False Teeth and Pastors

My pastor has been on my mind and heart lately because he has been through so much in recent days. He is an incredible man with a true heart for God and for people and, when that's who you are, you go through a lot. He lives his faith. He's the real deal.

So naturally, this has led me to think of false teeth. Not that he has any, false teeth I mean, he has actual teeth (though I haven't tried to remove them so I'll do that and get back to you). But I had another pastor I dearly loved when I was four years old and he had enormous false teeth. This one fact can highly recommend you to four-year-olds, especially if you take the teeth out on demand. You must then extrude them from your mouth just far enough to resemble a scene from "Aliens." At this point you should snap and clack them a few times, and then suck them back in. What is not to love here?

I constantly demanded that this fabulous talent be demonstrated and he never let me down. In addition, from my diminutive perspective, he was at least thirteen feet tall. I would ask to be lifted up and he would perch me on his shoulders. This afforded me a view of the surrounding countryside as well as a direct look into his snapping jaws. I could bend over, twist my head around, and watch from two inches away with abject horror and complete fascination.

I had no idea this man was my pastor. His name was Brother Whitaker but every single man in our little backwater Southern Baptist church was Brother Something-Or-Other. Nothing about the title caused me any sort of appropriate awe or reverence. I presumed he had been created for my entertainment. Apparently, I paid no attention in church or I might have noticed him in the pulpit. I was too busy flirting with Ronnie Miller.

Ronnie Miller was about 18 years old and as handsome as a movie star. And he sported his own teeth. My mother always sat towards the front but Ronnie was in the back. Every time I would sashay by, and I made frequent excuses because I needed to take a good, long look at him in all his glory, he would talk to me. He would never fail to tell me he was going to marry me when I grew up. I believed him without doubt. On Sundays, I would smooth out my crinoline and shine my patent leather shoes to be sure I looked like marriage material. And he would not fail to remind me that we were an item.

One Saturday, he two-timed me and married a girl named Sharon. He walked her right up the aisle I had walked down a hundred times just to stare at him. She had nothing on me as far as I could tell and it made absolutely no sense. My heart was a shambles and I never loved again until I was eight. Even now I run into him at get-togethers and always remind him that he left me at the altar, sort of. That's how un-petty I am.

I soothed my little soul with dental entertainment. Brother Whitaker and his choppers were good medicine. Food helped, too. One time he took my brother to church camp and let me ride along up to Hume Lake. Those were the good old days when kids could stand in the front seat and launch through the windshield when you had to stop fast. Along the way he bought me a whole pack of Oreo cookies and a carton of milk. These were rare treats in my life. By the time we had traveled up and back and spent nearly a day, my milk was sour. I took a big drink, spit it across the room, and howled. In typical good-guy fashion he took me to the store and bought more milk. Some guys know how to treat a lady.

I will always wonder what became of Brother Whitaker and his teeth. He and his wife left our church not long after those days. I doubt he ever found a more appreciative audience for his special talent but he certainly laid down a fondness in my heart for pastors who are willing to go above and beyond.

And now, having come full circle, I appreciate a pastor who tends to my soul and does not feel the least compelled to share his dental work with me. So, maybe I won't check his teeth. He has been a gift from God and you should never look a gift pastor in the mouth, unless you're four.

Copyright 2009

Saying Goodbye

On Saturday we say a temporary goodbye to an incredible man: our friend Norm. He and his wife and daughters have walked through the journey of ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease, for the last two years with grace and patience. I sit on the sidelines and know, without doubt, I could never have had the strength Norman has exhibited. It is in that strength he has decided to let go of the machines that keep him alive and embrace the new, robust life waiting for him in heaven...in God's presence....whole and restored and rejoicing to see the Savior he has loved so dearly and served so well.

I won't even try to speak to the private moments and the long paths that led to this decision because I don't know them and I have no place there. I have merely been a spectator to an exquisite love story between Norman, Debra, and their girls, and my words could add absolutely nothing.

But what I would like to say is this:

Norm, the first time I saw you I didn't see you at all: I heard you - laughing. You always laughed, a big hearty light-up-your face laugh, and you made me, and everyone else, bust up right along with you. Even last night when we came to see you and try, somehow, to say good-bye, you made us belly laugh. How is that possible? Weren't we supposed to be somber and reflective? But, in typical form, you cracked a joke and we were off to the races. With only your eyes to affirm chosen letters and with your precious wife, Debra, to translate, you worked us.

When the girls called to say one of your dogs, Remi, was sick (and we all went through a laundry list of what he could have eaten), you spelled, "Maybe..Remi..ate..Nugget's..poop." (Nugget being another one of your dogs.) We laughed over that but Debra said she didn't think that was the problem. We could all tell she was worried, especially where your young daughters were concerned, about anything happening to their baby dog and causing them more sadness, so you lightened the mood even more. You indicated to Debra you had something else to add. "Maybe," you said, "Remi.....ate......Nugget." And then you lifted your eyebrows and rolled your eyes in that way that makes a person crack up even if you hadn't made a wisecrack. Debra repeated your words with a mock-scathing tone of incredulity and complete adoration, while Jamie and the kids and I burst out laughing. We couldn't help it and you didn't want us to.

It was plain to see, Norm, that you weren't filled with dread. You wanted to share joy with us, and hope, and even genuine merriment because that's how you lived and you eagerly anticipated where you were headed. You wanted us to see God's grace and, as always, to point us to Him. How could we see anything else when we considered who you were and how you lived your life?

It's not enough but I want to say thank you. I want to pay tribute in some small way to how you touched us. I'll miss you. We'll miss you. It's so very hard to say goodbye. However, we know without doubt, truly, we will all be together again. And knowing you and I, we'll be fighting for airspace on who can make 'em laugh the longest. You're gettin' a headstart and, with your delivery? I don't stand a chance.

See you there, Norm.

With Love,

Robynn

Observational Twitter 8

Adage:

"Walk softly and carry a big stick." Theodore Roosevelt quoting a West African proverb.

Epigram:

"Walk hard and carry a gun." Robynn Reilly

(Disclaimer: My personal views may be modestly impacted by having played fire hydrant tonight to a two-legged pittbull who simply chews up shoes and sticks. Ah committees.....Someone once said, "A moose is a horse made by a committee" to which I would add "I'm ridin' Bullwinkle off into the sunset." Goodnight saddle pals!)

Copyright 2009

"I'd Like to Thank All The Big People"

I am the proud recipient of the "Honest Scrap Award." I was nominated by Libby, of Neas Nuttiness. She took me under her wing when I decided to merge onto the blogger freeway and has been pointing me in all the right directions. She bragged on me to her friends and sent several of them my way by raving about a posting and linking it from her site. They became followers and friends, too. How do you top that? And she only met me here. (Okay, that may explain a lot. She doesn't know me well enough yet to run the other way...)

The Rules:

The honorees are to:A) first list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!) and B) pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap.

Thank you, Libby, for this award and I'll try to come up with ten things people might not know but would want to, though they may change their minds. My life's been pretty bizarre and a whole bunch of it wouldn't be fit for a family page but, I'll take a shot.

1. I once sang for the funeral of a beloved older woman in our church. I was very saddened by her passing so I was appropriately somber and subdued as I performed. I was also impeccably clothed with my dress on backwards. It was a two-piece number, skirt and top, and I had no idea until the pastor's ten-year-old daughter asked me afterwards why the pockets of the shirt were on the back. Yes, I performed like this. No, the bonfire wasn't that big when I burned the dress.

2. When I met my husband I was camping in the high Sierras by myself. Well, sort of. I had my big ol' dog, Buck, and a 38. Jamie was camping alone too, sort of....he had his big ol' dog, Hooter (don't ask), a 357, a 22, and a shotgun. He watched me from afar as I pitched a tent big enough for six people (hey, I like comfort). He was straightening out the sheet he'd slung over a rope and nailed to the ground on four corners. (He hates it when I describe his pup tent this way but it's my blog so I get to take liberties!) Mind you, he didn't introduce himself until my tent construction was all done. This should have been a sign to me. It wasn't. Twenty-two years later we're still camping together, happily so most of the time, and we haven't shot each other yet. I'm not sure if that testifies to our markmanship or not having enough ammunition at the right time.

3. I have homeschooled my children from the very beginning and I'm getting ready to graduate my oldest. I think the Peace Corp had homeschoolers in mind when they coined the slogan, "It's the Hardest Job You'll Ever Love." The best and worst thing about homeschooling is being with your children 24 hours a day. You also don't get to blame those doggone teachers for your kids' bad habits and for everything they don't know. They imitate you. Oh dear Lord. I have created far more questions about how to do this right than I have ever formulated answers. There are lots of right ways (don't ever let some demi-goddess tell you differently) but there are a few real doozy ways to mess it up. Being so in love with your children that you don't see what needs fixing and having the guts to do it, would top the list. These are the shin kickers, the smart mouths, the disdainful, the sullen. If you have children like that and aren't heartily applying yourself to the fix, save yourself the trouble of knocking because I'm almost positive I'm not home.

4. When I was six-months-old I was given up for adoption by my father when my mother went into the hospital for five months. When she got out she wanted to know where in the heck I was and brought me back home. I'm still pondering whether or not that was a good decision but the next fifteen years would give me enough material to fill a couple of books.

5. I left home at fifteen - for good.

6. I have cleaned motel rooms and other people's toilets and eventually went to college and became a sales rep, and then manager, for a consumer products manufacturer for nine years. I saw places I had only dreamt of: New York City, Toronto, Niagra Falls, both coasts of Florida several times, the beautiful Arizona desert, among other places. I met one of my (still) very best friends on my first trip to New York. We were both dating James Reillys who were younger than us. Hers became part of ancient history. Mine is in the livingroom building a computer for our son. Most of the time he's glad it worked out this way.

7. I have snorkeled off the coast of Kaua'i in the pitch blackness of night with only a flashlight, my husband, and my children. We did have a six-inch knife to protect us from "Jaws" and the depths of the ocean's unseen horrors. We lived through the inky blackness, saw a beautiful bright orange octopus, tons of fish, of course, and snorkeled there several more times in the light of day. Two weeks later a fourteen-year-old little surfer girl had her right arm severed by a shark right where we'd been. We were also 1/2 mile out when they issued a Tsunami warning after an 8.0 earthquake hit Japan. We never knew until we got back in. The Tsunami never came but if it had we'd have been hanging a lot more than ten.

8. I sang before I could talk. I love music. I play rhythm guitar and sang in different country music bands for ten years when I was younger. I've been to Nashville and hung out at Tootsie's Orchid Lounge and Ernest Tubb's Record Shop. My big break there fell through due to an unscrupulous manager and I didn't have the heart to stick it out alone and keep pluggin'. Would I have made it? Hey, I did make it. Best gig I ever had was singing my babies lullabies and I ALWAYS wanted babies.

9. I once fell off my horse from not properly securing her bareback saddle. She cut a tight corner and I cut a fine picture sliding right underneath her belly for my graceful dismount. I don't know who got more scared but she put on quite a Wild West Show with hooves and teeth and tail and mane all flying in every direction. When it was over I'd seen a lot of horse but I never sustained so much as a broken fingernail. God determined it was not my day for facial reconstruction.

10. I love animals. I have had dogs, cats, birds (wild and domestic), horses, fish, snakes, spiders, rats, rabbits, chickens, sheep, and even insects (not counting fleas). I have been puked on, loved on, pooped on, and slept on. I have been elbow deep fishing a thermometer out of a horse's behind (who knew they just get sucked in?) and I have operated on a couple of critters in a pinch. My life must include them in order to keep me sane. Oh...and I MUST have mountains. I live at the base of the Sierras and I wish I lived 7000 ft. higher. I can never see them enough or smell them enough and, if I'm ever rich, that's where I'll live and write - in a comfy log cabin with a cheery fire, a cat on my keyboard, and a dog at my feet. When I die I want to be cremated and scattered there so I can become one with the trees, the duff, the rocks, the woods. As every mile of pavement or dirt road leads me deeper into the mountains, I feel as though I'm heading home. Everywhere else has just been a place to visit. When The Lord comes and sounds the last trump, He will know where to find what's left of me: dead or alive.

Ross Meadow

Dinkey Creek Road

Tamarck Meadow - Hunter and JoJo

Courtright Reservoir Area
Toward the West from Pine Ridge

Kings Canyon near John Muir Lodge
Northern California Redwood Forest

Oregon Caves Chateau - We were the only family there one night
Near Wawona in Yosemite

Some of the places I love the most......

Now I'm supposed to pass on this award to 7 bloggers that I think fit the spirit of the "Honest Scrap", so I am passing it on to a few who have already received it but I feel they deserve it again, if only for honorary purposes, and a few who haven't received it as far as I know:

Libby of Neas Nuttiness: This goes back to her because she cared enough to invest time in me and try to get others to do the same. She is real, honest, extremely caring, and we make each other laugh. She also writes about interesting things and takes risks. And she goes out walkin', after midnight (even if it's just in the house), like me 'n Patsy Cline, another insomniac apparently.

Tatersmama: She lets it all hang out and in the funniest ways. She's never afraid to tell it like it is while still finding the silver lining in everything, and she'll help you find it, too, and cheer you up with her beautiful colors. She also brings a tear to my eye when she tells me she spews her morning coffee while reading my blog. That's poetry, that's what that is.

A Cowboy's Wife: She is a kickin', stompin', scrap of a woman who'll make you laugh and cry with her upfront tell-it-like-it-is style. She's hard-scrabble and you'd want her on your side in a dark alley or while enduring a broken heart, 'cause she'd get it and she wouldn't run away and she might even clean your kitchen. She's organized. I wish she lived a LOT closer. I'd give her a heart attack and a lot to do. Boy, I bet she'd jump at a chance like that.

Gizzards & Calf Fries: I follow her around reading her posts to others because they make me bust up and split a seam. I started following her and she can't get rid of me. She takes the most beautiful pictures and she's a darlin' girl. You just gotta go look at her. But be careful: she photographs the south end of north bound cows.

Tetertot's: Reginia has been a friend for a long time and has the most generous spirit and humblest of hearts. She's devoted to whatever God calls her to. She could be really stuck up (but of course she's not) because she sings better than just about anybody. She's gotta be tired of the saying "The Voice of an Angel" because that's how we all describe her. And these are her bad points. Her blog is real and about her life and the wonderful children she has every right to be proud of: her beautiful (inside and out) daughters and her son who is proudly serving his country in the Marines.

Linda at Another Piece of the Pie: If you haven't seen the cup Linda's husband bought her while in Salt Lake City then I'm not saying anything else. She is so creative and funny and is always such an encouragement. She also takes great close-up pics and makes the everyday seem fascinating.

Lori She doesn't post as often but when she does it's like a storybook and, as we've been friends for years, I love her subject matter (kiddos, grandbaby, and friends) very much. Her and her husband should write volumes because they are gifted wordsmiths....and musicians.....and singers......I only hang out with the best. Follow them around very long and they'll lead you right to the heart of Christ.

So there you have it. I strongly encourage you to check these people out. And when you do, drop them a line in their comment sections. It means SO much to hear from people and it takes so little time to carve your initials in their blog. If you are a friend of mine and I didn't nominate you it's not because I didn't want to. I have another award I received and you are sure to show up there when I pass it on.

Copyright 2009

S O S

Hey Friends - Just a quick note to ask something.....

Is anyone having trouble seeing my background? The center section should look like a dark brown fence and one of my friends said it came up looking white for them. Since my lettering is a shade of beige, that's not good. I'm trying now to determine what the problem is. If you could let me know what you're seeing that would be great. Thanks.

The Breast and the Beast

For You....My Dear, Sweet Friend

(and you know who you are...)

I am declaring today a "Breast Cancer Awareness Day" in honor of one of my dearest friends.

She got the news yesterday that no one wants to hear.

She will overcome....she is strong....she caught it early.....she did her mammograms.....

she is overwhelmed.

Please....to all my friends here, female (AND male, because you have wives, daughters, sisters, mothers, and others), go to the phone and make that mammogram appointment. I did. Mine's overdue. Is yours?

Don't put it off. I realize there are other methods of detection. There is ultrasound, thermography, even MRI. But like the Nike commercial says, "Just Do It." Do something. Do your self-exam. But just don't pretend you don't have breasts and they don't need your attention. You don't want them to remind you.

When this is over and you are healed....

And you will be....

We will fly the flags and celebrate.....

As only we can.

I'm here....always will be.....as you have always been for me. I'm asking for prayer on your behalf and there are lots of wonderful people here who will lift you up.

Playing Dress Up

Okay, I'm in the dressing room again and trying this on for size. You all are my 3-way mirror. Tell me if you think this new design makes my butt look big(ger).

I just figure I'm like the neighbor who's jonesin' to tell you somethin' over the fence every ten minutes, so, maybe the fence motif would work for me....for a week or two. I cannot find the look I want. My daughter is writing all the code for my web launch sometime in the spring. Maybe then I will finally capture what I want. It's her senior project so I don't even feel guilty (like I was really going to)....

And the grey/brown theme on the other page just really wasn't me. I like color. Too much sometimes. I'd be the Dolly Parton of blogs if I let myself go. Dolly says she's always enjoyed dressing up to where she practically looks like a call girl. She is attracted to the cheapest make-up, flashiest earrings, baubles, hair, perfume, eyelashes. That's probably what my blog would look like minus the scratch-n-sniff for the perfume. (You can just hang on to one of those samples that falls out of the "Oprah" magazine, or "Sod 'n Clod" or whatever....) Except I really like the outdoors, and the mountains especially. How do you combine all of those things into one tasteful presentation?

Let me know what you're thinkin' and please put up with me while I parade around in my boa and bright red lipstick. I'll find my look, I suppose, but if you have any suggestions, I'd love to look through your closet. Just tell me where to go. Well, you know what I mean.........