Can’t you see? Not exactly.

Can’t you see (I’m gonna take a freight train) can’t you see
(I’m down at the station lord) what that woman (ain’t never gonna go back) been doin’ to me
Can’t you see oh can’t you see (gonna ride me the southbound)
(All the way to Georgia) what that woman (till the train run out of track) been doin’ to me

Marshal Tucker Band 1973


(from N-lightenment.com)

Ok, I’m diverging today entirely from any topic we’ve been riding lately.
Driving basically off the cliff and jumping the tracks of all subject matter.
No politics.
No debate observations.
No current civil unrest rants.
No religious tit for tat…
Something entirely off track.

That Marshal Tucker Band song up above, that I’ve allowed to open this post,
is from my youthful days of high school and it came racing to my mind
yesterday morning.
It came after I’d woken from the longest and oddest dream I think I can ever
remember having.

Now, remember I’ve been fighting the withdrawals from my HRT (hormone replacement therapy)
for almost 3 months.
There has been NO, I repeat, NO sleep worth mentioning in all that time—
only insomnia and rolling hot flashes on and on all night long.

I begged my doctor to do something.
Yes begged and pleaded actually…that’s how bad me not sleeping becomes.
Reluctantly she put me back on the HRT but it is a dose fit for a mere ant.
And an ant’s dose isn’t doing me any good.

So yes, me without any real consequential sleep is not pretty.
Just ask my long-suffering husband.
He now gets very little sleep as well because all I do is toss and turn and
kick off covers all night long.

So the night before last, I doubled the CBD oil dose (yes the doctor said she
hears it helps with hot flashes but I take it for IBS and no it is not
helping with the hot flashes) plus doubled my IBS meds.

And so I actually slept without fighting my hormonal self.
Maybe I had drugged myself…but I digress.

But in that sleep came that bizarre dream.

They say that dreams are actually quite brief but I swear this particular dream went
on all night.
Even when I’d groggily come to some sort of consciousness,
I’d quickly tell the dream part of my brain to let it keep playing out because
I wanted to see how it all ended.

I believe that dreams are a mixed bag.

I believe God can speak to us in our dreams.
I believe that the devil can speak to us in our dreams…which are more like nightmares
but again, I digress.
And I believe we can speak to ourselves in our dreams.

So this dream had a younger me and an old childhood friend galivanting about.
I’ve not seen this friend of mine in years so that was the first odd thing.
Plus we were more like our younger teenage selves.

Next, we ran into a former President and first lady.
Now that is really odd because I’ve not thought much of this presidential duo
in several years. A bit of a past president but not too long ago.
Think W and Laura…
And I usually don’t think that much about presidents, let alone first ladies.

There was a woman who I think was actually that first lady.
She was kind and soft-spoken.
In the dream, something bad had happened to her,
a terrible betrayal and I had known about it.
And I felt terrible for her.
Yet there was nothing I could have done to stop it as I realized the trauma when she had–
that being after the fact.
Yet I ached for her anyway.

I can remember looking at her and she looking at me—so I impulsively took her in my arms to
hug her and offer comfort.
Not that I’m a big hugger in real life, but I do hug those who I feel are in need.
People who hurt do need hugs, but overall I’m not touchy-feely.

However, it was the look on her face, the love in her eyes towards me,
and her embrace of me that was what got to me.
Now granted her face is not the face of the real first lady in question.
Dreams work that way…you think it’s a real person but the faces are
never quite what we actually know them to be.

I woke almost with tears in my eyes.
And then started ruminating.
And then the Marshal Tucker Band song just revved up, playing in my head.
And no, the CBD oil does not contain any THC!
This craziness is all me and me alone.

Now we all know that I’m adopted.
We all know how that crazy story played out as I’ve written at length about
being adopted and having learned the identity (sort of) of my birth parents
all these many years later— written just last year.

I know who my biological father was—and from everything I’ve heard, he was a
good and kind man.

My birth mother on the other hand, who is, yes, still living, has not been as kind.
She let her lawyer inform a social worker that I was in the past and that
was where I was to stay.

And I was like, ‘Ok, you’re what…84? and I’m almost 61??…so yeah,
I’ll just stay in that past.’
Paaaallleeeezzzze.

Anyway, I did come to a peace about all of that a while back…something I’d also written
about…so it’s good to have all this material to write about I suppose.

But what I knew from this dream was that something deep inside of me yearns for that
sort of love that I saw in that woman’s eye for me and felt in her embrace.
Something I’ve never seen or felt before.
Nope never.
A deep abiding, unconditional love of a mother to her child.
And all I know is that I wanted it…or shall we say, want it.

Yep, you read it— a 61-year-old sleep-deprived woman is pining for a mother’s love.
Go figure!?!

And yes, I’ve written about this before as well…my adopted mom and I,
before her premature death to cancer at 53, had had a fractious relationship while
I was growing up—especially when I was a teenager.
But I don’t know too many moms and daughters who delight in one another
during said teenage years…
We were much closer when she suddenly got sick and died prematurely.

As that angst-driven teen, I was headstrong, stubborn, and detached from both my mom and my family.
Our family was a dysfunctional hot mess and I resented every minute of it.

I’ve written about that too…
all about my brother’s mental illness and his inability to cope
with his having been adopted…and thankfully we were not biologically related.
So you would think I’d quit having these random, out of the blue, type dreams…
but nooooooo.

And no I don’t need therapy.
I have been prayed over long ago for healing and healing came.

But to still want that sort of love is not to simply be dismissed
or even purged.
There’s something there and it keeps knocking
at a deep door in my being.

It’s a good thing to want love and to be loved.
I don’t think there’s a whole lot of that running around this country of ours these days.

So maybe that’s it.
God is bringing the idea of unconditional love to the forefront of my thoughts
because we are all living knee-deep in divisive hate.
And no, that is NOT the fault of the sitting president…it is
the fault of every human being who is ranting and raving these days.

So yes, I still yearn for that embrace.
Just as I still yearn to see that look of love in some unknown mother’s eye.

And I suspect, one day…I will both see and feel that look and that embrace…

So here’s to love.
Ture abiding love…

So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us.
God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.

1 John 4:16

Got our work cut out for us…

“I am sent not only to love God but to make Him loved.
It is not enough for me to love God, if my neighbor does not love Him.”

St. Vincent de Paul


(Black swallowtail butterfly / Julie Cook / 2020)

“Even though we know that God’s will and commandments apply to everyone,
we do not always have the strength to fulfill them.
Now, every time we respond faithfully to a motion of the Spirit,
out of desire to be docile to what God expects of us,
even if it’s something almost insignificant of itself,
that faithfulness draws grace and strength down on us.
That strength can then be applied to other areas and may make us capable of one day
practicing the commandments that up until then we had not been capable
of fulfilling entirely.”

Fr. Jacques Philippe, p. 20
An Excerpt From
In the School of the Holy Spirit

maybe we could at least make folks smile…under those masks

“Once plague had shut the gates of the town, they had settled down to a life of separation,
debarred from the living warmth that gives forgetfulness of all.”
“If there is one thing one can always yearn for and sometimes attain, it is human love.”

Albert Camus, The Plague

No you’re not having a case of deja vu…I just had a thought that piggybacks
off of a recent post.
Plus I still love that little meme…
‘looks like plague’s back on the menu boys…”

Cracks me up it does…and I think I need some cracking up—
in fact I think a good many of us could benefit with a good crack up,
chucke, chortle, laugh, or at least a smile.

And so do you remember a couple of weeks back when I did a bit of a history lesson on the
plague doctors of the Medieval and Renaissance ages…those physicians tasked
with dealing with those suffering from the plague, otherwise known as The Black Death?

Remember they were the ones who donned those elaborate bird-like masks and cosutmes
that were intended to protect them from the deadly vapors thought to be carried on
the winds, especially the night air.


(Paul Fürst, engraving, c. 1721, of a plague doctor of Marseilles
(introduced as ‘Dr Beaky of Rome’).
His nose-case is filled with herbal material to keep off the plague.)

Here’s a link to that post:
https://cookiecrumbstoliveby.wordpress.com/2020/07/28/miasma-once-again-we-are-afraid-to-breath/

I mused that maybe I should get such a mask and use it when I was venturing out into
contagionville, aka our everyday world.


(Venetian Plague doctor mask worn at Carnival / pintrest)

And pondering over this mask business, I had a new idea.

I really hate that we are now having to constantly wear masks.
I miss the smiles.
We are in isolation even when we venture out…
a sad reality.

I was on an elevator Friday with a family with a little girl…
she looked up at me and I told her how much I liked her cherry decorated mask.
She thanked me but I couldn’t discern a smile.

I follow the rules.
I do it.
I wear them.
Mine are not fashionable, just practical.

Doing as I am told and instructed…
I’ll admit that in the very beginning, before mandates, I confess to defiance…
but not now, as I’m not willing to die on this particular mountain,
as there will be other mountains soon that will require my allegiance…
I will adhere to the “mandate.”

So we know that I’m not being like those defiant ones who still venture into stores
where signs are all over the doors clealy stating that all who enter must wear a mask.

There are even those freindly little voices over the loudspeakers reminding all customers to wear
their masks and to follow the arrows as how to traverse the aisles…
‘follow the green arrows, don’t cross the red X’
And yet there are those who just can’t seem to follow directions.

I taught a lot of those kind of folks.
Directions, to some, just don’t come naturally–we simply say “bless their hearts.”

I have noticed that those who do wear their masks have issues with darting their eyes.
Quickly diverting their glance should another set of eyes make contact.
All other worldly really.

It makes shopping no longer very enjoyable.
The ‘mask fog’ on glasses makes seeing darn near impossible and yet maybe one plus is that
you can now tell you should do a better job brushing your teeth or yes, you do need mints.
Perhaps a blessing to those who use to be near you as you spoke.

And how about talking muffled?
Repeating over and over what you’re attempting to ask for until the
poor clerk finally can discern your words.

It seems that we all benefited from looking at faces for clues and discenment

I miss that.

So after looking over some old pictures, it dawned on me.
We’re about the start seeing those halloween festivities in stores.
What will costumes be like this year, what will trick or treating be this year?

So I found this picture when the Mayor was just a baby and we were strolling through
Target and I put on this halloween mask to give the baby Mayor a giggle.

And so now I have it.
Let us don the masks of the season to illict some most welcomed giggles and laughs!
Lord knows we need them.

By the way…the Mayor has been most puny. It seems she now has the Sherrif’s viral infection…
a high lingering fever.
Not Covid thank goodness…just a good ol childhood virus…so I’m off to go give care.

Be back soon.

A joyful heart is good medicine,
but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

Proverbs 17:22

Prayers for Louisiana and beyond

“Prayer is not asking.
Prayer is putting oneself in the hands of God,
at His disposition, and listening to His voice in the depth of our hearts.”

Mother Teresa

This is a picture of my cousin’s home in Lake Charles, Louisiana yesterday morning following Laura’s landfall.
There was a tornado that was a sinister calling card prior to the hurricane’s arrival.

They had thankfully heeded the warnings and evacuated.

They are not yet been allowed back into the neighborhood.

I want to focus prayers to those in Louisiana and Texas, as well as to the other
states and their communities, that will be affected by this storm.

Things like this just seem to trump senseless violence, rioting, and looting…
but that’s just me thinking out loud.

Heavenly Father, I am your humble servant,
I come before you today in need of hope.
There are times when I feel helpless,
There are times when I feel weak.
I pray for hope.
I need hope for a better future.
I need hope for a better life.
I need hope for love and kindness.
Some say that the sky is at it’s
darkest just before the light.
I pray that this is true, for all seems dark.
I need your light, Lord, in every way.
I pray to be filled with your light from
head to toe. To bask in your glory.
To know that all is right in the world,
as you have planned, and as you want
it to be.
Help me to walk in your light, and live
my life in faith and glory.
In your name, I pray,
Amen.

prayer from Catholic on line

one child is home and one child is now well

Children learn more from what you are, than what you teach.
W.E.B. Du Bois


(donning part of her brother’s soon to be halloween costume, the Mayor returns home)


(The sheriff intent on his duties)

I believe that if an angel were to wing his way from earth up to Heaven,
and were to say that there was one poor, ragged boy, without father or mother,
with no one to care for him and teach him the way of life;
and if God were to ask who among them were willing to come down to
this earth and live here for fifty years and lead that one to Jesus Christ,
every angel in Heaven would volunteer to go.
Even Gabriel, who stands in the presence of the Almighty,
would say, “Let me leave my high and lofty position,
and let me have the luxury of leading one soul to Jesus Christ.”
There is no greater honour than to be the instrument in God’s hands of
leading one person out of the kingdom of Satan into the glorious
light of Heaven.

Dwight L. Moody

footloose and …

“I was not born to be free—
I was born to adore and obey.”

C.S. Lewis


(the Mayor’s picture of her brother the Sherrif…drawn with a little help)

We are footloose and COVID free!
The Sherrif had a viral infection, and that is all…
Sad times when we are thankful for just the run of the mill infection and blessedly not COVID.

The Mayor will head back home tomorrow and we will pray that this does not become a pattern
in this surreal new normal of ours…

Thank you all for your prayers as the Sherrif’s fever has finally dissipated and he is now
getting back to his duties of sheriffing.

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus,
giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Colossians 3:17

bubbles and butter

Children are a great comfort to us in our old age,
and they help us reach it faster too.

John Ruskin


(the Mayor is busy)

Hanging out, still waiting for the all-clear to go home, the Mayor in her mayorial
time of waiting, has proclaimed that bubbles and butter are probably the most
important components to one’s day…
sidewalk chalk and tossing balls are also right on up there.


(the Mayor’s tribute to The Sherrif)


(the Mayor wakes up to immediately go outside to play ball in her PJs)

“See that you do not despise one of these little ones.
For I tell you that in heaven their angels always see the face of my Father who is in heaven.
Matthew 8:10

Sheriff update

This was the Sherrif last night in the Children’s ER.

After some tests and making sure he didn’t have a UTI,
they sent them home around 2AM, still with a fever—
However, they seemed to think his body was doing what it must.

No other symptoms, just a fever.

So definitely viral—can’t say if it’s COVID or not as his results are not back…
but with no other symptoms, I’m not so sure.
If the fever persists, they want him back.

Meantime, the Mayor is unphased, as usual.

We thank you for your continued prayers for our little guy.

blasted groundhog day!!!!!!

Phil:”Do you ever have deja vu, Mrs. Lancaster?”
Mrs. Lancaster: “I don’t think so, but I could check with the kitchen.”

(lines from the Groundhog Day)

If it wasn’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck whatsoever…

However, as a Christian household, we don’t believe in luck…
and yet…

See this little guy below…


(The Sherrif)

That’s the Sherrif earlier this summer.

Yesterday, the daycare called his parents.

The Sherrif was running a fever.

Dada (aka our son) had to go pick up the Sherrif and head to the pediatrician’s office.

Remember last week?

The Mayor, Sherrif, and their mom had to stay with us while our son waited on
a COVID test to return…
he had strep throat but had to be tested none the less.

It appears that it is now standard if you are sick with anything, to be tested.

Hence why the kids and their mom came to us as we all waited.

After 3 days, late Friday evening, he finally got the all-clear.
Life was normal again as it was merely strep throat! When strep throat is considered normal, we’ve got problems!

And so yesterday was the first day back to work for their mom, a teacher, who by the way,
had to miss the first three days with students being back while we all waited on the
COVID test to come back.

That whole quarantine business.

And so once again , since the Sherrif was running a fever,
the pediatrician had to do a COVID test.

Pre-pandemic days, this would have been simply labeled a viral infection.
Give him Tylenol or Motrin and keep him hydrated.
However today, we as a society, are now all about some gloom and doom and falling skies!

GRRRRRRRR.

So Da (aka my husband) and I raced over to Atlanta late Monday afternoon to fetch
The Mayor, who by the way, will now be staying with us until we get word on this
latest test… she appears to be on the up and up from her daycare crud which seems to have been the impetus to all this mess in the first place!

And so once gain, possible COVID exposure around a 60 and 71-year-old may seem stupid
but again, we do what we have to do for our family.

Last week I had to cancel our anniversary dinner, of which I re-made again
for this coming Thursday…of which I’ve in turn canceled– again.

Are you beginning to see a pattern here??!!

So for now, I bid adieu.

I humbly ask for your prayers for our wee Sherrif…
You never want your child or grandchild to be sick…but now
a childhood viral infection sure would beat a possible COVID diagnosis.

He needs your prayers.

Behold, I will bring to it health and healing,
and I will heal them and reveal to them abundance of prosperity and security.

Jeremiah 33:6

I know our problem…Punch Cups!!!

“Drink because you are happy,
but never because you are miserable.”

G.K. Chesterton, Heretics

I have finally figured out our problem…the reason for all the current lack of civility,
violence, looting, hating that is sickening our nation…

It’s PUNCH CUPS!!!

Yep punch cups…

We no longer have, let alone use, punch cups!!

You know, those demure little glass cups that accompany a crystal punch bowl?

You know…those little glass cups your grandmother always used during the holidays
when all the family gathered together…at her house.

Be it wassail, eggnog, or Chatham’s artillery punch…

Oh and don’t forget that floating ice-ring.
My mother just did a flip flop in her grave over my mentioning ice-rings.
She tried her best…but Lord knows, they never popped out as they should.
More slushie and unattractive vs the pictures in her SoutherLiving cookbooks.
Bamming and Bamming that mold on the counter trying to loosen the ring…
but I digress.

And I would bet that you were probably too little and don’t really remember
those little punch cups…
And because you were little, the grown-ups didn’t let you use those little cups–
they were fearful you’d drop one and Heavens forbid, you’d break Grandmother’s
special glass cups.
You were relegated to a jelly jar or dixie cup.

And if the punch was alcoholic, you were offered chocolate milk
or perhaps some kool-aid or Hi-C punch or maybe a Coca-Cola.
If they were feeling festive, you may have even gotten ginger ale with
a single bright red maraschino cherry floating festively amongst the bubbles.

Punch cups speak of day’s gone by…
they whisper of afternoon teas, luncheons, showers, and special gatherings.

This all came to mind when I was cleaning out the laundry room.

We’ve started the arduous task of purging.
We are beginning to clean out this 37-year life of ours with 21 on those 37 years
in our current house.

It’s time to lighten the load in anticipation of a potential spring
change—relocating, downsizing, tightening the ship!

So as I began this insurmountable task this morning, I found an old punch bowl…
not the nice one mind you, but more of a backup…it was one of my grandmothers…
my mom’s mom seems more like the previous owner vs my dad’s mom as she was a bit more frufru.
I’ve got that pretty one in the dining room…this one was the battleship
vs the cruise liner…heavy and sturdy rather than frilly and delicate.

And as I was gathering the cups from various cabinets and hiding spaces…that’s when
it hit me like a ton of bricks…our current culture’s entire trouble is they/we
have no punch cups…or no real knowledge, let alone experience, with punch cups.

For punch cups harken to a time when we celebrated holidays and occasions with
those dear and near-sacred family heirlooms, be they cut class, crystal or pressed glass
or even something really special…silver or more likely silver plate.

They were pulled out of storage, washed and even polished to participate
in a generational ritual…the sharing and celebrating of our lives as a family.
Christmas, Chanukah, births, showers, birthdays, weddings…

And thus these innocuous little punch cups are equated to something so much more…
they represent family and the celebration of family.

We have sadly forgotten such.
We have become entirely too angry, too self-consumed, too divided.

What happened to punch cups?
What happened to celebrations?
What happened to family?

Long live the punch cups!

Train up a child in the way he should go;
even when he is old he will not depart from it.

Proverbs 22:6