Which Reminds Me

I once wrote a term paper about Thomas Nast, an important figure in the history of journalism. However, I don't think I delved deeply into the subject of Santa Claus aspect of Nast. Machelle Bush might remember that. I really don't remember much about that.

Which Reminds Me

I remember that while I was living in Virginia in filling out some form I did not tick the box waiving my right to know. I don't remember why. So this means that if I could remember what that was I could still go back and demand to see the file or record except that I have forgotten what that was so whatever. Anyway, I am pretty sure that I was not applying for a job in television. I am so NOT photogenic enough to be on camera, NOT strong enough to lug heavy equipment, NOT techie enough to understand about engineering and managing the various dials and knobs and switches and whatever it is they do in TV land. I seriously doubt that God would have wanted me to waste time contemplating a career in television when I am so obviously unsuited for that field. Sandy got a TV job but she got there a couple of years earlier. Those who came later were turned away. Thus it was not necessary to rub in this point, as if the nattering nabobs of negativity of Agnew's parlance were still out there sawing logs. Notwithstanding the value of new agriculture, I suppose that my acceptance of illegal bribe funding would have disqualified me from running for office except that I had never contemplated politics of the electoral variety. And also I do not recall ever accepting bribe funding from specially interested parties. I never did seek employment in the field of advertising notwithstanding my having taken one copywriting class. Maybe I had a way with words, as the teacher commented, but my prospects did not seem promising. So many directions to contemplate, so little time. I just can't do everything and still have a life. And yet with no husband to share a life with, there will be nothing for me to do but work work work to pay for my own life. Which means that I am sort of stuck between a rock and a hard place in a manner of speaking.

Which Begs the Question

Who on earth is this Amy Harsh that we should be mindful of her? I never knew that Amy existed so I really do not see why the Harsh people imagine that I would be writing a book about them.

Which Reminds Me

Only by recent diggings around on Ancestry.com do we learn of the existence of Barbara Barth. Oh, I had not known of the existence of this product of Mrs. Jenkins and family. It took quite a lot more digging to figure out that her husband was Carl Harsh and this why their three children are Harsh by name. So? Were the Harsh ones expecting to get a prize for being obnoxious monsters? No, I think they are the ones who should apologize for treating all the distant relatives like garbage, as if we would know anything about it.

Which Reminds Me

At SCC while rooming with Cori I thought that I did my fair share of taking my turn at cleaning the room. However, when she came up with a whole new scheme in which she would be the boss giving orders to me, the maid, I rebelled. I did not cooperate with that pathetically stupid scheme and that was the end of that. After all, just because Cori's mother's maiden name was Jenkins, that did not mean that we were related in any way to the crude and vulgar Nipper family. My great-grandfather's brother married a Jessie Jenkins but I doubt there could be any family connection there to the Nippers. And even if there was, that would not make me the maid or employee in their family's business, thanks anyway.

And anyway, I do not recall ever signing any contract pledging lifelong loyalty to Cori Nipper and her dog Jody. There was no legally binding agreement requiring that I eat Cori's putrid cooking for the rest of my life. I like cheese, unlike Cori. I don't know where Cori got that pathetically stupid idea in her sick head that I would be her lifelong friend and property to be disposed of at her whim.

There is no reason for the crude and vulgar Dutch to assume that any obligation ever existed on my part to lift them out of hell that they built for themselves. Am I God? No, obviously not. All the books in the world would not suffice for mankind to achieve salvation on his own, which is why the Gospel writers including only the essentials. As John says in John 21:25: "Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written."

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I suppose that someone remembers how I used to come home from high school every day about 4:30 p.m. and head to the refrigerator for a snack, often a piece of wheat bread, so delicious all on its own, and a glass of water. My sister joked that I was like a prisoner subsisting on bread and water. The other thing I might snack on would be my own version of a pickle sandwich, something that nowadays I probably would not think of but at the time was something that I would make for myself. I don't quite remember anymore what exactly I used except I am sure there was cheese. I like cheese, unlike some other people I could think of. So it would be my sister, also the maid, and maybe my sister's friend Conchi, who would probably remember that about me. Sad about Conchi traitorously turning her back on Christianity and turning Jehovah's Witness. We thought those people knew better but my sister was the one who dragged her along everywhere. I really never liked having that pathetically dumb person underfoot but when do I ever get what I want?

Which Reminds Me

Yes, how could I forget the time that David Hoskins accused me of being a "Valley" girl. I had inserted the word "like" in some grammatically incorrect place of a sentence. Another common misconstruction is to place the word "not" at the end of a sentence so that everything you just said is categorically denied. Yes, and don't I know what I am doing? And don't we all have to speak the local dialect at one time or another in order to communicate with these pathetically simple-minded persons so that they will be receptive to the Gospel message which is our ultimate goal in communication as per the Great Commission which has not yet been revoked that I ever heard of? Did not Jesus communicate mostly in the Aramean dialect of his time? So whatever. I fail to recall David Hoskins ever having anything intelligent to say about anything so I am even less impressed to see this yet-another-tidbit in circulation.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall noticing that Jack Bell lives near here. I vaguely recall that there was a Jack Bell in high school with us, a junior the year that I was a senior, but beyond that I know nothing about Jack. I could not tell you the first thing about Jack beyond that he was a somewhat tall and thin guy. But I would not need to ask whether Jack was related to the Bruce and Cindy Bell, brother and sister, who were Baptist missionary kids and also attended our high school. Bell is a very common surname, perhaps almost as common as Smith, so it would not be surprising to have a lot of unrelated Bells all in one high school. Anyway, I don't need to ask because I already know about Bruce and Cindy earlier from MK school which only went up to 8th grade. Bell is a very common surname, perhaps almost as common as Smith, so it would not be surprising or unusual to have a lot of unrelated Bells all ringing around in one high school.

A Lump of Cole

Yes, it is sort of hard to think of anything nice to say about Dana Cole from this vantage point. I could say something similar about Joanna Cole, the daughter of Ed Cole who was also a college classmate of sorts although I don't think she ever lived on campus. We talked a couple of times, as I remember it, one of these a walk around Fashion Island shopping mall with several other people. So wicked of her to steal someone else's husband, as I heard later. Oh, I did not know that. I see that she married some guy of whom I remember nothing. I looked at his picture in the yearbook but I really don't remember him. A lot of these people their faces look sort of vaguely familiar but we never talked and I couldn't tell you the first thing about them and how they got together. Yet somehow these rich and affluent Cole dogs can do nothing wrong while we poor Calkins are whipped and lashed for no particular reason except that maybe we are just too poor to pay for mafia justice, unlike his ex-wife. That would be such an un-Christian thing to do anyway. This whole thing just makes no sense to me. We were never the property of the Cole family anyway so maybe the Coles will get a clue that with Ed and Ralph gone they have nothing else to say to us. To us, they are just another huge museum archive to post online or something for posterity's sake, now that the past generation is mostly gone.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I was visiting the college campus, the church on campus actually, and I was walking along and there coming from the other direction was Tom Shirey. He seemed happy to see a familiar face. I had not seen him since 1981, the year I graduated from college and moved away. We talked for a couple of minutes. He told me that he was now divorced. Oh, I had not even heard that he was married so this news was a surprise to me. He said that he had married a South African girl but after their marriage he flew with her to South Africa and was appalled to see firsthand the racism of her and her family. So now they are divorced. Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I don't remember what I said to this startling news. It makes me uneasy to hear this. After all, if I were go get married I would hope that it would be for the sake of me, because I am loved, and not for the sake of my crackpot relatives. Don't we all of us have family stuff that makes us uneasy, that embarrasses us and that we would rather not talk about in a public forum? One would imagine that in a marriage some icky stuff would be coped with, dealt with, accommodated, tolerated, challenged, adapted, or something for the sake of the marriage vows. So I am sorry but I don't understand about Tom.

Which Reminds Me

I am suddenly reminded of my childhood delusions revolving around Santa Claus. My mother always thought it was a necessary tradition for us children to believe in Santa Claus as long as possible. Naturally the delusion was shattered in fourth grade when Cheryl sort of ridiculed us, particularly me, for still believing in Santa Claus. Don't I know that my Dad drinks the glass of milk and eats the cookies that are left on the table overnight for Santa's refreshment? Yes, of course. That makes perfect sense now that you mention it. How stupid can I be? Duh!

Which Reminds Me

I roomed for about a year with Laura Entz in California. She then moved in with some other girl, I don't remember her name. What was the name of the creepy Bolivian man who was a friend of theirs? I really don't remember. Laura was quite trashy so imagine her new roommate was also. It was a relief to be rid of her.

Which Reminds Me

It never crossed my mind to ask whether a high school classmate, Kelly Elliott, was related to the Mr. Elliott who was a music theory teacher at our college. We remember his daughter Leanna Elliott, also a college classmate of sorts. His son was an organist. They do share the same last name with Kelly Elliott but I really would not have thought of Kelly from high school as Kelly is remembered as nothing if not an obnoxious busybody and gossip, a nuisance actually of the dummies class variety. I saw those girls ganging in the hallways of high school but I never stopped to talk to them because, well, they were not friendly. They exude an air of hostility for the most part so there was no reason to bother myself about them. I am not aware of anyone actually liking Kelly or saying anything else about her. Kelly's opinion is important only in her own mind. Over here at my house Kelly is nothing.

Which Reminds Me

There is something weird and discombobulated about all of these references to Dakota dogs. We were never ever employed by the hateful Dakota district nor do we have any fondness for these Dakota riff-raff who occasionally surface from their little prairie dogs burrows to hiss and scatch and bite us. Nobody cares less about Dakota dogs than myself. Denise was shipped off to Finland so we no longer have to listen to her inflammatory screeches, fortunately for us.

Obviously the Dakota dogs have confused us with the Hunt family. The Hunts perhaps do have in-laws in Susanville or thereabouts as their father Eugene Hunt, he who married my Dad's Aunt Mary Olive, was from there as I see from genealogy records. Otherwise I would not have seen that connection to the Bealls or known anything about the potential Hunt in-laws from somewhere north of Sacramento. Only from reading the diaries, quite recently, do we learn that the Hunts at one time lived in North or South Dakota working at churches there. I don't know their story so I really cannot comment beyond what was in the diaries.

Also I would not know anything about the claims of the Dakota dogs regarding having fired us when actually they never met us. We always belonged to the SoCal district of which the Dakota dogs are obviously clueless or they would not be making such utterly false statements to the press.

I cannot speak in defense of the Hunts as I really would not know anything about them. We never really met or talked to Zoe and Nancy and Elizabeth. Their family were missionaries in Venezuela for many years but we really don't understand what their problem is or what they are expecting to accomplish by killing us. We never did anything to them.

Does Not Compute

So you stole my wallet and now you are telling me that I should give more, that I should pretend that my wallet was given voluntarily even though it was already stolen by bandits long ago and I probably never will see those pictures again, the only copies I had. And now you are telling me to forgive and pretend like it was nothing, that I was just a subhuman creature anyway, myself having crawled out of some Blue Lagoon in a rather peculiar way, so that nothing they do to me can really matters because only their interests count. I am just a tool to be used, not a person whose soul matters at all. Nothing that I want will I ever got so whatever.

Thus, I would prefer not to think about this in the future. Maybe I can manage to forget about you and find something else to think about because this whole thing is taking me straight to disaster world, as in nowhere, nothing, Never-Never-land. I don't understand why you can't see farther than the end of your nose. I certainly can see farther out than that.

Which Reminds Me

I remember Loren Popineau saying that he was afraid to get married because he did not want to be put in some woman's pocket, a pocket groom of sorts, a little puppet whose strings could be easily pulled by her. I had no idea what he meant by saying that. Well, fine, I thought, don't get married if you don't want to. I don't care. The thought of putting a man in my pocket had not crossed my mind nor did I feel any inclination to find out what he meant by saying that. The prospect of pocketing this type of useless wimp of a guy, so timorous, so cravenly afraid of women such as myself, increasingly hostile in fact, seemed ridiculous to me. So whatever. There was no reason for Loren to imagine that he was any kind of prize with that misogynistic attitude of his so openly on display. There was no reason for him to imagine that I would ever give him another thought, having shaken the dust off my feet in departure from that Sand Bar place I had briefly visited, only passing through obviously.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I remember repeating this pablum, "What you don't know can't hurt you." I don't remember why this thought was hammered into my head but obviously there really are many things that I can't know and that, if I did know, could have the potential to hurt me I would imagine, so there are some things that there would be no reason to explore, some questions worthless of asking, some answers more damaging than helpful. I really don't understand why some people seem to have a problem with this policy. I think it is a smart policy and makes a lot of sense.

Sure, some things we need to know for navigation purposes but also some things are not necessary. Delegation of duties, division of labor, etc., all of these things are beneficial in the long run.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall rooming for about a year with Laura Entz, a German Mennonite. She loved hanging out with international students, a prickly bunch of friends had she. I did not stay in touch with Laura's friends later. I really would not be able to explain about her. She was an MK-Korea but of Mennonite radio ministry descent. I don't know anything about that.

Which Reminds Me

My sister's name, René, is spelled in the masculine way for Spanish and French. There should have be a second 'e' at the end of her name but my parents did not know that at the time. Later, during high school in Central America, my sister had to spend the first day of school each year down in the office getting herself switched out of men's P.E. class. I never had that problem. It was only her.

Which Reminds Me

When we were living in El Salvador, my parents being missionaries received every month donations from many people and churches. Every month they would get a huge list of all of the various supporters which was their job to review and do their accounting with to report to headquarters or something. It was complicated. My mother always took care of the bookkeeping stuff so I really would not know. I do remember that during a time when we were having a rough time financially there was one family in California that suddenly pledged a rather large amount monthly for the duration of the time that we were in El Salvador and this was like a miracle to my parents at a time when they really needed it. After we returned to the U.S. they stopped sending us that money and sent it to someone else overseas who they deemed more in need of it which was fine because my mother started working then anyway so were fine. When we first returned to California we visited them at their house and their two sons drove us around for a few minutes and we talked. Later we heard that they had moved from California to somewhere up north, maybe Idaho or Montana or some place like that. Since then I imagine having heard messages from those two guys, some gobbledygook about how they have wives now and they won't be sending me any money. That is fine with me because they never gave me any money in the first place anyway. It was only the parents who were our among our family's financial supporters anyway, not their spoiled rotten brats.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I was about 8 years old when I had some kind of fight with Judy Thompson. I don't remember why. I probably shoved or bumped her because she was annoying me for some reason. I don't remember anything very specific. Probably it was when everyone was gathering candy that had fallen from the piñata and was all over the ground and she was getting in my way or something. I probably should apologize but the point is so moot now given the extensive revenge of the vile wicked Thompson family which totally outweighs anything I ever did or said about the dreary Thompson people so I will spare myself the agony and just take it.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I sort of get it that with the Woods installed as our exalted leaders, someone would feel themselves compelled to make jokes about the identification of various trees in this forest. There is, for example, my college classmate Dennis Buchmiller, whose surname identifies him as a miller living near a beech tree. There also are the various blooming cedars who bear the surname of Cederblom, another classmate. There might be other tree jokes in circulation but those are the two that can be easily identified by me. The tree jokes were not my idea in the first place, obviously.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely remember hearing that that Smeyas' relatives in Arizona won the lottery. This was given by the Smeyas as a reason for them to move to Arizona to be near their lottery-winning relatives. So that's nice for them. I acutally have no idea who those lottery-winning persons were nor did I give that another thought. Certainly no one here would ever imagine getting a dime out of their relatives when obviously they have the Smeyas' missionary account to subsidize. A million dollars only goes so far. I would imagine that the lottery winners, whoever they were, would also need to finance their own extravagantly luxurious lifestyle and high-flying retirement, not to mention health insurance and other expenses of maintaining a higher state of affluence. So obviously there was nothing else to say about that. So why all of these stupid pokes and prods? Come to think of it, it was odd that the Smeyas did not stay in Arizona very long but they did not explain. Whatever. I really don't know who those people are so it would be too nosy for me to ask for details. Anyway, I have no thoughts of Arizona. There is no one in Arizona that I would care to contact for any reason so there is no need to say more about that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it will be difficult for God to bless the wicked French when they are failing to recognize that blue jeans do not a True Religion make. For me, the cause of feeding Cats is just not a compelling reason to share anything further on that subject. Enough said.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is rather awkward to have all these pompously arrogant stupid French wimps poking their noses where they don't belong. While the streets of Paris itself are overtaken by Moslems, the stupid French dips are willing to sell their souls to knock out some innocently freckled Christians, a completely stupid display of stupid French hypocrisy as viewed from all angles of reality. I think that is what the English are trying to say, maybe, in a way.

Which Reminds Me

I remember reading somewhere that according to some accounts Bartholomew, the original one who was a follower of Jesus, sometimes confused with the Apostle Nathaniel, was later in life, after preaching to the heathen of the Mediterranean Sea, skinned alive. His skin was removed from his body while still living, similar to the torture inflicted by the Redskins upon early pioneers. Whether we are descended from him I have no idea. But that is a creepy, devilish thing to try to poke at other people's skin, as if it were wrong to be white or black or any other shade in between. And yet with freckles like mine it happened all the time so why should brown people be surprised if we should point out the crayon color they resemble? I wasn't being mean about it. I just thought it was interesting.

And if the people should decide by election or otherwise that all Christians should be devoured by lions for the entertainment of spectators in the Roman colosseum, would that make it right to skin them alive? And to the later ones also, the Christians brutally murdered, bodies mangled in unspeakable ways, during China's Boxer Rebellion? No, obviously the people can be wrong, wrong, wrong. But whatever. Only God knows why evil is allowed to rear its ugly head now and then, perhaps to help prove that might does not make right or something like that. I don't know everything.

And will worrying about skin color make you even one inch taller? No, obviously not. We see that Adam and Eve became aware of their own uncovered skins after eating the apple. Furs were recommended by God so who are we to argue with the beauty and comfort of leather shoes? Can we go back to the Garden of Eden and pretend that color issues do not exist in this sin-riddled world? No, of course not. No one ever said that affirmative action would solve all skin problems. Yes, I can see why black people would be fixedly in favor of special advantages for their own skin color in perpetuity given the centuries of oppression they endured in past generations. Someone is wanting to argue about affirmative action but I really would prefer to dodge the issue for now as, for one thing, I have no political power to influence these matters and might only get more flack back than I can handle. Yet there is no affirmative action program to fend of these freckle-hating devils, sadly, but perhaps it is just as well that the government is not involved in telling us what skin color we ought to be. It is really none of the government's business. Better to be free than to be have freckle regulations.

Which Reminds Me

I am suddenly reminded of Robert Pommier, an obnoxious theater guy who married that fat ugly theater blob Melia. Theater people live on their own separate planet where only they have the inside scoop on theater gossip, theater lore, theater secrets. So that's nice for them but it means nothing for me to hear Robert yapping in the background. We once went with Robert, Dauna and maybe someone else driving around some places and also stopped at a store near South Coast Plaza where Robert pulled some clothes off a rack and said he thought that looked like me. I thought not. Nobody really understood me at SCC. Perhaps I come from a different planet than all of these clueless people. Yes, I suppose that is one plausible theory.

Which Reminds Me

During girls' choir in high school Miss Marken coached us on the German pronunciation for Stille Nacht. We were to sing with a straight tone as we could, with no vibrato, in imitation of boys' choirs. Of course boys naturally have no vibrato at all in their singing, which is why some people really like to hear boys' choirs better, but their voices change so they don't last very long. Women's voices are always going to be there more or less the same until at least age 40 or 50. After that, well, women are put out to pasture and young ones take over. So whatever.

Which Reminds Me

All these jokes about winning the lottery are so dumb. The truth is that I can never win the lottery because I never bought a lottery ticket in my entire life. This is so despite being required to write more than one article on the Florida lottery for my newspaper writer job at the time, not a fun thing to do when I have no interest or devotion to such a pointless and silly institution. Even if you do buy a ticket, odds are better that you will be eaten by a shark or struck by lightning, not so rare as you might think hazards of life in Florida, but the editor would probably not let me say that in my article so why try?

Which Reminds Me

In high school I remember reading a very long novel about Scandinavian farmers in South Dakota. It seems that spending half the year snowed into an earthen hovel contributes to the mental illness of Scandinavian women. That is mainly what I remember about that book.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, that was quite a rage that Pam Hart worked herself up into even though nobody asked her. Did Pam drop into my room to chat in a friendly way, to shoot the breeze reflectively about the important facets of life not yet experienced as an 18-year-old? Did Pam ask me who said what? No, not at all. No, Pam staged a hostile confrontation in which I am supposed to defend myself or something, I am not sure what, after Pam and friends had already voted against me anyway on some unclear grounds never fully explained to me. Is my name Dareda that I would be able to explain what on earth Dareda was thinking when she said that? I just have no idea what their problem was. So basically this only confirms my low opinion of Prairie Dog Pam as a crude and vulgar person whose college companionship will not be needed by me. Perhaps I could say something similar about all of the seethingly stupid prairie dogs of Evangel as basically nobody there seems to have any brains in their empty heads.

Which Reminds Me

Nobody cares about the dogs of Oklahoma, native home of the most obnoxiously boring people I ever met at Evangel and elsewhere. Ok, so maybe I exaggerate slightly, but still I don't like prairie dogs that much. They have sharp little teeth and deep burrows. In order to mitigate the extensive damage caused by the chewing of prairie dogs we will need to put this poison deep in their burrows. It is the only way. Oh, did I mention that I don't like Prairie Dog Pam Hart? Yes, all Dakota trash are prairie dogs. Beware of prairie dogs chewing on the furniture.

Great-grandmother in her diaries talks of poisoning the prairie dogs in her backyard but obviously that was a whole different story.

Which Reminds Me

Not wanting to take orders from snarky stupid Edmundo, we will proceed as planned.

Which Reminds Me

We are Assemblies of God so we fail to understand the proliferation of connections to the creepy Roberts of ORU. We could not care less about ORU, a college much like many other Christian colleges, really not the center of Pentecostalism by any means. Things will be traumatic for them now that Oral Roberts is gone, finding themselves a voiceless bunch of nobodies that nobody is interested in hearing from. Not meaning to be rude, but we are not interested in moving to Tulsa where the Voice of China people have rented quarters in that huge office complex that Oral Roberts built. So that's nice for them. I am glad somebody is doing that but obviously Bible distribution in China is not my calling, no need to constantly remind. I have no fond alma mater thoughts to share with ORU, thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

In the diaries the name of Randy Bellows appears maybe once or twice. From the context we can see that he is the son or grandson of one of great-grandmother's Smith cousins. Of course, until I read the diaries and started doing my genealogy I had no idea there were any Smiths on our family tree. I had no idea that great-grandmother was actually born in New York/Pennsylvania depending on which document you are referring to, a small town near the border of these two states. I had no idea that anyone knew anything about the Smiths of Pennsylvania/New York, so distant is the connection and so insignificantly distant in our minds. Ok, so there is a distant cousin out there named Randy Bellows if he is still living but nothing is explained, just that she met with him while visiting the East Coast. Ok, so that's nice.

Which Reminds Me

Why is nobody asking me who said that? It was actually Dareda Embry of Illinois who said that unthinkable thing during the chat session in my dorm room at Evangel. Dareda is obviously much advanced in the wicked arts of dogdom, already imagining herself in that unthinkable position even though she has no known boyfriend and is merely expecting that the gender functions of wifedom and motherhood will belong to herself alone even when there is no ring on her finger and no license to prove it. Nobody asked her to say that. It just came out of her wicked mouth all unannounced and uninvited by the rest of us. Ok, so obviously some people get to talking and their jaws a-flapping and we just have to forgive them somewhat their excessive chatter because otherwise we would just go nuts.

So this begs the question of why is all of this harassment being dumped on me? Was there any reason to defend the defenseless trashy honor of the Embry clan at my expense? I didn't do anything to Dareda. Thus, someone really ought to make the Embry dogs pay for their own garbage because they are not my problem.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is so nice of "sweet" Mary to volunteer to educate the Bueno dogs. I really would not want the job of trying to make nice with those nasty people, personally speaking, so the more power to those who are not afraid of getting hit later whenever the political winds of fortune are blowing from some other direction because they never really care about anyone other than themselves. They are purely self-interested in a drearily boring continental European kind of way. So whatever. To each his own.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I vaguely recall visiting campus and running into Tom Shirey there. I am still curious about what those people did the year or two after I left. That would be about 1982 or 1983 when the students engineered the firing of Mrs. Hummel or something like that. No one discussed it with me, not that it matters now. The music department is not my problem. Whatever. And where are those students now? Probably nowhere for the most part. As Tom so aptly proves, you can drive around campus in a little MG convertible and yet have not really anything intelligent to say. Of course, I could probably say something similar about vapid mindless Dana Cole, another boring person of no interest.

Which Reminds Me

In the diaries we see that great-grandmother greatly valued her friendship with Anna Beall. Many visits back and forth are recorded in the diaries, even a trip to Susan, a city way up in Northern California where the Beall family had moved. Even though there is no explanation of how they met in the first place, some clues indicate their friendship might date back to before they moved to California in 1900 but I really don't know. I don't see any evidence of the Bealls being related to us, however. They were maybe her friends from back in Ohio or Pennsylvania or somewhere but I really never knew these people existed until I read the diaries.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I wonder what makes those crazy people think that I would ever go to New York. I don't "get" any Dutch money for one thing and also there would be nothing for me to do there. I don't actually know anyone in New York and would probably just be miserable there I would imagine. In my mind I never was the New York type.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I suppose it is sort of interesting that Jacob Chamberlain, the missionary to India in the 19th century, was a graduate of Western Reserve College in Ohio. Nowadays we do not think of Ohio as being a western state but I suppose that back in the 19th century Ohio was already quite a few miles west of New York. Anyway, although there were many impressive missionaries serving in the 19th century around the world, it is true that Chamberlain's ability to tell his story in book form brings him into sharp focus in many minds even though many others could tell similar stories, probably, but did not write books about it so we only have Chamberlain, who wasn't the first or the last, only one more vocal than most, certainly. Only recently did I learn that my great-grandparents, the Barth ones, were actually from Ohio. Oh, I didn't know that. I never had any thought of Ohio as being a state of interest. I just thought everyone was from California. Perhaps it was the wimps who stayed back East and did not go out to the mission fields to witness so whatever. Now I am confusing myself. But which was which? Ok, sorry. Whatever.

Anyway, those guys made it so hard for me to be nice to them. They are always so angry with me. It is not like I could ever doing anything right in their eyes. If I say the world is round they will argue that the world is flat just to spite me. And even if they are wrong you can be sure that things will be rejiggered for them to win the "game "even if it really wasn't a game, just the truth, but if so they really deserved to lose. Which means that I need to just disappear from their lives entirely so that they will not get another chance to "hurt" me because basically nobody cares what happens to me. I am just not going to be available on that grounds.

I am not your Irish double, notwithstanding the fictions in circulation. I am actually not interested in getting the second-hand junk of Michigan's stupid Pammy-Puke. Maybe someday the Roberts family will get a clue and move back to Michigan where they belong because, really, I am not their slave property. I really don't care about them. I only care about my family and me, like everybody else on the planet. Hillsdale College means nothing to me.

Which Reminds Me

There are varying ways to interpret Revelation 2:17, the verse about the white stone engraved with a new name that will be given to the one who overcomes. There are those who interpret that as exclusively referring to a wedding in which the winning girl's new name is inscribed on the wedding invitations. However, that is not the interpretation that we discussed as children in MK school. I thought we were talking about the personal relationship between Jesus and each individual believer who is an overcomer in Christ. The church is the Bride of Christ and when Jesus returns to earth then history will change radically but not before then. Only Jesus has the authority to put all things at his feet. In the meantime many counterfeits and imposters may appear and deceive many.

Which Reminds Me

Someone said that the guy who my sister's college roommate ran off with, a sports guy, was also Portuguese. Oh, I didn't that. I personally would not recommend any close association with the creepy weird Portuguese, especially not the flaky stupid Santiago weirdos, but whatever. Who am I to tell people what to do? Whatever.

Which Reminds Me

At Southern California College, during the year my sister was there also, my sister's roommate, a pathetically MK from somewhere, I really don't remember which country, you could always ask my sister who probably remembers more about that than I do, one night came up to my dorm room to ask my advice as a big sister. I had mixed feelings about that because I don't really know her and I don't like being asked my advice when I actually don't know what this person ought to do. She said that she really liked this guy who was on the basketball team and he had asked her out and she wanted to go out with him even though some people didn't like him. So I'm saying, uh, well, if that's what you want to do, if you like sports guys, then, basically, do whatever you want. Who am I to tell her what to do? So basically she ended up within a month or two married to the guy and living somewhere off-campus. I really don't remember who those people were. You could always asked my sister. My sister came up with some twisted logic about how it was all my fault that her roommate had run off with this creepy sport delinquent pervert. Um... I don't see how it could be my fault. I didn't tell her what to do. I just basically told her to do whatever she wants because, basically, she is not my problem. Who am I to tell this people what to do? I don't anything specifically about sports people so I really wouldn't be able to comment. I vaguely recall the existence of Rich Jessup but that is about all I know about sports at SCC.

Which Reminds Me

I was not expecting anything from "IT" so it was rather strange to find myself slandered and defamed by those boring things who were of no interest to anyone, as if I had asked them a favor or something. If God loves me, what is that to them? Why do they so resent the fact that God loves me just as much as anybody else, just as much as them? And "Who is Sylvia" anyway? I really don't care that much what Sylvia thinks about anything. Sylvia is really nothing to me in retrospect.

Which Reminds Me

It was my mom's idea for us to watch the movie "Mary Poppins" at some time, I don't remember when or where. Still, that is no reason for the pathetically stupid Dutch dogs to imagine that I would ever agree to be hired as nanny to their dog Cori, hideous monster that she is.  No, I am not in any way interested in functioning as a nanny and play that miserable role, not withstanding the fakey movie stuff. I cannot even begin to tell how revolting the idea is to me. I would rather commit suicide if I cannot marry and have my own life and family. How utterly cruel these Dutch dogs are in imagining such nonsense.

Which Reminds Me

Never in my life did I apply for a job at Del Taco, where Cori was working her way up the ladder hoping to manage taco and burrito preparations, and she often prattled on about her job there, about how she hands out extra specially stuffed tacos and burritos to her friends when they drop in, about her creepy manager who was harassing her in weird ways that make one wonder why she would tolerate such behavior just for a lowly taco job, etc. etc. Whatever. Anyway, I cannot be expected to keep track of those snarky stupid people, especially when they are refusing to give me any credit for anything that I did say. I have better things to do than stuff tacos and tolerate the harassment from Cori. Thus, when Cori started ordering me around as part of her management training I refused to participate. They were not paying for anything so obviously I was wasting my time trying to pretend that Cori was ever any kind of friend to me. No, she was just some type of a monster machine who had to be replaced.

Which Reminds Me

We learned from the example of crude and vulgar Dutch dog Cori that the so-called Establishment is nothing but a farce. How ridiculous that these Dutch riff-raff would try to pass off their foul-mouthed sleazy trash Cori as some kind of "good" person. Utterly laughable. She is nothing but garbage, her brain full of stupid rock songs, who spends all her time with a gang of sleazy whiney guys who moved off campus mainly so that they can easily keep beers in their refrigerator without running afoul of campus rules. How virtuous is that? There never was anything good or nice to say about Cori and her gang of ruffians. I really could not care less about those people. They are just Deep South nothingness of which I declined to continue association because I really got tired of their drearily nonsensical chatter always so meaningless to me. I really wish these Dutch would get lost so I do not have to listen to them any longer. I am sick and tired of this Dutch drone garbage. I just don't care. I think that putrid Cori should own her own lousy reputation for being a worthless piece of garbage.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it was very scary hearing these Dutch dogs muttering threats against me, as if they were going to run my life and tell me what to do and order me around. How horrifying! Cori in college was trying to act like my employer and order me around but I refused to bow to her stupid whims. She then kicked me out of the room which was fine with me. I would rather be utterly alone than stuck with putrid Cori in my life. Thosee Dutch dogs are nothing to me, just a bunch of Linda's snarky stupid in-laws probably. I would rather commit suicide than take orders from the crude and vulgar Dutch, to tell the truth.

Which Reminds Me

These books, "Turn of the Screw" and "Room With a View," are not my books. I did not read these books. These books were only suggestions from somewhere in La-La land, probably by the same person who went into some bizarre harangue about Edgar Allan Poe, as if his existence were proof that the Calkins family is evil and must be wiped off the map, as if I were somehow related to that devilish cad who dreamed of a trip to the moon. Well, Ancestry.com's famous relatives button did churn up Poe as a distant cousin of ours, but I might as well fly to the moon as figure out how that connection works, so distant is it from us. So perhaps we and Poe are chips off the same tree way back somewhere but not being of Greek persuasion, we do not imagine ourselves as indistinguishable flames. We are much indebted to the Greeks for their contributions to philosophy, and yet we see that too much Greek philosophy contributes to gnostic error. To Christians, the individual soul is a unique treasure of value in God's sight, and God's sight is the only thing that matters in the long run.

So Logically

If only a handful of people even know anything about the Burrell money that was taken and they are going to keep it and the rest of us poor people must just die, because we don't get the Burrell money, then obviously the entire state of Michigan will be nuked, wiped off the map because nobody gets a prize just for having tombstone. Is that clear enough, you snarky Michiganders? You just won't have time to figure it out before it is all over.

Oh, I See

Now we see how those snarky Michigan dogs are going to lose their snarky little game and get themselves automatically eliminated from the finals. We see that the Michi-Ganders are all clued in to Alfred J. Burrell, a carver of tombstones at a cemetery in Ypsilanti, Michigan. So? Yes, so everybody's tombstone will have a birth and death date and not much else, as these Michiganders are fond of reminding us, and that just might sum up their lives as well, sad to say, because obviously, their Burro is not the Alfred W. Burrell, the bridge builder in Oakland, Calif., who walked off with the Salvadoran dough. Who are we to argue with the Tribunal of Arbitrators? And what valuable point do the Michiganders think they are making by pointing out the cemeteries of Michigan? I fail to see the value of the point when I never knew of the existence of Alfred W. Burrell in the first place, so, like, whatever. Why should we care about the tombstones of Michigan? I really couldn't care less, to be specific. If Michiganders are so fond of their Ypsilanti tombstone engravers, perhaps they could will a final resting place there. Because really I don't have a clue what their point is. We are all born and die but only one Alfred Burro has the dough, and the Michiganders just don't have what it takes.

Which Reminds Me

Someone has accused me of overheating, but obviously they are not talking about me. They are perhaps referring to the time that the radiator on my Mercury Topaz sprung a leak, causing the engine to overheat and eventually resulting in the replacement of the entire radiator. Or else maybe they are referring to Cori, my college roommate who was talking about her boyfriend James. That was not about me. I only heard something that Cori said.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I sometimes wonder why the slobbering idiot trashy wicked [Popineau] family imagines they will have anything to say about me and my future? In a million years I would not be interested in further socializing with their creepy weirdo Loren (and his dog Alana), what a stupid hack he was in terms of preaching, grating to the ears, so obviously the personal opinions of the obnoxious Popineau family are of no concern to me and can be easily shrugged off as the mutterings of a stupid idiot. Sylvia's problem is not my problem. That was utterly rude of them to trash me and steal my personal reputation which is of much more worth to me than some stupid table that can always be replaced anyway. The Popineaus are overly pompous in their French-fried airs. Obviously the insular French and Germans are cruising for a bruising but it would not be my place to return the favor.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was talking about Mickey Mantle jokes but I don't remember the context. Maybe that was the Stewarts kidding around with Mickey Wright, Becky Stewart's husband, although he was never an athlete needless to say. Or maybe that was in college where there was someone named Larry Mantle. I don't remember anything specific, obviously. It might have been something Susie said although I have forgotten. Sorry.

Which Reminds Me

In great-grandmother's diaries, we see that she often talks about watching wildlife on television. We are not surprised to see this reference to Mutual of Omaha's famous Animal Wildlife program. After all, we remember that at Grandma and Grandpa Calkins' house this very televisions programs was highly approved and they would likely sit down and enjoy watching that themselves. In fact, back in olden times a National Geographical special on television some night would be occasion to draw everyone around the television set for a treat watching Jacques Cousteau's latest voyage of discovery or something like that. Grandpa Calkins also was a lifetime member of the San Diego Zoo which explains the presence of zoo magazines all over the house and Grandpa's free ticket to the zoo plus he would get us all special discounts. So, like, what is so unusual about that? Nowadays there are entire TV channels dedicated to animal documentaries that are highly popular so obviously we were normal people.

However, TV programs of which Grandpa Calkins would not approve included Bob Hope movies. I remember his disapproval when we were found to be watching that. It was not so much that the funniness but the off-color nature of the humor of which Grandpa Calkins disapproved. Yes, Hope really does grate on one's nerves if one pays too much attention to that. Grandpa Calkins was probably right on that point.

Which Reminds Me

I remember that I attended the 1977 Christmas banquet invited by Jim Linzey and there I saw Warren Dobson with Grace Yukumoto, the Hawaiian Japanese who was vamping with us girls earlier that evening. Well, we did not say hello. We just left Warren to his chess game in Bangkok because it is not our problem. Whatever.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I cleaned my bathroom but you will never see it. My bathroom is not Grand Central Station so without an invitation you will not get a chance at that. Anyway, I would not recommend that you eat off my bathroom floor. How revolting that you would even suggest such a thing. North Carolina often seems to behave like the flea-bitten armpit of a thousand camels.

And wasn't Becky Nolin (MK-Malaysia), who lived on the same dorm floor, at the other extreme of the hall, during the year I was at Evangel, from Alabama? One day she introduced us to the music of Boston, playing some of their songs on her stereo set, and I did like their music even though they are quite the heavy metal trip. I don't get much more heavy metal than that. Beyond Boston, it gets to be just so much noise.

Which Reminds Me

Speaking of songwriting, I am vaguely reminded of something that Lynda Botsford said. Lynda said that Debbie Tracy had written a song and performed it at some graduation-related function. Lynda was impressed with Debbie's song and thought it sounded pretty good. I myself did not hear Debbie's song as I did not attend that function so I really would not be able to comment on that. I reaally have no idea. Lots of people write songs about many things for many purposes. Whatever.

Strangely

It just wouldn't do for me to prattle on as if I were Queen Elizabeth or Anne Boleyn or some other reject of the Tudors and/or some snarky Italian. The Tudors have no place to be throwing stones at me when obviously they have no claim to the English throne, either, and their very own Henry a flawed character to say the least. I am sure that they know better than I the flawed outlook for Henry Tudor himself even though his descendants live on even though there are those who wish to review the Catholic/Protestant divorce. Anyway, we see that nowadays there are American Tudors as well as British but none of these have much place to tell Queen Elizabeth what to do when obviously they threw their tea boxes into Boston Harbor long ago figuratively speaking. Nobody really cares about that. Lots of very ordinary people may have royal ancestry. Yes, and what was the Reba Rambo song that talked about having royal blood flowing through my veins? I can't really speak for Reba Rambo, even though I may have sung some of her songs at church, but anyway it was just a figuratively speaking idea. We as believers in Christ are grafted onto the tree, as the Bible says in Romans 11. So it is really nothing to boast of, being not of our own doing but only a matter of faith in Christ. And Jesus himself said that he could make new descendants of Abraham out of stones (Matthew 3:9). I cannot imagine how a simple song sung in church could create such confusion among the church audience. Someone out there is really really stupid and pretending to be one of us or something like that, obviously.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I probably should not have stayed at SCC as long as I did, especially not graduate from there, as there is really not much there for me, just some empty memories of nothing much. I don't remember very much about those people. Maybe we talked once or twice and then again maybe not. Anyway, some persons wrote in my yearbook that I had much to give. So other persons went through my yearbook and erased everything good of positive encouragement and left behind only their own curses of myself being of no value to anyone. Ok, so, fine. I really don't care who you are. My treasures are not here in heaven so you will just never know.

Which Reminds Me

My co-worker in California, Mindy Anderson, talked her interest in literature in books. She was talking about some books that she had read but I really don't remember anything specific about that. Sorry but so many books, so little time.

Which Reminds Me

At college there was a whole quad of guys who prided themselves in chewing tobacco. This was perhaps a sneaky way of getting around college rules forbidding smoking and dancing. Personally I don't see anything particularly "cool" about chewing tobacco. Makes you wonder how they ever got girlfriends willing to kiss such tobacco breath, but they did. Anyway, I never really wanted to think about them that much. I remember that Heather Stewart, a South Africa MK, married one of the tobacco chewers, Dwight McConnell. Later Dwight became a missionary to South Africa himself and Heather was able to return to the country where she grew up. I really never asked how they got approved as tobacco chewing missionaries. Some things are better left unsaid. If I were to ask about that I am sure that I would get back a lot of guff because it will done unto you what do unto others, so to speak, is sort of an unwritten rule. If I were to make waves about the tobacco chewers I am sure that they would find some reason to snipe back at me so I never said anything else about that. Whatever. It is better to leave such matters to the authorities that be because it is not my place to say. It is not my place to check up on their tobacco fumes.

Anderson Terrorists

It is very strange to see that we are being terrorized by the wicked Anderson family, as if there were anything nice to say about those boring people. As if we ever knew those people existed as an entity of interest until someone pointed out the Scotty Kid book. Perhaps there is not even anything Scottish about the Scandinavian "Scotty Kid" who either died in 1895 in Montana or else rode the rails post-jail time to a new life as a missionary in Hawaii and later Bolivia. As if we had ever given a second thought to the existence of the dreary Anderson nobodies. Perhaps our great-grandparents met the Andersons while evangelizing in China in the 1910s and then again maybe not. I really would not know anything about that. Oddly, our great-grandparents were in Hawaii in the 1930s while the Andersons were in Hawaii in the 1910s. Not that anyone ever mentioned whether the two families were ever acquainted. To us Tom Anderson was nothing much, just another boring guy at college of no interest. He married Gretchen Grams, a South Africa MK. I wonder if she was acquainted with that boring Tom Shirey who also married but divorced a South Africa MK. Tom wrote in my yearbook some drivel about how I am tied up with a bow on my head waiting for some lucky guy to come along, but what would Tom know about anything? South Africa is not my problem. It will be hard for those boring guys to find pastoral jobs after all the churches are gone, after they have run off all of the people with their mysterious intrigues and there are not enough people left inside church doors to pay the electric bill. Sure, maybe you can always get more people later, and then maybe again the world is ending and the Tribulation will be yours to work through. I really don't care that much.

Gold Standard

Yes, who does not remember Grandpa Calkins muttering about the gold standard, deploring the government's decision to depart from the gold standard. Yes, and someone is trying to continue the same old argument over the gold standard even though Grandpa Calkins has been gone for about 20 years now at least and the gold standard abandoned for longer, since 1976. What does gold matter now when paper is abundant? One can always grow more trees. Anyway, everyone already knows that the value of money cannot be fixed. It fluctuates due to inflation or deflation. No big secret there. So why all this fuss over nothing much? Discussion of the monetary system is not found in chemistry textbooks. At least our money still bears the words "In God We Trust," because that is all that we would need to say about that. "In God We Trust" is a good fix for monetary policy. However there is still the problem of these loose cannons rolling around the decks.

Which Reminds Me

I am reminded of the time that I was talking to Dave Hoskins and I, like, used the word "like" in that slangy way in which "like" is inserted randomly in whatever sentence one is using. And then Dave derisively dismissed me as a pathetically inarticulate Valley Girl type of person. Dave's analysis was not quite right but whatever. That was probably the last time I ever talked to Dave, not that I care. Looking back, we see that it was rather hypocritical of Dave to criticize a minor flaw in my speech patterns when actually he himself is of the lowest order of slobbering idiot as we now know all too well. It is not so much what you say as what you do that makes the difference, needless to say.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, those snarky Italians have certainly placed a heavy hex on my life. During the time at Oakland Park I recall that Jennie Cerullo was visiting and she attended a rehearsal. I was rehearsing the "gold" song, which talks about one's faith being refined in the fire as analogous to the fire that refines gold, and Jennie later remarked that she had never heard me sounding so modern, she remembering only the old-fashioned stuff that I did at college. Of course, Jennie has nothing but scorn and contempt for persons who studied music in college, which she also said at the same time, herself being a natural-born singer not having any use for the stodgy forms of classical music taught in colleges, not that Jennie's musical career has achieved any public prominence as yet. I have yet to find any albums by Jennie on sale anywhere. We shall see. So anyway, what snarky things Jennie had to say about me behind my back in this regard I can only imagine. I do remember talking to Jennie a couple of times at college but I never spent any time hanging out with her snarky cheerleader clique.

Also at Oakland Park was that snarky little Rosanne monster. Once at a house meeting she accused me of giving her the evil eye. Oh, did I do that? I don't remember it that way. Perhaps I was less than impressed with Rosanne's boring recital of her own wonderfulness. Her attempts at singing in church were painful to hear and yet I dare not say anything as I have no position of strength with which to shrug off the constant whine of these dreary whiners. I would sort of like those French-Italian whiners to stop pretending they want to be Protestant, go back to their dreary Catholic homes and leave us Pentecostals in peace. There are just too many of them around here. In fact, Italians are not a superior race and have no business ordering me around when they are obviously not paying my salary. It was Susie who was on staff at Oakland Park, not I. Why Susie was fired I really can't say. She never really explained. Anyway, Christ's church was founded on a rock, which was Peter, a disciple of Christ, a Jewish man ethnically speaking, not a place called Rome where Peter was martyred as were many of the early Christians, so typical of Italy.

Shortly after I returned to South Florida in about 1993 or 1994 Pastor Max ordered me to leave his church and to move away but I did not obey Max's stupid orders. Max, being the pathetically stupid idiot that he is, had apparently worked out some deal with those wicked Italian witches in which I was fired along with Susie. I don't think that deal is fair to me when, for one thing, I actually do not understand why Susie was fired in the first place (Max did the firing for whatever reasons) and anyway the Italian whiners have always behaved lower than dirt toward me so I really don't trust any of them. If I left I would just be giving in to Max's wickedness and depravity. Thus I will need to break Max's deal. So here I sit waiting for someone to help me resolve this problem that I don't really understand. Huh?

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I am sure that I sang a "gold" song at Oakland Park young adults meeting with the band although at the moment I am not sure which songbook I found it in. I have quite a few songbooks actually that I purchased along the way and the "gold" song was available in a songbook and was one that worked for my voice, not that I would ever sound anything like Reba Rambo. Oh, did the vain and arrogant ones of South America think that "gold" applied to them only and that the rest of us are scrap metal chatarra? No, we are not chatarra any more than anyone else and anyway my choice of song had nothing to do with Peru. It is sort of confusing to have this snarky Carol Garlit monster spewing misinformation. Those Johnsons are not related to anyone of interest. Peru can easily be replaced. Neither the Walkers nor the Latter Rain people started that. The treasure analogies come straight out of the Bible, obviously.

1 Corinthians 3:11-15: For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, their work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work. If what has been built survives, the builder will receive a reward. If it is burned up, the builder will suffer loss but yet will be saved—even though only as one escaping through the flames.

1 Peter 1:3-5: In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time.

1 Peter 1:17-19: Since you call on a Father who judges each person’s work impartially, live out your time as foreigners here in reverent fear. For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect.

1 Peter 2:9: But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvelous light;

Revelation 3:18: I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was talking about how embarrassing it must be for us to have this Dutch Linda going around with our surname, Calkins, pretending to be related to us when actually we are not Dutch and don't really know anything about those people or where she gets her stuff. Yes, Linda is a problematic person in our family and it doesn't help that all of these nasty people are helping her destroy me even though I didn't do anything to her. It was my Uncle Merle who divorced her for whatever reasons. I really don't understand. Linda is not our problem. She has plenty of Dutch money to take care of herself, obviously, so we really have no reason to feel sorry for them, especially not now.

Which Reminds Me

Those were some funny stories that Jill Anderson was telling about the persons who went to her sister, a licensed counselor, Sue Watkins, for counseling. They were unaware of the facts of life but wanted to start a family and needed some clues. I don't remember hearing their names but I am sure that Jill and Sue know who they are. I can see why someone probably decided to dump Jill but I do protest them dumping me in the same category as Jill when obviously it was Jill's big mouth that put those people's identities into wide circulation. I wouldn't be able to do that, obviously.

Which Reminds Me

The Italian magazine vendor was very pushy, very hypnotic of sales pitch. I was almost persuaded to buy magazines and then the extreme pushiness turned me off and I ordered the man to leave. Snapping myself back to reality, I suddenly realized that I can't do that. As good and affordable as that magazine deal sounded I don't even live there, only visiting, and don't need the hassle of having to change address very shortly, of having that stuff piling up in my place and not enough time to read even half, and later having to haul all of that stuff out to the garbage bin, all of which hassle I would be paying for. So I did not buy the magazine deal and, needless to say, don't want to hear another word about it. Thus I acquired an immunity to pushy magazine vendors who pound on the door a bit too vehemently. I am just not interested. Go away and leave me alone.

Which Reminds Me

Hmmm.... Sometimes I wonder if Jill Anderson is related to the Anderson who married Dawn Saword and whether they related to Tom Anderson. I don't really know the Andersons but I do know that the Sawords are mostly anti-Pentecostal, as are the Baptist Bells and Reeses, so we would not want to have those ignorant Baptists running our lives behind the scenes, needless to say. There is nothing particularly more talented about Baptists. That is a myth they often fuel to mask their disagreement with Pentecostals on various points of theology. Since we cannot expect to get a fair deal from the clueless Baptists, we will need to be able to chart our own course in life without undue interference from these pathetically clueless Baptist Andersons, Bells, Reeses, Nippers, Evans, etc. I am not being mean in throwing out the obnoxiously secretly Baptist Jill dog. They just don't understand.

Which Reminds Me

Who would know about "The Lottery" story anyway except my very own sister and also possibly her California roommates Linda Harrington and Jill Anderson, boring persons of no interest to anyone.

Which Reminds Me

The story of Corrie ten Boom sort of gives the impression that the Dutch are always right, always the heroes, always wholesome and nice. Of course, Corrie ten Boom is nothing like that trashy dog Cori Nipper, who comes from a vile disgusting family of Japan dogs that somehow has not yet been prosecuted for being unbelievably obnoxious. Someone really ought to take the Japan dogs to account for a change because they get way too much credit for really nothing.

Which Reminds Me

I don't have to explain that we are not Dutch. That was so nice of Susie's brother David to pay for sodas that time Susie and I went somewhere with him to a restaurant in El Salvador. I mean, nobody said anything beforehand about it being a Dutch event and so it was just assumed that since David generously invited, David would be generously paying for all. Otherwise I would not have been there in the first place. Otherwise David would have said upfront that I would need to pay for my own soda or whatever it was that we had there. That is not how it unfolded in my view and I have yet to feel even a twinge of guilt over that minor incident which has been transmogrified into something else by the shenanigans of some obnoxious persons. If the Stewarts are such kind and generous people, why are they demanding that I pay for Cathy's lunch? I think that you are supposed to give without demanding anything in return. Otherwise God cannot bless your generosity given that you are just a stingy miser in disguise.

Which Reminds Me

Hmmm....tuning tuning....I seem to hear someone saying that the Dutch have gotten much too big for their britches. Well, you be the judge. I don't even know any Dutch so have no clue what their problem is. We are all Americans so you have your freedom. I really don't understand what the Dutch are expecting from us as they never include us anyway, just live over there in their Dutch milkmaid cottages grinding cheese and treating us non-Dutch pioneers like garbage. So if they were expecting my thanks for that, well, no, they are not going to get much respect just for doing everybody's duty. You are just another cog in the wheel, obviously, and there is nothing I need to say to the Dutch.

Yes, and wasn't it the Dutch who exalted pagan trash Sandra way beyond her level of accomplishment? There is nothing Christian about Sandra that I can recall. Who even knew how low those people would stoop to gain attention for the Emperor Maximilian jokes? Appalling!

Which Reminds Me

Yes, we all know that Grandpa Calkins was on the board of Ed Cole's "Maximized Manhood" ministry. But before that Ed Cole was among the hired workers of Grandpa Calkins' plastering contractor business. The transition from hired worker to ministry leader means that Ed Cole got saved while or after working for Grandpa Calkins. I myself heard Mr. Cole say that Grandpa Calkins had been a role model for him in changing his life around. He filled my Dad's shoes with cement at work but did not get much response. Anyway, if Ed Cole had not gotten saved and had continued on his path toward alcoholism and wicked prankfulness, it is doubtful that Grandpa Calkins would ever have become a board member of the Cole family ministry. Nowadays our family feels no obligation of slavery to the Cole family. That was strictly a thing of their generation. We saw their smiling faces on Christmas card photos but we really don't know anything about those people. I did meet his daughter Joan at college once but our paths never crossed. I don't know anything about her. Anyway, if you did not get saved you cannot be expect to be commanding the Salvation Army. It just doesn't work that way.

Which Reminds Me

Years ago Grandpa Calkins was traveling with Ed Cole, a minister who wrote a book called "Maximized Manhood" and who had an extensive men's ministry. Grandpa Calkins said that he arrived at a church somewhere in Colorado maybe but that Ed Cole's flight was delayed or something and did not arrive at all so the people there had Grandpa Calkins say a few words from the pulpit on his behalf. He said that it made him very nervous because he is not really a minister and not accustomed to public speaking. That is all that I would be able to remember about that.

Which Reminds Me

Which reminds me that Aunt Cindy was visiting recently and while here said, almost as an aside, that they have everything locked up like a "bug-bear." Hmmm. I wonder what she meant by that. It would be hard for us to explain how alarming it would be to have them controlling everything when obviously they are booked clueless when it comes to "things that matter." They have it all locked up and they are expecting me to run around like a chicken with its head cut off which is why this is not going to work for me. A strike is one way to draw attention to the futility of life with them in control of anything that does not belong to them.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is trying to shovel guilt on my head, as if I had some share in creepy Pastor Webber's self-admitted guilt. Also, there are these mysterious imputations of guilt over the murder of a black child, as if that ever happened. Some people have big imaginations because obviously that never happened that I ever heard of. And what about all of these murdered white children? Does the color or ethnicity of the child murdered make any difference in the eyes of justice? I think not. I never murdered anyone so obviously this is not my problem. Robbing Peter to pay Paul will not get you anywhere. The present scheme is only a redistribution of guilt. Someone really ought to send Cori's angry "guilt trip" comments back to her big fat mouth because guilt was really her problem to start with, not mine. I only overheard something.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, Germans are so demanding of honor for themselves at the expense of the English and yet they make it so hard for us to do that when probably that would mean crediting their pedophilic idiot Pastor Webber for some mysterious reason that does not come to mind. Huh? Honor to a German skunk? Sometimes just holding the pastoral position is just not that important in relation to some other values such as honesty, fair play, personal integrity, etc. So the Germans will be sorry about this eventually, hopefully.

Which Reminds Me

I did read "Alice in Wonderland" and "Alice Through the Looking Glass," both books by the pseudonymous Lewis Carroll, which were in the MK school library when I was in 6th or 8th grade. However, I do not remember very much about those books. They were entertaining to read but I would not want to pretend that they made any sense. They were a pleasant pastime and I always did like to read. However, I am not so stupid as to think that books are a substitute for reality and the implied suggestions is very insulting to my dignity. Imposing some absurd logic drawn from those sources would be going too far but obviously I am not the person who did that.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is reminding me that my own song for 10th grade analysis of song lyrics as poetry was "Morning Has Broken," which was performed by Cat Stevens. At first glance this song seems to invoke the idea of the Garden of Eden, a time before mankind had fallen when God daily visited with Adam and Eve there. But God was not the only visitor to the Garden of Eden. Yes, I suppose that the song could just as easily be interpreted to invoke visions of the snake walking in the garden before it was cursed to crawl on its belly. I really don't remember what I said about the song in high school. Looking back at the song lyrics now, one sees the snake there, certainly. Adam and Eve were deceived by the snake, hid themselves from God, and were later barred from the Garden of Eden. Ok, so I was not so theologically informed in 10th grade. I doubt that I would choose that song now for any reason, but at the time it seemed a harmless choice for the high school assignment to be fulfilled, which was to choose a popular song of the day for poetry analysis. Yes, I suppose that spinnage could render it harmful. Sorry about that but anyway since I am not allowed to do spinnage someone else will have to take the blame for that.

Which Reminds Me

Someone called me a chatterbox so they must have me confused with my Aunt Anita, who is well known to be chatter endlessly on various topics of which no one else understands. Nobody really understands the Butterfields, what their problem is and why they carry on so but nothing much really. They are always moving around so we do not know very much about them and the various jobs and occupations they might have held and left behind, the people who know them are unknown to us. They were known to be moving somewhere new almost every year so obviously we cannot be expected to comment on them. I just have no clue.

I Can Only Say

We are grateful for the extensive non-smoking regulations of today that these isolate smokers like them. We no longer have to smell their offensive odorous fumes emanating from their fingered sticks. Speaking of high school, Libbey Penders is a prime example of shameless smoker. Granted that smoking or non-smoking isn't everything. Lots of dumb people don't smoke and otherwise smart people smoke. However, I am yet not persuaded to take up the dreary nervous habit of smoking and probably never will be. I just don't care and I just want these snarky smokers to butt out of my personal life. High school is over. Go get a life.

Which Reminds Me

Many years ago my aunt married a smoker but Uncle Steve later quit smoking. I don't know, maybe he was feeling guilty or something. I never really discussed this with them but I do think that Grandma Calkins would not be shy about making her opinion known on the subject. Perhaps they have not heard the news that Uncle Steve quit smoking, although I am not the police. I don't patrol those people and it is not my problem.

Which Reminds Me

I have no particular interest in ever visiting New Orleans as there is really nothing in Louisiana of interest to me, no one who I would ever call for a meeting with as I really don't know those people very well. However, I do recall that New Orleans has a special significance for people in El Salvador. The wealthy girls of that country often fly to New Orleans for weekend shopping expeditions, I remember overhearing. Also, they have many connections there. New Orleans seems to be a power base for them even though not for me. I imagine perhaps hearing that Ralph Williams' sons might have settled there also but nobody cares about those old fogies. Ralph Williams was an early missionary to El Salvador starting back in the 1920s or 1930s. However, the Williams sons are nothing to us, just cranky old ne'er-do-wells of no reputation. They have no special magical powers and we are really not interested in comparing notes with them on missionary kid experiences. The Williams boys' experience was no doubt vastly different than ours I am sure but they would be wrong to condemn us for not living in little huts, riding to church on horseback, etc., as they may have done. It just wasn't like that for us 50 years later. Times changed.

Also in New Orleans was Lillian Pilarinos. Although "Lil Pill" was there for two years teaching at the MK school, she was never my teacher because in eighth grade Miss Pill was teaching the 1st through 4th graders and in 9th grade I was at the American School while Miss Pill was helping Dawn Saword with her 9th grade correspondence courses at the little school. I don't remember whether Josephine from the Philippines was still around then. I really don't remember much about Josephine.
Someone was trying to paint us Southerners by virtue of Miss Pill's being there but that would be sort of misleading. Miss Pill has a unique Dixieland view of the U.S. Civil War which she was explaining to us but I don't understand. I tend to think it was more complicated than just Northern industries running roughshod over Southern agricultural interests.  I tend to think that the South could not continue to condone slavery. Eventually someone would intervene so better that the U.S. clean its own house than someone else.

Which Reminds Me

Those Italians — Kathy, Joan, Heather — were unbelievably cruel to me during high school so I really would rather forget entirely about high school and all of the misery entailed in my miserable adolescent existence there as well as the cruel wicked witches who inflicted such unbearable humiliation upon me at every social opportunity. Everything I say or do will be used against me pretty much explains their philosophy of communication in terms of me. They are saying that my words are my "seed" and they take all of my "seed" words and mangling and warping and throwing them away to the four winds so that I can never have any effect on them or anyone else. Is it any wonder I am a quiet person? You might say that I was X-communicated. Thus we see that nothing good will ever happen to me if they have anything to say about it. They have made these plans from before the beginning of the world so obviously I don't care if I ever see those snarky dogs ever again in this lifetime to be brutally honest. Maybe in heaven we will all get along but down here we never did.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is pointing out that in 10th grade English class Joan Calabrese presented the Carly Simon song, "Anticipation," which was also a ketchup TV commercial. She made some personal comparisons to her own family, where smoking is prevalent. This proves conclusively that I am not related to Joan and really don't care what she does. There were many songs discussed in Miss Marken's class but I don't have complete notes on that stuff. I really don't care that much. It is one thing to say hello at high school reunion but there is a limit. There is no reason to be jerking me back to 10th grade all of the time. The Bible says, "Do unto others what you would have them do unto you." So if they think they hooked me, that means that they will have to eat their own bait because they have actually hooked themselves.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it always make me very uneasy and nervous when people threaten to eat me, say that I have been eaten. So many jokes on my name it just gets ridiculous. "So if your name is Candy, are you sweet?" "Can I eat you, Candy?" Etc. Etc. Never mind that my name is not spelled with a "y." It just goes right past them, in one ear and out the other. People continually joke on my name nevertheless and I get very tired of hearing it. I am not food. I am a real person whose feeling get hurt sometimes. Cannibals will be charged.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, who was the high school classmate who mentioned in an oral report something about the draft dodgers who fled to Canada? I cannot quite recall the context of that or who said it. I just seem to suddenly remember the mention of draft dodgers living in Canada. Those poor things shivering in their ice cube igloos must be having a chilly time up there and no way to get home without facing justice face to face. I really wouldn't know as I never dodged the draft, not being male and also military service not being a legal requirement of our family. I can't speak for your family but only in Israel is a two-year military service de rigeur for all, the last I heard. I have not emigrated to Israel as far as I know so I feel no obligatory guilt at not having taken that route. I really wasn't interested and the nation has an overabundance of persons taking that route anyway so there was no reason to imagine that our family was going to require military and/or ministerial service. Either way, it is strictly up to you what you want to do. We really don't care.

Books

It may seem strange that I have found the books of Jacob Chamberlain interesting as he was actually a missionary for the Dutch Reformed Church, to which we have no direct connection and in which we have no personal interest. Chamberlain was a missionary of the 1800s while our church, the Pentecostal denomination of AG, did not even exist until about 1916. The Dutch Reformed Church brings to mind visions of the Crystal Cathedral which was recently sold out to Catholics so there is nothing there to draw our interest in any way, not that there ever was. The Crystal Cathedral was a repository of old-fashioned stuffed churchiness veering, as on a pendulum, toward high church extremes. Pentecostals, on the other hand, are somewhere on the low church end of the pendulum which suits us just fine. In our churches we have no use for organs that look like rocket launchers, what with all the electric guitars and keyboards in current use. Nobody really cares about organs in our churches when a good piano is available. I never took organ lessons from Mark Thallander because I really never cared for the sound of organ music and there was no reason to explain that I just don't care about organs. So?

If Only

Yes, if only I had been born in the city of Detroit where, in lieu of attending college classes, I could just walk over to the University of Michigan libraries and spend all day every day reading through their vast collection of old 19th century magazines. I would feel like a genius I am sure having spotted every point of intelligence and sparkling wit to be drawn from those sources, not to mention the technology that followed a century later. Michigan's collection seems to rival anything that New England Ivy Leaguers might offer in the way of 19th century magazines. And yet who even knew that stuff was there until Google did us the favor of putting it all online? Thank you very much, Google. We will always be grateful at least for that. Now we can all pretend to be one of those snarky know-it-all Detroit high school dropouts, never mind that we could never get access to the contents of private libraries of wealthy people such as the Rockefellers, etc. etc. At least Google's efforts have leveled the playing field somewhat for the rest of us clueless persons geographically disadvantaged in terms of library access even if we do not get the money side of it.

Which Reminds Me

I was talking to that girl at high school shortly before graduation and she was telling me that there was some controversy involving the boys' coach. I don't remember what she said. I just remember explaining that his name is Jesus because, strangely, many Catholics in Latin America name their sons Jesus. This seems strange to us English people because we have too much respect for the name Jesus to be putting it on our own children. To us the name of Jesus is set aside for the Son of God. But anyway these not-so-well-educated Catholics sometimes give the name Jesus to their sons. I remember that he was more often called "Don Shus" but that was his nickname, perhaps a way to avoid saying the name. As I was saying, his given first name is Jesus even though that name will not get so much respect in the U.S. It seems weird to us.

Which Reminds Me

I once used the word powwow in an article wrote, using it as a synonym for meeting. It was a casual planning meeting, not a formal proceeding, so that would seem to fit. Later someone told me not to use that word in the future because it could have some other connotations. Oh, I didn't know that. So I did not use that word again. Sorry about that but I did not have any evil intentions in that regard and that was understood by the staffers who pointed this out to me. To mount a huge witch hunt would be going much too far as there is no witch involved. If there are any witches in that picture I can assure you that it is not me. I cannot speak for them and their witchcraft behavior. I only know that all I did was write a simple article previewing an upcoming event, nothing more.

Needless to Say

There is no need for me to explain that we have no personal connection to the Batty-Mash people. I do not want to know anything about their personal business or whatever they do. I only wrote the stories that I had to write for work, and very well did I write them up I might add as I am really very accurate and truthful in my reporting for the most part. I cannot say that I never made a mistake but they are just trying to spin me fired to satisfy themselves of their empty threats. I don't deserve to be treated that way, bullied around by these utterly selfish greedy Batty-Mash people. I reported on that planning meeting and called it a powwow but I don't remember why. To me it was just another synonym for meeting. My application did not extend beyond the facts of the event. Each side had their say about it and there was nothing else to add to that. I no longer work for that newspaper so it is not my problem whatever happens to that piece of land. I really don't care personally speaking. It is not my land and never will be so it is not my problem. I think it would be too icky-sticky for me to say anything about that or to get involved in someone else's property issues since is not my problem anyway. I just don't even want to know what their problem is and I think it is very weird that they are trying to stick it to me and make it a personal thing for me when I was only doing my job and nothing more.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, wasn't Billy Graham's message last night inspirational? He is so good at preaching the salvation message but we heard that his very own granddaughter is a tramp so obviously his advice is not that useful in other respects.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, how could I possibly forget the times when Mr. Batty-Mash called me at the office and threatened to have me fired (he is very good friends with the owner/publisher who was my employer) if I don't write things that he wants to be said, all his opinions about how Smith ought to be killed, etc., rather than the actual news  of the day. What a disgusting creep, but how is a poor little nobody like me to argue with a powerfully rude millionaire named James? Impossible. Nevertheless, I never did do what James wanted. My paycheck was not coming from him so his pathetically stupid opinions were of no use to me even if my editors were not sympathetic. I resented James wasting my time with his drivel. Rick Haydan was trying to drag me into his crazy lawsuit but I really don't understand. Whatever the lawyers say. Whatever the judges say. I really don't care that much. It is not my personal problem. It was just my job at the time but I no longer work there so it is not my problem now. Will someone please kick those Batty-Mash Trash out of my life? They are not even Christians, obviously, so they deserve no respect from Christians like me.

Which Reminds Me

Is it any wonder that I wish all of these nasty rich people would go away and leave me alone? I despise nasty rich people. They expect me to work for nothing to help them unravel the mysteries of the universe and never do anything to help me or even remember who I am or care about what matters to me. Enough said.

The Johnson Connection

In our recent studies of our family tree, aided by great-grandmother's diaries, we learn that our great-grandmother had a cousin named Nancy Ermina Smith who married Edward Randall Johnson. The Johnsons had three children: Ogden, Lucille and Ermina. These people lived in New York and we never knew they existed until recently. Anyway, they are all dead now so there is nothing else to say about this. Ogden and his wife Agnes had only two daughters so we see there are no Johnsons per se related us out there.

Which reminds me that my mother's Texas relatives had a distant cousin who at one time was employed by Lady Bird Johnson in some capacity. I really don't remember anything more specific about that. My mother probably remembers more about that. The connection was very distant if at all. I really would not be able to comment as I remember nothing about that. Nevertheless, I am not an employee of the Hibberts so they should be getting their own clues.

Which Reminds Me

The song by Carly Simon, "You're So Vain," was among the song lyrics discussed in Miss Marken's 10th grade English class. I really don't remember who presented it or what they said about it. I only remember that it was one of the songs presented by students.

Which Reminds Me

We have recently learned of the existence of Lois J. Roberts. She might even be Lois Johnson Roberts although the evidence conflicts. Lois is an officially registered historian specializing in the events of Ecuadoran history. She has written entire books on the subject of Lebanese immigrants living in Ecuador. I, on the other hand, have never set foot in Ecuador, neither am I of Middle Eastern extraction, nor am I interested in those people, so obviously Lois knows absolutely nothing about me regardless of her status as registered historian of Ecuadoran Lebanese. Doctors are so specialized, as we are seeing, that they know only the a narrow scope of study to which they have devoted their entire lives, seeing nothing else beyond their books.

Interestingly, we also learned in our studies that Fred Hibbert divorced Renell Barth and married Lenore Johnson. Johnson's birth certificate records her mother's name as Johnson so we have no clue as to Lenore's father's identity, not that it matters to us about this meaningless Johnson & Johnson clue.

We suspect that someone is now begging the question of whether Lois J. Roberts could actually be Lenore's mother but we had not been aware of the existence of either of these people, so out of touch are we with the worthless idiot children of Samuel Barth, my Dad's uncle who lived way up north in San Jose and whom I never met or even heard of until recently.

We really do not care about who Lenore Johnson is, not having been aware of her existence which has no bearing on my existence. There is just no family connection to speak of there. We could not care less about the Hibbert family as they have never done us any favors and go around conspiring behind our backs as if they were related to us when actually it seems that someone dropped them off a cliff and forgot about them or something. I really don't understand nor do I care to know anything else about them. Many people have problems and manage their own affairs without destroying everybody else's happiness in the process so I really don't understand why the Hibberts and Scotts cannot do the same and manage their own lives without poking their noses into places where they don't belong. I learned that lesson every young but apparently they never learned their lesson. I could say something similar about the Hiatts. Someone really ought to fence those people in because they really are not that special to us. There is only one thing that unites us, a common thread of history, but I really don't remember anything about that so I will not be of much use to them in their history book writing in which I am not interested in participating. Leave me out of it.

Which Reminds Me

I should be telling you to ask Dorothy, who obviously knows all about these things. I certainly don't know anything about it.

Which Reminds Me

Once upon a time many years ago Danny Mercado and the Kirsten's son, what's-his-name, were in town visiting their missionary parents. Susie arranged with Mrs. Kirsten I think for a double date. It was Susie and I out with Danny and What's-His-Name. We went bowling or something. Later we went to the Mercados' house for a few minutes of chat. That was about all there was to that. We might have done that once or twice. Later Susie said that the Mercados were upset with me for not arranging further outings with Danny. I was a little irritated by that third-party interference from Susie as I was really not interested in spending more time with Danny. If a guy has to ask his parents to ask Susie to ask me to call him then obviously the chemistry just is not working there. So there were no further get-togethers with Danny and What's-His-Name.

Which Reminds Me

We have not yet asked whether the Waldemar Mercados of Houston are somehow related to the Ben Mercado who was a translator of Christian books, stationed in Miami for many years, married to Marian of South Dakota, presumably from Argentina originally, at least that is what we had thought. Ben Mercado's only son was Danny, a church organist in Chicago, gay some have said. We really don't know whether Danny is related to the Hiatt family. No one has ever offered any information on this point, nor are we ever in contact with the Mercados so we really don't know anything about that. Ben and Marian were not related to us and they are both dead now so Danny is alone in the world as far as we can tell.

Which Reminds Me

My parents always warned me not to marry a Spanish man and I did not. However, I may have made the mistake of explaining my parents' rules to other persons who have no respect for my parents' wisdom in such a thing. Also, it is apparent that some of our distant cousins apparently did not get the memo. We are not a Spanish family and we are not interested in surrendering to the Spanish Armada. You cannot just show up at our house and steal all of our stuff without getting blown away by naval forces. You have to go through the proper channels. Of course, if you had a family member on your team you might try to get your hands on the proverbial locked box, if there really were such a thing, and then again maybe not. We do feel a certain degree of pity for the pathetically stupid cousins, stuck as they are permanently in PR territory. However, they are not us. We are not obligated to remedy their personal mistakes by charitable donation when obviously they are already getting welfare assistance from the government anyway. God will take care of them.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was ranting on the Three Musketeers theme: "One for all, All for One." Yes, I have heard that saying. Uh, no, I never did read that book so I really cannot share your enthusiasm for the philosophical depths of Alexandre Dumas and his theme of united defense of the French monarchy. Yes, I did see the movie, a movie, I don't remember which one but probably not the one that was in theaters during high school. There are several versions. I do think that I saw one or more versions on television. No, I did not watch Ninja turtles, only heard some related babble on the theme of the Three Musketeers. Musketeers presumably has something to do with persons shooting with ancient muskets used in the 18th century, whether for hunting or military purposes and nothing to do with mice or turtles. There are three musketeers plus a fourth person, their friend D'Artagnan, in the novel that I never actually read. Ok, whatever. Yes, anything can sound good in fiction but reality is more complicated than that. The pablum of fiction is often used to manipulate public opinion but truth is something else.

I do recall that one time when Mona Balius was here visiting I turned on the TV and the Three Musketeers was on and we watched for a while and Mona was horrified. It is better not to watch TV with these old-timers from Mississippi present. They are often horrified by everything. Perhaps they read more into it than I do. Also, maybe the movie was worse than I had realized it was going to be. The historical costumes always look so interesting but the characters are so unreal. Really, one cannot expect anything good to come out of a movie about filthy French decadents so I should have known better than to even turn on the television. There is just never anything to watch.

Which Reminds Me

Which Reminds Me

I never got married because Mr. Right never showed up. I have said at some time or another I suppose. However, I was not referring to Mr. Wright, obviously. The Wright family lived in Belize as missionaries and their son Mickey married Becky Stewart, Susie's older sister. However, it would be ludicrous to suggest that I ever set foot in Belize or know anything about the Wright family is doing these days. Probably just the same old thing. They are always doing something but it has been many years since we talked even if we remember each other anymore. Someone is always trying to squeeze more out of the Susie connection than is actually there. We are actually not related to the Stewarts that I know of. We were just friends at one time but our lives diverged and took different paths which sometimes happens for various reason. No reason to say anything else about that. It gets sort of annoying, all these allusions to Susie, because I have my own separate identity which they never seemed to notice.

Which Reminds Me

"Don't let that cigarette make a sucker out of you." Such were the lyrics of a song performed in a concert during the year that I attended Evangel College. The performers apologized profusely when introducing the song and then they sang it anyway. I remarked later that their apology almost seemed too serious. The song was sort of humorous actually in a way. Hmmm... Who did I say that to anyway? Jan Green? Rhonda Heard? I really don't remember this now.

Which Reminds Me

While attending CBN, for some reason I was with Machelle and another girl at a grocery store. There were a couple of guys from school in the store also and Machelle was at first wanting to follow them around but they were obviously avoiding us. I really don't remember their names now. Nobody important, just a couple of guys in a grocery store.

Which Reminds Me

I am trying to remember the name of that guy was was attending CBNU at the same time that we were, a TV major I seem to think. He had a strange way of not notifying everyone that he would be reserving the entire journalism department for his private TV studio one day, interviewing a prominent visitor, Marvin Olasky, when we were expecting to get something done. Ok, whatever. I only remember that Machelle might have liked him but I really wouldn't want to embarrass her by saying anything about that. I mean, who knows where these people are from or where they are going? We were not there long enough to really get to know anyone very well. We were just there for school, to study, and then to work.