–D.C. Adkisson  (The Shepherd)

 

Ain’t that the truth.  Holding a cup of strong coffee, while ponderin’ the deep answers to questions is a help.  It sorta makes the mind say “ahhh” and the thoughts begin to form.  Now, I ain’t sayin’ that the thoughts come because of the coffee, but it just helps them to flow through the ol’ brain better.  So, Pard, did yuh have a good week?  Yuh were probably jist a waitin’ to come over for some of my delicious brew.  An’ talkin’ ’bout thinkin’ I was sent some coffee roasted in Maryland, but the blend is called:  Mayan, Aztec, and Incan.  My mind is all confabgulated tryin’ to understand how coffee roasted up in Maryland would have names like that.  Guess, it’s another one of the world’s mysteries.

       I was out drivin’ the other night, don’t do that much anymore, and let me tell you for a fact that the bugs were out.  No, no, Pard I’m not talkin’ ’bout the politicians and media mouths, but real bugs.  I thought the ol’ steel mount was bein’ attacked by creatures from the skies.  One bit un hit the windshield and I heard it say right after impact, “If I had guts enough I’d do that again.”  

       Pard, I’m gettin’ closer and closin’ in on ol’ Methusaleh.  Yep, this ol fencepost is still holdin’ up, but another one of them birthdays showed up.  Three years now past my allotted seventy and eight years since my heart attack.  Listen, in less than 900 years, I’ll make it to be his age.  Ha, yur right Pard, that’s a joke.  It was hard enough to make it to seventy, and I’ve gone three over that now.

       I remember an ol’ friend, now gone on over the Great Divide to be with the Lord once said in lean times, “The Lord has been with me; I’ve never had to eat feathers yet.”  Yuh might remember Fred Deavers, he was quite a fella.  But to say that, I don’t think I’d relish eatin’ feathers, nor the buzzard they came from.  The Lord, as Fred implied, has always and will always take care of me and mine.  There may be lean times an’ there may be times of plenty, but the Lord is with us in both.  We jist need to honor Him in the good and the bad.

       There’ ‘nough coffee left in the pot for each of us to have another cup.  What say we down it, and they get on to the chores and errands of the day.  I have a couple more stories to tell, but they’ll jist have to wait until another time as I’m out of space, and the coffee pot is now dry.  Yuh be ridin’ straight and tall, and for the Lord’s brand.  Be checkin’ yur cinch before yuh mount, and keep on the narrow way.

      Vaya con Dios.

                    –D.C. Adkisson  (Redemption)

 

Mornin’ Pard.  Hmmm, yuh sorta remind me of the lad in the story above.  Waitin’ for the work to be did ‘fore yuh show’d up to do yur share.  Some folks are like that.  They’ll hide somewhere in a corner if’n there’s wood to be chopped, or get over in the shadows if’n there’s some liftin’ to be done.  Always showin’ up in the nick of time to do no heavy work.  Nah, Pard, I’m just a-joshin’ yuh.  I know yur a hard worker.  My mercy, I’ve seen that right arm of yourn dig into some hash quicker than a strike of lightnin’.  Go on, the coffee’s ready–oh, I see yuh didn’t wait none for that.

       Say, did yuh hear I get to speak at the Coldspring Library fundraiser come this Friday.  I’ll be tellin’ ’bout my books.  No, I won’t be speakin’ no lies, but I might spin a yarn or two.  I’m like my ol’ Grandpa.  Grandpa always said that he and George Washington were similar, ‘ceptin’ that George Washington said he could not tell a lie.  Grandpa always said that he could lie, but just didn’t do it.  Should be some fun times at the gatherin’ an’ if’n it was like the last time I was there, well, boy howdy, there were plenty of fixin’s to eat.

       This book reviewin’ reminds me of a story tolt by Leroy Brownlow.  Yuh might recall the Brownlows from down there in Mocassin Holler.  Well, he has a story ’bout his Grandpa who happened to be a preacher.  Now this is his exact words:

 

               A big city preacher requested grandpa to give him a statement of recommendation for his new book.  Grandpa hated to decline, but had to on the grounds that it was not exactly in keepin’ with his views.

               The author replied, “You can’t appreciate it, because you never wrote a book.”

               “No,” retorted the country preacher, “and neither have I ever laid an egg, but I think I’m a better judge of an omelet than any hen in the world.”

 

Ha, don’t be snortin’ in yur cup, ’tain’t polite.  Well, let’s finish this pot.  Sure am thankful that the good Lord sees over us, every day.  Yuh be prayin’ for me next Friday.  And I’ll be prayin’ that the Lord will lighten yur load this week.  Yuh be walkin’ where He leads, and we’ll have some coffee again next Saturday, the Lord willin’.  Be sure and check yur cinch, He won’t do that for yuh.

         Vaya con Dios.

       

(story from A Time to Laugh by Leroy Brownlow)

                    –Nathan Wright  (Marshal Warrix)

 

Happy Saturday mornin’ to yuh.  Coffee’s hot and strong–tastes mighty fine.  It’s from Burundi.  The “Wild Man”, no, no, he was from Borneo, this is Burundi, down in Africa.  Not bad coffee.  Pard, my wife said I was a connysoower of coffee.  Can’t say it, can’t spell it, can’t for sure tell yuh what it means.  One says it has the taste of semi-sweet coffee, raspberry, and key lime.  That’s sounds like a cino to me.  When I brew it up it tastes either like good coffee, bad coffee, or not so bad or good.  Another says it tastes like yellow raisin, honey, and butter.  Now I’m not sure what all of that means.  I don’t taste no raisins when I drink it so maybe I’m not one of those connysoowers.

       Just like my eldest told me about Elon Musk.  I thought she was speakin’ ’bout the guy who has that overly sweet-smellin’ cologne.  Come to find out that he has a bunch of money.  Remember that boy named “Sue”?  Why Pard, today he wouldn’t have it so mean and tough.  It got me to thinkin’ of all the Bibles we have at our disposal today.  I talked to a salesman a while back and he said people come to the store to buy a Bible and leave without one.  There are so many to choose from.  Now, Pard, don’t yuh be gettin’ me wrong.  I’m not opposed to newer translations as long as they have the pure word of God, and as long as they are bein’ read.  The way I see it now, yuh buy a Bible to suit what yur gonna use it for–study, devotion, easier reading….

       Ahhhh, not bad, not bad, this Burundi coffee.  It’s supposed to be from some rainforest.  Three types of coffee I don’t care much about:  cold, scorched, and weak.  They put the ptui in my mouth.  The ol’ taste buds rare up to make me scowl.  

       This all made me think of the ol’ ‘postle Peter where he said to “desire the pure milk of the word, that yuh may grow thereby.”  That’s close enough to the Greek for me.  Might be off ’cause of my spellin’ or lack of it.  But we are to keep pure, stay pure, desire pure, and that means no compromisin’ and it don’t take no connysoower to understand that we don’t compromise the pure word of the Lord.

       Well, Pard, yuh be havin’ a good week.  Ha, thought yuh were gettin’ away before I told yuh to be sure an’ check yur cinch.

        Vaya con Dios.

                         –J.S. Stroud  (The Old Rider)

 

Mornin’ to yuh, Pard.  Yuh still eatin’ them biled eggs from last weekend.  The wife and I went some real fixin’s last Sunday after church, and my, oh my, was there a feast.  I shore did load myself up on what they call “deviled eggs.”  The truth be known, they should be called more like the “fruit of the angels,” but reckon they’re called “deviled” ’cause yuh eat too many of them an’ then the devil works on yur innards.

       Well, Pard, I turned to technology to find out my answer.  Don’t who I talked to, Alexa, Safari, or Siri, or maybe to plain ol’ Google itself, but the story I found was that they are deviled because they are spicy.  Guess they originally had paprika or cayenne mixed in them.  Hmmm, some small pieces of jalapenos might be good.  Just wanted to give that little culinary lesson to yuh.  

       While we were partakin’ of the feast a youngster proceeded to my delight to make coffee.  It wasn’t none of that cino stuff either.  I waited for a spell, then sent one of the granddaughters off to get me a cup.  Should’ve known—it was weak.  Drinkable, but weak.  I grabbed the youngster later an’ told him so.  I didn’t want him to go through life thinkin’ he was makin’ good coffee.  He seemed to appreciate my suggestion when I told him to always put at least one more tablespoon of coffee than the cups yur gonna drink.  If’n yur drinkin’ five cups of coffee yuh put in six scoops.  Easy.  Made my day, knowin’ that I helped a yungun along life’s journey.

       Finally got my last book published on that their Kindle.  Usually I have some troubles but it went as smooth as that silk bandanna yur a-wearin’.  So if’n yuh want a good book look for Ticket to Danger.  Speakin’ of danger, yuh are readin’ the Good Book every day?  Best be guardin’ yur soul against the wiles of the devil.  He’d like nothin’ but t’ see yur face in the dirt.  Why he’s slicker than snot on a glass door knob with his deceivin’ words and ideas.  My mercy, I remember when a man was a man and a woman was glad of it, but now… Whewee, ‘nough said ’bout that sick wickedness.  Yuh be strong in the faith an’ don’t be led astray.  Yuh keep the Bible handy, yur gun oiled and ready, and be checkin’ yur cinch for times are gettin’ eviler and eviler.

       Vaya con Dios.