Too Young

Retired from school teaching hardly a week, a regular comment I am hearing is that I am too young to retire. That makes me feel good that I’m perceived as “young”, but youth is relative to the comparison. Put side by side with a 65-year-old senior citizen, my retiring age of 54 years might appear to be young. When I look into the mirror, I see someone older than what my mind’s eye sees. My teen years do not feel so far behind me, yet I know they are. If God wills, I pray to have many more good years on this earth.

Should the Lord allow me to live into my 90’s, I will consider it a gift because already friends my own age are passing away. So, if 54 years old appears young to retire, it is even younger to die. One of my childhood friends passed away yesterday when Evil’s cancer claimed her life. She was always a vibrant, petite brunette with a winning personality. Everyone loved Pam. The oldest and only daughter of three children I remember her as a sister that always spoke with kindness about her younger brothers. She often watched over them like a mother. I’m sure Pam’s brothers consider her 54 years to be too few to have lived.

Slumber parties at her house, running under the football stadium bleachers to get out of the rain, and riding around in her little green convertible Triumph when we were silly teenage girls, are some of my fondest memories of being with Pam. One night while riding around, a couple of guys flirted with us at a stoplight and followed us to the Dairy Queen. We imagined they thought we were some hot chicks. Then, as we got out of the car, one of the boys asked to see under the hood of the Triumph. That really took the wind out of our sails! On another occasion, we piled into a friend’s compact car, with too many 15-year-old girls for safety, and went to the East Texas State Fair. We had a blast buying huge purple tissue paper flowers, sailor caps monogrammed with our names, and getting our pictures snapped in one of those quick dollar picture booths. When we got ready to leave the park, we realized that one of our girlfriends was lost from our group. We searched panicked all over that park asking the police to help us find her. When a phone call home revealed the girl had called her aunt to pick her up, the late hour made it unsafe for six young girls to walk unsupervised in a bad part of town back to our car. So, a local TV newsman who happened to overhear us talking to police officers drove us down the dark street to our car. Life was the best back then. We giggled and laughed so much in those days of innocence.

Despite not seeing my friend for at least 7 years, I will miss her. She is part of my life that once was. As a character in the mid chapters of my life story, she accepted the rather ordinary, unpopular girl in me as a friend. In my recollection, Pam never lost her temper and always helped me to feel comfortable in her home. Her daughters, grandchildren, and family will miss the love she poured onto their lives daily. A host of others who call her Friend are better for having known such a caring person. Her life, like so many others, is put to rest long before we are ready to say goodbye.

Goodbye to a good friend. Pam, 1952-2007.

Here We Go Again

Its Sunday. The day we go to be refreshed in our Christianity. The day we vow to do better. The day some go to sit in a pew and listen, to pray and read/recite scripture or sing with or without instruments. The day many of us will partake of the Lord’s Supper, His memorial, our reminder that we are sinful and His death on a cross was the atonement for our sins. To some Sunday is the first day of another week. Another week of doing what we do week after week after week. Sunday, the day we look forward to or the day we sigh as we sit down in the church pew knowing we’ve not been the Christians we should have been this week. While some sing “Hallelujah, I am saved”, others are silently praying, “forgive me Lord, save me from my sin. I will try to do better this week.”

Its Sunday, and...”This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Ps. 118:24

Salamander Anyone?

These two are my cats, Baby and Homer. Since spring has sprung and it is exceedingly pleasant outdoors, they have begged to be let outside to watch lizards, birds, squirrels and generally anything that moves. When the backdoor closes behind her, Baby, the black cat, will stop, look back and appear to wonder, "Will I get back in?" She will often come back to the door, peer in through the glass and meow. When the door is reopened, she won't come back inside. "Just checking," is what I imagine she is saying to me. So, Kim and I have begun to leave the patio door open so the cats can come and go as they please. However, that is going to change due to the "prize" Baby brought into my den this morning.


When I Goggled to find a picture of the salamander I was surprised to see how many different varieties of the creature there were. However, the picture you see here is exactly what Baby wagged into my den this morning in her mouth. I screamed, "BABY!" and she of course dropped it. The thing must have been in shock and didn't move for a moment but quickly regained consciousness and slithered under the coffee table. I ran to retreive my broom all the while yelling at Baby as if she could understand my dismay at this thing in my den. When I moved the table away, it wiggled quickly toward the sofa minus the tip of its tail. Baby was keeping up with her prey until I wildly began swatting and screaming like a mad women with the broom. Baby immediately dashed for shelter and I managed to drive the stripped thing under the couch. By now Homer has heard the commotion and returned from outdoors to investigate.

Having already moved the coffee table, I started rolling the rug back to prepare to move the couch. Homer was most interested in the carpet and even more interested in the old Christmas bow found behind the couch. I moved the rest of the sectional in pieces all over the room while Homer began his own version of "Christmas Bow Soccer". No salamander. Baby and now Homer were so curious about the moved furniture and rolled up carpet, that they completely forgot about the blue stripped slimy creature lose somewhere in my den. However, I couldn't rest until that thing was outside where it belonged.

I proceeded to gingerly move the sofa, a bit at a time, when I see a tiny sliver of something about a half inch long wiggling around. Was it a little worm? No, it was the salamander's tail that came off. It was still moving around and with paper in hand I cringed as I scooped the detached tip into a plastic container (which will never be used again) and threw the appendage part out the door. Well at least THAT is gone.

Now to get serious about that salamander. I continued to move the couch bit by bit away from the wall and there he was lying motionless on the tile floor. I ran to get something to scoop him onto. I didn't want him to get away before I could fling him outside. I needed that clear plastic container again and something really thin to scoop him up so he wouldn't touch me. Finally, finding a half sheet of cardstock, I returned to capture my prey. Only he was no longer in the spot behind the couch where I left him. He had moved! Oh no, where was he? Did he crawl under the detached sectional pieces? I moved each piece around and found no salamander.

The rolled up carpet had now become Homer's favorite place to play as he squeezed himself into the hole made by the tubelike cylinder. I moved him off of the carpet and began to unroll it, when there it was. The salamander began to crawl away and in my excitement I squealed and clapped the dustpan over the escapee. Got it! Ha! Then, I slid my half page cardstock under the dustpan to create a new floor for the salamander. Oh no, I can't see it. What if it isn't on the piece of cardstock? He could drop out and I'd lose him or worse, he might touch me. Not wanting that to happen, I picked up a thin magazine from the coffee table, and carefully slid it under the cardstock while holding the dustpan tightly on top of it. I hastened to the open patio door, released the magazine and out dropped the salamander onto the ground. He scurried off into the bushes. Victory! Gone. Now I can get back to laundry, reading and school papers. Aaah. Peace has been restored.

Too bad for Baby and Homer who have lost their open door priviledges.