Columns & Editorials

“She likes to do dances in the car, which are hilarious,” says Savannah, age 11. “Some of the dances I think are extinct. When she starts to dance to a song, I tell her to stop because I think she will hurt herself.”

In the gospel of John chapter 1 verses 1-3 it is written “In the beginning was the word and the word was with GOD and the word was GOD. All things were made by Him and without Him was not anything made that was made”. That means that Jesus Christ made everything in existence and owns it all including humankind.

My panic was palpable. After all, I was looking straight at Finn, my 2-year-old gigantic baby of a standard poodle. He’s been through so much. His idiopathic epileptic seizures started when he was only 6 months old. They grew longer and became more aggressive as the months ticked away. None of the preventative drugs seemed to work. Finally, our vet found a suitable cocktail: Phenobarbital and a double dose of Zonisamide. And, nearly two years later, here he was in the backyard, covered in blood? He’s not allowed in the backyard without me. Even though he’s been seizure free for nearly a year, we are told it isn’t a matter of if those seizures could break through but when they become too prevalent for the meds to block. Part of a successful seizure protocol is making sure the surroundings are safe. So, he goes outdoors with me. But, where is the blood from? Standard poodle brother Tucker is a lover, not a biter. Rescue dachshund senior brother Poe is, well, a low rider. He’s passive, too, but even so, the best he could catch would be an ankle. In fact, I can shamefully admit that Poe is usually the receiver of injustice when in the backyard. He always seems to be in too close proximity of the pood’s urine streams, constantly needing a sink bath after an afternoon outside. Finn seems ok. Yet, there’s the blood. It’s on his temple. It’s near his neck. It’s on his flank. Why, there’s even blood on his booty! I look at him. He looks at me, perplexed at the attention he’s receiving. He does that adorable head tilt to one side, as if to say, “Mom, I know I’m cute, but stop staring.” It hits me. This isn’t blood at all. Why, I should have noticed the tint was closer to a hot pink on the color wheel. I look up. I look around. Yep, it’s berry season. I feel intense relief followed by intense desperation. The mulberries are everywhere.

Life doesn’t always go as planned. For example, you might think you’ll retire at 65 or later, when you’ll be eligible for Medicare. But if you retire before then, how will you pay for your health care? Without insurance, you risk incurring thousands of dollars of expenses if you are injured or become seriously ill. And if you must pay for these costs out of pocket, you might have to dip into your IRA, 401(k) or other retirement accounts earlier than you had planned – which could result in a less desirable retirement lifestyle than you had envisioned.

To all those who read this column, I am really sorry about missing last week. It was a trying week for this household but we made it through it all.

Dear Aunt B,

The Real “Bad Bob” (Part 5) The Killing of Harrison Choate (Part 2)

Nancy Jean Smith, longtime resident of Forney, passed away on April 25, 2022 at her home with family at her side. She was born July 5, 1938 in El Paso, Tx to Prentis O. and Margaret Davis, both of whom met her in Heaven along with her son, David Wayne Smith and daughter, Cynthia Carol Smith-Griffin and sister Carol Gard.

In 1914, two years after the death of Price Thomas in Lone Oak, Texas, Bob Barnett had another run in with a sharecropper named Harrison Choate. It was a mystery to me how another sharecropper would have any dealings with “Backshooter Bob”, who built the house my wife and I now live in, but I guess times were hard in a time when the German Kaiser was intent on taking control of Europe and World War One.

“We cannot see God because he needs his privacy,” says Patrick, 10. Patrick probably doesn’t want anyone coming into his room without knocking first.

How many Church members are actually saved among those who attend Church every service? I think there are not as many as we would hope. Some people say there are about 30% who are actually saved. The rest are “working” their way into Heaven. We don’t actually know the correct number, but this condition among the Church is very serious. I heard a story about one Church member who attended Church, taught Sunday school, and served the Church over 50 years, and then in one revival meeting he discovered that he was not saved at all. That seems to indicate that anyone can be fooled into thinking they are saved when they are not. So what is the answer?

Dear Aunt B,

In my family, we give top rate eulogies. It’s something we excel at, something we take very seriously. It all started in 2008, when my daughter, Chynna passed away unexpectedly, at 16. My oldest son, 20 at the time, asked if he could speak at her memorial service. He didn’t want to present the “meat” of the eulogy. He just wanted to say some things that were weighing heavily on his heart. So, he requested I support his wish to speak and to choose a song that would play afterward. He wanted his words to be a surprise of sorts. In other words, he didn’t want to give anyone editing rights. Since I wasn’t in a position to use my thinking brain in that moment, I agreed. “Go for it,” I said. It was an incredibly good decision. He told the story of a time when his only sister celebrated a birthday. He didn’t have the money to spend on a gift, or even a card, but he had a great idea. He called his cousin, who was learning to play the guitar, and asked what songs he knew. “I’m working on that song by Poison,” said the cousin. So, they practiced, secretly. After she blew out the birthday candles during a family only weekday birthday party, the kind you have when you’re a teenager and everyone is busy with sports practices here and drama rehearsals there and you are lucky if you all walk through the same room at the same time on a given evening, he sang. After his rendition of “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn” ended, a sweet girl clasped her hands in delight and gave both the singing brother and the guitar playing cousin a standing ovation. He told a rapt audience that she proclaimed it to be the best gift ever bestowed on her. Then the actual Poison song played in the church. Cue tears. This led to many speeches my eldest son has given over the years. He’s a sought-after best man due, in part, to his amazing toasts. Dillan Zmolik can entertain.