Was J.Lo’s dance Oscar worthy or pornographic?

Was Kobe Bryant a sports hero/role model, or a rapist?

Should Oscars be awarded on the basis of a politically correct rubric, or on talent?

Let’s argue.

Now, beginning the third decade of the 21st Century, adults have as many things to argue about as children do.  And we are just as good at calling names.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

That never was true by the way. Our mothers may have quoted those words to us hoping to help us cope with the playground “teasing” (now correctly termed bullying).

The New Year 2020 finds adults acting like children on the playground … only with graphics. Dig up an old video or catch someone on a hot mic. Let’s bring down a celebrity. Just for sport.

Get the media involved and the results are often ruination. Something to celebrate? Or perhaps were some of the words tweaked a little or twisted a lot?

Lately I have been visiting the past via a box belonging to my mother, who died in 1985. She was a fan of the poetry columnists seen in most newspapers back in the day. I found this poem written by Louis C. Shimon in 1935.

I Know Something Good About You

Wouldn’t this old world be better if the folks we meet would say, 
“I know something good about you!” And then treat us just that way?

Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy If each handclasp warm and true
Carried with it this assurance, “I know something good about you!”

Wouldn’t life be lots more happy If the good that’s in us all
Were the only thing about us That folks bothered to recall?

Wouldn’t life be lots more jolly If we praised the good we see?
For there’s such a lot of goodness In the worst of you and me.

Wouldn’t it be nice to practice That fine way of thinking, too?
You know something good about me! I know something good about you!

Wisdom from another generation.

“What did you give up for Lent?”

Those of us who observe the discipline of the 40 day journey from Ash Wednesday to Good Friday and Easter Sunday are asked this question about as often as we hear “Are you ready for Christmas?”

It’s not a rhetorical question. Folks really want to know.

Lent is so much more than “giving up something”, but okay, we can talk about that. It’s a tenet of the 12-step program that one should replace the habit that is abandoned with positive behavior. It is also scriptural (Luke 11:26). Giving up a time waster? Read a good book.  Leaving off chocolate? Eat a salad.

When we compare the small sacrifice we make to what Jesus has done for us, it seems ludicrous.

He gave his life — Can I spare an hour? He fasted to the point of near death — Can I do without dessert? He has taken care of me for 85 years — Can I donate to the Little Free Pantry?

It’s not about what I “give up”, it’s about Him and His sacrifice.

“Jesus paid it all,
All to Him I owe.
Sin had left a crimson stain.
He washed it white as snow.”

The Little Free Pantry sits at the far corner of the First United Methodist parking lot, 302 North Main, in Beebe. Take what you need. Leave what you can.

facebook.com/beebelittlefreepantry/

Let me say up front that in my opinion the best part of Super Bowl Sunday was THE GAME!

When this day rolls around each year I seldom get involved unless (1) I have guests, (2) a team I like is playing, (3) I’m invited to a party.

And then I watch … until/ unless someone I don’t want to win is winning, or it’s a blow-out, even if my team is the blower. In either of those events I just might leave and rent a movie.

That’s what I planned to do last Sunday.  These two teams are a little too far north for me to be very interested in them one way or another. There are perfectly good NFL teams in the south for me to follow.

But I’ll admit I was hooked by the hype and actually felt a little sorry for the Eagles. Everyone seemed to be declaring them losers before the game even started. So I decided to view the opening activities, maybe stick around until the first score, then mosey on about my business.

And what do you know, the Eagles scored first.  Only 3 points, but still.

I decided to stay a bit longer and ended up seeing the whole game. Can’t remember the last time I stuck it out for the long haul.

I have seen many critiques of different aspects of Sunday’s event but as I said the most interesting was the GAME. It moved quickly with very few reviews, (#ruiningcollegefootball). I muted the announcers so I can’t speak to how inane their comments might have been.

One of the NBC camera persons seemed enamored of Tom Brady. After every play or significant event, we were treated to a glance at Brady, even if only the back of his head.

The commercials were well placed and long enough for me to get to the bathroom to wash my hands or to the kitchen for something to eat. I can’t evaluate the content or entertainment value because I didn’t watch them closely enough to see if the lengthy scenario would eventually advertise soap, a truck, or a bottle of beer.

I also can’t score the half-time show. I heard it (no matter where I went in the house) and other than being aware they were repeating the same phrase, I could not decipher what it was. They might win an award for mumbling the most redundancies within a certain time period.

I think it’s safe to say that half-time show was not directed at my demographic.

I love to see the underdog win. I am pleased when the pundits are mistaken. I savor the moment right along with the loyal fans who have supported their team through thick and thin.

Long story short, I enjoyed Super Bowl LII.

I made reservations while the temperature outside was below freezing. Did I really want to bundle up, drive 20 miles, and see a show I knew nothing about? Never seen before? I hear it won a Tony but still . . .

I’m referring to The Drowsy Chaperone, the production currently running at Center on the Square in Searcy, Arkansas.

Is it a musical? I enjoyed several delightful songs.

Is is a comedy? In Facebook speak you might say I LOL’d.

I learned that some of my favorite actors and a talented director are doing this show. My decision to go was a no-brainer.

Last Friday: opening night with an elegant reception before curtain. That was just the first treat the audience was in for.

What a great cast was assembled for this not-very-familiar play!

Cassie Bennett and Josh Strickland showed the range of their talent moving from an irate Juror (Twelve Angry Women) and stern Dr. Cravens (The Secret Garden) to a flitty Kitty and an awesome Aldolpho.

Ellen Jones and Lauren Lawson had opportunities to exhibit their  exceptional voices.

And no one plays a spacey lady like Sally Paine.

Archie-winning director, Carla Fuller, has the ability to take a myriad of pieces and weave them into a fabulous production.

Add the multi-talented Jon Bucher as The Man in the Chair (Narrator) and you have magic.   Jon Bucher — Magic. Get it?

You have only 5 more chances to see this show! Don’ miss having your heart lifted out of the winter doldrums by this delightful play.

The Drowsy Chaperone

For dates, times, tickets, visit http://www.centeronthesquare.org.

You won’t be sorry.

Thanks to Carla Fuller for the above picture.

Mark my words, Congress will soon be forced to deal with an important issue that arose in the last session. Should women be allowed to wear sleeveless dresses in the Speaker’s Lobby? This dress code rule has been around for some time but only recently came to light, fueled by the hype that is a part of everything that comes out of Washington, D.C. Because what one wears is now a part of the whole freedom of speech thing.

In my opinion, Congress should stick to its guns (to mix constitutional amendments) and keep the dress code.

Surely, someone has said, “How you dress is how you want to be perceived.”  Congress has long had the code of “professional business attire”, hoping to convey the image to their constituents that they are serious about the debates they have and the decisions they ultimately make. If they don’t care what we think and believe their comfort is the primary concern they can wear Cargo shorts and flip flops.

I’m just saying that if Congress allows sleeveless dresses, then it won’t be long before someone will interpret that to mean tank tops. Which brings cleavage and bra straps. And when that happens … because we can’t discriminate … men will be allowed to sag their pants and show their underwear, too.

All I can think of to say to that is eeeew!

What a wonderful weekend!

After recent maladies (see last week’s post) kept me home, this Saturday I was finally able to drive over the (Arkansas) river and through the (Saline County) woods to spend some time at Couchwood, home of my BFF, Pat.

Pat is a poet, novelist, and accomplished musician.  Her first career was as high school music teacher, but she also served as choir director, pianist, and/or organist in her local church before retiring a few years ago. She was lured out of retirement in December to assist in worship services at a small church in Grant County. Which leads me to tell of the blessings I received this past weekend.

Sunday morning we drove through the beautiful countryside below Saline County to Ebenezer United Methodist Church in Tull, Arkansas (Pop. 486. The town not the church.). A white steeple appeared as we rounded the last curve on Highway 35. Just past the cemetery and up a short rise sits the white building that houses a congregation established in 1885. A poster on a side door gives the dates and hours the food pantry is open.

The inside of the sanctuary looks much like the typical country church with the sign (available at Cokesbury Books) announcing the number on roll (35), the attendance and offering the previous Sunday.

I am recognized instantly as a visitor, of course, and introduced from the pulpit as “Pat’s friend, Dot.” As the service begins, the pastor shares the whereabouts of the few members who are absent. Now that’s a close knit congregation. If you’re not there they know why. The membership in many small rural churches tends to be senior citizens, but the group gathered this day is made up of mostly Baby Boomers or younger.

The hymns, chosen by the pastor, have something for everyone. Opening is “Morning Has Broken”, made popular during the “Jesus Movement” of the Sixties. The Hymn of Preparation: “The Old Rugged Cross”, an old old favorite, and closing with “Hymn of Promise” a newer song by Natalie Sleeth.

After prayers and offering, Pat began the introduction to “The Old Rugged Cross” with gusto. I had never heard her play that style, reminiscent of Old Time Methodists at camp meeting under a brush arbor in August. It was wonderful. I’m sure she used all 88 piano keys. That accompaniment had everything but a glissando. And did we sing along!

Joining our voices together left us lifted and prepared for the message from Mathew 5:1-12. Not a brag-list of how blessed we are, but an assurance we are indeed blessed and in turn are called to be a blessing to others.

As the young acolyte left, symbolically carrying Christ’s light into the world, my feeling was that this group of people certainly fulfills that command, as they go about being the Church in their scattered jobs and their presence in that community. I felt blessed to have worshiped with them.

Chatting with folks after the service, I learned that the pastor’s son lives in my Dream Hometown and that another congregant originally came from Carlisle, AR, just a bit to the east of us. He knew my dentist, Dr. Burleson, who has written two books about his childhood in Carlisle. I might have found more “small world” stories, but it was 10:30, the Sunday School hour and time for me to start my trek home.

Blessed indeed.

Visit my BFF Pat Laster’s website

James Burleson’s books: The Redneck Chronicles found  here

Call me a bandwagoner or whatever you like but I enjoyed watching the World Series. I’ve liked baseball all my life, playing games of work-up in the school yard, following the local farms clubs in various small towns in the Fifties, watching my kids in Little League and beyond, and, in the Eighties, reveling in the chance to drive to Dallas once a month to see the Texas Rangers. But, recent years have brought fewer opportunities to witness a live game, and I find TV coverage less than satisfactory.

Though the farm teams I cheered for back in the day belonged to the American League, I have always had a sentimental spot in my heart for the Chicago Cubs. Because . . . really . . . 1908? . . . I mean, bless their hearts! I have a fondness for the Cleveland Indians too for a similar reason.  Bless their hearts, too.  Also, Bob Hope owned a piece of the Indians and I had a fondness for Bob Hope.

My husband was a big Cubs fan. He had the hat and shirt and watched them play every chance he got, though he never had the opportunity to travel to Chicago to see a game.

For all the above reasons, I felt I should be allowed to root for the Cubbies in the 2016 World Series games. Or at the very least it’s my constitutional right.

So, I watched every game … on television in my living room. And I discovered once again why this manner of experiencing a game is less than satisfactory to me.

I want to comment on the plays. I need to make a suggestion to the umpire now and then. It’s just not the same when you’re alone.

I often mute the play-by-play announcer. I can see what’s going on, and if I miss it no problem, it will be instant-replayed several times. And now there is new technology that allows someone to second-guess the umpire? What is the world coming to?

By game 7, the trivia guy was on my last nerve. He sat in the booth with Google or something, pointing out to us how many ways this series was history-making.

“This is the first time a retiring catcher has hit a two-run homer in the 8th inning of the 7th game in World Series play in November with rain in the forecast.”

PLEASE!

All in all it was fun to watch history being made in the World of Sports. And I just have to say it:

How about them Cubs?

Tomorrow is the first day of school. This morning was the blessing of the backpacks. This is not a United Methodist ritual, but has become a loved tradition at Beebe First UMC over the past several years.

The steps in the chancel area were covered with backpacks, lunch kits, teachers’ bags, briefcases, and even keys belonging to those in the congregation involved in education.

Our pastor prayed individually for each child, that s/he would be safe, would not be afraid, be ready to learn, and maybe be a friend to someone who needs one.

Why would he pray that we should return to school unafraid?

Active Shooter Training is a part of most school-staff inservices this year. In the classroom, children are taught what to do if they hear gunfire in the hall or the “lock down” words come over the intercom.

Larger schools may have scanners where visitors swipe their driver’s license to gain admittance. Registered offenders may not enter.

How do we feel safe and unafraid? Well, that’s what the drills are for. When the fire bell rang, children knew to walk in a straight line to the designated place on the playground. That was the practice in the Forties (and still today perhaps).

During the Cold War years, when the A-Bomb alarm went off, children hid under their desks. Until someone figured out the desk was not really much protection against an Atomic Bomb.

Many southern states have tornado drills, safe rooms, definite plans for protection against storms.

All these drills urge us to think about “what would we do if . . .?” so we’re more able to make the best choice in an emergency.

School starts tomorrow.

Pray for the kids, teachers, secretaries, custodians, bus drivers, cafeteria staff, nurses, and parapros, and anyone else I may have accidentally left out. Pray they will be patient, loving, and brave in the face of their tremendous responsibility and challenge to mold young lives.