Mourning the Last Day of Summer

Okay, enough is enough.  I don't think I've seen the sun for more than 30 minutes in over a week.  That may be okay for some people, but not for me.  I am cloudy-day challenged and must have at least four hours of sunlight each day in order to survive.  Well, maybe not to survive, but at least to be civil to those I come in contact with daily.  This is not a new phenomenon.  I have always been this way.  Just ask my husband.. 

Some people's moods are definitely effected by the amount of sunlight, or lack thereof, they receive each day. Unfortunately, I am one of those people, and today is the last day of summer. Yes, I realize we have had a record year of over 90 degree temperature days in our city.  We can definitely use the rain and cooler weather, but please permit me to whine a bit, okay?

I know autumn will be beautiful, and I'll love it.  But it's raining, and I can't envision it yet!  I will feel better when I pull all of the fall decorations down from the attic.  We have not even reached the first day of autumn, and I am already dreading winter and dreaming of spring.  How's that for wishing your life away?     

An old friend once told me she considered February suicide month.  She didn't mean it literally, but I understand her reasoning.  February is our worst winter month...cold, dreary, depressing, and usually there isn't any snow to make it worth enduring.  Thankfully in the South, when we get past February it is smooth sailing.

Now March, March is a beautiful month.  It's like an adrenalin shot to the senses.  The sun rises earlier and sets later.  Along with the longer days, the temperatures warm up enough to shed the coats, sweatshirts, and sweaters of winter.  Bradford pears, tulips, daffodils, and forsythia blossoms herald spring, soon followed by snow white dogwood and purple redbud blooms.  All of nature comes alive as God dips His paintbrush into the vivid hues of yellow, pink, lavender, green, and white.     

But until then, I need chocolate.  Chocolate is usually my drug of choice for curing a bad mood.  After scouring the cupboards, there's not one chocolate cookie, Debbie Cake, or Hershey's Kiss in the house.  There are two boxes of brownies, but only one egg.  What will happen if I use only one egg?  Flat brownies?  I could live with that.  Okay, not a good idea.  Maybe I could make a third of a batch.  I know, brownie drop cookies!  Excellent idea.

Okay, I think I'll flip on every light in the house, and turn on some happy music (really loud).  I'll pull the fall decorations box from the attic, and bake some one egg, brownie cookies.  Afterwards, I'll eat brownie cookies, check the extended weather forecast, take a nap, and dream of spring.  Sounds like a plan.


Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney

Special Birthday Wish

Today I'm wishing the happiest of birthdays to my best friend, confidante, and husband.  We've been together for almost two thirds of our lives.  That's a scary thought, isn't it?  He has known and loved me at my best and my worst, my thinnest and my chubbiest, with long hair and short, black hair to mostly gray, and a multitude of shades in between.

He suffered through my early cooking experiments, including once substituting Vienna sausage for sausage links, and a candlelit dinner with canned LaChoy chow mein with burned noodles.  I don't think I've eaten Vienna sausages since, and can't imagine eating canned Chinese food...ever.  Hopefully my cooking skills have improved significantly, as well as our food choices, since those early days of marriage. 

When I was pregnant, he made late night runs to the jiffy mart for honey buns, Fudgesicles, or whatever my round baby belly desired.  Although those late night food binges added more "Laney" pounds than baby pounds, and my doctor said he hoped my husband liked fat girls, he still said I was beautiful.  He also laughed it off when I ordered him to tell my labor and delivery nurse to back off, or else!  I meant it when I threatened to tell her, "If you think you can do it any better than me, you can get up here and do it yourself!"

We've had joyous times and sad times.  God has been faithful to provide for our needs through job losses and medical events, and still provide a Christian education for our two sons.  I know my husband would do anything and everything within his power for his family. 

I'm glad he meant it when he promised to love me for better or for worse, since he definitely got the worst end of the deal.  Few men would put up with me for a month, much less thirty six years.  He is a wonderful husband to me, Daddy to our two grown sons, and Pappy to our three precious grandchildren. 

Happy birthday, Babe.  I still love you "muchly" and I'm so glad I gave you a second glance. 

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney      

Needing Mama

Today I woke up feeling really awful.  This room-spinning sensation reminds me of the vertigo and nausea experienced when I had a bacterial infection as a child.  When I am sick, I am a real baby.  Nausea turns me into a toilet-hugging cry-baby!  It's a good thing for my husband that I am rarely sick.  He was such a sweetie to come home from work on his lunch hour just to check on me.  I got a rare gem when I married him almost thirty seven years ago.

When we are sick, we need our mommies.  We need her to put a cold washcloth on our forehead and hold our hair back when we throw up.  She'll bring us chicken noodle soup with saltine crackers and ginger ale with no ice to sip with a straw.  Mamas make sure our pillows are fluffed up and our pillowcases are fresh.  She'll straighten the sheets and make sure our blankets are tucked up tight under our chins.  You may hear her busily working in another room, but she'll be by your side in a moment when you softly call her name.  Mama's ears are tuned to the voices and cries of their children...even in the middle of the night.

Mamas can recognize a fever by placing her cheek against yours or by touching her cool hand to your brow.  They instinctively know how to make you feel better...just by being there.  I missed my Mama today.  She's been in heaven with Jesus for almost seven years.  I'm thankful for all those times that she lovingly took care of me when I was sick...as a child and as an adult. 

A huge thank you goes to my wonderful husband for pinch-hitting in her absence.  You are not Mama, but you are a good nurse!

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney 

       

Embarrassing Moments

I heard a story on K-Love this morning of a family traveling during rainy weather.  The wife wanted a soft drink, and her husband said he'd stop at the nearest convenience store.  He told her since it was raining she'd have to go in and get the drink herself.  She ran in, purchased the soft drink, and ran back out, head down, dodging raindrops.   

Once she had jumped in the van and plunked her drink in the cup holder, she saw her husband bent over picking something up from the floorboard.  She smacked him a few times on the bottom, and said..."I should spank your booty", followed by a little drum roll..."ba da dum dum".  When he sat up suddenly, she soon discovered it wasn't her husband at all, but instead an old bald guy.  Realizing she was in the wrong van, she glanced over and saw her husband staring at her from the van beside her.  She jumped out, leaving her drink behind, then ran and climbed in the passenger side of her van.  Once inside, she slumped down in the seat to hide.  Her daughter in the backseat leaned up and said, "Mommy, why were you in the car with that man?" 

I laughed so hard when I heard this, because it sounds exactly like something I would do.  I don't know how many times when leaving church I have tried to open the door of a car that looked like ours.  My husband would usually say, "What are you doing?  That's not our car."  Thankfully, no one was in the driver's seat!  That's what happens when we become preoccupied and oblivious to our surroundings.

I would have to say my most embarrassing moment (to date) happened in an upscale store at a local mall.  As I walked along, I suddenly tripped over something.  When I looked down, the foot of a pair of pantyhose was hanging out of my pants leg and it was dragging the ground.  I looked all around to see if anyone had seen it, then proceeded to go behind a display and attempted to pull it out.  The more I pulled, the more it stretched; but it would not come out.  Thus the dilemma...instead of a little bit of pantyhose hanging out of my pants, now there's a lot.  I tried to stuff it back inside, but knew I had to get to a restroom to remove it.   

One of my favorite old movies is Bringing Up Baby.  There's a scene where Katherine Hepburn's dress rips down the back.  Cary Grant walks, glued to her backside, in order to get her across the room and out of the restaurant.  Well, that's probably what we looked like when my husband walked behind me--across the entire store--to find the nearest restroom.   

After that event, I learned it's wise to always use drier sheets.  They may save you from a really embarrassing situation one day.  Thankfully, time has the tendency to turn embarrassing moments into what they should be...just funny stories.   


Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney

  

Refueling in the Garden

It's a Carolina-blue morning...even if we are a Duke Blue Devils family.   My hummingbird friend just hovered at the french doors as if to say, "You are late...my feeder's empty.  Get out here and fill it up!"  

This is the first summer I was aware that gorgeous yellow and black goldfinches shared my backyard.  They are busily finishing up the last of the dried coneflower seeds, since only a few purple flowers remain.  I only see the goldfinches in the morning and late afternoon; but before, I was too busy with work life to even notice.  Nature is amazing, when you slow down enough to appreciate it. 

All of the backyard birds are fueling up for their migration trek.  Their busyness points to the obvious...fall is coming soon.  The earth, plants, animals, and we humans need relief from the hot, dry days of summer.  Likewise, our relationship with God needs fueling up and renewal when we've become too busy to spend time with Him.  Let's face it, sometimes our prayer life gets stagnant.  There are times when it seems as if our prayers bounce off the ceiling, instead of reaching our intended destination...the throne of God.  

One way of drawing close to God is to sing praises to Him.  God loves it when we sing to Him, and He doesn't care if you don't have a beautiful voice.  The Bible says make a joyful "noise" unto the Lord.  I love contemporary Christian music and praise choruses, but I also love some of the old hymns.  The words to the following hymn came to me unexpectedly this morning.  I can hear my Mama's alto voice singing the words, and it brings comfort to my soul.

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

Refrain:
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

(Repeat Refrain)
I'd stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

(Repeat Refrain)

Has your relationship with God become a little distant and stagnant?  Ask Him today for renewed joy and restoration of your relationship.  Maybe you've never had a personal relationship with God and His Son, Jesus.  He loved you enough to die for you, and He's only a prayer away. 


John 3:16:  "For God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have life eternal."-NASB

        

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney

The Beach is Calling My Name

It's September, kids are back in school, Labor Day is over, and North Carolinians will soon be heading to the mountains in droves for the changing of the leaves.  But instead of the mountains, the beach is calling my name.  I heard it clearly today when humidity levels dropped and Charlotte's temperature was in the mid-eighties. 

Beach vacations in September and early October means not having to spread my beach blanket within six feet of a chain smoker with a potty mouth, or a drunken twenty-something bragging to his buddies about how many beers he just drank.  I'm not kidding--that's Myrtle Beach in July, and it's not my idea of fun.  Skip forward a few months and it's a wonderful place to be.  When peak season is over, motel rates are good, the water is still warm, crowds are gone (except for golfers and empty-nesters), and the sun isn't so intense I get burned in fifteen minutes.

I love the beach at daybreak, when the sun's rays on the ocean make it sparkle like diamonds.  The only people on the beach are a few dog walkers, runners, shell collectors, and the occasional surf fisherman.  Stress melts away as I sit on a towel, listening to the rhythmic crashing of waves...no talking allowed for at least twenty minutes. 

It's comical watching little shore birds running to the water's edge, then retreating as if afraid of getting their feet wet.  Occasionally a large bird swoops down, disappears underwater, then emerges with a fish.  How do they do that, I've often wondered?  My only explanation, God made them that way, and that's all I need to know.  One day all the wonderful mysteries of His marvelous creation will be revealed.  Until then, I'll just have to wait, be content, and enjoy them.     

I am indeed thankful to live in the South, and fall is probably our most beautiful time of year.  I live in the Piedmont of  North Carolina, right in the middle, only a few hours from the coast and a few hours from the mountains.  Although I love both places, my favorite place to be in September and early October is definitely the beach.  Save me a front-row seat for sunrise...I'll meet you there soon.  

Genesis 1:9-10:
"Then God said, “Let the waters below the heavens be gathered into one place, and let the dry land appear”; and it was so. God called the dry land earth, and the gathering of the waters He called seas; and God saw that it was good." - NASB 


Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney       

   


   

Reuse, Renew, Re-purpose

I love garage and estate sales; and unearthing a hidden treasure buried in an antique or thrift store makes my heart beat faster.  One Saturday when my friend's 80 year old mother came along, I told her if we buy one more thing we will have to strap your mom to the roof of the car.  On other occasions, I have felt the urge to jump out of the car while it was still moving to get to a really good garage sale.

I'm not into dumpster diving...yet, but I was tempted this week when I spied a really nice stack of aged wooden pallets "beside" the dumpster at a local Cracker Barrel restaurant.  My mind went into overdrive of what I could do with them.  Unfortunately, my husband didn't seem too keen on the idea, so I came home empty-handed.  Oh well, maybe next time.  Two of my favorite blogs are Funky Junk Interiors and Mamie Jane's .  They do some amazing things with cast offs.  In this economy, reuse, renew and re-purpose have become trendy pastimes, but to my parents and grandparents it as just called "survival".

Several years ago, twig chairs were all the rage.  The craft is called hobo or tramp art, and vintage ones sell for a ridiculous amount of money.  My father was deeply offended by the term, tramp art, since my grandfather fed them during the Great Depression by making and selling twig chairs.  My great-uncle, Grandpa's brother, made "what-not" shelves from cast off wood and thread spools and "whittled tiny animals from peach pits.  Everything had to serve more than one purpose.

When I was a little girl, my mother taught me how to iron.  I ironed sheets, pillowcases, handkerchiefs, and believe it or not...my Daddy's boxer shorts.  We didn't own a clothes drier, so clothes were hung outside on a wire clothesline stretched tightly between two metal "T shaped" poles. 

Sheets dried in the sunshine smelled so fresh and clean, but they were stiff.  Before clothes were ironed, they were "dampened" with a water-filled soda bottle, probably Pepsi or Sun Drop Cola.  The soda bottle had an aluminum sprinkler top with a cork.  Mama dampened the clothes then wrapped them with a thin plastic dry-cleaning bag saved from my Daddy's work uniforms.  The damp clothes were then put in the refrigerator until they were ironed. 

Surely my Daddy was spoiled...I've never ironed a pair of my husband's boxer shorts!  In fact, the first criteria for clothing purchases at my house is...Wrinkle Free, No Ironing Necessary.  Since my husband and I have been purging, he brought an object to me last night and asked, "What do you want to do with this"?  Hmmm...it's been so long since I've seen one, I'm not sure what it is.... Oh, yeah, it's a tabletop ironing board...we could probably toss it out.  But wait...maybe I could use it for something else.


Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney

 

 

Ten Years Later

In a few short hours we reach a dreaded milestone in America, the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks of Tuesday, September 11, 2001.  On that day, I arrived at work at my usual time, around 7:30 a.m.  I greeted co-workers and customers who dropped by to make payments on their school accounts, oblivious to the fact that in less than an hour America would be forever changed. 

American Airlines Flight 11 was hijacked by Muslim jihadists and at 8:46 a.m. the plane crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center. News traveled quickly.  Someone called to alert us to the news and employees throughout the building gathered around the lobby and dining area televisions.  We watched in horror as the events of that day unfolded.  Minutes later, at 9:03 a.m., a second plane, United Airlines Flight 173, hit the south tower, confirming suspicions that the first crash was a deliberate attack and not just a tragic accident.  

What a dichotomy was taking place!  Babies were innocently sleeping in their cribs while we watched people in New York jumping from the burning buildings.  Those fortunate enough to escape were frantically running for their lives.

Reeling from the events being witnessed, a third plane crashed into the Pentagon at 9:40 a.m.  Nineteen minutes later, we sobbed as the south tower of the World Trade Center collapsed.    

It was revealed much later that shortly after 10:00 a.m. several brave passengers on hijacked United Flight 93 stormed the cockpit in an attempt to take back their plane.  The plane crashed in a Pennsylvania field around 10:07 a.m., killing all on board.  It is believed that the hijackers intended to crash the plane into the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C.  Around 10:30, the north tower of the World Trade Center also crumbled.  Air traffic control maps throughout the nation went blank as the FAA grounded all flights.   

Four years later I stood above the gaping hole where the twin towers once stood.  I shuddered while remembering the day when innocent babies slept while almost 3000 people died..and America's naiveté was stolen.   


Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney     

Memory Collecting--A Good Thing

If you are an Ebay surfer like me and have interest in all kinds of treasures, you are familiar with the term, "MIB"--mint in the box.  Everyone who collects knows that mint in the box products are in perfect condition, have not been used, and generally are of more value to buyers. 

What puzzles me most is that there are any vintage toys that are MIB.  Toys were made to be PLAYED with--by kids!  Don't get me wrong, I have a few Holiday Barbies in the closet collecting dust.  They were bought to fill the void left from a Barbie-less childhood.  I had a fake Barbie, though.  She was purchased with gold stamps, so I am forever scarred.  Actually, I am thankful that I didn't get everything I ever wanted in life.  I believe I am a far better person because of it.

Well, I can safely say that no MIB toys survived my childhood.  My mother kept some of my little "treasures" safely tucked away in the cedar chest.  There were books that I personally illustrated, although my pictures didn't exactly go along with the storyline.  And then there was Susie..no clothes but one shoe, arms out of socket, her once beautiful red hair--coiffed with round-tipped scissors.  Her  cries for "Mama" silenced decades ago by one too many plunges in  the bath.

Unfortunately, my brothers' toys didn't survive unscathed by their little sister, either.  One three-legged Fort Apache plastic horse was proudly displayed on a shelf for years.  Epiphany..is this why I still chew every pen cap I come in contact with?  The taste and texture is very similar, don't you agree?

I've been going through drawers lately in attempts to purge years of collected clutter.  Yesterday I pulled out another remnant of my childhood..toy cooking utensils, and mismatched plates and cups.  As with my other toys, these are well worn, dented, missing handles, rusty with much of their decorative paint missing from digging in dirt and sand.  I remember the little cakes Mama and I cooked in the tiny cake pans and the tea parties we had with the little dishes. 

Why did my mother keep all of those pitiful toys?  It certainly wasn't because of any assumed intrinsic value.  She knew well that I was rough on toys.  You will never see a one of them on the Antiques Road Show.  No, Mama was a memory collector. 

Even before we received the dreaded diagnosis of Alzheimer's, I think Mama knew her memory was fading fast.  She began giving away some of her prized possessions.  But mostly she wanted to share the history of the objects...like the potato salad bowl was the first gift given to her by my grandparents when she and Daddy married.  The hand-painted salad bowl was the first Christmas gift she received from my brother and sister-in-law when they married.  It's now returned to its rightful owners.  The tiny cast iron pot that my Daddy's grandmother played with when she was a child would have been a mystery if the memory had not been shared. 

Some clutter at my house will go, but much of it will stay.  I come from a long line of memory collectors...and that's a good thing. 

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney



   

If I Get Up...I Get Off!

North Carolina car tags proudly display the motto, "First In Flight".  I have had few opportunities to fly, but I must say the first time was the most memorable.  My employer was upgrading to a new accounting software system and the bookkeeper, Glenda, and I were required to go to Montgomery, Alabama for training.  Driving would have required us to be away from the office too long.  Since I don't like heights and I'm prone to panic attacks, I really didn't want to go.  Glenda was in charge of making all of the airline and hotel reservations. 

I fretted so much over the airline flight, I decided I couldn't do it without "assistance".  I know I wasn't trusting God, and I shouldn't have accepted them, but a friend offered me a couple of her Xanax anti-anxiety pills--just in case.  Just knowing I had them gave me a little boost of confidence. 

The first leg of our flight was from Charlotte to Atlanta, Georgia. You know you can't fly anywhere without going through Atlanta.  Glenda and I met at the airport the evening of our flight.  She had my tickets.  Back then, family members could go with you to the concourse and wait with you to board.  My husband had flown several times, and he assured me that flying in a big plane is just like sitting in a chair in your living room.  I must not have believed him because, courage waning, I headed for the nearest water fountain and took a Xanax.  Immediately I began to worry.  What if I have a reaction?  It's illegal to take someone else's prescription drugs. 

Calming down, I watched as other flights were called and passengers boarded planes.  As I looked out the window, there were no other planes on the tarmac near our gate...or so I thought. The ticket agent announced, "Here's our baby now".  I looked out and said to my husband, "Where?"  He pointed down.  Way down.  It was a tiny "puddle jumper."  Glenda said to me, "I was afraid to tell you we're flying commuter.  I thought if you knew, you wouldn't come."  Yeah, you're right, I wouldn't have come.  Thanks a lot, dear friend.  Instead of going from the gate, through the jet bridge, into the plane...here we go, down some metal steps and onto the tarmac.  We have to walk up more steps to get on the plane...carrying our bags.  After we store our luggage, we take our seats near the front right side of the plane.  Others boarded the plane after us, but not nearly enough to fill the seats.  

Thankfully, the Xanax had kicked in when the pilot came on the intercom to announce:  "Would some of the passengers on the right side of the plane please move to the left side.  We need to redistribute some weight."  Glenda quickly glanced in my direction.  Woozily, but with determination, I said, "If I get up...I get off!"  

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney       

           

Yard Sales & Thrift Stores - New American Pastime

Let's all admit it; the U.S. economy over the past few years stinks!  The housing market has come to a screeching halt.  We've had my dad's house on and off the market for over a year with hardly a nibble.  Unemployment, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics for August 2011, is over 9 percent.  What was I thinking, quitting a job in the middle of a recession??  Oh well, God said move--so I did.

Charlotte, my hometown, has a minor league baseball team, The Charlotte Knights.  I just checked their website and weekend general admission tickets (upper deck) are $8 for adults and children 2 - 12 are $7.  Wow, they let your babies up to two in for free..like they are really interested in watching a game!  So, for a family of four it costs $30 for the game, not counting food.  And you know if you have kids, you are not getting out of there without laying out some cash at the concession stand.  Reasonably, for a minor league baseball game, you could spend $60. 

If you want to take the kids to see the Smurf Movie in 3-D at Concord Mills AMC Theaters, plan on paying $11.50 for adults and $9 for each child...plus drinks and popcorn.  Okay, that's another $60 or more...multiplied upward if you have more than two children.

On Labor Day, Goodwill stores in our area had a sale with 50% off donated items.  There is a large store in nearby Concord, NC.  The doors opened at 9:30, and hubby and I thought we'd drive up and see what bargains we could find.  We drove up literally five minutes after the store opened and there was not a single parking space availabe.  We parked on a side road and walked in...no shopping carts, and the store manager came over the intercom and asked people to "play nice".  I found a few books and another small item to purchase.  When I went check out, they only had one cashier.  There were at least twenty people in line in front of me...with full shopping carts.  I laid my items on a nearby table and left...my time is more important to me than a few things I really don't need.  As we exited, more people were flooding in.

So we've come to this...instead of flocking to baseball games and movies as the American pastime, it's yard sales and thrift stores.  Don't get me wrong, I love the thrill of the hunt at a yard sale and a thrift store.  My heart beats faster when I know I'm getting a great deal!  But, lots of people are now shopping yard sales and thrift stores, and buying food at the Dollar Store out of need--instead of want.  But our president and representatives in Washington have it all under control.  How's that change working for you?  As for me and my house, 2012 can't come soon enough!

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney 

  

911 Service - God Isn't Invited

The news of the morning...fires continue to ravage the drought-stricken State of Texas, while flooding and the possibility of tornadoes from Tropical Depression Lee threatens the eastern United States.  The east coast is still recovering from last week's earthquake in Virginia and Hurricane Irene, as  Hurricane Katya moves toward us in the Atlantic. 

Film footage this morning on the Early Show showed residents fleeing their homes in Texas while towering flames and billowing smoke rose in the background.  As they were heading toward safety, a lone police car was driving in the opposite direction, straight toward the flames.

This Sunday marks the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2011 terrorist attacks on our country.  Images of that day are seared in the memories of Americans everywhere.  We will always remember where we were and what we were doing when we heard the news of the attack on the first tower of the World Trade Center.  Glued to televisions, Americans watched in horror and disbelief as a second plane crashed into the South Tower.  As in Texas, while occupants of the North and South Towers were fleeing for their lives, New York police and firefighters were suited up and going in.  It was their job, you say.  Yes, that's true; but they could have chosen another profession, one with less risk.  But they chose instead to protect the buildings, homes, and citizens of their city, a living testament to the motto, "New York's Bravest".

Throughout this week and weekend, newscasts will focus on the tenth anniversary of 911, but public prayer will be glaringly absent from the memorial service agenda in NYC.  Following the terrorist attacks, churches and synagogues were filled with people calling out to God for His divine protection for our nation.  And yet, ten years later God isn't invited...what a sad commentary to the spiritual condition of our nation.  What hope, what encouragement for our future, can possibly be given--apart from God?  Do they not know that His very word spoke this world into existence?  Likewise, His very word can also remove it!

I give my thanks and appreciation to the first responders, policemen, firefighters, and EMT's who risk their lives daily for us.  But,  I give my praise and worship to my Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ, who gave His life for me.  Through Christ, my sins have been forgiven, and I have assurance of an eternal  home with Him in Heaven, one day.

II Chronicles 7:14 says, "if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land." 

Our land is desperately in need of healing, and its people are desperately in need of a Savior.  But, over the past ten years, I haven't seen much humbling and turning from wicked ways.  What's that sound I hear?  Could it be Gabriel running through the scales, tuning up his trumpet?  Only Christians can pray as John did, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus."   

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney

In Love with a Royal

I am in love with a Royal...not Princes Charles, William, or Harry.  This guy became a Royal at the end of the 1930's, and over the years was well loved by journalists and authors everywhere; but he was also a friend to commoners.  But time passed and his subjects looked to a new generation of Royals to lead them.  It's so sad when one loses their esteemed position in society...cast aside, no longer needed...worthless.  He had no opportunity to abdicate, but was instead dethroned.  He's spent the last sixty or more years doing odd jobs in offices, mail rooms, then menial work wherever it could be found.     

That all ended yesterday.   He'd run out of second chances when I met him again at a local estate sale.  He was pretty dirty from neglect, and a bit overweight from disuse, but that's okay with me.   I like my guys a little on the hefty side.  Although he doesn't remember me, I recognized him immediately.  Well, let's just say I am pretty sure we met years ago in typing class when I was in junior or senior high school.  But, if he isn't THE ONE, he has to be a close relation...those Royals look so much alike, you know.  He was pretty old, even then.        

We redeemed his life for a mere pittance and Hubby had to physically carry him to the car.  It's true he's a bit stiff these days, and has lost some of his youthful sparkle.  Once known for his beautiful words, his writing isn't as clearly expressed as it once was.  All these things aren't important to me.  Guys like Cary Grant, Sean Connery, and Richard Gere just got better with age.  Anyway, I think he's still quite handsome.  With a little love and attention, the qualities for which he was known may emerge even yet.  What a rich life he's lived; evidence of his past are stashed away somewhere..in lock boxes, safes, file cabinets, recipe files, and cedar chests.  Oh, the stories he could tell, if only he would.  But he is a tight-lipped keeper of secrets.

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney

Daddy's Short-Lived Life of Crime

While living at 906 West Sixth Avenue as a boy, Daddy's sister introduced him to his first "moving picture show".  Like a drug addict, just one time and he was hooked.  Westerns starring cowboys Ken Maynard, Bob Steele, and Tom Mix, and the Tarzan of the Apes series, must have been sweet release for poor kids in the 1920's.  Since television hadn't been invented, the usual entertainment consisted of hide and seek, stick ball, or swimming in a nearby creek.  The Monday matinee was a double-feature which cost a dime;  Daddy didn't have any money.  It's amazing how early in life we begin to rationalize our bad choices.  Kids don't have to be taught to do wrong, it just seems to come naturally.  Working at a child care for many years, I have laughingly quoted the verse, John 8:44, to describe children..."they ARE of their father, the devil".

At the time, my grandmother was working at the Loray Mill.  From her hard-earned pay, probably about $12 a week, she set aside $1.10 for insurance.  Each payday, the insurance money was placed in an envelope with a premium book and hung on a nail by the front door.  Every Monday the insurance man came and opened the front door, took the money from the envelope, recorded the payment in the premium book, then returned the envelope to the nail.  Apparently, people back then didn't lock their doors.  My grandparents were at work, and the kids were at school, when this transaction took place.  I suppose if a thief came in to rob their house, he would have felt sorry for them and left empty-handed.

Longing to go to the Monday double feature at the Loray Theater at "Greasy Corner", Daddy thought of a way to get the money.  He decided the insurance man didn't need the ten cents in the envelope by the door as badly as he needed to see the movie.  So he took the dime after Grandma left for work, and before he left for school that day.

School was over at 2:30, but instead of going home from school, he went to the double-feature.  Oh, he had a great time...and he got home just before Grandma and Grandpa came in from work.  What a great plan, he thought!  (Daddy's daughter, Laney, had a similar "great plan"--with a similar end result--many years later; but we will save that story for another day.)

The next week, he took another dime and went to another movie...the next week, same thing, and again the next.  A month of Monday double-feature movies transpired without getting caught.  But as usually happens, his "great plan" back-fired.  Grandma came home from work early one Monday while Daddy was still at school.  The insurance man came to collect his weekly payment while she was at home.  He said, "Mrs. Mac, would you like to catch up on the fifty cents you are behind on your insurance premiums today?"  Grandma told him she wasn't behind on her insurance premiums; she put $1.10 in the envelope every week.  The man said, "There's only been a dollar in the envelope each week, Mrs. Mac.  Maybe one of your children took the ten cents and used it to buy candy?"  Grandma told him, "No, none of my children would do that."

That evening Daddy got home from the movies at his normal time, only to discover his mother was already at home.  She asked him, "Did you have a good time at the movies?"  "I haven't been at the movies", he lied.  How she guessed where he had been, or if someone told on him, is a mystery.  But she said, "Well, a little bird told me they saw you at the movies".

He was nailed...a spanking would most certainly follow.  But he had to wait for Grandpa to administer it.  Waiting...it's agony...much worse than the actual spanking itself.  I am sure he didn't sleep well that night, knowing that the wrath of his Daddy must be faced.  

The next morning, nothing happened.  He went to school as usual.  But when school dismissed at 2:30 that day, Grandpa was there to meet him.  He took him by the hand and led him downtown to Greasy Corner.  Bill Whitlow was a big ruddy-complexioned man; he was the policeman who worked the beat there.  My Grandpa took Daddy up to Mr. Whitlow and said,  "Mr. Whitlow, this is my son.  We found out he's been stealing a dime each week from our insurance envelope and going to the movies.  I want you to take a good look at this boy.  If you ever see him around Greasy Corner or the moving picture show without a note of permission to be there from his Mama or me, I want you to lock him up."   

And that was the beginning--and ending--of Daddy's life of crime!

Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney