Blogging Blast: Take Cover!

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The seasons, they are a-changin’ here in Missouri; the weather is trying to make up its mind between frost or sunshine. The plants are going dormant and the bugs are dying off (finally–I should buy stock in “deet”; and as much as I use, it’s probably a good thing that I’m not within childbearing age anymore.)  Each season, it’s like nature just decides to try something new, and even though it’s the same rotation, it’s always got it’s own spin. (Pardon the pun.)

And if nature gives itself permission, why not me, too?

Therefore, for this week I will initiate my first “Blogging Blast”, which is a blog per day for one whole week.  You can take that as a promise or a warning, whichever seems appropriate.  I realize this is no big deal for some veteran bloggers, and yes, I shamelessly use the scheduler without remorse.  And yes, I try to keep them to around 500 words, so granted, they are none of them literary tomes that will likely end up in the Library of Congress.  (Fear not!  My weekly “Not-My Poetry” will be published as scheduled.)

Regardless, each post will be published at 0800 (Central Time) so feel free to check in (or alternately go off the grid, just to be safe).

Here goes…..

Will somebody please push the “pause” button?

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When Joplin, Missouri, which is practically in our back yard, was hit by that mother of all Midwest tornadoes a few years ago, it was odd to see people out going to the mall as usual even though a quarter of their town just got blown off the map. Not being critical, it was just somehow surreal.

So without adding to the political commentary (and I’m sure there is plenty, not without reason), I interrupt my regularly scheduled blogging on this very humble site to pause in prayer:

Father, help.

To our brothers and sisters in France, our prayers and petitions are with you.

Needed: Drill Sargeants, inquire below

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I never saw Saving Private Ryan; don’t want to either, but I heard that the real heroes who were there gave that first twenty minutes their blessing as being pretty eye-popping accurate.   Maybe it was just in some other old movie I saw years ago, but a quote stuck in my head.  The scene was inside one of those small, flat-bottomed landing craft as it rapidly approached the beach at the invasion of Normandy in World War II.  To the anxious American soldiers, the commander in charge said, “Men, as soon as you step on that beach, you are a veteran.” 

Despite the popularity of GI Joe and similar movies, games, and consumer junk, there is absolutely nothing nice about war.  Nothing.  But war is part of human existence.   I reiterate what John Eldredge so aptly talks about in his book, Waking the Dead, that the backdrop of all life is, in fact, war.  It’s not what we were originally created for, but it is what it is, and now we are responsible for dealing with it.

Interestingly, the pattern of war started even before the human race came on the scene when Satan gathered his army and mounted his unsuccessful coup (what was he thinking???)  He was, unfortunately, Continue reading “Needed: Drill Sargeants, inquire below”

Hold the spandex

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An open letter to my family and loved ones:  I regret to inform you that the man I married, your father/brother/brother-in-law/uncle/friend is not the man I thought him to be 36 years ago.  Bob Jones (ha! I should have suspected even then…anyone could easily get lost in the system with a name like that!), the mildly irascible, small town college professor, has revealed his true identity.  With an name unpronounceable to the human tongue, this long lost alien from another world (and, incidentally, good friends with Zaphod Beeblebrox), is none Continue reading “Hold the spandex”

AT-TEEEEEENNNN-TION!!!

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Since my wonderful dad’s 86th birthday is fast approaching, I’m going to indulge with another account of his stint as an enlisted sailor in the USN.  I grew up wearing Dad’s old white seaman pull-over (I’m sure there was an official name for it; I should ask Dad), and even had one of his sailor hats, you know, the kind that turns up on the rim.  Something that I didn’t remember having, although I have since learned that it made the rounds throughout my many cousins as the years rolled by, was his dark blue, woolen Navy peacoat. 

Dad recounts a time when he and his buddies were all lined up out in the cold on a pier for inspection—by a visiting admiral!  (He impressed upon me that this was a pretty big deal.)  They were, naturally, all wearing the navy-issued peacoats.  As the big-wig perused the young men standing ram-rod straight (and probably hardly Continue reading “AT-TEEEEEENNNN-TION!!!”