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Saturday, June 17, 2017


                "Never fails," Kaffee mused, "always got to be at least one escapee in the bunch." Helplessly she watched errant olive roll across gray marbled counter top to edge, titter a tad, then plunge screaming toward red tile floor below. "AAAaaaahh!" Kaffee mocked, for no way could she save it from perilous plummet without spilling and scattering the tablespoon full of other olives in hand.

                "Just one of making dolmas little mishaps," Kaffee matter of facted as she dumped spoonful of olives into bowl next to knife and cutting board, the ill-fate of non escapee olives.  The Mediterranean skin tone of her arm and hand nearly matched that of the doomed olive, that she reached down to recapture; but orange claw and paw beat her to it, slapped tan green olive across red tile floor.

                "Duff, you silly cat, bring that olive back to me this instant!" Kaffee laughed.  As the olive rolled, Duff chased then swatted, belly scooted and slid, til round corner of kitchen island.

                "From cutting board to cat attack, that poor olive just can't win," Kaffee smirked.  Then as oft the habit, she tilted and turned her head, flicked long dark hair from bosom to back.  She returned attention to food prep plan. "Let's see, in the mixing bowl already added we have: sauteed ground lamb with herbs, boiled rice, dill, mint, pepper, sea salt, lemon, olive oil, and soon to be smidgeon or two of diced ripe olives."

                Kaffee sliced, she diced, she added olives, she stirred, sat down bowl to left of cutting board... "Let the dolma stuffin' begin." She smiled, set plate of palm sized grape leaves to the right of cutting board, selected top grape leaf, tested texture. "Parboiled to perfection, pliable but not too soft, just right to plop the mix onto and roll without tearing." And on the cutting board she laid leaf out, dolloped on the mixing bowl mix and rolled then tucked in the ends, rolled and tucked, rolled and tucked until... there a tight little package of gastronomical delight lay, the dolma. "One down, and only about a hundred or so to go." Kaffee sighed, placed first dolma in serving dish, a dish she would add layer after layer of dolmas to, brushing each layer with olive oil and lemon juice.

                And that night with dolma platter in hand, Kaffee did go to a mixer of the human kind, sponsored by lifelong protector and older sister, Alyx.  Alyx, who coaxed little sis, "Kaffee, stop hugging the snack table and find a manly arm to hug."

                "Oh, I've got plenty of time for that," Kaffee mildly protested. "The night is young," she added wisp of wist.

                "But..." under arm Alyx gathered Kaffee to side, "but some folks are entering that stale bread stage, just before turning moldy."

                "I am only thirty-two." Up and side-ways Kaffee's eyes mirrored into sister's.

                "Exactly!" Alyx nodded, then added, "Just sayin', you're not quite swimming up the rapids to spawn for the very last time, but those rocks and boulders are taking a toll..."

                "Get away from me!" Kaffee growled, "I am not a dying fish."

                "OK," Alyx pulled arm away. "Sorry, I ruffled your scales."

                "Ruffled my scales?" Kaffee burst out laughter in spite of hurt feelings.

                "That's the spirit, old girl.  Now swim out and find a fellow scaley man to share it with." Alyx fled before getting punched in the arm, a well remembered to avoid childhood Kaffee coping mechanism.

                Kaffee took deep breath, unclenched fist, let go ire mixed giggles, "That's my sis." She shrugged, lamented thought, "Not like I don't pray every night for a God fearing man to take my hand."

                Twas then that Kaffee activated yet another all too familiar coping mechanism... reached for food... clutched a pimento stuffed olive twixt index finger and thumb. "How long," Kaffee sighed, raised olive to eye level inches from nose, contemplated, "how long before my olive skin begins to sag, can no longer pushin-z-out zee baby?" She squished the olive just enough to make pimento baby pooch out before the whole olive squirted out of fingers onto table top and... "Roll baby roll," Kaffee accepted olive fate.  She watched it roll to table edge, titter a tad, then plunge screaming toward floor below, "AAAaaaahh!" Kaffee mocked.  Yet was it reflex or hope that her hand shot out to save olive from perilous babyless plight...

                ...No olive did Kaffee catch... but the hand of a man who rescued olive in the palm of his hand...  A gentle God fearing man, who said, "Night after night have I prayed to find you..."

                                                     Psalms 128:1-4


Thursday, June 8, 2017


                Forearm gainst kitchen door jamb, back of wrist to forehead, Kim yawned.  With  hand that cradled swollen tummy, she pulled over sized t-shirt up to her little pug nose, breathed deep. Her eyes closed.  His scent wafted warm.  She opened eyes.  "Well there he is the love of my life in the sunrise light."  She smiled, but shook her head.  "Every morning, every morning at that kitchen island," she sighed, "wearing another one of those kooky avocado t-shirts, cut-off jeans and that same frayed straw hat."  She paused, pulled out the front of  t-shirt from her bosom. Giant green avocado stared up at her.  She frowned.  "The man has got to be stopped!" She giggled.

                Oblivious to the plot hatching behind his back, Bob at kitchen island danced to Caribbean beat on the radio, while adding finishing touch to extra-early morning brunch.  "Simple, yet elegant, nothing like fresh avocado, lime, and..."

                ...Soft hands slid around his waist.  Bob looked down.  Something was boring hard under his right armpit.  It felt like a rib being taken.  Between arm and ribs, moppet haired head popped out. The attached nose crinkled, sniffed.  Her lips declared, "Why does lime, avocado, and fresh homemade tortilla chips haf-ta smell so good!"

                "Your craving, or baby's?"  Bob smiled.

                "Ooh, just one!"  Kim reached out, snagged chip.

                "Hey, you are eating my art!"  Bob complained.

                "It is pretty neat how you spiraled serving tray with chips, avocado and lime round poblano chiles."  Kim offered misdirection compliment, seized opportunity to snatch another tortilla chip.

                "You little sneak!"  Bob clamped her in head lock, kissed moppet head.

                Like a spotted owl twisting neck, Kim looked up at him, demanded, "On the lips, old man!"

                Bob bent over to comply.  Kim's warm breath caressed his face.  His lips brushed hers...

                ...Kim snitched hand full of chips, escaped, scampered out kitchen to balcony table.

                "You mischievous little twerp!  You wrecked the spiral!  It was gonna be my masterpiece on chirpagram."  Bob lamented, carried serving tray out to chip munching wife; sat down beside her.

                "Bob, Bob, your whimpering is not silent.  I can hear you."  Kim teased.  She bumped shoulder into his arm, added, "And since you are perturbed at me anyway, I might as well use this time to ask..."  Kim halted speech; knew, that like all typical men, Bob could not let unfinished business lie.

                Bob squeezed lime wedge over avocado slices and tortilla chips, combined the two.  In mid munch he mumbled,  "So, like what, Kim?"

                "Sweetie, you know I love you..."  Kim stopped again; hid half smirk with chip in hand; patted self on back with thought, "Mistress of manipulation, that's me."

                "...But?"  Bob bit.

                "But sweetie, we are about to bring a little Bob or Kimette into this over sized beach hut.  Should we not be a little more responsible?  Say, maybe consider giving up childlike fixation on all things avocado?  I mean, like are we going to dress our kid in avocado garb the rest of his or her life?  Come on!"  She tried to elbow a smile out of him... but Bob grew eerily silent, a tad too silent, tellingly silent, silence that screamed... "Bob!  You didn't!"  Kim whipped frayed straw hat from his head; frisbeed it from balcony into avocado garden below.  "You already bought avocado outfits for the baby, didn't cha, Bob?  How many, how many did you buy?"  Tears began to well in Kim's eyes.

                Bob hugged Kim close, rocked her in his arms, soothed, "Kimmie, let us never forget love is the best fertilizer for little avocados to grow in.  Us papa and momma avocados just gotta wrap 'em up in our branches, hide 'em from them beaky birds and marauding possums, until it's time for avocado pod to peel open and assimilate... Resistance is fruitless..."

                Kim burst into full blown fake sobbing... careened into belly laughter...

                Bob chuckled, observed, "Doctorette of male psychology meets match."

                "I have got to stop laughing before I pee myself!" Kim stifled chortle.

                The baby kicked...  Kim hugged her round tummy... Bob hugged Kim,,,

                Kim sighed, "Not just another avocado sunrise..."

                And looking east out over avocado garden and over the Caribbean waters beyond, Bob said, "Praise the LORD for three hearts beating as one..."

Genesis 2:22, "And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, He made into a woman, and brought her unto the man."






Sunday, May 28, 2017


            When Boudreaux wed Apasionada, dim' folk dun' had one-a-dim' paardees'.  Amid this fiesta-festival the marriage of zydeco and cumbia echoed through the Louisiana swamp.  To de' pound of de' music and de' stomp of de' feets: de' fishes leaped, de' bull frogs bellered, de' gators clapped der' jaws, even the heart of the bayou waters did beat.  Nine months later, little was the surprise, when one more excuse to celebrate arrived: the birth of brothers Pierre and Pedro.  And the brothers two, oh how they grew, all the while living la vida loco.  "No life without passion," they often proclaimed, "our undying motto."

            And from the passion of the two that grew flowed a love of food.  A love fulfilled in the twin's joint venture, The Chocolate Gator Grill, a cafe made famous by their signature entree: chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'.  They cooked; they flourished; no way could folks get enough of that chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'...

            Until one faithless day, national TV reporter/food critic, Creme Brule, into the blue bayou blew, to interview the chocolate toothed two.  And with mike in hand Creme gestured about the cafe to ice cream display, to rows of cake, to piles of de' pie, and with an eye for the eerie she did droolingly query, "All chocolate!  Everything, chocolate!  What's up with that?"

            With tear in the eye, Pierre did reply, "Ever since we was just little bitty babies down on the bayou, Ma Ma' Apasionada dun' us so guud'.  I remember like today, we watch de' Ma Ma' boil dat' water for our hot chocolate."          

            "Si," Pedro patted the shoulder of his choked up brother, "Ma Ma' pass last year.  But always before she go, she treat her boys a-alright.  In dat' boiling water, chunk after chunk of rich dark chocolate find home.  She add one ton cane sugar and boat load cream on top.  To us dat' hot chocolate mean no limit of love."

            No limit viral that interview got viewed.  Viral twas the love of the public for the two with no Ma Ma' and a legacy of chocolate.  Besides, the food was "A-alright," as Pierre often said, "beyond some-none-a-tall." Thus a new wave of rave swept the nation.  And on TV The Chocolate Gator Grill became the number one cooking show sensation.

            The intro to the show became cult classic: "Bonjour!" In sync the brothers chimed.  Then the twins introduced each other: "My brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pierre.  And my brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pedro."  In sync again, "And we brothers dun' be right here to chocolate you up!"  Could TV fare sink any lower...

            Well...  One faithless day two flat bottom boats down the bayou did float.  With camera crew in tow, reporter Creme Brule shadowed Pierre and Pedro into the swamp to reap the meaty ingredient for their chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole.  Pierre cast the baited tri-hook into dark waters...  Pierre retrieved the line, till no more it did went; then slowly pulled the boat toward the end of the line...  All stopped at that sunk tri-hook.  Pedro readied dat' bat for the gator's head to splat...  He peered over the side...  With one big swoosh the mother of all gators Pedro dun' took... Red boiled the blood of Pedro in bayou chocolate...

            After that moment tragic, and back on shore, "We should-a known some kind-a better!!!"  Pierre into the camera did squall.  "Too hot, too hot dat' dark water o' chocolate!  O' Ma Ma', what have you dun' dun' to you boys!  You should-a warn us!  Gotta be careful or de' food dun' eat you!!!"

            In the eye of camera, the bayou waters, that dark chocolate framed the figure of Creme Brule.  Into the mike Creme no words better than her tears did speak...  Till in mid weep Creme cried, cried out, "Obsession stinks!!"

                                              ...Boiling hot chocolate burns...

                                                       ...I guar-raun-tee...


            Jeremiah 17:9 KJ, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"
            In a heart without Jesus, passion mutates to obsession. When passion becomes idol, obsession consumes.  So does in the pot on top of Ma Ma's stove, the hot chocolate grow; grow to the boiling chocolate waters of the whole bayou.  Chocolate makes a delicious drink, but if you drink it at boiling temp, you get burned.  Passion requires direction and limits.  Passion needs the correct temperature before it is drank. Who among us as a child has not burned the lips and tip of the tongue with too hot, hot chocolate.

                  ...Listen to the LORD, drink from the brook the living waters of Jesus...

                                  ...Drink not of the dark bayou of this world...                                                              

Monday, May 15, 2017


            Mr. I. B. Holder, born Ignatz Bertholemule Holder, Iggy, as his mother fondly called him, was for want of a better word, well let's just say it, not a handsome man.  Indeed, Iggy often said, "I'm just an ugly duckling with a no swan future."

            And yes, the face of Iggy was one, most did say only a mother could love.  Iggy's father had one day gone for a pack of cigarettes and vanished in smoke.  Iggy less often said, "The mirror image of his son, drove Dad to the other side of the mirror.  Wherever that is?"

            But Mrs. Holder loved him.  The best Mom could do was only exceeded by the more she did for Iggy.  "Thank you Lord, for a roof over our head and food to eat," twas familiar prayer at the Holder table.  But a roof over the head and food to eat left little for a school kids wardrobe.  Hand me downs and high water corduroy jeans became just one more excuse for classmates to clothe Iggy in the shame of ridicule.  "Ugly Iggy," they dubbed him, "the king of icky."

            The years passed by, and so had Mom.  But Mom had lived long enough to see Iggy start a tire repair service in an old feed store.  And as the town grew, so did Iggy's Tire Store from just repair to very successful sales also.  It seemed things had turned around for Iggy, especially since right before him stood a tire buyer, a new comer to town, one with blond flowing hair and skin so fair.  Molly she was and beautiful was her smile; for she liked the mild mannered and hard working man her 'eyes beheld.'  Sure he was six inches shorter than her, and kinda scrawny, and especially sweaty with all that hard work and all; but there was something about those big ears and buck teeth and silly bashful grin that just rocked her world.  Even at that very instant Molly fought the urge to hug him.  It would seem that ugly duckling destiny had found swan future.

            But lo, even alas, oh forsooth already, paradise interruptus:  a years of yore school bully walked through the door.  Four new tires he demanded, with yesterday his patience. But as clueless as the loud mouth was, even he picked up on the aroma of romance in Iggy's Tire Store.  "Well my oh my," he laughed, "Do my eyes deceive me?  Hot mama meets Ugly Iggy, the king of icky!  Can you imagine that?"

            Was it the disrespect to Molly? Was it the ridicule laughter?  Was it the life time of abandonment?  Was it the fact that this very bully was one in the same, who in school between each and every change of class room had wacked little Iggy's head with a textbook?  What ever it was... a tire tool found home in the right hand of Iggy.  And at high velocity that tire tool split air, halting only a fragment of an inch before the eye of the offensive beholder, who for a moment stood stiff, then stumbled backward, then fled out the door.

            Molly tried to comfort a trembling Iggy.  But he walked away into his office.  Molly followed, but the  door shut.  Molly heard the lock click.  Molly heard Iggy weep.  And Molly knew...

            The day was tomorrow.  The day was Sunday.  Iggy had found a pew.  And in Jesus name as Iggy prayed forgiveness for himself, his vanished dad, even the bully; the preacher said, "King David sang to the LORD in Psalm 17:8 & 15 KJ, 'Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings... As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied when I awake, with thy likeness." The preacher mused, "Who are righteous:  but the forgiven, who forgive.  How beautiful, the forgiven, are and shall be, in the eyes of The Great Beholder..."

            And with eyes still closed in prayer, Mr. I. B. Holder, Ugly Iggy the king of icky, felt next to him the pew cushion stir neath the weight of a swan; felt a soft hand take his; felt fair blond hair caress his cheek; beheld to his ear the touch of whispering lips, "You are beautiful to me."

                                            ...The LORD provides for the apple of his eye...

                                                           Psalm 34:15 & Luke 6:35-38

                              Please share:  "The Eye of the Beholder," with all you behold.



Saturday, April 29, 2017


            Cracked creek bed mud turned to dust neath rancher man's boot.  In that hell of drought, death lay all about.  Dehydrated skin stretched thin hid the dust of the dead within.  "In the outback, thirst knows no difference between cattle nor animal kin," said rancher man Slim.  And he wondered when 'the big dry' would ever end.  He was just about to pray again, when the corner of his eye caught movement.  Where had that movement been among the dead?  And there he saw it again.  The twitch of a tail.  From the pouch of a dead momma roo, the bent tail of a joey stirred life.  Without thought Slim pulled out that little bent tailed roo.  In his arms Slim saw the cause of it all; the bent tail told the tale; bore the canine marks of a dingo chew.  Slim said, "Bent like a boomerang, you poor little roo."  And as helpless as Slim was in the drought and all, he helped the helpless. Carried little bent tail roo back to the truck.  Put him in the seat.  And from his canteen, water little roo did sip.  

            And months came.  And months passed by in the one room home of Slim and roo.  Most nights Little Roo, as Slim called him, slept curled up in his bent tail on Slim's lap. Rocking away in that old homemade chair, Slim minded hardly at all.  For company in the outback, he had next to none at all.  Solitary life and no wife, such was Slim's life a boat in the desert, but his oars never gave up straining against the burning sand.  And as the 'the big dry' stirred dust, the heart of Slim stirred only closer to God above.  Many a night Little Roo listened to soft spoken Slim reading the Bible.  And Little Roo, although he understood not a word, still knew blessing, as he drifted off to hoppy land. 

            In the early morn and near sunset, Slim took care of barnyard chores.  There was Naomi to tend, the goat from who knows where, who had just shown up the week before Little Roo.  So as if part of God's plan, Slim had goats milk to milk.  Milk for Little Roo to be fed from the finger of a glove tied to the end of a bottle.  And there was Little Roo's rehabilitation.  Rehab mainly consisting of hopping away from Slim in a lopsided arc, due to the off balance of that bent tail, then hopping back in a curve.  And one such sunset evening Slim said, "The name Little Roo just will not do.  For you are a special bent tail roo, and though you hop away, you always return, not straight away, but in an arc like the boomerang do.  So do I dub thee, Boomerang Roo.  But just Roo for short will most times do."  And the newly dubbed Boomerang Roo stood  looking up to his adopted dad; tilted head from side to side; and by his new name he did abide.

            And late one night, Boomerang Roo in lap, the rocker slowed rocking. The voice of Slim in prayer grew tired.  The Bible slipped from his hands.  And Roo and Slim slept quiet... so quiet... they felt not the cool air roll slowly through their one room home.  Heard not the solitary ping on the tin roof above, followed in a moment by another, then another, till the rain fell spanking that tin to cry new born baby life.  Roo woke first.   In fear Roo leaped from lap bounding off furniture and round the walls.  Till Slim caught him or Roo caught Slim.  Round Slim's right leg Roo wrapped arms and legs and boomerang tail too.  Slim laughed and with Roo clinging on, shuffled up to and opened the porch door.  There the nose of Boomerang Roo krinkled, breathed in for the very first time... the smell of rain.  And standing in that porch door, Slim thanked the Lord, as the mist of living water washed over them.

            The sun rose.  With milk bucket in hand Slim made aim for the barn to visit Naomi the goat.  But something was missing, the shadow of Roo.  Slim just figured Roo didn't want mud on his paws.  For where had been dust now was mud galore.

             What possessed Roo to go out that morn on his own?  In a long arc Boomerang Roo hopped and he hopped and he hopped... over a hill.  And where Roo stopped, was where he stood.  Maybe it twas the gunning of the truck motor Roo heard, or maybe the spinning of mud slick tires; but for sure twas the will of One with higher power:  that Roo arrived at the very stuck truck of Ruth.  Ruth saw Roo, gave up the futile slinging of mud, and exited the truck.  And up to Ruth, Roo hopped.  Ruth stammered, "Wha-what a-a-a  cu-cu-cute little ra-ra-roo!"  To Ruth's surprise Roo tilted his head and, looking up at her, took her hand in paw.  Without thinking, Ruth was lead to the hill top, where down below she saw the house of Slim and the barn.  "Da-a-a-down hill fra-from here," to her new friend Ruth talked.

            And near the barn door, still holding Roo's paw, Ruth met Slim, carrying a pail of Naomi's milk.  "M-m-m-my na-na-name is Ruth!  I-I-I been la-la-lookin' fa-fa-for my ga-ga-ga-goa-goa-Naomi!!! She said.

            And Slim with smile sighed, "What few be about call me Slim, but my given name be Boaz."  He lifted up the pail of milk and added, "I might just know the whereabouts of that old goat."  And together Slim and Ruth and Roo walked hand in hand in paw; and entered the one room house called home...  Ruth never stuttered again...  And yes, the cows did come home, more than there were before...  And from hearts of dust a garden grew from rain anew...  And Slim praised the LORD!!!


            Isaiah 58:10-11 KJ, "And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noon day:  And the LORD shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not."

            Please share "The Tail of Boomerang Roo," with all who need a tail straitening.  For a infinitely more awesome and true story, please read in the Bible the book of Ruth.  Only cause we love you.        








Thursday, April 20, 2017


                Lick Chickeners would a named their little flock Finger Lickin' Good, but state law forbade three word towns; so Lick Chicken it was.  And in small town Lick Chicken, Fat Pats was the place to be.  "Just about the only place to be," locals liked to say bout what most Lick Chickeners considered second home.

                "Like coffee with that cream?" Fat Pat giggled at Slim Jeno still a 4 am a dream with cream server a stuck a tilt. "Your cup runneth over, Hun." She giggled again at her dark haired Hungarian.

                "What?" Coffee ran off diner counter top onto his apron. "Well, that's one way to get caffeine." Slim Jeno mumbled.  As wife built napkin dam, he sat server down. Without stirring he bent over, mouth to coffee mug, slurped away coffee and cream surplus.

                "My aren't we a little piggy this morn?" Pat snickered, elbow nudged struggling to awake hubby.

                "Oink," Jeno punctuated with semi-giggle of his own.

                From the kitchen they heard clank of pans. "The faithful staff arrives." Fat Pat sighed.

                "Ah, faith, the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of that not seen," Slim Jeno quote, almost awoke.

                "Ah, and Biblical too this beautiful morning.  Was that Hebrews 11:1, King James no less?  Who is this husband of mine?" Pat smiled, drew strength, for the a hungered hordes, they were a coming.

                Jeno turned attention from morning brew.  Took time to drink in the beauty before him, "Freckles of auburn, matching eyes and curls of a girl with svelte curves, how I love you." Slim Jeno gave wife lips to lips peck, rose from seat, stretched eyes wide, sighed, "Time to roll out the old szilvas gomboc," and headed for kitchen door.

                As she did every morning, Fat Pat turned it over in her mind, and spilled out mouth one more time, "Szilvas gomboc, Hungarian plum dumplings, who knew?" She spoke of once struggling slapjack diner turned country wide sensation.  For even 20 miles away the szilvas gumboc a hungered big city folks due north were deterred not even by predawn dark. "Lord, thank you for my husband," Fat Pat a tad misty eyed sat, and added, "and thank You too for the good folks of Lick Chicken."

                Slim, not portly, local patrons had mis-dubbed Patricia Ann Foszakacs, Fat Pat.  Portly, not slim, Jeno Foszakas had received similar mis-nomer, Slim Jeno.  Perhaps the nicknames said more about the coiners than the recipients there of.  For you see the folks of Lick Chicken were a nest full of affable good good eggs near always on the verge of hatching local peep of small town adage; all be it a bit scrambled.

                "After all," so ran the oft misquoted Lick Chicken motto, "a licked chicken tastes better cooked." While the official town motto really twas, "A licked chicken tastes better tallow fried." Yet, even the for real town motto reflected name of Lick Chicken to be somewhat askew; seeing as how the areas main industry to be cattle and a tallow rendering plant. "Seems oft we ought trace the seams... of what seems to be..." Lick Chickeners were apt to often say.

                But we digress, for while the non-fat Fat Pat tended cash register setup and the hundred other details of dining area; in the kitchen, as morning tradition, the staff huddled round one round Slim Jeno.  Together they repeated morning prayer, "Dear Lord, in Jesus name we pray, the food we prepare this day, be blessed nourishment unto the least of these our bretheren." And with a big, "Amen," their hearts and hands sprang into action.

                In little more than an hour, thru kitchen door wafted doughy cinnamon and brown sugary sweet szilvas gomboc.  And no coincidence was it that in that same little more than an hour the first wave of a hungered hordes, well in they invaded. Some half asleep a mug of coffee needing to drain, some slapping old pal backs, more than a few greeted by crowd by name.  And the newbees, well the door barely hit them in the behind afore the no chicken lips Lick Chickeners gave shout out, "Newbee Welcome!" Sometimes they sang this welcome tradition in unison, sometimes they sang it in echo ripple, but everytime every person got good greeting.  For at Fat Pats, Lick Chickeners liked to say and do, "In Lick Chicken nobody... remains a nobody long..."

                And those special somebodies began their mornings at Fat Pats with healthy homemade food, not a usual cuisine for an establishment that had started as slapjack greasy spoon.  The menu and plates served abounded with fresh fruit and vegetables from garden green bean scrambled eggs to slapjacks fresh peach inlaid, and of course the number one requested Hungarian plum dumplings. The a hungered hordes ate that szilvas gomboc 'for here' and ordered 'for there' an extra dozen or two 'to go' for co-workers and family.  More than a few called ahead to place special orders over two dozen.

                 But the peculiar people of the peculiar Fat Pats, Lick Chickeners and newbee honorary Lick Chickeners alike, had one more peculiar tradition... At exactly 7 am each morning Monday thru Saturday, Slim Jeno and faithful staff emerged from kitchen... And all listened to what Slim Jeno had to say, "In Matthew 25: 35 KJ, our precious Jesus said, 'For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in..."

The meaning of this little story may be found in Matthew chapter 25 verses 31 thru 46, a parable by Jesus in the recipe of Life, the sweeter than honey Holy Bible.  Key words are, "...an hungered... and ...the least of these, my bretheren..."

And I wonder, just wonder, bout the symbolic significance of them small town Lick Chickeners and even that szilvas gomboc... I just wonder... Could it possibly, not so much by chance, have a little something to do with the heart of every dumpling being plum filled with fruit... (fruit: verses 5 & 8 of John 15:1 thru 12)

                                           ...Food not only for lips of flesh...


Wednesday, March 8, 2017


                Imagine if you will the fading in and out of restless melody a beat... from old stereo turn table stuck in repeat-peat-peat... Josie needed not imagine...    

                "The bell rang, by door of mind sang, reflection of when, less bright than then..." Josie poised qualm laden pen.  The bell of door rang.

                From desk Josie rose to the bell of call, passed from, "The scene of the crime," as she called her writers desk of late; passed thru dining room, thru the room of living, opened door of the great outside.  Josie squinted into early east light. "No one, here?" Josie rubbed eyes, the consequence of the write most of the night.  Thru yawn she sighed, "Time to go to bed," closed the door of the great outside.

                But instead of bed, called the qualm laden pen.  Josie lay not, but sat, and she wrote, "Awash in waves of pout, sinking in unworthy sea of doubt..." The bell of door rang.

                From desk Josie rose to the bell of call, passed from, "O' Sea of Doubt," as she contemplated so naming poem; passed thru dining room, thru the room of living, opened door of the great outside.  Josie looked and in the east light upon porch railing hopped hope. "A sparrow, here?" Josie eyes smiled an almost rewrite in the morning light.  But thru corner of lips a dip she sighed, "So cute, yet so alone," closed the door of the great outside.

                But instead of bed, called the qualm laden pen.  Josie lay not, but sat, and she wrote, "O' raging sea of doubt, to Jesus' shore spit me out..." The bell of door rang.

                From desk Josie rose to the bell of call, passed thru, "Foam of sea upon the sand," described her feet washed in living water, as she passed thru dining room, thru room of living, opened door of the great outside.  Josie eyes floated with light a breeze twixt wisteria leaves.  "The family, here?" Blue eyes wide, Josie saw the nest; Pa Pa and under Ma Ma wings three babys blessed.  Thru lips Josie breathed sweet sigh, "A sparrow, not alone."  And Josie no longer closed the door of the great outside.

Get out of the rut of doubt with Jesus... the door of the great outside... to God and His creation...

1) Door of the great outside: John 10:7&9 KJ, Jesus speaking, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep.  I am the door; by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture." See also: the beautiful Psalm 23 with Psalm 24:1.

2) Josie in Hebrew and French means: May Jehovah Add... addition to family...

3) Psalm 84:3 says that even the sparrow and swallow are welcome to come and nest and raise their young in the Temple of God.  How happy are those singing to the Lord in his house.

4) Luke 12:6-7, Jesus says that You are of more value than many sparrows.

5) The time is near... Psalm 102:7 KJ, "I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top." Note: watch in Hebrew = sleepless lookout.

6) No time to waste... For in Matthew 24:27-31 KJ, because he loves us, Jesus warns, "For as the lightning comes out of the east..." Please read this all... God help us... be ready...

7) It's now or never... For as in the days of Noah's ark and the flood ... Matthew 24:37-39

                        ...Heaven would not be heaven, if evil were let in...

                               ...Jesus is the only way to be forgiven...

                                    ...The only way of salvation...

                                         ...Call upon Him now...