously stomped away from those frantic fools infatuated with the flugelhorn-playing fop tooting like tomorrow was never going to arrive and we could continue to frolic in the fatuous style of fulsome lasses let loose upon a hapless world of binge-dancing and sloe gin fizzes.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Write about - Seeing Red
I have been fascinated with the history of Constantinople (or modern Istanbul) for ages and was eager to visit the city for the first time. Although I was traveling alone, I was not the least bit lonely as I was so eagerly anticipating seeing the city and its many historical sites that I felt no need for companionship. The Turks of Istanbul are notably friendly and what little loneliness I might have felt was vanquished by sharing cups of strong Turkish coffee with many of the local people. Interestingly enough, it is sipped with a sugar cube held between the front teeth. Many are the citizens of that area who no longer have front teeth!
I spent my first night in the Kariye Hotel in Edirnekapi, about 3 kilometers from the center of Istanbul, anxious for the morning to arrive so I could start exploring. I chose this hotel because it is in close proximity to the Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery and I was interested in starting my historical exploration there.
The Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery is an important burial ground for Turkish citizens. It is located outside Edirnekapı, the Gate of Charisius of the city wall, on top of the sixth hill of the old city. It was originally formed for the Ottoman soldiers who fell during the Siege of Constantinople in 1453. However, it also holds other folk who are associated with the Ottoman Empire in other ways.
It is rumored that it holds the final remains of Hayreddin Barbarossa, the scourge of the Mediterranean in the first half of the 16th century. He was appointed as the admiral of the Ottoman fleet in 1533 after he captured Algiers in 1529. In 1534, he conquered all of Tunisia. Additionally, he defeated the fleet of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V in 1538. He was always a favorite of mine and I was anxious to see if I could find his gravesite.
Unfortunately, due to the vagaries of travel and the tap water that I drank the night before, I was subjected to a violent bout of Montezuma’s revenge (or more properly I suppose, by Muhammad’s revenge since Constantinople was last captured by Sultan Muhammad II). It was, therefore, close to dark when I felt well enough to start my exploration of the cemetery.
While I am not particularly superstitious, it was a chilling and somewhat menacing place to enter so close to sundown. Nevertheless, I gathered up my courage and walked into the cemetery determined to find Barbarossa’s gravesite. The late afternoon was still and unnaturally quiet and it caused me to search more frantically so I could leave the area before it became fully dark.
It wasn’t until after the sky had become fairly dark that I wandered into the section of the cemetery where it appeared that most of the inhabitants were sailors of some sort. I couldn’t read the headstones all that well, of course, but there were plenty of tombs marked with sailing ships, sea eagles and other indications that this section was primarily for sailors.
As it became more fully dark, I walked around a monument that was larger than most and almost ran into a small, bearded man with a turban on his head sitting cross-legged on the ground. He paid me little heed, however, and even though I attempted to apologize, he ignored me. For a while, I just stared at him, wishing I could talk to him. Not knowing exactly how to respond to his indifference, though, I decided that perhaps I should just leave.
The next day, I visited one of the larger museums in Istanbul and came across a painting of a man that bore an uncanny resemblance to the man I had seen in the cemetery. Moving closer to the painting, I read the inscription under it: “Hayreddin Barbarossa, also known as Redbeard the Pirate”. I couldn’t believe it! It was Red I had been seeing the night before!
I spent my first night in the Kariye Hotel in Edirnekapi, about 3 kilometers from the center of Istanbul, anxious for the morning to arrive so I could start exploring. I chose this hotel because it is in close proximity to the Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery and I was interested in starting my historical exploration there.
The Edirnekapı Martyr’s Cemetery is an important burial ground for Turkish citizens. It is located outside Edirnekapı, the Gate of Charisius of the city wall, on top of the sixth hill of the old city. It was originally formed for the Ottoman soldiers who fell during the Siege of Constantinople in 1453. However, it also holds other folk who are associated with the Ottoman Empire in other ways.
It is rumored that it holds the final remains of Hayreddin Barbarossa, the scourge of the Mediterranean in the first half of the 16th century. He was appointed as the admiral of the Ottoman fleet in 1533 after he captured Algiers in 1529. In 1534, he conquered all of Tunisia. Additionally, he defeated the fleet of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V in 1538. He was always a favorite of mine and I was anxious to see if I could find his gravesite.
Unfortunately, due to the vagaries of travel and the tap water that I drank the night before, I was subjected to a violent bout of Montezuma’s revenge (or more properly I suppose, by Muhammad’s revenge since Constantinople was last captured by Sultan Muhammad II). It was, therefore, close to dark when I felt well enough to start my exploration of the cemetery.
While I am not particularly superstitious, it was a chilling and somewhat menacing place to enter so close to sundown. Nevertheless, I gathered up my courage and walked into the cemetery determined to find Barbarossa’s gravesite. The late afternoon was still and unnaturally quiet and it caused me to search more frantically so I could leave the area before it became fully dark.
It wasn’t until after the sky had become fairly dark that I wandered into the section of the cemetery where it appeared that most of the inhabitants were sailors of some sort. I couldn’t read the headstones all that well, of course, but there were plenty of tombs marked with sailing ships, sea eagles and other indications that this section was primarily for sailors.
As it became more fully dark, I walked around a monument that was larger than most and almost ran into a small, bearded man with a turban on his head sitting cross-legged on the ground. He paid me little heed, however, and even though I attempted to apologize, he ignored me. For a while, I just stared at him, wishing I could talk to him. Not knowing exactly how to respond to his indifference, though, I decided that perhaps I should just leave.
The next day, I visited one of the larger museums in Istanbul and came across a painting of a man that bore an uncanny resemblance to the man I had seen in the cemetery. Moving closer to the painting, I read the inscription under it: “Hayreddin Barbarossa, also known as Redbeard the Pirate”. I couldn’t believe it! It was Red I had been seeing the night before!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)