Chock Full of Nuts

It seems like everything I read these days has some kind of lesson about taking time to enjoy the little things and having an appreciation for the beauty that is put before us every day. I will admit I have a habit of racing from one task to the next without enjoying the journey. I’m trying to do better. Lately, I have made a real effort to enjoy the sunsets I see each night when I’m running. Why, I even counted the chips in that big cookie I ate this afternoon. It’s not easy for me. I’m a diehard multi-tasker. However, as my friend Randall says, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every now and then.

On the weekdays Teen Angel works until closing time at the bakery downtown, I have about thirty minutes to fill between the time I get off work and the time I need to pick her up. My job is literally about a minute and a half from the bakery, so it’s a short drive. It’s a great time to take a few pictures but not a long time, so I usually end up scouring the same two block area around the bakery for photos. I’ve been doing this for weeks, so it has become a challenge to find new stuff to photograph there. However, just about the time I think I’ve picked that area clean, I stumble onto something else. This exercise forces me to explore details and things that seem average but really aren’t. It also teaches me to see with new eyes things I’ve been looking at and looking over for years. I’m discovering that beauty and art are everywhere. It’s certainly in nature and in architecture, and occasionally it’s deliberately placed there by the skilled hands of someone who had a vision, waiting for someone like me to stumble into it.

Yesterday, I tripped over this:

Handmade tiles which cover the front of a restaurant that closed a few years ago. I’m not sure what the artist’s inspiration was, but I like the results. I’ve walked by this building dozens of times, but yesterday was the first time I really NOTICED it. Hundreds of colorful tiles, each one a little different and each one a burst of rainbow. Each one beckoning me to marvel at their color and to enjoy the journey I called Tuesday. Acorn anyone?

Softly and Tenderly

The strangest things make me cry. My husband and daughter laugh at me sometimes for the way I tear up at things that aren’t the slightest bit sad, like when the preschoolers sing at church in the spring or someone sings the national anthem on TV. It’s a little embarrassing, but I can’t seem to control it. I think it’s because tears, for me, are an expression of many emotions, not just sorrow. My heart seems to be attached to my tear ducts, and the slightest sentimental squeeze sends them into action. It happens at the most unexpected times, and this past Sunday was one of those times. Are you ready for this? I welled up because we sang out of the Cokesbury hymnal in church.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, and many of you probably are, the Cokesbury hymnal was a staple in many churches for decades. First published in the 1920’s, it’s the only songbook many of us grew up with and is as much a part of the Methodist faith as a good potluck. It’s a slim book that contains all of the “old” songs with catchy tunes that were written from the heart by folks like Fannie Crosby (Blessed Assurance). Songs like The Old Rugged Cross, Rock of Ages, Softly and Tenderly and I Love to Tell the Story. Years of standing in my patent leather shoes wailing away to the tune of an old upright piano laid those songs on my heart and burned them into my brain. And I’m not the only one. I’d bet my left arm that there are several people in my church right now who could sing just about every one of the songs in the Cokesbury book without looking at the words. While it’s long been replaced with other more modern hymnals in many churches, the Cokesbury songbook still lingers on many a pew and gets pulled out every now and then for old times sake, which is what happened at my church Sunday.

When my eyes started to well up on about the second verse of the first song, I immediately started searching for the reason why. During the offering I sifted through the pages, smiling at the familiar titles. I realized the power of the memories I have attached to those old hymns. A lot of those memories involve my grandmother, and she’s been on my mind a lot lately. She’s been gone nearly twenty years now, and I seem to miss her more as the years go by.

Grandma and Mama

Grandma B. toted Mama to the local First United Methodist Church when Mama was just a baby, and Mama carried on that tradition with me and my brothers. Usually, we attended the church’s little chapel near Grandma’s house. Grandma didn’t drive, so most Sundays found us swinging by Grandma’s house to pick her up on the way to church. If it was Mother’s Day we stopped long enough to cut roses from her yard to wear on our lapels. White for Grandma because her mother was dead. Red for the rest of us because our mother was alive. Not too many folks practice that tradition now, but it was pretty common when I was a kid. So was wearing a lily corsage on Easter, which I still do when I can find one. Mama used to always bring a corsage to Grandma on Easter. Grandma loved flowers, especially her roses and her Mock Orange bush. When she passed away I asked for a cutting from her old white rose bush, and it blooms in my yard every May.

When she sat down in the car, I looked at her shoulder to see what pin she was wearing. She always wore a pin, and often it was a rhinestone flag that Mama’s brother gave her as a gift when he was very young. Sometimes it was a pin Grandpa sent her during World War II. Sometimes she wore dress gloves. She often carried a handkerchief in her purse, and she always wore a headscarf. Grandma didn’t have much money, but she dressed in her nicest clothes for church. We would bounce off to the chapel a few blocks away and scatter to our Sunday school classes when we arrived. If I was lucky, it was my turn to pull the rope that rang the church bell. Our pockets held a few dimes and nickels that we were expected to put in the Sunday school collection plates which were usually little plastic churches like this.

When I grew old enough, I got to collect the little churches, count the money and post the total and the attendance numbers on the chapel wall. I took the responsibility very seriously.

There were Christmas programs, chili suppers and vacation bible school. Daddy drove the church bus, so sometimes there were bus rides around town before and after services, picking up elderly ladies in nursing homes and kids whose parents didn’t attend services. There were Easter egg hunts and races to see who could find bible verses the fastest. I won many a pencil that way. And there was always music from that little hymnal. I’d swear we sang Mansion Over the Hilltop every other Sunday.


I’ve got a mansion just over the hilltop
In that bright land where we’ll never grow old
And some day yonder, we will never more wander
But walk on streets that are purest gold.


Our piano player, Mrs. Rush, was an elderly widow who liked to play ragtime, and she was well known for picking up the pace of the hymns we sang. I’d give a $100 to hear her play again. I liked the Sundays when Ollie Pucket and his wife visited and sang for us. They introduced this sheltered little white girl to spirituals and improvisation, and I liked it. It made me want to dance.

Sunday after Sunday, year after year we went to the little chapel, saying hello and goodbye to some dear preachers and dear friends. Grandma was always there, singing those old songs, taking steps in her own spiritual walk and unbeknownst to me, laying a foundation for my faith. I can only hope I’m half the person she was. Despite her poverty and many trials, she was good. Really good. I don’t remember ever hearing her say anything bad about anyone. She was kind, gentle and forgiving. I have many memories of her standing in the kitchen making her special turkey and dressing or sitting in our kitchen chair while Mama gave her a perm and color. But some of my best memories of her are standing beside her in church as the strains of those old hymns tickled our ears. Which is why the feel of that leather hymnal in my hands Sunday and the songs within its covers put such a squeeze on my heart. I miss you, Grandma, but you’ll be glad to know some of us are still singing In the Garden every now and then. Some of us still wear a rose on Mother’s Day and a pin on our suit when we dress up. And some of us take our kids to the little Methodist church on the corner.

Because Nothing Makes You A Pet Owner Faster Than A Little Guilt

We have a new pet. I hadn’t planned on a new pet, but I got one anyway. And it’s a cat. I’m not a cat person. I’m a dog person. Don’t get me wrong, I love most all critters, but I prefer the kind that love you unconditionally, beg for your attention and live for the opportunity to please you. Not the kind that are aloof and want things on their own terms, which is how most cats strike me. However, I just couldn’t say no to this one. It’s Sissy’s cat, Sabrina.She is without a master, and Teen Angel is terribly attached to her. She is the kitty Sissy got not too long after my nephew died, so there is some emotional history with this cat. I didn’t have a chance did I? I might as well have “sap” tattooed on my forehead. From the day Sissy died, I suspected Sabrina would end up in our home. We left her at Sissy’s house, visiting and feeding her every night on her territory so as not to traumatize her any more than she already is by Sissy’s absence and all of the packing and moving going on in the house. I kept saying we would eventually figure out what to do with her when everything settled down, but my gut was shouting, “Ooh, pants on fire.”

Sabrina’s about eight years old. The odds of her being adopted from a shelter are slim since she’s not a kitten and is definitely set in her ways. I feel an obligation to Sissy to make sure Sabrina is taken care of, and I couldn’t stand it if kitty was euthanized. And she just wants to be loved and yadda, yadda, yadda and blah, blah, blah and isn’t she sweet and can’t we please keep her mom I promise I’ll take care of her and on and on and on with the kitty talk until I relented. Hubby tried to resist, too, but he’s a bigger sap than I am when it comes to animals, and he actually likes cats. So here we are, adding another critter to the fold which already includes a dog and a dozen fish, but I have to admit she is lovely. Teen Angel got Sabrina a new tag with our address the other day and took her to the vet for a well check up, which I guess means she is officially ours now. She is warming up to us fine with the exception of the loudest member of the house.And she wants no part of him. In fact, she smacked him hard Saturday night when I took him to Sissy’s house and was prepared to do some real damage to his head until I put him back in the truck. It’s going to be a slow process, introducing those two. He wants to be friends. She wants to kill him. We’ll keep trying, dragging him down there each night….while we feed the neighbors’ two dogs and cat because they’re on vacation. And because I couldn't say no to them either. Sigh. Have I showed you my new tattoo?

Summer fun and staying cool is the theme of this week's Fun Monday assignment which comes from the lovely Janis.

Since the Lazy Hazy Days of summer are upon us now, tell us what activities you enjoy doing outside and how do you stay cool. Share some photos of both if you wish.

The humidity runs thick in the Ohio Valley, so things can get pretty steamy and sticky around here in July and August. Heck, sometimes it's sticky in May. You have to work at trying to stay cool. The Hula-gen's work hard, but they like to play hard, too. Each summer, we usually take a couple of trips to amusement parks and water parks. We love Holiday World in Santa Claus, Indiana. It has wonderful rides, the water park is fantastic and we never ever feel ripped off when we go there. They have free sunscreen and free drinks. It's just a great family friendly place. We also like King's Island in Cincinnati and make a trek there every summer with the church youth group. Hubby and Teen Angel are there this weekend. Some years we take a vacation in the summer. Other years we wait until fall break in October. This year, we're going to Destin in October, and I can't wait. Florida is so stinkin' hot in July that we opted for the cooler and less crowded fall break this time. Most weekends, we simply vacation in our backyard. We are fortunate enough to have a pool, and we like to use it. Teen Angel splishes and splashes. Hubby and I float. We go round and round and round in our floating chairs. I read and he naps, which is what he was doing when I took this picture recently. It's the best way we know how to stay cool in the peak summer months.

We also garden. We have 53 tomato plants this year, and they are really blooming right now.

We've picked a few small tomatoes, and they should really start coming on pretty soon. There's nothing cool and comfortable about gardening, but we do enjoy it.

One of the other things I enjoy in the summer is races. We have several 5K races in our town between April and October, giving me ample opportunity to be reminded of how slow I am...er, I mean to see how well my weekly running sessions are working. We had one yesterday, and I was a little concerned that it was going to be miserably hot. It wasn't because it rained.

And rained.And rained.And rained some more.Oh, hello young man with the nice calves.

They delayed the race for a little while and when the lightening stopped and it became obvious the clouds weren't going to pass any time soon, they lined us up and we ran in the pouring rain. All 3.1 miles. We were soaked. The poor folks who were walking the course were absolutely pruney by the time they finished. I've been caught in the rain while running before, but my feet have never been this wet. Fortunately, I had packed extra clothes, shoes and a towel when I left the house, so I eventually got somewhat dry but not before I spent a full three hours standing around in the driving rain. And guess who was there. Jerry, from The Biggest Loser. He seemed like a really nice fellow, and while he could have finished at a much faster pace, he stuck with the walkers in the back and talked with them and encouraged them. Classy.

The clouds really opened up during the youth race. Those kids got pounded, but they didn't mind. You know kids, the wetter, the better.

What is fun about racing in the pouring rain or blistering heat you ask? I'm not sure I can explain it. It SEEMS like torture to run your legs off all week just to see how far you can push yourself on a Saturday morning when you're not likely to win a prize and if you do it's a cheap trophy. There's just a lot of satisfaction in trying to stay healthy and trying to hang onto a shred of athleticism as you get old. Of keeping your competitive spirit alive and always trying to make yourself a little bit better than you were the week before. Of course, floating around in pool is just as fun. And a whole lot easier. Which is what I'd be doing right now if it weren't RAINING...again.

Not That Anyone Asked...But

-After months of fighting with his gall bladder, daddy surrendered his belly to the surgeon this morning and finally had his gall bladder taken out. The value of Tums and Rolaids stock is likely to drop with news that their business will drop off about 30% since daddy won’t be chewing those tablets like Chiclets anymore.
-I am amused by hospital patients in their gowns who drag their IV and wheelchair outside past the no smoking zone to smoke a cigarette.
-I learned today I shouldn’t go to the farmer’s market before work because I polished off most of my newly purchased cherry tomatoes by 9am while sitting at my desk. So much for tomatoes with dinner.
-A fellow I worked with in radio many years ago shot and killed himself this week. He was one of the funniest people I ever knew and was an absolute joy to work with. It makes me sad, and I can’t believe I’ve been touched by suicide a second time this year. We just never know what’s going on in the hearts of others, do we?
-My husband and child left at 5 o’clock this morning for King’s Island in Cincinnati with the church youth group. I rolled out of bed at 4:30 to drive them to the church. I drove there in my pajamas and was glad I didn’t get pulled over. Great Gertie, I’m cranky at 4:30am!
-I’ve made this church trip many times, and I usually end up riding all kinds of scary stuff that eventually makes me puke, so I opted to stay home for Mama J. and Papa T. duty. The beauty shop and Cracker Barrel, here we come!
-I don’t care where Michael Jackson’s body is now. I don’t care where he’s buried. The media can move on to more important issues as far as I’m concerned. However, I will admit I am curious how much that gold casket cost. My Aunt Mabel, who was a funeral connoisseur and took great stock in the quality of a casket, would have been very impressed with the Jackson family’s selection.
-Hey, Sarah Palin! Quit wearing makeup when you go fishing. It makes you look vain and ridiculous. And please, quit pretending like you don’t know what your immediate plans are.
-Did you hear the one about the guy who posted a song on YouTube about United Airlines breaking his guitar? It’s hilarious. If you need laugh, check, check, check it out.

Hula's Picture of The Week-Corn Bred

I'm dying to know how this stalk of corn managed to germinate and grow in the pavement of one of the busiest roads in my city.

Is this what they mean by no till farming?

Family Fun Fact #62

In 1970 Hubby’s sweet little cousin, B., got married in a small church in the country forcing her bridesmaids to wear big hats and the best floral dresses evah!Someone please call Martha Stewart. I hear she’s missing some tablecloths, and I think I found them.