My son, Beau, lives in Denver and wouldn't be home for Thanksgiving but was able to get the weekend off before Thanksgiving, to go to a friend's wedding in KC.  He and his girlfriend decided  to drive through the night so they'd have as much time as possible with family. (Who needs sleep when you are 24 years old?)  During  Joy's turn to drive she ran the car out of gas at 3 AM, trying to make it to the next town, 17 miles short of Salina.  She woke Bo.  After some discussion, flashers on, cars passing, temps in the 20°s and car cooling fast, they decided to walk to the next mile marker to find out where they were exactly before trying to call for help.  Cars passed.  They were worried, scared and COLD.  Just as they got back to their car a man going the opposite direction pulled off the highway and ran across to them. 

He had been driving to Salina and had seen their stopped car and when he looked back in his mirror he saw the flashers on and them standing outside of their car.  He was too far past them to help by then so he drove on to Salina, then turned around and came back to help them!  Then he drove them on to the next town to get gas and brought them back to their car before continuing on his way.

I just can't get over how this guy went SO far out of his way for strangers that he wasn't even sure needed help, really.  There are so many ways this story could have ended with a far less happy ending.  I wanted to share what a difference a random act can have.   There is so much bad news in the world today.  We need to hear and share these stories when we know them.  Just sharing them is kind of an RAK in itself because it spreads hope.  

If I had been traveling on I-35 that night, I'd have been like that guy, looking up in my mirror, wondering if those folks need help, weighing the possibilities.  Realizing I was too far past them anyway, I'd have gone on.  I'd have sent up a prayer, and maybe others in those passing cars did that, too.  I'd probably have regretted I hadn't stopped but I wouldn't have gone back to check on them.  So, praise to God, that there are those willing to take a risk, to go out of their way, to give help and hope.  Let them be a shining  example to the rest of us. ♥

The line to vote was long but the church was warm and the line was moving quickly. I was finally near the front and I visited with the friendly lady checking our names at the table. She commented on what at sweet little boy my toddler was. Suddenly it was my turn and as I looked to the polling booth my mind quickly assessed what to do with my son while I was in there. Was it even legal to take him in with me? (I was young and stupid) The lady must have read my mind as she said “Go on. I’ll watch him.”

So, I guess that’s how it happens. You are young and hopeful and new to motherhood or tired in motherhood and you are weak or weary or confused and, for just a moment, you trust. You trust someone, or you trust society or you trust fate. For just a moment. That’s how kids get snatched or squashed or baked or broken or abused.

I hear those stories in the news of those children and those mothers and I hear the blaming tones of we who hear them, the accusing chants of neglect. “How could she let that happen?” …throwing the first stone.

It ended well for us. When I came out of the booth three minutes later CJ was gone. Gone. The nice lady was talking to someone else totally oblivious to the fact that CJ was gone. Gone. The word strikes fear into my heart still.

The line of voters was orderly and lined up against the wall. The room was empty of one very small blond boy. Where could he be? I called him and got nothing but dumb looks from the folks in line. I began searching but there wasn’t much to search so I headed down the line toward the door. He couldn’t have opened that big heavy door, couldn’t have even reached the handle. But where else? My heart pounded and I was panicky but not yet ready to let all these strangers know how stupid I was, so I willed myself calm. I opened the door and there he was. My adventurous child just standing there waiting for me patiently. He had wandered past 30 people and outside without anyone stopping him. It would have been impossible to have not noticed him and someone had held the door open for him! These people were not busy they were just standing there waiting in line!

I still get angry when I think about it all. I was angry at the “nice” lady, angry at those strangers who must have known a 2 year old walking down a long corridor and heading outside to the parking lot alone was not right. Mostly though, I was angry at myself. How could I have been so stupid? So careless with the most precious thing in my life? I was able to chalk it up to another very valuable and well-learned life lesson.

But I know that it could have ended differently so when the news hits of another child left in a car or a bathtub for just a second or not taken to the Dr. soon enough or wandering out of a home in his PJs in the middle of a frigid night or taken at the mall or the park … well, you know the list goes on. It happens and we know, if we are honest, it could have been us. My heart goes out.

“You can’t be too careful”. I have heard that said often but I think you can be too careful. We should be diligently cautious for sure. But, as in all things, balance is the key. We trust. Sometimes we must. Without trust there is no hope. Without hope there is no life. Balance.

I work in a school and I see the parents that are too careful. They do not love their children more than others do but they think they do. Their kids are sheltered and often weak and, well, helpless and will remain so. Or they’ll be embarrassed, frustrated or angry and hateful to those same parents who love them so much. They don’t understand their need to try (and possibly fail) in order to succeed and build their self-confidence. You can be too careful.

I learned that from a very small blond pig-headed boy who was fearless from day one. Sometimes I was careless for a moment, or he was… or fate was. He was in the hands of God and an arrogant surgeon at the age of 6 months. With a skull split open from hairline to the middle of the back of his head he learned to crawl in the hospital bed… with a big grim on his face. At age one he walked over to the slide and climbed to the top while I was picking beans. I looked up just in time to see him standing there, looking down, deciding if he could go without me to catch him at the bottom. Ha. He barely hesitated, slid down and landed on his very padded rump. Looked over at me to see if I had seen him and was proud. When he was two, he survived wandering down the middle of the road looking for his Daddy mowing out there while I napped. The list goes on right into the teen years (but I didn’t hear about those adventures until much later.)

I guess you’ve got to know your kid. Figure out how much rope they need. By age 10 he was dying to be left home alone now and then. He was ready. He was so ready to be on his own to college and I’m sure didn’t have one minute of homesickness. He was ready. We learned. He was fearless. He fell a lot. He got back up. The UnderToad tried to snatch him away from me more times than I’ll ever know and yet he is still with us today. And now, he’s gonna be a daddy himself in a few months.

So I’d say to him - Be cautious. Be watchful. Be aware. Be prepared. Be careful… but not too careful. Trust… but not too much. Balance. Let him live! Let him feel the joy of accomplishment that comes from effort and sometimes even pain. Trust God. Pray often and love always!

As I drove Zeke to camp I was thinking of all the other times I had traveled this road over the years. I, myself had gone to church camp twice in my own childhood. In my college years I had even had spent an entire summer at Camp Galilee doing an internship. How many times had I taken my kids to church camp over the years? I can’t even remember… lots!

So this trip felt familiar in many ways but this time I was taking Zeke to Wilderness Camp to be a counselor. He counseled a week last year with a group of Jr. High kids at some camp in Kansas but he went with a whole crew from our church, including the director of the camp who had invited him, and three other college kids he knew. I wasn’t worried about him but it suddenly occurred to me that he was nervous! When I asked him about it and he confirmed, “A little bit.”

He should have had a summer job by now but the broken wrist and subsequent surgery has kept him from most of his activities. His left hand is cast in such a way that there can be little movement, just tiny finger wiggles. No bend. No grip. Useless! And this camp is to be a sports camp!

Now that he is in a cast and out of a sling he takes part in soccer when someone is putting together a pick up game but mostly that’s about it. He will miss the guitar-playing part of camp, too… his specialty. And he doesn’t know a soul except a friend who is on the kitchen staff for the summer. (She is the one who gave his name as someone who might be able to fill this counselor position on short notice.)

No wonder he is apprehensive. Yet, it is such an opportunity for growth. He is not outgoing so this will be a stretch for him. People are drawn to him because of him countenance but he doesn’t realize this. His guitar has been his crutch, or perhaps tool is a better word. I’m hoping this newest challenge will build his confidence and send him one step closer to being ready for the adult world that he will enter in the not so distant future.

The cast comes off on his 21st birthday!

For the Ones Who've Survived: I've resurrected this from the not so ancient past because I can't write anything better today than what I was feeling then. In honor of Memorial Day and the ones who came back but now have to live with it.

Dear Marine,
It's September here in Missouri, still hot but with a hint of Autumn in the air today. I walked out to get the mail this afternoon and couldn't resist the hammock in the shade of the peach tree on the trip back to the house. I laid across it, just for a few minutes, as I sorted through today's bills and flyers. There was a sweet thank you note from a friend who had left for college for the first time only 3 weeks ago. I recognized her big round letters and smiled before I even opened it, knowing that the small package I had sent had brought a tiny moment of joy into her exciting, new and homesick world. Then my thoughts turned to you, my faraway friend.

I remember the first time you went off to Iraq. You had no idea what to expect. I barely knew you then except through your mom. She was so upset when you enlisted but she also recognized that you had been having difficulty finding your place in life and prayed that the Marines would fill the hunger in you. You were so young and fresh and eager then.

I talked to your mom for a long time the other night. She didn't cry this time. You have just deployed for your third tour of Iraq. The fear inside her still fills her up for she, too, has lost her innocence. But she has had to learn to trust you and your instincts and your comrades... and God. There were times when I didn't think she would survive Iraq but she is a survivor. You get that from her.

As I lay in the hammock with that hint of late summer in the air...a few lone cicadas buzzing their constant circular song with a gentle breeze rustling the pages in my lap, I remember that you are over there. I send up a silent prayer, as I do every time you cross my mind, and wonder how you are faring. Your mom told me how, when you phoned last week, you told her about the new guys who jumped at the sound of mortars each time and were astounded at you guys who never even flinched. She chuckled.

Once upon a time the mortars frightened you something awful but you learned that most of them don't hit anyone. One time one hit right near you and your buddy and you never even blinked, you'd become so accustomed to them and perhaps to death, too, by then. But then you realized after that... your hands were shaking. Yes, Marine, you are still alive, amazingly and gratefully, still alive.

So, you are probably one of the old men in your unit this time, at 22 isn't it? Respected for your battle scars perhaps, even though they can't be seen. Are you able to sleep yet, friend? Do the nightmares still come? Can you put them aside and rest? Can you be a leader and a role model to these young men that look up to you and teach them the battle skills that they will need to survive the horror they will see out there?

The weight is heavy. I know that most of your buddies didn't survive the 2nd tour. I know that some of those that did are out now and that it was hard for you to see them escape, even as you rejoiced for them. I know that the memories haunt you. But I also know how strong you have become and how beautiful you still are. When you get through this next journey you will have learned some things that some people, most people, never know.

You will know how to rejoice in every day and in every person around you for you know how fragile life is. You won't take anything or anyone for granted the way the rest of us often do. You will have learned that human beings are capable of things that we can't imagine, both great and horrible. You will know that one can survive anything as long as there is hope. You will learn to hope again. You will learn to push aside the most awful of things your memory tries to show you but you will retain it in the back of your mind to make you into a kinder more aware person. You will have learned to trust God in all things and give your burdens to him.

It was a beautiful day here. My prayer for you today is that you find a small piece of beauty out there and share it with someone else.

Go with God.

Today I saw the faces of the 8 students (A.J. Jackson, Michael Tompkins, Ryan Mohler, Michael Bowen, Katie Strunk, Michelle Wilson, Jamie Ann Vidensek and Peter Dunn) who lost their lives in the tornado that hit the high school in Enterprise, Alabama. I read the stories of the heroic acts of the teacher who threw herself over one of her students. I read about the students who had just survived the tornado themselves running to the collapsed hallway to get the injured out long before any authorities arrived with rescue units. I read about the finger pointing and second guessing regarding the administration’s decisions. As I read all of this the tears were streaming down my face.

I prayed for all those children and teachers, administrators and families, neighbors and communities that are all suffering from the aftermath. Lives forever changed. They are going to need a lot of prayers and assistance and support… and love.

I have a deep fear of tornados that goes back to my childhood. I have lived on the edge of Tornado Alley most of my life but have never seen one. You’d think having lived for half a century in a high tornado region and not ever having seen one I’d be pretty skeptical, but here’s the thing. We have all either seen one from a distance or seen the aftermath and destruction. We’ve all been through “close calls”, tornados that came down for a few minutes and then lifted back into the sky… tornados that run wild through a nearby trailer park or through a farm. They are real and they tease and threaten and veer off from where they are headed… they jump over a house and flatten the one next door… they will snatch up a man covering his nephew in a ditch and leave the boy there (true story)... They can drop out of the sky with no warning no matter how much the weather man thinks he knows. You don’t have to experience it to recognize the power. And, of course, there are always the annual tornado warnings.

There were no big sirens that blared out to the whole community. No, it was every police car in town driving up and down the streets screaming their sirens through the black streets of the night. You’d wake in the night and hear the siren… a fire? A crash? But then you’d hear another siren a bit farther away, then another and another from all different directions and you knew…TORNADO! TAKE COVER!

Here is the one memory that I can’t escape. I grew up in a nice suburban neighborhood. I am not sure how old I was…maybe 8 or 10 years old. I was awakened by my obviously frightened mother who grabbed my little sister and me out of deep slumber and told us to “Run to the Fulks’ basement. Don’t stop. There was a tornado sighted on North Oak.”

The Fulks were the only people in the neighborhood who had a basement. Everyone gathered there during take-cover warnings.

We ran! I was old enough to know that North Oak Street was not far from our house (about 8 blocks). We ran through the rain in our nightgowns in the dark all alone down the street. We ran for our lives. We ran while our parents gathered up our young twin brothers.

We were welcomed into the basement where others had already congregated and were huddled about. I don’t think I have ever been so physically frightened. Other neighbors arrived and soon my parents joined us safely, too.

The tornado did not come. We went home. But the fear remained.

I stuck birthday candles in a watermelon and brought it out at midnight. Zeke's friends had been coming and going all evening and these that were left were staying up all night. They were leaving at 4:30 in the morning for the Sonshine Festival in Minnesota... so why sleep? Sleep on the bus! This is the thinking of a just-turned-20 young man who would spend his birthday traveling on a church bus with 20 other kids for 9 hours.

They'd been shooting the leftover fireworks and were in the process of building the "sparkler bomb" and the sparkler "flame thrower". These homemade incindiary devices are common among the youth of our community and not without their danger. Last week a hometown boy, a teammate of Zeke's on the soccer team, tried to put a can over the top of his sparker bomb and it blew up with his face above it. It looks as if he will not lose his eye afterall... and with still have some sight in one of his eyes. This after plastic surgery, of course.

What is it about boys? The powers that be outlawed the M-80s and Cherry Bombs of our youth but the ingenuity of kids will prevail. They must have their big bangs! When I use the boy above as an example of why not to build a sparkler bomb I am met with a look of disgust. "Mom, he was stupid." Everyone knows when the bomb is lighted you run like crazy! It's a bomb for heaven's sake!

Just blowing up a sparkler bomb is not enough though. They've all done that. They need to blow up stuff. Beau dug around and found some stuffed animals that they had won in one of those machines where you drop in a quarter and try to grab a toy with a crane. Off they went 2 miles down to the end of this secluded road. The nearest house was a half mile from their destination. They left with instructions for me to listen and see if I could hear it. I told them I'd better not have the sheriff at my door... or an ambulance racing down the road.

You might be wondering how could I let them go off and do that? If you are, then you probably have not raised four sons. There is alot of praying involved. Among these highschool and college boys were 2 valedictorians, 7 honor roll students, 4 members of the National Honor Society. They are smart kids, not out drinking or carousing or vandalizing. Sometimes one just has to trust them and trust God. (Besides, I had seen their bomb and knew they had used less than half the sparklers my oldest son and friend used while experimenting with their bombs 8 years ago when Sparkler bombs were the new thing.)

I sat in my rocking chair on the deck, said a little prayer for their safety and for them to use those good brains and awaited their return. Yes, I heard the blast. It was not loud but one of those barely perceptible booms that sound far off but you know something big just happened somewhere. I waited...and waited...

They tumbled out of the cars, laughing with delight as they all spoke at once and could hardly wait to show me the video. They brought back the bunny...or what was left of him.

I made them show me that they all still had all 10 digits on their hands and then we watched the video. At some point I realized someone (okay, it was Beau) had brought a little bottle of gasoline to douse the dolly with. I watched in horror. Zeke was cautioning but it was still frightening to watch. The group went way down the road to watch. I heard one boy tell Zeke to get closer with the video and he infromed him that he could see it just fine. The torch lighters ran toward the others like their pants were on fire.

There is no doubt, the Lord was with them on Zeke's 20th birthday.

PS~ Yes, I made them listen to me lecture them on the danger of lighting gasoline and the fumes.

The radio was broadcasting a story of a bear that went nuts and killed a little girl and maimed her mother and little brother. They announced that it happened in Tennessee in the Cherokee National Forest and I was suddenly listening. Two months ago I had never even heard of the Cherokee National Forest but right now I know it becasue that is where Beau and 19 other youth and 4 leaders are on a mission trip, working at the Cherokee Indian reservation in that same forest...only they are on the South Carolina side.

That's Beau on the far left with his arms folded.

Today is Easter and they are not working today. They went to church and spent the afternoon playing in a waterfall and hiking and celebrating life by enjoying God's world and their friendships and taking joy in the fact that they are saved because Jesus sacrificed himself for them and basking in the love of God for each of them.

Today is April Fool's Day but it was yesterday that I felt so foolish. I guess the story begins Thursday when I left my purse at the church after Bible Study. I did not discover it until I reached to grab it as I got out of the car at home. No worries. I had a Dr. Appointment in the morning and would drive right by church on the way anyway. It was barely an inconvenience.

I was running a bit late the next morning and was having to rush. As I drove to the church I suddenly realize that I was really bothered at the thought of this appointment with an Ophthalmologist. When I had my annual eye exam for new glasses the Dr. found a spot, a discoloration, on my retina. He wanted a specialist to check it out...just to make sure...probably nothing.

That was over two weeks ago and not being much of a worrier I had put it out of my mind. I had a lot more pressing things on my mind (my college sons enrolling for Fall semester, applying for Financial Aid and considering transferring). I had a lot more serious things to pray about (my mother-in-law with lung cancer & radiation & Chemo treatments, my father-in-law in the hospital with a failing heart & health). I had more pressing things to get done (the end of year duties on the job). I had more immediate concerns (would I get the Nursery mural finished before the visit by the Bishop?) I had more troubling things to work out (am I where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to be doing?). I was too busy to worry about something that was probably nothing (planning for my 4-6th grade Sunday School class, my Wed. night Jr. High Bible Study class and my Sunday evening Sr. High Community Circle painting class and the Lenten Bible Study class I had committed to on Thursdays...and...)

But as I headed out for the appointment my brain started on those evil "what ifs". I thought about how much my eyesight means to me with my art and my reading. I started thinking about Murphy's Law. I started thinking how I take my eyesight for granted. I tried to push this all aside and give it to God but it kept coming back. Every song that came on the radio was about trusting God and how great is my God and I was needing to hear that.

I stopped at the church and ran in to grab my purse and ran into an acquaintance. She began telling me how great the mural I had painted on the Nursery wall was and would I consider doing it in her home...blah blah blah was what I was hearing. I apologized and told her I was really in a hurry, late for a Dr. appointment and went into the classroom for my purse. As I was leaving it occurred to me to ask her to pray for me. I stopped before I walked out and did just that. I began to cry as I told her what was going on. I felt stupid and foolish as I told her about it and that it was no big deal but it was just weighing on me for some reason. She was wonderful, even in my feeling stupidness. She said she would, of course, pray for me and even offered to drive me to the appointment, which I declined.

I prayed as I pulled out of the parking lot and knew that she was praying, too, and I was comforted and calm and all was well.

Now here is what I am thinking about the whole thing. I think that I was under stress that I didn't even realize because I am actually enjoying the busyness in my life right now. I love what is going on in my spiritual life and with the kids at church and I'm busy but don't feel overwhelmed and I am taking time to pray every day and get with God throughout the day better than usual. And I've lost a little weight with little effort and the weather is great and I'm getting outside a lot and, well, even with the failing health of loved ones (or perhaps because of it) I am recognizing the joy of life and the glory of God. I feel that life is good, in spite of, you know... life.

I thought I was taking care of my spiritual life as I spun all these plates in the air... but I prayed about what I should be praying about instead of looking into my heart to pray about what I needed to be praying about. Will I ever learn?

Thankfully God always knows just what I need so much better than I do. He must have seen my mini-crisis coming. I don't believe in coincidences. A purse left at church that had to be retrieved before I could go to my appointment. The songs on the radio. A friend in Christ in the exact right place to hook up with me at the exact moment I needed an ear ...she wasn't in the nursery or the rest room or the meeting room or the classroom or the office but right there in the hall as I came through.

God is good. All the time.

I can't get that scene out of my mind. ...The one from "Grey's Anatomy" Sunday evening. I do that with movies a lot; there are scenes that I can't get out of my head and I analyze it and replay it until I can make sense of it. It's why I don't watch horror movies and it's why I don't watch "ER" anymore. When TV drama leaves one with a sick feeling then why watch it? I could even tell you the episode that caused me to stop watching "ER", that left me so disturbed, but that's another story and I am talking about "Grey's Anatomy" right now.

Here's what happened. There had been a horrible train wreck. Most of the victims had died in the crash and the hospital was all-hands-on-deck for all of the trauma victims being brought in with horrible injuries like amputations and burns. There was one pair, strangers until this incident, that had a long pole that had impaled them and pinned them close together , face to face. They were both conscious and in some discomfort but no pain (shock, our body's response to "This pain would be too much for you too endure."?)

The victims were joking with one another & the staff, trying to make the best of the situation, as their predicament was being evaluated ("does anyone have a breath mint? & "my wife would be jealous of me being this close to another woman but today I think I'll get a pass") The man's wife and the woman's fiance were on their way, flying in, but bad weather wa keeping them from arrival.

The surgical team examined their x-rays to see what kind of internal injuries there were and discovered that both were in deep trouble with sever internal injuries. If the pole were removed both would surely die, bleed out before the surgery team could even get them on the table. Someone suggested that if a person were removed form the pole, instead of vice versa, the other person would have a chance as they could then work on the one impaled person as they removed the pole...I guess. The woman's injuries were so severe, being to the heart, that it was belived there was no chance for her. There was a brief argument that her injuries, being more severe, should be the one saved, in the hopes that he might be able to survive the removal if they worked quickly enough. After discovering that she had no feeling in her toes that she was not goin to survive no matter what they did and that she should be the one removed. The surgical team went in to tell the patients the situation.

They were kind and caring and obviously saddened. Both patients were stunned. He was horrified and demanded that they take him instead, but the doctors explained that then they would lose them both. It was so unfair, he said. Oh, she was so brave! She said it would not be fair either way. She understood the situation. There was some more converstion...about what to tell her fiance. She asked Tom if he believed in heaven, by now she was leaning heavily on him, laying her head on his shoulder, and he said confidently "Yes". He asked if she did, she answered "I want to".

From a friend:

Part I~

We've had a fire at our house tonight...while we were at a soccer game. A 250 watt heat lamp fell into one of the cages with the baby chicks in it and caught the newspaper and pine shavings on fire. We've had one casualty...so far. The rest were traumatized and singed. The house was completely filled with smoke when we got home, but the fire had burned itself out, thankfully. Other than smelling like we had a bonfire in the living room, there was no damage to the house. I feel awful about the little Buff Orpington, though. There was a plastic container of gasoline just 3 feet from the fire. We were very, very lucky.

Part II~

All but 3 of the chicks are just fine and don't seem to have any ill effects from their ordeal. I don't know why the lamp fell in...it was (I thought) securely clamped to the top of the kennel, and I had another clamp holding it to make it even more secure.

If you know any way to get the campfire smell out of the house, let me know. It's not the acrid smell you think of with most housefires...it was, after all, pine...mixed with a little chicken, if you'll pardon the sick joke. I think the smell is getting better, or maybe I'm just getting used to it.

It was a miracle nothing else happened. I can't imagine why ALL the newspapers and shavings didn't burn. The fire just stopped short of where the little chicks were huddled, terrified. Angels' wings must have fanned it out.

The most badly burned chick is in isolation in my bathroom. She is eating and chirping, but not very mobile. The bottoms of her feet were burned, so it is probably painful to move around much. I put some antibiotic ointment on the wound on her head, but it looks worse today...oozing. If I thought she was suffering, I should ...kill her, but I don't know that she is in pain and don't think I could kill her anyway. I'll wait a day or two and see how she does.

Part III~

I was doing laundry today, and walked in my bedroom, looked out the window and almost had a heart attack. Our bedroom is directly over the basement garage where the chicks were housed, and where the fire had occurred, and what appeared to be smoke was pouring up past the window. I quickly realized that it was the dryer exhaust hitting the cold morning air, and not smoke I was seeing. After what we experienced, you get a little jumpy...

Part IV~

I want to try to save and keep Sparky. She's kept me company while I do all the things I do in the bathroom...she's seen me naked and didn't laugh. I really, really like her. I don't know if she will ever be normal or if she'll even survive, but she's a fighter, and very possibly, a heroine.

Latest news is that Sparky has healed and is now a sweet little pet. We'll see how that goes!

What frightens me most about scary movies is that somebody could actually come up with the awful scenarios!... and then that they would choose to share their wicked & warped ideas with others!... and, most of all, that people would choose to watch them and feel entertained!

That thought came to me as I was sitting quietly alone in the hot tub out in the beautiful Autumn morning. It was one of those days when birds flock up and there are thousands that come by out here in the country, gathering in black masses on the yards and fields and blackening the trees like charred leaves. Their calls were so loud as they all complained at once about the upcoming cold and lack of food, I supposed. I doubt anyone who has seen the old classic movie "The Birds" can see a these Fall flockings without having that movie cross one's mind.

I first saw it many, many years after it's conception on some late night movie years ago. I wasn't in the slightest bit frightened, knowing a bit about the nature of birds, and was more annoyed that someone would choose to frighten folks into believing that flocks of birds would attack people. Upon later viewings I was more amused by the actors obvious horror of something so terribly un-horrific. Why were they so stupid!?? Then I remembered that it is only a movie.

I guess that is why I hate Horror movies so much. It feels like they play on people's fears, but then why do we watch? Well, I don't... but many do and I haven't yet figured out why. I have never, ever enjoyed being frightened.

Hmmm...perhaps it is because I am someone that gets so lost in a movie that I totally forget for awhile that it is make-believe!

AHA!