HE STILL WANTS YOU

The poster pictured is a duplicate of the first Uncle Sam poster. It appeared in Leslie's magazine July 6, 1916. It didn't say "Uncle Sam Wants You". Instead it poses the question "What are You Doing for Preparedness?" It may not have the same ring to it, but it still is a good rhetorical question.

And that question has so many applications on so many different levels. But for today, I'll leave it at one. Are you prepared to thank a veteran today? It is 11/11 Veterans Day. Everyone knows a vet. Thank at least one today for his/her service to our country.

We have two WWII veterans at our church that I know of. Our pastor formed a committee of three of us to interview, write up a script, and create a video to be shown on Sunday's service before Veteran's Day. It slipped right through the cracks. We agreed to do it, we agreed to give our time, and never had one meeting.

Since that time, one of the veterans had his wife of 61 years pass away. His health is failing, too, and the family is not sure how long he can continue to live by himself. So I'm feeling some remorse today for not doing due diligence, not doing my part.

I have a neighbor who was a colonel in Viet Nam; actually he was promoted after being award the Silver Star in Viet Nam. You can rest assured that I will thank him today for his service.

Not that it will make up for my overlooking such an important task at our church, but on Veterans Day 2009, I intend to honor at least one vet. Please join me.

I NEED A TUNE

I don't recall with clarity the first song I remember liking. It was one of four: The Tennessee Waltz, How Much is That Doggy in the Window, Jesus Loves the Little Children, or Mr. Sandman.

I'm sure I heard three of them on the radio. But I've always liked music.

I've always liked the Top 40. In high school, I would usually buy the Number 1 song of the week as posted at Featherstun's. Even in Typing class, a good friend of mine and I would type out our Top 10 lists and exchange them. (I'm surprised I don't Letterman any more than I do with his Top 10 list, but Hoobie and I had ours first). I can still Name That Tune with practically any 60's song, though I might garble a lyric or two if my feet were held to the fire.

Once in awhile I'll go to YouTube and hit Pitney or some other old rocker group like The Doobie Brothers or Tears for Fear or Fears for Tears--I told you I garbled, and just zone out with them.

A few nights ago I caught Paul McCartney on Palladia and watched it all, even though it stretched my bedtime. I just realized that only the young and the old have bedtimes, forced or out of habit. When I was younger so much younger than today, time meant only opportunity. Now it's a fence, a wall, a self-imposed restriction. My OP curfew. (Old Person).

So to anger a few, I offer these tidbits of wonderment to me. How has rap lasted this long? What was wrong with the traditional hymns sung in church? How can anyone like twangy country music? And why oh why do DJs on the radio think people want to hear them talk and tell inside jokes to their partners?

SHE'S NOT RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING YOU KNOW

The lady pictured is not my wife. Yet she is in my wife's favorite position with one leg extended straight up in the air. Why? I'm not sure, but her oldest sister also likes this pose.

When we would be sitting at the airport awaiting a flight, my wife would tell me to sit (bow wow) with my feet propped up on our carry on bag. I did for awhile until I wizened up and thought it not very comfortable to me. My wife still sits that way. Not me. I prefer my feet on the floor.

As a kid, I ate cottage cheese quite a bit. At least for me, who had a terrible childhood diet. But after we got married, my wife put pepper on her cottage cheese, so I did, too. For a few decades, I declined eating cottage cheese because I hated it with pepper. My wife peppers nearly all food to the max. When I ate cottage cheese the way it's supposed to be eaten without black dots on it, I re-discovered cottage cheese.

I have a plethora of other things she's not right about. Gum chewing, volume on car radio and surround sound tv, not getting good and angry at bad calls in any sport, and not liking Victoria Secret commercials. Ok, I was kidding about the last. Well, that's not right; now it sounds as if she likes them. Although I've never really discussed them with her, I'd err on the side of wagering she doesn't like them.

But, hey, she's right on so many other things that I'm certainly not going to quibble about the few I don't embrace. And, no I'm not saying that to butter her up. For you see, another fault she has--she doesn't read On The QT.

YOU DON'T SAY

At least not enough. We act as if we don't want to ruffle, don't want to offend, don't want others to know that we love the Lord.

We say we are lucky instead of we are blessed. We say we were gone from home instead of when we went to church. We say when we were at a friend's house instead of at Small Group. We have gone underground.

Normally, most of us don't even tell our our children that we've been praying for them, for that particular problem in their lives. We don't pray together at home, instead dropping our heads as we privately and silently bless our food.

I had to pick up my car at the service department last week. When I asked how late they were opened, I added that I had a bible study that night in the area and wanted to wait as late as I could to save a trip. I should have gone one step further adding, "It's Bible Study Fellowship. Have you ever heard of it?" With an invitation to join me. But I didn't. I pray next time I will have the courage. Now, isn't that a strange word--courage--to simply talk about my faith to a service rep I see twice a year? Why should that take courage? It should be as simple as saying ,"Good morning".

I'm rolling around an idea that I kinda like. But, well, here it goes. When I get one of those sales or survey calls, tell the caller that I'm on the no-call list and that he interrupted prayer time. Tell him I'll pray for him and ask his name. And do it as soon as I'm off the phone.

The part I don't like is the white lie that I was in prayer when he called. If I don't use it, feel free to. But please pray for the caller if you do.

ROCK ON
I borrowed this pictured from my co-owner in fantasy football. He has a way with humor and humorous pictures.

Now this is one motley crew of tubers. Three look as if they perhaps belong. I'm not counting the young child being held. Nor am I including the woman with the lifejacket, lying on a raft on top of the inner tube and drinking from a beer bong.

Nor am I counting the hefty in the back pulling up or pulling off a dress or beach cover up. The cooler in the front tied to the inner tube occupied by the beer bong holder doesn't count either.

So there you have it. A day on the old stream or river. A last look at the days of soda and pretzels and beer bongs. Somewhere Nat King just choked a little.

CAN YOU TELL ME WHERE HE'S GONE?

The journalist Mr. Krauthammer this week tells a Russian joke. About Joseph Stalin when handing over the kingdom to Nikita Khrushchev.

It seems he gave him 3 envelopes to open one at a time when trouble came to his administration. The first one opened by Khrushchev said, "Blame it on Joseph." The second one said the same. When trouble came yet a third time the message read "prepare three envelopes."

The journalist's point: Obama was elected nearly one year ago. It's time to stop blaming it on Joseph/ George W. Our Prez has certainly used up his three envelopes.

Which brings another point to mind. I often complained that George W. never seemed to defend himself. As one who protests at the hint of any indiscretion that I've ever been accused of by anybody, I found it odd. As usual, my wife had the answer. And she went to the Bible to find the answer.

When Moses was leading the Israelites in the desert for 40 years, he heard much grumbling, yet his shoulders were broad enough to handle it. The same when Jesus was on trial. They, like President Bush, never offerred any defense on their behalf.

When she pointed this out to me, I could feel my own shoulders receding from years of doing just the opposite. I do have something in common with Mr. Obama after all.

The old song Abraham, Martin, and John may just need updated to Jesus, Moses, and W.

CUCKOO CLOCKS, CALLIOPES, AND CROCK POTS

Early to rise as I am, I am designated coffee maker in the morning. The problem, our coffee pot beeps three or four times when the Joe is ready. It's been known to awaken my ear sensitive wife several feet from the kitchen. Guests, too, have been waken by its alarm. When it has seen better days, I'll retire it and seek another that does not sound the bell.

At my brother's house, there's a different bird that chirps away announcing every hour. That could never work in our house for either one of us who would wake up to the brownthroated weaver or other such aviarians. I much prefer the awakening call of the owl I heard outside our bedroom window about 5:15 today.

Calliopes, on the other hand, just put me in a good mood. It's hard to dislike music that reminds me of a circus. I guess if played over and over Small World After All-like, it could get to me. And, by the way, who plays a calliope. I never met a calliope player. Maybe like the encyclopedia salesman I wrote about a week or so ago, they don't exist. Or maybe you just flip a switch and calliope sounds come out. Calliope is almost as fun to type as it is to say.

Crock pots cooking all day long. Soup on the wood burner or kitchen stove simmering away. Logs on the fire. For me socks on my feet. These are the Autumn thoughts for me. Seeing your breath, just a little. No thick fog that can come back at you in the form of ice. Frost on the moustache. Oh yeah, I don't have one anymore. Oh well.

But today in the AZ clime it's supposed to be 94 degrees with bright shiny sun. No crock, no soup, no fire, and socks for golf only. That's Autumn where I live sans cuckoo, sans calliope, sans frost.