Wild Kingdom
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Can you make a feral cat love you?
We’ve had not one, but three feral cats lately who come by and wander through our courtyard. I uploaded this YouTube video when the first one made its appearance.
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Kittens: Part 2
More backstory for my April 15 One Year Bible devotional. The original title of this was “Lost and Found.” The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Through it all, let us praise the Lord. An old friend tapped me on the shoulder yesterday after church. When I turned to see the owner of that hand, and took in the beautiful (and still very young-looking) face of my friend, Lynn, I couldn’t help but shriek just a bit. I hadn’t seen her in years, though we live in the same town. I’d thought of her many times, but had no idea where she was or how to get a hold…
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Bittersweet
I’m moving over some posts from my first blog, Windscraps. Here’s one from May, 2006. It worried me when that hen wouldn’t let the little guy in. The chirping drew me down to the hen house last Monday night. The sound drifted through the hen house walls, up over the lawn, and through my open window. I’ve heard it plenty over the years–a sound that is part confusion, part fear. Usually it means that a newborn chick has jumped her nest. And normally, by the time I can slip on my shoes and run to the rescue, the mama hen has already gone after her baby. Instinct drives her from…
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Of Mice and Young Men
I saw the boy as Dave and I were driving out the back entrance of the Starbucks parking lot. I’m amazed I noticed him at all because I was totally consumed with my iced grande soy latte. I’d been trying to get up the courage to try a soy latte for two weeks. But every time I stood at the counter and opened my mouth, some other order came out. Yesterday, however, after managing to gush my worries to the barista and hearing her assurance that I could dump it if I wasn’t delighted and she’d replace it for free, I went ahead and jumped off that cliff. And you…
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Gone Fishin’
Apparently, all Oklahomans fish. It’s not optional. Even new, gangly-legged transplants are expected to pole-up and do their part. Shortly after our move from my home state to his, my new step-father decided the seven year-old me needed an introduction. So he took our family to his favorite cabin up in the hills near a river guaranteed to yield fish. I wasn’t a big fan of fish, unless it came battered, greasy, and sitting next to equally bad-for-you fries in a little paper bowl, but he didn’t need to know that. I already loved my step-father and wanted him to smile. And I fell in love with his favorite cabin…
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Hillbilly Chili
A memory from another August … So we have our annual Chili Cook-off last Sunday. And just like every year, little paper donkeys hung on the walls of the church office. Honey-combed sombreros and chili peppers dotted the tables. A giant blow-up jalapeno bounced and jiggled in its pinned-up spot near the door. One by one, potholder-clad women carried in casserole dishes of cornbread–some plain, some cheesy, some flecked with peppers or corn or a little of both. One by one, confident-looking men strode in with their crock pots of chili. You could see by their faces that each of those men had already cleared a spot back home for…
