As I See It

Vanilla Ice Cream Cups

We luvved vanilla ice cream cups from the Ice Cream Truck.
Daddy would tell us, “There’s that ice cream truck again.
Playing that song and ringing that bell again. Means they’re 
out of ice cream AGAIN. Don’t bother going out there. We’ll
MAKE some.”
Course, as a kid, dads know EVERYTHING (for real), so step
mom saved these self-same cups and sticks, and made the kool-
aid icees for all the trailer park kids. She was a fine lady
and supplied us all.
But, Daddy, … yeah, he was a scamp who loved kids, always was.
I had to grow up to learn the difference about the ice cream
truck. Now, icees are aluminum spooned and I still eat them.
As I See It

MY Definition of the Phrase ‘Secular Christian’

This was a question posed on a esoteric board. I answered in this way …
Before anyone asks this question , we ALL need to know just what is your definition 
of the phrase “secular christian” as you have used it?  

Sent: Sunday, January 17, 2016 6:27 PM
Subject: Re: whats a “secular christian” ?
This is not an officially, proper response but I believe secular Christians are those much more “severe” to themselves in the performance of their faith. They revolve around a particular Christian precept difference, maybe only one differing existing, from “mainstream” Christianity.
My example is, just that, an example as a parallel only:
Opus Dei (a life-styled, very severe Ca-thol-ic group whose individual members involve self-punishment they validate in faith. (secular side)
Catholic Church (direct, main avenue to Opus Dei) (church is said to be Christian, or at least part of it is.)
Probably not the answer you expected right off after posting out to us. So … I will welcome anyone with “book” version of explanation.
Marie in Galveston

Jodi Foster – The Coppertone Child

Some many years ago, on interview talk show, Jodie Foster admitted she was this model at 3-years-old. She said she posed the pose, but that the painter did not a dog, or a tree, or a beach. That the painter used her pose.
Later, some years later, she admitted this on TV again. That she was this model, and that no, and in no way, did she suffer trauma for “modelling the pose”.

NO Idea – 1939 – Daddy’s Car

My dad once told me that in 1939, he was 18 years old, and he bought his first car; it was a NEW car. He paid cash, the whole $100.00, on the spot.
At this point of the story, my dad roared back laughing. It was so funny to him to tell me he had had to park that new car for nine months, covered up,because he didn’t have $.06, and nowhere to get $.06, for a gallon of gas, so that he could try driving it.
To write further, Dad went into the military shortly after this purchase, and came back
with money for gasoline…nine months later.

The “Vet”

Short story.
One of the years I painted scenery for theatre tech, I worked
with a part-time, non-paid they always called, “The Vet.”
For tools, it was, “Go ask the vet”.
So, at one time I asked him, “What was our branch of service?”
He was so surprised, he stumbled. He said, “I’m not a veteran;
I’m a veternarian.”
We all laughed about that.
Name Game



In December of 2010, I was in a hair salon, drifting through the newspaper standing at the counter while my co-worker performed hair service. I read the page with the youth athlete photographs, as they sometimes print them for the softball teams and the school acknowledgements. Sometimes, I read these pictures because I see children with names of people I know and I see them as the offspring of my friends. But, today I did NOT read them. I was “drifting” through, ready to turn another page when at the bottom of this page, I read the last name on the page of the last photograph. The little girl’s last name was Kirkland. I read, “Kelsey Kirkland”.


The next day, my husband had a heart attack toward late morning while I was at work. No one knew. He was alone. Mother upstairs did not hear him calling out until nearly two o’clock. He was desparately ill, and dying (as the emergency room doctor would later say).

I sat in the hospital while my husband was in surgery, hours long surgery. This was already a long day as I worked on my feet the entire day and evening was soon upon us while I waited at the hospital. The surgery was so long that I was becoming frightened to hear the eventual final news alone. I called my husband’s nephew. I told him, “Don’t come, but will you please stay by your phone. I may fall apart before very long when the doctor comes out.” I didn’t relay the desperation but my voice probably did. I told him where I was and ended the call, and I went into the waiting room, where I had been for hours on the surgery floor, to wait, alone, some more and more.

While I was waiting, minutes dragging by, waiting for word, a couple sat on the adjoining couch. The young man was in work clothes, crying, and it was his mother who sat next to him holding his hand. The doctor came to the door, and at first I believed he was my husband’s surgeon, but what he said sent shock through me in that moment. He said, loudly and firmly, “I want to talk to the family of Kelsey Kirkland.” Seems our little girl softball-player, from the newspaper photograph I had seen the day before, had struck a telephone pole in a 3-wheeler, riding alone, and the doctor did not give any hope at all of her recovering. He virtually recited that he expected her to die tonight. The little girl was eight years old. When the doctor left, the man turned to his mother and said, “Mother, I’m about to lose my only child.”

Suddenly, we were three people, all losing our loved ones at the same time. Perhaps, I was the strangest stranger-lady, but I moved next to him and put my head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around me, while his mother held his other hand, and leaned upon his other shoulder. We sat like that for ten minutes, all three of us. No one said any words, just all three of us crying. Mother held one of his hands; I held his other hand. Some time later, I got up and left because the nephew called that he was there, to come and find him in the hallway on the floor I was on.

Somehow, Kirklands and I connected, in a most similar moment, when we all had no more words.

My assessment of The Name Game? … I’m where I’m supposed to be at the moment I’m supposed to be there. And, this is the proof. The Name Game always happens this way, over and over, though not ALWAYS critically inclined.

That evening, I was sublimely humbled.