Shadow

just lift the edge

if you would like

the shadow’s edge

grasp it gingerly

with the fingertips

slowly

lift and peek beneath

to see what lies under

another world perhaps-

or nothing

impossible you say

but not if there is

wonder

imagination

vision

for mystery and life

keep secrets

if no oneever tries

and yet you may do so

by thinking it through

for where there is shadow

reality

where substance

shadow

attests to what exists

good evidence

not to be denied

Humorous Devotional

I worked hard on this article, but when I got to the writing challenge submission area at FaithWriters it was closed for this week's challenge, "Write in the Devotional Genre." This has never happened to me before. The cut-off number is 200, and usually submissions are still under that number at closing on Thursday morning.

So I thought since I have not posted in a long while I might just as well copy it in here. Hope you enjoy. The title is:

Take Shoulders

You know how when you articulate a word over and over it starts sounding weird? Well something similar happened to me one Sunday sitting in church, only it wasn’t a word, it was a body part. I could see lots of them that morning: my husband and I were sitting toward the back.

For reasons I don’t care to explain - the sermon wasn’t boring or anything - I started zooming in on shoulders. I think it was the shape. The more I contemplated, the odder they seemed. I mean, here’s this globe head, after that a stem; and then these square lumps we call shoulders jut right on out there.

I began speculating. “Hmmm… wonder why God made shoulders? They’re good for hanging purse straps; a place to pin corsages. To prevent jackets sliding off?” But what else?“I know! Shoulders are great proof humans didn’t evolve!” But then I realized evolutionists would claim apes had pre-shoulders or something. I argued with imaginary scientists.

“Pre-shoulders, according to your way of reasoning, would only develop into actual shoulders for species survival. Like apes with weapons on their backs might tend to develop shoulders. But why would apes bear weapons? ” That silenced them: they had no answer.

“Well, does God talk about shoulders in the Bible?” this time I interrogated me. (Really, the sermon was good that Sunday.) Once home I would do a word study.

From Strong I learned the English word shoulder or shoulders appears 61 times in the Bible: 55, OT, twice, NT. Mostly shoulders had a negative connotation: they had to work too hard, they were belligerent, or somebody was sacrificing those of animals. A few times God was removing something from them and that was usually good.

More jesting aside, the shoulder fixation did get me thinking how God sometimes uses unorthodox methods of getting my ear. He works in strange ways or maybe He works with strange people, but I sensed Him telling me shoulders have spiritual implications in need of personal grappling.

“How do I use my spiritual shoulders then,” I asked? My word-study scriptures resonated.

When the Lord is trying to get my attention, do I “refuse to hearken, and pull away the shoulder, and stop my ears, that I should not hear?” (Zechariah 7:11) Do my thoughts drift aimlessly in prayer or quiet time? (Does my mind wander in church?)“

Are my shoulders pillows of comfort, or do I “thrust with side and with shoulder, and push all the diseased with my horns, till I have scattered them abroad?” as I just read in Ezekiel. Have my thoughtless words ever run anyone off from church?

Do I “shoulder in” on private matters that don’t concern me? Gossip?

Do I “bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders; but I myself will not move them with one of my fingers? Or do I “bear another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ?” Do I raise the bar for my friends, lower it for me? Do I want them to be there for me, but I’m too busy when they have a need?

Because I’m such a ‘strong Christian’ do I with pride carry my own burdens, or do I lay them on Jesus wide shoulders, “casting all my cares on Him, because He cares for me?” Do I toss and turn and worry, or give my problem to Him and leave it there?

And for my last but not least: do I point lost folk to Jesus that He might shoulder their burden of sin?

“For what man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.” (Luke 15:4-6)

On second thought I take back that was my last. I have one more. Are you a bizarre person like me? If so, you might be willing to pursue my line of reasoning by asking a question of your own:

“To what use have I put my shoulders lately?”

Happy Easter

We had an awesome service and sermon at church on Easter. Our pastor used John 20 as his main text, focusing on the devotion of Mary Magdalene to her Lord and how it is our devotion and the way it impacts our lives that is most important.

Paraphrased, "Christianity at it's essence is not a theological, academic excercise. It is relational, devotional, impacting."

One thoughtful observation of his centered on Mary's response to seeing the angels, one at the head, the other at the foot of where Jesus body had lain. She didn't say, "WOW! Angels!" and then go off into a torrent of questions about angel life.

Like a bulldog Mary honed right to her main concern: "They have taken away My Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." She was not going to allow the eye-popping, mind-boggling, heart-stopping sight of supernatural messengers from heaven sidetrack her for a single minute.

"Sir if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away."

A common girl grappling with the body of a grown man was a ludicrous thought, but Mary wasn't thinking about logistics. In her zeal and devotion, she leaped past every earthly obstacle.

Our pastor is an excellent Greek scholar and frequently translates entire passages for us from the original. In fact he has large portions of the Bible committed to memory and is able to give comprehensive, contextual references from almost any point in scripture.

More and more though, he has been talking about the futility of mere academic Christianity, such as arguing for hours, as he recently witnessed during a pastor's conference, over proper tense for a verb.

"If if walk out of that place to pass without incident a person in pain or need, I am become nothing but a modern-day Pharisee, swallowing camels and gagging on gnats."

In the midst of all the pre-Easter and Easter activities I did manage to get in a bit of Bible reading and studying on my own of some of the seasonal texts. I would like to share in the form of a short devotional some of what God seemed to be showing me.

More Than Proof is Love

After His resurrection Jesus appeared to His disciples. He stood in their midst and said, “Peace to you.” They thought He was a ghost and were terrified. He said, “Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Behold My hands and My feet that it is I Myself. Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have.” Luke 24:39

He showed them His hands and feet, but they still dared not believe and wondered. Jesus asked the disciples if they had any food, so they gave Him fish and honeycomb. He took it from them and ate it.

In John 20:27, we see Jesus summoning Thomas, “Reach your fingers here, and look at my hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving , but believing.”

I receive more here than documented proof for doubting disciples. I sense a mixing of brotherhood blood. I feel love demonstrated.

In effect Jesus was saying to them - and to us, “Doubting is a painful state to be in. Your doubting is part and parcel with human weakness, one of the stripes of the flesh I took upon myself. As you suffer pain in your doubting, so I suffered pain of beating and the cross."

"See, I have kept the nail-prints and side-wounds: they show I am one with you forever. When I suffered I took on your suffering, when I died I took on your death. As I was resurrected, so you will be resurrected.”

We think we need tangible proof to believe: sight, taste, touch - or something academic or scientific. But the greatest proof of all is shared pain, shared victory. Jesus hands and feet and side were his proof. Not so much the feel of them, or the seeing, but love the animating force that defined them.

That is why we can say with Thomas, “My Lord, and My God!” We know, as he did, that it is our God Who is as near and as real as our own beating heart - our Lord Who is alive again.

Ladies Retreat

Ladies Retreat, Twin Oaks Ranch
Posted on 2007-03-19

Hi y'all,

I've been away for a few days but I'm home now after attending our church's very first ladies retreat in Buda Texas. This past weekend in spite of the fact my body had to adapt to lots of things it wasn't accustomed to, my spirit came back refreshed. Sharing a cabin with four other ladies (one of whom snored like a logger): trying to relax on a rough plank in a sleeping bag with people coming in and going out at odd hours; and attempting to eke lo-carb meals out of hi-carb fare, all were challenges I survived. I am so glad I was privileged to attend.

"In His Image" was the theme Bev Armstrong, our keynote speaker, chose for our time together, introduced during the first session on Friday evening. Bev broke ice that evening by urging us to imagine, then define, our spiritual shape to the person next to us. Several of us looked at one another with a question mark above our heads, but others caught on fast. When called upon to describe their shapes the quicker studies in the group came up with some interesting shapes to share.

To name a few, there was a square, an isosceles triangle, a circle, an oblong, a star, and others - even one squiggly. A few ladies volunteered to explain their reasons for choosing the shapes they did. The oblong said she was a less than perfect circle; star said her points stood for all the different roles she had to play as a mother - triangles were similar. Squares and rectangles said they were more black and white types, with definite edges and boundaries. The squiggly said she felt like she had to be flexible because so many demands were made on her that she had to slip from one identity to another at the drop of a noodle.

After hearing some of the women explain themselves I got a better idea of what was meant. I decided I was a spaghetti because my thoughts are all interconnected. But before I could interject my shape the squiggly lady spoke up and since I felt they were so similar I kept mine to myself. (It seems like that happens to me often in group settings. I think of this brilliant insight and someone else pops out with it first. Always leaves me feeling kind of deflated, you know.)

On Saturday we learned why we had been called upon to think about character shapes. Our speaker drew a circle on the board with a cross inside forming pie-shape divisions or sections within, each one representing ways that God re-shapes us. You see in the beginning of creation we were made in His image, the perfect circle representing a perfect shape. But after the first humans sinned in Eden that shape became distorted. Hence the cross inside the circle to show how God provides a new beginning at Calvary for those who believe.

The upper left section represents the Cross or death of Christ on the cross; the upper right is The Word, or scripture; the lower left is Prayer; and the lower right is our involvement with one another. Each has an impact that is vital to restoring God's image to us. On Saturday, three sessions dealt with the cross, the Word, and Prayer, respectively. The last service, Sunday morning, centered in our relationships with other Christian women.

Since it would require too much space and time I won't go into detail about each of the ways God has planned for us to regain His image. I will however give you a very terse synopsis. On the cross Jesus said, "It is finished!" That means our sin debt was paid in full at the cross - our separation from God repaired. The victory of our salvation was actually won 2,000 years ago. There is obviously however much to be done in respect to our regaining the glory of God's original shaping. While salvation is assured, the scriptures speak of the judgement seat of Christ - according to the material of which they are made our works are either burnt up or rewarded there: gold, silver, wood, hay, stubble. Kingdom works are precious metal that does not burn. Selfish works are the wood, hay, or stubble. This leads us to the next reshaping tool.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. How do we make the will of God on earth reality? The scriptures reveal God's mind, His will. The Word of God is the tool of God to change the people of God. Scripture is God-breathed. They self-validates their Godly origin and usefulness for equipping the saints. The Word pierces our attitudes; it has convicting power.

Prayer. Pray the scriptures. This is a wonderful way to communicate with God in His own language. Begin with praise. Psalms is an excellent place to pray praises. Pray the scriptures for your family, your friends, your church, your nation and its leaders. Place your own name in the scripture of request, then pray it back to God.

To complete the circle we must love others as self. Do not use group prayer, or prayer with a prayer partner as a way to manipulate others. Pray to God, not to your group or prayer partner. Don't try to "fix" someone. Instead, come alongside, point to Christ. Bev gave wonderful example of Lydia, a New Testament business woman of means, being in harmony with a former demon-possessed slave girl. Lydia opened her home to Paul and Dr. Luke, her beautiful couch perhaps to be stained by their bloody backs. Lydia had a choice to make. She chose correctly. Bev spoke of the three-strand cord in Proverbs, suggesting we ask God to bring us someone of His choosing for us to interact with, for just one year. Both parties in a discipleship relationship have something to gain. It is never one sided. Women under the influence of the Holy Spirit can make a tremendous difference in their church and community.

On Saturday evening we had quiet time with God, individually under the stars. Afterward we came together around a bonfire and shared our hearts. I shared how He spoke to me about standing on His airhose. I was stopping Holy Spirit flow, suffocating myself with my own selfish pursuits. Into the fire went our mistakes, repentances, regrets, baggage. We were cleansed and bonded together as one.

To end on a lighter note I will share one of the more humorous incidents that happened at retreat. Each lady at registration was given a gift bag filled with frilly girl-type items. One of the items in each bag was a container of liquid hand soap. I know because I read the label. In our cabin I was the first to pull mine from the bag. I set it on the lavatory for all of us to use. But it was not until the second day that I observed one of my cabin buddies removing her container and squishing some of the pink liquid into the palm of her hand. She was at the time sitting on her bunk. I remarked how nice she had gotten hand lotion. "I only got soap!" I complained. She started to read her label. It said HAND SOAP. We had a good laugh.

Later at lunch around a table of about 8 ladies we were recalling the incident to a friend. She said, "Oh! That was soap?!!" I rubbed it all over my body after my shower this morning." Of course since we were already giggling you can imagine the peals of laughter this new revelation provoked. We teased her with all kinds of scenarios. If we saw bubbles coming out from under her cabin door we would know she was in the shower. We told her she better only wash one leg or an arm at a time. "Doesn't it itch?" we wanted to know. "Not really," she said. "I just feel a little slick." When I told my husband later at home he said she best not get caught in a rainstorm. Our sweet-natured friend took it all in good humor, joining with us in poking fun at herself.

Until next time, be sure to read all your labels.

Perils Of The Undermice

Sharing my latest!

“What do you think about this?” Over a cup of hot java, I was jawing about animated movie script ideas with my fellow writer friend, Ross.

“You got a mice couple, call ‘em Ikedrom and Molly, never had any kids. Live in the walls of an old abandoned apartment building. Old man, he’s happy, the way things are. But the wife, she’s freaking out because she wants a kid so bad. Nags Ikedrom all the time.

One day they find a blankie on their doorstep. Turns out, there’s a newborn kitten inside. Molly wants to keep it, Ikedrom thinks Molly’s nuts. They argue. Molly digs in, takes matters into her own paws. She drags the blankie inside - names the kitty Rehtse, feeds it from an old glove of Ike’s.

Before long Molly realizes Rehtse is getting too big for her blankie and their apartment. She needs Ike to help her figure out a way to move Rehtse someplace roomier, but close enough so she can still look after her. So she makes up with Ike. Idea is maybe he can find a closet or an attic or something in the building and create an opening from there into their apartment.

Ikedrom agrees to venture into the wide world of their building to see what he can see. Early one morning at dawn’s crack, he sets out.

“Wait a minute,” Ross interrupts - rather rudely, I’m thinking. “Plot sounds kind of’ fantastical to me. Nobody’s gonna’ buy it. You know, suspension of belief and all that!”

“Patience, friend,” I counter him, “there’s a thread. Besides, you the myth-king of all time, are telling me my story’s too fantastical?”

“Well, all right,” my friend relents, but with a martyred look on his face. But try to get on with it, will you? Just give me a rough outline.”

Okay, I’ll try but I’m not sure I can do justice just hitting high points.” I taste my coffee and frown deeply. Ross has been talking so much, it’s gotten cold.

“Anyhow, so Ikedrom crawls out a crack, climbs a vine, and re-enters through an air-duct. Once inside he starts to look around and sure enough finds the perfect hidey-hole for Rehtse. But before he can make it back to tell Molly, he overhears two renegade cat denizens, Namah and Manah, plotting against the big hama-hama cat of the neighborhood, Sure-Usa-Dak-Uben.

So happens big guy is champion of mice folk and has just made a decree in their favor. The two traitors don’t like it so they’re gonna’ do him in.”

“Nope, nope, story line’s never gonna’ work!” Its Ross again, rearing back in his arrogance.

“What do you mean it won’t work? I think it’s great!”

“Audience won’t sit still for it. Too weird! But do go on!”

“Thanks buddy, I think I will!” I clear my throat.

“As soon as the coast is clear old Ike rushes back home to tell Molly what he overheard. They write a note to Sure-Usa warning him of danger and the plot is foiled. Sure-Usa takes it all down on a sticky-note, but forgets.

Months go by and Rehtse grows into a little beauty. She loves her adoptive mice parents but senses it’s time to move on. Once in the hood, she becomes queen of the hop. Sure-Usa notices Rehtse, Rehtse notices Sure-Usa. They become inseparable and begin wedding plans. Rehtse doesn’t tell Sure-Usa about her mice relations.

Before you know it a new dastardly plot arises in the enemy camp. Namah and Manah are spreading it that mice cause golden tumors on cats. All mice are declared enemies of the state and are to be exterminated. Without realizing what he’s doing, Sure-Usa signs the bill.”

“Oh my goodness!” Ross is shaking his head, determined not to let me get a word in edgewise.

“Please!” I hold up a hand. “I’m almost done.”

“Ikedrom goes looking for Rehtse - finds her basking at ease. Tells her about dastardly plot, enlists her aid. Rhetse agrees but demands backup: all mice have to give up cheese for Lent. Mice of the hood agree.

Meanwhile, Sure-Usa can’t sleep one night, finds wadded-up note under him is reason. Reads note that Ikedrom saved his life one time. Gives Ike a new suit of clothes.

Rehtse hatches plan. Invites Sure-Usa, Namah and Manah to a party. Rehtse confesses her humble beginnings to Sure-Usa and rats on Namah and Manah. She begs a mice reprieve for her adoptive kinfolk. When Sure-Usa catches Namah and Manah trying to claw Rehtse, that corks it. He banishes them to Pied Piper land. Rehtse, Sure-Usa, Ikedrom and Molly all take a cruise together. On Namah and Manah’s money.”

“Now see, that didn’t take too long!”

“Well, it might be okay,” this was quite a concession for such as Ross. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it did.

“But I have just one question… (here it came) why a weird name like Molly?”

“I don’t know,” I said, after thinking about it for a minute or two. I scratched my head, “That’s just her name, I guess!”

Back - yes again

This is my first post on the new blog.spot by google, an upgraded version of blogger.com. It's supposed to be improved, but I haven't had a chance to check that out yet. After requiring me to create a new Google account, they (whoever they are) automatically switched over all my archived articles.

Confession time. Since I joined an internet writing group called Faithwriters I rarely get over here to post on my blog site anymore. The reason is two-fold: firstly I don't think anyone visits my blogsite (in view of the fact there is hardly ever any new posts I can't say I blame the two family members who used to come here occasionally), so it may as well be a diary to myself, and secondly I'm always fighting for time to keep up with the weekly Writing Challenge, critiqueing requirements, and regular articles for my writing group. (I was up past midnight on Wednesday trying to meet the Thursday morning deadline last week.) Also timewise I don't feel I am doing justice to my email correspondence with friends and family. Also there are 360 other issues vying for my attention - some of which are three very anxious pets (two of which are staring at me right now) that have not had their daily rations.

Anyhow, a bright spot is that since I didn't want a repeat of last week's midnight vigil I decided to get a head start on the new writing challenge and have already submitted my article this week, written yesterday afternoon in its entirety.

This brings up a bone I have been gnawing about the mysterious science of writing. Last week I labored long and arduously over my story, editing and re-editing until I was brain-dead and ready to submit whatever just to get the thing out of my hair. The words just would not flow for the subject of Sewing and I still don't feel good about the final outcome. The subject this week is Shopping and in contrast I wrote out the story almost as if someone were dictating it to me - very little editing. Both were fiction short-stories, word count parameters set by Faithwriters at 150 - 750 words. I don't understand!!

Anyway I thought I might share the two articles just on the off-chance someone someplace might tune in and offer their comments.

The subject is: SEWING

A New Beginning For Sylvie

Sylvie sat near a raised window staring out at the front lawn, unmindful that she was massaging her knuckles to a rose-hued rawness. In her lap lay an officious-looking letter, unopened. She hadn’t been able to attend her church for some time now and her giving was next to nothing. She assumed the letter had to do with removing her from the church roster.

As she watched, a few dispirited, brown leaves circled in their own personal, small tornado before an instant gust of wind sent them scooting across the lawn. “Just like me,” she thought, dry and useless as an old, dead leaf, spent and good for nothing but the burn pile.”

The elderly lady’s birdlike features pinched into a knot as she sought to hold onto the flood of weeping mounting in her throat. “Oh Lord, just take me home,” she sobbed, bending nearly double into her lap. “What good am I to a blessed soul on earth? What good am I to You Lord, for that matter?”

“Ma’am?” It was Torie, Sylvie’s care-giver, speaking. “I got the soup all heated up now! And don’t it smell good! And if you want we can have some of those nice saltine crackers you like so much with it! C’mon now sweetie, you hadn’ had a bite all day,” Torie’s narrow, plain face widened in a smile of encouragement.

Ashamed to be caught in such an emotional display, Sylvie righted herself, pulled a tissue from its container and began to dab at her face. Then with some difficulty, she sought to release the hand-brake on her wheel-chair. “At least I can still do that,” she chirruped in an attempt at sounding more upbeat. But as sharp pain stabbed through her arthritic fingers she winced and had to stifle a moan. She feared she wouldn't have much appetite this evening.

For over half a century, Sylvie had been the unofficial seamstress for her church. Over the years she had stitched her way through mountains of sewing projects: choir robes needing hemming or altering; velvet covers for the kneeling pads at the altar; curtains for Sunday School rooms and tapestries for the vestry; more kid’s pageant costumes than anyone could keep track of.

Her church pals used to stand back in amazement, “Sylvie, you hop around like a flea – don’t know how you get a thing done. But if you don’t accomplish more than all the rest of us put together my name isn't (and here you may place the name of whoever it was that was poking a bit of harmless fun at her friend)! Must be your gift!”

Sylvie was certain they were right; and what joy to one whose only family had been her church sisters and brothers: for Sylvie was an orphan and had never married.

But now her gift and the days of her usefulness were all behind her. What with that new, young man they had hired, and most of her friends having passed over, Sylvie doubted but very few even knew who she was - much less the role she had played in church life.

“Would you like me to open your letter for you?” Torie broke in on Sylvie’s gray thoughts.

Sylvie would always wonder at the way Torie’s words had caused her heart to leap so at that moment. And why it pounded as it hadn’t done in months, maybe years. And why she answered her as she did when only a few moments before she had been droopy as an old wet sheet.

“Yes, I think I would. And read it aloud to me, if you don’t mind.”

The letter began with a greeting from Pastor Tom, his family, and the members at large. After that came something that left Sylvie dumbfounded: he was thanking her for her many years' service to the church and inviting her to a special banquet to be held in her honor next Sunday. And if that weren't enough, he mentioned that if she felt up to it (and only if) “would she consider heading up a new prayer chain the church was in the process of forming?” The council had been unanimous in naming her as their first choice.

Would she!! The glow in Sylvie’s soft dove’s eyes spoke her answer in a volume of tacit affirmation. “After all,” she said to Torie, “since the chain-stitch has always been my favorite, how can I refuse?”

Torie wheeled Sylvie into the adjoining room, away from the fading light.



The subject is: SHOPPING

Judge Not

Have you ever met anyone who is so completely different on the inside from what they are on the outside that he or she seem like two entirely separate individuals living under one skin? Well, I have and that person taught me a lesson I shall never forget. “Never judge a book by its cover!” Sounds rather hackneyed or trite doesn’t it? Sorry, but there’s no better way of describing what I call the “Consuela” lesson.

I first met Consuela when she came to our house to apply for a job as serving girl. I almost didn’t give her the time of day. However, something stopped me from sending her away without at least giving her a chance. Maybe my sub-conscious picked up on the fact that she wore not a trace of jewelry or lipstick and that her shoulders were modestly covered. If that was the case, I don’t remember. Perhaps it was just that I believed in fairness. But probably not.

Consuela was one of those dark beauties - you know the kind that reminds you of a deep-crimson rose on a long stem with plenty of thorns. Her voice was low and husky and when she walked, she didn’t just walk, she slunk. Her black hair waved down over one eye, falling almost to her waist in back, and her bare feet were tanned and smooth as they peeked from beneath her full-gathered, emerald and peach flowered skirt. And did this girl ever have a shape! Her figure was cause enough to make any wife wonder if such a female should be allowed in the same room with her big, burly Abraham for even a second, let alone take up sleeping quarters in the same house.

I am thinking it must have been fate that morning that caused the grocery boy to make his appearance smack in the middle of my interview with Consuela. Living in a foreign country, it was ever so much easier if I didn’t have to shop the local markets, especially confusing since I had not yet picked up much of the lingo. So every morning at around 11:00 A.M. or so this grocery lad let himself in the back door, placed our order on the panty shelf and collected the envelope holding the exact amount of cash for which we had previously arranged.

I also might mention, since you must be wondering, that calling my little visit with Consuela an interview is an overstatement of sorts. She gestured and I gestured and once in a while we understood each others’ gesturing

At any rate the youth, who was probably about 2 years into his teens, had come in with his sacks and had just set them down when he spied Consuela. She was probably about a yard or so away and standing with her back to him. I can only imagine the effect that curvaceous form viewed from his angle must have had on the boy for he let out a long, low wolf whistle, universal in any language.

What followed could best be described as what might occur if a mama panther caught an avowed enemy in the act of molesting her new-born cub. All the fire and ice of a truly conservative soul was unleashed that day on the head of one very surprised young grocery clerk.

Now I can’t tell you precisely what Consuela said or what she did. I can only recount that her words were uttered with such volume, her movements fueled with such potency, that neither ear nor eye nor human form could long endure under their combined force. I do believe however with all my heart that the youth understood. I shall always believe that.

Consuela came to work for us that very day on the condition that we allow her to do all our shopping. And that the grocery clerk never set foot in our house again so long as she was our employee. We were never sorry that we agreed. I don’t think she need have worried much about the grocery guy.