THIS IS FAKE

As we drove around the beautiful decorated Kiersten Commons observing the Christmas decorations, our grandson Nate kept saying,"That's fake," referring to reindeer and other animals depicted. He became even funnier when he expressed a desire to be a monkey so he could climb the tall palms and walk across the light strands.

So I think the Little Golden Book pictured is a fake. No way would a guy want to host, have, or go to a tea party. Even a hat maker.

I mean, get real. We boys don't even like to help set the table. Oh, we do. Out of obligation (I like the word obligatory), devotion, altruism, and hunger. But I still have to think about which side the bread plate goes on, and is it knife and fork together? Part of it has to do with a partial amibexterity that I have, drinking with my left hand mostly. But my point is getting lost--we don't like doing dish stuff.

So, I'm announcing now, that the Mad Hatter is a fake! Either that or he has a severe addiction to tea.

THE OZONE LAYER

A tear. Oh, it wasn't very large.

A filling that fell out. It felt like a canyon there in your mouth.

Inside a cave. Aristotle's allegory.

A glass with white foam on top. Maybe a froth or foam.

A keyhole.

A porthole.

A hot water bottle.

Sheetrock that someone ran through.

A knot hole.

The insides of a matador and what a bull must imagine when he shoots for the target.

I don't know wha it's a picture of. But I like it.

THERE'S NO BAWLING IN TEXAS

I wonder why it is that crying is acceptable only by women. And they can't overdo it or they might hear comments directed about them. Such as "like a dog from a bad litter, they should have drowned her right after she was born." I heard that once from a teacher lamenting over a high school cheerleader who turned on the faucets way too often.

But a tear expelled at just the right time is so touching it can melt a heart. And when they scrunch up their mouths just a little when it is released, well, we're just putty.

My first time crying in public was faked. We had lost a close game in the city basketball tournament final game. I was a 5th grader and I hadn't played in the game dominated by 6th graders. The other team, Horse Man, we called them (nee Horace Mann) had one 5th grader playing, but he was at least 6th or 7th grade age. Although the team that would win the city title the next season really had a 6th grader who already shaved. At least in 8th grade, that's when Walter Pogue told me he started shaving. But back to 1958. I'm a 5th grade rider of the pines when we go down to defeat something like 31-28.

When the game is over, I'm ready to shower and change into street clothes and go home. But our whole first five is crying. I look to the stands and I see people like Stephen Reichert, another fifth grader crying. And he wasn't even on the team. So I fake cried.

I really don't remember if I bawled, bellowed, or gasped. I just remember rubbing my eyes and trying to make them look red, since I couldn't drum up any real moisture.

So I guess that's one exception. Guys can cry when they lose at sports. Or when they get older if they become preachers. But not, under any circumstances if they live in Texas. It's a rule there.

IT'S TIME TO PICK YOUR CANDIDATE

It's Super Tuesday. Which follows Super Sunday and the Super Bowl. What happened to Super Monday? Anyway(s), now is the time for all good voters to come to the aid of their party.

I mean, we're electing a new Prez. To the delight of some. To the horror of others who look at the candidates on both sides. Some cringe at a Clinton co-Presidency. Others at having a US Prez named B. Hussein Obama. Still others can't get over a Mormon sitting in the White House. Yet others find no joy in 900 year old McCain at 1600 Pennsy Ave.

While Rudy, Huckleberry, Edwards' hair, and some guy named Kuncheckninick and who resembled a munchkin have fallen by the wayside, that's whom we are left with. Well, we could go completely crazy and select Ru Paul, but I don't know if she's a guy or a gal. It's that kind of political year.

Just two short years ago, the American voters wanted change. They voted the Republicans out of Congress and got the Democrats in. Polls show they dislike the new Congress worse than the one they voted out. Maybe they thought Pelosi was Belushi, I don't know.

And now I hear both sides calling for change again. Is re-change a word? And while we're at it, why in the heck are all the actors and actresses getting into the act? Chuck Norris for Huckelbee; Oprah for Obama; and Sean Penn and others for Chavez.

No that's not a bad idea. Find out who all these actors/actresses that have recently visited Chavez in Venezuela. And whatever you do, don't vote for whom they support.

WHY WEAR A CROSS?

I've worn one for years, maybe back as far as 25 years. Recently, a friend asked why. "Because I love the Lord, and I guess it's a reminder," I replied. I don't know if it was a good answer or not. But it's true.

Maybe also I want to be salt and light. I want for people to know that I'm a Christian. Maybe, just maybe they can see from my lifestyle that they, too, might want to buy into what I'm selling.

I don't mean to give a secular or business analogy, but we are commissioned (Matt 28:19-20) to spread the gospel. Don't get me wrong; wearing a cross that most people will not ever see is by no means or fashion sharing the gospel. But it is a witness. It can stimulate conversation. It can announce that I am a follower of Jesus and certainly not ashamed.

I read recently that Americans have to hear the message of the gospel 30 to 100 times before they believe. Of course, that's with the work of the Holy Spirit. While I know the Spirit doesn't need my help, doesn't need my wearing of the cross to influence, because if one is called by God, he/she will believe. But through prayer and a display of love, perhaps I can at least be a witness. Maybe that's more in the area of equipping than evangelizing.

The goal is multiplying (Luke 6:40) the number of those to be in the kingdom. To become like Jesus in death and to live and never die ("Knowing You" by Graham Kendrick). That's maybe a stretch from why I wear the cross, but if I can influence one positively in the direction of the Lord, then it will have been worth it.

SMASHED

We would place a penny on a railroad track and let the train do the work. It wasn't nearly as uniform as The Mummy from Universal Studios, but hey, that was a long time ago.

Our granddaughter, A. Faith, loves these. I don't know how many she has in her collection. But she has quite a few. Even is she's not with us and we see one of the machines, we get her one. A coin--not a machine. Even though I had to bum 5 Rands off a friend in Cape Town, South Africa, to get her an image of Table Mountain.

My favorite of hers is a 1987 World Series one that someone painted. It really stands out with just a few colors. Also, once in awhile you'll see quarter machines, and a little variety is good.

It's funny what people collect. From baseball cards to match book covers to porcelin cows (at least cow models/statues--I don't know; you'll have to ask my sis-in-law). To Super Bowl replica tickets. At least that's what the AZ Republic is hawking this week. And for only $64 dollars and half that many coupons, you, too could be a proud owner.

I like what our granddaughter collects better.