A BANNER YEAR IS COMIN'

One last post for 2007.
Looking forward to 2008.
As Woodsy would say..”2008 is the year, its gonna be a banner year!”
I’ve got a lot of plans for the upcoming year. Plans, no resolutions.
January is gonna be filled with a lot of work, and extra on-call time. A weekend trip to Georgetown/Lexington.Then I’m off to a Men’s Conference at First Baptist Woodstock, Georgia on Feb 1&2. Triple Play
Hope to do a little more fishing and catch my first ever Kentucky Brook Trout.
Plan to take in another Mother’s Day with the Columbus Crew, maybe a trip to the beach in the Summer, Camden Park, pontooning on Grayson Lake, hiking and caving with Carson and being a dad and husband.
I’m open for anything that comes my way!
Bring it on 2008!!!!

I LOVE YOU MORE

Our little running banter around the house is the answer to the " I love you" statement. We all three laugh and return with"I love you more."

Bedtime tonight was a little late due to a full day of music practice/pizza party/rehearsal and live performance of the Christmas musical at church. Only two more to go!, tomorrow morning and evening.

Carson was pretty much worn out today, but performed his first show with the choir like a trooper.

While drifting off to sleep tonight, he was a little restless. Thrashing about, tossing and turning. We had said our prayers, sang a few songs, Mommy read a book and then I laid down beside his bed while he drifted off to sleep.

He had been still about ten minutes and I thought he was sound asleep when he rolled over and said,"I love you Daddy"

"I love you too" I answered.

"I love Mommy too"

"She loves you too, Carson"

"Daddy, I love Jesus"

"Jesus loves you too, Carson"

"Daddy, what would Jesus say?'

"What would Jesus say if you told Him you loved him?

"uh huh"

"He would say, I love you more!"

All I heard was a sleepy drawn out..yeah.

LIVE NATIVITY....KENTUCKY STYLE

We put on our coats this evening and put a few baby carrots in our pockets and drove over to the live Nativity. The Nazarene church at the corner of 29th and Blackburn set up a live display and has for the past few years.
This was our third annual trip and Carson has anticipated it for months, commenting on it every time we pass.
This year was better than last year. It seemed more peaceful and serene; as a Nativity scene ought to be. There was the usual host of participants, all warm and toasty beneath their oversized robes that did a pretty good job of concealing their choice of insulation. However I did detect some Carrhart overalls peeking from underneath one of the shepherd’s cloaks. The donkey was silent as were the sheep and goats.

Last year was a different story….
They have a donkey that is a very fine specimen; his coat is as soft as cashmere and his ears long and fluffy. Carson loves the donkey. Last year we stepped up to the fence and pulled the carrots from our pockets and offered them to the donkey. Just as he started to nibble it from Carson’s fingers, we hear a voice! “I’ll show ya what he really likes” We turn to see one of Catlettsburg’s more colorful characters, in a dirty denim jacket with a Marlboro dangling from his lip. He tells Carson to "put that carrot away and watch this!"
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offers one to the donkey, complete with filter. A few in the crowd look on in amazement at this. He proceeds to feed it about three more as we try to politely sneak away. Carson tells Mommy what just happened and we don’t stick around much longer. Kinda hard to explain to a then three year old what just unfolded without having to further explain the word “STUPIDITY”
So we just left it at that.
Carson still remembered throughout the year ‘that man that gave the donkey a cigarette’

This year we did didn’t have to relive that episode. (But we did find out that the donkey belonged to him) Maybe next year the donkey will be sporting a Nicoderm patch on his inner front leg.
Merry Christmas

ICE FISHING IN KENTUCKY

Bummer!
I had a little extra time on my hands this morning and as I spent yesterday at work daydreaming about doing a little trout fishing, I bundled up and gathered up a couple of rods and my small tackle pack from the shed.
Now, I wasn’t going to get to fish for trout this morning as that trip requires a two hour drive to the Red River Gorge. I was merely going two miles to my hotspot pond and drown some minnows for bass and crappie. My pal ‘Woodsy’ has a great fishin’ hole that is full of pole bendin’ action, and is just close enough that I can drop in for a few minutes to a few hours and not have to spend a lot of time on the road.
I scraped two bucks together from the loose change in my cup holder and headed for the bait shop. When I got there the cupboard was bare!( in reality is was a rusty avocado green Kenmore refrigerator) No minnows, no worms! Oh, well, I’ll just go and throw a few spinners and jigs to at least get the fishin’ fever down a few notches. I parked the Jeep, put on my coat, and started up the hollow. The ground was still covered with a blanket of snow and rabbit tracks crisscrossed the open ground as I trudged onward. I climbed the slippery slope of the dam and stood motionless and dejected as I saw the thin covering of ice. It couldn't’t have been more that 1/8” thick but it might as well have been 8’. I didn’t think it had been that cold the past few nights. It was 32 degrees now and getting warmer but I decided not to sit and wait for the Spring thaw.
I returned home, put everything back in the shed, went in the house and baked some cookies.
The cookies didn’t satisfy the fishing fever. Maybe I should have added a few anchovies!
I guess I’ll have to save some money for gas and drive to Wolfe and Menifee counties to the streams that don’t freeze over in the winter. There is a Class I stream I’ve never fished that requires a 1 ½ to 2 mile hike, that harbors native Brook Trout. The stream is said to only average 9” in depth, 12’ max width and in places is completely canopied with rhododendron.

That is my dream for the coming year.
But I’ll still make a few trips to the pond, after ice-out.

MIRACLE ON 34th STREET...well actually the Town Center Mall

He did it!

I got home from work last night and the first thing Carson said was "I wanna go see Santa". We kinda blew him off as we have heard all this before. This time he was persistent and was not backing off. he kept up the begging for almost an hour and we finally gave in when he kept saying" I'm so excited".

So....off to the mall. I parked at the closest entrance to Santa so we wouldn't have to walk very far back to to car when he did his 'about face' and said "I wanna get outta here". To our surprise he was all smiles and held our hands as we exited the car and headed into the mall. As he walked, his cowboy boots kept a cadence, shuffling toward Santa. (he wanted to wear them because Daddy wore them when he had his picture made)

But, Santa had moved and was located all the way down the mall. When we got there the jolly fat man was no where to be seen!, Carson seemed so dejected! The lady photographer said he was on a restroom break and would return shortly.

Long story short, he appeared and Carson immediately stepped up to his knee and the words just flowed. He sat on his lap and talked for at least 15 minutes as no one else was in line. He told him what he wanted and asked about the reindeer and what they liked to eat, what Santa wanted to eat, told about Daddy's little accident when he sat on Santa's lap and even reminisced about Easter. The conversation would have gone on all evening but we had to get back home for bedtime.

If you would have asked me yesterday morning about him sitting on Santa's lap, I would have said"never in a million years", but what do I know?

This has made our Holiday!

Now...for his next trick....'getting within 50' of a Mascot!!'

Merry Christmas

THEODORE GRANT STORIE Sr.

I wrote this about Pop Pop and read it as a euology just over ten years ago.


Your life was so filled with the memories of yesterday that rarely a day went by that you didn’t recall someone or some event in your life that always painted a vivid and colorful picture in my mind. It was as if I was reliving it with you.
From the tales of working the timber and sawmill, from catching a freight train at the age of sixteen; riding it to Kentucky to find work. The stories of toiling long hard days, loading coal deep in the mountainside. To tales of Panama and the Philippines, meeting Granny and the births of Mom, Teddy and Gay, of moving to Catlettsburg to work at the refinery. The story of pulling the turquoise and white ’57 Chevy into the parking lot at work and moments later laughing as the police car with siren screaming disappeared down the road.
The stories of the countless stringers of fish you caught through the years (and they never grew an inch every time you told it). The hunting trips to the places where the rabbits were so plentiful that a Beagle just got in the way. To the woods where the squirrels would make the mistake of riding out the limb of a big white oak, only to hear the roar of your Remington 48 Sportsman.
These were your memories, and I got to relive them and many others with you.
But I also have memories of the days you spent with me, teaching, molding and protecting me.
My memories were filled with the instructions of life. The memories of fishing long hours, of eating a lunch that Granny had packed and then taking a nap in the reclining seats of the Rambler before going back and fishing until dark.
I remember the chilly Spring moonless nights, sitting in the boat behind the hissing Coleman lanterns, waiting for the white bass to take the minnows we offered. (I knew the fish would come as I had seen the pictures of great catches in the past) To walking through the color-splashed woods of Fall, trying to step in your exact footprints so as not to make any sound in the dry leaves.
Memories of cleaning fish into the wee hours of the night on the shores of Lake Erie. (I don’t remember every fish I caught with you but I sure remember every one I cleaned)
To taking you to my secret trout stream in the Red River Gorge where we donned our waders and whipped the fly rods beneath the redbuds and dogwoods, landing the brown trout, which you said weren’t fit to eat, but you never complained about catching.
Every moment spent with you enlightened me in some special way. I came out of every situation a little wiser.
These memories are only mine. I will cherish them always, but I hold only a small piece of the memories of you. Everyone in the family can share what I share, your great grandchildren, grandchildren, children, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and your countless friends.
While all the memories I have are special, there is one I will place above all others. It is the most recent and will forever be the dearest and most precious memory of all. The memory of sharing a pew with you in church where we sat and listened to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Our bibles open, reading the truth, drinking in His Word.
You are not gone, for by your repentance, faith and surrender, you have that everlasting eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Memories are fond, but memories are also the past. You have, through your faith, set an example for each of us here to follow. I now look forward to the future, to a time of rejoicing with you and Granny and family before you in God’s Heaven.
Thanks for the love….Grant

MASCOT'S, CHICKEN'S AND CLOWN'S..OH MY!

Tuesday evening we traipsed off to downtown Ashland for the annual Christmas parade.
This had been the topic of conversation for several weeks; I want to go, I don’t want to go, was about as far as Carson went.
He still has a lot of trouble being in close proximity with any mascots, clowns or ‘big headed’ things. Are we bad, mean parents for prodding him along the sidewalk toward the festivities? He didn’t want to stand on the curb, so we secured a spot about 15’ from the street (well out of range of the constant rain of candy!) and he was semi-satisfied with this. It didn’t keep him from the intermittent “I’m ready to go home, let’s get outta here and I wanna NOW!” He spent a lot of time standing behind us, peering through the crowd and occasionally cracking a smile. Other times he actually let me put him on my shoulders so he could see (and he would invariably spot a giant head, clown, wildcat or chicken from a block away) and immediately demand to get down. The object of his fear would approach and as soon as it passed the 90 degree plane and started moving away he was fine, even laughed. Just as long as it was going away and not toward him. We did notice that he showed little fear of a giant teddy bear and Barney; I guess they posed no threat. The worst was a clown with green hair and a KFC chicken (Cris P. Chicken).

He lasted for an hour and we headed home, well before Santa appeared. We praised him for being so brave and going to the parade and he would have something to share with his classmates tomorrow. He was just a little outside his comfort zone but we were right beside him all the way just to support and calm his apprehensions. We all need that when we even as adults step outside our comfort zones.
I guess I had the same fears as a child also. I did sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas then left with a noticeable wet spot adorning the front of my jeans. I told that little story to Carson last week and friends pull into the drive while we are raking leaves and what do you think was the first thing he said to them? “Daddy peed on Santa’s lap and saw the Batmobile” (another story)
And I do admit that the ‘flying monkeys’ from the Wizard of Oz still creep me out today just as they did 40 years ago.
Overcoming our fears is a huge part of growing up and I guess some of us will forever be child-like in that aspect, we just gotta realize that the Encourager is forever with us.

THIS LITTLE LIGHT OF MINE

I have long been an amateur astronomer. I built my first telescope in the early 90’s from plans found in a book at the library written in the 1930’s. It is a Newtonian reflector on a Dobsonian base. I ordered my mirror set and constructed the whole thing from plywood, nuts and bolts and plumbing fixtures. It is not much to look at but does a spectacular job. I used to spend countless hours peering through the eyepiece awaiting the heavens to pass over my tiny window to the sky, as I live in the ‘holler’ and the hills rise steeply and there is no view to any horizon.

I once heard someone say that ‘to look at a star is to look back in time, as the light that falls on your retina left that celestial body many years ago. A light year is defined as ‘the distance that a beam of light travels in one calendar year.’ Light travels at approximately 300,000 km per second ( pretty darn fast!) and to put that distance in perspective, it takes 4.3 years to reach us from the nearest star in our galaxy and the light from the Sun takes 8.3 minutes to reach Earth.
So..now to borrow a phrase from that prior sentence and tweak it ever so slightly to make a point about what we see with our own eyes, let’s say ‘how far away is the ‘Light from the Son’? Is it, as Carl Sagan would have said; “billions and billions of miles away?” or is it omnipresent, forever emanating from us as Christians?
As Christians, we should strive to be Christ-like, flooding the darkness with the light of Jesus, embodying ourselves as to the lampstand and not hiding the light beneath the bushel. Some of us, me especially, have those moments where we tend to keep the wick so trimmed down as if to nearly snuff the flame. At other times we burn so bright that soot visibly rises and the wax flows in rivulets, cascading to collect at our feet.
How do we achieve that ‘light’? How do we appear to those around us? (bright, dim, shadowy, blinding?)
The light of Christ will forever glow within us; it is up to us to let that Light shine outward to others. The Light we exude through Christ shouldn’t take years to reach the eyes of someone else. It should be inconceivably fast in closing that distance.

I love the words to the song by Graham Kendrick:
Shine, Jesus, Shine

Fill this land with the Father's glory

Blaze, Spirit, blaze,

Set our hearts on fire

Flow river flow,

Flood the nations with grace and mercy

Send forth Your Word Lord, and let there be light

But I still like to sing along with Carson:
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine! let shine, let it shine, let it shine!

MUSTARD SEEDS

It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when it is sown in the earth is less than all the seeds that be in the earth. But when it is sown. It groweth up and becometh greater than all herbs… Mark 4: 31-32

One little seed can pack so much punch!

I admit..I’m a mustardholic, and have been since I can remember. Mustard has always been my condiment of choice, far surpassing ketchup and mayo. I probably inherited this trait from mom, who said she put mustard on her pizza the first time she ever tried it back in the 50’s.
I love the stuff. I slather it on sandwiches, use for dips, coat chicken and fish for grilling, I add it to a great many dishes I prepare.
I started out with the yellow stuff for years, did'nt know it came any other way. I was a teen before I found brown or Dijon and that only made me crave more. When I traveled I was always in the mustard aisle of the local grocery store looking for strange new tastes. I happened upon a jar that looked like nothing I had ever seen before. It was nothing but little golden seeds packed in vinegar and spices. I still remember the first taste, and that sensation of the ‘popping’ of the seed between my teeth, and the pungent aroma and bite.
My preferences then shifted to the seeded mustards that were so unique and more flavorable. My tastes haven’t changed much over the years except for the fact that I dislike any that is sweetened yet I am still find new exciting forms to try.
I currently have 8 different opened jars in the fridge at the present time thanks in part to my sister giving me a gift pack from the Mustard Museum ( yes it is a real place in Mt.Horeb,(a biblical name)Wisconsin. http://www.mustardmuseum.com/.
My other sister sent me lots of the stuff when she lived in Germany, many of which were contained in squeezable tubes just like toothpaste.
So whether you call it moutarde, senf, or just plain mustard, I promise you I will have the faith to eat it!

November Leaves

The leaves are still hanging on for their lives, but the majority gave up the ghost and fluttered to the ground. This year it seems as if gravity was kicked up a notch and they all came 'straight' down without following the breeze to the neighbors yard.

So, Carson and I spent a few quality hours together this afternoon, blowing and raking the leaves into piles and then mulching them up.

I was blowing, and Carson was raking. I had to redirect him several times as he began to rake the leaves back UP the hill in the opposite direction the other brown critters were headed.

He is a good little helper none the less.

The most precious moment was when I see him picking up leaves and hanging them back on the tree. It didn't matter that it was a naked dogwood now adorned with sycamore, beech, poplar, maple and oak, he said it needed its leaves back.

Its moments like these we treasure!

GET YOUR 'GAMEFACE' ON

Not knowing the rules shouldn’t keep us from enjoying certain games and activities.

While we sit in large stadiums, filled with rabid fans yelling till they are hoarse, and how many of them fully understand what is actually unfolding before their very eyes?
This doesn’t keep them from fulfilling a need to belong to a certain faction and join in the revelry.
We can play games without knowing the rules and have a good time doing it. During my short-lived days playing football in junior high, I had a teammate that just moved to Catlettsburg from the far eastern part of the state, He was twelve and probably never witnessed a real game of football. On the first day of practice, he showed up. The coach asked him what position he wanted to play. He responded with an enthusiastic “I wanna be the feller what packs the ball” Thankfully our coach and a few of us knew what that meant. Coach slapped a number 44 jersey on him and put him in the backfield. Did he know the first thing about running the football? Nope, but it didn’t stop him from having fun and he became better as the season went along.
While I enjoy joining a crowd on occasion, I often wonder why we can’t get that excited over Jesus and fill the churches to the brim every Sunday. A person can drive hundreds of miles and spend hours of driving to attend an event and then can’t get up and drive 2 miles to go to church. Or, if the game is not over till late on a Saturday will make the decision to sleep-in on Sunday morn.
Several years ago a co-worker of mine told me she golfed every Sunday morning and that was her “church” she was out in God’s country enjoying what He had created and that was her quiet time. She immediately saw the skepticism on my face and “you’re not buying that are you?’ This opened up an opportunity to share the gospel.
Many people attend church for different reasons; fellowship, commitment, sense of belonging and even guilt but it should only be for one reason and that is ‘to worship’.
We should join together as a group of baptized believers to worship and then go forth willingly to share the love of Christ to a lost and dying world.
Can we share the love of Christ without knowing all the rules? What if say something wrong? What if the person we are witnessing to turns a deaf ear? What if we are just plain scared to speak up?
Should any of the reasons keep us from enjoying the game and being part of the revelry?
Get out there and play! The fields are white already for the harvest!

A CHRISTMAS STORY...2007

“I think I want Santa Claus to come to my house this year”, quipped Carson yesterday. I said “that is a good idea! he can land his sleigh on the other end of the house and drop off the toys in front of the fireplace and you will never know he was even here.”
Nah! Maybe you can just go meet him again at the Huntington Mall
Carson still is very apprehensive about Santa. He loves the thought, but still wants him to keep his distance. The Huntington Mall thing came about last Christmas Eve after the family departed and he was getting ready for bed. It was just then that he realized a jolly fat man in a red suit was going to enter his house while he was asleep just down the hall, He wasn’t just gonna drop off a few gifts, he was gonna sit in the big wingback chair, eat some cookies and down a glass of milk before hopping in the sleigh and flying off with the reindeer.
As the wheels in his head turned at breakneck speed, he devised a plan. “Daddy, I don’t want Santa to come here, I want you to meet him at the Huntington Mall” I told him the Mall was closed and he then told me just to meet him on the parking lot. I offered to meet him at the Cedar Knoll Mall and he rejected that idea, insisting I go all the way to Huntington. Cedar Knoll was 6 miles away instead of 20 and that was still a little too close for comfort. Sharla and I agreed and she put the cookies in a Ziploc bag for me to give to Santa. My pretend trip satisfied his anxiety and Carson was all smiles as he drifted off the sleep with visions of “sugarplums” dancing in his head. (Well actually knowing Carson it was probably visions of Skittles”.
Maybe I won’t have to venture out in the cold this Christmas to meet Santa, or maybe it can be Sharla’s turn this year.

HOG HEAVEN

Frosty November morning’s make my memories swirl. I hearken back some 20 plus years ago to my times spent in my mother’s ancestral birthplace of Left Beaver in Floyd Co. Ky. I wiled away a lot of hours there with my second cousin Chris, running the creeks and mountains, huntin’ possums with an old mongrel named “Beardog” and catching chubs and horny heads with worms we dug from behind the hog pen.
However the frosty morn memory that is still vivid is the rousing of the troops to kill a hog at daylight. My uncle Edgel always rose early. He had the fire built and the water boiling in an old Valvoline barrel set near the creek bank. I think he always planned this when he had a lot of family visiting as “many hands make light work”. We would all shuffle sleepy eyed toward the fire. As we passed the pen, the hogs were noticeably restless, maybe because they hadn’t been fed, or they smelled the smoke of the fire only a few scant steps away.
My cousin Pogo arrives with an old J.C. Higgins .22. He drops to one knee and rests the barrel on the middle slat of the fence and waits for the big white hog to turn and look him in the eye. He waits and waits for a perfect shot, just as he did the week before in Wyoming when he brought down a giant elk. Now the elk was bagged with a 7mm Wetherby at 300 yards and this shot was merely 6 feet but we all knew that it had to be precise. The two made eye contact and the crack of the rifle sent the hog to his knees and the other four scattered to the corners.

Pogo stood with his chest puffed out and just smiled. Then he took a drink of liquid breakfast from the Mason jar.
The hog was then dragged out and laid beside the fire. The scalding water was poured onto its side and we all commenced to scraping the hair off. The steam and smell that emanated from this, turned the stomachs of the "furrner's" from Ohio and Michigan but we all stayed and finished. We hung the old hog by the hind legs with a Red Devil from the big locust tree, and with one swift slice the innards spilled forth and were delivered into the rushing water to feed the crawdads. The meat was quartered and we hauled the pieces in a wheelbarrow to the shed where Edgel worked his magic with an Old Hickory knife.
The tenderloin was cut out and went immediately into the house where Aunt Mae fried it up to serve the crew along with biscuits, gravy, potatoes and eggs.

Nothing better than a good country breakfast after a morning of hard work.

UNRESTRAINED

How did we ever survive to see adulthood?

Many of us older folks bounced around the car as kids, unrestrained, never knowing the inherent dangers we faced. If I recall, our seatbelts were stuffed into the crack of the rear seats and the only time we ever saw them was when we flipped up the seat to search for loose change. We got to ride in the floor, the FRONT seat, and my favorite; over the rear seat on the ledge beneath the window. I would lie there in the big maroon Ford Galaxy on my back pretending I was flying, taking in the sights with my face pressed to the window, watching the scenery whiz by until I became dizzy.
We even got to drive! We sat on Dad’s lap and steered for miles, he would often correct the trajectory by turning the wheel ever-so-slightly with his knees if we started to veer off course.
Kids today will never have those experiences as they are now banished to the backseat to be strapped down in car seats, booster seats and with seatbelts. They will never get to ride beneath the rear glass and stare into space as the car rockets down the highway; they simply sit and watch a DVD!

Whodathunkit?
But, they are safe there in their little restrained world, as they should always be.

Just think how we would feel as Christians if we were able to ride through life unrestrained. We would be bounced, beat and bedraggled. I’m just thankful we have the Holy Spirit to convict us and occasionally “jerk a knot in our tail” as he steers us down life’s highway.

THE DUMPLIN' EATER

Dumplings, or just plain "dumplin's" as we call 'em in Kentucky, are little more than flour, milk, a pinch of salt and occasionally an egg, cooked in a hot chicken broth.

My dumplin' eatin' days are long gone. A period of my life that was filled with the countless bowls of wholesome goodness.

I had the unique situation as a young boy of being caught in the middle of a "dumplin" Battle Royal. I, along with my sister's and brother had the best of both worlds on Sunday afternoon. we got to eat dinner at both Grandparents houses.

My maternal Granny was of the "big, light, fluffy, pinched-off and dropped into the pot" school of dumplin' making.

My paternal Nanny was of the 'rolled out flat, cut with a knife, kinda-chewy, noodle-like dumplin'.

Both were delicious and I ate them with gusto. (and it shows to this day)

I was thrown into the mix"pun intended", of being an expert judge as to which dumplin' was the best. I was coerced by each to choose sides and say that hers were the best. It was a jovial, yet somewhat prideful competition that we laughed about for many years.

I still can close my eyes and remember the taste and textures of those afternoons, gorging myself on the savory dishes. The dumplins' swimming in the thickened mix as yellow-gold beads of the rendered chicken fat floated above, coating the spoon with every bite.

I haven't tasted anything remotely similar since their passing away over ten years ago and I'm sure I never will.

My forays into the restaurant variety dumplin' has left me empty and wanting. My desire has faded and all I'm left with are the memories but what memories they are.

I'm sure the competition is still raging up in heaven, and I'll just wait till I'm called to that banquet table someday and eat my fill from both pots, as I'm sure they're cooking together.

Nanny & Granny the "dynamic dumplin duo"

IF YOU GO OUT IN THE WOODS TODAY........

If you go out in the woods today,You’d better not go alone.It’s lovely out in the woods today,But safer to stay at home.

A real shocker today.

I was perusing the Google Earth this afternoon, looking at soccer stadiums across the globe and on a whim, typed in my address as I had done before and zoomed down on my house. This is an amazing site. I can see the house and cars in the driveway. I used the directional pointer and started a journey up Hurricane Rd. Less than 1/2 mile and before the next house there was a blue dot. Now a blue dot on Google Earth allows you click on it for some pertinent information. I clicked and a box appeared with a web address and nothing else.

I clicked again and it directed me to http://www.bfro.net/ The Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization.

Now I have to admit that I was really into Bigfoot, Yeti and other unexplained beasts but got over that phase back in 1974. I read every book, newspaper article and could watch that short, shaky Patterson film over and over again, truly believing it was for real. I wanted to travel to Northern California and Mt Hood in Oregon to chase my own Sasquatch!

I guess I just outgrew my fascination and moved on with other pursuits.

So I click on this dot and read the headline...Mother and her son see a tall, hairy, bipedal creature cross the road in two steps.

The account goes on to explain that it was 2;30-3:00am on a blacktop country road..it was extremely tall..extremely hairy...took lanky steps.

This account was witnessed in 1998 but reported in October 2001.

The area in question is a heavily wooded area,only a mile southeast of Blackburn Ave in Ashland. I have lived here for 17 years. It consists of several hundred acres of uninhabited woodland with a lot of heavy timber. The area directly behind my house and extending toward Skyline Dr is 2 miles long with only 4 houses on that side of the road and the other side is comparable with only a few more houses crowded into a short 800'.I have covered practically every inch of this area over the years and I do believe that is secluded enough to harbor many forms of wildlife and I have witnessed many beasts roaming the woods..squirrels, deer, raccoons, owls, turkey, snakes, tarpins ,( box turtles for you folks that "ain't from around here" and even coyotes....but never a Bigfoot!

Further investigating led me to http://www.kentuckybigfoot.com/ it had pictures of Bigfoot's taken in Carter County and Boyd County.

I printed the report and gave it to Sharla to read without any explanation. She read along, stopping only to say "is this for real"? after she finished, she dropped the paper on the table and said "we're moving!"

Nah, we're staying put. I'm not gonna tell Carson about this one, as he won't want to play outside and I'm not sure Sharla will let him.

If the cat food starts disappearing...or the cat..then I'll think about moving.

TO THE BATCAVE!!

One of favorite family things to do is to take a short trip to an unknown destination ( well, unknown only to Carson). A recent adventure took us a few short miles away to one of my favorite areas of Kentucky, Carter Caves State Park.
The drive there was filled with questions from the backseat, as to where we were headed., The guesses flowed and varied from Chuck E. Cheese, Central Park, the mall, Lexington, Disney World, Gatlinburg, PawPaw’s, Mcdonald’s, Thomas the Train, Bardstown and way too many to list.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Trading Post and started walking down the path toward the natural bridge. He still didn’t know where we were. All he knew was that he was hiking and there was a creek. We approached the entrance to the natural bridge and his eyes opened as wide as his mouth and out came “a cave!”
We had read one of my childhood books a few nights ago at bedtime. Caves and Their Mysteries, I spent countless hours pouring over those pages as a kid, dreaming of exploring the caves, dangling from ropes, wading through crystal pools of cool water, and shielding my face from the giant hoards of bats buzzing past me to escape to the outside world. This was my dream as a boy and I have always had a fascination with caves and have fulfilled many of those childhood dreams in my countless journeys.

Back to Carson…We strolled through the bridge and walked the dirt path to the entrance of the Bat Cave. There is a small cave at the mouth just about 4 feet high and proportioned perfectly for a four year old. I pulled a Spiderman flashlight from my pocket and handed it to him. Off he went! That little cave only sunk into the side of that cliff about 60’, but he forged headlong into the darkness and disappeared without a second thought or fear.

We went there with the intent to just let him explore at his own pace and not push or entice him to go someplace that he didn’t want to go, and we were sure we weren’t going to pay to take a tour, only to have to leave in the middle if he “freaked out in the darkness.

He emerged from that cave and said “I love caves daddy”, that was a joy to hear.

He never ceases to amaze me with his enthusiasm for adventure, and like me, always asks what is around the next bend or over the next hill.
We had a picnic, played miniature golf and then he wanted to go to another cave.
As we exited the park, we stopped and walked to the entrance of Laurel Cave. Sharla waited on the bridge. Carson now had my headlamp on and was scrambling across the boulders into the darkness, I was trying to keep up and telling him to wait for me. The darkness enveloped us and he I could see a great smile on his face in the glow of his light, he stood motionless as he let large drops of water cascade down onto his head. His pants were muddy, his hands were dirty, he was tired but he was having a memorable day with mom and dad.

He already is planning a trip back and wants to go through the cave and out the other side!
For now, he is simply enjoying the wonders of nature, with not a inkling about karst topography, hydrodynamics and oolitic limestone….but I’m sure he will have questions soon.

COME HERE!!!!!!!

Come Here!!! Come Here!!!

The word “here” is usually drawn out to a resounding Bill Cosby”ish” “HHHeeeeerrrrrreeeee!”
A phrase uttered countless times throughout a typical day in the ol’ Johnson household.
It is a command directed at our son that often times seems to go in one ear and out the other. Other times the words just seem to hover around the room until they finally dissipate into thin air without ever causing the slightest tympanic vibration. My wife and I agree that life would be so much simpler and less stressful if he would just do as we say on the first command, without the repetitious droning of our will against his.
But that seems to be the way of most four year olds, and we realize as parents that we are not alone in all this. The times he follows the instructions on the first prompt are rewarded with praise and thanks.
During these episodes of disobedience and indifference I often find myself reaching a level of frustration, that causes me to step back and take a deep breath and cool my head.
I had an instance of this yesterday that completely turned my head around to see myself in the mirror and realize that my disobedience grieves the One that cares about me the most, in the exact same way.
When I don’t obey the will of the Father, I know that He must feel the same hurt that I feel when my son rejects the direction I offer him. I know that I have rejected direction from God in the past, to follow my own path and now wonder what I could have done differently and where I would possibly be at this point in my Christian life.
I am so thankful we serve a Savior that loves us for what we are and where grace abounds.
So now, every time I have to repeat the phrase” Come Here” , I’ll stop and look at myself and remember the forgiveness in my heart that is there from the One that forgave me.

There is too much love to be shared and too little time to dwell on the negative words that just want to keep us from His joy.

"A PECK OF DIRT"

As the old adage goes “you eat a peck of dirt before you die.”
Now that is a lot of dirt!
A peck is a dry measure equal to a quarter of a bushel or 8 quarts, and for our friends elsewhere in the world that comes to roughly 9 litres.
The USDA governs the amount of dirt we consume along with the many microbes, rodent hairs and other unseen yuckies!
We put food into our bodies that we think is clean and never realize it is dirty until we chomp a miniscule piece of grit and spit it out. A piece so small that we cannot see it, yet we feel its presence on our tongue most repulsive. One little speck! That is only a drop in the bucket (or peck) that we theoretically devour in a lifetime.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t detest a little dirt in my food and generally expect to find some on a jacket of a baked potato and I almost demand to see an ultra-fine layer of grit in the bottom of a bowl of authentic clam chowder ( that ain’t really dirt! just some sand).

So..What about the people that eat dirt for the fun of it? Affectionately know as “Geophages” (Geo from the Greek meaning “Earth” and phagein meaning “to eat”). These people gain pleasure and sooth a craving by eating dirt on a regular basis. Maybe it’s a vitamin deficiency.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand that one, but to each his own.

The part about being repulsed by a mouthful of dirt brings me to the point of this post.
Last month during the next to final game of our soccer season, my son was on the receiving end of a fist that connected to his cheek while being sat upon by an older teammate before a game. He had never been subjected to any physical violence in his four years and was totally caught off-guard. He has never been around someone that derives sadistic pleasure from bullying and has always seen the good in everyone. (the innocence of a child, and one I wish he will always keep. I told him some people are mean and want to hurt others, his response was simply “why daddy?”
I witnessed the attack and promptly rescued him all the while making a small scene with my quick temper (I need a lot of your prayers with this one).
After drying the tears and telling his mommy what had just unfolded, we told him just to keep his distance from the kid and stay to himself, we only had one game left.
The week proceeded and more talk about the incident brought the same advice. Stay away!
Well, that final game came and went without any confrontation. After the game the coach (which shall remain nameless) came to me and said, “Well, he got him back”. Immediately my heart raced and I replayed the game in my head. I didn’t see him do anything to the other kid. I asked what did he do? The coach said the kid came running to him and complained that my son had put dirt in his water bottle!
Justice served! That was on the sideline during the game. I know he wasn’t thinking about retaliation, he just randomly filled water bottles and probably his own as well, and had fun doing it! A non-physical retaliation to a physical assault.
Then at the end-of season banquet, all was well and forgotten, if only we as adults could forget and forgive as easily.

So…..that kid has a real head start on the 8 pounds he is gonna eat.

Maybe he can ask Santa for a spoon for Christmas!

X-RAY VISION?

You are being watched!

Every eye seems to turn upon you when you least expect it. We go about our everyday activities, often times seemingly drifting through the day without a care in the world, minding our own business, other times we can be one on one in a witnessing situation sharing Christ with a co-worker or we can be clandestinely observed sharing Christ. (or more importantly NOT).

Our daily walk is constantly being scrutinized even when we don't actually sense the observational powers of those living in the world burning holes through our souls, waiting to find a chink in our armor and being able to thrust a sword into our soft flesh.

Our actions as Christians should be laid out for all to see and judge. We strive daily to live and show the love of Christ that lives inside us so that others can see Him through us.

One of my past Sunday School teaches used to tell the kids that "you may be the only "Bible" that someone ever reads", always be an example of what a Christian should be.

This brings up the title of my post...................

What if a fellow Christian, a stranger, a lost person, sees us in a situation that is not what it appears to be? How do we defend our actions when we have done nothing wrong, only being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Case in point! A few weeks ago, a friend ( I'll call him Joe) in my prayer group shared a story of just this.

He is in his late 70's and care's for his older brother that still tries to live as independently as he can. Joe takes his brother out to pay bills, eat and buy groceries. On this day he was at the store and as his brother tries to be independent, he was giving him space so as not to appear as he was helping him. As the brother was picking out an item from the freezer case, Joe was watching him from about fifty feet away while shopping for himself. Joe kept his brother in his sight without him thinking he was being watched. Joe's eyes were focused solely upon his brother and his concern for him.

Then......as Joe was watching his brother, a young lady stepped in about halfway between them to pick out an item. Joe was still focusing on his brother and peering around the lady to make sure he was OK. The lady quickly picked her item and was gone. Just as quick, a friend of Joe leaned in from behind and said " you might as well follow her to the car and go home with her." and he just as quickly slipped away before Joe had a chance to explain that his brother was fifty feet away. All that friend saw was Joe in a situation that was very unbecoming to a Christian family man.

Joe has of yet to be able to explain his actions and is even wondering if it would help. He was moved to tears, concerned that his motive of love for his brother was misconceived as an image of lust in the eyes of another.

If only Joe had used his X-RAY Specs!

Keeping our eyes focused on the important things in life is what it is all about. There will always be detractors of our motives and witness, and most importantly we need to uplift one another constantly in prayer.

WRITER'S BLOCK

I'm still here, just haven't been able to post for a while.
I seem to have a slight case of writer's block as everytime I start to post I run out of words or the words don't make sense as they come to me.
I do have a few thoughts running through my feeble mind, and I will eventually get them out and into the cyber-world...........Grant

Turn It Up!

Turn it up!

Sharla and I hear that outburst from the backseat on nearly every ride in the car.
We don’t even consciously know the radio is on, as we routinely turn it way down instead of off. Carson’s hearing is very acute and recognizes songs from the first few notes. ( I wish “Name That Tune” was still on the air…maybe we could cash in!)

He has an ear for the "oldies" as that is the music Sharla listens to in the car. He also picks up songs from the movies he watches as they use the same songs. He instantly connects the song to the movie such as: "that song is from Shrek or that one is from Napoleon(Dynamite).

He amazed us last winter while in a coffee shop in Lexington. We were sipping a coffee and Carson was having a chocolate milk, when he said "springtime", I said"what"? He replied again"springtime". I was at a loss and Sharla had no idea what it was all about. Then it hit me! I caught the faint strains of music playing softly in the background....Vivaldi's Spring. I said "how do know that song? He answered "Little Einstein's"...a show he watches occasionally in the mornings. They introduce art and classical music to preschoolers. So...not many three year olds can pick out a piece of classical music, and that still boggles my mind.

While I consider myself am musically inept, I enjoy music however I’ve never been one to have to always have a soundtrack playing in the background of my daily life. I have always believed that having an “ear” for music is a gift and something that I’ll never comprehend. . I can recognize some tunes, even sing a few bars, but as far as remembering a whole song, apart from a few hymns and regularly sung worship songs, I definitely don’t have the gift and I stand amazed at anyone that can play an instrument or sing.

Since Carson was about one, he has moved to the beat! He loves the praise band at church and alternates between strumming the “air guitar’ and imaginary "drumset" all the while balancing on the back of the pew with my arm around his waist.

He still sings the songs from last years Vacation Bible School Arctic Edge along with his favorite contemporary worship song"Trading My Sorrows". As the psalmist David said in Psalm 98:4 Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise.

However tonight he was belting out "Evil Woman" and "Straight Up"as they played on the radio, not too much praise there, but he sure can carry a tune!

As for the dancing that goes with the music......he has the moves to go with it too... too bad Disney doesn't have Preschool Musical in the works!!....but I'll save that for a later post!

FROZEN DREAMS

Frozen Dreams

My ultimate fantasy trip of a life-time is not to lie on the beach on some tropical island while a warm breeze parts the palm fronds above as I sip a cool drink from a coconut.
I wanna go North!
Up where the breezes are cool and the beaches are rocky and ice-strewn. Where the caribou and the musk ox run free, and the mosquitoes swarm so thick that they can dim the everlasting summer sun. I dream to trek across the open expanses of the frozen tundra, living off the land. I want to partake of the hospitality of the Inuit, learning their ways of survival in the harshest of climes. I want to wear a robe and mittens of sealskin and mukluks made of the finest walrus hide. I will watch as clouds of migrating bird’s trouble the waters of a pristine glacial lake. I want to catch the grayling and the char and cook it over a fire of driftwood from a distant unforeseen boreal forest. I long to lie on my back and watch the Aurora Borealis paint the black sky with curtains of pastel brilliance. I want to feel the bite of -45 F on uncovered skin!
I want to watch polar bears (from a distance, of course) as they lumber across the whiteness, ever searching for their next meal. I dream to sail the open waters of the polar sea, up the west coast of Greenland, passing giant headlands and countless glaciers and unnamed mountain peaks. Sailing northward, going as far as the pack ice will allow me. Retracing the route of the ill-fated Franklin expedition and the later voyage of Amundsen through the Northwest Passage. I will trudge onward as a lemming, crossing each new barrier without a thought of turning back.
My infatuation of all things “arctic” began over two decades ago when I discovered the books of Farley Mowat. His stories and sociologic insights into the people that inhabit the vast expanses of the Great White North filled me with intrigue. He traveled extensively throughout the arctic, preserving the ways of life in his reports. He brought to light the hardships and travails facing the Inuit and the Siberians, along with the issues of habitat destruction, over-fishing, oil exploitation and introduced diseases. All of these things have a detrimental effect on the northern societies. His books, Sea of Slaughter, People of the Deer, The Siberians, Never Cry Wolf, The Desperate People and the Boat Who Wouldn’t Float, are must read’s for anyone looking for an insight in the nether reaches on the far north.
While I long to step foot on the frozen soil, I also know that dreams are dreams. Dreams are what you make of them. Some people have an uncanny knack for making their dreams come to fruition and others, me included, dream just to be dreaming. My head sometimes swims with countless thoughts, and I struggle trying to make sense of the mish-mash. Thoughts of a child. 1 Corinthians 13:11 tells us….I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
I guess I will always struggle with this one, and next year I’ll probably be reclining on a beach beneath an umbrella slathered in SPF 45, reading a book about the arctic, drinking frozen lemonade and watching Sharla bake in the sun while Carson splashes and builds sand castles.
Oh, the life of a dreamer…and forever a little boy!

POSTCARD FROM GEORGETOWN KENTUCKY

What a beautiful day!
70 degrees and sunny with a slight breeze. Such a relief from the heat and humidity of the past week.
The Bengals have deserted town, students are unloading cars and carrying boxes into brick buildings with countless windows, and another semester is beginning.
Carson and I have been kicking around a soccer ball on the campus of Georgetown College while we wait on Sharla to get out of her Town Meeting of Fall orientation.
We have now retired to the car to let Carson watch Open Season( for the umpteenth time) on the DVD player. I am writing in the car as the battery is slowly dying on my computer.
Carson said earlier in the morning that he will be going to school here when he gets bigger and that he will play soccer and go to class with the girls. ( I better start saving my money now!)
Our next visit will be in a couple of months and will coincide with the Homecoming game. As long as the “mascot” stays on the other side of the field, we should be all right. I am nominating Sharla for Homecoming Queen!! I'll post a picture of her with her roses and tiara later this Fall.
By the way…..just where is Shorter College?
We do this little trip on average of four times a year. We spend a “guy’s day” together waiting on Momma. We usually wile away the hours kicking the ball, hitting nerf golf balls, chasing squirrels, watching movies, eating snacks, checking out the Hispanic flea market(they have a great selection of Mexican League soccer gear), and more or less driving around and checking out the sights.
We still have a few hours to get all of this done after we take Sharla to lunch.
We then have to go to Lexington to eat at Johnny Carino’s and to let her shop at the Hamburg Pavillion before we hit the road back to C’burg.
Just a few more trips and she will be all finished up!!!!! To embark on her new mission in life empowered with her MA in Special Ed.
Just a day in the life of the traveling Johnson family.

"AND THEN....DISCOURAGEMENT SET IN"

To quote a line from one of my favorite movies, "and then... depression set in" it is from the movie Stripes. Bill Murray had just had his car repossessed, lost his job and his girlfriend in less than an hour. As she walked out the door, he slumped to the floor and uttered that memorable line. I think discouragement was not even a part of his vocabulary.

A very interesting lesson this morning in Sunday School The lesson was titled “When You’re Discouraged”.
The lesson in the quarterly was written by Tara Nye and she used the following parable to open the study....
Once upon a time it was announced that the devil was going out of business and would sell all his equipment to those who were willing to pay the price. On the big day of the sale, all his tools were attractively displayed. Amongst the tools were envy, jealousy, hatred, malice, deceit, sensuality, pride, idolatry, and other implements of evil. Each of these tools was marked with its own price tag.
In a corner by itself was a harmless looking, well-worn, wedge-shaped tool, but it bore a higher price than any other tool. Someone asked what it was. The devil answered “That is Discouragement .” the next question came quickly, “and why is it priced so high even though it is plain to see it is worn more than the others?”
“Because,” replied the devil, “it is more useful to me that all these others. I can pry open and get into a man’s heart with that when I cannot get near him with any other tool. Once I get inside, I can use him in whatever way suits me best. It is worn well because I use it on everybody I can, and few people even know it belongs to me.”
The tool was priced so high that no one can buy it, and to this day it is never been sold. It still belongs to the devil, and he still uses it on mankind.

This lesson really hit me hard....I know I sometimes feel that wedge whenever my best laid plans get pushed to the wayside. I know it is a feeling of pride that gets in the way of me doing the Lord’s will. We all feel discouraged in our daily life, discouraged in our jobs, discouraged when our children don’t do what we tell them to do, discouraged when someone else succeeds without paying their dues, or so we think.
We all need to evaluate the cause of our discouragement and ask God for a fresh vision of his purpose for our lives.
I just try to go with the flow, and not let discouragement turn into depression.
It is a hard battle to fight, that the rewards will be great when the battle is over.

Futbol?

Futbol?
I could put all my knowledge of the game into a few sentences and if it is double spaced it could possibly make an interesting, albeit short paragraph.
My experience of the game is relatively short. We never played it in school and the only name I remember from my school days is Kyle Rote jr. Is he still alive?
I really just got interested in the game about two years ago. I started following the Guatemalan National team in their quest to qualify for the World Cup. I still can’t recall any of the player’s names, but the nicknames are memorable. It seems all Latin players have a nickname..”el Conejo”(the rabbit), “el Pescadito”(little fish), and ‘el Mago”(the magician). I haven’t noticed that in the MSL as of yet, but I’m sure it’s coming.
Why the Guatemalan National team? Well… that is due to my connection with the up and coming “futbol” prodigy from Guatemala, my son Carson.
We became a “forever” family in 2004 and since he started to walk, he has kicked a ball around the house. This past Autumn he watched a game on TV and then saw the goals set up in Central Park. We had to buy a ball and go to the park to let him run. He was only three and could run circles around the old man. We then planned a trip to Columbus on Mother’s Day this Spring to watch the Crew play the Chivas. It was Hispanic heritage night and the stadium was abuzz with activity. After buying the twenty bucks worth of popcorn and cotton candy along with a stadium horn we settled in our seats to enjoy the game. Carson loved the game, the excitement and the sounds of somewhat familiar Spanish language in the background.
When we got home we signed him up to play in the Upward league this Summer. As his first taste of organized sports he is proving to be a good listener. I tried to teach him the two-handed overhead throw-in many times in our practices and he was too stubborn to even try. Then in his first game the coach handed him the ball and he instinctively performed the maneuver like he had done it a million times before. While he still runs around the field quite aimlessly and likes to pick grass and flowers on the field, run to Momma for a drink leaving the goal unattended and kicking toward the wrong goal, he loves the game.
I still have a lot to learn and with the help of “Soccer for Idiots” maybe someday I’ll figure it all out. I even bought myself some cleats. “Why a bald over-weight 44 year old needs cleats?” is kinda laughable, but he said I needed them for the park.
But right now all I care about is the big smile and the “game face” whenever he puts on the uniform and puts that # 3 ball under his arm, and the smiles of his very proud parents as that “soon to be four year old” little head of black hair bounces tirelessly up and down the field.