The Funeral at the Megachurch

“Jesus, you’re the best…” he said.
His open collar showed his chest
was tan even in December.
“We just want to thank you, Lord,
for taking Joe to be with you.
We’ll miss him, but we know it’s best
for him to be in heaven.”

We sang Amazing Grace, but Joe,
it seemed, had clawed his way up high
through generous gifts to the church,
by staying married, raising kids,
and praying often. He would reach
the Golden Gates, receive the pie
in the sky. Not so, you and I.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Dec. 10, 2014

What salesmen do for a living

This story is told by my cousin Dennis, originally from South Paris, Maine. Our grandmother was a tea-totaler, a member of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU) that struck fear in every drinking man! Here’s the story in his own words.

Every Christmas our family would have our tree in the morning, go to church and then go to grandma’s house on Main St. All the Titus uncles and aunts would be there with their children. We would nosh on pastries baked by Aunt Muriel and then do the tree.

The aunts and uncles plus us children would get two or three gifts from each family and be done with opening our gifts in 15 minutes. Then our grand parents would methodically open each gift from all of us there and all their far flung friends and relatives. There would be mounds of gifts for them. Grandma was very precise, she would cut off all the bows and have a box to put them in for next year. Likewise all the wrapping paper. Then she would write in a book who gave the present and what it was. This process meant that everybody sat for hours watching them open all their gifts. You would see everybody nodding off or going to the dining room to get pastries and coffee.

After about an hour of this gift opening by Grandma, I noticed one of more of my uncles would get up and disappear for a half hour or so. Being the curious person that I am, I followed my Uncle Roy. I noticed that he went through the kitchen out into the barn. [Note to the reader: the barn was attached to the house through a pantry by the kitchen].

So I waited a few minutes and went out into the barn too. They were all gathered in a separate room with the door shut.

I opened the door and surprised them. They were drinking beer and smoking. They quickly tried to hide the beer cans and butt their cigarettes hoping I didn’t notice. I just stood there frozen in my tracks. Finally Uncle Roy said this was not place for me and I should return to living room.  As I turned to leave, Uncle Alva said “Wait a minute.” He came over to me and asked what had I seen. I told them I saw that they had been smoking and drinking, in a smug sort of way.

Uncle Alva was building a boat at that time, so he asked if I would like to go fishing with him and Bill [i.e. Alva’s son; Dennis’ cousin] next spring? Of course I said I sure would. Being the salesman he is, he proposed a deal to me. If I go back to the living room and keep my mouth shut, he would take me on the maiden voyage of his boat on Thompson Lake and we would go fishing for Lake Trout. I looked at him with wide eyes and a big smile and said “Uncle Alva you got a deal!” My other uncles pulled their beer out and took a big swallow and laughed. I shook hands with all of them and left with a grin that didn’t come off until I went home that night (laughing to myself all the next day).

When my mother asked where I had been as I returned to the living room, I told her in front of everybody I had to go to the bathroom real bad. No one was ever the wiser…. I went fishing with Bill and Uncle Alva on their maiden voyage laughing all the way. That’s when I learned what salesmen do for a living!

Dennis Smith, Whitewater, WI, December 10, 2014

Victoria’s Secret Angels

All the reports say people
who see real Angels fear them.
They blaze in glory from bringing
their message from the Holy One.
There are no descriptions
of high heels or underwear.

Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Dec. 9, 2014

EDITOR’S REFLECTION

Readers unfamiliar with Jewish and Christian Scripture may not have heard of Isaiah’s vision in the Temple (Isaiah 6:1-8) that begins his work to reform his nation:

In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord [“the Holy One] sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim [“angels”]. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew.  And one called to another and said:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
vthe whole earth is full of his glory!

And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. And I said:

“Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”

Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: “Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.”

And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Then I said, “Here I am! Send me.”

Verse – the Latest Thing

One holiday, my granddaughter
found the old, black, Royal typewriter
that was used by my grandfather
to write his first successful book.

She had learned how to hunt-and-peck
on her Mom’s and Dad’s computer,
so I found her some white paper,
and pushed the sliding carriage back

and forth for her. A fifth-grader,
she typed notes to her “Dear Mother,”
and, of course, to her “Dumb Brother.”
She did not seem to mind the lack

of some electrical power:
“It’s got its own built-in printer!”

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Nov. 25, 2914

Verse – Invitations

Invitations once came in the post,
Now emails & voicemails are lost
Amid FaceBook & Twitter,
In Texts & e-clutter:
I can’t RSVP the host!

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Nov. 20, 2014

Verse – The Choir

The choir’s BASS was to be the Foundation,
And his low “C” was quite the sensation,
But so flat was he,
His “C” was a “B,”
So elation became consternation.

The ALTO could sing like a bird.
And her beauty the males all allured,
But her tempo was slow,
And her voice was so low,
She never could really be heard.

The TENOR was a prima donna;
His tux had bright diamonds upon a
Stud here and there,
But when we’d despair,
His voice would shake all of La Scala!

Our conductor said “I am the BOSS!
Without me you all would be lost.
So watch me explore
This musical score:
The fast notes will make your eyes cross!”

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Nov. 14, 2014

Verse – Limerick

There was a young singer from Oslo,
A soprano with such a vibrato,
Across a fjord
You could hear her record:
She always sang FORTE, not piano.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Nov. 13, 2014

NOTE: In his retirement, Steve sings in three choirs: his church choir of about 12 , a community choir of 60, and a University choir of 30 that sings music from the Baroque. These are mainly a pleasure–except for an occasional soprano soloist.

The Good Earworm

This head scratching verse from Steve Shoemaker arrived this morning in response to yesterday’s post about the song in my head:

thegoodearworm

thelord’smyshep-herdi’llnotwant
hema-akesmedowntolie
inpa-asturesgreenhele-e-dethme
thequi-i-etwatersby

“What’s an earworm?” I wrote back. He phoned a few minutes later. “Don’t you know what an earworm is? Nadja didn’t know either. Look it up in an Urban Dictionary. It’s a song that gets stuck in your head.” “I didn’t know you were so street-smart,” said I. We had a good laugh. I looked it up.

Earworm: “A song that sticks in your mind, and will not leave no matter how much you try. The best way to get rid of an earworm is to replace it with another. Be prepared to become a jukebox.” (from Urbandictionary.com)

The earworm Steve seems to be hearing is the Crimond musical setting for Psalm 23. Dipping into the jukebox, here’s another lovely setting for the psalm, the replacement ear worm:

 

 

 

 

DWI Straddling the Center Line

Extra DWI Patrols this Weekend. Drive Sober. The message began to appear yesterday, Halloween, above the Interstate Highways in Minnesota.

It reminds me of a funny story.

Years ago, as my friend Ron remembers it, he and his parents were driving home from a relaxed dinner at the Nagy’s, the newly arrived Hungarian refugee family. Mr. Nagy was a gourmet chef accustomed to offering guests the best libations along with a delicious professionally prepared home-cooked meal.

Ron’s father, John, was not much of a drinker, maybe a beer once in a while, but nothing more. John got a little happy at the Nagy’s.  Driving home with young Ron in the back seat and his wife Helen in the passenger’s seat, John was straddling the center line on a two-lane, two-way street just a few blocks from home when Helen criticized his driving. Helen was a force to be reckoned with. “John! You’re drunk. You’re over the line. You’re wandering over into the wrong lane. You’re going to get us killed!”

“Helen,” said John, “it’s obvious you don’t know the law. There’s a law here in Pennsylvania. After 10:00 p.m. you can straddle the white line.”

Telling the story to my friend Steve and me last year, Ron could hardly get through the story. We’ve been friends since Kindergarten in Broomall, Pennsylvania. Today Ron is in ICU in a Pennsylvania hospital following emergency surgery straddling the center line.

Prayers surround you, Ron. I remember your story like it was yesterday.

The Campaign Animal

Political folks just repeat
…and repeat,
Keep saying it over
…to win that great seat,
But I have a limit,
My ears just can’t hear it,
When words from that goat’s
mouth become one more BLEAT!

– Steve Shoemaker, October 28, 2014

BTW, Don’t forget to vote next Tuesday! May the best goat win.