Why Dogs are Idiots

  Let me preface this blog by saying that there actually are smart dogs amongst us. They are few and far between, but they do exist. These are the elite dogs. They are the dogs that may very well graduate summa cum laude, and may be on the verge of being promoted.

  Promoted to what you ask? Who cares! Any dog promotion is better than being a normal idiot dog. Maybe they will be promoted to a human. However, these promoted dogs will probably struggle with fractions and assessment tests after being promoted.

  I am convinced that dogs are a result of regeneration or reincarnation gone bad. Yes, it all makes sense to me now, since I have been living with two visiting dogs for more than a month. These two dogs are idiots. I will refer to them as "MJ" and "DK". MJ is the bigger idiot of the two as well as the younger. DK is calmer, but an idiot nonetheless. While watching the pure and unblemished stupidity of these dogs I have come to the realization that their existence must be a punishment or just plain Karma. I understand that the conservative religious sector of society will call my thoughts heretical, but they would do well to hear my gf logic.

  This line of thinking has made me look inwards at my own failures and idiotic behaviors during my life. High School alone may send me to a dog existence. I am going to be very careful moving forward so as to limit my idiotic instances.

  It makes perfect sense that the creator of life would provide the dog world as a retraining ground for humans. If you are an unadulterated bonafide idiot your entire life you will be become a dog. It is simple as that. An idiot does not need to be a human anymore. Humans were designed to live on a higher plane than that of a regular idiot. Maybe if you fail at being a dog you will become something else. MJ is well on her way to becoming a Jack Ass in her next life. The only way she will prevent this inevitable event is to pull a "Lassie" moment out of her butt.

http://www.jokeroo.com/pictures/animal/yoga-dog.html

 DK will remain a dog. She is sneaky and conniving and takes great pleasure in getting MJ in trouble. She will have plenty of company on her next go around though. I predict a great dog boom in the next several generations of dog life. It is mind boggling how many more dogs are being created by humans every year. For example, I would estimate that seventy-five percent of our great leaders in Washington are headed for a dog's life.

  Why else would be dogs be so kiss-ass? Man's best friend... yea, I know why. Trying to get out of dog world they are. Cats are not like this, neither are parakeets, and fish could give a crap about humans. It is only the canine who is interested in being "part of the family". Do not be lulled into this web of deceit. Cats are perfectly fine being cats. They actually relish being a cat. A cat has no desire in the world to be anything different than a cat. It is as if they have finally arrived in THE perfect world... Cat world. Cat world is full of naps, special food, and licking. Who would want more?

  What happens to dogs who fail at dog world...MJ? It is a frightening thought indeed. I suggested a rat world to the family, but that idea was rejected. "Rats are way too smart and resilient." Then I guess that puts the Cockroach out of the running as well... Squirrels have way to much fun... uh, let's just go with a toad. Karma can go downhill fast from a toad. If you fail as a toad you may end up as a snail. Insects have to be at the end of the road. This is why ants and bees bust ass to get things done. It really must suck being an ant. Bees work hard to just be ripped off. That sucks. Worms, yes the worm world is the end of the line.

 Some idiot folk may just skip the dog world.
 "Hey what ever happened to that creepy lady who got Obama Care to "work"?"
       "Oh, I heard that she is now one of those deep sea fish who glow green and have ugly teeth."

 Look around yourself this week and try to figure out which of the people that you come in contact with are going to become dogs. Then, just for fun, try to figure out what kind of dog they will become.

Why then are dogs idiots? Well, because they are and always have been idiots. They have worked real hard for a very long time at being idiots.  Let's hope that they can focus and not become a toad.

Reincarnation is an interesting thought isn't it? I've been thinking a lot about dogs lately.

Thanks for reading,
gf

Jesus in the Microwave

I have been to numerous and varied worship centers in my life. What is that? Name them? Sure thing.

Independent Baptist;  First Baptist (never went to a Second Baptist unfortunately); Seventh Day Adventist, Southern Baptist; Primitive Baptist; Southern Methodist; Evangelical; Bible Baptist; Presbyterian (version A); Presbyterian (version B); Independent (no version); Church of God; Church of Christ; and finally, and last but not least, Catholic.

That is about it.  This is the story of my introduction with last group of worshipers on the list.

  Going to church is a regular event in most peoples lives. However, some do not go to church and have never desired to do so. I tend to be the intermediate worshiper. My coadjutor's worship had been stymied by my mode of worship, so, on occasion, I set forth to visit the Catholic Church with her. The first visit was a near disaster.

  As a young Protestant, I had been warned by my peers about idols and other mysterious phenomenon in the Catholic Church. I was diligent to point out to my wife these idols on my first visit. They all had huts which they resided. Parishioners lit candles for their favorite idol's comfort. I still am processing the whole Saint deal and the praying to Mary. Somehow, I am not sure that she wants all of these prayers. If I were her I would feel like I had a email account with way to much spam. Maybe the Saints help her sort though the whole prayer overload. I have a good bit of studying to do on this matter yet. Anyway, all was fine until it was time to take the Eucharist.

  The Eucharist, for those unfamiliar, is the belief that Christ becomes the bread and wine and the believers eat him. I know, it sounds odd at first, but it is symbolic of believers being one with God. Maybe I am not the best person to explain this. Click this link to learn more about Communion. So then, if one is not a believer, or has not made themselves pure, or is not a member (depending on what church you go to), one should not take the Eucharist as it would be an abomination. (This would not be good especially if you are trying to improve your spiritual status in heavens eyes.)

  So it was time to do this Eucharist event. We all stood up and readied ourselves. I got the instructions to simply cross my arms to get a blessing. I know! How easy is that?! The priests went to a golden box on the wall and opened it with care. The Priests proceeded to pull out of the golden box the bread and wine resembling the body of Christ. The aforementioned box just happened to look like a real fancy microwave; that thought stuck with me for some odd reason. Later that week when I tried to describe my viewing of this event, in my broken Spanglish, to my Hispanic Catholic cooks at work, it came out as "..and they took Jesus out of the Microwave". They ridiculed me often for this description.
  We got in line (This always requires complicated hand gestures.) and proceeded toward the Priest who was delivering the Eucharist. Then it was my turn, and I froze, with a blank mind. This caused a mild traffic jam. I looked at the Priest. The Priest looked at me. I looked at the Priest with raised eyebrows. He looked back with eyebrows raised higher than mine. Then sensing my ignorance and utter failure, my wife poked her head around me and blurted out for God and Country to hear "HE'S NOT CATHOLIC!" That felt worse than having to stand up if front of everyone at the First Baptist Church because you were a visitor.

  I got my blessing. However, I feel that it was instantly used up due to the stress of the whole event.

   Stand up; pray; sit down; read Scripture; listen to song; sing back; listen to song; sing back; listen to song; sing back; stand up; and repeat. This is the basic pattern of worship. There is also the activity of the lighting of candles, toting of the oversize Bible, and the flipping of the pointy hat back onto the Priest's head. I have not figured out what the golden curly topped staffs that the Priests carry are used for yet. Catholics do not post numbers either. Some churches post member numbers, hymn numbers, attendee numbers, missionary numbers, etc.. I think Catholics let God worry about who goes to church and how much money they give. That, and I think that they must have old money.

The Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine / The First Parish

  So, that was my first visit in a Catholic Church. Notice that I did not mention random farting on hard wood pews, which can cause excessive echoing and reverberation throughout the church. Maybe I will talk about that next time. That is always good for a laugh. Especially when they are innocent farts. Those are the best. You know the type. The church fart is painful. One's sides can go in to a spasm-state from trying to restrict laughing and giggling about the event. Church farts do not stink either, as there is way too much grandmother perfume in the sanctuary, which fights off fart smells. Dirty baby diapers are a different story. One cannot hide that stench. Thankfully, babies are usually kept in those creepy and malodorous church nurseries.


Go to church, and thanks for reading,
gf

Sweet Corn Sex Education

  I am a city-boy trapped in my city-boy ignorance. Therefore, I seek out information from farmers whenever possible, just in case all of the farmers get annihilated by the big meteor (... and we all know that is coming soon, even though some preachers are lousy at predicting exactly when). 

  After the meteor disaster occurs, city residents will ask me the farming questions... such as... How does one grow strawberries? How does one breed cows? How does one make cheese? How does one raise bees? How does one raise chickens? How does one make bread from scratch? How does one grow corn? What are the (specific) ingredients in "The Recipe" from Walton's Mountain? 

  I respect farmers and gardeners. Do not be deceived by the farmer-folk mannerisms. They know if hens make noise when laying eggs. They know about plants. They can raise goats and Guineas, and farmer kids know about sex way before the city kids do.

The following is a guest post by my farmer-friend Beth. Her family has been farming "forever". The following is how one "does" corn. 

  The story begins with an evening phone call from my Mother. “You wanna do corn in the morning?” (Why it seems like just days earlier, my Father was standing in my kitchen complaining about the rising price of the sweet corn seed. Now we are here already?) I answer "Why yes, we can do that.".

  My Father plants about four rows (50 feet long each) of sweet corn in the family vegetable garden every year. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it does not, sometimes the deer and the 'coon eat it all. Last year my Father was ill, and it did not rain, and the deer were hungry. That was not a good year, but usually there is enough (enough to pick, shuck, cut, blanch and freeze) to keep everyone happy throughout the winter. 

  When the corn has matured (to a point to when one pierces the kernel some milk squirts out) it is ready. My family is picky. Why do all this work if it is not perfect? So when it is perfect, we “DO” corn. 

  It starts early in the morning as the sun is rising. Daddy’s job is to pick, and it must be done while the corn is cool and damp from a bit of dew. He fills the back of his pickup truck with anywhere from 45-to 100 ears of corn (as I said depending on the rain and critters).

  Next Mom will arrive. She will have all the necessary equipment with her including her red chair. Yep, she brings her own chair. This red chair is one of those typical kitchen chairs, red vinyl, with the steps that pull out from under the seat - anyway she cannot cut corn without it. She will also have her strawberry short cake pan  (an over sized deep sided cake pan), two or maybe three very sharp knives, her cigarettes, and her tumbler filled with ice and coke.

  I will be waiting to get that first cup of coffee, checking to see if the skillets are clean, and looking to see that I bought enough zip lock bags. 

  When I look out and see the pickup parked in the shade, the shucking begins. This shucking and cutting process is all accomplished outside. When cutting corn the way that we do it splatters all over everything, and that mess is not wanted on the kitchen cabinets. Daddy will have started shucking, and mother will be positioned on her chair waiting for the first ear. “Get those kids out of bed, and get them down here to help”.

  I hope you can picture this scene as well as I ever so fondly recall. Three teenagers half asleep shucking, Mother and I cutting, swatting flies. Then my father (who is a man of very few words) will begin to speak to his grandchildren about corn. Now what some of you may or may not know is that each baby kernel on the cob has a single strand of silk running to it. In order for the baby to grow, the silk strand must have one drop of pollen from the top tassel fall and “pollinate” the silk. Thus, a baby kernel will produce (that is if it rains and the critters are scarce). There you have it, and that is when my father smiles his proud smile having given his children sex education in its purest form. After the corn is all shucked, the kids announce they are going back to bed (it is after all summer vacation). My mother and I finish up the cutting. Here, I will revel to you what is considered to be one of the family secrets to cutting corn. You must scrape the cob after the corn is cut and capture every bit of the juice. This is very important. Now you do not have to bite the ends of each raw cob before you toss it back into the truck (like mom does - I don’t). She cannot stand to have that last little baby kernel she missed with her knife go to waste. She is crazy like that. 

Beth's Corn Pudding

  Into the kitchen, we go. The corn is put into a skillet just a couple of cups at a time with some of the juice/milk and cooked over a medium heat for just a few minutes (just until it turns color). It is then scooped into zip lock bags (about two cups in each one) with all the air is squeezed out (ALL), and then put into the freezer. Mother will tell me the story about her grandmother "Granny ". She used to put the bags between her legs and squeeze out all the air. These bags of corn will sit in the freezer quietly, until the weather changes (around Thanksgiving). I always bring corn pudding at Thanksgiving and often at any family function. 

  Cook a bag of corn, 2 cups whole milk, 3 to 4 eggs (depending on size) and ½ a stick of melted butter (cooked like a custard) on 325 for about 35-40 minutes-and until golden brown. There is something about the smell of corn pudding cooking in my kitchen. It usually means I got up early and started the day preparing food for a special gathering for those I dearly love. When my children walk into the kitchen and smell that smell, it’s a blending of life’s moments. It is Papa‘s wise words of the birds and the bees, grandma and her red chair and mom cooking in the kitchen. It is the aroma of the family; it is the smell of love.


Thanks for reading,

and thanks to Beth for writing,

gf