Ma Ma Jacquie's Blah Blah Blog

Translation:

• Wull=Well
• Ahl=I'll
• et=eaten
• fer=for
• tater=potato

In English: "Well, I'll be eaten for a potato."

Expanded version:

"I am so suprised that my eyes are popping out. In fact I have so many eyes popping out, I probably look like a gol-derned tater just sittin' there ready to be et. I wouldn't be suprised if someone just came right up and cooked me up and et me."

CUT IT OFF!

My foot has been offending me lately. About a month ago, when we were all at the beach, it smashed itself on a rock while trying to find it's way in the dark. Result: bit fat purple toe for the next 2 weeks. Last week, it lost its balance on a little tiny stick while it was taking a walk on a beautiful path in the Sequoia (are all my vowels there?) Forest, and it threw me on the ground. Result: big, fat, purple, green, and yellow foot that won't fit in a shoe.

So, as I sat on the edge of my bed comtemplating this Scripture, I grabbed a pair of scissors and was just about to start hacking away. Then I remembered Martha and Kristen last night. Hmmmmm. Maybe a little lotion. Yeah. That's better. Maye a little polish. Waaaalllllllaaaaaah! (Voila', for you french guys) No more offense! I love my foot. Even my baby toe.

I think what the Bible was actually saying in a symbolic sort of way is, "If thy foot offendeth the, give it a pedi."

There's an important lesson there! He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

I'm not sure how many incidents it takes to make an offender "serial" but I think Randy is one. Back when he was about 20, he was "innocently" riding his bicycle in Ojai when, according to him, a cat ran right out in front of him and he just ran it over. But, I'm starting to wonder if that's the real story.

I didn't really think about it when, about 15 years ago, we were driving down to Devils Post Pile in the Aerostar van. A little chick-monk ;) was playing chicken with his friends and as quickly as you can blink an eye, squish! I felt the smush under our tires. The boys can testify to the fact that Randy/Dad "swerved to miss him", but misjugded and ended up executing him instead.

This weekend it all started to come together. There we were on a little windy road (Hmmmm. That's funny. We were on a windy road when he hit the chipmonk, AND he was on a road when he hit the cat. Coincidence? I wonder.) Anyway, we came around the corner. Randy had totally taken on his Mario Andretti persona, so I was keeping quiet. All of a sudden, there it was. A huge tarantula, making his way across the little road. I screamed, "Oh cool! Let's take a picture! Emma will love it!" And then I felt that reminiscent, almost undetectable, tiny swerve of the car, and I knew there would be no hope of a picture. That is unless I wanted a morbid photo of taratula guts and 8 squished leggs. Randy SAID, "Oh shoot!" That's when it all started to sink in. These weren't just random accidents, they were the sensless acts of a deranged Road Kill-er! What next Randy, skunks and possums? What about birds, would you kill birds? All I can say is, if you are riding with Randy and you see a cute little fuzzy animal that you'd like to photograph, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. There is something inside his twisted mind that will snap and the next think you know, that fuzzy creature will be flat.

I'm not talking "mentally"!

We're off to beautiful uptown Visalia. Gateway to the Seqoiahs. Yeah. That's where we're going to spend our anniversary. How many years? Well, let me see. I guess it was back in 1976 that we decided to hitch up our tents. 29 years ago we left Ventura on a "camping trip" which started in the Soqoiah Redwoods. We've "hooked up" in one forest or another since then and have nothing but awesome memories to show for it. Life is great!

We leave behind the possibility of a cherished nephew passing a cursed kidney stone and a beloved daughter-in-law birthing a beloved grandbaby. It's hard to leave under these circumstances, but one thing you learn as you get older is that everyone can get along just fine without you if they have to. But we love you all still!

Don't have too much fun while we are gone. WE'LL BE BACK!!!

O.K. This is one of the sweetest things I've seen. I just can't stop thinking about it.

First of all, I have to tell you that the reason I have a Life Recovery Bible is that I stole it from the church office when I needed to take a Bible with me to lunch one time several years ago. (Not that a Life Recovery Bible isn't a good thing to have, mind you. It has great little sermons and encouragements for all kinds of things. ) It was a Bible that had belonged to a cool old lady named LaVerne who had died a few years back, and the family had given all the "religious" things to the church to dispose of, or use, or whatever. So, it was in my car for a long time, then I just gave up and brought it in the house.

Well, I was leafing through it the other day and found a lone little piece of paper. A little note page from a little note pad. On it was written in faint pencil, obviously by a child, "I Love U Aunt Vern."

Oh, Man! I hope that's the kind of stuff I leave behind when I die!

I was wondering out loud the other day. "Why did God make it so that men (not mentioning any names) snore so loudly and grotesquely that it disturbs the sleep pattern of women (big yawn)? I was meaning it in a kind of "What's up with that?" attitude. Randy didn't take it as the good natured hint that it was: "Could you please stop breathing?", but more as a challenge to discover a good reason why this phenomenon might occur.

Here's what he came up with...

Back when everyone was sleeping out in the wilderness (lions and tigers and bears, OH MY!) the men's snoring at night would serve 2 purposes:

1. The loud snoring of the men served as a sort of weapon to scare off predatory animals. (Hence, villages. The more snorers, the less chance of attack.)
   
2. The sound of men snoring would give the women a sense of safety due to the above, and actually allow them to sleep better.

OOOOOHHHHHHHH! So, that's why we have never had any wild animals attacking our home at night. What I thought was torture was actually chivalry.

God's Word says that unless we are converted (changed, turned around) and become like little children we will not experience the Kingdom of God.

Just the other day I saw little Isaiah "walking" into the auditorium holding on to his daddy's finger. Isaiah is about 12 months old. I was making a fuss of his walking capabilities, but his dad said bluntly "he's not walking". Well, it looked like walking to me. One foot in front of the other. Not a care in the world. Just troopin' along. Then his dad showed me what he meant. He took his finger away and Isaiah immediately started to wobble, he looked around frightend, waved his arm around grasping for his dad's hand again, and abruptly sat down in the middle of the aisle.

Wow, it hit me! We are always wanting to grow up. We think everyone should grow up. It's natural to grow up. But in God's society, the more like Isaiah we are, the better. So now I want to grow down.

When I "grow down":

• I'm never going to walk anywhere unless I'm holding onto my Daddy's hand.
• I'll be happy, carefree and brave when I am holding on to my Daddy's hand.
• The minute I sense my hand moving away from Daddy's I will grasp back on and hold tight.
• If I ever realize that I've gotten too far to grab on again, I will sit down where I am and not move again until my hand is in Daddy's again.