Remember the Sabbath . . . Saturday, Oct 29 2016 

to keep it holy!

I’m all for that!  And  the original Sabbath ordained in Moses’s day was  Saturday. The Christian church altered the pattern when it made Sunday the church-going day, but no authority re-designated the Sabbath as Sunday (at least to my knowledge?).

Later, Jesus clarified the Pharisees’ corruption of Sabbath Day holiness and legalism by reminding them (and us) that Sabbath was made for man.


Our back yard on Sabbath is not Adam’s and Eve’s Garden of Eden, but it is Sarah’s, David’s, Sadie’s, and Marley’s!

So here’s how I see it: Today is Saturday, and I am man, so this is my day.  I will keep it holy by recreating my mind, by exercising my body, and by restoring my spirit.  I feel like that’s what God had in mind way back yonder in Eden.

Praise and thanks to God for Sabbath!

The Teacher as Grandparent: Humble Rewards of the Profession Tuesday, Oct 25 2016 

pumpkin“Humble rewards of the [teaching] profession” has been a revisited blog theme since I started posting in 2006.  The beat goes on in the 37th year!  Today, my Fine Arts senior class sat on the sidewalk with kindergartners to carve pumpkins.

The little ones and big ones alike sat in the gravel-strewn, dusty walk-way, cramming their arms up to their elbows in the pumpkins to hollow out the  innards.  They made a delightful mess together.

A few years ago, I’d have noticed only the little ones.   But at this advanced career phase as an experienced grandparent,  the senior big kids are just as precious.  Chere babies all!

Blessed are those who teach, for theirs are the humble rewards.

“Luney” Literati: Responses to Drama Wednesday, Oct 19 2016 

I’ve posted lunes before (lune–a simple tercet form of poem).  The following set of lunes are creative responses to six dramatic plays enacting familiar short stories often taught in school.  We attended this performance yesterday at UL-Lafayette.  To the reader of trivial pursuits, see if you can identify the story that inspired each lune.


Students followed this set of instructions for the assignment.


A midnight dreary–
Dirty bird.
Nevermore, Lenore!


You think me mad? No!
But the heart
Tells its sordid tale.


Poor Ichabod Crane–
Lost his squeeze,
Scared plum poo-poo-less.


The monkey’s paw–
My mind took a break.
Couldn’t focus well.


Mathilde, t’es folle!
T’as gaspie’ tout.
Et pour quoi?  A rien!


A Twain tale so tall:
Make a bet,
Hyperbolic frog.

Running to live, living to run? Wednesday, Oct 12 2016 

I remember the first time we ran the mile in high school P.E.  We thought we were going to die!  As I recall, I ran somewhere in the 7 minute range and thought that was slow.  I wish I could run a 7 1/2 minute mile now!


The marvels of technology allow me to chronicle run stats for each day’s effort.  But the thrill is not the tech, but the run.

But at least I can still run a mile, and more than a mile, as I’ve more or less kept up the habit of running for about forty years.  My favorite running season is the early fall, after the brutality of summer heat  lets up.  The air is warm and the humidity much more tolerable.  On some of these crisp October days, I feel like I could run ten miles (Of course that’s in my head, because I can’t, but it’s nice to feel as if I could!).

I much prefer running outdoors, even year round.  Watching a TV while going nowhere on a treadmill would bore me.  This afternoon as I cruised across a broad grassy field on the way home, an endorphin rush created a fleeting sensation of gliding.  I thought to myself, “This feels good!”  I can’t run as fast nor as far as I did years ago, but I can still run.

And so I will run until either it’s no longer fun or I just can’t do it anymore, whichever comes first.

Hurricanery: The Showman’s Branch of Meteorology Saturday, Oct 8 2016 


Uh, there’s a hurricane going on, reporter.  Time to head for cover?

We watched reporters this week on several networks  clad in high boots and hooded slicker suits, broadcasting the eminence of Hurricane Matthew and his attendant dangers.

One reporter showed  a wind-driven projectile she had picked up from the hazardous street, emphasizing the dangers of being outside.


Who doesn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain?  much less the hurricane?

Why, the TV meteoro-journalist, of course!  I think they’re exhibitionists.

I decided to call this journalistic propensity news hurricanery.   These reporters want to make a name for themselves.

Doggy Dig It, Doggone it! Tuesday, Oct 4 2016 

Fall arrives.  The season Sadie and Marley dig the most.  No pun intended.

For whatever reason, as soon as the days shorten and the early fall air turns to the slightest  crisp, their paws are transformed into bionic earth movers.  The healthiest entanglement of St. Augustine sod is no match for their determined efforts to destroy turf.

For years I fought and resisted  this canine propensity, but they always won.  Since last year, I decided to wave the white flag.  They’re dogs.  They dig.  So I dig.  So what?


Marley the Dog is an adept digger.  He prefers making his bed in dust and mud rather than healthy grass.

The yard will turn ugly over the winter anyway, and spring will make all things green and grassy  in due season.