Here’s an email I received from a friend:
“Someone just made a comment and said to run this by you. I have to do it now since it’s fresh in my mind.” (This person is at least 20 years younger than I am and apparently has no inkling as to the mental adventures that lie ahead of her.)
“Rest In Peace — Why can’t this be done while the person is living? Can one not enjoy resting in peace while living? They are at eternal peace in passing,” the email concluded.
I replied that where human influences exist, no one can rest. It is when only the Divine influence is present that one can truly rest in peace — whether dead or alive.
Then I added this:
Goldy’s Rule 83: A body in motion will remain in motion, and a body at rest will remain at rest, unless acted upon by an outside force. (Sir Isaac Newton’s First Law of Motion.) Goldy’s Corollary A: A man at rest will remain at rest until a woman makes him get up to do something. Corollary B: If a man is in a woman's kitchen, he will be in her way regardless of where he stands or sits. Corollary C: A woman who is a wife, a girlfriend, a mother, a daughter or a daughter-in-law — maybe even a grandmother — is not likely to have much chance to rest in the first place.
Corollaries A and B hold true everywhere, even in church kitchens. If a man picks a place where he thinks he’ll be out of the way, it is inevitable that a woman will make him move so she can get something from a shelf, cupboard or drawer directly behind him.
The hospitality committee ladies at Trinity Lutheran Church in Keyser often feed our flock, usually after church one Sunday a month and at other times.
They supply meat, bread and beverages, and members of the congregation bring covered dishes.
The food is always good and, as my dad (who always looked forward to these events) often told me, “Any meal you don’t have to cook and clean up after yourself is a good one.”
Lutherans know how to cook, but so do people in other churches. One of the Methodist churches in Keyser frequently has pancake and sausage dinners, and another has pork and sauerkraut dinners. Catholics are amazing with food, particularly when their parishes contain a high concentration of Italians.
A few weeks ago, I went to a bereavement dinner at a Baptist church. Everyone there would tell you those folks lay down vittles that would (as Justin Wilson used to say) make a puppy pull a freight train to get to them.
During Lent, we had covered-dish dinners followed by a prayer service on Wednesdays. A couple of dozen folks showed up each week and, after everyone ate, we took turns talking about the good things that happened to us that day.
One of my friends told us, “I went to the doctor in Winchester today. He told me I was cancer-free, and he would see me a year from now.” Two others said they had just celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary.
It’s hard to beat things like that.
Now, we’ve started a monthly “Soup’s On,” when we serve soup and sandwiches to whomever wants to attend.
Doesn’t cost you anything, and you don’t have to stay for a service. Just show up and eat. Everyone is welcome, and nothing is expected from you ... save that if you come in hungry, you’re not to leave that way. (See Matthew 25:35.)
Ten non-members of the congregation participated in our first Soup’s On during February, and there were more than 20 in March.
Ruthie, the genius who cuts my hair every few months and restores me to human form, said her church and some others decided to take turns hosting a series of Lenten “Meager Meals” — simple fare.
Her church was first, and what her people served was just that: meager and simple. However, the meal at the next church was a bit more complicated. Each week after that the chow was increasingly more involved, until the most recent meal bore almost no resemblance to the first.
Had to outdo each other, didn’t they? I asked.
“Yes, they did,” she said.
Knew all along that would happen, didn’t you?
Glad you were first and got it out of the way, aren’t you?
“We are. No pressure on us at all.”
My cancer-free friend and I were making our second rounds at the Lenten buffet table, wondering aloud what to try next and where we were going to put it.
He’s about my age, and I explained to him about Goldy’s Rule 84: One of the injustices associated with growing older is that even though your stomach gets bigger, it can’t hold as much food as it once did.
“Amen, brother,” he said.
I took a recent bus trip with my friends in the Mountainside Detachment of the Marine Corps League to the Smithsonian Institution’s National Air and Space Museum in Chantilly, Va.
At one point, several of us stood staring silently at the Enola Gay, which was hanging in mid-air about 10 feet away. Enola Gay is the Boeing B-29 Superfortress that dropped the first atomic bomb.
One fellow finally whispered, “I’ve got chills.”
I said I felt the same way, and the others made similar comments.
Here was something that, nearly seven decades ago, changed the world forever. Like it or not, Enola Gay and Bock’s Car (which dropped the second A-bomb) ended that war, saving millions of American and Japanese lives that would have been lost during an invasion. Every Army or Marine veteran I’ve asked who survived that war has told me they saved his.
Today, I plan to join an estimated 2 billion other Christians in celebrating a far different event that, more than two millenia ago, also served to change the world forever — but in a way that brought mankind hope, rather than fear and uncertainty.
To those who share my faith: Happy Easter.
To everyone, regardless of your beliefs: May peace be with you.
Here’s an email I received from a friend:
- Jim Goldsworthy - Anything and Everything
- He was here long before Duck Dynasty
He means well, and this time they spared his life
Our pal Phil is the only re-enactor certified in writing by both the Lee and Custis families to portray Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee (whose wife was Mary Anna Custis Lee). When he’s in uniform, he generally stops at the bottom of the path that leads to the summit of Little Round Top, salutes Capt. Gary and First Sgt. Goldy and asks permission to join us. (Get it? Generally ... General Lee?) We always return his salute and grant him permission, in part because he’s our friend and also because the real Lee never got to see what it really looks like from up there. (Get it? Grant ... Grant? U.S. Grant? Real Lee ... really? OK. I hear you. That’s enough. Seriouslee.) Phil gets a kick out of being able to sneak up on us while we’re distracted by tourists.
They’d have fallen like Autumn leaves
So there we were, minding our own business (at least momentarily), leaning against the cannon at Little Round Top.
Better read that french fry before you eat it
People give me otherwise-insignificant items they hope will amuse or inspire me. I appreciate this. I’m always glad for free entertainment, which as Goldy’s Rule 33 says is everywhere. All you have to do is wait and it will come to you. Also, I have been writing columns for 37 years and embrace inspiration anywhere I can find it.
The moose is loose, and it’s coming for you
So how would you like to look out your kitchen door window onto your porch and see a moose looking back at you from close range?
There are some debts you can never repay
Today’s column will be relatively short, as my columns go, for reasons that should become apparent, and I thought long and hard before writing it.
It could have saved the county a lot of money
Random thoughts sometimes occur to me when I least expect it, usually when my brain has become tired.
When I voice these thoughts at work or in other places, people may tell me, “Goldy? It’s time for you to go home.” Yes, ma’am.
Here are two random thoughts of recent vintage:
• If Bugs Bunny were an Emergency Medical Technician, would that make him a MedicHare?
• If Daisy Duck got a job driving for United Parcel Service, would she be an UPS-a-Daisy?
I wouldn’t blame you if you think that sounds Goofy — or Daffy.
These two were part of the Not Top Ten
Occasionally, at this time of year, I see reference to a “class orator” or a “class speaker.”
Nothing wrong with that — people can call such things whatever they want, as far as I’m concerned — but it makes me wonder. Have “valedictorian” and “salutatorian” become politically incorrect, and I didn’t notice? It may come as a surprise to you, but I really have not kept up with what is politically correct or incorrect. That’s what people tell me, anyway. With some of them, it actually seems to be a compliment.
Coming soon to a highway near you?
People say to me, “Goldy? Can I ask you a stupid question?”
In theory — and theory only — the correct response is: “The only stupid question is the one you don’t ask.” Not so much. There ARE stupid questions, some of them so stupid that to call them stupid is to damn them with faint praise. Other questions are — on the face of it — legitimate questions, but shouldn’t be treated as such ... not if you subscribe to the same philosophy that I do: Free entertainment is everywhere; all you have to do is wait, and it will come to you.
This was a skill that proved very useful
The Belmont Park stewards have decided to let California Chrome wear his nasal strip during the Run for the Carnations. Nasal strips usually are worn by people who snore and may have saved numerous marriages. It helps the Triple Crown hopeful to breathe, and some twolegged athletes wear nasal strips for the same reason. In this case, Chrome’s nasal strip may keep him from (wait for it) ... losing by a nose.
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