A few weeks ago, a young woman had dinner at our house. After the meal, she kindly helped clean up the kitchen.

At some point, she asked me where to store one of my serving bowls or pans or something.

I said, “Just put it in the dish drainer.”

She scanned the kitchen and then asked, “What’s a dish drainer?”

I didn’t want to laugh at her but thought, “Who doesn’t know what a dish drainer is?”

Every house I was ever in as a kid had a dish drainer sitting to one side of the kitchen sink.

My mind reeled backward to other things that were just givens in 1960s homes. 

There were those metal, knuckle scraping, nail breaking ice cube trays with a lever that, when lifted, eventually released ice cubes.

Most houses had ash trays because most adults smoked. The prominent ash tray of the day was a heavy square, glass one, suitable for use as a weapon, if needed. 

We had a TV antenna planted outside next to the house. When the television acted up, one lucky family member was sent outside to twist the pole of the antenna, calling out often, “Any better?” or “How about now?” After too many negative responses, the antenna twister came back into the house and snarled, “Someone else can go out and twist the stupid thing.”

We sat on plastic seats in the car that, in the summer, got hot enough to burn a layer of skin off the back of the thigh. We tapped the steering wheel and steered in short bursts of motion the first mile or so because it was too hot to hold on to. No AC to cool that thing down. We didn’t have power steering, so the driver strained mightily and leaned almost into the lap of the front seat passenger to make a right turn.

Our phone was mounted on the wall or rested on a table, and when we made long-distance calls, we had to speak to a real person and say, “I want to make a person-to-person call to Sadie Stevens in Mississippi.” The operator eventually got us through.

Every homemaker had a clothes pin bag (New ones made for much appreciated Christmas and birthday gifts.) and a clothesline in the back yard. Inside the house were an ironing board and an iron. These things weren’t stashed away in the closet or attic; they were used once or twice every week.

We went to church every Wednesday night and twice on Sunday. We held songbooks in which hymns and musical notes were printed, and we waved the heat away from our faces with cardboard fans furnished by the local funeral home.

We drank grape Nehi from thick, bumpy (returnable) bottles whose caps had to be pried off with a metal opener, and we licked the back of every postage stamp we ever used. At school, we said the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag every morning and sometimes listened to the teacher read aloud a Bible passage. 

What do you mean, “Which flag?”

Yes, I know these things are old-age indicators, and there are many others. 

My husband and I routinely yell, “You know I can’t hear you if you can’t see me!” and “How many remote controls do I need to switch from watching Amazon Prime to playing a DVD?”

We stare blankly at anyone who says to us, “Just scan the QR code with your phone.”

Our mantra is, “I’m too old to live in this world.”

We’ve become accustomed (grudgingly) to cashiers patting our hands and saying, “There you go, Sweetheart,” when they hand us grocery receipts.

This week my sister sent me a text that read, “I’m making a chicken pot pie for supper using your quick and easy recipe.”

I responded, “What quick and easy chicken pot pie recipe?”

She texted me a picture of a piece of paper on which “Debbie’s quick and easy chicken pot pie recipe 1997” was written. 

Who is the woman who gave her that recipe and where is she today?


You may question my decision to post an article about hate during this season of love and grace and everything else that is good.

Please stay with me. I will get to the love and grace and everything else that is good part, but first allow me to discuss things I hate.

  • I hate it when dads scream hateful words at their kids in grocery stores, front yards, or anywhere else, but I must not hate the dads.
  • I hate it when the teenage girl sitting in front of me at church stands to sing, and her skirt barely covers her panties, but I must not hate the teenage girl, or the parents who “let that child walk out of the house dressed like that.”
  • I hate it when I’m told my prescription will be ready at 1:00 pm, and I, with a throbbing earache, drive to the pharmacy at 2:00 pm to pick it up and find it is not ready. I hate the delay, but I must not hate the pharmacist or the technicians who, for reasons I do not know, fail to have it ready.
  • I hate it when I see moms who are more focused on their phones than on their kids who are tugging at their shirts trying to tell them something, but I must not hate the moms.
  • I hate it when teachers and other leaders of kids play favorites, but I must not hate the teachers and other leaders of kids.
  • I hate it when my husband says something to me when I’m in another room of the house, and he KNOWS I can’t hear him, but I must not hate my husband.
  • I hate it when a store clerk or restaurant server addresses me as “sweetie, dearie, or honey,” (because I’m an OLD-er woman) but I must not hate the clerk or server.
  • I hate it when I hear people use God’s name irreverently, but I must not hate the people who do it.

You will notice I have not mentioned I hate it when referees and umpires make bad calls. That is because I don’t watch sports and wouldn’t know a bad call if it tripped me, grabbed my face mask, and poked me in the eye after the play was over.

I must, however, remind viewers who make disparaging comments during games that they may hate the calls, but they must not hate the umpires, referees, or even the players involved in the bad calls.

I also have not mentioned anything I hate about drivers with whom I share the road. That is because I am not an aggressive driver. Rarely am I in a hurry.

I don’t give a hoot about being the first car off the line when the light turns green. I am okay with a driver cutting me off in traffic, unless he or she endangers my life. If someone takes a parking space I planned to take, I just find a different space.

Allow me to say, though, if you hate it when you are on the receiving end of drivers’ rude behaviors, you are free to hate the behaviors, but not the drivers who exhibit them. You also must not hate me (an OLD-er driver) if I drive a bit under the speed limit and am not quick to turn right on red when no vehicles are impeding my turn.

Now to the part about love and grace and everything else that is good.

We must not hate anyone, because our perfect God never hates us, the people who commit offenses about as often as we blink our eyes. He always loves us and offers us grace.

And we must do the same.


My last post contained at least two spelling errors. I apologize. Though I am not one to place blame, please allow me to say, “It was all the fault of WordPress!”

(Pobody’s Nerfect)


My timing is a bit late, but I must mention this, as I do every fall.



I am a minimalist at heart.

I mean, you don’t need half a dozen watermelon ballers.

Declutter is my mantra, and I proclaim it proudly.

At the same time, people often make life difficult by having too few of some things. You do need:

  1. Boxes of tissues (at least one in every room and every vehicle)
  2. Postage stamps (never buy just one, for pete’s sake)
  3. Reliable ink pens within easy reach (and NO unreliable ones)
  4. Lint rollers (near your grooming areas, wherever pets hang out indoors, and a small one in your purse or car). If, like me, you are grossed out by hair, lint, thread, and other detritis the vacuum cleaner fails to pick up, buy a floor model lint roller–yes, a 10- or 12-inch one with a long handle like a mop. Run it over carpets and throw rugs AFTER you’ve vaccumed them, and prepare to be shocked at the yuckiness that adheres to that sticky roller.

Also, save yourself some grief! Expose the chargers for your electronics so they are easy to find and connect to your devices. I wish I could reclaim the hours I’ve spent on my hands and knees, feeling blindly under furniture to grasp that tiny metal tip of my phone charger. NO MORE!

I charge my phone in three places inside my house: at my PC; near my TV-watching, needle working chair; and at my bedside. I have no trouble finding the charger attached to my PC, but I formerly did have trouble finding the ones by my chair and by my bedside. Now, I don’t.

Look at these genius adaptations I have made.

My TV-watching, needle working chair. (See charger tip.)
At my bedside. (Headboard looks dirty but is not. The metal is intentionally “distressed.”)

After being a homemaking executive for almost 50 years, I have learned a few things.


Allow me to recommend a website for you students of the Bible. I was introduced to it while taking an online Bible Boot Camp course offered through my church. It is http://www.bibleproject.com.

Here is the official description of the site.

BibleProject is a nonprofit ed-tech organization and animation studio that produces 100% free Bible videospodcastsblogsclasses, and educational Bible resources to help make the biblical story accessible to everyone, everywhere.

From page one to the final word, we believe the Bible is a unified story that leads to Jesus. This diverse collection of ancient books overflows with wisdom for our modern world. As we let the biblical story speak for itself, we believe the message of Jesus will transform individuals and entire communities.

Many people have misunderstood the Bible as a collection of inspirational quotes or a divine instruction manual dropped from heaven. Most of us gravitate toward sections we enjoy while avoiding parts that are confusing or even disturbing.

Our Bible resources help people experience the Bible in a way that is approachable, engaging, and transformative. We do this by showcasing the literary art of the Scriptures and tracing the themes found in them from beginning to end. Rather than taking the stance of a specific tradition or denomination, we create materials to elevate the Bible for all people and draw our eyes to its unified message.


(P.S. If you are not a student of the Bible but want to learn about God’s message to us, this is a fantastic place to start.)

My Geranium Piece

I have not written about geraniums for a while. I have been too busy tending my plants to write about them.

Multiple pots of red geraniums adorned my yard and patio this summer. The plant pictured below held pride of place on my patio table.

At its peak, this geranium’s leaves and blossoms demonstrated perfection in a pot. They were healthy, vibrant, glorious.

I took this photo during the plant’s post-peak state. Its blossoms and leaves are waning.

Like my geranium, I am in my post-peak years. Not that I want to sound fatalistic, but I am waning.

My body does not move as quickly or as agilely as it once did. My brain processes thoughts more slowly.

That does not mean I am finished with this life, or have become useless.

My geranium, for as long as it can, will continue its work of producing blossoms.

And I will continue my work.

I will nurture my four wonderful, precious, amazing grandchildren.

I’ll tutor ESL students, encourage neighbors, and lend a helping hand to friends and even strangers.

Most importantly of all, I will prepare for entrance into the spectacular world that awaits me after I leave this one, thanks to Jesus’ sacrifice.

Keep moving forward, whatever your age. Do what you do best. Help others. Honor God.

I’ll end this missive with a quote attributed to American baseball great, Yogi Berra. “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”


I have become an avid weeder.

My husband does 99% of the yard work, and all the heavy labor.

I have taken on the responsibility of removing weeds.

Below are photos and descriptions of weeds I tackle, along with some life applications related to these weeds.

Nutsedge (Watergrass)

These V-shaped, light green weeds spring up within the yard and grow faster than the lawn grass.

As weeds go, these are fairly unoffensive. I could pull them up, but I look at them and say, “Meh.” (My preteen granddaughter taught me saying meh to those weeds indicates  my indifference to their existence.)

I compare these weeds to other things I choose to accept: the clutter that accumulates on my kitchen island, my grandkids’ habit of using the word butt, and the saggy skin on the underside of my arms.

I may not like these things, but I will tolerate them.


Our yard is a hotbed of these weeds. They crop up everywhere: in cracks in the driveway, between the bricks around flower beds, in sunny spots and shady spots, and everywhere else.

The one good thing about them (if weeds can have a good thing) is their ease of removal. Their spindly, pink-white roots lift out of the ground on my first tug. I rarely walk to the mailbox without stooping to feel the thrill of doing away with one.

These weeds represent my ever-present and annoying bad habits:

  • Leaving the dishwasher lid down and banging my shin at least once a day
  • Pulling on loose cuticles until I make my fingers sore
  • Having to unload the dryer before I can put in a load of wet clothes
  • Throwing the empty muffin mix box in the trash and then having to get it out three times to check and recheck how long I’m supposed to bake the muffins
  • Forgetting to take my 9:00 a.m. dose of medicine until 11:00 a.m., which means I can’t take my 1:00 p.m. dose until 3:00 p.m., my 5:00 p.m. dose until 7:00 p.m., and my 9:00 p.m. dose until 11:00 p.m.

It is an ongoing job to purge both spurge and bad habits from my life.


Ah, the dandelion!

It first shows up with a colorful yellow flower the grandkids pick and bring in as a gift for grandma. Then it develops a feathery puffball the grandkids pick and swing through the air, planting more dandelions.

Finally it spreads its thick green arms across the surface of the ground and dares me to try to pull out its long, white root.

I go after these monsters with a heavy-duty, metal digging stick, and still I don’t always remove the whole root.

These embedded weeds are like ongoing irritations that keep me aggravated but are beyond my ability to eradicate: pop-up ads on my computer; goose poop on sidewalks; political wrangling; dust; loud pick-up trucks; squeaky, wobbly shopping carts; and houseflies that never sit long enough to be swatted.

Dandelions will never be eliminated. Neither will the frustrations of daily life. I should accept that fact and stop letting them make me miserable.


See the discussion of the dandelion above. Different weed, same vexation.


The thistles in my yard are like dandelions or crabgrass, but with thorns. Several times I have reached to uproot a thistle with my bare hands. I always regret it.

Thistles represent my significant troubles, the things that keep me awake at night. They are prickly on the surface and deeply rooted. sicknesses and heartaches among the people I love, COVID-19 and its aftermath, the pitiful condition of the world my grandchildren will inherit, and irredeemable personal regrets.

Setting my mind on these things is as painful as wrapping my fingers around a thistle plant. My only protection from the anguish they bring is prayer.

Did weeds exist in Eden? I think not. Will they exist in the New World we call Eternity? No, neither the literal nor the figurative ones.

For now, both my yard and my life are weedy.


I am fortunate to have a woman come and clean my house once every two weeks.

The cleaning done by this capable and careful woman has many benefits. I will focus upon only one.

Knowing she is coming on Saturday morning forces me to pick up and put away clutter before she arrives.

I can’t expect her to clean my house if clothes, papers, toys, dishes, etc. are in her way. She does not know where these things are supposed to be stored, so I store them before she arrives.

This reminds me of an episode of one of my favorite television sitcoms, The Dick Van Dyke Show.

Rob (Dick Van Dyke) and Laura (Mary Tyler Moore) Petrie, as you may remember, lived in New Rochelle, New York.

This funny and attractive TV couple enjoyed an upper-middle-class existence in the early 1960s.

In one episode, Laura decides she needs to hire a maid.

In their inimitable way, Rob and Laura spend days cleaning, picking up, and otherwise preparing for the arrival of the maid. They would be embarrassed to allow the woman to see the usual untidy condition of their home.

At one point, Rob looks around at the immaculate state of their house and says, “We never needed a maid. We just needed the threat of a maid.”

So, the knowledge that a cleaning woman is coming forces me to tidy my cluttered house.

As unlikely as it may sound, pondering this situation led me to make a spiritual comparison.

Many people recognize a need for God, but they feel they must first clean up their lives.

They cannot, they think, approach God in the sinful condition in which they currently exist.

They are, in a sense, correct.

A holy God cannot tolerate the presence of sin. Thus, our sin must be removed before we can enjoy a relationship with Him.

But we, as mere mortals, cannot achieve spiritual purity on our own power.

We need Jesus to do that for us.

Jesus did not come to earth to save cleaned-up people.

He came to save sinners.

Sinners come to Jesus. He cleans them up, keeps cleaning them up, and makes them presentable to God.

Here is my suggestion to anyone who recognizes a need for God but doesn’t know where to go to get started.

Go to church.

Avoid cults and cultlike groups. (Some cults have the word church in their names.)

Ask a churchgoing friend to take you to church with him or her. Find a church that preaches Jesus and His lovely grace.

I came across this the other day and want to share it with you. I don’t know the author, and the piece has no title.

I’m calling it Go to Church Anyway.

Warning: The piece contains grammar, spelling, and punctuation errors. (Groan)


I am in the middle of having a root canal done.

For those who may not know, getting a root canal is not a one-and-done procedure.

First, the unhappy patient suspects a problem exists with a tooth.

She then consults her dentist, who examines the suspect tooth, takes x-rays of it, and then delivers the unwelcome news that a problem does exist.

In my case, my dentist referred me to an endodontist.

The endodontist examined the tooth, took x-rays of it, and confirmed I needed a root canal.

It’s tooth #28, the rotten scoundrel!

Well, not rotten. This tooth has never shown signs of decay.

Apparently, an insidious, destructive process within the tooth’s root has been ongoing.

“It happens,” the experts say.

Unhappily, my tooth requires more than a run-of-the-mill root canal. It needs an apicoectomy, which requires two incisions, followed by sutures, in the gums.

You can watch a YouTube video of the procedure, but why in the world would you?

I have endured the first part of the procedure and will see the endodontist a second time in late June. After that, I will return to my regular dentist, who will place a crown on the tooth.

That is, I will have a crown placed if all goes well.

If things go awry, the tooth will need to be removed.

I am more than angry at tooth #28.

For most of the tooth’s existence, I have faithfully brushed it and flossed around it twice a day. I rinsed it with antiseptic mouthwash. Twice every year I took it to the dentist for routine cleaning and an exam.

Despite my faithful nurturing, it has turned on me.

I deserve better treatment from this tooth.

The ingrate.

Ingratitude is an ugly business.

Maybe you have felt the sting of it when you performed a kindness and went un-thanked or were even rebuffed for your efforts.

Good parents experience the full force of ingratitude when a child, whom they have loved and tended for years, rejects and discards them. Think of the father of the Prodigal Son at the beginning of the story recorded in Luke 15:11-32.

Is there someone (Someone) who has treated you with kindness and grace to whom you are showing ingratitude?

I hope not.

Suggested Video:


My mother loved birds.

She was a country girl all her life and could identify the birds of north Arkansas by their sights and sounds: mockingbirds, blue jays, redbirds, mourning doves, chickadees, whippoorwills, and others.

Shortly after Mom died in November 2016, I received in the mail a little package from my cousin, Sandy.

Sandy is an artist.

Inside the package she had mailed to me was this little hand-painted, stone redbird.

Sandy had included a note in which she wrote, “I was walking along the road the other day, saw this rock, and thought, I see a redbird in that rock. I’m going to paint it and send it to Debbie.”

How thoughtful of her! And how creative!

I love my little rock redbird and keep it on my desk by my computer. It reminds me of both my bird-loving mother and my kind, artistic cousin.

I cannot imagine seeing anything in a rock. I do not have the artist’s eye.

But in addition to reminding me of my mother and my cousin, this little keepsake reminds me of a Biblical truth.

When God created me, He made me in His image. And His image is total goodness.

That image of God in me gets hidden sometimes. Influences from sin, the world, and my own mortal nature mar it.

But that image is there. God is ever working to bring it forth and make it evident for others to see.

What an honor it is to know I am made, in some mysterious way, in the very image of the Creator and Sustainer of this universe!

If I allow God’s Spirit within me to do His work, God’s image will shine forth from me.

That requires both my willingness and cooperation. I must desire that image to be apparent in my life.

If I want it passionately enough, God will make it happen.

May you be blessed this week as you allow God’s image to be seen in you.


I am a chalkboard girl in a touchscreen world.

From the time I entered first grade, I have loved chalkboards.

I liked the smell of chalk and loved taking erasers out to the playground to pound the dust out of them.

I even had a little chalkboard of my own and can still see it in my mind’s eye. In yellow paint across the top of that board were drawings of a ball, a house, a sailboat, and a flower.

Many times I set my dolls and stuffed animals in a makeshift classroom and “taught” them using that little chalkboard.

Though I hold memories of my own chalkboard and the ones that covered the walls of my school classrooms, I can’t remember the last time I saw one.

Chalkboards have gone the way of clipboards and carbon paper.

I won’t deny that in many ways computers have simplified our lives. More than simplifying them, computers have made it possible for us to perform acts that, back in the chalkboard era, would have seemed like magic.

Last Thursday, I talked face-to-face with a friend in Japan using Skype.

Yesterday I selected, ordered, and paid for a new bedspread using only my computer.

Later today I will pay bills, without leaving my house, using paper and a pen, or utilizing envelopes and stamps.

But I miss the simplicity of a chalkboard.

Mistakes were easily corrected, and starting over required only the swipe of an eraser across the board’s surface.

On chalkboards, I practiced long division and competed in ciphering matches.

Daily assignments were written on a designated area of the classroom chalkboard. The week’s spelling words were displayed.

Often the day’s date was printed across the top of the board, along with a reminder like Make Today a Good Day or Kindness Counts.

What person of my age never drew on a chalkboard a heart with a secret such as D.J. loves D.S. printed inside it?

Courtesy Pixabay

In a contest, computers would, without a doubt, outperform chalkboards. It seems there is almost nothing a computer cannot do.

But they can also be maddening and bring out the worst in their users.

My computer tempts me to say a bad word quicker than anything else in my house, except maybe my hot curling iron when it grazes my forehead.

Not even once was I tempted to smash a chalkboard with a hammer or throw it out my window.

Because many of you know I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, I will include one more graphic that includes a chalkboard.

It is one of my favorite OCD funnies.


Have you noticed, as I have, that once you encounter an item or a word, that same thing crops up again and again?

Sometimes a Bible verse enters my mind, and the next thing I know the preacher mentions it in the sermon, or I see it displayed on a church marquee.

Why does that happen?

Lately, I have pondered terms common in today’s world that my grandparents never heard: email; bandwidth; bytes; unlimited talk, text, and data, etc.

If Grandma had ever heard me say dot com, she would have feared I had developed a speech impediment.

I wondered about new terms added to my grandparents’ vocabularies when electricity and telephones entered their lives.

For certain, they were quickly introduced to the terms electric bill and telephone bill.

Electricity brought to light (notice the pun) words like socket, light switch, meter reading, shock, outage, and plug and unplug.

Telephones made common such phrases as busy signal, party line, person-to-person, hang up, and please hold.

Such thoughts spiraled through my brain for several days as I vacuumed, pulled weeds, folded laundry, and waited for traffic lights to turn green.

Then, wouldn’t you know it? While reading a novel set in the 1920s, I found the following paragraph.

Life has all at once grown exponentially larger than I could have ever dreamed. Electricity, the automobile and now the telephone have made it clear that possibility is endless for an enterprising mind. I can only imagine what it  must have felt like to navigate a flat earth only to discover its roundness. (Call Your Daughter Home by Deb Spera)

How is it that I happened to read a book that dealt with the exact thoughts I had been having?

My thinking about electricity and telephone terminology could not have inspired me to head to the library and check out a book that featured the introduction of electricity and telephones into American life.

Could it?

I mean, the title, Call Your Daughter Home, does not scream, “Electricity and telephones!”

I borrowed that library book because my sister Pam recommended it to me.

Pam and I are linked, genetically, of course, but also by a preference for the same kinds of books. And our minds do tend to run along the same paths.

For example, I can be thinking about Aunt Betty, and Pam will call me and say, “I talked to Aunt Betty this morning.”

Maybe Pam had been thinking about electricity and telephones, then read Call Your Daughter Home, figured I too had been thinking about electricity and telephones, and gave me a call to recommend that book.

I don’t know.

How do these things work?

For friends who share common interests with me and enjoy reading lighthearted, inspirational, and entertaining articles, many with spiritual applications.