Hi! High Point!

One of the highlights of my childhood was going to my Uncle's farm.  We knew we were close when we could see High Point in the distant sky.  Whoever saw it first got the honor of leading the family in song, "Hiiiiiii, High Point!"  I remember going to High Point for a picnic one day.  It was so windy we had to huddle in the back seat of the red station wagon to eat our hotdogs that my father cooked over a small charcoal fire in the picnic area of this beautiful state park.  My father packed the station wagon, drove the car, made the fire, cooked the hotdogs, put the fire out, drove back home and unpacked the car.  My mother bought the food, packed the cooler, dressed us children (five of us), then unpacked the cooler, unpacked the children, bathed the children and probably dropped into bed.  It almost doesn't seem worth it for them.  But I am here to tell you that the effort was worth more than they could imagine.  My heart is still warm on the inside and my mind swims in feelings of joy, mingled with love so deep that it convinces me our souls are sealed in a place that only Christ can touch.  Thanks Mom.  And Dad, till we meet again...

The Last Harvest

Even though this is the last harvest from our little backyard garden, I think my husband will happy not to wipe the sweat from his forehead during dinner.  Those little green peppers pack a lot of heat!  The last puppy we raised for The Seeing Eye loved peppers.  He ate them right off of the stems.  But when he ate one of those little hot ones, he couldn't stop drinking water for half an hour.  At dinner I ask my husband, "How's your food?" as he wipes his forehead for the fifth time.  He nods and chokes out, "Pass the water please."  But like the puppy, he keeps going back for more. 

Groovy Kids

In past posts I have poked a lot of fun at my children.  I have called them: brats, little monsters, fun-suckers, restless natives, little indians, spoiled rotten and other unflattering names.  Calling someone names in our home has long been an insult.  Somewhere around 14 years ago while driving to the airport to spend three weeks away with our children, the children (ungratefuls) were arguing in the back seat.  This worried  me immensely as we would be in an airplane for five hours and then away for three weeks together in close quarters.  I inquired as to what the problem was.  The girls said the boy was calling them names.  I demanded that he not call them names and that they would just get along.  Shortly after that, upon arriving at the airport, the boy got our of the car and glared at his sisters.  "Names!" he said, intending to highly insult them.  He figured if I told him not to call them names, then names must mean something bad.  So for many years now, when trying to rub each other, they often revert back to that time and call each other, "Names!"  In spite of the fact that I have called my children many "Names" in the past, they have recently matured into some pretty swell people.  I surely do intend to keep poking fun at them in the future, lest they get a big head.  However, for today I will just say I've got some pretty groovy kids.  Thanks kids, for Colonial Williamsburg and Florida.  Love from your nifty mom.