Rocky, My Old Flame...

That was his name,
and he was my flame,
My tender 4th grade flame.
We never kissed.
Wonder what I missed.
Or did we, and I just forgot?

Oh, he was cute, and so mature, much more so than the others.
Maturity, you know, is important at that age,
Thoughtfulness,
Tenderness, too.

He moved away, far too soon,
but left two things behind:  
a heart on a chain, left in my box,
my shoebox covered with hearts,
with a slit on the top
and a place in my heart.
He signed his Valentine... "Rocky."

Ah... the sweet memory of young love.  He was ahead of his times, and I wonder where he is these days.  He didn't stay long in my life, but his legacy lives on, and sometimes I allow my heart to go back to those "once upon a time" days.

The heart he gave me was black.  It was a faceted black heart-shaped pendant that swung beautifully on a silver-toned chain.  Striking it was in appearance and most unusual for a 4th grader of the 1960's to possess.  Wish I had it now.  Wish I could hold it in my hand, but its memory will have to do.  Perhaps that's even better than a heart made of plastic... or... one made of stone.

Rocky, where are you?  I really liked you, you know.

And now... now that you are a memory of those innocent days gone by, I realize what a treasure you were. You see, you gave me more than a heart of stone... you gave me sweet memories to hold in my heart... and THAT, my old flame...  is the real treasure!
 

Silly me, but I love the memory...


Cindy...
the girl from Plato Elementary School



(Note from the author:  Saying, "I like you." or "I love you." is more important than we realize.  Say it.  Mean it.  Live it.  And do it today.  Everyday should be Valentine's Day!)

@Copyright 2011, 2012. 2013, 2014 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Written three years ago, but it seems like yesterday...

 I sit on the bench, a lot, and I have a bird's eye view of people.  They don't know that I'm observing them, and sometimes I'm not even aware of it myself.  But, this particular instance gripped my heart and still pulls on my heart strings, and I feel compelled to share it with you.

Saturday morning's dress rehearsal called in the entire cast:  orchestra, choir, drama team, media team, and even the children's choir.  We all felt the excitement of the next day's performances.  Christmas music filled the sanctuary as it flowed through our fingers, through our voices, and from our hearts, and I felt extremely good about the music because this year I was prepared.  Or, so I thought.

Rehearsed and ready to go, I listened as our director called for the opening orchestral prelude.  Oh, my gosh... I had forgotten all about that one!!!  I had all the choir's music on my agenda, but had totally forgotten about anything and everything else, including the prelude.  When I looked at the score, I knew I was in big trouble, and that this was not a piece I could jump in and successfully sight read.  Even with a week's rehearsal, my fingers still might not be able to move as quickly as the tempo required, so I swallowed hard and tried not to panic or fall off the bench as the director began the downbeat.

It's a sinking feeling when you realize you are about to be exposed... when your mistakes are made public, and all those around you see your inadequacies and your faults.  No one likes to stumble-fumble, especially in front of an audience, and it surely hurts our pride when we do.  But, that's what happened to me.


The orchestra played through it once, then our director gave the call to play it again.  So, I fell flat on my face twice. I was so embarrassed, and extremely mad at myself for my blunder, and I couldn't blame anyone else for this mistake, ah, these mistakes.  This was my fault.  It was one of those moments where you feel like a little kid again, a kid at school who hasn't done her homework.  You know that feeling of when your head droops, and your shoulders drag the ground, and you wish you could crawl under the bed with a bag of cookies.  I felt terribly low and needed a hug or a good cry!  But, instead, I promised my "patient" musical director that I would know it by "tomorrow", and he smiled.  Thank heavens he's a trusting soul!

Things improved from then on, I'm so glad to say, and there were no outstanding glitches in the music.  My feelings of "rattledness" and low self-esteem began to fade away as the music flowed and lifted us all to a "higher" place.  The choir in the loft sang boldly and beautifully, and the celebration of our Lord's birth was proclaimed through the many talents present in the room.  All was well, once again.  

When it was time for the children to come onstage, they enthusiastically jumped up and scrambled up the stairs to their proper places.  One of our pretty girls tripped on the last two steps and did sort of a butterfly flittering with her arms & legs:  quite graceful, actually, for a stumble.  It wasn't that noticeable until she began her giggling and landed with a sort of unexpected "thud".  She handled it very well.  She landed upright, and nothing was injured, thank goodness.  Everything was intact; nothing hurt, except her pride.

Ah, I knew that feeling all too well for I, also, had landed upright, but with wounded pride.  She and I were now kindred spirits, and my heart ached for her.  I knew exactly how she felt, and I wanted to tell her "there, there now... it's okay", but I didn't need to because someone else thought of it before I did; someone even more appropriate than I.  Her daddy was in the orchestra, and he saw it all unfold.  That man didn't miss a beat!  As her giggling continued, he jumped up from his chair and hurried  over to her and gave her one huge bear hug!  He patted her lovingly on the shoulders and whispered something secretly in her ear. Then her daddy walked back to his assigned place in the orchestra and resumed his playing, while she joined in with her choir as if nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened.  Something magical had just occurred, and I witnessed it firsthand.  Her smile told more than she realized, and I breathed a sigh of relief for her. With that one unselfish act of kindness, love had filled the room, and there was so much of it that even I, way over on the piano bench, felt loved.   Wow... it was a powerful experience!  It was precious to watch, and it was a perfect picture of why we were there and of what we were all celebrating.

It's all about a father's love:  the Christmas season.  Isn't it?  We all need it so desperately, and God our Father gives it abundantly to all who receive Him.  We all stumble in our own ways... our pretty young lady, me, you, all of us... and there's nothing sweeter than love picking us back up and wrapping its arms around us and hearing it lovingly say, "there, there now... I love you, baby.  It's okay, and everything's gonna be alright".
 
Mmmm... that's a mighty good feeling, and one I wish for all of us, whether we deserve it, or not. They say that love isn't love until we give it away.  So, since this is the Christmas Season, let's find someone who needs a good ol' bear hug, and let's go out there together and share the Good News. There is a world out there who is hungry for someone to love them, and there is a Someone who does.  His name is Jesus.

Christ is born, and He shall reign forever, and ever!
 
May God bless us, one and all today... and because we stumble, may we all keep a firm grip on our loving Father's hand.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou

 ³⁰And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.
 ³¹And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.
 ³²He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David:
 ³³And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.
                                    ----Luke 1:30-33  New International Version Bible

                                             

@Copyright 2010, 2011, 2012 2013 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Fire, Fire! Hair on Fire!

"Lean not over a lit candle."  Cindy Lou

Fire, Fire!
Hair on Fire!

It was the month of December in a quiet neighborhood in central Texas.  It was your typical Sunday morning worship service in this Southern Baptist Church.  Traditional Christmas carols and festive decorations filled the room, but there was nothing typical about things when her hair caught on fire!  I guess you could say, "That's when all hell broke loose!"

I was the pianist, and she, Miss M, was the keyboardist.  We were just about four feet apart from each other.  What separated us was a short banister wall, about "hip high", and of course, the votive candles were lit for the morning's service.  All was well, and the congregation seemed to be singing better than usual.  They actually were in tune with our choir, and our minister of music was giving it his all as he lead the joyful sounds of praise and worship.  Our pastor was deep in thought, or prayer, or something, but by the look on his face one could tell that he, too, was enjoying the service.  It was a packed house and joy filled the sanctuary.  Everyone was in their proper place, and as they say, there was peace in the valley.

Then, it happened.  We were in the middle of one of our favorite Christmas carols:  congregation singing, piano playing, keyboard roaring.  And then, she leaned forward with her head tilted down somewhat... ka-whooooosh!  The top of her hair caught on fire! 

Out of my peripheral vision I saw this instant flash of bright, white light.  There seemed to be some very pale yellow, kind of lemon yellow, and a very delicate shade of lavender mixed with some blue in it, too.  I thought it was very pretty, until I realized what it really was!  "Oh, my gosh... it's a fire!  Dear, God... her hair's on fire!!!" 

Now, you have to understand, that at this exact time in space, everything was in slow motion:  very, very slow motion... even though we're talking about just a matter of seconds.  As my fingers kept playing the Christmas call to worship, my eyes saw three or four deacons rushing towards the piano and keyboard.  They looked like linebackers from a football team, but they had this horrid look of fear on their faces.  They seemed to do some sort of shuffle run, then they would halfway halt, then start moving forward again.  It was a strange sight, I tell you.  Frightening, too, because they were running straight towards us...  Miss M and me. 

I don't know what finally clicked in my mind, but thank goodness it did.  I jumped up and started hitting Miss M on the head, patting out the fire.  Wisps of singed hair floated all around us, kind of like tiny dark feathers sifting through the air.  It was as if we were on film, and that the film's shutter speed was slowly clicking from frame to frame.., or in this case, from "flame to flame".  The very distinguishable odor of singed hair overpowered everything:  the scented cinnamon spice candles, the holiday fragrance of the evergreens, and even my gently applied Channel #5.

It all happened unbelievably fast, and then, in a flash, it was over.  Done.  Gone.  Fire out.  Oh, the candles kept burning, and the congregation kept singing. Well, mostly.  The singing did sort of die down, but I'm not sure the folks on the back rows ever knew why or that a ruckus had occurred right there on Sunday morning, in their peaceful little church. 

Our minister of music recounts that everything in that service was going great until he looked over and saw his pianist beating the keyboardist on the head.  Guess he missed the vision of the flames, but he sure as heck saw his two musicians decking it out with each other, and that's what he remembers to this day!

As for the deacons, the men that rushed to the front, they weren't needed after all.  My speed and position allowed me to take care of the "situation", and so, they fumbled back to their pews, shaking their heads wondering what on earth had happened. 

Musically, the song survived.  Only a few measures were without accompaniment, and once the flames were smothered, I went back to the piano bench and started playing again.  Miraculously my hands were not burned.  Miraculously, Miss M was not injured.  Her pride was somewhat assaulted, and her hair needed a few weeks to recover, but she had no burns whatsoever, and what could have been a catastrophe became a miracle and a marvelous, unforgettable memory.

I have to tell you, that this was a highlight of my career.  I have played for church services off and on for decades now, and many stories can be told.  But, this one is tops.  Whoever said being a church pianist is boring, has never sat where I sit, and they have never seen things from my perspective.  I love what I do, and it is never, ever boring... at least not for this gal, and certainly not here in Texas!  I truly consider it a privilege, and I count it all joy to be a "bench warmer".  And just for the record, the Christmas season is definitely my favorite time of the year!

So, here I sit.  I'm watching and waiting for more miracles...  pardon the pun, but they do warm the heart!

Joyfully serving... and, joyfully playing,
this church pianist,

Cindy Lou


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

Thanksgiving Again

The following story I originally posted three years ago, but it still stands true this Thanksgiving Season.  When I wrote it, my life was simpler.  It was easy to take my own advice.  But now that I am a worn-out care-giver for an elderly parent, and a giddy grandmother of a gorgeous two year-old grand daughter, my stretched emotions blur the "urgent" and the "important".  My confusion bothers me, and this tug-of-war is constant.  How does one balance the two extremes?

It was good for me to read this today.  Perhaps it will help you, too...
Cindy Lou, November 20, 2013


Today is Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and as I awakened food was on my mind:  ham, turkey & dressing, gravy, vegetables, cranberry sauce, pies, and desserts.  As I dressed for the morning, I kept thinking about all the food that would be here at the house tomorrow, wondering if we had enough, but I knew I had to turn my thoughts elsewhere.  I had to quit thinking about food and focus on my job, but even as I drove past the local Walgreen's Drug Store, their electronic sign flashed "Krispy Kreme donuts available here!"   More food to think about, but it had to be tabled and pushed to the back of my thoughts until after the 11:00 o'clock funeral service.

Friends and family were gathering at the church to celebrate a loved one's life, and I was to be there early to play the piano for the service.  The dear departed soul was unknown to me.  We had not been friends;  but after hearing about him, I wish we had been.  Mr. J (that's what I'll call him) was a World War II Veteran who had been stationed in Guam.  Pictures were shown of him and his sweetheart as they held each other closely, and pictures of their following sixty-two years together flashed onscreen before us.  We saw weddings, new babies, anniversaries, and more new babies, dinners, parties, and then even more new babies.  It was a love story for sure, and the pictures revealed a vibrant personality plus strong dedication to family, friends, and of all things... chickens.

Mr. J liked chickens.  Now, I have to admit, that I, too, like chickens.  Some of my fondest memories as a child are with my neighbor, Mr. Beal and his chickens.  He would let me fill the water bottle and turn it upside down (that's what you do with chicken's watering systems), and sometimes he allowed me to feed the chickens.  And, as baby chicks hatched, I could watch the miracle happen, and then when the chicks were all fluffy, he would let me love on them and squeeze them... but, not too tightly for fear of crushing them.

Some of the grand kids at today's service told their stories of helping their Grandad with his chickens, feeding and watering them, and I certainly identified with them and their love for the man that introduced them to a new, feathery world.  They lovingly and admirably told of experiences they had shared with their Grandad, and it was obvious to me, an outsider, that Mr. J had left a big part of himself inside each grandchild, and that what he believed in will be carried on and will be lived through his children and their following generations.

Already touched by this man's legacy, I knew that this memorial service would stand out in my mind as one of those special ones.  As a musician, I play for many funeral services, and they all are dear.  However, some are much more memorable than others, and this one definitely fits into that category.  This one was sweet, tender and loving, and one I hope I will always remember.  In my heart I thanked the Lord that I could be there and be a part of this circle of family and friends, and I thought the best had already been shared, until the last grandchild spoke and told this simple story, one that centers around, you got it... food.

When she was a small girl, and a  member of the Brownie troop, she sang the Brownie song to her Grandad.  He asked her if she knew the last verse to the song, and she didn't, so with a twinkle in his eye, he sang it to her.  She shared it with her troop leader who also had never heard that verse and taught the last verse to all the girls.  They all loved it, but somehow throughout the years, the memory has faded, and now, years later, the granddaughter can't remember the tune or the words to the Brownie song.  That memory is gone, but  she can still remember the main thing about that verse, the last line that her Grandaddy taught her. 

It's a profound statement; very plain and simple, and I thought about it all the way back home as I drove past the post office, the school, and the Walgreen's with its "Krispy Kreme" sign still flashing.  I thought about my life, and what I'm doing with it, and what I'm not doing with it.  It made me wonder about my priorities, and what really is important to me, and with it being the Thanksgiving season, it caused me to consider my gratitude.  Am I really aware of my amazing, abundant, incredible blessings?  Do I have a clue as to how blessed I really am?  And, then... am I thankful for them?  Truly thankful?  Or, have I slidden into the trench of  ingratitude and dug my ruts so deeply that I'll never see more than my own selfishness, my own greediness?  I pray that's not the case, not my future.  Heavens, I pray not so.

I tell you, friends, even though I was at a funeral today, today was a good day for me.  I enjoyed remembering my childhood friend, and I was blessed to find new ones.  My eyes were opened as a new friend's closed eyes helped me see something about myself.  It's not a pretty picture, the glimpse I saw of me, and it isn't one I'm proud of.  But, it is one that can be changed.  Starting right now, I will pay more attention to, I will be more aware of, and I will be more grateful for all that I have and for what God has given me.  I will focus more on what I have, and focus less on what I don't have... or as she told us today, just as her grandaddy, Mr. J once told her, his precious little granddaughter, and as I am now telling you...
"focus on the donut, not the hole."

Sincerely looking for ways to express my gratitude,
and ways to stay focused,

Cindy Lou

p.s.  Thanksgiving is more than just a day, isn't it?




@ Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

@Copyright 2011, 2012, 2013 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Freedom

New Mexico Sky

A dream that abounds in every heart...
Freedom.
My soul... Freedom.
A vision that awakens the soul...
Freedom.
My soul... Freedom.

A drive that astounds the world around...
A making, a searching, until we have found
That Freedom releases the soul that is bound...
Freedom.  My soul... Freedom.

My generation expects it.  So does yours.
My generation craves it.  So does yours.
My generation fights for it.
So... does yours?

Freedom.
My soul... Freedom.

-Cindy Lou Hodges



@Copyright 2011, 2012, 2013.  Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Christmas music plays at my house throughout the year, and I play and sing along with it.  I love the melodies and the warm sense of joy and comfort that the Christmas Carols bring to me.  The lyrics tell me that a baby born 2000 years ago, in a stable,  is my way to heaven:  that he was the Savior for all mankind... and is the Savior for you and me.  His name is Jesus, Immanuel... Savior of the World.

All we have to do is confess that "Jesus is Lord" and...
believe that this very Jesus died on the cross for our sins and...
that God raised him from the dead.

That's the only way our souls can be saved.  Our part is simple.  So, why make it hard on ourselves and why hesitate?  None of us deserve salvation, but all of us can have it.  Let's open our hearts this Christmas season, and open our mouths.  Confess...Believe...Sing...and Share!  

"That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved."  - Romans 10:9, Holy Bible

Joy to the World... the Lord has come!

Sincerely,
Me... my soul...
Cindy Lou

"I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you;  he is Christ the Lord."  - Luke 2:10-11, Holy Bible

 
@Copyright 2011, 2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Turtle

She stared at me with her great big eyes, and then it stared at me, too.  With a rope between them, I wondered who had hold of whom?   All these years I had seen only an angel dragging a turtle along, but today... well, today I saw something different:  the angel isn't the patient one.  It is the turtle that is the patient one, and he's the one with the rope around his neck.  He's roped to that cute little lady, and he patiently goes along with "whatever".  Oh, my!  What he has to put up with would astound you and crack the shell on your back:   if you had one!

So today, I am pondering what I do to others, the ones that are tied to me.  I'm not so sure it's a pretty picture, but what is beautiful is their patience.  Blessed... I am so blessed.

Patience: the will or ability to wait or endure without complaint.
                a spiritual gift,  fruit of The Spirit

^"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law."
                                  ~  Holy Bible, Galatians 5:22-23, New International Version

Walking, Standing Together

@Copyright 2011, 2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Biscuits & Ice Cream

At our favorite fast-food dive, we finished our morning biscuits, then began to talk about ice cream... real, satisfying ice cream.  We're both under stress as caregivers for loved ones who live with us:  a husband with Alzheimer's and a mother who is wheel-chair bound.  So, food, comfort food, is an important conversation topic.

"I don't cook much anymore, because he's satisfied with just a sandwich, even peanut butter & jelly."

"Me, either.  But, I did open two cans of black-eyed peas last night.  Threw some sliced ham in the skillet, and they thought I had cooked a feast.  They're still talking about it this morning!"

"Did you ever find Blue Bell's Christmas Cookie that I told you about?"

"No, I gave up looking for it once I tried their Strawberry Pie flavor.  Oh, girl.... you were right.  It's to die for!"

"Well, I've got a half-gallon of it in the bottom of my chest freezer.  It's there for my son-in-law when he comes up to visit, and it's his favorite.  It will keep for up to six months.  I'll just let him get it himself, since he's so much taller than I am.  He will love me forever!"

"And, if he doesn't happen to come in the next few months, then you will just have to eat it.  Right?"

"Of course!"

We fiddled with our jelly wrappers then rolled our napkins placing them on the plastic tray.

"But I do have another carton in the freezer that I've saved just for emergencies, and last night I really needed it:  Chocolate Mint with the biggest chocolate chunks you've ever seen."

"Hmmmmm."

"But I couldn't reach it.  You know how far down the bottom of the ice chest is?  I thought I was going to fall in... really, I couldn't reach it.  So, I thought about that long-arm, grabber thingy (pinching fingers together), and I was ready to go get it, but I wasn't sure where it was.  So, I gave it one last try, and by golly, I did it... I got my finger nails under the rim of that lid and managed to get it out.  It was heaven."

"Hmmmm..."
"Hmmmm..."

After that, silence surrounded our little dining booth, and we sat there with goofy grins on our faces.  We sat there satisfied with the simple comforts of ice cream, morning breakfast biscuits and conversation with a good friend... a friend who really understood.  Life did not seem so difficult after all. 

Thank you, my friend...
Love,
Cindy



@Copyright  2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Pioneer Woman...the Wagon Ride

  
I envision a pioneer as an adventurer and explorer:  a bold and curious, nosy soul who travels the distance to satisfy her curiosity, to settle her dream.  My Grandmother is a fine example, or maybe it was more her husband, my Grand Daddy Kemp.

During the early 1900's they traveled from Arkansas to Oklahoma in a covered wagon... twice!  As newlyweds, the "just opened" Indian Territory offered opportunity, land and adventure:  just what a young couple desired.  But, the Oklahoma plains proved too forlorn for them.  Terribly homesick and overwhelmed, they packed everything back into their wagon and retreated back home to Arkansas.  

However, once replenished and emotionally restored, they took off again, for that same rugged, covered wagon ride.  This time they stayed and raised their five children on Oklahoma's red soil.  Maybe they had fallen in love with Oklahoma the newly titled "forty-sixth state" and its open skies, or maybe they were too weary to travel back to known opportunities, or maybe... they were just too proud.  For some reason, they dug in their toenails and stayed near the southern Red River, taming their parcel of land, parcel of possibilities.  With grit, determination, hard work and pure "hardheadedness" they conquered their "West" and carved out a homeland for their generations to follow.   They were true adventurers, and most definitely... pioneers!

That was my grand daddy Jesse Samuel and my grand mother Lizzie, and even though their "Pioneer" title appropriately applies to them, it cannot be passed on to their children or children's children. My ancestral history may contribute to my pioneer longings, but family credentials do not prove me a pioneer.  The title "Pioneer" can not be given.  It must be earned.  

Hence, I continue my quest, and ask myself again... "Am I a pioneer?".

Sincerely, 

Cindy Lou Kemp Hodges

Jesse Samuel & Elizabeth Kemp, Wedding Picture 1919

Note their eyes:  Grandpa's look of adventure, Grandma's look of steadfastness

Webster's New World Dictionary... Pioneer:  noun  1. a person who is among those who first enter or settle a region, thus opening it for occupation and development by others.
 


 

@Copyright 2012, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Speaking of worms...

You won't believe what I found this morning... in my bed, under my pillow.   I found what no one expects to find, or ever, ever wants to find  under her pillow.  You might accept the concept of it fairly easily if you find it under your covers at your feet.  Maybe.  Most likely not.  You would think nothing of it if you were outdoors camping.  But, I found it at the top of my bed, precisely in the middle, under my pillow where you're supposed to find nice surprises like candy and pretty things, and money from the tooth fairy.

Isn't your bed supposed to be your sanctuary?  Your place of safety and shelter?  Isn't that where you run to when your world crashes?  Isn't that the place you rush to when you need to cry your eyes out, when your heart is broken and where you hide when you're afraid?  Isn't that your place, your space, your domain, your cradle of love?  Isn't that forbidden territory to all creatures unless invited???

Then tell me why, when, how, and who gave that worm permission to crawl under MY pillow?  Spit fire and toe nails!   I am disgusted, grossed out, and mad!  Now, I'm a girl that grew up in a rural neighborhood in Oklahoma, and I used to play with butterflies, bugs and even worms.  I played in the dirt and made mud pies of every shape and size.  I knew what every kind of manure looked like and smelled like.  I collected crawdads and  caterpillars and dug up earth worms for fish bait, and I even baited my own fish hooks.   I crammed crazy looking creatures into my pockets and carried these pets around with me all day.  But, this brown hairy, one & one half inch worm received no warm welcome from me. 

Times have changed, and so have I.  I live in Texas in a city surrounded by concrete.  I live in a house made of brick.  Oh, I am blessed.  I have a roof over my head, and it doesn't leak.  Oh, I am so blessed.  I sleep in a bed with clean white sheets and warm covers to blanket me.  Yes, I am truly blessed.   I sleep on a mattress that's soft, and my pillow even softer.  I sleep in a bed up off the floor with critters on the outside and me on the inside, or so I thought.

Today's invasion crossed the line of no return.  Judge and jury I became.  Today's critter received no mercy.  Ignoring forbidden boundaries, this worm wiggled and wormed its way into my cozy bed, under my downy, soft pillow, on my clean white sheets, and slept soundly... once.  Only once. 

Now he sleeps in peace. Forever!

As they now say here in my house, and for years have said in my beloved state of  Texas.... "don't mess with Texas!"

Sincerely becoming more and more of a crazy old lady, and surprisingly... enjoying it!

Cindy Lou



@Copyright 2012, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Pioneer Woman

"I feel like a, a pioneer woman," I said.  "I feel so all alone with no where to go, but forward."  "That's great," he said.  "Did you just hear yourself?  Don't you know the definition of a pioneer?"

I fumbled for words.  I thought I knew the definition, but all I could think of was a tree standing alone by a stream of water:  a tree still standing when all others had fallen.

His positive response surprised me, and I'm wondering what is so good about it?  I don't feel a rush of excitement, or a sense of accomplishment, but he made it sound like something wonderful.  What am I missing here?  I don't know, but it might be worth digging into and sorting out.  So, I'm taking the time to find out if I am what I said I am.  Am I a "Pioneer Woman", or am I not?

(to be continued...)



@Copyright 2012, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.