Ugly puked on Christmas

“Deck the hall with boughs of holly, tra la la la la la,” I sang merrily, if not horribly off key while I watched the help I hired decorate my yard. I had spared no expense on tasteful yard ornaments to alert thieves that there was a possibility of a good haul at this address. Of course that meant the neighborhood crime patrol would have to be even more on the ball till this joyful season came to an end and society had to pay for their mistakes..er…purchases.

When the last light was hung and I turned on the electrical juice there were aw’s and oh’s from family and neighbors. It was only fair they showered my endeavors with compliments, after all, hadn’t I lavished praise on them for their tastefully elegant projects even though mine was far more superior. Lots of home owners registered with a fifty dollar entrance fee to be illegible for the jackpot and I was sure to win the prize this year and not just because I had donated to several of the judges favorite charities, (themselves), but because I had hired an extremely talented college student, majoring in landscaping, to do the manual labor. I checked the bylaws, professional help was forbidden, nothing was said about contributing to a student’s education, a minor over sight I’m sure would appear as an amendment to the rules for next year!

With the external Christmas decorating done I was able to participate in the nightly caroling and scrutinize the other houses in the friendly neighborhood (cut throat) contest, some of which would offer some stiff competition if I hadn't bribed the judges and was assured of winning, unless...No. No one else would dare to out bribe me! That would be so unethical!

Up the street where I drove to meet up with the traveling singers a crowd was gathering beside a corner lot. Hmmm. I pulled over to investigate and nearly slammed into some parked cars. My central nervous system was sending messages to my stomach that said, “Give it all up, baby”. Luckily I hadn't had much to eat yet, just some cookies, punch, hot chocolate, spinach dip, little party wieners, cheese, crackers, carrot cake, layered Mexican bean dip, Fritos, and rolls with barbequed brisket served at my work’s Christmas party. What? That was just a light snack!

I joined my friends on the yard across the street amazed at the grumbling being done by even some of my nicer buddies, the ones who had suggested the contest for the prettiest yard; the friends whose main mantra always was, “If you can’t say something nice about someone, lie!”

“I just can’t believe anyone could be this substandard on purpose, it’s as though they’re mocking us!” Ester said, shaking her head and tsking, arms crossed firmly against her chest.

“Has anyone talked to the owner?” I asked, “Maybe their yard was vandalized.” It actually looked like someone had taken trash from the city dump and plunked it down here. Tinsel trees of all shapes and hues were planted around the yard with even more different colored tinsel sprinkled on them , half blown up Christmas props and stuffed animals with unevenly tied ribbons and large candy canes were seated about, asymmetrical handmade signs sloppily painted with “support our troops” were leaning against the house walls and bushes, lights were draped on the playground equipment, a large stuffed bear was dressed in army fatigues holding a flag, card board boxes wrapped with old torn wrapping paper were placed disproportionately around the yard. Nothing was balanced or pleasing to the eye, except for maybe the Grinch’s, who would have appreciated this slap in the face to our Christmas spirit.

What was the “support our troops” stuff about? This is Christmas, a time of cheer and good will, let’s not take away from the King and turn this into a political crusade. We hear about the war in the Middle East daily on the news, Christmas is a time to unwind and celebrate Jesus, to forget about things that upset us, like this yard is doing on a grand scale!

“Here comes Meredith now,” Ester announced.

Meredith recrossed the street without even checking for cars, getting hit and being knocked unconscious was her only hope of erasing the ghastly image that we were all facing.

“Well, I couldn’t get the mother to come down stairs and talk to me,” Meredith said. “Some half starved, unwashed looking kids answered the door and said their mom has been up stairs in bed for days. She’s probably been on a drinking binge no doubt, that’s also probably why the yard looks like this. Poor kids, obviously only a drunk could decorate this way.”

The critical assembly just clucked their tongues in disgust and commenced planning a reprisal. We wouldn’t let some inconsiderate fool crush our neighborhood’s Christmas beatification venture.

Well needless to say the next few days were spent organizing a petition to deliver to the home owner asking her to disassemble her yard. Maybe we could shame her into cleaning up her act before the judging commenced. There was even a thinly veiled threat to contact child protective services. Now wouldn’t that be a lovely gift for the kids, three daily meals, baths and clean home? We also thoughtfully slipped in a card for Alcoholics Anonymous, after all it was the Christmas season and we should be supportive.

We were all at Meredith’s one night putting the final touches on the petition when her doorbell rang introducing a well dressed lady come to pay a visit, or maybe add her name to the petition. Meredith, after a short indistinct conversation with the newly arrived visitor ushered her to the headquarters of the Public Flogging Committee, (oh wouldn’t the puritans have been proud of us), where we had all been whispering among ourselves wondering if it was another prospective petition signer.

“This lady is the mother in law of our..of the drunk…of the ,” Meredith attempted to introduce the stranger, her face was red and flushed (hot flashes have no mercy), but all she could do was stutter and gesture aimlessly. What had gone wrong? Had this lady threatened Meredith somehow? Had the enemy’s camp sent reinforcements? This lady was apparently well to do judging from her crisp clothes, Prada shoes and Dooney Burke handbag, (probably garage sale finds!)

“Allow me,” Stanger requested, “I’m Silvia Martinez, and my son was married to Dorothy.” Was married, oh they got divorced so maybe this woman did want in on the petition. “I mean he is married…well I mean… he was killed last week in Afghanistan in a suicide bombing, you see he was stationed there in the army, his third tour, he was in the reserves and they called….” Stranger broke down completely, mascara blending in with the blush on her cheeks making train tracks. “And poor Dorothy has gone into such a depression the kids attempted to cheer her up by decorating the yard themselves hoping to get their mother back. I just don’t know what to do if….I’ve come back to town to try to help and I heard about this petition…” By now we had all jumped up from the table, retracted our claws and were in a group hug with Silvia as the centerpiece, crying and listening to the ordeal she’d been through and of poor retched Dorothy’s solitary suffering, offering condolences and suggestions.

Sometime after Silvia had left we all sat around a box of Kleenex and an overflowing trash receptacle blame throwing. How could we have let Satan harden our hearts so? Boy were we mad at him, after all, he was responsible for our unchristian behavior. Never underestimate the power of guilt because now the mission of our Public Flogging committee changed tracks from putting Dorothy in the stockade to providing neighborly assistance. The petition sat on the table in front of us like a bowl of Ebola germs we didn't want to touch. We tapped our manicured nails nervously and guiltily on the table top filled with remorse at acting so quickly without knowing all the facts. Apparently I had a heart after all, go figure.

We had only assumed we were wrapping things up at Meredith's that night. We divided the names up from the soul poisoning petition and one by one called and scratched through each name and replaced the names on a list with volunteers for child care, counseling, and food delivery to the Atrocious yard's residents. And finally we ripped the petition into so many little pieces all the kings men and all the kings horses wouldn’t be able to repair it.

The contest night finally arrived and judges rode through the neighborhood inspecting everyone's creative art work and displays. They acted noticeably pressed to come up with a winner, drumming their fingers against their temples. I played dumb knowing i had the prize in the bag, knowing days ago who the winner would be; after all I passed the big bills under the table!

The neighborhood and the contestants gathered at the corner park to consume unlawful amounts of refreshments and hear the judge’s verdict. I had no difficulty being over confident and lots of difficulty concealing my confidence. I could hardly wait for the winners name to be announced. Third and second place were announced first and the recipients of those spots acted graciously grateful. What an act, I know one of them is the worst looser ever to walk the earth and will be found somewhere tomorrow revealing opinions of a fixed contest, a holiday conspiracy, well I can’t condemn her, she’d be right.

And now….drum roll please….the winner is …..The owner of the atrocious yard! What a miracle, they hadn’t even entered the contest! A deafening cheer went up throughout the park as everyone hooted and hollered agreement; not many were surprised having received late night or early morning phone calls from the Reformed Members of the Public Flogging Committee. Some neighbors, scattered throughout the throng who hadn’t been in the loo,p started to protest till someone nearby who’d been in the know whispered (loudly over the din) the explanation to them causing them to join in the jubilation. Even second and third place seemed pleased with the judge’s decree. I know I was.

The judges had taken my bribes and added it to the pot for Dorothy at my request (and I had only implied I would publically repent of my crime, a crime that would ruin their honest reputations!) We had all decided the night of Silvia’s visit that this was the best gift of all to the Christ child, to honor the efforts of the emotionally crippled children who had tried to revive their mother while honoring their father. It certainly wouldn’t make up for the loss of a husband and father but what better way to support our troops and those left behind. We all gathered together with candles in hand to parade over to Dorothy’s house and surprise her with Christmas gifts for the children, food for Christmas dinner and a whopping $5000; and loads of offers of friendship and support.

Meanwhile up on the other side of the rainbow a young man who had sacrificed his life for freedom had been squatting to look downward so he could follow his family’s progress through the cycle of grief. Satisfied they would recover he stood at attention and joined other solders in formation, soldiers representing all armed forces, soldiers out of uniform because they were wearing crowns instead of helmets. The eclectic troop proceeded to march in precise military fashion towards a throne of enormous proportions bathed in such brilliant light that they couldn’t see the occupant. They halted at the foot of the throne in front of another young man who had sacrificed his life for the whole world to have freedom from sin and peace with God. The soldiers saluted, reporting from duty, not for duty and tossed their crowns into the air to land at the feet of the king, their job done and their lives beginning.

So much for separating Christmas from any political crusade!

the kitchen table

I smothered a yawn before standing up from my morning nap then made my way out the door with the rest of the salmon swimming upstream. It seemed everyone was more eager heading towards the exits than they had been going towards the entrances earlier. I was beginning to wonder why I bothered getting out of bed on Sunday morning; Sunday school and church were the same old same old, I could just replay them in my mind stretched out on my soft, Tempur- Pedic mattress and not mess with the chore of getting dressed up to take a snooze during the service. I had actually gotten church sleeping down to a fine art, I doubt anyone near me even knew I was sleeping, I thought, ignorant of the fact that I snore! But even that was alright; unless the congregants near me had their hearing aids turned up no body heard me.

I used to look forward to Sunday school so I could learn something new or debate (play the devil’s advocate) some questionable scriptures to invigorate the thinking process but lately it’s turned into an old hen’s meeting room. I get enough of that at work; Sunday school should be less worldly. That’s just my opinion for all it’s worth.

The church service is so routine once the singing is over (and its always the traditional songs the white hairs liked, since the majority rules) I’m able to manage a semi productive state of consciousness after I study the weekly bulletin looking for volunteer opportunities I didn’t expect to find. Just a list of thank you’s from survivors of those recently departed, who had received condolence cards; with an occasional mention of a new grandchild; the parents attended other places of worship.

The monotony was killing me. I just couldn’t figure out why I was the only one affected till I shook hands with some members on the way out one afternoon, (in the middle of a summer melt down) their hands were so cold I discovered I was the only member who still had a pulse rate higher than 50! I wasn’t in church, I was in limbo, and this building was the midpoint between heaven and earth! Eeeek, to quote a once popular movie, “I see dead people and they don’t even know their dead!” I quickly sanitized my hands and drove home for the last time from this mausoleum.

I had no inner qualms the next few Sunday (twelve Sundays actually) sitting at my kitchen table reading from one of my many bibles, all King James, but in different commentaries. I was getting more worshipping God by myself while drinking coffee than I had in the brick building on the corner of the street. Yet something was missing….interaction. I prayed for guidance.

My son called one morning while at sat at my kitchen table drinking coffee, eating cinnamon rolls and having my devotional to inform me he had joined a church, after his announcement, when I recovered from choking on my coffee, I asked if he had the wrong number! When I ascertained he really was my son I fell on my face in gratitude to answered prayers, thank you God for finding him again, and his wife also. I had prayed for this event for years and years and …you get the picture! The only fly in the soup was the denomination; it wasn’t the one I had raised my children in. Oh well, at least he had his feet back in the door, maybe he would expand his horizons till he joined a proper, more acceptable church. I kept praying for him.

He then had the nerve to keep inviting me to come with him to his church. No, I’d had enough of boring church services to last me a terrestrial life time, God and I were doing all right at my kitchen table, but I was genuinely pleased that he had found the Lord again after his years of dessert wanderings. After all, anything he learned now wasn’t repetitive at this point as it had become for me.

Buck, my son, became almost annoying; every time I ran into him he would mention his church attendance, as if I cared to hear every little detail, knowing he was going was more than enough for me. He even turned down some family activities in lieu of church! He was hot for God. If my old church had kept the fires burning I never would have walked out.

Alright, in favor of getting some relieve from his pious harassment I finally agreed to meet Buck and Sissy for a Friday night church gathering, well, it did include a dinner and I had to eat sometime. (Seriously, if you saw me you’d know I didn’t have a problem finding time to eat!)

I was instantly impressed by the atmosphere that slapped me in the face when I crossed the threshold of the entrance hall. There were people milling about drinking coffee they got from a refreshment station that included sweets, my favorite ingredient of the food chain. Everyone came up to say hi to me, not in a stampede mind you, that would have scared me off as shy as I am, but one at a time as I hunted for my son and his wife. Everyone seemed to know him, even though he was a relatively new member. I found him in the back, (how clever, he made me transverse through the crowded foyer to get the feel of things on my own, I couldn’t fault his conniving ways, I knew who he inherited them from!) He had also invited his step brothers, who had brought their kids.

The service was held in the atrium, it was a come as you are meeting they held every Friday night, and the turnout was phenomenal for a Friday night, you know, date night, family night, travel night, payday night. I didn’t know it was come as you are meeting or I would have dressed more casual, like my daughter in law who was in her pajamas! Well to be honest, they were the kind that you really had to guess at, so its not as bad as it sounds. It’s just that “I” knew they were her sleepies, and I couldn’t wait for blackmail time!

Okay, I enjoyed myself so much I came back Sunday morning for Sunday school. (Should I have told you this when you were sitting down?) The class was enormous and organized around a kitchen table! Bigger than the ones that are in average households but a kitchen table none the less, hence the name “Around the Kitchen Table Class.” (Okay, maybe they had several tables joined together) They had my favorites there also, coffee and treats. It was informal and organized at the same time, go figure. The table even provided writing pads and pens for note takers like me who always forgets to bring writing pads and pens! And the teacher, well the teacher was the whole class. I learned that every Sunday someone gets a chance to present something about God (or what he expects of us) that they feel would appeal to the class. The topics are so diverse there’s not a chance of getting bored! There goes my nap time.

A clipboard was passed around during the lesson to update members on things like….volunteer work and upcoming activities! I poured over the pages with drool running down my chin; how attractive! There were birthing sets to produce; clean blankets, examining gloves, and disinfectant soap sent to third world countries that needed sanitary equipment for mothers in delivery (made at the kitchen table during class), crafts to make and sell to raise money for charities in the community (made at the kitchen table during class), homebound members that needed chores done, homeless people that needed servers at dinner time in a local shelter, imminent holidays that needed supplies and lastly volunteers to host dispossessed women that come to the church one night a week for a safe place to get a meal, a shower and sleep over before being sent off with a warm breakfast from the kitchen table.

I pulled out my IPhone. Not to rudely do some texting or game playing but to schedule into my calendar things that appealed to me. I was amazed; I now had church activities scheduled into my life. Things to be done for God or in God’s name! Outreach. Community service. Fellowship. Worshipping the Son with my son.

Needless to say I started coming back to church, and what’s more, my dad came with me. Being semi homebound he hadn’t been to church in years, but the Friday night thing became a pot of gold found at the end of a rainbow for dad, or found at the end of his spiritually dead life. Ezekiel didn’t see anything when he witnessed the valley of dried bones being reunited compared to dad’s revival! Dad had been a choir boy in his youth and never missed a Sunday that he was home from war or temporary tours of duty when I was growing up but his deteriorating health conditions have slowed him down considerably making getting out of bed in the mornings a tremendous chore, but for the Friday night come as you are special he was able to get into the foyer with his walker, no frightening stair way limited his access, and he was able to participate in communion for the first time in decades. His estrangement from communion had always vexed me so I knew it bothered him. Knowing he couldn’t eat or drink dad stayed in his seat during the communion service the first time he attended. The servers, unaware that dad couldn’t eat or drink due to a feeding tube issue, brought communion to where he was sitting. When he was offered the body and blood of Jesus he touched it to his lips and disposed of it in a Kleenex. Wipe that shock from your face, God understands. (And apparently so did the communion servers, which meant a lot to him!)

Now when I sit at my kitchen table for my time with God it’s just for hors d'oeuvres before I go to the bigger kitchen table for a full course meal. I just pray that no one from my past learns I switched denominations or that maybe my new church will convert over to my old denomination. Don’t laugh, apparently God hears my prayers, after all we (God and me) got my son back into his fellowship!!! And he in turn got his step brothers, me, his granddad and eventually his sister there. What a fireball.

Luke 9:49-50
John 1:43-51
Rom 10:15
Rev 3:14-22

now where did i put that

I felt my blood pressuring rising. With the rise in blood pressure I felt my patience level evaporating. I know I had them here somewhere! I lifted another sofa cushion, looked in my purse once more, and toured the house again scanning shelf and table surfaces. Nothing. It’s always when I’m in a hurry, never when I’ve got time to spare. To be absolutely honest, it seems I’m always in a hurry.

“Here they are,” My husband called, from another room.

“Where were they? “ I asked snatching the set of keys ungratefully from his clutch.

“By the back door,” he answered as I swished out of the house without a courteous thank you. No time for common civility, I was already running late.

My first stop: the bank. I waited in line for the first available teller, and of course I waited patiently, not! When I was finally granted access to the Supreme Being (making a little more than minimum wage) behind the counter who had access to my money I frantically searched my purse and wallet for the check I had intended to cash. You think I could have been ready after waiting twenty minutes in line! But no, I was sure the check was in my possession. It seems I only thought I pocketed the darn thing before leaving home.

After my pointless trip to the bank I headed to the dollar store to get some cleaning supplies and doggy treats. At the checkout I opened my wallet to retrieve my bank card. No. I opened my wallet to find an empty slot where my bank card had been till yesterday when I got gas and replaced the card in my pants pocket till I got home where I had intended to reunite it with my wallet. I really had planned to put it back! I had to use a credit card instead for my purchases. At least I hadn’t misplaced that yet, but there was still time, the day was relatively young and I wasn’t.

At length I reached my dad’s house. I was taking him for a movie and exercise, which consisted of walking from the far end of the parking lot with his walker to the ticket stand. Every little bit of muscle usage kept him fit as an eighty four year old fiddle. Several kind (nosy butt-in-skies) people pointed out the handicapped parking spots I could have used. Did they think the handicap sticker on my car was because I was legally blind? With strained graciousness I politely thanked them and between gritted teeth explained that exercise has kept dad able to stay at home instead of in a nursing home on Medicare spending their tax dollars. The looks I got. Don’t blame me that people can’t mind their own business and I have to set them straight. They managed to get some chuckles however as they watched me hunt for my movie gift cards; I had to lose my place in line to trek back to my car (way at the end of the parking lot) to get them but at least I had them. This day can’t end soon enough!

At home again! My two dogs, a Shih-Tzu and black lab, met me at the door and were all giddy about the prospect of a neighborhood jaunt. How could I refuse their liquid black eyes all soft and wistful, plus I couldn’t deny the pleasure a relaxing stroll would bring my hassled soul. But first, I must find that mislaid check and bank card! After thirty minutes I found the check stuck between other papers in my (un)organized desk caddy and after frisking several of my pants I finally stumbled on the bank card on top of my make up case. Good place for it.

The dogs. They still were looking forward to their neighborhood patrol, now I had lost interest, but not heart, I couldn’t disappoint them, what a pushover I was for hang dog expressions. Two dogs, one leash. I won’t assault your ears with the words that exploded reflexively from my lips. While being followed by two exuberantly barking canines I opened drawers, closed drawers, searched the same counter tops I searched earlier for my car keys, looked under sofas while being licked in the face, inside dog kennels, under doggie mattresses while being sniffed in the....never mind, any where a dog might hide a chew toy, any where I might hide a chew toy. I found it! Where? Under the passenger car seat, (don’t ask!)

Today I’ve lost my patience, temper, manners and everything in between but thank heavens I haven’t lost my bed, I thought as I crawled exhaustedly under the covers, being thankful that tomorrow was another day. My eyes popped open at that concept. I don’t need another day like this! “Oh, God, please make tomorrow better!” I pleaded as I plummeted into slumber with the feeling of the all too familiar gastric reflux producing a vague ache in my sternum.

I awoke peacefully feeling absolutely wonderful. All my aches and pains had vanished, I felt years younger and pounds lighter, so light I felt as though I was floating on air. I stretched to shake my husband awake and found and empty space. Lots of empty space. The whole house in fact had vanished along with my aches, pains and pounds. I wasn't in Kansas anymore! Or anywhere close to the planet earth. There were people milling about in white gowns forming a line in front the largest pearl I’ve ever seen. Man, the oyster that formed that pearl had to have been big enough to end world hunger all by itself.

I hadn't gone to sleep with indigestion! If I’d known I was going to die in my sleep I would have dressed better. Another thought hit me as I watched the shrinking line. I patted myself down; nothing. No purse, no pockets, no underwear; no place to carry my proof of.....I ran to the edge of the cloud and attempted to dive back down. Bong. Bong. Each attempt to dive downwards was met by an impassable current of air causing me to belly flop. I was trapped. Trapped in heaven! Trapped in heaven waiting to enter the great white mother of all pearls.

An angel with a clipboard walked...(floated)... by and gave me a good long stare. "Something wrong?"

"You bet, I need to get down there, I forgot something very important!" I begged, trying desperately to part the clouds so I could get a view of my home, er, my old home.

"Darling, your time on earth is done, no return trips allowed."

"But I don't have my proof of...." I felt a panic attack rising from the tips of my toes to my head.

"Proof of what?"

"I need to go find my proof of salvation!" I begged. “I don't remember where I placed it!

The angel glanced at the papers in her hand and giggled, "Oh, you're the one that loses everything, you were actually our favorite reality show, we’ll miss you" she said, then patted me on the shoulder comfortingly, "But rest assured darling, the one thing you can never lose is your salvation, God has fool proofed that, you’ve been permanently stamped, sealed and delivered to his kingdom, now will you please take your place in line. Oh, and welcome to eternity.”

Wow, I was so relieved to know that for once I had been unable to lose something that I over looked the fact, (barely), that my first encounter with an angel resulted in my practically being called a fool.

I looked at the row of former people ahead of me, remembered how much I hated lines down there and sighed. Well, hopefully this was the last line ever I would have to transverse I thought as I marched towards the Pearl of all Pearls, unmindful that the halo that had rested on my skull had slid off and sunk deep down under cover of the clouds while the angel watched, delightedly. Apparently some things never change, even in heaven!

John 10: 28-29
Ephesians 1:3-6
Ephesians 1 :13-14

how squirelly

How Squirrely

There the three of us stood mesmerized, with nothing better to do, observing the antics of a squirrel. Actually we couldn’t do anything better than observing the actions of one of God’s cutest creations. All right, God doesn’t make mistakes so everything he’s made is cute… to someone or something. This particular cutie was attempting to reach a pecan beyond its reach on a very frail limb by doing yoga or Pilates, with very bad form, it has obviously not watched the self-help DVD’s.

I was recording this hilarious moment on my cell phone (isn’t it great what these things can do.) so I could preserve it for posterity, or win a prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos; why shouldn’t I prosper from God’s creations? He is after all my father, and some of his wealth should trickle down to me.

Oh my gosh, the struggle for the evasive pecan suddenly became a struggle for life or death when the squirrel plummeted downward into our pool! Down and down he went. His nose dive into the water (done rump first) was as ungraceful as his attempts to grab what was apparently to him, the only surviving pecan left in the world.

Cindy, my athletic daughter, acting quickly, leapt outdoors, grabbed the huge spatula used to filter unwanted leaves from the water, scooped up Rocky, (yes we named him Rocky) and tossed him unceremoniously onto the yard in a wet heap of now not so cute yuckiness. All the while Scruffy our terrier was yapping and jumping, under the illusion he'd just been served breakfast. Fast food breakfast. Very fast food. Scruffy pranced about excitedly as his meal reached the safety of the tree. Safety. The same tree he had fallen from had now become Rocky's escape route. Once he reached the pinnacle he chattered some furious incomprehensible obscenities back at Scruffy while licking his fur dry.

"Mom, did you get that!" Cindy asked, excitedly.

I replayed the video. The first half was exceptionally well documented, and then sky, a mesh of frantic, well pedicured feet (handsomely paid for from my wallet at the salon), ground, kitchen walls, empty pool, empty tree, and the new neighbor’s U-Haul, and finally a disappointed pooch sitting on his haunches staring up at his retreating meal; but no sign of Rocky. He was faster than a speeding bullet for a wet scared squirrel.

"Well, it looks like we've made and lost our first million in two minutes." I stated. “I wonder how that will look on our taxes." Dejectedly, I tossed the camera/phone aside. .

Our new neighbors observed all this with amusement over the hedges that separated our houses as we exchanged wordless acknowledgment of each other’s presence before they returned to the tedious task of unloading box after box; box after box we couldn’t see, and not for lack of trying. They were parked as close to the garage entrance as possible. Did they really think the neighbors (us) would be spellbound by what they were unloading? Oh yeah, that’s what had brought Cindy and me to the back door window in the first  place, I guess we are a tad nosey;  hey, we’re woman, hear us roar.

Over the following days we were privileged to unlimited appearances from Rocky; perched on the roof, a nearby tree or electrical wire or preening himself (yes, we could tell Rocky was a he) on the top the wooden swing frame across from the pool, where we had nailed corn on the cob made especially for his enjoyment; actually, we took pleasure in watching him eat as much as he enjoyed eating. He would flop belly down, extremities dangling off both sides of the wooden bar, and swish his tail lazily about constantly keeping his eyes on us as we went about our business of energetically relaxing in the patio chairs, pretending to not notice him. He never ventured on any structure that placed him directly over the ring of water.  He wasn’t the least bit fooled by Scruffy’s. sham of ignoring him;  well aware that Scruffy, the trickster, was hoping to lull Rocky, the dinner, into false sense of security that would end up as shredded meat on canine teeth.

As the summer heat progressed, drying up neglected bird baths throughout the neighborhood, Rocky would make his way down the tree trunk ever on the alert for Scruffy’s scent. Cindy and I would quietly monitor his stealthy movements encouraging him with prayers as he edged towards Scruffy’s water bowl that we had deliberately placed at the old oak’s base within easy reach of Rocky’s parched tongue.  Once we noticed Scruffy displaying a inconceivable display of self-control. He was pointed right at Rocky, front legs bent, ready to spring, teeth gleaming in the sun/shade, stretched from nose to tail like and ironing board, (that’s a flat board used with a small hand held heated appliance to remove wrinkles from clothing, found on display at the Smithsonian Museum). He alternately faced forward growling at Rocky and twisting backwards to snap at the tip of his tail. If I hadn’t known better it appeared his tail was caught in an invisible door hinge or something. I blinked to get a better perspective on Scruffy’s status when Rocky, well saturated internally, but dry externally, high tailed it back to his leafy sanctuary and Scruffy sprang into action like a toy that had just been wound up, hitting his noggin on the tree trunk.  After he staggered about for a few seconds waiting for the stars to clear his head he turned to glare at something behind him unseen to human eyes and snarled. That dog is spooky sometimes, probably the result of too many head injuries!

One night a few weeks later Cindy crept into my room, and shook me awake, and shook me awake….and shook some more. What can I say, I’m a hearty snoozer. When I at last sucked my spirit back into my body, it was to confront an apprehensive face pushed inches from mine, warning me to be quiet. Then the sounds drifted into my hearing; barking and sounds of expensive house hold items crashing to the floor. Something violent was taking place downstairs. Cindy and I huddled together uncertain who should venture down to investigate and rescue Scruffy. This wasn’t a heads or tails debate, being the mother it was obviously my decision…to send her down. She wouldn’t go, stubborn kid that she was. 911 was notified and we stayed on the phone till we heard the police sirens, (boy they got here pretty fast, a first) then we saw the police flashlights bouncing off the border hedges outside., at last the dispatcher released us from the phone and invited us to allow the police in. They informed Cindy (on the phone) that all the windows and doors were locked, and there were no signs of a break in. We weren’t convinced they knew what they were talking about.

Inch by inch, step by step we made our way downstairs; each taking turn being pushed out front!  Chaos. Furniture was up ended, glass was strewn about from an étagère that has once held many cherished Dreamsicles and Waterford pieces that were now recyclables, lamps were laying horizontally beside end tables, curtains were pulled from window frames, and ….and…Rocky was poised anxiously on top of a book shelf, his sides rapidly heaving in and out, with Scruffy at base camp waiting for his next move, one that would hopefully end in a prayer of thanksgiving for his daily bread…er, protein. Rocky! How did he get in the house? The doggy door. Poor lonely Rocky was just looking for friendship in the wrong places. I hope my home owners insurance covered terrorist squirrels.

I opened the door for the police officers who entered with their guns poised for action, till they assessed the situation, then they contacted their dispatcher for back up help; animal control.  Believe me, no animals in this house are controllable, Scruffy will vouch for that.

"Oh no you don't," Cindy stated, using her body as a shield between Rocky and imminent mistreatment. "You're not going to scare Rocky with a man in a white suit chasing him with a net!"

"Please step away from the squirrel," the officer commanded. "Rodents are known carriers of rabies!"

"Don't pull your police profiling in here! Our Rocky doesn't have......eeeek!" Rocky had lunged from the book shelf onto Cindy's shoulder, nuzzled up against her neck, and grasped her hair for added security, then stared the law enforcement down with a look that said ‘ Go ahead and take me, but there will be bloodshed’.

 The police officer immobilized himself, unsure now of how to proceed; somehow I don't think this scenario was covered in the police academies hostage situation classes.

Cindy tentatively stroked Rocky's trembling back to assure him her attentions were honorable and slowly strolled out the door (as I held my breath; after all Rocky was a terrified wild animal)  into the block pajama party that was taking place up and down the street. (I never would have thought old sour puss Mrs. Crenshaw would snooze in M&M jammies.  M&M jammies with the flirtatious, red lip-sticked, Green Peanut M&M emblazoned across her chest). Cindy carefully approached Rocky's favorite tree and off he went to his squirrelly shelter where he ranted spiritedly at us, pointing to the house. I finally exhaled, letting my face pink back up.

Our nearest neighbor, Mrs. Gosper, an elderly octogenarian wearing a nightie featuring delicate lace embroidery and full soft pleats that fell to the ankle offering a feminine flattering allure on a body that was long past offering feminine flattering allure (sometimes you learn too much from people in emergency situations) bolted up to Cindy and me and squealed, "Did you get him!"

"Yes we did! He's up in the tree," I answered relieved and embarrassed that a squirrel could upset our sleeping rituals, and that of the whole neighborhood’s.

"In the tree?" Mrs. Gosper asked. "Why is he in the tree?"

“Well,” I drawled in my best Texan accent, “He’s a squirrel and that’s where they belong.”

After a brief explanation, Mrs. Gosper exclaimed, "I called the police because I saw a flashlight circling around your living room, not a squirrel." She had called the police? No, we had called the police. After a confused question and answer session we realized the four patrol cars present were the result of two separate 911 calls, and that Mrs. Gosper’s had arrived about thirty minutes behind ours due to a traffic accident in route. We all stared at each other then slowly turned our concentration on the house. The police once again unholstered their big guns and ventured back up the steps where they found Scruffy scratching and whining at the hall closet. One officer motioned us to safety behind him, a position my daughter loved, as his partner opened the door. There amid the coats, umbrellas, golf bags and Christmas decorations stood our new neighbor, wearing a black get-up and holding a flashlight as a weapon that the officers quickly and expertly removed from his grasp before flinging him to the floor and cuffing him.

Over the next hour the story unraveled of how our new neighbor never intended to habitat his house, but was using it for the storage and marketing of stolen goods. Thus that is why we never were privy to what exited the u-hauls. Now that I ruminate on it (my reader’s digest word of the month, like it?) I realized there sure was a lot of loading and unloading going on over there.

Evidently Neighbor noticed when my husband left for one of his many business trips this morning and invited himself in to hide in a closet before we locked up for the night. Clever. Scary. He hadn't counted on Rocky's perfect timing on breaking in through the doggy door to playfully taunt Scruffy. They've become such wonderful friends over the past few weeks; well something like friends except totally different.

After everyone and their bizarre sleeping attire returned to their homes, and a major crime spree had been discovered and thwarted, Cindy and I prepared to once again close up for the night. But first….I pulled out a bag of whole pecans and went outside to Rocky’s dining area; he would never be without sustenance as long as I lived. That sweet little baby had had a wonderful part in preventing a horrible crime, if he hadn’t come in and agitated Scruffy, we could have been robbed way before Mrs. Gosper’s police had arrived. Robbed or worse.

I stopped at the back door and blinked. No, I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was seeing. No way. The pecans could wait until daylight. I needed to get to bed, because I had to be sleep walking.

Scruffy and Rocky were sitting on the patio, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, rotating their heads in unison as they watched one of the guardian angels (angels only visible to Scruffy and Rocky) assigned to Cindy and her mom pace in front of them.

"Now Scruffy, there's no need to chase poor Rocky around, you know you don't like raw meat, after all Rocky did a very brave thing tonight, sneaking into the house to thwart that thieves’ plans, and Rocky, you shouldn't antagonize Scruffy, you know he can't climb trees. I want you two to shake hands…paws.. Whatever…and try to get along; we can never have too many friends. Don’t make us come back down here tonight, or any other night.”

Scruffy and Rocky glanced sideways at each other and resigned themselves to the fact that peace was better than enmity.  Plus, who wanted angels pulling your tails to keep you from chasing each other, thought Scruffy, with the acorn size bump still on his noggin from crashing into the tree a few weeks ago! Angels are worse than that PETA organization.

 Six hours later when Cindy opened the back door to head for school with a whooping good story about her boring night she discovered a squirrel and a dog nestled peacefully together on a rattan divan. Checking to see that they were both breathing and not victims of violence, she ran, got her camera and videoed away. How else would she get anyone to believe this story. Heck she had to replay the video six times to convince herself she’d seen it and she still doubted her own eyes.

making new friends

Coffee! If I was going to make it home tonight I needed a highly caffeinated, over sized cup of coffee called an espresso! We should have gotten a room for the night I reflected with my twenty/twenty hindsight vision.

The sound of engines behind me turned my attention to the rear view mirror which was spotted with several headlights, looking like fireflies on steroids, spaced oddly about on the other wise deserted freeway. I squinted harder; oh, they were motorcycles, lots of them, and coming fast. They approached my bumper then divided in half sandwiching my car to look inside giving my spine a series of spasms. I gripped the steering wheel tightly and braced myself for the unexpected, praying without ceasing for God’s intervention.

My daughter Cindy, on the passenger side, looked up from her text messaging to see what was going on.

“Don’t make eye contact with them,” I warned keeping my gaze straight ahead while rowdy, disrespectful hoots and hollers filled my ears.

“What?” Cindy asked, “Do you think they might think we don’t see them?”

Scruffy, our maybe fifteen pound when wet terrier, got up on his hind legs and barked ferociously at our escorts. That a-boy, scare them off, I thought, hopelessly. I couldn’t fault Scruffy for his bravado as he showed his fangs but now I was wishing that we had thought the seventy pound male Rottweiler in the cage next to him at the shelter had put up more of a performance for adoption. Why did I go for cute instead of functional?

After the seven punks got their fill of rattling our nerves they popped a few wheelies holding tightly to their ape hangers (those large awkward handle bars that keep arms in the raised position, similar to the position police ask you to assume, how convenient!), gunned their engines and raced onwards revealing the patches on the back of their black leather jackets identifying their proud membership in a local gang. I started to breathe again but froze mid inhalation when another cycle whizzed past; the back marker. This one didn’t stay to unnerve us, but rushed on to catch up with his comrades. Scaredy cat, I thought, not brave enough to intimidate us on his own.

My eye lids were starting to sag over my pupils blocking my vision when I spotted the Starbucks sign. Do people see mirages at night in air conditioned cars? If so that is what I was hoping the gang that passed us had been! I could smell the coffee brewing the closer I got to the building. Thank you God, this was one of your small miracles, who would have thought on this long stretch of barren highway there would be a designer coffee shop. My guess is they targeted the truckers that sailed through here.

I bypassed the drive through window and parked near the front door so I could get out and stretch my legs and Cindy could walk Scruffy to the patch of grass that bulldozers and contractors had overlooked when they brought this delightful oasis to this region of the world. I prompted her to bring a plastic bag along in case Scruffy left something worth picking up; picking up and discarding. I also admonished her to stay in sight of the Coffee shop, it was late, dark, and we were far from home, yes, I know, most crimes happen within reach of your own front door, but still safety precautions must be adhered to.

After I downed one small cup of coffee with surprising speed, in front of an astonished clerk who imagined third degree burns erupting down my esophagus, I picked up the other two cups and headed back to my P.T Cruiser. There was Cindy, talking to a boy… man… young adult. A young adult with a black leather jacket and a helmet. A black leather jacket and helmet that I’d seen on a motor cycle recently. The boy/man personified the bad boy persona. I glanced about and rested my eyes on some bikes around the corner at the gas station. The owners were standing about inspecting Cindy and me from head to toe with expressions that didn’t pull warm fuzzies out of my heart, and despite the hot cups of coffee a strong icy sensation was spreading over my soul.

“Cindy, get into the car!” I said snapping the door open for emphasis.

“But mom-“

“Not buts young lady, in the car!”

“Mom, that was so rude!” Cindy informed me once she was seated and belted in to her seat.
“Don’t worry; I’m sure he’s used to it.”

“We were talking about-“

“I don’t care what you were talking about, that’s not the type of person you should be talking to at night in a parking lot filled with his I’m-looking-for-a-good-time-friends!” The volume of my voice had exceeded conversational levels.

“But-“

“This isn’t a talk show Cindy; I’m not interested in feedback.” I was too high on the emotional roller coaster to see the ground right now, picturing Cindy as a rag doll being passed around to all those…jerks!

Silence sprouted seeds that grew into thick thorny bushes for the next several miles, even Scruffy was subdued; I could tell because he was quiet with his eyes open.

Ping. Ping. Ping. Okay, what does that sound mean? The control panel’s little gas tank indicator was lit up and blinking at me, I raised my eyes to the gas gauge; the little pointer thingy was down near the empty zone. Great! I picked up my Iphone and tapped the Around me icon and searched for the nearest gas station. The one by the Starbucks of course, the next one down the road was miles away, down the dark, lonely , tree lined road in the middle of nowhere. Movies have been made with this scenario, two women and a dog stranded at night in unfamiliar territory hunted down by crazed mountain men. Whoa, I have to reign in my mental imageries or I won’t be able to prevent Cindy from panicking.

Okay, stay cool, I’m sure there is enough reserve to get me to the filling station. The car sputtered. Just a few more miles. The car sputtered again, coughed, wheezed and gave up the ghost. Oh, dear, why did I have to think of ghosts!

“What did you do now?” Cindy quizzed me, looking around the area and seeing no reason to make a pit stop. Scruffy was on his hind legs staring out the windows, drooling at all the trees, he felt sure he was in doggy heaven, things couldn’t get any better for him!

“Don’t be alarmed but we ran out of-
”
“Gas!” Cindy finished. “Mom, did you wake up this morning and tell yourself it was a good day to do something stupid!”

Okay, I deserved that, [kind of], but now is not the time to react, I must stay calm, okay, I must appear to be calm for Cindy’s sake, once her anger dissipates she’ll become a trembling mass of hysteria, like my interiors were at this moment. On the flip side, Scruffy was a trembling mass of slobbering jubilation as he eyed the trees off to the side of the road and envisioned the furry inhabitants. Oh, right, he could probably sense them on his doggy radar.

Opening my door I climbed out and headed to the trunk where my emergency supplies were. Snatching the blanket, flashlight/radio combo and a knapsack with extras I explained to Cindy the plan was to go a distance into the woods, in sight of the car and call for help. I’d read that staying inside a stranded car victimized you more if undesirables stopped because you were then a packaged treat, all they had to do was smash the windows and then…….let your imagination take over, better yet, read the newspapers,or the internet.

While Scruffy ran amuck marking out his territory with all the ammunition his little body possessed, (that dog could find any cloud’s silver lining!) Cindy and I got settled on a blanket a few yards away but in view of the car then I called the nearby gas station and asked if they did deliveries. They informed me they weren’t a pizza shop, so I tearfully explained my situation and they changed their tone; thankfully. When I disconnected there were no tears to wipe from my face, just a satisfied smile that the tear card had done its trick. I can be a real ham if necessary, a semester of drama class wasn’t wasted on this girl.

Oh great; the alarming sound of thunder peeled a layer off the night’s stillness. Next I spotted lightening. Now wait a minute, the lightening was running along the ground horizontally. Oh, no. It was the sound of approaching motorcycles! Please don’t let it be; but it was; the guys from our recent past. The first two cycles passed my car and halted, those following pulled up behind the car and seven rough looking dudes dismounted and began inspecting the unoccupied interior, scratching their bald tattooed heads and puzzling over our where abouts. I could tell by their gestures they ruled out the road once travelled and surmised we were hoofing it in the opposite direction. While some of the dudes started in on dismantling the abandoned auto, one guy remounted his Hogg and was about to take off in search of us when Scruffy; whose protective growling I had been trying desperately to keep muffled, wrestled free from my grasp to leap fervently after a suicidal bunny that had popped into sight from nowhere taking Scruffy’s focus off of being our guard dog and catching the attention of the Dudes. Well Scruffy, you didn’t earn your security badge tonight, I thought, for that matter, don’t expect any routine treats to be doled out latter, either.

Just about this time Cindy’s friend breezed up. Boy what a straggler, he sure couldn’t keep up with his pack. This party was just getting bigger by the moment and I wasn’t going to enjoy mingling. Okay, Friend just looked at the scene and kept on trucking at the suggestive hand motions of the Dudes. My gosh, he wasn’t a participant of this gang! He was obviously a lone wolf biker and I had misjudged him, (at least I’m consistent)

Three creeps caught Cindy and me before we got very far, hauled us back to the festivities none too gently, and centered us in a manmade circle.

“You know, if you got a job you could afford the rest of that jacket,” Cindy declared speaking to the leader whose leather jacket sleeves had been ripped off, presumably so he could display his horrid, suggestive body art.

“Cindy, don’t give unsolicited advice,” I warned in a hiss, this wasn’t a time to be cheeky, , though I admired her spunk.

More thunder, more lightening coming from the opposing direction. Friend had returned with back up! For every one of the Dudes there were four more additions to the gala. Friend’s comrades pulled up behind him in orderly fashion, all in faux black leather jackets, faux alligator boots, crisp jeans and sitting on shiny Beemers. All wearing helmets with face shields; face shields that captured the moon’s glow so perfectly I couldn’t see any faces through the illumination. All looking like pristine carbon copies (does anyone remember carbon paper?) of each other and all looking like they just came off a show room floor. {Maybe I should use the analogy of clones for this generation?}

No heavy convincing was required to turn the seven bullies into putty; just the presence of the reinforcements took away their chutzpah; it was perfectly acceptable to outnumber Cindy and me, but being outnumbered themselves was a whole different matter. They made a rapid exit leaving seven blackies (dark streaks) on the asphalt. Then the reinforcement, one by one, turned their wheels and rode noiselessly away on Dudes’ heels corralling them, herding them; rattling their nerves!

“Quick, let’s call the police!” I suggested digging in my pocket for my cell simultaneously to the sound of sirens approaching.

“I already did,” Friend explained. “That will be my dad.” Friend was a policeman’s son. That could be good news or bad news. He was either a rebellious offspring or just the opposite.

“Well it was lucky for us you ran into some friends, thanks for bringing them to help, please
tell them we appreciated it.” I asked.

Cindy and Friend stared at me. “What are you talking about, mom?” Cindy asked bewildered.

“Those guys…the other riders…” Cindy and Friend maintained a steady stare. I had the awful feeling I was in the twilight zone by myself. Come to think of it, twenty eight motorcycles leaving at once should have made some kind of sound but…I hadn’t heard a single engine, they must use high grade fuel.

Cindy filled in the awkwardness with a whispered explanation to Friend, “Mom gets like this when she overdoses on caffeine. Some people hallucinate on alcohol or drugs, mom zones out on coffee.” Then out loud to me she said, “Mom, I was trying to tell you earlier that this guy saw us at the Women of Faith conference today.”

“You were at the Women of Faith conference?” I asked, incredulously. He must really love the Lord to hang out with women high on God for the weekend, I thought. Or maybe he’d been a worker.

“It’s a great place to meet girls,” Friend explained. There you got it, from dislike, to like back to the starting board. This guy was using a religious retreat to meet chicks. “Yeah, if you want to meet a godly woman you have to go to where they gather.” Friend continued explaining. Great. My opinions flipped over again. I was getting very woozy, no more coffee after three in the afternoon! And then no more than two cups per day. Oh, I already was starting to go into withdrawal and yes, it hurt.

Friend’s cell phone went off.


“No. ….No….they did? ….No way…wow.” Friend looked extremely perplexed.

“That was my dad; he said those jerks turned themselves in without a fight and he needs you to come fill out a complaint.”

“What else did he say?” Some crucial detail was being withheld.

“He said….this is weird….he said they insisted he also arrest the gang that was following them but dad didn’t see anyone else. They all acted genuinely afraid, as if there really as a gang right there threatening them.” Friend scratched his head while Cindy gaped in awe at me. Well, isn’t that nice, I don’t have to suffer caffeine withdrawals after all, I just need to thank God I’m not seeing things by myself, however sharing hallucinations with drug addicted hoodlums isn’t comforting.

The gas station people arrived with an emergency gas supply, enough to get me back to the station. Before I turned the ignition key I remembered a small detail I’d forgotten with all the life threatening events we had just survived; we still didn’t have Scruffy in our midst.
Following the sounds of his frantic barking Cindy, Friend, and I came upon the agitated terrier leaping in the air under a tree, completely ignoring our summons. Bad, bad dog, I muttered, snatching him in mid leap and following his intent stare upwards. My gosh, the rabbit was up on a limb, ears pressed to its scalp, nose vigorously twitching, I had no idea rabbits could climb trees. What a night.

“Rabbits really can’t climb trees,” an angel walking invisibly beside me and well known to Scruffy, informed him as I toted him back to the car, “But you shouldn’t be trying to hurt them either, all animals belong to God and if you don’t need them for food leave them alone!” Scruffy whined at the scolding of his owner’s guardian angel that had arrived in response to her earlier prayers, and hung his head in short lived shame. Guardian’s twenty eight co-workers materialized, helmetless, revealing faces that glowed from being in the presence of God, and they all shot back up to the executive office on their Beemers (that disolved under them) leaving only white streaks in the sky for the two legged beings of flesh to see.

2 kings 6:16-17
Pslam 34:7
Psalms 53:5

don't count on tomorrow

Well, I gambled and lost. That teaches me a lesson about gambling, unfortunately I’m a slow learner, I thought as I hung up the phone, the phone I shouldn’t have answered. Now my day is shot, caput, gone to the dogs. I had such wonderful plans for the day, too, what a shame I answered the phone, if I was flexible enough I would kick myself in the behind.

I looked at my Papasan chair, near the end table loaded with reading material, a hot carafe of coffee brewed fresh at the local trendy coffee shop (sorry, no free advertising) and the remote control in case I got tired of reading, which I very well would, especially if the books and magazines had too many multi-syllabled words. Well, it all would still be here later when I got back, except maybe for the hot coffee which would have cooled, allowing the cream to rise to the surface producing a lovely sheen, similar to oil on a lake’s surface. I poured some coffee into a carry along cup, no sense in wasting good coffee, and I would need something to give me an artificial high, because this afternoon was going to be boring.

Sighing, I headed to my friend’s house to pick her up on the way to the hospital; Charity had called to inform me a mutual friend, Faith, was on her death bed and requested we come by to visit….one last time. How melancholy can you get? They say misery loves company, well, apparently that’s true but they don’t say that company loves misery! What’s the point in seeing someone right before they take their final bow? Why bother your healthy friends and put the burden on them of seeing you one last time before you die? Do you really think you’ll wake up in eternity grateful for that last visit? Give me a break!

I had hoped Charity had just called to inform me she had done some weekend cooking, which usually led to refrigerator overload at her end in which case she insisted I come by and stock my refrigerator with some casseroles, meatloaves, stuffing, etc. And being cheap and a lousy cook to boot, I was more than willing to help alleviate her burden! Generosity was one of her imperfections. I had always admonished her to spend less money on food and put more in the bank since she seemed to overdo it. Money I had hoped she would leave me in her will as I was her closest friend, actually I was her only friend, and her relatives were greedy money grabbing inconsiderate users.(No, I don’t see any similarities between me and them, don’t you even try to suggest it!)

I got Charity to the hospital as quickly as I could so I could return home early and pick up where I left off; chillaxing in my den. Did I say hospital; this structure could have applied for a place on the map as a township; gift stores, coffee stands, water fountains filled with coins {with wishes attached to them}, tree and bush filled malls where people sat on leather chairs with wireless computers, several eateries (with well known names,) and a fitness center (though that was a hard one to explain, oh wait, it must be for the employees), and a rehabilitation center with a pool! People had to be praying to get laid up in here! They wouldn’t have to leave for anything, except in Faith's case, death.

We stopped at the information desk where we were supplied with a map to Faith's room. A map! It turns out we actually needed it (even though we still got lost using it.)

If we were in the correct tower, on the correct floor, we were now standing in front of Faith’s closed hospital door which I gently tapped on since Charity’s hands were filled with an enormous gift basket crammed with her (Faith’s) favorite chocolates, candies, lotions, gowns, novelty socks, cross word puzzles, sudoko books, gossipy periodicals, and DVD’s; if Faith really wasn’t long for this world her family would be finishing off the contents which were paid for out of my inheritance! I hoped Faith would open the basket while we were here and offer us some refreshments, at least I could benefit from my losses.

A diminutive voice invited us in; at least I assumed that was what I heard. Shrugging to Charity I pushed the door open and almost retreated apologetically, fearing we had intruded into the wrong room when I spotted the small white face which appeared even whiter due to the toxically purple lips and grossly sunken eyes. My gosh, Faith had once been a well nourished (read pleasingly plump) healthy woman just months ago, now her congenital heart problems have made her so frail I could barely see her chest rise and fall with inspirations and expirations. Okay, this visit better not last too long, no way had I wanted this pitiful picture to be permanently whittled in my memory. I was astounded at how well Charity reacted, she didn't seem to notice Faith's exterior shell as they chatted about old times, (and chatted and chatted) while I kept a discreet eye on my watch, occasionally being drawn into the conversation. I tried not to talk too much fearing I’d reveal my personal opinions about Faith’s grotesque appearance.

Come on, Charity, I thought, Faith needs her rest, you'll wear her out, I have a feeling her batteries are winding down and I don't want to be here when they do because I don't plan on recharging them! I'm not going to put my lips on those purple lips to force life back into anyone. I fidgeted nervously. Thank heavens I have years to go before i start decomposing and I certainly plan on making the most of my time; believe me, I won't call old friends to come witness my final agonizing breaths! God, if I can't glamorize myself for company stay away from me! It's all about presentation.

The conversation took the turn I dreaded. Death. Death and God. Faith and Charity comforted each other with scriptures I've heard before when I was forced to Sunday school. Fairy tales of happy ever after. Geez. No way we can know what'll happen when we die, since no one has come back to tell us anything. Okay, no one in the past two thousand years. Things can change in two thousand years! Things can change between sunrise and sunset. If there is life after death I want proof!

Finally, the meeting for the Adoration of God Club ended and I dropped Charity back off at her house and pointed myself home. The heavens opened and rain poured down in layers just as I crossed a busy intersection where some jerk ran his red light and nearly t-boned my car. I pulled myself out of the inevitable tail spin barely clipping five other vehicles and cursed at the retreating truck in my rear view mirror. That was close i thought just before I unexpectedly sailed off the overpass....So much for luck!

My car went airborne down to the freeway below in a perfect nose dive then flipped over to rest on its hood; my seat belt kept me anchored crumbled upside down in my seat, my head grazing the ceiling, and my knees buckling into my face and chest. Not the most comfortable position imaginable. Blood was splashing onto the roof top, pooling in alarming large puddles; my blood. I felt nothing; no pain. This must be shock; or a severed spinal cord. I was slipping away, fading. It's true, your life parades past you rapidly, yet coherently. I recalled every detail in measly seconds. Fifty years of selfishness, greed, and hypocrisy. It was all so clear, so ugly. So wasted compared to Charity’s and Faith’s.

Cars were braking to sudden stops, people were screaming, sirens were approaching, my breath was slowing, my thoughts were withering. Then the hallucination came, probably from blood loss and oxygen deprivation. A view of hell fire burst into my mind so real that my flesh sizzled. I could see eternal torment, eternal punishment, and eternal separation. I could see what I deserved. I shuddered knowing my last words on earth were used to blaspheme God to a careless driver. If I wanted proof about life after death, it had just been hand delivered.

Someone reached into the broken window and clasped my hand, I only know this because I could barely see her through my blood crusted eyelashes, I definitely couldn’t feel her hand. Feelings of comfort flooded my soul. I wouldn’t die alone; I also wouldn’t die glamorously.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be alright,” the stranger said. I’m no fool, after all most of my life was spent lying, only not to make people feel better, but to get away with unlawful or unethical things. I know I’ve bought it.

My eyes closed and my heart beat decelerated even more. No pain, my spinal cord really was probably severed at the neck. I tried to summon up the salvation prayer I had heard so many times from the lips of Faith and Charity as they evangelized around the office and neighborhood and attempted an awkward version of it followed with; “Please God, if you’ll let me live just a little longer…………..” I truly had every intention of doing nothing but good from here on out.

Paramedics arrived, slipped a tube down my throat, started an I.V., hoisted me onto a gurney and sped off with me, sirens wailing. Then….nothing.

Bright lights! I’m in an operating room! They must be able to save me or they wouldn’t have me here, hope is springing up in my soul. Darkness. Sleep.

I stretched and yawned. Wait. I stretched. I could move! With my eyes still closed I tested my right hand and placed it over my chest to assess a heartbeat and respirations. My hand went right through to my back, a neat trick if I had a problematic itch. I lay there, eyes closed, unsure of what was going on, another hallucination maybe.

I hesitated to open my eyes, and then did so one at a time. I could see the clouds and sky, but…even though the sky was above me, the clouds were below me. I seemed to be cradled in someone’s arms, twisting around I met the eyes of ……oh, my gosh, is this who I think it is! It’s definitely not Jim Jones or Jim Baker, not even David Karesh! It’s the real enchilada. No fake, no impersonator, no wan-na be.

I leapt to my feet and praised my lucky stars all the while kissing his hands and feet, thanking him over and over again. Laughing and crying….(fooled you, there is no crying up here anymore!)

Then I apologized profusely for having wasted my life but he cut me off, pointing in the direction of ……What a pearl! It was enormous! So enormous thousands of people, er, souls were pouring through an opening in the center coming to the welcoming arms of …(you know who), as he welcomed each and everyone individually to his kingdom; their new home.

Then, oddly, several dozen of the newcomers promenaded over to me, expressing gratitude for my gifts to them, while others rambled on about some lady named Faith telling them to look me up if they got here first. Faith! She was on her death bed when I left earth? (Yes, that does sound weird!) She of all people, er, souls, should be here, after all, she and Charity had spent hours doing good works for ….Him, I thought glancing shyly towards the welcoming wagon, actually it was a brilliant white throne, surrounded by odd looking celestial beings.

There she was, coming in the pearly gate. How did I beat her here? I know that time is meaningless now so what had seemed like seconds to me were decades down on earth. Boy, that doesn’t sound any more normal the more I say it. She looked fantastic and older but without the geriatric look, you know, sagging face, sagging shoulders, thinning hair. She looked radiant. She must have lived another twenty, twenty five years after me! What luck, but I didn’t end up so bad. She and Grace had been right, death isn’t anything to fear if you know the right people, I mean person.

“Faith, it’s great to see you, and I can honestly say you look better dead than you did alive! But why have you been telling these people to look me up?”

“Well honey, these people were saved by your selfless donations; some got your lungs, kidneys, eyes, bones, pancreas and skin and were able to live long productive lives with their families. And as you can see, if I hadn’t gotten your heart I wouldn’t have survived long enough to be a missionary, the seeds I planted and God watered grew a thousand fold. It was a team effort, thanks, Hope.” Well now I see why she lived twenty five years longer, if she'd gotten my heart she got a good deal, it had barely been used while I was alive, I mean before I died. I wonder how far into eternity I have to get before that just doesn’t sound weird!

As I spotted Charity strolling through the reception line to meet her maker, carrying her trademark basket filled with the crowns she had earned to return to the feet of …Him, I reflected, there is life after death, for those that get the gift of temporal life through organ transplants and those that accept Jesus and get eternal life, no matter how late in the game. God had honored my request to let me live longer, I lived on in Faith and all the others that received parts of me bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase; “Do you want a piece of me, then come and get it.”

Hey, there’s the lady that held my hands before I died (yep, sounds weird still)…..wait; as she escorted someone to their new home I discovered she was no lady after all. She must have sensed I was watching her because she twisted to look over her star dusted wings and winked at me. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said I’d be alright!

cut backs

Its amazing how you don’t miss something till it’s no longer available, I reflected as I drove slowly through the empty park. Just last year this place was alive with activity. Temporary buildings and tents had been erected along the route from entrance to exit and cars had moved so slowly making frequent stops that the road looked more like a parking lot than a thorough fare; and no one honked rudely in attempts to speed things up, that was a miracle in itself.
People dressed in theme costumes had performed skits at designated locations, starting at the admission gate where you received the free program and CD to play that described each scene. It was a pretty well organized event, hosted by dozens of churches, of all denominations, that was another miracle; Catholics, Presbyterians, Baptists, Pentecostals, all joined together to reach the community, without recruiting for their specific theology.

The first skit had been a humble structure with live cattle, donkeys and sheep hovering around a couple cradling an infant, a real infant not a doll. Obviously you now are getting an inkling of what the project was about. The following structures went up chronologically from Jesus’ birth to various activities in his life, all replayed over and over for each passing set of automobiles by church members, as the cars glided slowly past listening to the stories on the CD’s that had been provided.

Now all I could hear were the faint echoes of years gone by; echoes of ooh’s and aahs that descended into a reverent hush when appropriate. The event called “Celebrate Christmas” had been an annual activity for years before I had actually attended one. It hadn’t been the free admission that had prevented me from attending, just indifference. I knew all about the bible and had claimed Jesus as my savior so I had no need to accompany my husband here every year, he was one of the volunteer actors and construction crew, so he had to come but I didn’t. Why leave a nice toasty home with a cozy bed to traipse out here in the cold winter night for three weekends in a row, from Friday night to Sunday, just to watch something I was already convicted of. Let the lost come. Let the hurt come. Let the desperate come. Let the dispossessed come that had used the the temporary makeshift shelters during the night for protection from the winter cold and sleet. Let me stay nice and warm and comfortable in my bed.

Then one year I had come with some friends from work. It was then I saw the life of Jesus through eyes of spiritually hungry babies. They asked questions so simple a five year old could have answered them. I l listened to my friends’ excitement with amazement, coupled with embarrassment as we passed each stage depicting one more scene from the Lord’s life. Now nothing. I had to come to see the results of our latest major recession; a recession so devastating people were struggling to avoid foreclosures and keep food in their mouths, donating for a project of this magnitude was out of the question. To the organizations that had contributed this had been the first choice on cut backs.

As I neared the location where the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus took place as recently as last year, (in proxy only mind you), I felt compelled to turn off the ignition and sit quietly to meditate. This had been my favorite reenactment. Angels had rolled back the stone exposing a Jesus impersonator glowing from the stage lights before he walked around the tomb showing his cut back to reenter again and repeat his performance three more times for me. (In reality he had only been interred once and rose for all time! Alleluia and pass the wine, er.. non alcoholic wine!)

Hey, what’s going on over there? People were assembling in the area of the of last year’s ascension scene. (Sorry, my mind is still in the past.) The destitute that utilized this park for their sleeping quarters after hours were all milling around some central attraction that was obscured from my sight. Well, I’m nothing if not curious. I know, curiosity killed the cat; but satisfaction brought him back!

Pulling the keys from the ignition I (a lone woman, a lone stupid woman) stepped out of the safety of my car and sauntered over slowly to the gathering crowd hoping to fit in. I wasn’t dressed for the opera after all, just in casual attire, which in my case would aide in helping me to fit in! The nearer I got I heard the voice of an angel; some man narrating a story with absolute eloquence, perfect diction, heavenly inflections! Spell binding. He was narrating the bible stories that had been presented here for the last decade before all the tragic cut backs! This was a pocket-sized one man reenactment of Celebrate Christmas!

The faces of the indigent glowed, their usual expressions of indifference brought on by years of self esteem fed by the social structure they were part of were gone, replaced by….the gospel of hope, the gospel of the good news. Three men were working the throng, I caught shreds of conversation, they were encouraging the downhearted, offering hope, not temporal hope, but hope for things that aren’t seen, and the hope was being received gratefully, accepted, and implanted into fertile soil.

My eyes met the raconteur’s eyes, eyes that pierced my soul! I got hit with an inspiration! A communiqué from God! Racing back to my car (and believe me, racing at my age does look comical!) I sped home, made some phone calls with detailed instructions, and some heavy imploring, opened (and eventually closed) the trunk of my car, enlisted the help of my grumbling family, and sped back to the park. The crowd was still there, and growing larger with a gathering of several more penniless men and women, of all ages from seventeen to ….they had to be younger than they looked because some looked already dead and decomposing!

I pulled my PC from the trunk along with a portable table and set up the show. I had filmed the last trip to Celebrate Christmas and now I could share it, though the quality was lacking something…like quality, but what’s that old adage; it’s better than nothing! But the story teller could enhance it immeasurably.

More cars started to arrive, park and open trunks. My church had raised supplies for the night shelter down town, well this unofficial night shelter needed things more, these were the out casts that didn’t even go to the shelters! I had successfully convinced my church to bring the items here to distribute, like sleeping bags, blankets, pup tents, coats, socks, personal toiletries, ect, the list goes on. One member, a restaurateur, had been persuaded to bequeath refreshments, hot cocoa, donuts, bagels and cheese, fresh cut up fruit (yummy); complete with waitresses, who had been promised overtime but had ….declined! They had volunteered for a cut back actually.

What had started off as a dismal evening for me had sprung up into a spontaneous old fashion praise jamboree. I prepared a plate of munchies and some hot cocoa and headed toward the God -sent speaker to offer him refreshments and commend him for his talent. He was sitting off by himself, observing the mingling and interactions of the assemblage.

“You were great!” I exclaimed, “You have talent and a fantastic knowledge of the bible. Have you ever taught?”

“Yes, ma’am, every day of my life.” He answered accepting the plate of food and taking cautious sips of the hot cocoa. The silence took over. It was a comfortable silence between us {and anyone that knows me knows I’m not usually comfortable with silence!} as we watched the two groups of strangers, church goers and the impoverished, blend and dine on a feast, a feast of comfort food. I observed some net working taking place also; there would be few less unemployed tonight. Just because big corporations had to suffer cut backs obviously didn’t mean that small groups of churches couldn’t make a difference. We can still cover ground one step at a time. Nothing is gained by cutting back but bread thrown out over the waters brings increased returns. One hot dog at a time. One cup of cocoa at a time. This man by himself had ignited a chain reaction that spread through a miniscule section of the community.

“Will you be here again tomorrow night?” I queried, not wanting this twenty first century great awakening to end.

“I’ll be here until the end of the world,” he responded getting up to join his three approaching colleagues. As he walked away I noticed one more cut back; his. His torn shirt exposed the markings of a heavy whipping. A whipping that had to have been near deadly; was it gang related? No, I realized as the four men walked back towards the vicinity of last year’s ascension scene, (and straight up into the air without benefit of last year’s props), the marks were sin related. I spilled my hot cocoa on the ground. Spilled; l dropped the cup as I watched the entourage fade into the sky.

“Hey, where are those guys that started this?” a friend came up and asked looking around. She was positive she’d seen them head this way.

My hand weakly fluttered in the general direction as I toyed with the idea of revealing the truth. No, I’m not ready to be locked away…..by my standards… yet.

“They went that away,” I answered pointing horizontally to the earth, not vertically. No, I’m sure no one would believe this until….. Until the end of the world.

Eccl. 11:1-2 Isaiah 58:7-12
math 27:26 Math. 28:20
James 2:14-17 Rev. 22:20-21

coincidences

Mmmm! I grunted as I felt around for the snooze button while moaning about morning coming so early in the day; seven thirty wouldn’t be so bad if it came at noon! Scruffy, my usually lovable but presently annoying terrier was shoving his nose into my neck, ear, and face, letting me know he could count; I’d already snoozed twice now and he had needs to meet, well, needs I needed to help him meet by opening the back door. I swatted the pillow next to me, empty. Drat it, what’s the point of having a husband if he can’t let the dog out! Burying my head under my wonderfully thick memory foam pillow I fumbled for my phone.

Hitting the speed dial number closest to my heart I struggled to stay awake long enough to converse with the callee.

A voice as similar to mine as genetics would allow answered on the third ring with a equally groggy, “Hello.

“Come let Scruffy out,” I pleaded.

“Where are you?”

“In bed.”

“So am I.” My daughter Cindy informed me.

“You should be up now, you have a game to get ready for,” I mumbled as Scruffy leaped off the bed and disappeared on the floor somewhere out of sight.

“Not till you make my breakfast,” Cindy declared.

Scruffy leaped back up next to me and rubbed his belly over my arm; his wet belly, his wet lower belly. I hope you’re getting the disgusting picture!

“Ooooh. I think Scruffy has wet the floor somewhere and used my arm for toilet paper!” I announced, springing from bed with the agility of a young person. Scruffy dived off the other side and flew from the room. He had scored and made his point, now it was time to retreat. I found the spot almost instantly with my bare feet. Yuck, yuck; and triple yuck!

“That’s okay, you don’t need to make my breakfast now,” Cindy giggled as we met in the hallway, each with our cell phones glued to our ears. Cell phones, what a convenience. You don’t have to yell from room to room anymore like we did in the antediluvian times when I was growing up.

Scruffy had made it to t he kitchen when I caught up with him, his back to the door, his ears pinned to his skull, trapped. Scruffy’s unconquerable self defense tactic was his eyes. He looked up at me with pools of brown ammunition under thick black lashes which stopped me in my tracts long enough for the door to suddenly open so he could bound into the safety of the back yard, his sanctuary. Now how did that door open by itself? Hubby must not have shut it securely when he left for his golf game this morning. Still, what made it open? Oh, this old house probably shifted slightly. No other explanation.

After the usual delays Cindy and I finally got our stuff together and made it in time to her teams meeting place. On time for us, not on time for those with a sense of personal accountability! We got the customary comments about our consistency which I was able to dodge by just dropping Cindy off and throwing her under the bus. Hey, I’m not that devoted a mother, my priorities were getting Cindy an education, sports were a luxury she pursued.

Cindy rolled her eyes at me at the same time she rolled her sleeves up to go into battle with her disgruntled friends. She would blame me for our tardiness I’m sure, but hey, once again, I don’t care, this is after all Saturday morning, they’re lucky we even showed up!

Back on the road home I ran into an unexpected detour sign that wasn’t there before. Things can sure change in the blink of an eye around here, I thought as I followed the signs. Well, things are looking up, there is a garage sale going on up ahead. Is it possible they’re responsible for the detour sign? What a suspicious nature I possess!

After surveying the trash,,er,,, offerings on the various make shift tables I sighed with relief that there was no excuse to pull out my wallet. I really didn’t need any more artifacts in my house, after all I just finished spring cleaning and made hefty donations to the local Good Will outlet and was pretty proud of myself for the effort.

It was a miracle that I headed back to my car without any purchases since I have zero control over pointless spending. I dug around in my bottomless purse looking for my car keys as a lady passed me carrying an empty pet carrier.

Darn, no telling which table I deposited my keys on, I muttered to myself retracing my footsteps. As I rummaged about in search of my errant key ring I overheard the seller and newcomer discussing the purpose of the carrier. Apparently the woman, mom, had just retired and planned on doing extensive traveling, but without her three year old pet that would now become a bigger inconvenience than it had been up to now. Therefore, younger woman, daughter, had come to collect “Charley” and take him to the …….pound! I couldn’t believe my ears. How could someone just send a pet to certain death, a pet that had loved her unconditionally for three years?

I watched as Charley was coaxed out from under a car parked in the garage. Out came a matted, burr studded, quivering body that seemed to sense its destiny and was willing to go peacefully, and limply.

I decided it was time to intrude, er to offer money, butt in, on this conversation and politely (faked of course) ask if the dog was for sale. The two women suddenly perked up, they had not suspected that someone would be foolish enough for this beast. Unexpectedly they saw Charley as a profit to be made, a piece of property like everything else laid out on the tables to haggle over and suggested a price, a price I wasn’t going to bicker about and jeopardize Charlie’s chance for survival. I did however request the carrier be thrown into the arrangement. I’m sure the women now regretted not having asked for a heftier sum.

Reaching into my purse for my checkbook I was surprised to locate my keys on the surface of all my contents. In plain view! Amazing! I quickly filled out the purchase price, tore the page out and snatched Charlie into my arms only to be overpowered with a smell I wouldn’t compare to anything pleasant. Poor, Charley, he had most likely never been exposed to shampoo. Well, that would change soon.

The detour signs I had been following were gone now. Uncanny. I never saw any truck picking them up. I used my cell phone to call my groomer, I mean Scruffy’s groomer, about Charley, hoping to get him in on an emergency basis but found out I needed proof of his current shots, especially his rabies shot so I got a hold of my vet who miraculously had an opening right now due to a cancellation! This morning was going to cost considerably.

Poor Charley, he had apparently never seen the inside of a Vet's office, or received any of the usual shots and vaccinations. How could anyone treat a helpless animal like this. On top of it all he had some intestinal difficulties and was severely malnourished. Oh, this was going to be a job, not a rescue. After mortgaging my house for payment of services rendered I brought Charley home as is, the grooming would have to wait till Monday.

Scruffy came charging up to the front door all eager for his loving and skidded to a dramatic halt in front of .....he didn't know what he was looking at! Sniffing only hinted at, strongly, of car fumes, gas and other garage aromas. Scruffy tentatively paced around the practically motionless mass of quivering ...what? This certainly wasn't human, or animal.

I gently scooted Charley outside, into the yard where Scruffy tried to introduce him to all the fun things in his sand box. Charley started showing signs of interest, doing his own sniffing and exploring. He had never been outside on grass before, had never seen flowers, birds, or a turtle like the one that was crawling along the fence’s perimeter. Charley was coming to some form of live as the sun showered him with energy and Scruffy supplemented whatever else was missing from Charley's life: companionship of a similar species.

When Cindy returned home latter, all sweaty and exuberant from a winning day of softball, she informed me, "Hey, Scruffy has got someone’s old stuffed animal in the backyard!”

“That’s not a stuffed animal, that’s a sleep over.” I informed her, detailing my day; my long, sad, expensive day, ending with plans for grooming on Monday that would add more charges to my credit card bill.

“Well, bye,” Cindy said, gathering sleeping gear together, “I’m going to Alison’s, I don’t want to be anywhere near the scene of the crime when dad gets home and hears about this. I have no intentions of testifying against you, or defending dad in a court of law.”

Smart girl. She remembered well the last time we rescued a dog, a dog two state lines away, in the middle of the night. It took weeks before we found a replacement home and hubby wasn’t the least bit supportive, he barely tolerates Scruffy.

This is Saturday evening and with any luck and if I’m real careful, hubby won’t even notice our new foster pet till after I get him groomed on Monday and then maybe he’ll be so cute and adorable that hubby’s heart will melt into pools of unrequited love. (Please don’t take my fantasies away from me; they’re the only things that keep me delusionally sane!)

Monday afternoon came finally; after a weekend of subterfuge, I set Charley down on the living room floor with pride. He was a brand spanking new creation. Scruffy came flying into the room and did his skidding to a stop routine again. Was this a different playmate? The dog in front of him didn’t smell the same, look the same or even….Scruffy turned head on heels and disappeared into the kitchen to return with a doggy biscuit that he sheepishly placed in front of Charley. Scooching the treat forward with his nose Scruffy sat back on his haunches to wait for the gift to be accepted. What brought that tender gesture?

As I was puzzling over Scruffy’s bizarre behavior Cindy came in with Alison and her mother. Cindy, ever the cautious type, (yea, since when?) wanted to see if the situation was safe to come home before she sent Alison’s mother off with the get a way car.

“Oh, what a precious darling!” Mrs. Gatlin exclaimed falling on her knees to cuddle Charley and ruffle his furry head and neck. Charley returned the affection whole heartedly.

Bong! The trap was set! “It sure is a shame I have to find another home for him, I just think he’s the best little dog ever besides Scruffy,” I stated, as casually as I could, hoping my fast beating heart wouldn’t give away my strategy.

“What? If you’re not keeping her, Can I have her?” Mrs. Gatlin begged.

“Well…..Are you sure you will take good care of him?”

“Him? If I remember my anatomy classes this is a girl dog.” Mrs Gatlin said, picking up Charlie’s tail. Sure enough, some body parts were missing. Well I’ll be. No wonder Scruffy was enticing Charley with goodies, he didn’t know either till she had received the once over at the groomers. Talk about a well kept secret? Heard of Victoria's Secret, this was Charley's Secret!

Of course there was no question I’d let Mrs. Gatlin have Charley, a good home was all I wanted for him/her, not to mention dodging the bullet from my hubby’s uncontrollable rage, (Whatever!) Hubby had actually just come home from work and passed Mrs. Gatlin and Alison leaving with their dog. He never, ever knew we’d had a house guest and this is one of those secrets that is good for a healthy marriage!

“I’m glad you found a home for that creature,” Hubby said.

“Huh!”

“The vet called to ask about him yesterday after church, I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

He explained, “As long as you kept it out of my way I was happy.” Talk about air hissing out of a balloon, there went mine.

Scruffy sat staring forlornly out the window at his retreating love being abducted by Alison, doggy biscuit still clinched firmly in her teeth, while three mists gathered around, enveloped, and consoled him; what's more he understood them as they spoke.

“Now Scruffy," one of the bigger mists started, "Just like it was no coincidence that Cindy and her mom were running late on Saturday, that there were detour signs mysteriously put up and removed that changed her course, that Cindy's mom misplaced her keys in time to meet the garage sale lady's daughter, that the vet had an unexpected cancellation, it's no coincidence that Alison and her mom adopted Charley. I know for a fact that Alison will be bringing Charley over a lot when she visits Cindy and you two will become close friends. Maybe even....parents!"

Now Scruffy perked up, yep, he definitely perked up as the two larger mists formed into Cindy's and her mom's guardian angels, and the littlier mist became a ...a smaller guardian angel; a smaller dog shaped guardian angel. A smaller dog shaped guardian angel that had been assigned to Charley and now considered his mission complete! A sign God cares for all his creation!