–Louis L’Amour  (Lando)

 

Death, Devastation and Destruction…  Pard, these storms this year have done plenty of that ‘specially that last one.  My mercy!  A work of nature or the hand of God?  Pard, we do know that the Lord is in control of the winds and waves, is He tryin’ to send us a message?  If’n so are we a-listenin’?

     Saw where they’re usin’ mules and horses to get supplies up in the mountain areas.  An’ I reckon those new-fangled electric cars are doin’ their share of duty…ha, parked somewheres ’cause there ain’t no electricity.  What I don’t see is much help comin’ from Uncle Sam (i.e., Biden and Harris).  Convoy of Hope is on the scene as is Samaritan’s Purse, but…where’s?? I’m not a-talkin’ ’bout handouts, I’m talkin’ ’bout a helpin’ hand.   Do we need to discuss leadership here?  I remember the media crawlin’ all over President Bush durin’ Katrina, but no outcry this time.  See, the liberal politician is the media’s pet.

     Like ol’ Louis said, sometimes after the storm the best thing to do is put on the coffee, then survey the damage.  After that…begin the work and always, through all of it, be thankin’ the Lord.  One ol’ boy said the other day that “hard times are like a wild horse.  Ya can’t dodge ’em, so stay in the saddle and hold on ’til the critter wears out.”  If’n yuh get thrown, after yuh get back on yur feet, check yurself out.  Make sure there’s no permanent damage, then dust yurself off an’ get back to work.  Don’t be a-dependin’ on the bureaucrats to help yuh out.

     Pard, in the midst of the storms that come into our lives I’m reminded of the ol’ sage Charles Tindley who wrote, “When the storms of life are raging, stand by me…  When the world is tossing me like a ship upon the sea, Thou who rulest wind and water, stand by me”.  Hunker down, hold on, pull yurself together, and get back to fixin’ things up.  Be prayin’ for those an’ liftin’ them up before the Lord.  An’ don’t forget yurself Pard.  If’n yuh don’t check yur cinch, yuh just might wind up in the mud yur ownself.

     Vaya con Dios.

                      –C.J. Petit  (Tate)

 

Now ain’t that sweet sentiment?  Pard, that’s the way it should be.  Along with a good, hot, strong, black cup of coffee all a person needs is a smile from his sweetie.  Do that in the mornin’ and it sets the tone for the whole day.  The truth be told, however, Pard, I’m usually the one who makes the coffee in the mornin’.  But when the wife gets up, there’s a “goon mornin'” then a hug.  Yep, that’s the way to get the day started, oh, along with meetin’ with the Lord first thing every mornin’.

     No philosophyzin’ or politicalizin’ this mornin’, just some coffee talk.  I read where one ol’ boy made his coffee so strong that he remarked to a vendor, “If I’m lucky, I make my week’s coffee and by Tuesday and don’t work the rest of the week.”  Pard, that must be some strong coffee.  I’ve heard the complaint that some folks put too much water in their coffee, but…  And from what I hear, and some say it’s the truth, that some old-time Texas Rangers made their coffee strong and thick enough to patch a pothole, but again, that’s just what I heard.

     My Grandpa Jones started rollin’ in his grave when he heard the price of coffee these days.  Grandpa owned a cafe in Boulder, CO and before that a pharmacy in Industry, KS.  They were on a trip and stopped to eat.  Grandpa was appalled that coffee cost a dime.  He slammed his hand on the table, and complained, “Never heard of such a thing as coffee costing more than a nickel.”  But I’m not so old  that I don’t remember when coffee came with the meal, especially breakfast, and there were unlimited refills.  Ha, Pard, that reminds me of goin’ to the Sycamore Inn durin’ college.  Once in a while, we’d have enough money to buy a sweet roll that cost fifty cents.  We made sure we drank at least five cups of coffee to even out the bill; yep, by that time inflation had set in and coffee most everywhere was a dime.

     Say, yur quiet today.  Is it the upcomin’ storm, or did yuh burn the hair off’n yur tongue on the hot coffee.  Pure delight this mornin’.  No harsh words, nothin’ worth talkin’ ’bout in the news, most of it lies anyhow.  But here’s another true story.  I done tolt yuh ’bout my Grandpa Jones, well, here’s one ’bout my Grandpa Adkisson.  Grandpa was a big man, which was causin’ him blood pressure problems.  The doctor put him on a strict diet and Grandpa asked if he could drink coffee.  “Sure,” the doctor said, “drink as much as you want.”  When Grandpa went back to the doctor he had lost weight, but his blood pressure was still up.  It caused the doc to shake his head, then he asked, “How much coffee are you drinking?”  Grandpa thought for only a moment and replied, “Only about five pots a day.”  The doctor advised he cut back to maybe two pots.  See, instead of eatin’ he was drinkin’ coffee.

     Listen, Pard, here’s the truth, if’n yuh get up on the wrong side of the bed, don’t crawl back in.  Just head on out to the kitchen, and make yurself a pot.  Then yuh can relax while it’s a-perkin’ for patience soothes the troubled soul.  When the perkin’s done, take a sip, lean back and thank the good Lord, then take a deeper sip.  It’ll perk up yur mood, sure ‘nough.  Now, see yuh can leave the day not agitated, yur gizzard is smilin’ happy thoughts an’ not makin’ any gurglin’ noises.  Yu’ll have a fine day, long as yuh remember to check yur cinch.

     Vaya con Dios

 

Mornin’ to yuh, Pard.  Busy mornin’, no time for preachin’, pontificatin’, prophesyin’, or politicizin’.  I have to be downtown as I am on the square to display, and hopefully sell some of my books.  Folks need to have something wholesome and entertainin’ to read; get their nose out of the news.  I met a lady in the Farmers’ Market the other day an’ she said my books were so delightful to read and she purchased six more.  Made me happy, so I gave her a big smile.

     One thing, Pard, don’t mean to be stoppin’ yuh from yur slurpin’.  That must mean yur dry or the coffee’s good.  But I tolt yuh ’bout folks that whine and those with the Peter Pan Syndrome a few weeks back.  Well, I saw somethin’ last week that made me shake my head.  Here we go, don’t be droppin’ that cup or yu’ll go a week without coffee.  “Parents are anxious, lonely, overwhelmingly stressed…”  What I read continued, “People keep coping until they absolutely can’t, and parents are at the breaking point.  Why aren’t politicians treating this as an emergency?”  Give me a break!  I had to shake my head, what’s the matter with people?  But then, I stopped an’ thought for a moment–they don’t have Christ in their lives.

     Ahhh, gotta be swallerin’ down fast.  Burns all the way down the gullet.  That’s all we need is the politicians gettin’ involved more with the family.  Why there’s already a move to pass laws sayin’ that children belong to the State.  My mercy, if that ever passes.  I hear things like, “adultin’ is so hard,” or “I need to take a break from adultin’.”  My land, grow up.  Listen, my folks raised me so that I could handle life.  Raise yur kids right, quite yur whinin’, if yur stressed ’bout yur kids, get on yur knees and start prayin’ for them, and, oh, don’t forget to discipline them properly.  Don’t lavish them with unneeded and foolish gifts.  Don’t give in to their every whim.  Remember, they don’t run the house.

     See, Pard, and I’ll shut up–folks are too selfish.  They don’t want to take the time to be quality parents.  Yuh see, parentin’ and adultin’ means responsibility.  If’n they’re not around then they think that givin’ them gifts will make up for it.  Well, that’s about it.  The pot’s empty, time to be headin’ out.  Yep, Pard, the steel mount is packed, an’ I’ll be checkin’ my cinch.

      Vaya con Dios.

                     –D.C. Adkisson  (Trouble at Gregory Gulch)

 

“Well, won’t it be wonderful there, having no burden or care…”  Jump in Pard, there’s plenty of room.  What’s that, yuh don’t want to hurt yurself?  Can’t clog in the kitchen no more, huh?  Jist a little shuffle in the hallway, is that it?  Tell yuh what, you shuffle, I’ll clog a bit, and we’ll let it loose.  Guess not, yur right, something could come loose, git out of joint, or swell up.  That’s what happens when yuh start on the downward side of years, the ol’ starter gets harder to start.  Ha, these yunguns have no idea of a starter.  Why I drove an ol’ ’52 Ford pickup…uh, that’s another story, but when the starter worked it was down by the gas pedal.  Most of the time I had to park that truck on a hill and let it roll to get it started–had to clutch it.

     Pard, taste that there coffee.  The missus said to try it as it was cheap.  I’m sometimes wary of “cheap,” but even more so of expensive, sophisticated coffee.  What’dya think?

Go ahead, work on that first cup, I want to say something I read this past week regardin’ that ol’ AI stuff again.  I was readin’ an’ several preachers said that AI would enhance a body’s sermon.  How ’bout that?  What ever happened to SI?  No, not Sports Illustrated…Supernatural Intelligence.  I thought the Holy Spirit would enhance, guide in all truth.  The job of the preacher was to be led by the Spirit after he had studied and prayed for the sermon he was to deliver.  Pard, sometimes I jist don’t know; it’s my a-thinkin’ that we’ve plenty of artificial intelligence walking around in this country, and they ain’t all locked up.

     Truth or fake news?  Let me take a swaller first.  But I’ve heard, and read, and no one seems to know.  Are there a group of Haitians eatin’ the neighborhood cats and dogs?  One group says yes, another group says its a lie.  One side has to be lyin’.  Now, I’ve known of homeless folk, those that are really down an’ out, eatin’ rabbits an’ squirrels an’ ducks from city parks.  Read that in the newspaper years ago, so it must be truth.  Boy howdy, a person would have to be evil an’ low-down to eat a little kid’s pet.  Might need them a good ol’ fashion stompin’.  Sorry for my ire.  Guess the good Lord will be lookin’ down an’ takin’ note.  An’ don’t yuh be a-tellin’ me they can’t afford food, why most of them have a top-notch phone an’ make more money than us retired folks.  Good ol’ government will give them a feed…  

     Let’s go back…”joyously singin’ with heart-bells all ringin’…”  Still don’t want to sing, huh?  Well, the pot’s done empty, an’ my gizzard is wound up at thinkin’ ’bout what’s goin’ on in this country.  Good thing the Lord is watchin’ over us and walkin’ with us.  Yuh be takin’ care of yur own self and family.  Read from the Good Book, straighten yur shoulders when yuh ride for yur ridin’ for the King, keep yur gun oiled an’ ready.  Yuh jist never know what might be a-comin’ at yuh.  An’ for mercy’s sake, check yur cinch, yuh can’t be guardin’ nobody if’n yuh fall on yur noggin’.

                 Vaya con Dios,

                        Ira

                 (irapaine.com)

 

(Note, “Won’t It Be Wonderful There” is beyond the required note for copyright.  But it was written in 1930 by James Rowe.  He was a prolific writer with more than 9,000 hymns, poems, recitations, and other works. —Hymnary.org)