All in a Day…

I used to get on the inversion table once, twice, three times a week.  For those who don’t know, an inversion table adjusted to your height and used properly, helps greatly in facilitating the correct alignment of your spine, neck and total body.

You stay inverted for two to three minutes and then move your arms forward to your waist and the incline brings you up right. Now you can unlock the bindings on your legs and exit the machine.

Yes, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. 

Let me tell you how it works when you incorrectly adjust the height bar. 

I know what the instructions said, I’d read them many times. But this day I decided I had shrunk.  That happens as you age, you start to shrink.  Nothing noticeable at first, just a little longer pants here, a little less height when setting upright in your chair…those kind of small things.

This day, however, I decided it was for certain I had shrunk. So, I adjusted the bar to what I felt was my current height.  I locked it securely in place and then proceeded to lock my feet in so I wouldn’t, or better said, couldn’t slip out of the locks.

My new red tennie shoes looked adorable as I lowered my body to about the 60 degree angle.  Hanging upside down, feeling really good about myself for caring enough to buy this $300 table for my health.  I had done as my children, grandchildren and anyone caring to put their two cents worth in, told me, ‘never get on that table unless your phone is close enough that you can reach it.  That’s just in case you can’t get yourself upright again.’

I laughed with the laugh of authority and replied, “I promise I will always have my phone near, but, there’s no way I will ever put myself in the position of not being able to turn upright.”  This day was a good example of the attitude I had taken over this mindless machine.

As I hung there in suspension, I looked at the adorable crystal chandelier that hangs in my big closet and I thought it needed a little polishing.  I would get right to it as soon as I finished this much needed adjustment.  Glancing around the room I decided the floor could use a little sweeping too.  You tend to notice those things when your face is within 10 inches of touching that floor. 

After what I thought had been about four minutes, I started the upright motion that is to raise my head once again to the normal position one carry’s oneself when standing.  I first brought my arm forward from hanging down, up to my waist. Then I correctly brought the other arm forward to my waist and waaaalaaaa, nothing happened.

I was still inverted just as I had been for the last four minutes, now I reached for the bar in the middle of the machine and pulled.  Nothing happened, I didn’t raise one inch on the table, but did manage about twelve inches up, from where my head had rested at the beginning of this, now perilous adventure. 

Now I raised both arms quickly and placed them securely on the back side of the bar in the middle of the machine and pushed (really tried) my feet down, willing them to move with all my might.  Nothing happened, I’m still inverted.  The warnings all came crashing down on me with the forebodings of the devil himself.  A lot of good that did me now as I reached for my telephone that I had so carefully placed next to me on the chaise lounge.

I thought, I’ll call my daughter-in-law first as she’s the one that is most likely to be home at this hour of the day.  No answer.  The phone rang and rang.  I hung up and tried to move my feet, now my ankles were beginning to hurt.  The pressure was building.

I thought, ‘I wonder what would happen if I slipped my feet out of my shoes and tried to straddle the machine while still upside down.’ Thank God, common sense took over as it shouted back at me, ‘you’ll fall on your stupid head because you are upside down you idiot.’

Next I tried to call my daughter only to find out later I had dialed the name right under hers instead of dialing her number, I mean that’s what happens when you don’t have on your readers, which you can’t wear while hanging upside down ‘cause they fall off.  It didn’t matter as the wrong dialed number didn’t answer either.

Now I was getting a little nervous, I even said, “Well, Lord, if it’s all the same to you I just soon not leave this world like this.  I could see the headline, Woman found dead, hanging upside down in her closet, in a possible re-enactment of 50 Shades of Grey.”

Then I thought of my grandson who is a member of SWAT and works deep nights. I really didn’t want to wake him and then have him tell all the other SWAT guys how he had to rescue his grandmother from hanging upside down in her closet.  But, he was a very definitely possibility if I couldn’t get anyone else to answer.

Finally, I called my son who usually by that time of day is at least one hundred miles from home.  I called just in case he could think of someone, we could trust not to tell, to come and release me from my embarrassing situation.

When he answered I asked cheerily, “John, where are you today?”

“I’m still at home, Mom, what you need?”

“Oh, thank God, John, I’m stuck upside down on this damn inversion table and nothing I’ve done will get me upright.”  I blurted out.

“I’ll be right there.” That blessed son of mine said.

When he walked in the room, I could see his belly shaking, but he knew better than to laugh out loud.

That’s why I can no longer get on that devil possessed machine.

Blessed by One Mores

In life we are often blessed by One Mores. When it happens, we hardly notice until an event occurs and we realize we were given One More time to say I love you and get a response.  One More Christmas. One More birthday. One More Father’s Day or Mother’s Day.  One More time to go out and eat. One More day. One More conversation.  One More laugh. One More hour. One More second of life.

Instead of realizing we are having our One More, we think instead of the ‘what ifs.’   What if they fall? What if they don’t do as we ask? What if the medicine doesn’t work? What if they become angry? What if they don’t appreciate our effort? What if the friends and neighbors think I could have done better job? What if this is their last day on earth?

But, ‘what if,’ it’s ours?

Yesterday and tomorrow don’t count.  We only have today, the present.  This moment in time, this One More chance to smell their cologne. This One More chance to see the wrinkles around their mouth when they smile. This One More time to see the tan line where the sun kissed them.  This One More time to say, I love you and mean it with all your being…not just saying, I love you as a second thought, then running off to complete some task for some stranger and leaving the ones that matter behind; not enjoying our, One More time. Someday, the One More will become the last time and you will miss the One More’s, you were given.

Enjoy today, the present God’s given you. Enjoy and be thankful for the One Mores and don’t worry about the ‘what if’s.’ The ‘what if’s,’ belong to tomorrow.

Enjoy the One Mores, of today.

Count None but the Sunny Hours

When I was a little girl at my mother’s knee, I remember very well what she would say to me.

“Someday soon, very soon, a woman grown you’ll be, and I may not be there then, for you to come to me.

But if you will remember, what I am telling you, you’ll find your life much better, and your troubles will be few.”

“Count none but the sunny hours.

Take the time to smell the flowers.

Look for the rainbow after rain,

They all will help erase your pain.

Count none but the sunny hours,

Always look for the flowers,

God loves a smiling face,

And soon your troubles He will erase.”

So now, when my troubles get me down, and I find my face drawn in a frown, I remember back, when I stood at Moma’s knee, and with such a deep love, what she would say to me.

“Count none but the sunny hours.

Take the time to smell the flowers.

Look for the rainbow after rain,

It will help erase your pain.

Count none but the sunny hours,

Always look for the flowers,

God loves a smiling face,

And soon your troubles He will erase.”

J.R. Unfiltered 

Time…today’s times, are changing.  Not for the BETTER, I fear.  There were times in our past when our neighbor’s welfare meant almost as much to us as our own. We cared about what happened to our friends and our friend’s family.

We knew all the elderly in our community and kept a watchful eye on them, just in case they needed us.  Staying far enough away so not to seem nosey and allowing them to feel a bit of independence; yet close enough should they need help, we could oblige. We respected them and wanted them to be proud of us.

If one of our friends or our friend’s friend needed help, we were more than willing to lend a hand.  We never minded or felt imposed upon and we certainly never thought their wants or needs somehow offended us.

If a  member  of the community passed away, we offered condolences along with a casserole, just so the family wouldn’t have to worry about food for their family or friends that dropped by.  We cared and we cried and we prayed for them.

Law enforcement officers were appreciated and were to be honored.  We never once thought of trying to harm them. Instead, we welcomed them when we heard strange noises in the night and didn’t want to investigate the cause on our own.

America was strong and powerful, rich and beautiful and honored by peoples around the globe. She still is all of the things she was in World War II, but her people have changed. Back then, folks had to have a rationing stamp on their car to buy gas and sugar was rationed along with many other things.  But folks didn’t complain, in fact they honored the fact because they were helping in the War effort.

Victory gardens were grown and the women went to work in defense plants because the men were serving in the armed forces, protecting our freedoms. We were the UNITED States of America. We might not have agreed with everything that was said and done, but we dared anyone to speak ill of our great nation or our leaders.

Roosevelt, Truman, Churchill, Patton, McArthur, Stalin, Montgomery, Eisenhower and Bradley were just a few names that come to mind that lead this great nation in a time of World War II.

The whole world had watchful eye on these men and their endeavors for peace. America and her Allies supported them and honored them.

Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin were known as the Big Three and they guided the world in the fight against tyranny. They led the way and the result was victory and their respected nations joined them in the effort and rejoiced in the victory. Every man, woman and child exulted in the feeling of peace. Each praying this would be the last war.  But, of course it wasn’t.  Korea and VietNam and many others have followed.

Today, we still have troops engaged in battle on foreign soil.  We still have American lives and the lives of our Allies lost daily. And as their blood soaks into the soil of a distant land, it sprouts the memory that Freedom is never free and never will be.

Our modern times bring things I thought I would never see here in our United States. Disrespect shown to our sitting President. People, walking the streets and protesting as they spit on our flag or burn it, or walking out on graduation exercises because they don’t agree with the speaker or needing a safe room because they were disappointed in an election. Women, marching and making total fools of themselves in the name of women’s rights. Babies killed legally without remorse because it’s E A S I E R to take a life than to take R E S P O N S I B I L I T Y for our actions.

That brings to mind another thing that bothers me. Since when, did it become ok to abort and sell the parts of the fetus?  How about organ donation? Perhaps the time has come for HARVESTERS OF THESE THINGS, TO BE LOOKED INTO.  FOLLOW THE MONEY!!!!!!!

Now there are safe rooms set up in certain cities across our nation that have a place where a drug addict can go and get high and just in case he or she ODs they have people standing by to give them a shot of Narcan that can cost upwards of $500, but it will save their life.  Yet we have people going hungry, people in need of medicine for the treatment of cancer and other diseases and if they can’t afford it, that’s just too bad, they will just have to die. We have children whose parents have to work two jobs just so they can afford their child to have an epi-pen for their very survival.

These people want to live. So, my question is; why do we save the ones that apparently don’t want to live or they wouldn’t be taking the drugs that will kill them. And yet, we let the ones who want to live die?

None of this makes sense to me.

Another thing that confuses me and bothers me…since when is it okay to change our history?  When is it okay to forget about those that fought and died for a cause they believed in?  Since when did this become okay?  When did we decide if we didn’t like the history we just tore it down and did away with it?  Wrong, wrong, wrong, on so many levels, wrong.

Maybe I’ve lived too long.  Perhaps my ways are the ways of someone who has seen the best of my beloved country and now I am seeing some of the worst. But, I know I’m not alone in how I feel.  I know the majority of people still believe in our ten commandments and the Lord who commanded them.  I know most folks still love America and will defend her even unto death.

I know of no other way to make America great again except on our knees. As we lift this wondrous land up to the God who has directed her path since the beginning, let us ask Him to open our eyes to the opportunities that surround us to RIGHT the wrongs. Let us give thanks to our forefathers that passed on that right to us.

Let it not be said ‘we forgot,’ the price that WAS, and STILL IS being paid for that freedom.  Let us ‘thank God,’ for second chances and the desire to do better for those that come after us. I pray they don’t find us lacking in our responsibilities to them.




I learned a lesson today, not taught by mortal man.

I’m sure it was a blessing, God for me alone had planned.

My son, in childish innocence, said, “Momma, Jim cried today.”

I asked him quickly what went wrong, while they from home were away.

His answer came without thinking but, left me with much to know.

His reply, “He was so happy, to see the pretty snow.”

Oh, that the innocence of a child, could enter in us all.

And we would shed tears, unashamed, at the beauty in a snowfall.

A Love Mess

I love messes…especially if the mess is one of love.

How can a mess be made of love?

There are all kinds of love messes. When you bake birthday cakes for grandbabies and icing gets everywhere…

That’s a love mess.

When you walk into the room after children have visited and find toys thrown about you know they had a good time…

That’s a love mess.

After a wonderful dinner and the company’s gone and you walk in the kitchen and there the sink is overrun with dirty dishes; symbolic, abundant, delicious food was enjoyed…

That’s a love mess.

On laundry day you discover shirts and pants covered in grass stains, and you know that someone you love rolled in the sweet, wonderful, green grass enjoying life for a brief moment in time…

That’s a love mess.

The Obituary of Bessie Buemiller

Bessie Buemiller passed away “Down in the Valley.” Bessie shall not “Pass This way again,” so “Count your Many Blessings.”

Bessie’s life could best be described as “God moves in mysterious Ways”. And Bessie was heard to repeat “Grace Greater than our Sin.” Under her breath when asked about her summer vacation.

Bessie Buemiller was a robust woman who often sang “Precious Memories” when asked about her younger years. She would sidle up to an unsuspecting male and whisper, “Just a closer walk with Thee.” But since all her attempts were in vain, Bessie was an old Maid.

She left specific instructions that she be buried “On a Hill Far Away,” and that all her pallbearers be female. Her explanation, “Since they wouldn’t take me out when I was alive, I don’t want any men to take me out when I’m dead.”

Bessie left hand written instruction for the mortician.  He was to try and “Revive us Again” just to be sure she was gone. 

Although Bessie knew she was “Redeemed,” she still “Longed to Tell the Story” of her encounter with the prohibition movement when they marched to have all alcohol thrown in the river. Bessie told how she led the church choir in singing “Shall we gather at the River” much to the prohibition’s dismay.

Bessie Buemiller will be missed. Her desire “Was to Work till Jesus Comes.” And in the last week of her life she was telling her pastor, when he asked for volunteers to instruct the new male missionary team “Lord Send Me.”

But, since the Lord was saying “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Bessie was content to stand on “Jordons Stormy Banks,” and yell “Go tell it on the Mountains” for when “The Roll is Called up Yonder I’ll be There.” with fork in hand, waiting on dessert…for I know “The Best is Yet to Be.”

Best Served Cold

Prissy looked around the room at the other contestants and her eyes came to rest on Samantha.

There she is again; if there’s one thing I know, Samantha is always going to show up.  I can, at all times, count on that. The hussy. She’s defeated me now three of the last four times we’ve gone out. What is it that the judges like so much about her? 

Her body’s all slick and shiny.  It looks like she used about a pound of oil.  I bet it’s Crisco.

Maybe, it’s that mop of long hair she has. Frankly, I’d like to wrap my fingers up in that mess and pull it right out of her head.

Perhaps it’s her eyes.  They are pretty, all blue and shiny.  I’d like to gouge them out of her flipping face.

Maybe it’s her lips.  All curved up like she’s smiling. I can almost hear the witch’s laughter passing between them.

Prissy tried to forget about Samantha and go about her own business of preparing for the competition.  She made sure every hair was in place and every eyelash received her personal attention. She practiced her strut.  The strut was of the up most importance, as you strolled down the run way.  Over exaggerated swing to the left, then the right and it always helped, if at the end of the walk you tossed your head while provokingly looking at the judges.

Suddenly, Prissy got an idea.  What if she somehow could put glue on the ramp so when Samantha walked across it, it would adhere to her feet and cause her to look very uncoordinated as she strolled/stumbled down the runway?

She’d have to be careful.  It had to be put down just before Samantha went on.

That shouldn’t be hard; they all were assigned the order in which they would appear.  If she sort of stood to the side and waited she could do this.

Prissy’s plan was intact. She went about finding some glue and then proceeded to the runway entrance, waiting.

The announcer called Samantha’s name and she glided to the runway entrance.  She looked so confident as she strolled forward.

Just before she took her first step, Prissy managed to put down a big glob of glue on the ramp.  Samantha stepped right in it and immediately started trying to lift her feet up to undo whatever had attached itself to her.  It was no use; she stumbled along and looked ridiculous.

Prissy could hardly contain herself. Laughter rose up inside of her until she felt she was going to burst out laughing, but somehow she managed to subdue it.

Soon, it was Prissy’s turn.  She glided down the runway with the grace of a queen.  Her eyes sparkled and her steps were sure. She knew she made a good appearance.  The fan blew her long hair in beautiful waves. She was happy and she was beautiful.

Now, it was time for the judges to announce their decision.  Prissy held her breath and finally that glorious moment when they called her name.  She was the winner!  She had finally outdone Samantha.   Her time of victory had arrived; it was her moment in the spotlight.

She took the victory stroll down the runway, smiling and nodding her head. When she returned back stage, she purposely walked by Samantha who was seated with her head down in defeat.

Prissy strutted by her and quietly whispered, “Feel my burn? Payback’s a bitch.  You thought you were the cat’s meow, but now you see who the real winner is, in the National Cat Fancier’s Association Contest.”


Saturdays were a picture show

And sherbet ice cream cold.

It was amazing what a dime well spent

Could provide a ten year old.


Riding along with cowboys,

As I sat on upturned seat.

Adventures came a plenty

The Silver Screen could not be beat.


On occasion when the film broke

And hissing filled the room,

We’d laugh without stopping

Knowing the show would soon resume.


The smells of buttered popcorn

And orange drink would fill the room,

The sound of laughter flourished,

There was no time for gloom.


Alas, those days have long been gone

And some childhood ways forgot.

But, memory remains of beautiful things,

of lessons childhood taught.

My Jewel Thief Encounter

My first encounter with the dark underworld of crime and espionage, happened when I was fifteen.  I was a typical teenager given to bouts of gaudiness and out of the box dressing.  I took special pride in my collection of costume jewelry I had borrowed, begged and confiscated from willing aunts and cousins and what few bangles my mother owned.

One morning, I rose from my slumber to get dressed for a special outing.  It was the weekend and I had a special guy I was to go to the movies with.  I wanted to look particularly alluring that day, so I drug out my box of prized jewelry to pick a special pair of earrings I was sure would appeal to the boy of the day.

In horror, I stared down at my box of treasures only to see all the gorgeous stones were missing.  There was nothing remaining, but the shells that had held my lovely jewels.  I gasped in horror as the empty stone settings glared back at me and I screamed, “Momma,” to the top of my lungs.

When mother came in, she tried to control my sobbing as she looked at the pitiful remains of my prized jewelry.  She asked, “What happened?”

Between sobs I said, “I’m sure I don’t know what heartless person stole my prized possessions. Who would have stolen my jewels?”

Mother cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.  Let me get back with you after I’ve had time to investigate this horrible deed.”

I continued to get ready for my movie date and when I left the house, I slammed the door.

Later that day as the sun was starting its decent into its nightly bed, I arrived back home from my day of movie going.  I found mother and my little brother waiting for me at the kitchen table.

Mother said, “Tell your sister what you have done.”

“I stole your jewelry.”  He said with big brown eyes staring up at me.

I gasped, grabbing my heart. “You what?”

“I stole your jewels.  Here they are.” He said as he handed me a tobacco sack.

With desperate eyes I opened the sack and there, sparkling back at me were all my jewelry stones.

“Tell her why you took them.”  Mother said.

“Because, I want to be a jewel thief.”  He confessed.

I broke down into a teenage sobbing hissy fit.  I could feel the vapors coming on.  I shouted to the top of my lungs, “You are disgusting you spoiled little brat.”

Mother patted my shoulders to comfort me as I threw the sack of jewels back at the little monster who was my brother.

He sat smirking back at me, as I went out the back door to find comfort from my dog. Again, I slammed the door asking the powers that be, why I couldn’t have been an only child.  I prayed karma would soon pay the jewel thief a visit.  That seemed only fitting and proper to me.

As an adult, my little brother had a friend by the name of ‘Surf the Murf’. Now if you think that has connotations of perhaps a little dark side of the law,  you would be correct.  ‘Surf the Murf,” was a world renowned jewel thief. He made one of the biggest heist of jewels in New York City that has ever been made.

Of course my brother met him after ‘Murf,’ had paid his dues to the law and was traveling a much better road. But, I still have concern for my brother and often wonder about his choice of professions that prevailed years ago.  Thank God he didn’t meet a real jewel thief until years later when they both were working a Bill Glass Crusade for Christ. Whewwww that was a close one.