Saturday, December 9, 2023

Finding the good in the COVID-19 worldwide pandemic

 When bad things happen, we should try to find some goodness in the situation and make the best of it.That's what Mama and Daddy always said. So did my Grandmas and Grandpas. So did the preacher at church.

But, honestly, when COVID-19 happened a couple of years ago, finding the positive angle was difficult.

Believe it or not, I did, find a positive side.

At the time, I worked for a major home improvement store chain. I loved the job, I loved the two stores I worked at during the 15 years of employment, and I loved the people I worked with. It was a great company, and I reckon it still is.

Well, with the way The Government and The Science reacted to COVID-19, businesses had little choice but to follow along with the panic. Although we were never forced to choose between the vaccine and employment, we were required to mask up. The store provided the team I was a part of--merchandising service, which stocked shelves and put up displays and helped customers by finding them a sales associate--with something called gaiters or gaters or gators--I never bothered to find out exactly what the real name and spelling was.

This protection was just a long cloth tube, so to speak, that I pulled over my head and used to cover my nose and mouth and chin. It was hot and a pain in the face. But I quickly discovered a benefit.

I really enjoy listening to the radio--music or talk, I don't care which--and I like to listen to podcasts, too.

Well, in no time at all, I discovered that by wearing the gaiter/gater/gator over my ears, I could leave my Bluetooth earphones in my ears and no one would notice. If someone said something to me and I didn't respond, they didn't figure it was because I was listening to the forbidden radio, but rather I was hard of hearing because I am advanced in years.

So, I spent all those months of COVID-19 happy as a lark, listening to music, news, talk, historical podcasts, whatever I wanted. In the photograph that accompanies this brief essay, I am grinning from ear to ear. For the record, I did not usually wear the protective goggles; that was just a way to be quietly sarcastic about the overreaction to what was really just a strain of flu.

So, the lesson from this sermon is: When faced with something you don't like but are powerless to change, find something positive and use it for your own edification.

Tuesday, November 21, 2023

Can we have a happy Thanksgiving in this kind of world?

We have some excellent writers on the weekly paper in our town. Even the guy who owns the place writes well. He has an excellent Thanksgiving Day message in this week's paper. Here's just a little bit of it:

"We can’t do much about beheadings, massacres and racial strife half a world away, but wouldn’t it be nice if we could have peace on earth on our little piece of Earth. Just about now some folks have quit reading this column – no controversy, no crime, no new store opening, no tale of a coach who is paid $26,301 a day for eight years to hit the road – and, most likely they are the ones who need to heed the lyrics of the great 1969 Beatles’ tune, 'All You Need is Love.'

"When you think about it, that really is all you need to fix a lot of what’s broken. Need a higher authority than the Beatles? The New Living Translation of the Bible includes the word love 645 times. “'Love thy neighbor,' is one of my personal favorites.

"If love were truly in play, we would not have human trafficking in our backyard. We would not have homeless people, period, so we would not have to fight about what to do with them. With love, a man and woman would not have starved a 10-year-old girl to death in her padlocked bedroom. We’d love the drag queens as much as the drag racers.

"In case you didn’t read between the lines in the previous paragraph, take note that every heartbreaking story, every battle, doesn’t happen half a world away."

Yes, even here in our little niche of the beautiful Ozarks, our small city is not immune to human trafficking, homelessness, child abuse or sexual confusion. I don't know how love is going to fix any of that, aside from the fact that Jesus said, "God is love," so we'll all have to get together and figure out how we can turn it all over to Him and how He can use us to share His love and tenderness.

I encourage you to go read the entire essay by Donald Dodd, the publisher of the Phelps County Focus. Do that by clicking here: Happy Thanksgiving -- Here's to love and tenderness.   


Monday, November 20, 2023

Christmas times a-coming--since mid-September

Speaking of snow (as I was yesterday morning) has put thoughts of Christmas and merriment in my mind, so I thought I'd share this photo. I was in Lowe's the other day (actually, I am pretty sure it was about Halloween) and this is what greeted me the first thing when I walked in.

Yes, yes, yes! I remember now! It was right before Halloween, because I recall now when I saw this display, I wondered if Lowe's was trying to sell Santa costumes for Halloween trick-or-treating.

I later asked a friend who works there how long those two Santas had been up, and he said they put out all the Christmas selling items in mid-September or thereabouts.

Goodness, gracious, sakes alive, as grandma used to say. That means Lowe’s had Christmas decorations and Halloween decorations out about the same time. That's almost like a good vs. evil battle right there in the heart of Lowe's! Almost, but not quite, for I don't think Lowe's does recognizes Christmas as a religious holiday.

Do they say "Merry Christmas!" in their advertising now--or is it just a generic "Happy Holidays"? I don't know.


Sunday, November 19, 2023

A year ago, we had snow on the ground

Our local paper  the other day on its weather page made  note that about this time last year we had a couple inches of snow on the ground. The local weather writer acknowledged that he or she (it is unclear, for the weather writer only refers to itself as The Insider) does not remember that snow.

I have to admit that I, The Ozarks Boy (if it's good enough for the paper, it's good enough for me, although my nickname indicates truthfully that I am indeed a male; no transgenderism on this homestead) do not recall it, either.

It's a dadgum shame to get old and feeble in the mind.

Well, nevertheless, there was snow on the ground this time last year, or a day or two ago last year, for it likely fell and melted quickly this time of year.

Unfortunately, I remember nary a bit of it.

Wednesday, July 12, 2023

Our local paper has some comments on the weather

 Our town’s weekly newspaper had an interesting article by someone known only as The Insider about a couple of new record temperatures set here in late June.
The records, though, weren’t the high temperatures for the day. They were the low temperatures for the day. In other words, the overnight lows for a couple of days in late June were higher than they’d been in the time that temperatures have been measured, monitored and kept in the files here in Rolla, Missouri.

A good friend shared this photo of the Ozarks version of 
huckleberries, noting that in a day or two, they'd likely be
burned up by the blistering heat. 
                                       
The Insider didn’t sound any alarms, though, reporting that the numbers were “like a fairly typical July or August here in South Central Missouri.”
Then a couple of days later, there was some news in the national and worldwide media that the temperature on the Fourth of July was higher than it had ever been—or at least for more than 100,000 years. 
“Now, they haven’t had thermometers and weather stations for 125,000 years, but scientists are able to look at tree rings and ice core data and read the weather,” analyzed The Insider. “Reading tree rings and ice cores sounds almost theological to The Insider. Well, it wouldn’t be theological, because these scientists likely don’t believe in any form of theism, but it sounds like it is going beyond science into some other realm. The Insider, not being a scientist, could be wrong.”
Well, we’ll see what happens when August rolls around. That’s usually the hottest month here in Southern Missouri.
The Insider had some more to report on Earth’s hottest day ever, and you can read it all at this link: Couple of local temperature records set last week, but neither on Earth's hottest day in 175,000 years | Weather | phelpscountyfocus.com
The Insider posts daily weather data from the local NOAA Weather Co-Op Station, so if you’re curious about weather here in South-Central Missouri, take a look at Weather | phelpscountyfocus.com.

Saturday, July 1, 2023

Thank God for the rain

It has just started raining.

The editor here, The Ozarks Boy, says he is not going to complain that he just carried bucket after bucket this morning to water hiswife's flowers on the back deck. Nope, he is going to thank God for the rain.

We really need it. Missouri is in a drought, like a good part of the country, and it is affecting our farmers and ranchers. I was at a meeting in town where a young farming couple who had just bought an established real estate firm said the hay production on their farm has been significantly affected. They are getting less than a thrid of the number of bales per acre that they usually get. That means they'll have to buy some hay from someone else, paying a higher price, no doubt, in order to have hay to feed the herd this winter.


It has been awfully dang hot, as well as dry, this summer. The temperature was above 100 a couple of days this past week.(Go see our local paper's website, Phelps County Focus). Now temperatures in 90 and above 100 are not rare, not unheard of, here, but that doesn't mean we like it when it gets that hot.

The Ozarks Boy's brother-in-law works in the Texas oilfields, and a week or two ago, he sent a photo of a digital thermometer--it might have been from inside his air-conditioned pick-up truck--that showed it was 113 degrees that day. No one here at The Ozarks Almanac remembers any temperatures that high here.


Forecasts for the next few days--The Almanac staff checks several apps and websites frequently--indicate that it will continue to be hot, although not as hot as it was Thursday and Friday. There could be some more rain, off and on, even on the Fourth of July. That's good, for it's been so hot and dry that The Almanac staff has been fretting about the possibility of increased brush fires during the Fourth celebration. Maybe the rain will diminish that chance. Thank God.

Well, the rain has stopped, so a check of The Almanac's weather station shows a good rain and some moderation of the themperature. The rain gauge out on the deck railing shows we got a little over 1 inch of rain. The thermometer held by suction cups to the outside of the window next to The Almanac office shows the temperature is in the 70s, not the 90s. Yes, The Ozarks Almanac weather station is a bit primitive.

Well, the writing of this report was halted by about 30 minutes. There was a citywide power outage but it's fixed, the electricity is on. The air-conditioner is running, and this Almanac report will be posted shortly.



Monday, May 8, 2023

Be prepared to pray when called upon in church

 At the country Southern Baptist church I attend, a member of the congregation is called on every Sunday to pray just before the offering plate is passed. That has been a Southern Baptist practice for as long as I remember, and I grew up in a Southern Baptist church and raised my children in Southern Baptist churches.

Now I don't mind being called on to pray aloud, but I don't care to be called on, if you know what I mean. Here's what I mean, if you don't understand: I am not articulate, so I cringe a little every time I am called on to offer the prayer in our small congregation. Although I love the Lord and am grateful for his blessings and want to express that gratitude, I stumble and stutter and stammer through the words. Eventually I get to the end and when I say AMEN, everyone knows that I'm done.

Other men in the church pray coherently. And when a visiting pastor comes by--and no matter who he is, he gets called on to pray either the offering plate prayer or the closing prayer--the words just flow off the tongue of that preacher--whoever he might be.

So, before Easter I told my wife that I was going to write a prayer and have it in case I got called on. Well, I didn't for some reason, and I missed a couple of Sundays because of work. Then, on Easter Sunday morning I arrived at the church parking lot late for Sunday School. I don't like going in and disturbing the teacher when I'm late, so I sat in the car to wait until the worship service. I got out paper and pencil and quickly wrote a prayer, but it was more of a poem. It was kind of a cowboy poem--or in my case, an Old Ozarks Boy's poem. I was ready in case I got called on to offer an Easter prayer.

Well, I didn't, thank the Lord, for later when I got home I read the poem to my wife (who is disabled and doesn't go to church with me any more, so she stays home and watches sermons on TV). As I read my poem, I stumbled over the words because my handwriting is so bad, I couldn't make out some of what I'd written.

Well, I kept the poem and revised it a time or two. Or more. I got it to where it sounded pretty good. At least in my mind. I told my wife as I was leaving that I had the prayer in my composition book, along with my Bible, and I would read it if called on. She said something like, "Well, you won't have to worry about being called on again after that." She is not a fan of cowboy poetry, and certainly not hillbilly poetry.

Well, sure enough, after we sang the song and it was time to pass the plate, the song leader called on me to offer the blessing. Here is what I read, loudly and with much Ozarks Boy expression, so all the old people in the congregation (many of whom are younger than I) could hear, and without any stammering or the like.

THE WORKINGMAN’S PSALM 150 

Our Father, we are here to worship You 

on this, the week’s first day. 

And to thank You, Lord, for sending us 

The Truth, The Life and The Way, 

Who took Your wrath while on the cross 

for all the sins we’ve done—and do. 

Now our hope for life is in our Risen Savior, 

in the Holy Spirit and in You. 

 

And thank you, Lord, for your daily provision, 

steak and baked potato when we have the means. 

But also for a plate of fried taters and cornbread 

and a big ole heaping helping of beans. 

So, Lord, as Psalm One Fifty tell us to do, 

we're here to offer You much praise. 

And we do that through song and prayer 

sermon, fellowship and love, always. 

 

We’d praise you with harp and trumpet if we had’em, 

with a timbrel if we knew how to make it sound 

Why, Lord, I’d even praise you with dance 

if there wasn’t so many Baptists around. 

Now, Lord, please bless these tithes and offerings 

we return with gratitude to thee today 

For use in your church’s ministry to spread the Word 

And, in Jesus’ name, we pray. 

--AMEN 


There was some laughter and some positive comments made aloud--no catcalls, though. And after the service as I headed out the door, a deacon stopped me--a retired general--and told me how he liked it. Other people--including the preacher!--agreed with him.

Well, I'm glad they liked it. Now, the next time the song leader calls on me, I guess I'll have to go back to stuttering and stammering.

Sunday, January 29, 2023

She was a most beautiful, affectionate girl

Sophie loved to be beautified and photographed.
On this date in 2020, our beloved Sophie died.

Sophie was the fulfillment of my wife’s lifelong dream of owning and loving a Standard Poodle.

Well, I guess she owned her, technically, and she certainly loved her. Sometimes, though, it seemed Sophie owned us more than we owned her.

Delaine, my wife, had fallen in love with the big poodle breed when she was a youngster and visited Texas relatives who had somehow wound up living in New York. They had a black Standard Poodle. Playing with that “dog” (we generally refer to them as babies, as we do not have children together) on that summer visit started it all.

Later, when she was a teen, Delaine worked and earned money to buy a poodle, although it was not a Standard Poodle. She loved that baby all of its long life, though.

For a long time, she wanted a Standard Poodle.

She later bought a Cairn Terrier and named her Katy, after a city in her native Texas. Later, she saved a mixed dog from certain death in an Arkansas dog pound. That was Dixie Belle, believed to be a mix of Sheltie and Pomeranian--I called her a Shelteranian--who was always cute and puppy-like, even at the end of her long life.

Those are the two Delaine had when I met her and persuaded her to marry me. She had moved from Texas to Arkansas and now to the Missouri Ozarks for her job. We had both been through divorce, and she had no human children. I had two grown children. So, we had her/our two babies, Katy and Dixie Belle.

Within months of our marriage, though, Delaine found online a notice that some folks way up in the upper peninsula of Michigan had some poodles for sale. The Reiniches (their name) were not breeders; they loved Standard Poodles, and their pair had babies. Mrs. Reiniche was intent on adopting out the babies they could not keep, to people who met her standards for Standard Poodle parenthood.

Delaine passed the test, and we drove way up north to Michigan, the upper peninsula, way up there under Lake Superior, to get the baby we would name Sophia, Sophie for short.

The story of how she got her name is an embarrassment to me, but I’ll tell it anyway.

Talking about what we would name the new, black puppy that we were going to go pick up in Michigan, we tossed around some names. Delaine said the best names for canine babies end in “ie” or “ey” or “y.” She had read that the little ones respond best to names with an “e” sound at the end.

“Well,” I said. “She’s a black poodle. Let’s name her for that black blues singer, Sophie Tucker. Let’s call her Sophie. Her real name on her registration can be Sophia, but we’ll call her Sophie.”

Delaine thought that was a great name.

Imagine how I felt a couple of years later when I found out that Sophie Tucker was actually a white Jewish torch singer, not a black blues singer. I'm a hillbilly, raised on bluegrass and country music, so I am not at fault. I blame Delaine; she grew up in big Texas city, Houston. She should have known better. Oh, well, But such a mistake was unimportant, and we didn’t care. We just loved our Sophie.

I called her the “clown of the canine world,” because she was comical. I don’t remember everything exactly now what she did that made me laugh; I merely remember a lot of laughing at her antics, a lot of it.

Such a beautiful girl.

It didn’t take much for me to laugh at her, though.  For instance, from my easy chair in the living room in our old house, I could look through the dining room into the kitchen where there was a window to the backyard, a window that Sophie could look through and see me when she wanted to come in.

“I see a big giant head looking at me,” I would say, laughing and getting up to go let her in.

She often slept between Delaine and me. I loved the times I woke up with a head next to my shoulder and soft breathing in my ear. Yes, it was always Sophie, not Delaine.

On Saturday mornings I would sleep a little later than normal and then let the babies out. Then we’d all get back in bed together. Sophie often would get back between us to be petted and talked to, first by her Mama and then by me.

She was the biggest lap dog I had ever experienced. When I was a kid, we had a little pound puppy named Susie who sat in my lap, but she was small. Sophie, though, was a 65-pound girl who would jump on my lap when I sat down in my recliner and put my legs up to read or watch TV. She would usually lie down lengthwise with her face down by my feet and her tail up on my chest. Yes, occasionally she would burn my nostrils and eyes. I’d gladly put up with that again, if I could.

Katy and Dixie Belle loved her. She was about the same size as they when we got her, but it was not long—too soon, in fact—that they were able to easily walk under her.

Sophie and her Mama loved to have matching
fingernails. Yes, those are fingers on Sophie's
hands, not paws.

Those were the three we had several years. Then Katy, a cantankerous old girl, died after a long life. We got Henry, a white Standard Poodle to fill that void, and he is the subject of many other stories. After Dixie Belle passed, we got Grace Claire, or Gracie. That meant we had three Standard Poodles at once.

Henry and Sophie loved one another, like a son and mother.  Sophie loved Gracie Claire, too. Henry tolerated her.

As Sophie aged, her black hair began turning gray. She seemed to begin losing her eyesight. Her hips began to fail, and she had trouble getting up to walk. That meant I had to lift her up to get her on her feet. She could walk to the back door and go outside. On the grass of the back yard, she seemed more sure of herself than on the hardwood floors of our old house.

Eventually, she was unable to walk on those floors without falling, so I would have to bend over put my hands, clasped, under her belly and hold her up while she walked to the backyard, like a wheelbarrow, where she could manage on the grassy surface.

Eventually, I had to carry her to the back yard, where she could walk, although that ability began to falter, too. I had to pick her up sometimes and put her back on her feet.

Many weeks, I picked her up and carried her to the back yard. I also picked her up and stood her in front of her food bowl and held her while she ate. I even fed her by hand sometimes.

Towards the end of her life, we adopted another baby from an animal shelter. That is Roland Dudenhoffer , the Little Dude, who is a terrier mix of some sort. He loved the big black Standard Poodle who spent most of her time on her mat on the floor, asleep; The Dude loves everybody and everything, including Buddy the cat.

Finally, on that morning Delaine two years ago texted me at work that our sweet Sophie had passed.

I really miss that baby. I give God credit for all the good things that come to or happen to me. So, I thank God for Sophie and the whole crew.

All of our babies are special to us, but Sophie might be the most special of all. She must have been, for she turned me into a poodle-loving man.




Thursday, October 14, 2021

Let's hope Joe Miner stays the way he is

Joe Miner, image taken from S&T website

After hearing news about sports team names and athletic mascots that offend people enough to be eliminated and erased from memory, we’re concerned about the future of the mascot of our local university, Missouri University of Science and Technology.

We’re proud to have that engineering campus here, a university that started out as the Missouri School of Mines.

The teams are known as the Miners or the Lady Miners, and the school’s mascot is a character named Joe Miner.

Of course, Joe Miner attends games to support the team, and he occasionally is seen at community events. We enjoy watching kids react to the big fellow.

But look closely at Joe Miner and you’ll see several things wrong with him.

For one thing, he’s a man. We recall reading about the controversy surrounding a “cowboy” mascot at another university because such a character excludes the female students. It troubles us that someone might find Joe offensive because he is a manly man. Just look at that smoothly-shaved face and that strong jaw and chin..

For another thing, he carries a pistol. This is an homage to the days of mining in the west, we suppose, but now, a pistol-packing man on a campus is a frightful sight.

Joe also is wearing a cowboy hat, a relic that brings up the term cowboy again. He is not wearing a woolen stocking cap or a beret, both of which seem to be preferred by today’s young men.

On a related note, he is wearing boots, footwear for rough rubes. Today’s college boys wear sneakers or sandals, signs of their gentleness.

Joe is also carrying a giant slide rule and a pick. What in the world for? Shouldn’t he simply be carrying a cell phone -- and looking at it, both thumbs working the keys -- instead, to be reflective of today’s culture?

And, of course, he lacks melanin.

The description of Joe on the school’s website is also troubling to some, we fear. It describes Joe Miner as “rugged and individualistic” and a character who evokes “the spirit of the old west and the determination to succeed.”

Make no mistake, we here at The Ozarks Almanac like a character that looks like a man, dresses like a man and carries a firearm. We believe in the value of rugged individualism and in determination to succeed. We also are fond of the spirit of the Old West and The Cowboy Way.

But we wonder when Joe is going to be targeted by people who are offended and replaced with someone or something more "inclusive." We wonder when the S&T Miners will be replaced by the S&T Social Justice Warriors—and what that mascot might look like on the sidelines of a football game.

Let's all hope that never happens.