Tuesday, September 15, 2015

It was a learning experience, Ralph

We called him the little general.

And there are just so...many...memories.

Ralph is gone to boss the angels around now.

Of course he is in a better a place. But it is a better place -- definitely a more organized place -- because Ralph is there.

ALS took Ralph this week. The death angel of ALS was painfully slow doing his work. More than a year passed with that death eater on Ralph's shoulder.  The death eater of Lou Gehrig and the many ice bucket challenge warriors.

Ralph was not perfect or saintly -- far from it. But he did a lot of good. Helped a lot of people. Answered requests with generosity. Offered a helping hand with a side of practical business advice.

"If you need to get something done, ask a busy person to do it," Ralph said.

He was a champion of home missions -- helping those at home, blooming where you're planted and all that, instead of going into the world to preach the gospel. But if you asked him to help pay for your mission trip, he would ante up.

He loved a good salad -- one with goat cheese and cheddar cheese and nuts and peppers and grapes and boiled eggs and ham and turkey. But that's just what he got at my lunch counter.

He got fed all over. He loved Vic's fried chicken and all the unhealthy stuff Miss Mary would dish up in the buffet line. Hot cornbread. Potatoes with gravy.

He loved the golden Eagles. He loved his mother.

He liked being a televangelist, delivering a Sunday morning lesson on local TV for years.  He got a new car on the regular -- but never tried a different model. He delivered molasses and hundred dollar bills at Christmas.

Every Wednesday, he sent dozens of prayer cards to the sick. Most of the sick people who got those cards couldn't read his handwriting, but they knew he cared.

He probably bought more raffle tickets and fundraiser candy bars than anybody in Jones County.

In the months before the end, I did not see him. My bad, my loss, my sin of omission. He would have surely come to see me.

Nevertheless, I write to say goodbye, Ralph.



Give St. Peter a salute for me. And try to keep things organized.










Thursday, March 12, 2015

A long way … for sure

Every morning I wake up with a weird song running through my head.

Often it’s a praise song that persists for days.  That makes sense because -- as Joe Spell once said -- those are 7-11 songs – the same seven words sung 11 times. 

Of course that gets stuck to your brain.

Today, however, the song was the Virginia Slims jingle from the 70s. What the heck?

Fun fact: the Virginia Slims brand was introduced in 1968 and marketed to young professional women using the slogan "You've come a long way, baby."  Later campaigns have used the slogans, "It's a woman thing," in the 1990s, and "Find your voice."


I haven’t been smoking Virginia Slims. 

The theme of the song is totally off base.

Yet still it haunts me.

You’ve come a long way baby
To get where you got to today
You’ve got your own cigarette now baby
You’ve come a long, long way.

Lots of things indicate progress for women: birth control, female church deacons and pastors. Pants, for heaven’s sake.  But cigarettes? Not such a great picture of achievement.

What a smart marketing ploy, though. Who could resist that packaging with the lovely flower design tattooed around the cigarette?


The timed release of the Eve derivation of Virginia Slims was so perfect. I was growing into my feminist teen self – writing term papers on Title IX and debating topics like abortion and euthanasia in speech class.  All the while playing Juliet to my boyfriend’s Romeo in third period English.

But why, Virginia, why are you haunting me now?

I am wiser. Healthier.

Thanks to Jane Pauley and the Today Show, I know what lungs look like after you have injected your hazy, sexy smoke into them.




Jane quit after seeing this. For me, too, it was a revelation. It sort of blew the Virginia Slims ads away.

So get thee behind me Virginia.

I’ve come a long, long way.


Wednesday, March 4, 2015

When you can't get it locally ...

It's been a really long week for Toby.

My good friend Susie and I drove to Ft. Worth last week with Toby in the middle of the ice storm. After we arrived, we found his girlfriend wasn't ready.  Whatever the weather, he waited. Of course he was patient.

Providing sperm in a strange place has got to be exhausting. Like the vet said: It's not like we can show him doggy porn to get this accomplished.

So Toby went to Texas for a girl. He was fine with that.

Girl dog? Not so fine with it. She bared her teeth. She growled. She snarled.

Toby, standing there with the love of God in his heart, just waited. Girl dog has to be ready, the vet said. So Toby had to stay until she was ready. Isn't that how it always is? Like the country music song says:
"Might as well go on and get used to it
She'll take her time 'cause you don't mind
Waitin' on a woman."



If you really want the story, all I can say is, the union was not consummated. Therefore -- we have something called artificial insemination. We don't care how the sperm reaches the eggs, we just want a Toby puppy.

Monday and Tuesday, Toby dutifully provided sperm. Today, he got a ride home.

Susie, who participated in the entire escapade, says Toby needs a hot bath and his teeth brushed. No kidding.

So when Toby and I took a walk this evening, this sign at a church in my neighborhood just spoke volumes. I hope you, like Toby, will do the same.


Had to add this picture of sweet Baby Mama Greenlee….Cross your fingers for some lovely puppies!

Greenlee the lady who inspired the message: Gone to Texas