Source: Comically Incorrect
Thanks St. Nicholas, for asking God to heal my sister’s grandson, from a very dangerous brain surgery. We will be forever grateful, to your prayers. I like your temperament already. I’m just like ya! I don’t suffer fools on the right nor the left, who are heretics, or unrepentant fools, which in my book is one in the same.
Santa Claus, aka St Nicholas’ Feast Day: December 6th.
My siblings and I played Fox and Geese every time it snowed. It’s like “tag” on a pie shell.
As a little girl, our mom made me and my little sister play our only brother’s games:
tag, Fox and Geese, eenie-iinee-over, tether-ball, badmitten, baseball, football, stage-coach, Cowboys and Indians, hide and seek, swinging, hide and seek in the corn, climbed and jumped out of the hay-loft, and my favorite; “war.”
Our “War-Games” mimicked the current “War Movie” we watched. Of course we didn’t all have guns, so we improvised!!! We fashioned sticks, into make-believe handguns and rifles. Then we tilted the wheel barrows and wagons over, on it’s sides and pretend to shoot from behind, our posts. Sometimes, we’d crawl to a tree, stand up and pretend to shoot from there, on the sly.
We’d hoot and holler, and argue that “You’re dead.” Or “No, you’re still alive, your our prisoner, so we’ll tie your hands behind your back, and take you to our camp.” Those proposals never got an argument, from anybody. Why? Well, we would think of ways of escaping, like in the movies. First, we would had to devise a way, to get the ropes off, our hands.
If we declared you dead, we’d put flowers in your hands, and your cowboy-hat over your face, and have a fake-funeral over ya.
Actually, I wanted to be a cowgirl, like “Annie Oakley,” since I was four.
God must have a sense of humor, to let me grow up and be a cow-girl, in real life, as an adult. I ran two cattle ranches, with my spouse. An 800-Acre Ranch for 1 year and a 400-Acre Ranch for 5 years. So, God gave me the desires of my life, and then some.
I was Confirmed in an itty-bitty Catholic Church at age 9. A month from my 10th birthday. I didn’t think through the consequences, of choosing a powder-keg soldier-saint like St Joan of Arc. She rode a horse and died, in a blaze of glory. She was burnt at the stake thanks to heretical English Prelates; and it looks like I’m following her tracks.
In hind sight, I bet St Joan of Arc could ride a horse, better than me. I could ride old trail horses, but retired races horses? No way. I know my limitations.
The 400-Acre Ranch I co-managed, with my husband, had two horses; and one was a former race horse. That 5 year old, retired race horse sure looked tamer than she was. She was gentle around the kids, so she had that going for her. But, when I got on her, believe me: she weren’t retired, no how!!! She arched her head and tail and forelegs and ran like the wind. She was a sight to watch, when you weren’t on her. Her gait was much like a Friesians, but she was a Tennessee Walker. I could ride any horse, but her. Quite honestly, I preferred to walk, rather than be thrown off a horse.
Once 3 weeks, after our 2nd born son was born, my hubby had the big idea to go horseback riding. And, I had no sense, to refuse. We rode for several hours, and came back the way we went. Not talking. Just riding. Then, we stopped to rest, three fields away from the barn. My hubby said, “Don’t turn the horse towards the barn.” And, my horse heard him say “barn” and she bolted out in a gallop, like in a race! When, she got to the ravine, she didn’t even slow into a stop. Nope. She ran then got to the ravine, and parked her legs right then and there. And, I sailed over her head and onto my back. My ex had the big idea of riding up next to me, on the ground and told me to “Get back on.” “No,” I yelled. “I’ll ride your horse. You ride mine.”
Seems later in life, you recall how all these incidents helped shape, your whole life story. God sees it all and allows us to grow or wait on Him, and He even uses the winter cold, to slow us down a bit.
I recall that as a child, God used the cold winters, to steer my siblings and I to play more sedate, indoor games. My siblings and I played indoor games:
a card game called “war”, a card-game called “Old Maid,” a board game called; Sorry, Checkers, and Chinese Checkers. When we played with our Lincoln Logs, building homes and driveways on Mom’s carpet, if we ran out, we’d use clothes pins, for Lincoln Logs.
We also played “hide-the-thimble,” “drop-the-hanky,” and “hide-the-paper,” in our fists, behind our backs, then we brought our hands out front, still closed, and the other person had to guess which hand: the right or the left, had the hidden paper-wad, in it.
My reminiscing now comes to an end. Tonight, when I saw a music video on YouTube about the Battle of New Orleans in 1816: I recalled the times we played “war” outside, in the summer. But, now, that I’m considered an “Old Timer,” I wanted to pen these stories and my thoughts, for my posterity or visitors to my blog, to enjoy. There was fun to be had, before the Internet was invented. I’m living proof of it.