Gumball Grandparents

Gumball Grandparents

Following my brother into the dark recesses of his laundry room where he keeps his computer so that I could print boarding passes for our flight back to Montana, I saw it. It had been a long time but not forgotten, the gumball machine. In fact, there were two of them but the original stood intact full of multi colored gum balls.

Back in the day that same dispenser of juicy delights was a permanent fixture in my parents’ home. Why they chose to prominently display that mechanical tooth destroyer in their home is beyond me. Whenever our kids visited their grandparents, the first thing they asked was “can we have a gum ball?” All it took was a penny and a twist of the dial to consume that treat. My parents made sure there were plenty of pennies around to meet the demand.

It wasn’t long before the kids started calling my parents “grandma and grandpa gumball.” In order to stop the incessant demand to keep going to their house and play with the gum ball machine, we bought one of our own. This made matters worse because we started to find chewed gum everywhere: under tables, on bathroom sinks and in children and animal hair. Not to mention the cost of  dentists.

One Christmas, Judy embroidered colorful gum balls on two sweatshirts to give to my parents as gifts. The kids were excited to see that we approved of their gum consumption by giving such a thoughtful gift. Although they were gracious is receiving the gift, we never saw them wear the sweatshirts.

There is a moral to this story. Grandparents beware that what you give your grandchildren, may be the very label they remember you by. Our grown children still remember them as Grandpa and Grandma Gumball. Who would have ever thought that a penny gumball machine would capture the imagination of a generation of descendants.

Mom and Dad, thanks for the memories!

Give Thanks

Give Thanks

My favorite Thanksgiving memory is Grandma who had a love-hate relationship with the turkey. She would rise early on Thanksgiving Day to stuff the turkey with homemade dressing. All the while she would be slapping that poor bird around muttering in Polish words difficult to translate into English. Her turkey and dressing were the best; a true labor of love.

 I am reminded of a Bible passage from Paul’s letter to the church in Thessalonica: “Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” For a guy who gets a bad rap for being too stringent for modern taste, he nails the reason for the season.

It’s difficult to pause from the rat race of life to reflect on the graciousness of God. The only pause I am familiar with is the button on my TV remote. Unfortunately, this national holiday has morphed into the starting gun of the holiday shopping season. So much for taking the time to reflect on the bounty of our gracious God.

There is a song we sing in church at this time of year that captures the spirit of Thanksgiving: “Give thanks with a grateful heart. Give thanks to the Holy One. Give thanks because He’s given Jesus Christ, His Son.

And now let the weak say, I am strong. Let the poor say, I am rich because of what the Lord has done for us. Give thanks!”

When I smell the aroma of the turkey cooking in the oven, I can’t help but pause and reflect on the image of Grandma prepping the holiday bird. I thank the Lord for those memories.

A blessed Thanksgiving to you!

Stetsons

Stetsons

Growing up I wanted to be a cowboy. I remember a childhood photo dressed in cowboy shirt, jeans, holster with cap guns and a cowboy hat. At age seven, I certainly looked like a cowboy. In those days playing cowboys and Indians (Native Americans) was a favorite pastime.

Cowboys were my heroes. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger, Sky King and John Wayne to name a few. These were the good guys I saw on the silver screen Saturday afternoon at the local movie theatre. I wanted to be one of the guys who did good, punished the bad and always got his girl!

You could tell the good guys because they wore white cowboy hats (the exception being Hop Along Cassidy who wore a black one). The bad guys wore black hats. Back then it was easy to distinguish the bad from the good by the color of their cowboy hat. Things were simpler back in the old days.

I never lost my dream of being a cowboy. When I moved to Montana it was a must to have a cowboy hat, boots and a real revolver. I have two off white Stetson xxxx cowboy hats, a comfortable pair of Ariat cowboy boots and a nice collection of firearms. For you greenhorns the xxxx stand for quality beaver fur used in expensive Stetsons.

On Sunday mornings, you can see me arrive at church with cowboy boots, western vest and Stetson; the firearm is optional depending on my sermon topic. You may think I have finally gone over the edge. The truth is that I still look pretty good in that outfit and, at least in part, living out my dream.

At the end of every Roy Rogers movie, Roy and his wife Dale Evans (in white cowboy hats) sang these words: “Some trails are happy ones, others are blue. It’s the way you ride the trail that counts, here’s a happy one for you. Happy trails to you, until we meet again. Happy trails to you, keep smiling until then.”

Adios!

Remote Starter

 Remote Starter

My first car was a grey 1952 Chevy two door. It was long and sleek with an exterior metal visor over the windshield. When you popped the hood, there was enough room to crawl in with the engine not like today where there isn’t any unused space. The stick shift was on the steering column; no power steering or power brakes. This beauty had two crank down windows and two wing vents; no air conditioning. The radio was a wood box that sat on the front seat with one wire going to the exterior antenna and another one to the battery; no FM or satellite radio.

It was the car I remember best because it was my first. It was my ticket to mobility; no more biking or hitch hiking. My dad bought it for me and taught me how to take care of it: filling the gas tank, checking the oil and tire pressure. When it came time to trade it in, my dad had this advice: don’t by a car with power windows because they will break and don’t buy cheap tires. For years I didn’t buy cars with power windows and to this day I buy quality tires.

The reason I mention this is because I recently had a remote starter installed in my truck. My 2002 Chevy needed a tune up, new starter and battery. My sons suggested I have a remote starter installed as well. I have friends who swear by this modern convenience. Living where I live, starting my truck from inside my front door in winter is indeed a luxury.

I can’t help but wonder what my dad would say. He lived long enough to use a computer and a cell phone. Eventually he didn’t heed his own advice and bought nice cars with power windows and factory air. I wonder what he would have thought about heated seats, power everything and a remote starter.

Funny how technology changes one’s ideas about life. I was happy with that ’52 Chevy. Now I wonder if I can live without my remote starter. I need to check around and see if they have invented a remote starter that will get me out of my warm bed on those cold, winter mornings.

All I have to do now is remember where I put that key chain with the remote starter button on it!