Tried Green Tomatoes?

Tomorrow will herald the last day of this long year. Time to say "goodbye" and "thanks for the memories," both good and bad (Romans 8:28). Time to appreciate another day of blessing and new year of hope. Time to pull out the summer's vegetable garden and find some recipes for hundreds of green tomatoes.

San Luis Obispo Crime

San Luis Paso ain't. Does that make sense? It will when you go to this crime map of San Luis Obispo, then take the little hand cursor and drag it down and down and down until you get to see little ol' Paso 30 miles north.

No comment from this Paso lover.

Rock of Ages

I took this picture almost 40 years ago while visiting Glacier Point in Yosemite for the first time. The powers that be have restricted taking pictures from this point since then. You have to stay on a fenced path (to reduce lawsuits most likely). Some things don't change, like this chunk of rock facing into the valley a mile below. Photos taken over a hundred years ago at the same angle could be superimposed on this one without seeing a difference.

There is a more ancient rock, called "the ancient of days" who is God in Christ. Eternal, unchanging, Jesus Christ is the "same yesterday, today and forever." Hebrews 13:8

A Little Sand in Your Sandwich

Boy, is it cold, or what!? And to top it off they're showing The Day After Tomorrow over and over on FX network. What we need are some beach movies, like Beach Blanket Bingo and Muscle Beach Party with Annette and Frankie. Anything to warm us up a bit. Hey, even a little global warming documentary would be nice!

We used to head over to Cayucos during the summer to 'cool off' when it was about 118degrees in Paso Robles. The sand would burn our feet, but the water was freezing - cold enough to erase the thoughts of sweltering on the other side of the hill. Here's a 1967 photo of Marvin Herreid and Susan Wynn dripping after a dipping. Looks like fun, but hard to imagine when you're expecting another night of ice capped world around you.

Vocational overtime and seasonal stress have contributed to my blogging demise the past few weeks. It might also explain the sparse entries on the website. My humble apologies until things get back to normal.

May God bless each and all as we celebrate advent and a new year, remembering we are here at His behest, owe our all to Him as a Loving Creator and Redeemer, and will soon enter eternity.

Birdless . . . Wordless

Many years ago we lived in a house on Monterey Street with a canary Grandmother Cockrell had given us. This rusty yellow warbler was quite the fellow, perched in his wire-rimmed cage and singing most of the day.

We named him Chrysostom, after the golden-throated preacher from centuries ago. He was the much loved friend of family and friends as he preached his own gospel in song, cheering the sad and lonely with heavenly strains befitting one of God's beautiful creations. He didn't ask for much --- water, food, a good talking to and lots of noise to get him going.

Chrysostom was no weak-feathered wimp. With machismo manliness, he sounded a melodic scale of notes that would have impressed the hardest heart. As a 'chopper,' the music was often louder than we liked, but his enthusiasm atoned for this slight sin.

Poor Chrysostom's end would come as an overactive vacuumer bumped his cage and sent it toppling to the floor. He would never sing again in this life. He died within a few weeks from the shock.

In honor of his death, I wrote this poem. I believe it is the shortest poem ever written.

On the Death of Our Canary, Chrysostom

Birdless . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . Wordless