Coffee Percs

Coffee Percs

by Ira Paine, Posted on

Ahhhh,’ I sighed as I tasted the coffee. ‘Excuse my manners, but that tastes so good.'”

                    –D.C. Adkisson  (Stiles of Laredo)
 
Mornin’ to yuh, Pard.  Get yur ownself in here, the coffee’s hot, and I’ve made it extry specially strong for what I’m a-gonna share with yuh.  Pard, the things I see, an’ read make me wonder just when the good Lord is gonna say, “enough is enough!”  For the folks out there who believe all this garbage, this foolishness, it’s a good thing that the Lord is good.
       Here’s what I’m a-talkin’ about.  Some high falutin’ therapist has done declared that wokeness is “the only real spiritual path of meaning available to white folks.”  My mercy, not only to white folks, but to all folks, the Lord Jesus is the only path.  He done declared, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”  For sure, there are plenty of false prophets out there searchin’ for souls to destroy.
       See, why I made the coffee so strong?  Things like that there is enough to get the gizzard all riled.  But, Pard, there’s more I read.  I know yur a well-educated feller, but did yuh ever read ’bout “Big Brother”?  He’s a watchin’ yuh.  The worst part about it is that most folks don’t care.  They just keep goin’ on their merry ol’ way as long as they are well entertained and don’t lose any of their conveniences.   Yep, keep the masses distracted (pandemics) keep them entertained with sports, movies, singers and the like, and yuh can add to that the social media and now the politikin’ that’s bein’ done; yuh keep them distracted with all sorts of things and yuh can easily control them.
       Yep, Pard, an’ yuh know that the most of them are a-fallin’ for it lock, stock, and barrel.  They keep on believin’ the lies they will soon be over that barrel an’ at the mercy of those who control.  There is so much hee-hawin’ out there, mostly to keep yuh confused an’ away from the truth of Christ.  Believe the lie now, and, Pard, it’ll be easy for them to believe any kind of lie in the future.
       Brother, if’n things keep goin’ in this here direction, I might have to make the coffee even stronger.  Keep goin’ forward, Pard.  Strong coffee, yur gun cleaned an’ primed, an’ the words of the Bible in yur heart an’ we’ll make it.  Uh, that is unless yuh forget to check yur cinch.
        Vaya con Dios.

 

Coffee Percs

by Ira Paine, Posted on

Wind was rustling the dry palm leaves when he crawled out in the early dawn and stirred the coals to life to make coffee.”

                    –Louis L’Amour  (The Strong Shall Live)
 
“Oh the wayward wind is a restless wind.  A restless wind that yearns to wander…”  What’s the matter, Pard, yuh look green under the gills.  Yuh don’t like my croonin’?  What?  Yuh think I sound like a bull a-snortin’?  Take a sip, it’s strong enough to clean out yur ears, in fact, yuh might want to put a drop or two in yur ears–wouldn’t hurt yuh none.  “Oh, I was born the next of kin, the next of kin to the wayward wind.”  
       Ahhh, the coffee is good this mornin’.  That, along with my singin’ sure does wonders for the soul.  Oh, not so much for yurs though.  The wind, I’ve always enjoyed a breeze or a slight wind, don’t care much for those twisters or hurrycanes.  I remember that ol’ pioneer, Bob Nolan, who told us to “listen to the wind.”  But then he left us a-hangin’ for we don’t know what it’s sayin’.  That mountain boy, John Denver, wrote a song about the Wind.  There is just somethin’ ’bout the wind.
       I was readin’ some words from Solomon this past week.  He said, “God’s ways are as hard to discern as the pathways of the wind…”.  Now, ol’ Solomon was reported to be the wisest man, but Pard, let me tell yuh somethin’–he shore ‘nough done some stupid things.  He couldn’t understand the ways of God, but God done told him not to marry those foreign wives who’ll bring in their false gods.  Yuh know, it wasn’t until he was gettin’ up there in years that he could look back at the whole of life and see some of the foolish things that he an’ others had done did.  
       Get a good whiff of that aroma ‘fore yuh go guzzlin’.  It’ll lift yuh right out of yur doldrums.  But, back to the wind, even Jesus talked of the wind.  What was it He said, “The wind blows where it wishes, and yuh can hear the sound of it, but yuh cannot tell where it comes from or where it goes.”  Boy howdy, ain’t that the truth.  Growin’ up where I did, most of the time the wind came rushin’ in from the West right down those canyons.  Oh, Pard, an’ one more thing, the blessed Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost came in like a rushin’ mighty wind.  
       So don’t be on me ’bout my singin’.  It’s just like the wind.  Sometimes, it’s a whisper, an’ other times I just cut loose and let it fly.  My singin’ is a joyful sound, at least to my ears.  I don’t from whence it comes, sometimes from a thought, an’ other times from down deep in my innards.  If’n yur in the way, well, just be hopin’ I hit a right note now and again.
       Say, Pard, it’s time to be gettin’ on down the road.  Nice little breeze outside for yuh to be ridin’ in.  Yuh take yur time, don’t be in a rush, and if’n I’ve told yuh once I’ve told yuh a hundred times, be checkin’ yur cinch.
       Vaya con Dios.
             
 
(note:  Wayward Wind written by Herbert Newman)

 

Coffee Percs

by Ira Paine, Posted on

I looked over at the coffeepot. ‘I’d ask you ladies if you want some coffee, but a man came in here and made it a while ago, and it ain’t…isn’t…fit for ordinary humans to drink.”
                         –Patrick Lindsay  (Pike Hardy)

Grab yur cup, Pard, fill ‘er up to the brim, take a sip first, then let’s lift it up high in a salute to mothers.  Tomorrow’s Mothers Day, if’n yuh haven’t forgotten.  Even though she ain’t my mother, I got the missus some flowers–she is the mother of our children, and a right good and special one for sure.
       Pard, let me tell yuh, this ol’ fence post has seen all types of mothers in my life.  I’ve seen the good, the bad, the ugly, and even the uglier.  My mercy, there are some doozies out there.  If’n yuh have a good mom be thankin’ the Lord.  I’ve seen mean moms, moms that never seem to smile but always grimace.  They’re the kind that have raised their kids to exasperation and now are reapin’ the rewards.  They try to cover it up with the excuse of fightin’ for them, but really they are just hidin’ their failures.
       Let me tell yuh ’bout one.  She didn’t want her two girls so she gave them up and her parents adopted them.  Come graduation time she came to the office demandin’ for their records.  The records weren’t hers, in fact, at that time they belong to the kids.  She screamed, cursed, and finally sat down in the middle of the floor refusin’ to budge.  One good thing, the girls were raised by their grandparents.  Pard, let me tell yuh there are all types.
       I won’t go into the evil ones, the ones who force their children into evil and wicked lifestyles.  This is a day to celebrate mothers.  My mercy, where would we be without the nurturer of the home?  I was fortunate enough to have three fill the position of “mom.”  I lived with and was raised primarily by my grandma and aunt.  Mom was workin’ most of the time, but she was around.  It was my grandma and aunt who took me to church.  Mom didn’t become a Christian until quite late in life.
       “Give me a son, Lord!” was the cry of Hannah, “And I’ll give him back to you.”  Pard, yuh don’t look like much with coffee droolin’ off yur chin, but yuh have a good mom to instill manners and a tender heart within yuh.  Yuh wipe yur chin an’ try to do her good.  Listen, when the mothers quit followin’ through with the responsibility that the good Lord gave them we are in trouble.  When the home is not filled with a mother’s prayers, we are in trouble.  That ol’ pard who has crossed the great divide wrote, “She is the mother of the race, and if the race is to progress instead of retrogress, she has to hold herself more sacred than men do.”  Zane Grey got it right, she is the keeper of the hearth; it is the mother who makes the home.

       So Pard, if’n yur mother’s still alive, be sure yuh honor her today, don’t let her drink any bad coffee.    If’n she’s passed on, think on some of the good memories of her.  Pard, one way to honor her is to not do somethin’ stupid like not checkin’ yur cinch.
      Vaya con Dios.

 

Coffee Percs

by Ira Paine, Posted on

Holding the cup in my hand I took a sip, a long sip, thinking of how to answer.”

                    –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.