Easter Feast

Honey Baked Ham
Squash Casserole
Roasted Asparagus
Beet Salad
Deviled Eggs
Black Olives
Pretzel Rolls

Zinfandel




German Chocolate Cake

H. Baptism II

Since, Lord, to thee

A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancy
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.

O let me still
Write thee great God, and me a child:
Let me be soft and supple to thy will,
Small to my self, to others mild,
Behither ill.

Although by stealth
My flesh get on, yet let her sister
My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth:
The growth of flesh is but a blister;
Childhood is health. 

George Herbert
English Poet, Anglican Cleric
1593 - 1633


Photo taken 10 April 1988
on the occasion of the baptism of DD#3

After church we (17 adults & 8 children) enjoyed the following menu at Cochise ~
Fresh Ham
Sausage-Cheese Grits
Marinated Cold Asparagus
Tomato-Artichoke Aspic
Orange Fruit Cups
Zucchini Bread

Bloody Marys or Mimosas
Sun Tea
Coffee

Potato Chip Cookies
Fudge Bars
Lemon-cheese Cake

Southern Living, April 1986

Don’t Be Cross, Amanda

Don’t be cross, Amanda,

Amanda, don’t be cross,
For when you’re cross, Amanda,
I feel an albatross
Around my neck, or dank gray moss,
And my eyes assume an impervious gloss,
Amanda,
Dear Amanda,
Don’t be cross.

Do not frown, Amanda,
Amanda, do not frown,
For when you frown, Amanda,
I wamble like a clown,
My mouth is stuffed with eiderdown,
And I spatter coffee upon your gown.
Amanda,
Dear Amanda,
Do not frown.

Don’t clam up, Amanda,
Amanda, do not clam,
For when you clam, Amanda,
I dont know where I am.
What is it that I did you damn?
Shall I make amends for a sheep, or a lamb?
Amanda,
Dear Amanda,
Do not clam.

Please be gay, Amanda,
Amanda, please be gay,
For when you’re gay, Amanda,
The stars come out by day,
The police throw parking tags away,
And I want to kick up my heels and bray.
Amanda,
Dear Amanda,
Please be gay.

by Ogden Nash

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
   In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
   By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

   I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

   My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

   And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

   In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

   Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

   In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

   Of those who were older than we—

   Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

   Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

   In her sepulchre there by the sea—

   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

By Edgar Allan Poe

Sonnet LXXI

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it, for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O! if, I say, you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
But let your love even with my life decay;
   Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
   And mock you with me after I am gone.

William Shakespeare

#iheartfaces #reflection

#iheartfaces #out&about

Gibbs Gardens, Ball Ground, GA

#iheartfaces #up

The path of life leads upward for the prudent,

    that he may turn away from Sheol beneath.

Proverbs 15:25

#iheartfaces #small

#iheartfaces #tgif

#iheartfaces #shadows

#iheartfaces #green

Katydid

#iheartfaces #starts with "s"

#iheartfaces #night lights

#iheartfaces #fresh

#iheartfaces #tells a story

#iheartfaces #a pair

#iheartfaces #sign

#iheartfaces #round

#iheartfaces #on the go

#iheartfaces #friends

#iheartfaces #colorful

#iheartfaces #smile

#iheartfaces #where i am

#iheartfaces #looking down

#iheartfaces #light

Tiffany Lamp at The Driehaus Museum, Chicago

Diagramming Fun

Challenged by a grammarian to diagram a sentence, I gladly agreed.  Below is my rendition and this link is for my friend's ~

Let's you and me pray about it. (an imperative)

(You) let us (you and me) (to) pray about it.






(You) implied subject of let.

let is the main verb.

us is the direct object of the verb

you and me  compound direct object explaining *us*

(to) pray is an infinitive phrase acting like an adverb and modifying the verb let

about is an adverb modifying pray;  alternately, it could function as a preposition, but I prefer adverb since that enhances the way we pray ;-)

it is the direct object of pray

Fashion on Fridays:Radiant Orchid

Meet Pantone's 2014 Color of the Year!

She was introduced last Fall and I'm just now warming up to her.

In the spirit of my fashion posts,
that is,
searching the recesses of my closet and repurposing items already owned, I am on a roll.

It all started with this beautiful scarf given to me at Christmas by DD#2.



Then in the proverbial closet, I re-discovered a reversible vest (gray/orchid), a striped blouse (black/orchid), a statement sweater, and a navy dress with an orchid-colored yoke!



I didnt even think I liked this color.

What about you?


PS  More pictures later ~

A Barn to House Thee

There was no room for Him, once long ago, Only a cold and drafty barn, and, like a blow, The smell of dung did greet Him, Who came from heaven, none to meet Him, save the displaced cows and sheep Whose restless night disturbed His sleep. Only some sheep men came to pray. No scholars came to mark the day. Still as of old the world denies Room to its King and from Him shies, The Cross His only gift from men And man as brutal now as then. Lord, if again a barn do not offend Thee, This dung and filth would comprehend Thee, Here is my heart, with its unclean floor A barn to house Thee, as of yore. ~ R. J. Rushdoony, 1951

Chocolate Martini

Chill two martini stems ~

Fill a large cocktail shaker with ice cubes and add these four ingredients in order.

3 oz Absolut vanilla vodka
3 oz Godiva chocolate liqueur
3 oz Patron dark cafe liqueur
3 oz half and half (not pictured)


Shake vigorously.  Dampen the rim of both glasses and coat with powdered cocoa mix.  Shake mixer once again.

Strain into stems.


PS  Light a candle, place a flower, and grab your napkin - Cheers!

A Christmas Colloquy

THE country farmer has his joys 
Of little city girls and boys 
When brother Thomas brings his brood 
Of motherless brats in Christmas mood 
To try our country air and food. 
And O what splendid pies and cakes 
Their pleased and pretty grandma makes! 
And O what squeals and stomach-aches! 


Poor Thomas shepherds him a flock 
Of city souls as hard as rock, 
And though they will not fill his larder 
He only preaches Christ the harder. 
But Ann, though seven years my niece, 
Is still a pagan little piece, 
And as she often hints to me 
She hates the sound of piety. 
Fair Inez is my ancient setter 
Who lies by the fire when we will let her: 
Alas, this amiable dog 
Heard all the bitter dialogue 
That passed between my niece and brother 
Misunderstanding one another. 

ANN: 
Father, what will there be for me 
To-morrow on the Christmas tree? 
Have you told Santa what to bring, 
My pony, my doll, and everything? 

THOMAS: 
My daughter, Santa will know best 
What to bring you, and what the rest. 
But father and his little girl 
And everybody in the world 
Should dwell to-night on higher things, 
For hark! the herald angel sings, 
And in a manger poor and lowly 
Lies little Jesus, high and holy. 

ANN: 
Father, don't talk of little Jesus, 
You're only doing it to tease us, 
It isn't nearly time for bed, 
And I want to know what Santa said. 

THOMAS: 
Jesus is better than any toys 
For little sinning girls and boys, 
For Jesus saves, but sin destroys. 

And O, it gives him sad surprise, 
There must be tears in Jesus' eyes, 
When little girls with bad behavior 
Forget to own their Lord and Savior. 

ANN: 
I didn't, you know it isn't true! 
I say my prayers, I always do, 
I know about Jesus very well, 
And God the Father, Heaven, and Hell. 
O please don't say it any more, 
You've said it so many times before, 
But tell me all about Santa instead, 
And about the horns on his reindeer's head, 
And what he will bring me on his sled. 

THOMAS: 
This night he was born on earth for us, 
And can my daughter mock him thus, 
And care more for her worldly pleasures 
Than Jesus' love and heavenly treasures? 
For Jesus didn't like to be 
So crowned with thorns and nailed to tree, 
But there was a sinful world to free, 
And out he went to Gethsemane-- 

ANN: 
And left the twelve and went apart-- 
O father, I know it off by heart, 
Please, father, please don't finish it out, 
There's so much else to talk about! 
I ask about Santa, and there you go, 
And now you're spoiling my Christmas so, 
And you are the wickedest man I know! 

Disgraceful scenes require the curtain, 
But lest the moral be uncertain, 
I briefly bring the good report 
That valiant Thomas held the fort, 
And wicked Ann was quite defeated, 
In vain denied, in vain entreated, 
In vain she wailed, in vain she wept, 
And said a briny prayer, and slept. 
While Inez, who had been perplexed 
To see good kinsfolk so much vexed, 
When peace descended on the twain, 
Lay down beside the fire again.


John Crowe Ransom
American literary critic, poet, essayist
1888-1974


Bonus Link to Robert Penn Warren's essay
 John Crowe Ransom: A Study in Irony

Fall Poetry:Rylant

In November, the earth is growing quiet.
It is making its bed,
a winter bed for flowers and small creatures.
The bed is brown* and silent,
and much life can hide beneath its blankets.

In November, the trees are standing all sticks and bones.
Without their leaves,
how lovely they are,
spreading their arms like dancers.
They know it is time to be still.

In November, some birds move away and some birds stay.
The air is full of good-byes and well-wishes.
The birds who are leaving look very serious.
No silly spring chirping now.
They have long journeys
and must watch where they are going.
The staying birds are serious, too,
for cold times lie ahead.
Hard times.
All berries will be treasures.

In November, animals sleep more.
The air is chilly and they shiver.
Cats pile up in the corners of barns
Mice pile up under logs.
Bees pile up in deep, earthy holes.
And dogs lie before the fire.

In November, the smell of food is different.
It is an orange smell.
A squash and a pumpkin smell.
It tastes like cinnamon
and can fill up a house in the morning,
can pull everyone from bed in a fog.
Food is better in November
than any other time of the year.

In November, people are good to each other.
They carry pies to each other's homes
and talk by crackling wood stoves,
sipping mellow cider.
They travel very far on a
special November day just to
share a meal with one another
and to give thanks for their
many blessings -
for the food on their tables
and the babies in their arms.
And then they travel back home.

In November, at winter's gate,
the stars are brittle.
The sun is a sometimes friend.
And the world has tucked her children in,
with a kiss on their heads,
till spring.

Cynthia Rylant


*I changed this word from white to brown because where I live there is never any snow in November ~

Fall Poetry:McEntyre

See how she turns to greet what comes,
surprised but untroubled, not quite
welcoming.  She looks askance
at one who has, unmasking, disturbed her
solitude.  Her greeting concedes what it must,
but she remains turned to purpose of her own.

This, too, she will turn to her purposes,
an encounter she expected, not knowing
just when, or what she should expect.
She has kept her own counsel;
It will serve her now.

Breeding has taught her that all-bearing look.
Poised to take what comes, she receives
with grace, gives back what befits
her modesty and station.

Cordelia would have done no more.

Richly presentable in linen and pearls,
wrapped in a light that fits her like her scarves,
she rises to the occasion, self-possessed,
accustomed to possession,
relinquishing solitude with dignity,
who will not be forced,
neither eager not reluctant,
not defensive, not submissive,
willing to speak her "Fiat mihi"
In her own time.

Marilyn Chandler McEntyre

Fall Poetry:Paine

THESE are the times that try men's souls.

The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.

Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.

What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value.

Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.

Thomas Paine
The American Crisis

Fall Poetry:Bonar

Thy way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be;
Lead me by Thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.

Smooth let it be or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight, it leads
Right onward to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot;
I would not, if I might;
Choose Thou for me, my God,
So I shall walk aright.

Take Thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to Thee may seem;
Choose Thou my good and ill.

Choose Thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health;
Choose Thou my cares for me
My poverty or wealth.

The kingdom that I seek
Is Thine: so let the way
That leads to it be Thine,
Else I must surely stray.

Not mine, not mine the choice
In things or great or small;
Be Thou my Guide, my Strength
My Wisdom, and my All.

Horatius Bonar
Scottish churchman/poet
1808-1889
Tune: Invitation by Maker

Fall Poetry:Hood

No!

No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
No sky--no earthly view--
No distance looking blue--
No road--no street--no "t'other side this way"--
No end to any Row--
No indications where the Crescents go--
No top to any steeple--
No recognitions of familiar people--
No courtesies for showing 'em--
No knowing 'em!
No traveling at all--no locomotion--
No inkling of the way--no notion--
"No go" by land or ocean--
No mail--no post--
No news from any foreign coast--
No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds--
November!

Thomas Hood
British Humorist and Poet
1799 - 1845

Fall Poetry:Lowell

They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia,
Opulent, flaunting.

Round gold
Flung out of a pale green stalk.

Round, ripe gold
Of maturity,
Meticulously frilled and flaming,
A fire-ball of proclamation:



Fecundity decked in staring yellow
For all the world to see.
They brought a quilled, yellow dahlia,
To me who am barren
Shall I send it to you,
You who have taken with you
All I once possessed? 

by Amy Lowell

Fall Poetry:Morris

November wears a Paisley shawl
To keep her sagging shoulders warm.
Her bonnet's deck with rusty flower,
An apple basket's on her arm,
And with a dusty, rustly sound
Her wide skirts sweep along the ground.


She trudges up the sunset hills,
In spite of winds a-blowing,
To seek a shelter on beyond -
She must know where she's going -
For, wrapped in Paisley red and brown,
She rustles, rustles through the town.

Hilda Morris

Fall Poetry: Dickinson

Besides the Autumn poets sing

A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze—

A few incisive Mornings—
A few Ascetic Eves—
Gone—Mr. Bryant’s “Golden Rod”—
And Mr. Thomson’s “sheaves.”

Still, is the bustle in the Brook—
Sealed are the spicy valves—
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The Eyes of many Elves—

Perhaps a squirrel may remain—
My sentiments to share—
Grant me, Oh Lord, a
 sunny mind—
Thy windy will to bear!

Emily Dickinson
American Poet
1830 – 1886

Photo Credit:  Mine -
Taken from the kitchen window looking out onto  the deck where squirrels not only enjoy the birdseed but also the pansy blossoms.

Fall Poetry:Psalter

With grateful heart my thanks I bring,
Before the great Thy praise I sing;
I worship in Thy holy place
And praise Thee for Thy truth and grace;
For truth and grace together shine
In Thy most holy Word divine.

I cried to Thee and Thou didst save,
Thy Word of grace new courage gave;
The kings of earth shall thank Thee, Lord,
For they have heard Thy wondrous Word;
Yea, they shall come with songs of praise,
For great and glorious are Thy ways.

O Lord, enthroned in glory bright,
Thou reignest in the heavenly height;
The proud in vain Thy favor seek,
But Thou hast mercy for the meek;
Through trouble though my pathway be,
Thou wilt retrieve and strengthen me.

Thou wilt stretch forth Thy mighty arm
To save me when my foes alarm;
The work Thou hast for me begun
Shall by Thy grace be fully done;
Forever mercy dwells with Thee;
O Lord, my Maker, think on me.

Based on a line from Psalm 138, this poem establishes a theme of thankfulness (gratefulness) as I endeavor to highlight a poem each day for the month of November.

As our opening hymn at church this morning, we sang all four verses to Dimitri Bortniansky's tune St Petersburg.

JCMIII preached on Acts 17:16-34 and Romans 1:18-25. 

The exposition is the fourth in a series focused on the Apostle Paul.  Having just returned from a trip to Greece, Pastor is expanding his travel lectures from various locations of Paul's ministry into full-fledged sermons.

The preached Word is powerful.  I listened to this message twice.  

Here's the SermonAudio link, if you'd like to listen too.

Several  years ago another RCPUS minister preached about the Mars Hill address.  Here's what I thought about Bob Lester's sermon.  Here's the SermonAudio link.

The "take-away" from both messages ~

Acts 17:30-31

30 Truly, these times of ignorance God overlooked, but now commands all men everywhere to repent, 31 because He has appointed a day on which He will judge the world in righteousness by the Man whom He has ordained. He has given assurance of this to all by raising Him from the dead.”

Fall Poetry:Bryant

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air,

Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.

One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,

And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze,

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,

The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,

And man delight to linger in thy ray.

Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear

The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air. 

by William Cullen Bryant

Photo Credit:  Margaret Jago McCarthy

Fall Poetry:Willson

I like the fall

The mist and all

I like the night owl’s lonely call

And wailing sound

Of wind around

I like the gray

November day

And dead, bare boughs that coldly sway

Against my pane

I like the rain

I like to sit

And laugh at it

And tend my cozy fire a bit

I like the fall

The mist and all

Dixie Willson, poet

Instagram photo borrowed from friend Tamara Koperda who captured the moment driving early one October morning to a meeting in north Georgia (Hall County)