French Toast, Fireworks and Freedom: Epilogue

Standard

Late afternoon thunderstorms put the kibosh on Capon Springs and Farms 7/4 fireworks, and power outage killed electricity and the elevator.

As plan B, lovely heroic Alice and I found lodgings a half hour drive away at the Winchester Marriott Courtyard where there was power and cooling a-plenty. Back to Capon late Thursday morning to conclude our final day in WV.

In fact, power was restored at CSF Wednesday evening, so the rest of the gang on grounds was able to run fans and stay reasonably cool. The elevator service was not restored until this morning. Grateful to have had options.

French Toast, Fireworks and Freedom

Standard

It is a reasonably warm morning in Capon Springs, WV, site of many an extended family vacation since 1994. The kids’ Fourth of July parade has wound its way down to the Main House. A costumed dramatic proclamation of Independence has been Declared. The stars and stripes have been raised to a rousing hand-to-heart rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. And last night’s fast has been broken by eggs any style and Wednesday’s French toast.

With a gob of hard-fought, dearly won (others’), grateful (mine) patriotism, with the anticipated retinal after-images of sparklers and fireworks bursts and their post-boom concussive ringing in my ears, with the smoky airborne bouquet of chicken, burgers and dogs on the grill only

a few hours away, and wearing my red, white and blue ensemble, I hail you all, my family and friends near and abroad.

Happy Independence Day!

Advent and Stones?

Standard

Advent and stones?

What might the connection be between dry, dusty stones and the restoration of a hopeless, weary world? You might thing this an oddly-timed question, especially as we’re revving up for that “most wonderful time of the year.” You know, “the hap-happiest season of all.”  Well, with all due respect to Andy Williams, as with much that God has for us, things are not always as they seem. Sharing an insightful meditation written by my daughter, Ginny, that – as you crack it open – I hope will encourage you.

Even The Stones

Merry Christmas!

A Thanksgiving Re-Tale, Retold

Standard

Thanksgiving 2017 has come and gone. No doubt, you’re braving local Black Friday retail merchant mosh pits, racing countless holiday screen-shoppers to grab Amazon Prime’s carefully timed, uncannily suggested, discounted cyber opportunities, setting up the Christmas tree, and spinning up your local FM easy listening station’s holiday music. All this excitement will leave you famished and you’ll stuff your lunchtime “sammiches” with L-Tryptophan-laced butterball leftovers. It is in the spirit of savory seasonal leftovers that I recycle an already several times told Thanksgiving re-tale.

A Thanksgiving Re-Tale

Thanksgiving 2009 has become the fixed north star on my timeline by which I recall, and in recalling, attempt to measure, weigh, and value God’s immeasurable, infinite and priceless faithfulness to me, and those human agencies through which He so abundantly has met so many of my otherwise unmeetable needs. At the top of my list of human agents is lovely, heroic Alice, my partner in life’s pilgrimmage. The host of names below hers is vast. As I remember you, and as you remember me, know that I love you all.

I also invite you to read an excellent Thanksgiving reflection written by my friend, Sam Frank Smith III.

Blackberries, or Bushes Afire?

 

A CHARLES’ DICKIE CHRISTMAS 4EDUX

Standard

Well, there we all are. Slightly more numerous than last year. Another grand-baby-boy with somewhat inconvenient Scandinavian citizenship, and another engaging daughter engaged, who will soon tie the lasso with a handsome Texan fiancé. God’s goodness has crowned our year.

heidel-christmas-2016Happy as we all may appear, do not be fooled. Several in this bunch are plotting, scheming mean gift-givers. Yep, MGGs. And though they oh so calmly deny it, the rest are MGGs in training. Once again, and to prepare any unsuspecting readers — or to remind all 9 of my followers — it’s often the closest relatives who give the meanest gifts. So, at gift exchange time, be on your guard. And trust no one. In this vein, I give you (for a fourth time I think) A Charles’ Dickie Christmas.

A Charles’ Dickie Christmas R3dux

Standard

Once again, headed to the holiday neighborhood literati bash at which all comers are to read or recite a Christmas-themed page or two, and at which the above tale has been read before. My want to be a paperback writer work product has been meager this past year. Sadly, that itself is a recurring theme. I did just happen to happen upon some interesting Icelandic lore I’ll bring along and throw down. Little known fact: all literati – aspiring and established – are intensely competitive. But, this year’s guest list is chock-full-o-newbies. So if the hostess permits, I may just recycle the above number. As most of you reading this are not on said guest list, and to prepare any unsuspecting readers (or to remind all 9 of my followers) for a close relative’s mean gift, I re-post, for a third time (I think)  A Charles’ Dickie Christmas.

A Thanksgiving Re-Tale, Retold

Standard

As the day unfolds in your own Thanksgiving time-space continuum, and as you determinedly brace yourself for too much turkey, you may already be anticipating the butterball leftovers that will stuff your lunchtime “sammiches” tomorrow. It is in the spirit of savory seasonal leftovers that I recycle an already several times told Thanksgiving re-tale.

A Thanksgiving Re-Tale

Thanksgiving 2009 has become the fixed north star on my timeline by which I recall, and in recalling, attempt to measure, weigh, and value God’s immeasurable, infinite and priceless faithfulness to me, and those human agencies through which He so abundantly has met so many of my otherwise unmeetable needs. At the top of my list of human agents is lovely, heroic Alice, my partner in life’s pilgrimmage. The host of names below hers is vast. As I remember you, and as you remember me, know that I love you all.

I also invite you to read my friend’s — Sam Frank Smith III — excellent Thanksgiving reflections.

Blackberries, or Bushes Afire?