Creaming

By Linda Wood Rondeau

I pulled out my recipe for snicker doodles, an old-time favorite. As I put in the shortening, butter, sugar, eggs and vanilla, the recipe said to blend until creamy.

 My mind flashed to when I first learned how to bake, back in the day when cake mixes were a novelty or used for last minute church suppers.

The kitchen was my mother’s paradise and her instructions were gospel. To deter meant banishment from the stove.

First: “Wash your hands. No good cook comes to the kitchen with dirty hands.”

Next: “Now read the recipe, and put all the ingredients on the shelf.”

Third step, to my mother the most crucial in the whole process: “cream the shortening, butter, eggs and sugars.”

I stuck in the rotary beaters, set it on high and splashed wet globs from one end of the kitchen to the other. “Done,” I said.

Mother knew better, knew I was always in a hurry to get to the end of a project. “Nope. It’s too grainy. Set the beater on low, scrape the sides frequently, fold the batter together and repeat. Let time and the ingredients do their magic.”

Reluctantly, I started again, following her directions blowing out my frustration all the while. “This takes too long.” 

“Creaming is the most important step in the whole process,” Mother said. “If you hurry the creaming, the cookies will come out crumbly. Creaming is what makes them chewy and delectable. Don’t rush the creaming. It takes time but the result is worth it.”

I slowed down and watched with wonder as the goo gradually melded into a creamy, light texture, the ingredients transforming before my eyes.

As I carefully creamed for the snicker doodles, Mother’s words came back to me. I thought about our instant society, how we crave immediate results, the growing tendency to hurry through life in the fastest checkout line. In our haste we blunder through the mix of it all, leaving globs of broken dreams in the muck of our speed.

I thought how the creaming principle is true in all the rooms of our lives, not just the kitchen. We tend to rush for the pleasure without enduring the process. God has given us the recipe for a rich, textured life. If we take the time to cream it, not be satisfied with grainy goo or toss it aside because of its unpleasantness—if we repeatedly scrape, fold and beat for as long as it takes, the grimy gook of our shattered hopes will become that creamed foundation that awakens the flavor of our human experience.  

An award winning author, Rondeau’s stories provide a wide assortment of unforgettable characters who journey paths not unlike our own. Her debut novel, The Other Side of Darkness, a novel dealing with PTSD, won the 2012 Selah Award in its category. Her story, It Really IS a Wonderful Life, featuring a war widow, continues to be a best seller in its category. The popular A Christmas Prayer (renamed A Father’s Prayer) reaches an audience for special needs children. Days of Vines and Roses features an estranged couple battling demonic forces. Joy Comes to Dinsmore Street demonstrates the destructive influence of family secrets. Her loved non-fiction, I Prayed for Patience/God Gave Me Children demonstrates how the experience of parenting teaches us what it means to be God’s child.

Contact her through her website, www.lindarondeau.com, or email lindarondeau@gmail.com or through her social media pages: Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads.  

               

A FATHER'S PRAYER (ALSO KNOWN AS A CHRISTMAS PRAYER)

Can Yogi Yield to Yoda?

By H. Kirk Rainer

Returning to Yogi (and life beyond Yellowstone Park), there has been a most interesting development.  Yes indeed, an encounter from a galaxy far, far away.  No; I’m not talking about Marvin the Martian or The Jetsons, but a far more formidable character, chief among the Jedi Knights. Yes, it’s none other than the small but smart, supernatural and strange-speaking Star War’s “Yoda”.   

Yogi is having a close encounter of another kind; one who uses The Force—preferably for good, not bad or evil.  Yogi is not bad or evil, but he does have a credible history of criminal activity:  theft or larceny of lunch baskets.  And with Yellowstone being a national park, such criminal activity could be a federal offense.  So imagine the irony of Boo now fighting crime (with Scobby Doo) while Boo’s bosom buddy is under investigation for committing it (talk about being left holding the [lunch] bag).  

An encounter indeed; for Yoda possesses the power (The Force) to make Yogi’s so-called retirement a rather pleasant one:  his hunger for lunches, his thirst for crime, may be satiated by supernatural

powers so able to extract picnic baskets, lunchboxes and the like with from the unprepared and powerless; and while there is no such thing as a free lunch, there is much merit to the mantra:”The Force be with you”.  

Yogi encounters Yoda.

“Yo-there Yoda, you’re looking very green today.”

With a pensive expression, Yoda crinkles his nose.

“Hungry, you are?” 

“Huh; oh yes, my stomach knows no bounds.  Think of it like—like Space!” 

With a changing expression of annoyance, Yoda asks:

            “’Like Space’, your appetite?” 

            “Yah, you know:  unending in all directions, but fascinating all the same.” 

Yoda, with a tolerance suitable of the being he is. replies:

            “Quite the gift of gab, you have.” 

            “I’m think of myself as gregarious; a friendly fellow with a bit of a quick paw.” 

            “What of me do you think?”      

            “Well, since you ask, I think you should summon The Force and work me up some lunch”

Raising his staff toward a KFC, Yoda concentrates on a 9 piece bucket of traditional chicken.

Yogi, with some awareness and anticipation of what’s levitating his way, remarks: 

            “Now that’s what I call a force for good!  You are the man.”

            “And smarter than the average bear, you are.” 

H. Kirk Rainer was born in Atlanta Georgia, on June 16, 1961; at the present, and for the foreseeable future, he has made his home in Alabama. 

At this time in his life, Kirk is busy in the general direction of writing; both in training and in practicing this new found endeavor.   At the same time, he continues to ply his skills and education as an industrial engineer.

His writing is largely a reflection of his own experience through post-divorce and non-custodial life (around year 2000). To this purpose, he has gained much support and understanding from such organizations as:  the American Coalition for Fathers and Children (acfc.org); Alabama Family Rights Association (alfra.org); Protect Fathers' Right (protectfathersrights.org); and allied resources.

To learn more, please visit www.hkirkrainer.org  and  www.alwaysfather.com.

TAKES TWO

TAKES TWO

By Ada Brownell

Only a few days ago Science News featured a study in Hungary that found dogs have long-term memory. I could have saved them the money and the trouble. We had a male poodle named Macho who remembered the vet’s office from the parking lot, even though he hadn’t been there for six months. He dragged the leash the wrong way with his brakes on when I headed for the door.

Macho could detect what was ahead when I started gathering up towels and doggie shampoo. He’d head for the hills--a spot on the couch under a pillow or anywhere, in an attempt to keep from taking a bath.

I haven’t been around many animals, but I’ve seen chickens who could recall how to peck a certain place and receive food, and I’ve seen all sorts of critters, bugs and slimmey things that have memory. Then why, when a human gets old will a name he knows as well as his own escape him?

One day I couldn’t think of the word “pretzel.” I burned my brain going through the alphabet but it wouldn’t come. In the middle of the night I woke and there it was. I had it! Pretzel! No longer was it that little squiggly thing we deep fry and sprinkle with salt or cinnamon and sugar.

Am I developing Alzheimer’s Disease or another form of dementia? How could I tell? But I’ve heard if you can’t remember something important and you know it, you’re probably safe.

One blessing I’ve discovered is being married helps. When we take off in the car, one of us might point and say, “Where are you going? It’s that way.” Or one of us might yell, “Look out!” and prevent an accident.

Sometimes it takes two of us to prepare a meal. But being married comes in handiest when we’re talking. We fill in the blanks for each other when the other person can’t think of a name or word.

When God created marriage, he said “Two shall be one flesh” (Genesis 2:24).

I’ve discovered when you’re senior citizens, it takes two to be one.

                                                      ***

Note: Emerging evidence from the Alzheimer’s Association Find a chapter near you suggests there are steps we can take to help keep our brain healthier as we age.

 “Mentally stimulating activities strengthen brain cells and the connections between them, and may even create new nerve cells,” a spokesman wrote.

• MAYO CLINIC STAFF http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/alzheimers-disease/DS00161/DSECTION=prevention say we may be able to lower Alzheimer's disease risk by reducing risk for heart disease. Important factors that also may be involved include high blood pressure, high blood cholesterol, excess weight and diabetes.
• Mayo Clinic’s experts for those at high risk of dementia encourage physical activity, cognitive stimulation, social engagement and a healthy diet. They also teach memory compensation strategies that help optimize daily function even if brain changes progress. Keeping active — physically, mentally and socially — may make your life more enjoyable and may also help reduce the risk of Alzheimer's disease.

A.B. Brownell has been writing for Christian publications since age 15 and spent much of her life as a daily newspaper reporter. She has a BS degree in Mass Communications and worked most of her career at The Pueblo Chieftain in Colo., where she spent the last seven years as a medical writer. After moving to Springfield, MO in her retirement, she continues to free lance for Christian publications and write non-fiction and fiction books.

Joe the Dreamer: The Castle and the Catapult  http://buff.ly/XeqTvH or https://www.createspace.com/3962829

Swallowed by LIFE: http://buff.ly/TLkr0a

Confessions of a Pentecostal: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0088OP460

      Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/AdaBrownellWritingMinistries

     Twitter: @adellerella

     Blog: http://inkfromanearthenvessel.blogspot.com

Perfect Change

 

When we moved from a city of millions to a rural farming community, I expected change. But not this kind.

Our first week in a town of nine thousand people and three stoplights, we visited the farm and garden supply. At the checkout stand, my city-girl eyes grew two sizes when I saw the counter display. I was used to chewing gum, celebrity magazines, and breath mints. Now I stared at udder salve and chocolate-covered caramel patties in the shape of cow. . . well, you know.

 

When I let the cats out one morning and a grotesque creature greeted me by waving its claws in the air, I panicked. “There’s a huge insect on our back porch,” I cried to my husband. “Come quick before it attacks our kitties!” As Kevin rubbed sleep from his eyes, his chuckle grew loud, then louder. “That is a crawdad, Jeanette—I learned about them in fourth grade. It must’ve crawled up here from the creek bank after the rain last night. It’s more afraid of your cats than you are of it.”

But we got the shock of our lives two days after Christmas, when Kevin’s car spun out of control on the icy highway and landed in the ditch. A neighbor let him into her house and allowed him to call the towing service, then me. She wasn’t afraid Kev would rob her, and she didn’t make fun of him for setting the cruise control while driving on ice. “Every winter, three or four people land in the ditch on that curve—welcome to the club!”

Our insecure world changes by the minute. Although God promises protection, the changes are not always good. So, when we discovered kindness amidst the cow patties and crawdads, we realized we’d found the perfect change.

 

 

“Nutty with a dash of meat” best describes Jeanette Levellie’s speaking, writing and life. She has published hundreds of humor/inspirational columns, articles, greeting cards, and poems. A spunky pastor’s wife, Jeanette is the mother of two, grandmother of three, and waitress to four cats. Her debut humoros devotional book, Two Scoops of Grace withChuckles on Top, released in April, 2012, and is now an Amazon bestseller. Find her mirthful musings on www.jeanettelevellie.com

It's a Small(er) World

 

While eating baby back ribs recently, I noticed how napkins are shrinking. It’s bad enough that manufacturers inject air into them to make them appear plump. Now they’re decreasing their size.  One used to cover my whole lap; these days it barely fits on the top third of a thigh.

Candy bars have also been shrinking with the times.  Years ago, it took me five bites to eat my Gooey-Wooey bar. Today I have to get out Grandma’s magnifying glass to gaze at its loveliness before I pop it into my mouth and down it in two nibbles.

And have you been as shocked as I have how ice cream containers dwindled overnight from half a gallon to 1.5 quarts? We used to serve ice cream with our birthday cakes. Nowadays we simply wave the carton over each plate as a sweet remembrance of bigger times.

Coffee can shrinkage is another travesty.  Remember when you bought coffee by the pound? These days it comes in 12 or 13 oz. packages, for the same price.  Soon they’ll be selling it by the cup, and charging $3.50 a slurp. Oh, they’re already doing that.

 

TV shows take up only 45 minutes instead of 52; modern cars are the size of my grandson’s scooter; even band-aids barely cover a boo-boo anymore.

But what shrinkage do you suppose has created the greatest stress to my life in the last five years? Yep, you guessed it. My clothes continue to get smaller and smaller…

Wife of one, mother of two, servant of four (cats)

A spunky pastor’s wife of thirty-plus years, Jeanette Levellie authors a bi-weekly humor/inspirational column, God is Bigger, a popular feature in the Paris Beacon News since 2001. She has published stories in Guideposts anthologies, Love is a Verb with Gary Chapman, articles in Christian and secular magazines, greeting card verses, and poems for calendars. She is a lively, popular speaker for both Christian and secular groups, and a trained vocalist.

Jeanette’s bestselling humor/inspirational book, Two Scoops of Grace with Chuckles on Top, published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas,  released in April, 2012.  Visit Jeanette on her blog, On Wings of Mirth and Worth, at www.jeanettelevellie.com, and on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=1796624570

 

 

Health Care- It's Making Me Sick!

Health Care- It's Making Me Sick!

by Kevin Parsons

I'm not whining that health care is expensive, but the other day I refinanced the house for my annual exam. And yes, my doctor drives a Mercedes, but when I saw a laboratory rat driving one, that seemed excessive. 

When you visit the doctor's, they hand you a pen and clipboard. Wow. Welcome to the 1800s. And you know you fill out the paper and hand it to the nurse, someone back there is going to take your information and sell it to Google.

And the questions, you don't know these people! 'Do you smoke? Do you drink? Do you have an irregular heartbeat?' Yes, when I see my bill.

But actually, if they need so much information from you, why don't they get it from Google? They wouldn't even have to ask the questions. "So, Mr. Parsons, we see that you engage in risky behaviors. Did you know you ran twelve yellow lights last month?"

They always check your blood pressure. Wouldn't it register lower if they checked it before you had to pay? Or before you filled out the questionnaire? I look at the list of questions and wonder if I DO have some of those maladies. Maybe you could check your blood pressure before you got there. You could pay homeless people to give blood pressure checks out on the sidewalk. Now you could shave health care costs and help somebody else out. 

And the waiting room. There must be a service that provides seven year old magazines. I read an article about how the ice man's job is in jeopardy. And who wants to sit around and wait? Maybe they could learn from the Apple Store. The doctors and nurses wander around and help you on the spot. Oops, got a visual there. Definitely not going to work. 

When they put you in the examination room, they should heat it. You put on those thin backward gowns and stick to the frozen table like a kid's tongue to a flagpole. Why don't they heat the tables and chairs? And since health care is so expensive, they should make it feel like you're getting something. That paper tablecloth you sit on, for instance. Wouldn't you feel better if it was smooth and soft, like the hide from an almost extinct animal? 

And everyone is in such a hurry. The nurse rushes in and takes your temperature. The doctor flies through and off to the next patient. Another nurse dashes in and takes all your money. 

The examination room is so sterile too, nothing on the walls except dire warnings about diseases. Why don't they show photographs of the doctor and his family on vacation at a five star hotel in Fiji? You'd get the message: "If you answered 'no' to more of the questions on the clipboard, we wouldn't be here."

 

Follow Kevin's '50 States in 50 Weeks' tour

www.kevinbparsons.blogspot.com

Hiss of Death

  

I think it was FDR who said, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." While I'm clearly not qualified to second-guess a man of Mr. Roosevelt's stature and wisdom, I beg to differ. While fear is indeed a powerful force, there are a couple of glaring omissions in that famous statement and if it were up to me, I'd amend it to read, "We have nothing to fear but fear itself--and of course, big hairy spiders and slimy, good-for-nothing snakes.



Low down, good-for-nothing snake.

There. Doesn't that make a lot more sense? 




Up to this point, I've handled spiders in much the same way as most other women do. I leave their demise (the crueler, the quicker, the better) to someone who is larger than me--and immeasurably taller, heavier and wearing bigger spider-thumpin' boots than his victim. As a child, I turned to my father; at home, I leave it to my son-in-law; elsewhere, it's any man who's handy at the moment. I wouldn't care if the President was busy delivering a State of the Union address--if I found a spider anywhere within a three-mile radius and he was the only man in the vicinity, it would be up to him to kill it.  And I mean right then. The sooner, the better. No thinking about it, no emergency Cabinet sessions, no stalling for the appropriate moment, no quibbling over the definition of the word "kill."  Now. 

My preferred method (and the one I always suggest to my hired gun) is to first drown the spider with an entire spray can of toxic chemical, stomp it into an unrecognizable goo, then grind the goo into the ground/floor/cement, and follow up with final flushing down the toilet. If it were up to me, I'd add firepower, flames and explosive devices to the routine, but none of the men I've depended on over the years to do my dirty work would allow it. Wimps.

Snakes, unfortunately, are a different story. You don't often spray a snake to death, stomping them to smithereens is a bit too messy, and flushing them down the toilet is just not an option. In addition, snakes are sneaky, slimy and shiftless. In short, snakes are the enemy.

Well, I have met the enemy--and his name is Sam. He's an extraordinarily ugly little guy and lives in our gardening shed, along with some equally disgusting spiders, I'm sure. As if having the devil's playmate (and his henchmen) living in my back yard weren't bad enough, I have reason to believe the little demon's stalking me. I feel his beady eyes watching me whenever I venture outside the back door. He is, as my Dad would say, nothing but a lowdown, rotten snake-in-the-grass.

I'm not sure what kind of snake Sam is. I've never gotten close enough to look. Frankly, it wouldn't matter to me if he were St. Snake of Assisi--I'd still detest him. For a brief time this spring, I entertained a faint hope that he'd moved to Timbuktu or Siberia--or better yet, just plain died. But, oh no. Not Sam. He just grew longer and fatter and sneakier and slimier over the winter months. He also acquired a family and occasionally, his son (dubbed... what else? "Son of Sam") comes out to sun himself with his creepy dad. I'm sure he's being taught everything Sam, Sr. knows about the fine art of stalking. I shudder to think of it.

I must admit that the snake species hasn't had many good role models over the years. None, in fact. The first and most notorious of those role models brought eternal sin to mankind and our relationship with the serpent kingdom has gone downhill ever since. There are no fairy tales starring adorable snakes, you won't ever find one (thank goodness) tucked into a stocking come Christmas morning, and you seldom see a baby nursery decorated in a spiffy pastel "fang and rattler" theme. Still, a lot of God's creatures grow up with no moral guidance or parental support and you don't find them dangling from tree limbs enticing humans into a life of sin. No, the snake, by nature, is a morally depraved creature and as such, deserves our scorn.

But summer is over and, hopefully, the cold, hard winter will take its toll on Sam and his brood. I guess I'll find out next spring. In the meantime, I can still feel his little devil eyes boring into me as he watches my every move. Recently, I ran across a snakeskin--a grotesque reminder of his nasty intentions. The message was clear. I could almost hear his obscene little hiss: "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm still stalking you. And now.... I'm naked."

***********************

Deborah Dee Harper (formerly from Michigan, Kentucky, Alaska, Mississippi, back to Alaska, and now Tennessee) still hates snakes and spiders. She's the mother to three, grandmother to six, and lives with her oldest daughter and her husband and their 18-month-old daughter (Molly), three cats, a black lab, a rabbit, and eight hermit crabs. Deborah writes inspirational and humorous Christian fiction for both children and adults. Her children's adventure book, Laramie on the Lam, was recently published and she just signed a three-book contract for an adult Christian fiction series. The first book, Misstep, will be published soon.

She can be reached at http://www.deborahdeeharper.com or deborahdeetales@gmail.com. She'd love to hear from you!



MOSES WAS AN OLD DUDE

By Carol Howell

Did you know Moses was 80 when God called him to talk to Pharaoh about freeing the Israelites?   

Moses was an old dude, for sure.  

Then God decided to give Moses a break, and He arranged for Aaron to come along and help Moses.  Guess what?  Aaron was 83!  Now I’m not so sure I would consider an 83 year old man to be much of a helper, but we all know God has a sense of humor.

Our pastor used this passage of scripture in Exodus as the text for his sermon this week. 

 Being someone who works with senior citizens every day, and someone who writes about senior citizens in both blog and book format, this little tidbit of information on Moses and Aaron caught my attention.

I think it is one of the ways God reminds us to recognize the benefit senior citizens have in our lives.  

We are often quick to disregard their stories or ideas.  We seem to forget they have knowledge beyond anything we have experienced.  We ignore their education, both formal and informal.

God decided to call on the wisdom Moses had gained in his 80 years on Earth, and He enhanced that wisdom with Aaron and his talents garnered through 83 years of being alive.  If God looks this way on the senior citizens, shouldn’t we?  Hope that gives you Something To Ponder.

Carol Howell is a Certified Dementia Specialist and Music Therapy Coach.  Her book - If My Body Is A Temple, Why Am I Eating Doughnuts? - is available for e-readers at www.amazon.com and www.barnesandnoble.com .  She is currently taking orders for her soon to be released book - Let's Talk Dementia ...With A Splash of Humor.   Contact her at carol@seniorlifejourneys.com or read more at www.seniorlifejourneys.com.   

Got Tattoos?

 Got Tattoos? 

            My former co-worker, Linda comes up with some great lines, but my favorite one is “I’m trying to remember what I think I know.” 

            I love her for saying that. I know she did it on purpose to make me feel better for the time I sent my son to the store for ‘some liquid stuff you put on your cereal in the morning’ because I couldn’t think of the word ‘milk.’ But my worst case of memory lapse was when I answered the phone several years ago in the midst of a stressful day and chirped, “Citizens Bank, this is…..” I thought it was outrageously funny that I had forgotten my own name, but the customer on the other end was not amused!

            Aren’t you relieved God never forgets you? From before the world was shaped, He knew you and had a perfect, magnificent plan for your life. Before you ever said “Yes” to Him, He had you in His heart.

copyright, Ron Levellie, 2011
 

            In fact, He has a very unique way of remembering all of His kids: tattoos. If you don’t believe me, look at Isaiah 49:15,16:  “Can a woman forget her nursing child? And have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.”  God is so in love with you, so thoughtful of your needs that He’s tattooed you on His hands!

            What, you don’t think God would actually put a tattoo of you in His hand? “That’s a pretty painful way to keep me in His mind,” you may be saying. No more painful than nails in His hands and feet. Or a whip on His back. Or, the rejection of His own family and nation. But to Him, you were worth all the pain He endured, just to have you in His family and spend eternity with you. He knew that the pain of His death and separation from His Father wouldn’t last forever, but You would. So He willingly gave His life in your place.

            If He’d go to such a painful death in your place, how could He possibly forget you now? “He who did not spare His own Son, but freely gave Him up for us all, how much more will He freely give us all things?”  Romans 8: 32. 

            When you have sacrificed your own comfort to give to someone in need, He does not forget your labor of love. When you have spent time in prayer for a person who’s wronged you, He remembers your graciousness. When you long to tell someone off but keep your mouth shut, He notes your self control. Every time you pass up a sin or repent of one, He remembers your obedience. And when you are in trouble and anguish, He hears every cry and saves every tear.

            Whether God has actually tattooed or simply written you on His hand, you are forever on His mind. Unlike Linda, me or any of us, He never forgets a name: yours.
 

          The above is an excerpt from Jeanette Levellie's bestselling humorous devotional, Two Scoops of Grace with Chuckles on Top. Connect with Jeanette for more laughter and grace at her website, On Wings of Mirth and Worth.