What’s the Rush?


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This is one of those words that has so many different meanings and usages.

There’s Rush Limbaugh–a name.  I’ve never heard of anyone else with that name, so of course I looked it up.  Turns out he was named for his grandfather, whose name was chosen to honor the maiden name of a family member, Edna Rush.

Moving on:  Rush hour traffic.  We all know what this is about. Friday, around 4:30, we were driving from Quakertown to Gilbertsville.  The main highway is really the fastest way to go, even during rush hour, but it did take us longer than usual.  Traffic was lined up for what seemed like miles. That’s nothing, however, compared to rush hour in Philadelphia, or from New Jersey to points west like Allentown.  Just crazy.  Glad I don’t have to be a part of it.


A meaning we don’t use very often is a marsh or waterside plant with slender stemlike pith-filled leaves, widely distributed in temperate areas. Some kinds are used for matting, chair seats, and baskets, and some were formerly used for strewing on floors.

It’s also something to do with football, I think.  I’d better look that one up.  I’m not a football fan, so my knowledge is quite limited. Yup.  I don’t know why I know this, but here it is:  a rapid advance by a defensive player or players, especially toward the quarterback.

  • an act of running from scrimmage with the ball to gain yardage.

We can get an adrenaline rush if we’re very frightened, excited, or stressed.

Or, if you go to college, you can become part of rush week.  This is a period of time when the various sororities and fraternities try to convince you to join their group, and you get treated to all kinds of fun stuff.  Then you join one, and sometimes things go very wrong after that.

Rushes are also the first prints made of a movie after a period of shooting.

Or a rush can be a sudden surge or flood of water.

Or you can rush to get dressed because you overslept your alarm, and you don’t want to lose your job.

A rush can be a sudden strong demand for a commodity, such as when a new e-device makes its debut.

Or it can be a strong surge of emotion, as when you see the man or woman of your dreams and your heart starts to speed up, your breathing rate increases, you get flushed, and your hands get all cold and clammy.  Sometimes, that rush is quickly crushed when the object of your affections rushes away in terror.

Okay, that’s enough.  As always, I’m amazed at the English language and all the different meanings one word can have.

Are other languages like that?





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Well now, here’s an interesting word.  I was pretty sure of the definition, but I looked it up just so I wouldn’t look stupid.  I had it, which made me feel good.  And of course, I always look up the etymology as well.  This one has a Latin root, incohare, which means to begin. 

So the word has come to mean anything that is in the beginning stages, rudimentary, not fully formed.  For example, an inchoate language would be one that has very few words, like “Me Tarzan, you Jane.”  I suppose  that’s all they really needed for some time 🙂


Many people believe, and I tend to agree, that we are living in an inchoate anarchy here in America. And no, it’s not Trump’s fault. You have to understand that the only things the media publish about him are the faux pas he tends to make. They aren’t saying much about the booming economy.  It doesn’t fit their agenda.

In any event, anarchy is a total lack of rule by law.  The “Resist” movement insists on doing away with laws they don’t like, and allowing the ignoring of laws that won’t go away.   They want to repeal the Second Amendment, for instance.  That would be a sad day indeed.  And please, I’m not looking for debates or arguments here.  In fact, I most likely  won’t respond to them

Historically, anarchy leads to dictatorship.  Consider Russia prior to WWI.  The Bolshevik Revolution dethroned the Russian monarchy and killed off as many of the ruling class as possible, much like the French Revolution of the late 1700’s. The problem with both those revolutions, of course, is that those who replaced the monarchs were just as corrupt and just as above the law, and the world saw the rise of Lenin, Stalin, Kruschev, Gorbachev, and now Putin.  None of them could be called benevolent. Putin is deliberately and forcefully trying to reestablish the old USSR, and many will die because of his efforts.

When anarchy develops,  military force is just about the only thing that can stop it. And if the military operates outside of the rule of law, then the military becomes part of the dictatorship. Which is why, by the way, the anti-gun folks want your weapons. Without them, you have no way to protect yourself against the misuse of the military.

The second amendment was not meant just to allow people to hunt, but to be able to protect themselves from the threat of dictatorship.  When one segment of society wants to shut down the free speech of another, take away their weapons,  control their health care, it is often done under the guise of “helping The People.”  The truth is, when we lose these hard-won freedoms we will also lose our liberty in many other ways, as well. Capitalism will be replaced by government-controlled financial  operations, and we will become a nation run by those who will enrich themselves at our expense. “We the People”  will cease to have any say in much of anything, and poverty will become so widespread that we will become just another Third-World nation.

Well, see what can come from just one simple word?

Read your history, folks.  What is happening in America is tragic, but it is nothing new. We CAN stop it, but only if we educate ourselves outside the “Hate America” philosophies that are being poured into our children and college students, along with “There is no God,” and all-sex-any-sex-all-the-time and the government should pay for your birth control.  Don’t tell me what to do with my body, just pay for my birth control and/or abortions.

Good grief.  We’ve lost our minds.








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First thought:  U-Haul trucks.  I’m wondering how many times, starting when I was two years old, I’ve been a part of hauling our household from one place to another.


Let’s see:

  1.  Colorado to Blue Earth, MN
  2.   Blue Earth to Fairmont
  3. Fairmont to Minneapolis, 15th street
  4. To Oliver Avenue
  5.  To Milwaukee, Oregon
  6.  To Portland, big house with L-shaped living/dining room that I loved
  7.  Another in-city move, can’t remember the street name–Killingsworth?
  8. Ditto–near Grant High School
  9.  Back to Minnesota, St. James.
  10. Now I’m off to college, parents moved to Minneapolis
  11.  Parents moved to White Bear Lake, where I met Terry
  12. Married, moved to Stillwater, MN
  13. To North St. Paul, MN.
  14. To Minneapolis
  15. to Iron River, MI
  16. to house we bought in Baumgartner district of Iron River
  17. To temporary dwelling in Coopersburg, PA
  18. To and even more temporary place
  19. to house we bought in Perkasie, PA
  20.  to Brainerd, MN motel we bought and ran for three years
  21. to South Long Lake in Brainerd
  22. Back to PA, this time to Quakertown.

I think I got them all. My sister may remember something I’ve forgotten.

That’s a lot of hauling, and I’m happy to say we’ve been in our present home for nearly 24 years, which is a record for me.  I have every intention of my next major move being one where I take nothing with me, because God has a place for me.  Maybe my mansion over the hilltop 🙂


Cold, Cold, Cold!


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My mind is bouncing all over the place with this one. Get ready for some purely random writing.

Frigid.  I grew up where winters were truly frigid.  I didn’t mind it.  There was always plenty of snow, and we were out playing in it until our clothes were soaked. Then we’d go inside, take off multiple layers of jeans, socks, mittens, and our wet coats and drape them over the radiators to dry them out.  This was before the advent of the snowsuits kids wear today.  It was also before people were worried about every single thing, like whether or not our tunnels would collapse. If that ever happened, I didn’t know anything about it We just had fun.  Snow forts, snowball fights, snowmen and snow angels. Sliding, when there was any kind of a grade available.  The lucky ones had sleds. We used cardboard or whatever else gave us something to sit on and slide down whatever hill we could find.



How cold was it?  I dunno.  Cold.   Red noses, chapped cheeks, blue fingers and toes cold. Didn’t matter. As soon as everything was warm and dry, we’d put it all back on and get right back out there.  We stayed warm because we kept moving.

Frigid.  Some time ago, I had some new clients come in for their first appointment. He was nervous.  She was cold.  I imagined  the coldness of a body on a slab in the morgue.  She wouldn’t smile, wouldn’t shake my hand, would barely look at me.

It was as if we were lifelong enemies forced to be in the same room, and I’d never seen her before, so it really made no sense to me.

I did all the things I usually do to make people comfortable.  Sometimes they come in expecting to lie on my couch while I put on my Freudian spectacles and sit outside of their range of vision, taking notes. They were ill-at-ease because they don’t know what to expect. But this woman was a walking deep-freeze, and none of my usual  tricks  warmed her up even one degree.

So I decided to meet ice with a blow torch.

“Okay, look, Mrs. Such-and-So.  You are like an ice berg, and I have no idea what I’ve done to make you so cold.  If you aren’t even going to try to communicate with me, we’re wasting our time here.  If you’d rather leave, then I won’t charge you for the session.  It seems to me that you and your husband need my help, and I’m willing to give it.  However, there has to be a little bit of return on your part.  So what are you going to do?”

She was shocked. Utterly.  Apparently she wasn’t used to people being so forthright with her.  I didn’t say another word, just watched her and waited for some–any–response.  And I prayed.  “Lord, did I just do a terrible thing?  I don’t know where to go next here.  Please help us!”

As I watched, I was startled to see a tear forming in her eye.  In just a few seconds, tears were streaming down both cheeks, and her husband patted her back awkwardly while she wept.  I handed her a box of tissues.  She mopped up, took a deep breath,  and began to tell me one of the most horrendous stories I’ve ever heard. I can’t say any more about that because it is confidential, and needs to remain that way. I will tell you that her coldness came from fear.  She had learned to fear everyone, and her frigid appearance was a defense mechanism.

Things aren’t always as they seem to be. We need to learn to look beneath the surface.





Good Old Days


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I used to make butter, but not with a churn.  Friends who had a farm would give us fresh milk with plenty of butter fat in it.  I would pour some in my blender and watch it carefully, creating a tasty lump of fresh butter.  And the liquid that remained, the buttermilk, was delicious to drink–not like the cultured stuff you buy in the grocery store today.

This is a real butter churn, and it took away the need to lift weights to get strong arms. The milk was poured into the churn, and then the paddle was lifted up and down until butter formed on the blades.   Here’s a smaller churn, a glass jar, through which you can see the blades.

I remember making butter in a jar in kindergarten.  The teacher poured the milk into the jar, screwed the lid on tightly, and then each child took a turn shaking the jar.  The lucky one who got it last had the fun of seeing the little gobs of butter forming in the milk.  I thought it was fascinating, and  I wanted to do it at home.  I don’t remember if that happened—at least, not until many years later  🙂

With the old wooden churns, it was the up-and-down, twisting motion made by the churner that  created butter from the fat in the creamy milk. Strong arms and patience were needed, for sure.

Things sure have changed, both for the better and the worse.  I’m glad I don’t live back in those days, but I do think we’ve lost some of the sense of importance of each person in the family, even the little kids, who could start doing useful work like plunging the butter churn a few times as soon as they were tall enough to stand on a stool or a chair.

I know there are people who think it’s just awful to teach a child to do chores.  I read an article the other day about that, the author saying, “Children are not your slaves!”  My goodness.   What a strange perspective on teaching children to be helpful,  to learn how to take care of themselves, to be contributing members of the family and community.

Better they learn to churn than to sit idly in front of screens all day, ruining their little brains and their poor tired eyes.  I’m glad I reared my children just before the advent of the computer age.  They did chores, and they played hard and long outdoors.

Those were, in many ways, the good old days.

P.S.  I just remembered that the stick in a churn was called a dasher.  Here’s one common type:



Getting to Know You

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson



“Neither,”said Peony. “Earth people like to make odd designs and use them for decorations”

“How do you KNOW this?” demanded Zing. Who ARE you?”  His antennae quivered with both fear and indignation.

“I am Peony.  I am from your planet.  I have been looking after you, protecting you. You are both very innocent.  Too trusting.”

“What is our planet’s name?  Who is our Leader?” asked Zang, doubting.

“Zekon, of course.  And our Leader is Zedion the Great.”

“But your name—it starts with that “Puh” sound. Not a Zekonian name.”

“It’s for undercover work, Silly!”

No More Worlds to Conquer


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(I hope you will forgive me for being a bit silly this morning. Just the mood I’m in, I guess)


Have you ever wondered how different the world would be today if no one had ever decided to explore beyond the shores of Europe or any of the other “old world” continents?

“You know, Mr. Ponce de Leon, a fountain of youth doesn’t seem too likely.  After all, look at these old people who live here.  They look pretty wrinkly to me.”

“You know, Mr. Pizarro, these folks have lived here all their lives.  I mean, who are we to suddenly say they belong to Spain?  Really?”

“Did you hear about the way Mr. Magellan died?  Yeah, it was pretty awful. Too bad he didn’t get to finish the voyage around the world, but he sure fought hard before the natives did him in.”

“Hey, did you hear about old Verrazzano?  Boy, he traveled a long way from where most of those guys explored.  Even got  a strait named for him.  What a guy!”

“So, Mr. Cortez, how does it feel to bring about the fall of a huge empire like the Aztecs?”



Of course, we know that history is simply the record of man’s inhumanity to man. One people-group is always trying to displace another, blood is shed, “civilization” is rearranged, and life goes on until the next major clash.

What motivated all those explorers?  Well, curiosity was a big part of it.  Money.  Fame. Religion. Zeal for whichever nation the explorer was from.  A lot of land was rather arrogantly claimed by various European explorers, often simply by planting the flag of that nation  in a piece of soil near where the boats landed.  The natives of the new land were seriously expected to nod their heads in agreement.  If not, they died or were driven to flee as far inland as they could.

The problem we have today, of course, is that there are no more new lands to conquer. Makes thing pretty tough for modern-day explorers, unless they have a taste for the North or South Poles.


I Don’t Indulge


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You know one of the things aging teaches  you?  It’s a waste of time, energy, and emotion to be frantic.

I don’t do frantic.

There was a time when I may have indulged in frantic now and then, but it never did me a tiny bit of good. So these days, I just don’t go there.  Besides, there’s very little that makes me feel frantic these days.  Whatever it is, this too shall pass.  No point getting all bent out of shape.

Besides, you look pretty silly when you’re frantic.




A Meeting

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Zing and Zang perched on the edges of the white garden chairs. Every fiber of their bodies was on alert. They had switched to invisible mode, and so had the third person they both watched with curiosity and fear.

Peony was relaxed in a chair across the table from them.  She, too, was invisible. She smiled, understanding their fear. They had known that they would be watched, for their own protection. They hadn’t known that the little girl who flitted in and out of their sight would be a watcher.

This would take some time.

Beautiful Music


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Back when I was a sophomore in Bible college, I was in a girls’ quartet.  I sang bass 🙂  Actually, I took the bass line up an octave.  It was a lot of fun.  We would go out to various churches within driving distance on the weekends, singing and helping out with things like children’s church.

I love a good male quartet. I’ve always enjoyed barber-shop harmony, when it’s well done.   The singers usually sing with no instrumental backup, so they need to have the ability to hear when someone is a bit off.

One of my favorite ensembles in which to participate is  mixed quartet, two women and two men. ( I always hoped to marry a man I could sing with, but that didn’t happen.  Terry has many talents, but singing is NOT at the top of his list 🙂  )  Anyway,  I just really enjoy blending in harmony with other singers.  I’m very thankful that God gave me that ability. It has brought a great deal of pleasure over the years.

Here’s the Gaither Vocal Band singing  American the Beautiful.  Enjoy 🙂