Category: Uncategorized

Howdy you all! Happy Tuesday to ya. Is today a high five kind of day, or an almost high five kind of day for you? Me? It feels like a slam dunk, touchdown, soccer goal, home run kind of day! I get to write this blog in good health, and later on, I get to raid the refrigerator! Simple pleasures have been known to cause people to experience a smiling sensation.

Today I’m going to lighten up and type a fiction short story at ya. Got to mix a little fun stuff in with the vegetables, I like to say. Or like Mary Poppins used to say, “Just a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down.” Post time! And we’re off!

Two nineteen year old teenage boys stand and admire the automotive splendor of the sports model Dodge before them. It’s jet-black aerodynamic body design glistens and shines in the early afternoon sun like like a monarch racing transport. Everything about this car whispers the promise of near turbine speed, from its raised hood air scoop, to its flashy mag wheel tires and rear air spoiler.

“Man Hooper, doesn’t this baby have everything you could ever want or think of?  Just look at it! She has the whole package. …Dual exhaust, a posi-traction rear end, a 5.9 hemi motor with twin turbo chargers.  And dude, check this out. It has a stand alone computerized electronic fuel distribution system!  The guy that sold it to me says she’ll do zero to sixty in five point one seconds flat out, running on just two wheels!”

     Hooper Cooper wrinkled his eyebrows, folded his arms, and shook his head. “Are you serious Brandon? You should have checked with me before you bought this car.  To start with…  A 5.9 hemi motor doesn’t come with twin turbo chargers. And two…  They don’t put 5.9 hemi engines in Dodge Chargers.  And three… …Stand alone fuel distribution systems are not a standard item on any car.  Are you kidding me?  …A five to ten thousand dollar independent computer system installed in a factory made car?  Dude…  Please wake up and smell the motor oil!”

Brandon Michaels’ quickly reacted to his friend’s scolding comments by scrunching his face into a resentful frown. He was an inch shorter than Hooper, though far less muscular, and looked every bit the suburban version of a beach buddy. The version that didn’t have a tan, but did wear floppy sandals, shredded faded jeans, a neon yellow tank top, with a matching colored baseball cap. But his reply was 100% beach buddy. “Oh yeah?! Well then, since you know so much about how my car is put together, I got a hundred dollars that says everything I just told you that’s on this car, is in this car.  So are you in, or are you out?”

Hooper took a second to stroke his chin and think. For a six foot-one nineteen year old boy, Hooper was very up to date on automotive data. He lifted car data like the weights he lifted in his parent’s garage. -Which was everyday. And unlike Brandon, who was strongly motivated to wear beach buddywear, Hooper was wild about sportswear. If it had a sports company logo on it, he had it in his closet.

Hooper stared hard at Brandon a second more before answering, “Okay, hold on a minute Brandon. You just bought this car from a used car dealer, right?”  “Yeah Hooper.  That’s right.  So what about it?  You gonna man up with the money, or are you gonna to wimp out?”  “Didn’t I just say hold on Brandon?  It’s just that before you get started counting my money, I want to know something.”  “Like what?” Brandon said.  “Like is everything you say is on this car… They said is standard??”  “Yeah Hooper, they told me that everything on this car is factory specs.  The salesman told me that there’s no after market nothing on this machine.  So now what’s the hold up?”   “Nothing.  Just keep your baseball cap on dude.  Let me just check something on my cell phone, and we can work on getting your hundred shipped to my pocket address.  So keep your wallet were you can get at it without having to hurt yourself reaching for it.”  “Fine with me.  Go ahead.  Take your time.” Brandon said with a huge smile. 

Between a 21 second wait and the southern California heat beaming down on him, Brandon was starting to run a little bit low on patience. “Okay Hooper.  It’s been about a minute.  What’s the deal?  You in or you out?”  Hooper looked up from his phone and smiled. “Oh I’m definitely all the way in dude!  Raise the hood.”   “Now you’re talking!  Hold on.  There you go,” Brandon pointed excitedly.  “See!  There’s the twin turbo charger unit right there.  And what’s that sticker say on the engine?  Let me know if you have any trouble reading it. I can go get my sister to help you out. She just passed the fourth grade.”  “No no. I got it. It says five point nine.”  “That’s right Mr. Hooper.  Five point-nine just like I told you!  And I’d like you to take a big guess at who’s going out tonight with your hundred dollars in his pocket?”   Hooper stood up straight and waggled his index finger back and forth at Brandon. “I wouldn’t bet on it Brand-man.”  “Are you serious Hooper? Do you need bifocals or something?”

Hooper slides his hands into his warmup pant’s pockets, and cocks his head slightly to his left.  “Nope. Don’t need bifocals, but I do need to see the stand alone fuel distribution system sometime today.” “Oh yeah. Sorry,” Brandon said with embarrassment. He motioned Hooper to come around to the front passenger door of the car. Once they get there, Brandon opens the car door and opens up the center arm rest.  “There you go Hooper.  Now do you believe me?” Brandon points to the device in question and declares, “There is my stand alone computer system for the fuel feed.  …Money please.” 

Hooper quickly holds up a hand. “Not so quick Brandon.  Let me show you something first.”  “Like what Hooper?  How you can stall me out of my money?”  “Nope.  I don’t need to. Take a look this,” Hooper invites, and hands Brandon his cell phone. Brandon takes the phone slowly from Hooper, feeling an unidentified sense of dread radiating up between his shoulder blades as he starts to read.

Brandon was sure he had felt this way before. It was the same exact way he had felt the moment a loose floor board had given way under the weight of his foot.

Brandon was barely reading loud enough to be heard, as he scrolled his way down the screen.  Mumble mumble mumble.   …fake engine sticker. Mumble mumble mumble. …video game parts. Mumble mumble mumble. …Hasbro toy parts?  Brandon suddenly looked up with a weak smile showing on his face, and, this time, mumbled loud enough to be heard. “Ummm…  Uh, Hooper…  About our bet.”   “I know. Don’t worry about it Brandon.  I’ll take cash or Cash App,” Hooper said, moving towards the front of the car. Brandon followed him as though he were walking to the principal’s office to discuss setting up a meeting with his parents.

When they reached the front of the car, Hooper points at something in the engine compartment.  “Brandon, you see your turbo charger here?”  Brandon jerks his head up to look at the sky. “Hooper, there’s a lot of clouds up there. I think it’s going to rain.  Let’s go inside.” 

Hooper looks up at the sky a second, and then back down at Brandon. “What are you talking about man?  There’s not one cloud in the sky.”  “Yeah, but…” Brandon tried to protest.  “No yeah buts—look here, and watch this.” 

Brandon looked with horror as he witnessed Hooper started wrenching back and forth at the cover of one of his engine’s turbo chargers. “No wait Hooper!  Don’t…!”  Squeeek, snopt!  “See how easy that came off?” Hooper said with satisfaction.  “Now look at this Brandon. See underneath this cover where it says Hasbro manufacturing?” Brandon couldn’t take his eyes away from the cover piece in Hooper’s hand, or at the sticker Hooper was pointing at that said Hasbro. Hooper could see that his friend needed a little help getting back to reality. So he began snapping his fingers in front of Brandon’s face. 

“Hey Brandon, are you paying attention?”  Brandon barely nodded yes. “Yeah Hooper. I’m paying attention, but I don’t want to.  Is that the same Hasbro that makes toys?”  “Yeah Brandon that’s them.  Some of the parts on your car were taken off some of the toy cars that Hasbro makes. Now come back around here to the passenger seat.”  “Do I have to?” Brandon mourned.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way dude.  Now look here and watch this.”  “Man, please don’t tell me that my stand alone fuel distribution computer is a fake too?”  Hooper held a finger in the air to get Brandon to wait. “Let me just get this cover off, and we’ll know for sure.  Aaaaand there you go.”  Brandon looked down at the device Hooper held in his hand, that looked like and was a video game console. “Aw naw!! This is a daytime nightmare dude! It’s an older model of a Play Station unit!”  “Breaks your heart don’t it Brandon?  You want me to show the rest of what you really don’t got?”  “No Hooper, I’ve seen enough for one day.”  “Good to hear,” Hooper commented. “So next time I tell you to check out a used car dealer, before you go down there, you’ll do that and take me with you, right?” 

     “Yeah Hooper.  But these guys have been in business since I was in High School.”  “Well, you’ve only been out of High School for a year dude.  But never mind that. You always have to check out used car dealers to make sure they don’t clean your credit card. You know I know about this stuff, right?”  Brandon placed a hand on either side of the radiator, let his shoulders slump with misery and said, “Yeah, you’re right Hooper.” Hooper barely heard him. He was typing something into his phone’s web browser. Within seconds he found what he was looking for.

“Let me see.  Local used car dealer owner under investigation for fraud.  Mumble mumble mumble.  …Local police found evidence of car doctoring.”  “Wow Brandon, I’m so sorry.”  “It’s okay Hooper.  I learned a lot from this.”  “I’m glad to hear you say that Brandon.  But you know what else has really got me feeling bad for you.”  “What?” Brandon asked, looking anxious. 

Hooper put an arm around Brandon’s shoulder, and said with a brotherly smile, “What really has me feeling bad for you dude, is that you’re going to have to fight traffic all the way to the ATM to get me five $20 bills.” Both boys stared at each other a few seconds, tried to hold it in for two more, and then started laughing like they had just seen a Pekinese chasing a skinny dog catcher.

Before you buy at a car lot, know a lot. -Take somebody with experience with you. Buying a used or new car can be like shark fishing, ya?

As always, thanks for reading. I hope that God will steer you to a very happy smile! B Y E.

Hello readers! How feeling you are, hmmm? When not a light-side day you are having, a powerful Medi mind trick laughter is. May something funny be with you.

I don’t know where that came from. Well… I guess I do. …From a space far far away in my imagination.

I hope you are doing well enough to raise a thumb up in the air.

Today I want to go inner space again, and explore another mind phenomenon. Something very near and present to all of us. A powerful mind villain known to be a giant adversary among us human folk for a millennias. It is called Perezoso in Spanish, Landuo de in Chinese, Lenivyy in Russian, and Tempelis in Greek.

Of course, it is known by a different word in all the other languages of our world, but in English it is called Lazy.

Readers, lock your doors and windows! Lazy is still a problem for a lot of us today! Though Lazy is seemingly a harmless little problem working in our minds, for some of us it has been known to help cost us jobs, our marriages, and families to fail. And has also been known to cost people their status of good health and personal property to suffer from serious neglect. Quick, write your Congress or Senator person! Something’s’ gotta be done! No wait. On second thought, don’t bother them. They might be having trouble with the Lazy Villain in their own lives!

You might be wondering, is Monsieur blogger trying to put me on the hot seat? Nope. No way! Because I’m reserving the hot seat just for me.

Where should I start? Let me see… Let’s go back to my teenage days. We’ll start there.

My mom told me to have the kitchen floor mopped by the time she got home from work, at 3:15 in the afternoon. School was out. I was on summer vacation, so I had all day to get the kitchen floor mopped. No problem. That is, until Lazy got into my head. So I let Lazy take control of me. But it was okay. I appreciated Lazy.

I followed Lazy’s schedule to the letter. Starting in the morning, I followed Lazy’s schedule of watching TV shows, eating snacks, and making room for a lot of couch-time. But I promised myself that when I got these things out of the way, I would throw Lazy out of my mind and get the kitchen floor mopped. Easy peasy, right?

Yeah, but you know what they say about how time flies, don’tcha? Yep. At nine minutes after three o’clock, I got that funny feeling you get when you think a block buster is about to land on you. I checked the clock, shrieked in terror, and hastened to fetch the mop and bucket!

Lazy immediately left me and abandoned me to my fate! And as it so happened, before I could get more than a few square feet of the kitchen floor mopped, I heard my mom driving into the driveway. But she was early! But still, maybe I was too late! Darn that Lazy! Leaving me with a completely useless alibi to tell my mother!

In seconds my mom came into the house and saw me trying to be a good son. First she quizzed me on what time I was supposed to have the floor mopped and dried. Secondly, she asked me why I couldn’t get the floor mopped earlier in the day? I didn’t have a good answer. So finally she asked if I would be so kind as to wait patiently in the kitchen until she could locate one of my dad’s well made leather belts. Like Mr. William Shakespeare probably would have put it, “Oh woe is me! I am undone! Alas, my poor backside. I knew it well!”

I have to admit, that in no way was Lazy the culprit. Me listening to Lazy’s viewpoint, suggesting that I should have a lazy attitude about how to handle my responsibilities, was. Now that I’m grown, I can see that. Okay, here’s round two of me being on the hot seat.

This time, I’m a young adult. I use to habitually agree with Lazy that I shouldn’t go to work until it was almost impossible for me to get there on time. Everyday I took a lazy attitude about not dressing for work early enough, and not getting my lunch together early enough. A lazy attitude had been getting me by so far. So why should I change? But when you take into account that I had already been two days late in a row, this particular week, and was working on my third late-to-work write-up…? Correction?! Huh! I was no longer working on it. I did achieve my third being-late-for-work write-up. My lazy attitude towards getting to work on time paid me back with a three day suspension without pay.

Now I’ve been saving my best hot seat story for last.

I had a mini pickup truck I adored about 3 decades ago. It was shiny black and… Maybe I should just stick to the important facts. Well, I agreed with Lazy to constantly put off changing the pickup’s motor oil. The truck was over four or five years old, and it was somewhere well over the 3000 mile oil changing limit at the time. But I kept telling myself it would be okay, and that I had time. Agreeing to take Lazy’s viewpoint as my very own, I got into the practice of constantly neglecting to change the truck’s motor oil. And so… And so… Is it just me or is it hot in here? Oh I know what it is. I’m sitting on the hot seat!

My lazy attitude cost me a truck engine and a new starter, all because I listened to Lazy’s viewpoint. The result was that the motor seized up and broke internally. One of the pistons even knocked a hole in the lower engine block and broke loose the starter.

Are you starting to see how Lazy can be a problem yet? I can. Agreeing with Lazy has caused me punishment, loss of money, and tooth grinding inconvenience. And if we agree to work with Lazy about keeping healthy, Lazy can cause us some real health regrets.

Now before I unhandle the keyboard, let me type a little at ya about what I know about handling Lazy.

The most unpopular way, it seems, is the buddy system. This is because we tend to want to keep people out of our business, and handle being lazy on our own, without anyone bothering us. Another way is prayer and to actively practice beating Lazy. But still, without an understanding and respectful buddy, working with us, we might be inclined not to worry about being lazy all that much.

My best suggestion is to pray to God for His help to beat Lazy, and to actually say out loud, often, why we think we should be lazy. Admitting our dependence on being lazy will help us to judge just how much Lazy has taken hold of our ability to break free of it.

I fight Lazy all the time. I win a lot, but I lose a few battles too. The one’s I win, I win by focusing real hard on just how important it is that I get something done. And also on how much people are counting on me to get something done on time.

Watch out for your feelings. They usually agree with not wanting to fight off something like Lazy. But take a long look at what happens when we don’t.

I appreciate you being a reader of this blog. I’m hoping that you will be blessed and stay blessed. B Y E.

A very cheerful hello to you, readers! Hey. Are you able to smile from a standing, sitting, or a laying down position today? You can? That’s great! Now have you ever tried smiling when your boss is thanking you for volunteering to come in to work on a Saturday, and you never said a word about wanting to volunteer? Ah ha! I thought so!!! Waitaminute! I know I can’t talk. I have never tried to either. But I’ll keep studying Smiling Kung Fu until I can overpower an unhappy frown with a smile.

Smiling, while in the middle of a frowning type of situation, takes a special above average human quality, and a whole lot of serious practice. But I want to warn you though. Trying this kind of smiling can be very rewarding, but sometimes has the side effect of making people think you might be a little bit goofy.

Got a kadoozy subject for you today. -Another pop-up-idea from the place where heavenly revelations come from. My keyboard is at the ready. Jumping to type-warp speed factor one, in 3…2…1…! Engage!

We all know what a thought is, right? Now before you say duh, I knew you knew what a thought is. I just asked to provoke a thought. Was I successful?

In your whole life, did you ever think about where our thoughts come from? And did you ever think that our thoughts are directly connected to our nature? Well get ready for a rollercoaster ride. Because the answers are going to be a thriller diller!

Yep. By now you have probably already answered that our brain is where we manufacture our thoughts while we’re awake. But what you may not have ever thought about is what influences our thoughts, and what our thoughts can become.

Detective A. Blogger here, at your service. I’m with the Human Thoughts Division. I’m only too glad to walk you through the case. Our suspect at the scene is a fifteen year old high school boy named Darian Ridell Roberts.

From the rebellious boys Darian is hanging around with, here in the park today, who are all currently breaking windows, I have been able to figure out the kind of thoughts Darian has been influenced by. For one thing, Darian’s thought concerning what kind of clothing he is fond of. The suspect is wearing a bandana on his head, a black hoody, skater pants, and has small rocks in his pockets. As we say down at the precinct, you are the company you keep.

Let me break in on Detective Blogger here for a second. Our thoughts are influenced by what we see, hear, or desire. -And becomes accepted or rejected by whatever our dominate nature happens to be. In other words, if we have a stronger nature that’s willing to follow lawlessness, lawless thoughts are manufactured in a person’s mind very often, and received by this nature as reasonable and acceptable very often. And if a person’s stronger nature is righteousness, oppositely that person’s mind manufactures righteous thoughts more often, and more often is received by this nature as reasonable and acceptable. A righteous mind-set chooses more often to reject lawlessness, and a lawless mind set often chooses to reject righteousness.

Hey. Let’s rejoin Detective Blogger, as Darian and his friends finish carrying out their thoughts for putting air holes in public windows.

“The clues are all here,” Detective Blogger says, running towards the boys to stop them. He thinks to himself that the thought of breaking windows had to have been suggested to Darian by one or more of his fellow lawbreakers. -Which suggested to Detective Blogger that, though Darian knew that there was a high risk of getting caught, he reasoned that the thought of breaking out windows was acceptable and reasonable enough for him to participate. -Not to mention the fact that breaking out windows in the park’s maintenance building he thought would be fun!

Fast forwarding. Detective Blogger and members of the Human Thoughts Division rounded up the boys without much trouble. As for the boys, they were not very happy to see their thought work out this way! They had no idea that a thought of theirs could backfire quite this quickly! They all regretted that they hadn’t thought to pair their window breaking thought with a thought about escaping.

Now I’m very curious to know what you think. At what point do you think Darian could have saved himself the trouble of going on a detention vacation?

Before you answer, let me say this first. It’s possible for people with a stronger righteous nature to temporarily switch their nature. How is that possible??? That’s easy. By making the mistake of compromising. Changing their mind-set, just long enough to achieve a personal desire, then telling themself they’ll never do that again. After which, they try to go back to righteous living without owning up to their compromise. Compromising then becomes a secret part of that person’s righteous nature.

Of course compromising a righteous mind-set, just to get what we want, is very habit forming. You could even say addictive. A person will find themselves compromising again and again if they don’t rehab their way back to a real righteous nature. Please please please, pretty please, notice that nowhere in this post did I type the words we have to try to be perfect. We all know that would be the greatest waste of time for anybody to try to do! But you might agree with me, it’s a really good thing to try to be as sincerely righteous as you can be. You know, I feel it’s my duty to tell everyone, before I type another letter, that real righteousness comes from a personal relationship with God.

Hey. Let me just tag everyone with an info jolt. With just one thought a burglary can get started. -Or a broken marriage, or a theft, or even a war. If a person let’s a bad thought get loose, oh boy! The best way to keep that from happening is to monitor our thoughts, and keep the bad ones from becoming a living and growing idea inside of us, and to keep them from becoming a part of us.

Assassinations all started with just a single thought. To die for the sins of the world started with just a thought. Pretty big comparison huh? I thought I would just sneak it in.

We are what we think like. Try as hard as we might, it’s kinda hard to hide the way we think for very long. At some point our thoughts make it to our throats, our hands and feet and eyes, to become words, actions, or expressions. My hope is that we all get cautious about what we’re thinking. It could mean the difference between us having a good day or a day of disaster.

Before I go, what was your answer for at what point, do you think, could Darian have saved himself the trouble of going on a detention vacation? All answers are good. But here’s my answer. I think it was at the very second that Darian thought that breaking out windows was cool.

Thanks again for spending time reading this blog. You are very much appreciated! May God help you so much you can see it as a miracle.

Hi out there! How are things with you? I’m so glad you stopped by for a read, I don’t know what to do!

I’m in a rhyming mood today. Please bear with me. I was talking to God the other day, and whammo! A poem started forming between my ears! In a four alarm hurry, I jumped up and got myself a piece of paper and a pen! I had a vision of unconditional love! Here’s how it came out.

Dear Lord Jesus, you left your Holy place.

-To visit the Earth and grant me your soul saving grace.

You did not spare any of the love that loving me took,

to have my name written down permanently, into your special Holy book.

When you first contacted me, I was in a really bad way.

I was marked for death, and I had so much of hell to pay.

Back in my younger days, when I thought you didn’t matter.

A vision of you, suffering on a cross, made my stubborn heart ache, sorrow, and shatter.

From a cruel cross you showed how much I matter to God.

I had to fall down on my knees and cry. I was so totally awed!

I’m not worth all the pain you suffered for me after you left your home up above.

-To bother showing a nobody like me the definition of unconditional love.

Readers. Writing poetry ain’t as easy as it looks! Believe you me! Whew! -Especially when you’re typing a poem to fit an event that happened in your life. But in the case of this one, I had a whole lot of good inspirational help.

I know this post is a little off the beaten path from what I’ve been typing atchya these past weeks. But you know how it is. You know. Like when you’re just boppin along, minding your own business, talking something over inside your mind with your eyes closed. -Or even when you’re just walking around thinking about grabbing a pizza. -And then all of a sudden, something you weren’t even thinking of thinking about shows up in your mind’s inbox, and your eyes bug out!

Now take your time. Uh… Anybody out there? Somebody? Any-body! Finally! That was way too close! My thanks goes out to everybody that just said yes! I was worried that I might be the Lone Stranger riding solo on this one.

I’ve got to start keeping something to write with nearby. Seems like, when I least expect it, I could get a pop-up-idea worth remembering or sharing.

Got to go, before somebody realizes I’ve been typing a little past quitting time.

I thank you for reading. The kind of a thank you I would say to someone who just opened a big garage door for me.

Good health, good experiences, and Good God be with you.

Hola!  Top o’ the day!  Bonjour!  Ciao! Kon’nichiwa! Mazel tov!  Hallo! Okay, now that I’ve got you good and confused, here’s just a plain old English hello! 

I’m glad that you could stop by and read a while.  Your being here, and in basic good health, has got me dancing on the roof! 

Last post, I mentioned that this post would be 1,200 feet off the ground and sunny. Can we negotiate? By any chance would you settle for a post only 1,199 feet off the ground? Electricity ain’t cheap in these summer months. One square foot of typing might save me enough of my utility bill money to wash some of my clothes this week. Sooo…

I know. It’s my problem. I probably need to get a second job and cut down on my take out meals, right? Well just thought I’d ask. Anyway, why don’t you grab a hot or cold beverage and I’ll type up a sunny new story for ya.

“Hey Carter, what’s the matter with you? You sick or something?” Joe Timmons asks. Joe sets his lunch tray down on Carter Miller’s lunch table and pulls out a chair. There were plenty of vacant chairs left to pick from. The one across from Carter was empty. So without a moment’s hesitation, Joe flopped his six foot-one, wrestler-shaped body into it, and popped a french fry into his mouth. Joe is seventeen. But with his mustache and side burns, he looks more like a twenty-one year old adult. Carter was glad to have Joe’s company, but not any of his questions.

“Nope. There’s nothing’s wrong with me.” But Joe stares silently at his lifetime friend with an eyebrow raised.

Carter always hated it when Joe would try to stare him into talking. Carter decided to put his annoyance into one word. “What?!” Carter snapped at Joe. And Joe answered back by going down a list of things.

“What? C’mon man. How bout your hair ain’t combed, you’re slouching down in your chair with your arms folded up, like you’re trying to let people know you don’t want to be bothered. And I know something’s wrong when a cheeseburger and fries are setting in front of you, and they don’t have any shark bites on them.  That’s what. And oh, by the way, where’s Brittney? Ain’t you two suppose to be having lunch today?” 

Carter lets out a long windy sigh and hitches himself to sit up straighter in his chair.

Carter is also a seventeen year old teenage boy, but was seventeen looking. He was also a good advertisement for what an athletic teen could look like after three weeks of working out.

Without activating a single smiling muscle, Carter laid his cell phone on the table and sighed again. “Yeah man. We were supposed to. And what do you mean my hair ain’t combed. It always looks like this.”  “That’s true dude.  I was just messin with ya,” Joe said grinning. He pops another french fry into his mouth, pauses to take a sip from his soda can, and then begins a little friendly interrogation.

“So Brittney’s not here? What’s up with that?” Joe asked.  “Man.  She told me in first period that she doesn’t want to go with me anymore,” Carter said sadly. Joe lets the french fry in his hand fall into his plate. “Carter, you mean Brittney dumped you?” 

Carter twists his face up as if he had just put a spoonful of liquid squid into his mouth. “Man, Joe, aren’t you suppose to be in detention someplace?”

“Chill dude.  I get it.  You’re freaked out.  But don’t take it out on me bro.”  “Sorry JT.  But the last thing she told me was she couldn’t be with somebody that’s not fun anymore and then she walked off.” 

Joe couldn’t believe his ears. “What’s she talking about, somebody not fun anymore?  You’re an all city skateboard champion.  You drive a cool 2023 black Camaro, and you have pool parties at your parent’s house all the time.  Man, what the blinkety-blank more fun does she want you to be?” 

Carter pushes his lunch tray away from himself with frustration, and stares up at the ceiling. “Man, Joe, that’s what I been trying to figure out almost this whole lunch period.”

Joe takes a huge bite out of his cheeseburger and says with his mouth almost full, “Maybe she means that you’re not as much fun as you were when we were on summer vacation last week.”  “What are you talking about Joe?  Brittney is always cracking up over my jokes.  And we’re still going to fun places on the weekend, and having fun.”  Joe hunches his shoulders. “Well… Maybe she means that you…” Joe jolts his mouth to a stop, and instantly changes up what he was going to say.  “Hey, did you do or say something to get her parents mad at you dude?” 

Carter points at his own chest and raises his eyebrows. “Who, Me? No way dude.  At least I don’t think so.  Man, I’m always very polite to her parents when I’m over at their house.  You know what I mean?  …Saying sir and ma’am and stuff like that.” You and her dad cool?” Joe asks.  “Yeah. Her dad and I are cool. We talk about sports and stuff.  Her mom really likes me too, because she says she really likes a young man like me, that has good manners and doesn’t use curse words.  So it can’t be that Brittney dumped me because I disrespected her parents.”

Joe suddenly snaps his fingers. “Carter m’man. I see what’s happening here. It could only be one other thing.”  Anger sparked into Carter’s eyes, as he felt his eyebrows rush to try to meet each other in the middle of his forehead. “Nuh uh Joe. Don’t say it. If you’re going to try to tell me that it’s another dude, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Carter, man you’re already thinking it’s another dude!  I don’t have to tell you that. This is High School, bro!  You know what going together means around here. It’s always AFL.  Man, you didn’t think Ain’t For Long wasn’t going to happen to you and Brittney, did you?” Carter thought about it a few seconds and then nodded his head in agreement.  “Yeah.  I know Joe.  But man, I didn’t even cheat on her or anything!”

“Okay.  Then maybe somebody set you up?” Joe supposed.  In response, Carter burned a look straight at Joe. “Set me up?  What in the name of really dumb stuff are you talking about Joe?”  Joe grinned and shook his head. “Man, it’s a good thing you got me around to teach you about grown-up stuff.  Use your head dude!  Somebody probably told Brittney a rumor about you to get her mad at you. Then she got mad and broke up with you.” 

Carter reached for his soda, popped the top, and absently thought, could it be true? It does make a lot of sense.  Out loud he thought, “Okay Joe. Let’s just say you’re right about me being set up. Man, how am I going to find out for sure?” 

“Not a problem.  We’ll get Nerissa Collins to go undercover and find out for you.” Joe smiled and took another bite of his cheeseburger.

Carter’s eyebrows went upward to match the amazement he was feeling. “Man you can’t be serious. You mean Brittney’s best friend Nerissa Collins?  Are you kidding me?!!!  She’ll just tell us to go and take a good long sniff under our armpits!” 

Joe almost laughed and almost spurted cheeseburger out of his mouth. But he was able to keep his mouthful of cheeseburger from flying out. “Chill out Carter.  Trust me. I can get her to do it.”  “How Joe?  How you gonna get Nerissa to spy on her best friend, and give us the 411 on why her best friend really dumped me?  Who do you think you are dude?  …The FBI?”

Joe put down his cheeseburger and curled his upper lip. “Look man.  Do you want to find out why you really got dumped or not?”  Four seconds of silence goes by. “All right all right!  I’m in.  But if you screw this up for me Joe, I’ll put that video of you reading poetry to your baby sister’s Barbie doll up on YouTube so fast…”  Joe’s eyes lit up with panic. “Man will you please keep your voice down!” Joe points at Carter with an angry finger. “You’re wrong for bringing that up bro!  And for the last time, I was practicing with the Barbie because I was working on getting up enough nerve to read it to Arveena Wilkins.  Remember?“ 

Carter looked like he could care less than less. He pointed a serious finger back at Joe. “Whatever dude.  Just don’t get me embarrassed, or I’ll make you famous.”

One day later.  Joe walks into the High School cafeteria, on his way to getting a snack tray…  

“Hey Joe!  Over here!  …By the soda machine.”  Joe sees Carter and walks over to him.

“My bad Carter.  Man I didn’t see you standing over here when I came in.”  “Really Joe?  That’s funny.  Cause I’m the only one standing over here.  But never mind that?  What did Nerissa say?”  Joe begins shifting his weight from foot to foot, and looking like a man who knew something funny, but was trying hard to keep it a secret.

“Dude, maybe you don’t want to hear what she told me,” Joe announces. “Maybe not, but tell me anyway,” Carter eagerly urges his friend. “Okay…  but you’re really going to feel really stupid when I do.”  “Joe.  Did I ever tell you bout the time my skate board accidentally landed on this guy’s foot, with me riding on top of it? You want to see how it works when I do it on purpose?”

“That’s real nice.  Okay. Have it your way. But just remember Carter, you asked for it. So here goes.” Joe’s hidden smile finally makes it to the surface. He almost felt sorry for what Carter was about to hear him say. But then, his friend did bring it on himself.  

Joe took a short deep breath and let er rip. “Bro. Brittney dumped you because you forgot her birthday yesterday. Brittney told Nerissa It was all over her Instagram, Facebook, and X accounts. Nerissa also said that Brittney really blew up when you didn’t phone or text or say anything.” 

Carter spontaneously slapped a hand to his forehead. “Her birthday?!  Oh man Joe! I thought her birthday wasn’t until next week!” Then Carter thought to ask the question he should have asked in the first place. “Hey! Did Merissa tell you why Brittney didn’t say anything to me about yesterday being her birthday?”  Joe nodded his head and broke out laughing. “Yep. She said it was because her mom and dad had each bet her fifty dollars that you would forget.”

With a girlfriend comes great responsibility, no? Thank you for spending time reading at this blog. May God let you know day to day He’s there for you. Greetings until next blog day.

Breaker one-nine, breaker one-nine. This is the Jabber-blogger. Hey out there. Big Reader. You got your ears on good buddy? I think we’re making contact. You’re coming in five by five. Hey good buddy. How’s it going out on life’s highway? I hope you got the hammer down, and have lots of easy road ahead of you. I’m going to go 10-10 on the CB radio talk for now.

I’ve picked a very serious subject for today’s write and read. It’s Emergency Room serious! So grab on to something sturdy and hang on.

From dusk to dawn, a group of dark shadowy figures travel silently under a cloak of invisibility amongst the world’s population. They are as old as death, and their purpose in life is to promote self destruction by way of trickery. They are highly skilled at convincing people, who are living under great despair, that self-death is their only savior. These evil specters don’t have names or aliases in any law enforcement computer data bases. But for a lack of any name at all, I like to call them Hope Assassins.

Let’s pick out a Hope Assassin at random and take a look at how he operates. For the sake of convenience, we’ll call this Hope Assassin Evil.

But first, let’s go over what weapons he uses, and what kind of people are his prime target.

Like a Ninja, a Hope Assassin’s weapon is designed to be deadly and not very sound provoking. The Hope Assassin’s weapon is simple. They use lies that sound like genuine truth. I’ll give an example in just a sec.

What kind of targets do Hope Assassins go after? Most of us are already familiar with who Hope Assassins go after. But let me put it into print anyway. People that think being alive is a punishment that is too cruel to have to live with.

Now we’re ready to take a look at how our Hope Assassin, named Evil, works. For the sake of only one single example, Evil encounters an adult who has no friends, everyone at this adult’s job treats him or her like a covid patient. Him or her is never invited to go to get-togethers or parties after work. This adult has very very low self esteem, lives alone with a cat, and has parents that constantly reminds this person that they don’t have much of a personality. And last but not least, this person is starved for someone to care about them.

Over a length of time, Evil influences this adult’s thinking like so… I’ll never be good enough for anyone to like me. I guess I’m not worth loving. Nobody really cares about me. I’ll never be happy. If I were dead nobody would miss me. Everybody hates me. Why should I go on living if things are never going to get better than they are now? I pray to God, but I don’t see Him doing anything to help me. God doesn’t love me. If I tell anybody how I feel, they are just going to laugh at me and call me a loser. If I were dead I wouldn’t have to feel unhappiness anymore. If I wanted to kill myself, how should I do it? (For anyone that feels this way, accepting Jesus as your boss and save-your will make a difference in your life.)

Hope Assassins want to see their target gone. They encourage their target, through negative thinking and negative problem solving, to see their self-image as unbearable, all the way up until self destructive behavior breaks out.

Each of the questions above, and the thought conclusions… They are crafted out of incomplete truth, and the questions are asked out of negative hope. Evil uses these type of thought processes against a target, to convince them to practice self death. And if a person stays to themselves long enough, and doesn’t go looking for some very strong help, self death could become more than just a thought process.

Wrestling with depression, alone, is like trying to handle an angry octopus underwater. It will get a grip on you so strong that you couldn’t possibly break free of all its tentacles.

Hope assassins will kill hope, if cooperated with. They will get a person to give up believing that there is anyone; a church group, or that any support group can help them. Even cause them to believe that God can’t help them anymore. Influencing a targeted person, to think that they would be better off not doing anything to save themselves, gets stronger as time goes by.

When a person is alone, suffering, and miserable, this is just the way Hope Assassins likes their victims. Please. If you see anyone troubled by a Hope Assassin, do your best to urge them not to try to handle one on their own. I would suggest urging them to get around a therapy group that actively believes in God and His power, and who would work toward a targeted person staying alive and getting mentally stronger! Or at the very least urge them to call a hotline service.

To overcome a Hope Assassin, I believe that God has to be involved. He’s the only one I know of whom can overcome evil that comes in the size of depression, despair, hopelessness, and self destruction.

Didn’t mean to get so emergency room serious on ya today. But I keep hearing about people who gave up living out of extreme sorrow and hopelessness, and I just had to type something. The next blog will be a thousand two-hundred feet off the ground, and sunny.

Can’t thank you enough for reading. Keep being blessed to smile a little more each day. Until next blog day. Aloha.

     Hello hello hello! And how is it you are? My British accent is still a work in progress. Have you ever noticed that Tuesday and hump day have something in common? You didn’t know? Yup! They’re both days in the work week, that by the time you get to them, you’re usually worn out. Working people, talk to me!

Today I feel like going story-ish. I like a good short story. I hope you do too. Once upon a time… Oh, you know that one. Shucks! Guess I’m going to have to type up something else right quick. Okay, how about this?

When playing in a football game where your team has zero points and the team you’re playing has two touchdowns already, it’s enough to make any football player a little grumpy.  In a case like that, at almost any age, a football player would most likely agree to eat a plate of stewed vegetables, or babysit a brat, just to put six points on the scoreboard. From professional football on down to the pee wee level, nobody wants to be the team that lost without scoring a single point. Not even if they were playing a football game in their street clothes at a neighborhood park on a Saturday morning. 

     “Man, Hogie, these guys are really tough!” Renny Watson complained. Renny was eleven years old, four foot-nine, built like a mini-half back, and about as easy to get along with as orchestra musician at a Rock concert. He played the equivalent of an offensive guard. His opinion of the team they were playing, his Parkland Titans teammates couldn’t agree with him more. After only fifteen minutes into the game, they had only been able to score less than one point. Right now, standing around in what could only be described as a lop-sided huddle, Renny and his four teammates were sweaty, tired, and gulping air. One of the boys, however, had enough air in his lungs to add to Renny’s opinion. 

     “Tough? I really wasn’t sure Renny. Thanks for helping me make up my mind,” Hogie Reynolds said in a bad mood.  “I’ve been trying to block that big kid over there the whole game, and he’s gotten past me to get to Tilden I don’t know how many times.”  Everybody in the huddle was use to hearing Hogie Reynold’s squeaky eleven year old voice. Hogie was medium smallish, four-foot eight, and played the position of running back. “Yeah Hogie, It ain’t like we ain’t been noticing.  He’s been puttin Tilden in the nap sack for like the last who knows how many minutes,” twelve year old Deke Jones accused.

Deke Jones was the Parkland Titans’ wide receiver. He was twelve, and an impressive five-foot six. He didn’t have the best moves downfield, but he could catch a football out of the air like a frog catching a fly. -Which Tilden Moore, the Parkland Titans’ quarterback could care less about at the moment.

“Okay!  That’s it!  Everybody shut your snack holes!  This is my dinkin huddle!” Tilden Moore snapped. 

     “Hey Tilden.  Take it easy man.  Everybody’s tired. You don’t have to talk like that,” twelve year old Georgio Sanchez explained. Georgio was the center. He was five-foot one, a hundred and thirty-five pounder, and the nicest guy on the team.  

     “Yeah Georgio?  The score’s twelve zip, their favor.  If you wanna tell me how we gonna fix our little problem, talk all you want.  Otherwise…”  Tilden made a gesture to all the boys to hold their lips together or otherwise.  The fact that their quarterback was dialed up to the point of either throwing one of his famous fits, or refusing to quarterback anymore, helped them to choose to cooperate.

     The temperature was a sunny seventy-nine degrees and climbing.  That and the pressure of scoring at least two touchdowns, in a miracle amount of time, caused Tilden to wipe his forehead on his personal towel, and take a quick look around at his mixed height, mixed aged teammates.  He sensed the time was just right for a quarterback to team pep talk. Tilden was also twelve, and looked like a mini-pro quarterback with big ears. 

     “Look guys.  I figure we got three more minutes left until we all got to go home for lunch.  So let me do all the talking in the huddle from now on.  Can I get a yeah on that?”  Everybody nodded yeah.

“Sorry for getting talky a little while ago Tilden,” Hogie apologized.  “So what you wanna try?”  Tilden claps a hand on Hogie’s shoulder and looks him square in the eyes.

     “Well for one thing, Hogie, I want you to switch with Renny, and play guard, and Renny you play running back.  Hey! Will you guys just shut up and let me finish! It’s gonna be okay, cause I got an idea I wanna try.”  “Man Tilden, it’s fourth down, and you’re gonna get caught.  We’re playing real flag football, not the fantasy kind.  Hogie can’t block that big kid,” Deke growled at Tilden.  “What did I just say about talking in my huddle Deke?”  “Yeah but Tilden.  How we gonna win if you–”  “You just let me worry about it Deke.  Okay?” Tilden suggested.

     “Hey you losers wanna play some football, or what?!  Let’s go!” someone on the opposing team hollered out.  Everyone from Tilden to Georgio turned to face the owner of those words.  “Dude, don’t have a girly-fit!  We’re coming!” Tilden said disrespectfully.  After which, he quickly turned back to the huddle, as did his teammates.

     “Alright guys, here’s what we’re gonna do.  Georgio, you snap me the ball.  Hogie, you let your guy through and…”  This announcement drew an immediate interruption from Renny.  “Whataya mean, let his guy through?  Tilden, are you crazy?  That ain’t gonna work.” 

     Tilden looked at Renny as though he were looking at his little sister asking him to play with his brand new Xbox. Then he answered back.  “Man, Renny, for the very last time…  Unless you want to quarterback, I run this huddle.  Yeah?” 

     “Alright, yeah!  I got it!” Renny snarled.  Tilden let his eyes flip up towards his forehead and sighed. and then continued to explain. 

     “Finally!  Okay. Georgio snaps me the ball. Hogie lets the big kid through.  Then we zub… zub… zub…zub.“

     “Tilden, are you serious?” the boys ask like a choir.  Tilden replies back with a tensed up smile-less face.  “…As serious as my mom is about me taking a bath every night.  Now shut up and listen.  Zub…zub…zub…”

     Time had gotten short.  Everyone was wired up and a little hungry.  A bird called out from somewhere in the trees that surrounded the Parkland Community Park.  It was either time for football glory to happen or they were probably going to finish this game shamefully scoreless.  All the boys fixed their eyes on Tilden to lead them to either of the two. 

     “Okay.  Everybody know what to do?” Tilden asked in a hurry.  Everyone checked in, saying that they did.  “Alright then guys, let’s do it!  We go on Set!”

     The boys broke the huddle and walked up to the scrimmage line.  Taking their places on the line of scrimmage, each boy was determined to do his best.  They all knew that if this play didn’t work, they were not going to leave the park without being joked and laughed at.  But even so, they each planned to go out kickin and spittin.

     Tilden crouches down and sets his hands under Georgio’s rump to receive the ball.  He hollers out the cadence, and finally the word that will alert them all when to start the play.  “Zero and a pair of sevens!  See-tree-p-o!  Down! Set!”  The trigger word spoken, Georgio hikes the ball to Tilden, and Hogie stands aside to let his man through the line of scrimmage.

     The large kid, all hundred twenty-eight pounds of him, goes straight for Tilden, like a twelve year old after a fully loaded pizza.  But right before the charging boy ends up putting the finishing touches on sacking Tilden for the umpteenth time, Tilden flips the ball to Renny, who throws a short lateral pass to Deke, who holds the ball long enough for the defense to hurry over and snatch the red handkerchief hanging out of his waistband. But before that happens, he tosses the ball back to Renny, who immediately makes a full scale ambulance charge for the end-zone.

     Everybody on the defense was whamoed!  To them it was like watching pro football game in progress!  Some of the boys on defense were frozen in place trying to figure out whether or not they should call time out or call a penalty!

     But this wasn’t pro football.  This was simply playground football.  All the big league regulations of pro football weren’t strictly followed among this group of football-zealous pre-teen boys. 

     Renny was tall and muscularly filled out for his age. He was hardly what anyone would call track star material.  Tilden hadn’t chosen Renny because he had dazzling running back moves.  But he did choose him because, in a straight line, Renny could run like Usain Bolt Junior. 

     Five yards, past the line of scrimmage, Renny ran unmolested.  For a short second and a half the defense witnessed this state of affairs while standing glued to the playground grass.  Was a lineman really hustling his way towards their endzone? They had never seen anything like this before!  But if the Parkland Mini Eagles had anything to say about it, it wasn’t something that was going to go on for very long.  The chase was on! 

     Renny was still accelerating.  He zoomed past one defender, who was trying to close in on his right, but the defender couldn’t keep up.  Another defender tried to head him off on his left, and for a few strides, was able to keep pace with Renny’s roadrunner strides. But in a desperate attempt to make a last second effort to reach Renny’s flag, the Mini-Eagle dove for it and missed.

     This left only one other defender, who was directly ahead of Renny.  This Mini Eagle had a can’t miss angle for making a touchdown saving grab.  Renny veered to his left to try to avoid being put under strip-flag arrest.  But the other kid was not only able to make an instant adjustment, but quickly closed the distance between them.  He was flat out grinning now.  He knew he had a lock on Renny, and would either grab his flag or force Renny to run out of bounds.    

     As the Mini Eagle defender closed to within five yards of Renny, Renny could feel his six seconds of being a football hero coming to an unsatisfying end.  But Renny wasn’t worried about it, because Tilden had planned for this very moment.  Just as the last defender leaped to turn Renny into a strip-flag statistic, Renny casually flipped the ball back over his head.

     No matter how much the Mini Eagle wished he could defy the laws governing changing directions at high speed, he couldn’t.  The only satisfaction he had was that he had been able to strip Renny’s handkerchief from his waistband. Neither he nor Renny were in any position gather up the loose fumble now.  They both had run out of bounds.  The ball, however, was a lively jumbling bumbling thing of bouncing energy, free for anyone to come and pick up and possibly score.  Someone like, for instance, Deke Jones. 

     The ball was bounce/rolling its way towards the opposite sideline when he came along and snared it on the run.  But not before he went through the process of a few juggling attempts. 

     No one else was near Deke.  All of the boys on the Mini Eagle defense were way back, closer to the line of scrimmage.  Almost every  Mini-Eagle defender had supposed that catching the little blond haired kid was going to be too easy.  He hardly looked like anyone who could run at jet take-off speed. But he had them believing now. The bigger surprise was when they saw the boy carelessly tossing the ball away. -Making all the Mini-Eagles that he had just run past wish that they had at least jogged behind just for the sake of what if. 

    Only briefly did they have any big hope of recovering the on purpose fumble, taking place twenty yards or so from their endzone.  But that hope instantly vaporized the moment they saw one of the Parkland Titans, who had been trailing behind the blond haired kid, scoop up the fumble and run for six.

     Five minutes later, Tilden, Hogie, Renny, Georgio, and Deke are on their way to Tilden’s house for lunch with big grins on their faces.  Sure, they had lost the game.  But remembering the highlight of their trick play, and the admiration they had gotten for it from their opponents, made losing not so much painful as it had been fun.  For them it couldn’t have been much better than if they had won a championship.  Because for a few days, they knew that the Parkland Mini Eagles would remember the day they had played the Parkland Titans.

You guys have been really great readers! And I thank you very much for this. May God be as charitable to you as he has been to me!

Hello readers! I hope that God’s grace is rising in your life.

>In chair one, in the post position, is Hands Keyboard. Hands is the odds on favorite to complete the Blogger Grand Prix today. On the computer circuit, Hands has been known to clock about one hundred and fifty words an hour, give or take if his imagination running according to specs, and he proof reads this post in record time. *Just as a side note, with a turbo charger strapped to my imagination engine, Hands Keyboard has been known to do two hundred and fifty words an hour!

Today Hands is driving an HP racing laptop with an air cooled processor, Big RAM hard drive, and a wired up keyboard. Okay Blogger, start your fingers! We’re going live in five…four…three…two…one! Let’s blog!<

Ever wonder what a Christian battle looks like? Can you picture guns blazing, destructive explosions, screaming and yelling, and yadda yadda yadda? Okay, good. Good job. -Nothing wrong with your imagination equipment. But what I just described is nothing like what a Christian battle looks like. I checked. Also, I think I should mention, the kind of battling I’m talking about takes place in our minds.

Let me take this moment to turn a spotlight onto something for you right quick. The weapons used in a Christian battle don’t explode or make bullet holes in a target. And Karate, or Kung fu, or any kind of hand to hand physical combat wouldn’t work in a Christian battle either.

To start with, Christians fight against enemies that do not bleed. So physical weapons would really be useless if and when a Christian ever got in a battle with one. Let’s take it to the chalk board for a minute, and take a look at some of the enemies a Christian has to battle against.

-Pause- Can I just say it, for anybody who is out there thinking, “now just hold on a legal minute Mr. Blogger. What was that part about Christians fighting against enemies that do not bleed?” Yup. Let me list a few for you, and tell me what you think.

There’s depression, prejudice, temptation, greed, envy, fear, doubt, low self esteem, and so on. Now I ask you. Do any of these turkeys bleed? I’m just saying. Christians battle things that no bullet is powerful enough to destroy.

Let’s get back to what a Christian battle looks like.

The scene opens with a neighbor breaking out a Christian’s car windshield because the Christian wouldn’t sign a hate petition.

The Christian’s anger rises about as fast as his blood pressure, which immediately triggers him to come under attack. The attack is the temptation to hate his neighbor. But the Christian thinks about his spiritual loyalty to obey and please God by forgiving his neighbor and trying to make peace. Part of the Christian wants to do just that. But the human side of the Christian is tempted to let himself have the satisfaction of hating the person who caused the unnecessary damage to his car. The temptation to hate and get revenge is an enemy to a Christian. So what weapon should a Christian use to destroy the temptation to hate and get revenge? “Would this make a great question to put on the Jeopardy game show or what?” The answer is: What is a great idea?

Oh. Concerning using a man made weapon to handle a Christian enemy; I personally guarantee that if you pull out a Smith and Wesson product, point it at fear, and squeeze the trigger, you are going to have a bullet-missing-its-target kind of a problem.

Christians come under attack everyday by enemies that are constantly trying to get a Christian to put God into second place priority status in their minds. Depression does that very well. What is its agenda? From what I’ve seen, it’s to destroy a person’s will to live, and cause them to lose their hope of ever getting rescued. Battling depression calls for the battle being shared by a group of God’s believers, who will constantly pray for the person under attack, and spend time with them, daily encouraging them back to mental good health. -So that they can find God again, or for the first time, and get themselves into the battle.

Hey, did I forget to mention?? Christian enemies are the enemies of all people. My bad. I should have led with that fact.

Oh. You know what? I’ll bet somebody thought I forgot to type up an answer about what type of weapon can a Christian use to destroy the temptation to hate or take revenge. Would you believe… …A sword?

Now before you ask to see my psyche evaluation. Heavens to Betsy, I didn’t mean a metal sword. I meant God’s commandments and teachings that are in the bible. I’ll bet you still want to have a peek at my psyche evaluation, doncha? Well I don’t blame you. But check this out. God’s word, written in bible form, is referenced to be a sword. And here’s how this spiritual sword works.

A Christian gets a temptation to hate and take revenge. Trumpet the call to battle! Engarde (on your guard) temptation! The Ready Christian, who has studied and been taught from the bible what to do, goes into battle quoting to him or herself to obey God’s commandment to love, and not to hate people. And to also quote that they should try to make peace with people. And to also quote that they should let God handle the taking of revenge, no matter what.

By choosing to obey what God tells us to do, God gives a person the power to win the battle against our inhuman enemies. The strength to pick up this kind of sword, and to use it in battle, comes through the power of God’s grace through our faith, when we choose Jesus’s leadership and sacrifice for us as our first priority. Hanging around believing, practicing, Christians, and praying, helps a lot in battle too!

One more thing before I go. We have to battle all of our bloodless enemies or we suffer costly defeats. Addiction, divorce, jail time, shame, and stuff like that. Our bloodless enemies know our weaknesses very well. They mean to attach themselves into our minds so that they can ruin our lives. And the only way we can win our battles against these bloodless enemies is if we Battle Right.

Thinking about your stopping by for a read gives me a cause to smile. May God grant you way more smiles than me.

Yo ho! Look alive mateys! Arrrrgh… Raise the sails on the mizzen mast! Trim the sails on the fore deck! Let’s hop to it Mateys, I’ve got a blog to write! Wait! Arrrrgh! By Popeye’s corn cob pipe! You there! Yes you! Why in the name of Sea World ain’t we moving yet?! What?! What do you mean I forgot to log in? You obviously don’t know who you’re talking to swaby! I’m Captain Ever Blogger! Forget indeed! Ha! Now if you’d be so kind as to tell me again what you think I’m forgetting, then you’ll see for yourself that I never forget!

Helloooo reader! How are things going for you? Very very well I hope. I use to get a thrill out of the old classic pirate movies that Hollywood made way back in the 1940’s and 1950’s. A guy named Errol Flynn was my favorite pirate actor. …And before this turns into a documentary about old out of date movies, let’s hoist anchor and get Writeteller.com underway.

Suppose. Just suppose you believed that there was such a ship built called an Ark. You might have heard of an Ark. You know? -The big floating marine container that eight people, and most of the world’s land creatures, used to shelter in place from the flood to end all floods. (Thank goodness for the internet. Cause I had to look up some things about Noah’s Ark.)

Imagine an ocean going ship, about as long as a full football field and a half, (including the endzones), and about as wide as an NHL hockey rink. The ark was built on dry land, with no way possible of moving it over to a large body of water. It was too big and heavy.

Though not an accurate picture, the picture below gives an idea of what the ark might have looked like.

It had 3 decks, one accessible window, that could be opened or closed, one door, and no steering system.

It wasn’t built for comfort or for beauty. But it was built and designed for saving lives from destruction.

Now just give me a minute to rest my fingers a bit, and we’ll take a look at that. But before that, let’s imagine somebody gave you the blueprint specifications for building the construction in the picture above, via a chat line from God. Just look at the thing! It looks like an oil tanker barge made out of solid wood! Picture it at its actual size. The thing would probably take decades to make. -Especially if all you had was only hand tools and human and animal muscle to build it with!

Now wait! Let me add just a little more weight of strain to building Project Noah’s Ark. Right after you are informed on how to build this thing, via God’s chat line, you are told that the end of the world is why you are building it! No pressure.

Afterall, why else would God send you word that He wanted this colossal floating construction to be built???

Hoo boy! Glad we got the outside of the Ark talked about. Let’s go inside and see what else we can find.

The Ark had three decks. I did an internet search. It was suggested that the lowest level was where food and water, and so on, were stored. Keeping in mind that Noah and his family needed enough storage room for food and water supplies, enough to last for at least 365 days or more.

At the middle and upper levels, it is suggested that this was where stalls and pens, for the animals, and people living spaces were situated.

Let’s do a little detective work here. The Ark had to have living spaces for every kind of land creature and bird creature there was, that roamed the Earth. -People living spaces included. Would you agree that that would have taken up most of all the available space in Noah’s Ark?

My question is… Was there enough available space for any stow-a-ways? And if so… Was there any provision in God’s Ark building blueprints for accommodating a thousand, or a hundred, or even a couple dozen more human passengers?? Makes you think, huh? Do you think He was expecting a crowd or what?

As far as the information I take on faith goes, only one man-made ark was ever built back in those days. For people back then, Noah’s Ark would have been the only safe place to be in the middle of a world flood catastrophe. That is, if you had an invitation to be there.

Can I get just one more question in right quick? Please??? Okay, thanks! Who will make the next ark if we need one? One that is not made out of wood I hope. I’m thinking that the new Ark is going to have to be made out of something that is completely indestructible, and easy to get to from anywhere in the world! …With soul saving ability.

Thank you for giving the old blog a read today! Just typing that I care. May God bless you so well that there’s no doubt about it.

Glad you decided to stop by!  Welcome!  I hope that good health and good food have been keeping up with you all this week.

You know, a boomerang thought just hit me a while ago. A boomerang thought?  Don’t go looking for it in the dictionary. It isn’t there yet. I just made that one up today. Let’s see… Okay, here’s my definition. A boomerang thought is a thought or idea that you haven’t thought about in a long time. Then, out of the blue, it boomerangs back for you to think about it again. Uh… But before this definition becomes a boomerang thought, I probably… Yeah. I should get back to this Saturday’s blog already in progress.

My boomerang thought today was the kind of thought that makes you stop what you’re doing and tilt your head to the side. 

It hit me like a special news bulletin. Okay. Not that hard. But more like when you discover a new ding on your credit report. My boomerang thought was about why is it so much trouble to do the right thing?  And why is it so easy to ignore doing the right thing?  You ever wonder? 

For example, a cop pulls you over for speeding, and asks you if you know how fast you were going. For some reason, the first words you might hear yourself saying is, “Why no, officer.  I just noticed my speedometer was acting up a minute ago, and I was on my way to the car repair shop when you stopped me.”

     Or while you’re backing out of a parking spot at Wal-Mart, in a big sweaty hurry…  Hold it.  Let me be the first to confess.  I’m one of those guys who doesn’t have a perfect record for doing the right thing.  You probably have already guessed that, huh?  What do you mean you guessed???!!! Just for that I might misspell a couple of words in the next paragraph. Naa. I don’t like the wavy red line that appears under the misspelled words I type. So moving on.

Let’s use myself as a guinea pig for a second.  Doing the right thing, at one time in my life, usually meant doing the right thing only if it didn’t cost me anything or get me into trouble, or when I was trying to make myself look like a saint. And… Sometimes I did the right thing just because it was right. But whenever I got myself in a jam, I could instantly feel the pressure building up in me against doing the right thing. 

Let me just mention that doing the right thing isn’t all that hard to do when there’s no pressure of getting into trouble involved. Then it’s as easy as pinching your little brother.  But okay, here’s the deal.  Most of the world’s population, left to their own opinions of how to handle doing the right thing, are as mixed as crayons in a box.

     One opinion is that doing the right thing is the right thing, but only if you don’t have any other choice.  Another popular opinion is that if doing the right thing gets you busted, why do it?  And then there’s always the opinion that you should always do the right thing whenever there is a personal benefit to be gained. 

     When we’ve done something wrong, doing the right thing afterwards, means a whole lot of pressure we usually don’t really want to deal with.  Ever wonder what that pressure is, or why it’s so powerful?  That pressure is, the way I understand it, the same pressure a person feels when they get into a car chase with the police.  -Which is the pressure to escape punishment at all cost.

     There were times in my past when I have told a dozen lies to keep from getting involved with doing the right thing.  And most of the time it worked out pretty well for me. That is, if I didn’t get exposed as a liar.  But on those many occasions when my approach to doing the right thing didn’t get the job done, then double trouble!  But hey, not doing the right thing has always been an attractive proposition for an escape artist to think about.  It offered me a forty/sixty chance of beating the heat.  For an amateur gambler, them ain’t bad odds!  So in most cases, I took the gamble.  Forty/sixty odds…? -That I wouldn’t get caught…?  Are you kidding me?! Those odds were always good enough for me!.

     But now, looking back, before Jesus changed my life, I can see what avoiding doing the right thing was doing to me.  I had became like Senator Palpatine before he became Emperor. I always made sure that people only saw my good side, while I kept my dark side hidden. Lying got easier and easier, and I got better and better at it.  Lying, and doing my version of the right thing, had become my gold standard.  Back then there was very little question about whether or not I was ever in the mood for doing the right thing.  -Not when I could fall back on the world’s most popular opinions for why a person should avoid doing the right thing. 

     You know…  There was another thing I remember about myself, back before I became a Christian.  It was that the less I cared about doing the right thing, the more of a fan I became of doing what suited my idea of what was right and what was wrong.   Back in those days I had a lot of people fooled into believing that I was a really nice guy.  But now I realize that I was really something more like a criminal without a record. 

     Let me think back…  When did I start having trouble doing the right thing? I think it happened to me about the same year I learned to stop saying “goo goo ga ga” and learned how to talk.  Sayyyyy!  I think I’d better hurry up and get to the point I’m trying to make. 

Doing the wrong thing is easy when we think there’s no one around to catch us at a bad moment.  But now, what would happen if we knew for a fact that someone was watching us twenty-four hours a day, and taking notes? 

     Forty years ago was when I first realized what doing the wrong thing really meant.  God helped me to clearly see the difference between doing the wrong-right thing compared to doing the right-right thing. -And also the problem with thinking that if we do enough of the wrong-right thing, it would block out a few of the just wrong things that we do. The wrong-right thing is doing right things that we think will give our reputation a good credit boost. I had to put this to see if it made any sense. Judges?

The first twenty-seven years of my life I saw doing the right thing as something I didn’t need to really worry about all that much.  If I told a lie, instead of the truth, and got away with it, nothing seemed to happen.  If I stole something, instead of earning it, and I didn’t get caught… …Nothing seemed to happen.  If I didn’t do the right thing and I got away with it…  Nothing seemed to happen. So I didn’t see any reason for me to change back then. 

Forty years ago, for me, doing the wrong thing wasn’t as big a problem as it is for me today.

     When I came to the understanding, by faith, that the universe didn’t create itself… …And that the intelligence behind creating the universe was someone who had His eye on me 24/7…  I began to feel differently about doing the right thing.  Mostly I do the right thing now because I want to show God that I care about what He cares about, and that He’s my Boss. 

Now-a-days, not doing the right thing ain’t as easy for me as it used to be. Caring about what God cares about has really changed me a lot.  Nope.  Never to the level of me becoming perfect. I’ll never reach that level. -But I did get changed to the point of me becoming a way different guy than I use to be forty years ago. 

     By my faith, I know that God is, and that He’s all powerful-important.  It’s good to have Him on our side when things get scary.  Trying to get along without Him is a very real option.  But is it doing the right thing?

I really have enjoyed sharing with you today. Thank you for reading. And may God protect you and all the people in your life.  

    

Hello readers! I hope that you are well and able to use your smiling muscles.

No story typing this Tuesday. Going to go on a people problem safari instead. Now I’m not psychic, but I bet I know what question might be on your mind right now. What’s a people problem safari, am I right? Who was thinking breakfast lunch or dinner? Hmm… Not a bad idea! I wish I’d thought of it. Sigh. Maybe later. I got a blog to type.

A people problem safari? It’s when you hunt down a personality monster. The one I have in mind today is one that causes people to have big problems in their relationships.

This personality problem is a real beast. A real ferocious monster. If it gets loose in a friendship, dating, or a marriage relationship, or what-have-you, it can start tearing that relationship apart within a very short time. This creature we’re hunting today is called expectation. Let’s blog!

Expectation? Yup. Expectation. It can break up a relationship as easy as a waterfall rushing through a cheap napkin. Let me just x-ray the expectation monster for you. Man! Now where did I leave my x-ray flashlight? Uhhh… Did it roll under the couch? Uhhh, yup! There it is!

Okay. Inside the expectation monster, it has a hidden stinger. The stinger is filled with selfishness poison. “Stinger? Selfishness poison? Dude! Will you just hurry up and tell me what in the Sam Hill you’re talking about!” Sorry reader. My bad. Let me give you the short version of how the expectation monster works.

The expectation monster gets into a person’s mind when they are born and becomes part of their thinking. And as the person grows up into adulthood, they get into the practice of placing expectations on the way their friend, date, fiancé, or spouse should behave towards them and everybody else.

The expectation monster isn’t a problem as long as person’s expectations are satisfied or kept in check. But in the case where they are not, in a person that isn’t any good at neutralizing an Expectation Monster, it roars into action! Then a person’s mouth becomes it’s stinger. Before you know it, a person’s words become poisoned with selfishness, and strikes out without any kindness. Let me give you an example.

Two high school friends, Jeff and Lee, are at the park shooting hoops. Jeff disrespects one of the boys on the opposing team and starts a serious argument. Jeff, expecting Lee to back him up, boldly hits the opposing team member in his chest. A fight breaks out. Jeff gets a black eye and loses the fight.

After the fight is over, Jeff gets mad at his friend for not doing what he had expected him to do. -Which was to help him beat up the boy that he had hit in the chest.

Jeff curses and yells at Lee, calls him a coward, and a fake friend, and tells Lee that they’re not going to be friends anymore. Ever! Are you starting to see how the expectation monster works?

Being friends, in Jeff’s mind, meant that their friendship lasted only as long as Lee was willing to satisfy his expectations. -Whether he was in the right or in the wrong, Jeff didn’t care. All that mattered to Jeff was that his friend didn’t meet his expectation of what he thought a friend should be.

One more example, right quick. A man and a woman have been dating for over a year. The man loses his job and is barely looking for a new one because…? Pssst. This is one of those fill in the blank moments. I’ll wait. Tick tock tick tock. My my, would you look at the time. Head em up, and move em out. Got to get back on the blog.

The man has his own apartment and his own bills. But he’s not worried. He has his girlfriend. And because she is his girlfriend, he expects her to gladly loan him, without any hesitation, the money he needs to get through the month. But she chooses not to meet his expectation. (Oh wow! What a bummer!) She refuses to loan him so much as a bus token. Grrrrr! Watch out lady! Because your boyfriend is about to release the expectation monster!

Out of curiosity. Does anyone think the girlfriend was being a bad girlfriend? -A little too stingy with her money? Just wanted to get an opinion.

The man? After finding out that his expectations weren’t going too be honored, he turns into a four story reptile on the rampage, breathing out laser destruction!

First thing out of the man’s mouth, he reminds his girlfriend of all the times he had helped her out. All the times he paid for them to go on fun weekend trips, and the times he had loaned her money. Once was to loan her money to buy her mother a $300 birthday gift, and one time to help her get her car fixed, and so on. But when she still refused, the Expectation Monster in him went wild! He said everything he could think of to shame and bully her into meeting his expectations.

He told her that she was a user, and that she didn’t really care about him. And that he was going to take her to civil court for the $100 she still owed him if she didn’t help him out. And on top of that, he accused her of cheating on him. Growwwl, rip, and tear!!! In the end, the man and his Expectation Monster completely destroyed his relationship.

As a side note; the man tried to get back with his girlfriend later that week, but it was too late. She had seen the Expectation Monster in him and was through with him.

Having expectations is not a bad thing really. But when our expectations get to be bigger than anybody would ever want to live up to, that’s where the expectation monster in us gets it’s strength.

Remember this. When we set our expectations too high for people to want to meet, we make ourselves less attractive.

It’s okay to expect people to be kind, courteous, respectful. -Which may or many not happen. But we shouldn’t expect people to change every time we think up a brand new expectation for them to live up to. -Or to change everything about themselves to satisfy how we expect them to be.

It always helps to be honest. If you expect a person to pay for everything, and they can’t afford it… No. I’m not asking anybody to give up their expectations. But I am suggesting that you find someone who can live up to your expectations. But I should warn you though. Trying to find somebody that can live up to all of your expectations is going to be hard work! I’ve seen people try to do it! Please. Let us have a moment of silence for those people who tried. They gave it their all.

Whoops. Before I reach ten thousand words, let me tell you what keeps the expectation monster from becoming a problem in a person’s life. Any guesses? Aw c’mon. It’s easy.

Brainwashing people? Nooo. Hanging around people that are easily influenced? Uh, nooo. Hire a yes man or woman? Really???!!!

Bottom line, the answer is… Drumroll please! Learning to love people the way they are, and not trying to force or manipulate them into changing themselves. Ta Daaaaa! I can’t take the credit for that one. God gave me the 411.

I’m not going to try to fool you. Loving people the way they are is tougher than letting the expectation monster run loose in your mind. Love takes real effort. But love will build a relationship, and keep the expectation monster’s destructive stinger from doing any harm in your relationships.

Reader. I’m imagining you being here. Let me say that I am very glad you gave this blog a visit today.

I leave you with this thought. It’s okay to believe in God, because He believes in you. Okay. (Poof!) I’m gone.

Top of the Saturday weekend morning. Readers are moving up to the Home screen. It’s a fair crowd here today at Writeteller.com stadium. One laugh on base so far. Correction. The umpire has ruled this joke to be a foul. And I can tell you this! The blogger is not standing for that call at all! He is screaming for his lawyer! And now a word from our sponsor. Hi there! I hope you have been hitting home runs in your life all this week.

I’m feeling kind of story-ish today. Family channel kind of stuff. I know Christmas cheer is months away, but good tidings ought to be taken down out of the attic every once in a while. Don’t you think? On Blogger, on Spell Checker, on Keyboarder and Fingers! Merry Saturday!

Carvey Edwin Fleener Jr enters into the den area of his grandparents house. He is not particularly happy to be there. But he knows that he would be better off in the den, than in the kitchen with his grandmother, who was about to run him out. So it was just as well she volunteered Carvey to pay his grandfather a visit.

“Paw paw, grandma told me to come ask you to teach me to play chest.” Carvey said this to his Grandpa in a dissatisfied voice. Hearing the question, Grandpa Fleener’s bushy white eyebrows rose quickly to the top of his head in wonder.

Carvey thought that his grandpa looked like the world’s kindliest old man. As long as Carvey could remember, his grandpa mostly wore a red and black flannel shirts, tucked into a pair of rumpled blue jeans, a pair of worn out house shoes, and a face full of wrinkles. His favorite place to sit was his old easy chair in the den. Which is where he is sitting now, as he looked up from his fiction novel to see his grandson walking in.

He already knew that the only reason that Carvey was stopping in front of him was because Carvey was a five year old boy, full of questions, and had probably been driving his grandma nuts in the kitchen.

Grandpa Fleener almost sighed. It looked like it was his turn to entertain Carvey again. So he pushed his black rimmed glasses a little further up his nose, smiled, and said, “You mean chess don’t you Carvey?”

Carvey thought about the word he heard his grandma said in the kitchen, just eight seconds ago. He now stood only two feet away from his grandpa. Grandpa Fleener was very familiar with the way Carvey was standing. His arms were folded and his lips were formed into a hard line.

Grandpa Fleener had to smile at his grandson. To him, Carvey looked like the world’s smallest teenager, dressed in a white T-shirt, new jeans, and faded red tennis shoes.

Carvey wasn’t interested in how perfect he said a word yet. Chest or Chess. He didn’t care much which was correct. But he was pretty sure that if he agreed with his grandpa, he would be okay. So he said positively, “Yeah grandpa. That’s what I mean. The word you just said.”

Grandpa Fleener nodded. “I thought so. Did your grandma tell you why she wants me to teach you chess Carvey? You’re only five years old. Chess isn’t as easy as playing checkers you know.” Grandpa Fleener squinted his eyes and asked another question. “Do you even want to know how to play chess?” Carvey shook his head. “Nuh uh, Paw Paw.” Then like a house cat leaping furniture, Carvey leaped two steps and landed next to his grandpa’s recliner chair, and leans over the arm rest. He says in a quiet voice, so that only his grandpa can hear. “Uh, we was—well, she was cooking and we were talking, and I wanted to know about girls and babies and stuff, and she got cranky at me, like she gets sometimes. And then she stopped cooking to tell me I should hurry up and come see you, so that you can you teach me how to play chess.” Grandpa Fleener grinned and nodded his head again. The mystery of why his wife wanted him to teach a five year the game of Chess was solved!

“Okay. Now I see why she…” Grandpa began speaking under his breath, but stopped himself from thinking out loud. He smiled down on his snaggle toothed grandson, and gave Carvey’s shoulder a little pat.

“You know Carvey, your grandma is a pretty smart old gal, and that’s a fact. So now I’ll tell you what. You go get Paw Paw’s chess board, and I’ll put up my book, and we’ll set up the board on the dining room table. Is that okay?” “Yeah Paw paw. You gotta deal,” Carvey said, giving his grandpa a thumbs-up. If learning how to play chess was going to get him the answers he wanted, then learning to play chess might not be so bad after all. Carvey hustled off to get the chess board.

***

Within seconds, grandfather and grandson were seated at the dining room table. “Thank you Carvey for getting me my chess set. Now let’s just set up the chess board, and I’ll start teaching you how to play chess.” Carvey wriggled his way into one of his grandma’s hand carved dining room chairs, looking adult serious, and asks, “Paw Paw?” “Yes Carvey?” “Paw Paw why do they call this game Chess? It looks like crazy checkers to me.”

Grandpa Fleener smiled his amusement as he sets up the pieces on the board. “Now that’s a good question grandson. Nobody’s every asked me that before.” He rubbed his chin a little, then had an idea.

“Tell you what grandson. I’ll tell you only what I know about this game. Okay?” “Okay Paw Paw,” Carvey agreed.

“Good. Now before we get started, I want you to know that this game got it’s start in a country called India.” Carvey immediately interrupted. “Where’s that Paw paw?” “A place near Africa,” Grandpa Fleener informed him. Carvey’s eyebrows came together like low lying thunderclouds. “Afrita?” “No. A-fri-ca,” grandpa Fleener corrected.

“Now in India, chess was first called Chaturanga.” “Chat-tu-hango? Why didn’t they just call it Chess Paw Paw?” With a deep sigh, Grandpa Fleener smiled a grandfatherly smile at his wide eyed grandson. “The word is Chat-tu-ranga Carvey. And it means four divisions. It also means something about Yoga. But now hold on. Close your face. Before you ask me, we’re only going to talk about what the Indian people called Chess.” “Hey Grandpa! You didn’t tell me that there was gonna be Indians in this game! Whoop whoop whoop!!!”

“Carvey Edwin Fleener Junior. I’ll not have a war party raiding in my dining room,” Grandpa Fleener voiced with a chuckle. “And I’m not talking about those kind of Indians. These kinds of Indians don’t wear war paint. Now where was I?” “The Chata-something word Paw paw.” “The Chata-something?” Grandpa Fleener repeated. He stroked his chin trying to remember, and quickly did. “Oh yes. Chaturanga. It means four parts of an army. The Infantry, Elephantry… Carvey let me finish. …The Calvary, and the Chariotry. Okay. Now you can ask.”

“Wow, Paw paw, elephants! This game is going to be a lot more cooler than I thought. But wait. I don’t see any of the things you just said here on the board. No elephants, and none of those other things I don’t know what you were talking about.” Grandpa Fleener didn’t either. And he knew that he was going to have a little trouble explaining why not. But he had to try.

“Uh, well Carvey, Chaturanga is now the game you see on the table. It’s now called Chess. And Chess is supposed to be about battle thinking. Capturing the other guy’s chess pieces and other war stuff. It’s not really about elephants and the other things I was talking about.”

War stuff? Carvey’s face lit right up. “Ooooh like Call of Duty, Paw paw?!” “What’s Call of Duty Carvey?” Grandpa Fleener was confused and wanted to know.

“Oh, my friend Riz. I mean Rizzo. His big brother has it! It’s a video game where you get to shoot guns and stuff. It’s really cool.” Carvey leaned towards his grandpa with a big sneaky smile, and whispered. “Mom says I’m not supposed to play it. But when I go over to Riz’s house to play, I play it. And I’m really good at it Paw paw!”

Grandpa Fleener shakes his head and holds up an index finger. He then reaches for his cell phone sitting on the table. “Call of Duty, huh? Let me just put a reminder in my phone to look that one up later. And me and your mom will… Okay. Call…of…Duty. Got it.”

Carvey watched his grandpa set his cell phone back down on the table. And as his grandpa rubed his hands together, getting ready to continue, Carvey could picture himself being big-time busted by this same time tomorrow. That is… If Grandpa Fleener didn’t forget to tell his mom.

“Okay young fella. Let’s get back to our chess lesson. And we better hurry it up. Because I smell fried chicken in the kitchen.”

Grandpa Fleener picked up a chess piece from the board. “Now Carvey, this piece here is called a pawn. It can only go, straight ahead, one space at a time. But on its first move it can move one space or two.”

“That’s a pawn?” Carvey said, with a disapproving look. “That’s right Carvey. This is a pawn.” Wait for it, Grandpa Fleener thought with a tiny grin.

“Paw paw, can I ask you something?” Grandpa Fleener let the rest of his smile show through. “Sure. Go ahead.” “Okay. The pawn is so little. Is it really any good?” Grandpa Fleener stroked his chin again and looked at the ceiling. And as fast as snapping a finger, he knew what he wanted to say. “Carvey, you sure ask a lot of questions for a boy your age. I want you to know that.” Both grandpa and grandson grinned at each other for a moment, before Grandpa spoke again.

“Okay Carvey. How can I put this? Uh… Yep. I got it. A pawn; is the weakest piece on the board. It does a lot of guarding. That’s so the guy you’re playing against can’t move his pieces on to your side of the game board to mess you up. You understand so far?”

“Sure Paw paw. Kinda like Mr. Merdy, the guard down at the bank keeps people from messing up, right?” “Well, ah, yes. That’s close enough kiddo.”

Carvey suddenly see’s something on the board that strikes him as very interesting. “Paw paw?” “Yes Carvey?” “How come there are more pawns on the board than any of the other kind of these toy things?” “That’s another very good question you’ve asked. Well I guess—hey. Don’t you want to go and see if lunch is ready yet?” “Nuh uh. I want to know about the pawns. Why is there more of them on the board than any of the other pieces?”

“I see only two horses, and two of these rocket looking thingies, and only one of this guy with a beard and a hat on, and one of the lady with a hat on, and two of these things that look like… I don’t know what they are.” And Carvey kept his opinion going.

“The pawns should be the best-ess guys in the game, cause like my dad says…” Carvey stops to remember just how his dad had put it to him. “Dad says that the bigger the group you got the stronger you are, or…” Then it hits him just what exactly his dad mentioned about somebody rules. “I remember now. He told me the mi-nor-ity rules.”

“The word you meant to say is majority. And I have to agree with what your dad says Carvey. But that’s not how you play chess young man. The pieces behind the pawns are the more powerful pieces on the board.” Uh oh. Here it comes. I know that look.

The way Carvey’s face instantly turned into an expression of disagreement reminded Grandpa Fleener of his son, Carvey senior, when Carvey senior was little Carvey’s age. Grandpa Fleener knew that he was in for it now. “C’mon, Paw paw. I don’t think that makes a whole lot of sense,” Carvey said, trying to sound grown up. Then his face lights up with an idea.

“You know who the Minions are Paw paw?” “What? Those cute little guys from Despicable Me?” Carvey nodded. “That’s them.” “Okay Carvey. What about those guys?” Carvey was only too happy to explain.

“Well paw paw. If all them Minions got really mad at Gru, they could really beat his hynie.”

“Uh, Carvey,” Grandpa Fleener said quietly, and with restraint. “Yes Paw paw?” For some reason, Carvey got the feeling that the ceiling was about to fall down on him.

But Grandpa Fleener breathed in a deep breath. He thought of the word hynie for a second, and decided that hynie didn’t count as curse word. “Never mind Carvey. We’ll get back to the pawns later. Do let’s talk about the most important piece on the board for a minute. He’s the king.” “Oh wow, a king! What’s he do Paw Paw?” “Well he gets to… Well if he gets captured—taken out, you lose the game.”

Carvey heard his grandpa talking, but had zeroed in on something else. “Yeah, but what’s he do? Can he take out a lot of guys or something? Trash the other pieces, or what?”

Grandpa Fleener cringed at the way a five year old could talk these days. And he made himself a mental note that he and Mr. Carvey were going to have a talk about it right after lunch. Carvey made a mental note to himself as well. But his mental note was about how to avoid any conversations leading up to the subject of what was proper for a grandson to say.

But Grandpa Fleener automatically started smiling again. “Uh… No Carvey, he doesn’t tra… I mean, he can only move one space at a time in any direction, and he always needs to be protected.”

Carvey squirmed in his chair, and cast a serious look at his grandfather.

“Paw Paw? Can I tell you something?” “Yes Carvey, you may.” Carvey looked as though he were between two minds, but in the end, he chose his first mind to speak from.

“I don’t want to make you mad Paw Paw, but don’t you think this game is kinda silly?”

Grandpa Fleener was hardly expecting this turn of events. Chess? A silly game? He had to take a moment to cock an eyebrow at his only grandson. “Why do you say that Carvey?”

“Well, you say the King is the most important piece in this game, and the pawns are the weakest.” “That’s right,” Grandpa Fleener answered. “Okay, if you say so Paw Paw. But don’t you think it’s silly that the most important piece in this game needs so many weak pieces, like pawns, to keep him from getting tra—I mean tooken out?”

Grandpa Fleener froze with his mouth hanging open. And for the life of him, he couldn’t really get anything wise to come out it. But after only a few seconds he finally manages to say something.

“Now wait a minute young man. Chess is not a silly game,” Grandpa Fleener said calmly. “You have to have some really good smarts to play this game. Don’t you want to be a smart guy?”

Carvey picks up a pawn on his side of the board, and sets it next to his king. Suddenly he grins like a cat with a mouse under its paw. “Yeah Paw paw. But I’ll be a smarter smart guy if I know why girls wear dresses and where my baby sister comes from.”

The great thing about being a kid is they don’t have to teach very much, explain how the world works, or take the blame for what they don’t know.

Thanks for dropping by. God’s cellphone is always on. His toll free number is p-r-a-y, extension #1.