Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

My friend Ann called with an idea. She knows how much I hurt. Apparently she is trying cherry yogurt and it is really helping with her aches and pains. I thought on it while she extolled the virtues. While she explained I went over the list of no-no’s. Through the years, like fifty plus, I’ve tried all the cures. Apple cider vinegar and honey made into a tasty drink three times a day. That one has come and gone throughout the years. In fact, one of our daughters, who’s identity shall not be revealed,  came out rather hairy. I couldn’t help but wonder…

I’ve tried extreme doses of pycnogenol, the extract of grape seeds. No deal. Long before gluten free became a thing, we tried that. Of course sugar was eliminated long enough to make me grumpy, but still in pain. We removed night-shades from our diet. That includes tomatoes, peppers, white potatoes, and eggplant. Okay, so the eggplant removal didn’t cause a lot of anguish. But tomatoes? I love lasagna, spaghetti, and meatloaf… with a side of mashed potatoes. So David, the cook in the house, bless his heart, tried to substitute beets for tomatoes. He made a thick hearty sauce with lots and lots of herbs out of canned beets. Not pickled. That would just be weird. It was pretty good… except our noodles turned pink. Instead of potatoes, he boiled radishes and tried to make them similar to new potatoes. With lots and lots of butter. And guess what. They tasted just like warm radishes. But we kept at it for months. I declare the man has tried everything. And I just keep on hurting. Heavy sigh.

You’re probably right. It’s obviously all the sin in my life. And a great deficiency of faith. Don’t laugh. It’s been suggested… and considered many, many times. Insert whiny voice here. So when my bestie suggested cherry yogurt, my ears perked up. This I could do. I’d have to make sure it doesn’t contain red dye, or artificial sweetener of any kind, and hope it included yogurt made from the milk of happy cows. Will I eat it or slather it on my body?

Then the word Y caught my ear. As-in YMCA. Apparently the woman is trying chair yoga. Dang.

All this time I thought we’d landed on the cure. Not something involving stretching… in a chair, like exercise. The closest thing to that I can get is when I do a fast waddle on the way to the bathroom. Of course that happens often enough to count as a workout. Not to mention the lowering of the posterior onto the… chair. AND unlike chair yoga, this is a 24/7 activity so there’s that. And all this time I thought the cure was out of my reach! Now I know that I just need to keep doing what I’m doing.

And maybe get my hearing checked.

By Lynna Clark

David opened the can and put it on the seat between us. His reward for going grocery shopping was a tiny splurge on cashews. We headed home when suddenly a little dog ran out into the road. David hit the brakes and screeched to a stop. Someone’s pet was spared that day, but the cashews slid forward and dumped head first, scattering across the floorboard. He looked at me and said, “Next time the dog dies.”

It’s like dropping toast. It will always land butter side down. I heard that if one were to strap buttered bread to the back of a cat they would spin indefinitely because cats always land on their feet. Could this perhaps be a source of alternative energy?
Why not? Who would’ve thought we’d use left-over French fry oil for fuel? Maybe someone should try buttered cats.
My apologies to animal lovers everywhere. I’ve just confessed that my husband loves cashews more than dogs and I would butter a cat to propel an engine if it would save me a buck.

Sorry.

Have you noticed when watching a movie like Quigley Down Under [which is one of my favorites] that the disclaimer at the end says “No animals were harmed in the making of this movie.” Never mind the poor guy being dragged behind the horse… or the Aborigines being pushed off the cliff. Just so you know the horse is okay.
I may sound mean and uncaring about animals, but I’ve been known to set a dish of milk out for a stray kitty meowing at my back door.

I wonder if she’d like a piece of buttered toast to go with that.

By Lynna Clark

The sturdy yellow wagon appeared in my neighbor’s yard. It makes me happy, for I know what’s coming.
Currently beautiful leaves are raining down on stiff autumn winds. Acorns pelt the metal awning so hard it sounds like gunshots. That’s not quite as lovely as the wildly spinning copper colored “tulip” in the flower garden. Too bad that can’t be used to harvest power. Maybe then I’d get a more positive report card from the power company. Not that I’m bitter… but I don’t like being told every month that we are inefficient. Look people. Our house is 87 years old. When you get to that age you’re going to have a few leaks too. How about you guys stop sending grumpy notes each month and see how much paper and postage you can save.

Like I said… I am not bitter.

Anyway, back to the yellow wagon. I know from years of happy observation that when it appears, abounding blinkage is soon to follow. Probably sometime after Thanksgiving a village of snowmen, a reindeer powered sleigh, Santa, and huge snowflakes will surround a manger scene celebrating the birth of our Savior. The lights will come on about 5:30pm each evening to enhance the beautiful venue. One year we even had a little dusting of snow to complete the look.

Oh how I LOVE it!

Another peek through the fall foliage between our house and theirs reveals the wagon is full now and about to be moved to the front of the house.

Apparently tis the season to be jolly.
Okay… so forget what I said about about the power company.
For without them, there would be no abounding blinkage.

Right?!

By Lynna Clark

Have you noticed the current trend in menswear? Grown men in tapered pants. And tennis shoes. Kinda gives off a Micky Mouse vibe. When we were in high school the guys wore bell bottoms. Who would purposely wear pants that wouldn’t move unless you took a few steps to let the material catch up? So I guess every generation has its crazy. But men in skinny britches? Even sportscasters in expensive suits have fallen prey. As long as they’re sitting behind a desk, all is well. But let them stand to converse or point out a play on the big screen… just no. And now the problem is compounded by the addition of tennis shoes. With a suit. So wrong. I already had issues with them wearing light brown dress shoes with dark suits. But tennis shoes? In white? Not good.

One guy shook things up. As a guest commentator on Fantasy Football, he appeared wearing a rock band t-shirt layered with a loose unbuttoned over-blouse situation. His jeans were tattered and his arms were heavily tattooed. I have no idea what was on his feet as I never got that far. His long hair was pulled back in an updo and his scraggly beard would’ve made the men on Duck Dynasty proud.

“Look honey. He wore his church clothes,” I commented. Together David and I haw-hawed like the two old guys on the Muppets in the balcony.

Maybe it’s a good thing. Perhaps it’s best that nobody cares about that stuff anymore. Truthfully I am the last person on earth who should throw stones. Thank the Lord you can’t see me right now. Besides, that verse in 1st Samuel 16:7 is still there. “Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” Probably when He looks for mine, all He can find is sawdust. I can see Him now slowly shaking His head. “Nothing here but an old Muppet in a housedress. Bless her heart.” Then comes the grace. “But at least she found something to laugh about. Those pegged leg suit pants with tennis shoes really ARE funny.”

Thank God when He looks at me He has a sense of humor too.

Obviously.

By Lynna Clark

I’ve never been one to decorate for Christmas early. In fact, for many years Christmas reminded me of the year my mom died during that holiday. Our family barely functioned as we went through the season like zombies. However just lately, I thought about getting a new tree while there’s still plenty of time. Then someone posted on Facebook that anyone thinking about Christmas this early should just stop that crazy because “Joseph don’t even know Mary’s pregnant yet.”
Made me laugh.

Then my thoughts went to Mary. Bless her sweet heart. Apparently she was highly favored and yet even she asked, “How can this be?” I love that Scripture includes that.

Another favorite woman of mine in the Bible is Rahab. Bless her not so innocent heart. Her name is always tagged with “the harlot.” As if somebody missed that about her. Shesh. Not that I would presume to correct Scripture, but holy cow. Could we not at least include, “the woman formerly known as…”? Again, bless her heart. I guess it wouldn’t matter. She’ll always be THAT woman…

Except that the Lord fixed it.

Have you heard the story of Ruth and Naomi? It’s about a faithful gentile widow Ruth, who was so devoted to her husband’s Jewish mother, Naomi, that she followed her into a foreign land so that she could take care of her. Naomi herself admitted to being less than easy to live with. She called herself “bitter.” Soooo… not a peach. Anyway, God provided for Ruth and her bitter old mother-in-law by sending a faithful man to marry Ruth. Here’s where it gets fun.

Guess who Ruth’s new mother-in-law was? Yep. Good ol’ worldly, pagan, been around the block Rahab. Oy vey. I bet that made for some interesting Sunday lunches.

Personally I find myself between faithful, godly, innocent Mary the mother of Jesus and Rahab been-around-the-block-harlot. Not near as good as Mary, but not all that bad either. Therefore I think it’s wise to remember. If God can use the best of the best, and the worst of the worst, can He not use me, Lynna the Whinybutt? Even in my weakness He sees me as the one He created to serve a purpose. For His glory I was made for good things. How amazing is His grace. I would love to sit with Mary and hear the story of how things worked out in her life. But I really think Rahab had some stories to tell! Maybe that’s why she’s listed as “the harlot.” Perhaps God wanted to let us identify with a less than model citizen.

As for us regular Joes and Janes, “We are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.” -Ephesians 2:10

Sidenote: For more about how Rahab saved her family, read Joshua chapter 2. To see her place in the lineage of the Messiah, see Matthew 1:5.

Now let’s go order a Christmas tree before it is eternally too late.

By Lynna Clark

Do you have a mud room? Praise God we do. It’s not real highfalutin with matching baskets and labels for where everything goes. It’s just an old closed in back porch where coats, garden gloves and muddy shoes go. Another good part is that it has a door which can close all that clutter away.

I heard the best song the other morning. Chris Tomlin along with Florida Georgia Line has a song called Forever Home. It speaks of how things will be in heaven. A line from it connected with my soul. Get ready. I’m gonna sing it for you:

“We’ll leave all of our worries just like work boots on the porch…”

What a picture! A place where all the cares of life can be dropped and forgotten as we look forward to a home cooked meal and a sweet time of rest; laughter and conversation around the table with the ones we love. No one brings up the junk of the day or the worries for tomorrow because the time together is just too sweet.

What if we could start that now?
Just as I heard that song, I “happened” to be reading in the last chapter of 1 Peter. Listen to this preview of what things could be like now.
“Casting all your cares on Him for He cares for you.” -1 Peter 5:7

Oh! What a picture of trust in the Savior! So many burdens pile on us at times. Grief and pain seem to have no end.

I can’t handle it!

But He can.

Bless the Lord!

“There ain’t no tellin’ what He’s got in store…”

By Lynna Clark

We love watching the Atlanta Braves. During their alumni week we got to visit with some old friends. Even though we were only catching up with our baseball heroes by way of television, it was fun to hear how they were doing. Some participated in a homerun derby, some had their kids or grandkids with them, and some joined the broadcast booth for a few innings. One of our all time favorite players Dale Murphy was there and it was fun to hear him interact with the regular announcers. Such a great personality. The man has always been so athletic and is part of the Braves Hall of Fame.* Watching his outstanding fielding in the early seventies is when I became a baseball fan. Those were lean years for the Braves. When we finally acquired some decent pitching it was way more fun. Notice my humble usage of “we.” That’s because I am right there with them in my mind. While Murph was in the booth, the producers showed an embarrassing video of him trying to take a selfie with a group of former players. In order to get a better shot he stood on a chair. When he lost his balance and nearly fell backwards, the group of guys behind him ran up to catch him. “That could’ve been bad,” they teased. He laughed as he commented, “Who would’ve ever thought I couldn’t stand on a chair?” Seeing Murph nearly fall helped me relate since we are about the same age. I don’t dare even stand on a stool to fetch a mixing bowl anymore. It’s down right dangerous to be tottering twelve extra inches above the ground. As the series continued former pitcher Tom Glavine commented that a certain injured player is considered “day to day.” He followed that up by saying, “But aren’t we all.” Once again I can relate. What used to be easy to navigate gets harder with age. At sixty- eight, it’s a bit scary out there. Actually I think it’s scary for everyone. We’re all just a bit “day to day.” Perhaps if we use a drop of common sense and pray for wisdom, the Lord will guide us every step of the way. So far it’s working in this brave new world.

*MLB has not yet recognized Murphy’s worth for their Hall of Fame. And I’m not bitter about that at all.]

By Lynna Clark

One of our favorite TV personalities made a remark that caused us to laugh. As the show continued David tipped his head and asked. “What’s goin’ on with her eyebrows?” I looked at him and wondered when he started noticing such things. Turning back to the pretty lady I realized he was right. Her brows were perfectly matched and a bit wider than normal. “Why would she do that?” he asked again. It was almost as if they’d been carefully colored in. The fact that I engaged in this conversation gives you a glimpse into our exciting life.

“Well… when I lost my hair during chemo, I was told there was a stencil I could get to draw in perfect eyebrows. Maybe she got hold of something like that. Although I could never quite get mine to look right. I always came off looking angry. Or shocked.”

He pushed his hair back and raised his eyebrows looking surprised. “Like this?” he asked.

“Yep. Just like that only not as bushy.” I smiled at the man. “I guess I should have splurged on the stencil. I kept thinking I could do it myself. But at the time, eyebrows were the least of my problems. It’s funny how they never grew back.” He leaned forward between our matching* recliners and looked at me closer.

“Hmm. They’re there. They are just very light. I guess you could draw them on. Just remember, ‘Less is more.’ You don’t want to look like the TV lady. That’s just weird.” A small part of me was pleased that he liked what he saw when he looked at me and didn’t want me resembling a celebrity. At least that’s what I heard.

I pulled up a phone picture our youngest daughter had taken of us the day before. As I held it up for him to see, again he considered the eyebrow situation. “Maybe our eldest daughter could draw some on the picture. She’s techno-savvy.”
I looked at the photo we hoped to use later for a family thing. “Yep. She could do that. Back when she was in high school she had big eyebrows, like Brooke Shields. So pretty. If anyone has a good appreciation of eyebrows it would be Stephanie.”
He nodded and I wondered if we should be watching the Braves game instead. Surely none of those guys have stenciled eyebrows. If so they’d be melted off in the Georgia heat. A bit later I dug through my make-up for an eyebrow pencil. As I looked in the mirror I envisioned looking like Sela Ward or that gal that plays in Ant Man. Remembering David’s words I tried to use a light hand. Suddenly I recognized the image in the mirror. It was Mr. Potato Head… using his angry eyes. Sela Ward was nowhere. But I did look expressive. So there was that.

A hot washcloth and a few scrubs later I came to a conclusion. Maybe I’ll be just fine without eyebrows. No more surprised looks or angry eyes. This way I can do what comes natural. Maybe keep people guessing with my blank look. I plan to hold onto my eyebrow pencil though. Considering our life, my confused look will surely come in handy in the future.

*Disclaimer: The mentioning of matching recliners is not intended to sound highfalutin. They DO match because his is brown and mine is orange and blue and brown paisley. However, they were not bought as a set. We are not that sophisticated.
Obviously.

By Lynna Clark

My daddy turns ninety this year. To say he’s been through some things is quite the understatement. I love it when he talks about growing up. Today when we visited by phone he mentioned that he had loved playing football in school. This was news to me and I could not imagine. As an adult he’s always been a short wiry fellow; strong as an ox and as smart as anyone I’ve ever met. But football? I guess he heard my doubts as he went on to explain. “I’m small now and was probably shorter then, but I could run. Everybody said I was fast. Of course all us Pittman boys were fast.” I laughed and said, “You were probably trying to stay two steps ahead of grandpaw.” He paused at the thought and added. ” Yep, some other people too.” I wondered what he meant. I know he and some of his brothers had been caught swimming in the old Cannon Mills cement pond at night on several occasions. I think they received a free escort home by the cops at some point. Since both his parents worked in the cotton mill, that probably ended those late night shenanigans. But who knows? I do know daddy has always loved to swim. However he did not get to play football because it fell to him to milk the family cow. With a family having twelve kids it was a necessity. Apparently the milking could not wait til after football practice. Daddy went on to say that growing up back then was not the same as how kids grow up today. I smiled at another giant understatement.

That lead me to mention the power outage and how hot it was in our house. “I guess I’m just spoiled. I can’t imaging how folks used to live without air conditioning.” He paused to think for a minute. “Yep, I slept with my head on the windowsill many a night, just begging for a breeze. And flies were awful. Nowadays if we get a fly in the house it’s unusual. Back in the day they were everywhere. Did you ever see those yellow strips of flypaper? Everybody had those hangin’ in the doorways. Flies were so much worse back then. They came in swarms. Of course everybody had an outhouse in their backyard.” I shuddered at the thought. “And a cow,” I added.

“Yep… that didn’t help much either.” He paused and thought for a while. I waited and hoped he’d tell me more. But I was careful not to ask because if daddy thinks you’re trying to get him to talk about the past he shuts down. Inside I knew this was a rare visit. I know the man won’t live forever. Eventually he began talking again. I listened as he recalled a time when he was around eight years old. As he walked down the dirt road past houses in his neighborhood, he kept hearing mournful crying. He had no idea what all the sadness was about. Later he found out Pearl Harbor had been bombed. My soul grieved at the thought of his little boy heart. How terribly sad to live through such a horrible time. I also knew he would grow up to join the Navy during the Korean war. In the past when we’ve asked about those years in uniform he’d just shrug and say, “Aw, I didn’t really do anything. Sailed around the world a couple times. Swam in a lot of places I weren’t supposed to. Married your mama one Labor Day weekend. The brass revoked my shore leave at the last minute and I had to go AWOL to meet up with her. Spent two weeks with your mama. Did hard time for ninety days once I got back. But it was worth it.”

I can’t imagine ninety days of hard labor in the confines of an aircraft carrier. I knew from stories past that his sentence started in September of 1953 while his ship was docked in Jacksonville, Florida. The first time he had shore leave was in January the next year. By then they were in the Philippines.

Ninety years. He and mama raised three daughters. Mama passed away at only 72; a very young 72. We miss her still. But daddy! Still here and sharp enough to talk about “back in the day.” When I start to worry about our current times it helps to recall just a few of the things my daddy lived through. In fact I feel spoiled completely rotten. Praise God my life does not include an outhouse or yellow fly paper.

Lynna Clark

Do you send greeting cards? I do. I guess because I love to get them. I remember mama saying one time that she and daddy nearly got kicked out of the Hallmark store that used to be near Marshalls. They tucked themselves over in the Maxine section and read funny stuff until they were laughing outloud. We could always count on them to find the best humor available. Like a lovely card with a photo of clouds and sunshine on the front. The sentiment said, “I wish you were Jesus.” Knowing my parents I couldn’t imagine such a sappy greeting on my birthday. The inside cleared it up by adding, “Then today would be Christmas.” Yep. Just my speed. David’s mother Nina on the other hand, always bought the sappy stuff and personally underlined the important parts. Which was everything. And even though she lived across the road from us, she would put a stamp on the envelope and send it with her outgoing mail. On my birthday one year she tucked a twenty inside with a note in her distinctive left handed script. “Go get that paint you like so you can freshen up the looks of that end table you’ve been wanting to refinish.” She knew me well and tried to think of unique gifts to make me feel loved. I used that twenty to buy a gallon of Robin’s Egg Blue paint at Lowe’s. Paint costs about twice that much now; so that tells you how long ago it’s been. Now every other piece of furniture in the house is Robin’s Egg Blue. But that’s okay. Designers have been advising for years to pick an inspiration piece and run with it. I’ve decided that’s what happened. But don’t worry. I still have a dab left in case something comes up.

So anyway, I still send greeting cards. While the savvy amongst us send texts or messages online, I’m still using paper and ink. The last time I sent a card to a granddaughter I wondered. Can she read this? It IS in cursive. Will she even get it? Since she lives in an apartment in a large city, does she even check the mail? Good thing I planned ahead. It took about four grocery trips for my beloved to remember to get stamps at the Food Lion. I was kinda proud when I remembered to tell him to pick some up. He felt rather accomplished when he remembered to do so. As I pondered my granddaughter’s circumstances or status as the youngsters say, I felt like a Navaho code talker. Actual ink on paper written in cursive and mailed to an address by way of a stamp seems a little antiquated. At least I knew enough not to put money in there. Because who in their right mind would want to buy a can of paint and color everything in the house Robin’s Egg Blue? Hopefully the espresso mugs she picked out on Amazon will land on her doorstep and make her smile. The only problem is that they will be there a week early. I’m so used to regular mail that I forgot to allow for the efficiency of Amazon. And we wonder why Amazon is taking over the world.

Oh well. At least the greeting inside the box will not be in cursive. I think she will love it.