COVERING UP AT THE CHRISTMAS PROGRAM

Periwinkle Chronicles, Tales of the Citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:

The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at Buddy Mutts Coffee Shop, run by The Brothers Jim, who are not brothers to each other but are brothers to the world, having recently added Jim Dhliwayo, a Somoli pirate reclamation project, to their kitchen staff, so that there are now three brothers Jim, with Golda Myear, his old college roommate’s golden retriever beside him, since you are not allowed in Buddy Mutts unless you are accompanied by a dog, and Claire was more than happy to get Golda, for whom they are dog-sitting, while Tom and Sally are on vacation in Syria, having gotten it confused with Seychelles, although it’s more like Golda Myear is people-sitting, since he weighs 100 lbs but thinks she is a lap dog, out of the house, with last year’s fruit cake on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when five-year-old Clara Wembley slipped into the booth across from him.

“I see that you are not deterred by fruit cake, Clara,” said Dr. Nathan.

“Hey, Zeus, Maria, and Josephina, no,” said Clara. “I’m used to fruit cakes. Uncle Jed is here for Christmas.” 

“You children sang nicely in the program at The Methodist on Christmas eve, Clara.”

“Thanks, Randy preacher, but I was surprised to see you there since the program started at 7 o’clock. Isn’t that past your bed-time?”

“As you well know, Clara, if you must use a derivative form of my name, I prefer Preacher Randy to Randy preacher, and 7 is not my bed time, just my eye-resting and deep-breathing exercise time, which I can do at church, along with the other old men, as well as anywhere else, possibly even better, except that I noticed during O Little Town of Bethlehem that there was a discordant note.”

“Yeah, that was little Larry, Uncle Jed’s kid. He hadn’t been to rehearsals, so he didn’t know the words, so while the rest of us were singing about along thigh dark streaks whining and the other right words, he was singing the only song he knew, which is The Old Cat Defecated in the Shavings and Covered it up with Straw.”

“I am surprised he knew that word, Clara.”

“Well, actually, he used a different word, but I don’t want to say that in front of Golda Myear. But you’re right. I don’t know what shavings means, either.”

***

A Golden Persimmon, or Simmie, is awarded to Georgia Heltzel Karr, because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.

[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]

{I tweet occasionally as yooper1721, but it’s not really worth the effort to read them.}

TAKIN' A TRAIN TO TEXAS

Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County

 

The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at The Depot cyber Café, with a TV set tuned to the Zimmerman trial 24/7 channels on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when engineer Stormy Kromer came in and slipped into the booth across from him.

 
Stormy took out his Android.
 
I used to date a girl named Ann Droid, said Dr. Nathan.
 
I ben up all nite, Stormy texted him. I don’t need ur corny jokes. Ben on the unlimited. Talkd w a boy named ian bak n the dining car.
 
I thought u were supposed 2 drive the train, Randall texted back on his yellow legal pad.
 
No. they run thereselves now, Stormy said, forgetting the rule about actually talking in a wireless place, but saving himself the embarrassment of his misspelling since the old preacher could not see it.
 
This boy named Ian, Stormy said, saying Ian with a capital I this time since he wasn’t trying to save strokes on his droid, had his guitar. Said he was goin’ to Texas with his daddy, a Methodist preacher named Wesley to see his granddaddy, another Methodist preacher, name of John. Damn good names for Methodist preachers.
 
I think the Wesleys would prefer you not say damn, said Dr. Nathan.
 
Damn, said Stormy. If I’d a txted, I wud hav said dam and u wudn’t no the diff.
 
How old was this boy? asked Randall Nathan.
 
Hard to say, answered Stormy. They look so young and sound so old these days. I think that’s why they take up music. If they’re holding an instrument they’re allowed to say stuff rather than just grunt. Anyhow, me and this boy Ian wrote a song…
 
He took his guitar and began to sing…
 
Takin’ a train to Texas
The old man on my right
Takin’ a train to Texas
Talkin’ all the night
He tells about the old days
And days that never were
Takin’ a train to Texas
Beyond that I’m not sure
 
Takin’ a train to Texas
To see the old man’s old man
Takin’ a train to Texas
He picks the mandolin
Sundays tells folks not to sin
To sing real loud and be real pure
Takin’ a train to Texas
Beyond that I’m not sure
           
Takin’ a train to Texas
My guitar on my knee
Takin’ a train to Texas
They’ve got one star and one tree
Takin’ a train to Texas
To see how they endure
Takin’ a train to Texas
Beyond that I’m not sure
 
I think it needs a little improvement, said Dr. Nathan.
 
Yeah, the song needs some, too, said Stormy
 
***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded to Sheryl Sather Wilkey, since the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
 
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
 
 

FUNDRAISERS & OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS

Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:

 

[Blogspot has begun to double underline random words in my blogs. When you click on them, you get advertisements. I did not ask for this, I do not approve of it, and I have nothing to do with it.]

 

The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at The Good to the Last Plop Coffee Shop and Fertilizer Emporium, with a pair of free tickets for a Carnival cruise to the Gulf of Mexico on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when May Bassket, the Director of Fund Raising for the Periwinkle Media System, slipped into the booth across from him.

 
“Apparently May Bassket is not deterred by the thought of a Carnival cruise,” observed Dr. Nathan.
 
“Netherworld, no,” said May. “Even a crap-in-a-bag cruise would have gotten us more money from Fund Raiser Karl than…”
 
“Fund Raiser Karl?” Pastor Nathan broke in.
 
“Yes. We’ve decided to name our public broadcasting fundraising weeks the way they do other natural disasters, like hurricanes and winter storms. We name them after famous fund raisers, like FR Melissa. That Melissa Gates got a billion not only out of her husband but off of Warren Buffett, too. Now that’s fund-raising!”
 
“I would think that FR Melissa would be very successful.”
 
“Well, we haven’t named one for Melissa yet. The first one was FR Bernie. Bernie Madoff was a great fundraiser, but there seem to be negative connotations about his name. Then FR George W. didn’t go very well, because it turned out that he didn’t actually raise funds, he just borrowed from the Chinese and said it wasn’t part of the budget. When we tried to borrow from the Chinese they told us to go to Tiananmen Square and wait.”
 
“Maybe you need some of those catchy gifts to give folks who donate,” suggested The Rev. Dr. Nathan.
 
“I thought we had a real winner with our Periwinkle Media System tote bags, but no one seemed to want to carry a bag that said PMS on the side. Now we’ve developed a video game that combines the best elements of NASCAR, bowling, and whack-a-mole. We’ll give DVDs of it.”
 
“What’s it called, CrashBoomBang?”
 
“Hey, how did you know that?”
 
“Sixth sense,” said Randall. “I’ve got ESP…N. But wasn’t there a band by that name?”
 
“Yeah,” said May Bassket, “ but they’re too stoned to know we’re using their name.”
 
“Well,” said Randall, “speaking of names, at least you have a nice name for this time of year, when we’re ready for spring.”
 
“Yes, my mother said they wanted to give me a short name like May, so that in case I turned out stupid, I could at least spell my own name.”
 
“Your mother must have been clairvoyant,” said Dr. Nathan.
 
“Why, yes, my mother’s name was Clair. But how did you know my maiden name was Voyant?”
 
 ***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded posthumously to Georgia Karr, who gave her daughters short names for the above mentioned reason, because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
 
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
 
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}

 

 

The Surest Sign of The Holy Spirit

Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:

 
THE SUREST SIGN OF THE HOLY SPIRIT
 
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was approaching his usual booth at The Good to the Last Glop Coffee Shop and Gravy Bistro, with a copy of a red-letter New Testament under his arm, to put on the table in front of him to keep any Bible-believers from sitting with him, since Bible-believers think that the black words are as good as the red words, because there are ways to exclude others in the black words and there aren’t any in the red words, which is why they claim to be Bible-believers instead of Christ-believers, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when he noticed that four-year-old Clara Wembley was already sitting in the booth across from his spot.
 
“At least I won’t have to worry about anyone else wanting to sit with me,” he muttered. “How come you’re in my booth, Clara?”
 
"Just waiting for you, Randy preacher. Mommy said I could hang out with you while I get the Holy Spirit.”
 
“How nice of her,” said The Rev. Nathan, “but if you must refer to me by my first name, I prefer Preacher Randy, as you well know.”
 
“Well no, to you, too,” said Clara. “Do you have two dimes?”
 
Randall pulled out his change purse and pressured the top into opening. “Why, yes, I do,” he said.
 
“Good,” said Clara. “Give ‘em to me. Pastor Polly said yesterday during the children’s sermon that we have to learn to accept the pair of dimes shift. I’m going to accept the shifting of your pair of dimes to me.”
 
“Sounds like a good children’s sermon,” said Randall, shifting the pair of dimes into Clara’s brown-stained hand. “But I thought Pastor Polly was at the Methodist.”
 
“No, that’s Pastor Patty. Pastor Polly is temporary at the Luteran. At least I don’t think she’ll be back. When she was handing out the wafers yesterday for communion, when she took one herself, I yelled ‘Polly wants a cracker.’ No loss. I don’t know why they call her a Luteran, anyway. She never plays the lute.”
 
“What’s that brown stain on your hands, Clara?”
 
“Oh, I’m getting the Holy Spirit.”
 
“Yes, I remember you mentioning that you were here for that purpose, but I don’t think I understand…”
 
“Not to worry,” said Clara. “I don’t mind explaining. Yesterday when Pastor Polly read the Bible, she said that when Jesus was talking to that Baptist guy while they were swimming in the river, that Baptist splashed some water on Jesus, the way guys do when they’re horsing around in the water, and the Holy Spirit clanged down on Jesus’ head like a dove bar.
 
“Are you sure there was a bar after the dove, Clara?”
 
“Sure. Bars are always after doves. That’s what they do in the woods. That’s why doves don’t go in the woods anymore. But I figure it doesn’t have to be just a dove bar. Any chocolate will give you the Holy Spirit. So I’m drinking hot chocolate while I eat my dove.”
 
Rev. Nathan beckoned to Abby Rhodes, the waitress. He pointed at Clara. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he said.
 
***
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
 
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
 
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
 

 

 

 

 

A BLACK FRIDAY MIRACLE

Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County…

 
A Black Friday Miracle
 
Most people shop for clothes or toys on Black Friday. Marcella Corella bought a new car.
 
She took her father, Jubillo Corella, with her and went to Herschel Feinberg’s “Cars The Way They Ought to Be Emporium.” Herschel has been stockpiling out-of-print cars for years—Studebaker, Packard, Nash, Desoto, Hudson—cars that were built the right way, meaning they were built long ago, since anything manufactured a long time ago, according to old people, which Herschel is, is better than anything manufactured more recently. Reluctantly and sorrowfully, he has now begun to store new Mercurys, Pontiacs, Oldsmobiles, and Plymouths.
 
Since she was 2 years old, which was 48 years ago, Marcella has wanted a Hudson but felt it was too much car for her, so she settled for Hondas, since they also start with “H,” and with gasoline. Since she hit 50, though, she has decided she needs a grown-up car. She really wanted that Hudson, the same type her grandmother used to drive in stock-car races when she was a teen, but her father favored a Plymouth, since Herschel won’t sell you a car unless you can justify your choice historically.
 
“I know it’s not quite as grown-up,” he said, “but think of the historical implications. Think of Plymouth Rock.”
 
“Yes,” she countered, “but think of Hudson Bay and the importance of the fur trade.”
 
Herschel was satisfied and sold her the Hudson, a sparkling green Hornet. What with Herschel calling in all the mechanics to help him decide whether the settling of Plymouth Rock or the Hudson Bay fur trade had been more important to the development of American literature, especially when Yogi “Bear” Ypsilanti, the new Mercury mechanic, stuck the necessity of Desoto’s discoveries into the discussion, since he’s irritated because he always has to argue the issue of the planet Mercury v. the fluid mercury, the transaction took four hours. All this time, Marcella’s mother, Florella, and her friend, Antonina Giuliani, and her other friend, Rudolpho Randino, were waiting anxiously to see what car she came back with.
 
Marcella had driven half-way into the garage when her mother, Florella, waved her down.

 “Stop!” she cried. “We have to see this color in sunlight to determine whether it’s really green, if we can call it The Green Hornet.”

 
So Marcella stopped the car where it was and got out to help Florella and Antonina and Rudolpho admire it. Just then Mrs. Ipsophacto from next door came out. She had not seen Marcella for a long time and held out her arms for a hug. Marcella ran to her, forgetting that the garage door opener was in her pocket, and as they hugged, the opener got compressed between them, and the big heavy garage door began to come down on Marcella’s brand new old car.
 
“Stop it!” cried Rudolpho. “Stop the garage door!”
 
He ran to it and tried to push it back up but it kept descending.
 
“It doesn’t have one of those automatic stoppers,” screamed Marcella.
 
“Jump into it and back it out further,” shouted Jubillo, Marcella’s father.
 
“I can’t,” said Marcella, who is an English teacher. “If it’s distance, the word is ‘farther,’ so it would be wrong to back it out ‘further.’”
 
“Help Rudolpho push the door up,” yelled Antonina.
 
“I can’t,” said Mrs. Ipsophacto. “I hate his mother. She once insulted my baked persimmon brie.”
 
But suddenly the door stopped dead.
 
“It’s a Black Friday miracle,” shouted Florella.
 
“It’s a sign from God,” said Jubillo. “She prefers Hudsons.”
 
“I don’t think the smashed chipmunk in the track thinks it’s a miracle or a sign from God, either one,” observed Antonina.
 
***
Golden Persimmons are awarded to Mary Beth Connolly, Chris Rander, Jennifer Jackson, and Helen Karr McFarland, since the similarity between happenings in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
 
[“Christ in Winter,” reflections on faith for people in the winter of their years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
 
You can find John Robert McFarland’s tweets on Twitter @yooper1721.

K9 KAPERS

 
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
 
K9 Kapers
  
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at Buddy Mutts Cafe, having borrowed Ernie the Barker from his grandchildren, Betsy and Johnny Kendy, since Buddy Mutts won’t let you in without a dog, with a copy of Michelle Bachman’s Facts About American History on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Trooper Adam Wun came in, with Run Tin Can, his trooper dog, and slipped into the booth across from him.
 
Ernie, of course, barked, but when the German shepherd trooper dog gave him a haughty toss of the head and ignored him as insignificant, he went back to his roast-beef flavored cappuccino.
 
“How’s the dog sniffing training going?” asked Randall Nathan.
 
“Great, except for those old lady groupies who follow us around.”
 
“Why do they do that?”
 
“They want to see how the dogs find things, so they can teach their husbands to do the same thing to find all the things they lose.”
 
When you’ve been a pastor for fifty years, you know when someone wants a favor.
 
“Go ahead and ask it,” said Randall.
 
“Well, we’re having the field trials over at Sandwich Points, and I’d like for you to come.”
 
“Why in the world?”
 
“Well, it’s my turn to furnish the cadaver for the trials, and you come as close to qualifying as anybody I know.”
 
***
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
 
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
 
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}

 

 

'Tis Better To Have Loved & Lost

 
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
 
‘TIS BETTER 2 HAVE LOVED & LOST
 
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at The Whistle & Thistle Biker Bar & Episcopal Ladies Tea House, or W&TBB&ELTH for short, with a copy of Michelle Bachman’s Facts About American History on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Edie Whistle, the proprietress of The W&TBB&ELTH came over and slipped into the booth across from him.
 
“Oh, this is going to be bad. Here comes Malcolm Adroit. It’s Bessie Bandervilt’s funeral this morning, and that old coot is still in his old overalls. He’s going to embarrass himself no end, going to her funeral at The Talistic Funeral Home & Wedding Chapel. Fay Talistic is a real stickler for new overalls for funerals and weddings both.”
 
“He’s not going to her funeral,” said Rev. Nathan.
 
“He told you that?”
 
“No, but he figures since he chased after her all those years and mooned over her and she wouldn’t even give him the time of day, he’s not worthy.”
 
“What?” said Edie. “You a mind-reader now?”
 
“No, I’m an overall reader. Also Kate Roberts told me. She was going to take him, but he refuses to go.”
 
“Is that Good-Eye Roberts?”
 
“Yes, Edie, but we wouldn’t have to call her that to distinguish her from the other Kate Roberts if we would just stop calling the other one Bad-Eye.”
 
“Well, she’s got only one eye, and it’s bad, but no matter which eye, it’s up to you to do deal with him,” said Edie as she grabbed her silver pot of Earl Grey and hurried over to the Episcopal Ladies section.
 
Mal Adroit slipped into the seat she had vacated and sighed. “You hear about Bessie? Dead so young,” he said.
 
“She was ninety-six, Mal.”
 
“Yes, but she still had that girlish figure, and such a mind. She could recite the Sunday funnies from memory. From 1943 on. No wonder she never even noticed me. I loved her from afar.”
 
“That was mostly because afar was as close as she would let you get, Mal.”
 
“Yes, but yearning for her was my whole life. Now I have nothing to live for, because trying to get her to notice me was what kept me going.”
 
“Oh, she noticed you, Mal. A lot. She figured if someone like you could love her so much, even from afar, especially from afar, that life was worth living. That’s what kept her going all these years.”
 
“Gosh, Randy, how do you know that?”
 
“I know things other people don’t, Mal. It goes with the territory. Now you’d better go home and get into your good overalls before her funeral. I’ll tell Good Eye… uh, I mean, Kate, to come fetch you.”
 
“I’ll do it, Randy. My life has meaning again.”
 
As Mal Adroit hurried out, Edie Whistle sidled back over. “I never knew about Bessie thinking life was worth living because of Mal loving her from afar.”
 
“I didn’t either,” said The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, “until I remembered it just now. It was in the Sunday funnies back in 1943.”
 
***
 
A Golden Persimmon is awarded to Quentin Ryder, because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental. Another Golden Persimmon is awarded to daughter Mary Beth for her birthday today.
 
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
 
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}