A Long Ago Story

 

© Jeanne E Webster. All Rights Reserved

“Jesus loves me this I know…”

Curled up in bed, she finds no escape from Mommy’s piercing cries. Softly tiptoeing to the window sill, she  longingly looks up to the heavens, as if searching for an old friend. She believes her home is out there and a heavenly, loving Papa awaits her return. Since learning the “Jesus Loves Me” song at Vacation Bible School one summer, she drew much comfort and hope. Peering impatiently into the dark, starry expanse, she pleads with her Papa. “I don’t like it here anymore, Papa. Please send an angel to take me back home.”

Only five years old, she knows fear… fear of her stepfather. He’s hurting Mommy now, and she’s afraid she’ll soon be the next victim of his drunken rages. Trembling with dread and hatred, she hears him bellowing her name. The routine is humiliating. He forces her to remove her clothes and stand before him naked, then proceeds to beat her with his army belt. Glaring into his eyes with intense rage, she is most afraid of crying in front of him, not the pain he inflicts. He mustn’t know he has hurt her; she must remain strong. “Please, Papa. I’m so afraid. I want to come home.”

“For the Bible tells me so…”

Stumbling through school with average grades and many sick days, she grew slowly into an angry, stubborn, withdrawn young girl. Teachers comment on her report card, “She will not act like a young lady. She’s always fighting with the boys.”

Home life is chaotic. Constantly on guard when her depraved stepfather is present, she keeps mainly to her bedroom or stays outside until nightfall. His lack of morals is evident as he prowls the house, naked except for a newspaper shielding his privates. “Thank you, Papa, for making me strong and protecting me. I wish Mommy would be strong enough to leave this nasty person.  I asked her once why she puts up with the beatings. She said, ‘Because I love him.’”

“Watch over me, Lord.  I still want to come home but I don’t know how to make that happen.”

“Little ones to Him belong…”

Many years passed.   The young girl mellowed into a happily married mother of four. Life was good for the first few years, but overshadowing this semblance of normalcy was the Viet Nam war. “Papa, watch over my husband and protect him from harm and send him home to us soon. The kids really miss their daddy. Thank you.”

“They are weak but He is strong…”

Daddy returned from war a stranger, dishing out physical and mental abuse on a daily basis to the young wife. Physical battles ensued with resulting scratches and bruises. Before long Mommy had become the villain, according to Daddy. He encouraged the kids to hit her, declaring her an unfit mommy. The Sears & Roebuck catalog was searched routinely for a new mommy. Divorce ensued after Mommy got on a greyhound bus headed for nowhere, leaving her whole world behind and calling it quits to the abuse.

Due to the fierceness and severity of the divorce dynamics, the young mother had only one viable option regarding her children. She had to leave them in the care of their father. There were no safe houses, no support for abused families in those days, and she had no family support or a job. Her husband promised to shoot her if she applied for a divorce, removing the children out of state would result in a kidnapping charge, and both options were not in the best interest of the kids. A dead mom and a lifer-in-prison dad were not good alternatives. So she walked. And inside…died…for a long while.

“Please take care of my children, Papa, and protect them from harm. I know You are stronger than anything life can throw at them, and they are good kids. They are my life. I give them back into Your hands. I know I will see them again someday; that’s all that matters. I love you, Papa!”

Epilogue:
Long ago Anna B. Warner penned the song, “Jesus Loves Me.” A young woman took those words to heart and believed them and staked her life on them. Why? The Bible told her so! The Word of God is far mightier than abuse, fear, threats and even death itself.

Hang on Tight ……..Aging in Process

 

I must confess:

+

I’m getting older…and feeling it too.

I painted our dining room walls…only got halfway done.

I get up early in the morning…but still don’t finish my chores.

I walk miles on a treadmill…but still don’t lose enough pounds;

I ride a recumbent bike…that doesn’t help much either.

I have fun now with exercises for my brain…don’t even need a bike!

I cook most everything from scratch…keeping the sodium and calories down.

I vacuum the carpets and mop the floors…my hair drips with drops of sweat.

I start one project…then forget two others, or was it start two and forget one.

I make a grocery list…then leave it at home.

I need more time to think up a poem or story…so write it down quickly before I forget.

I wash and dry my clothes carefully…but they still shrink.

I could sew, crochet, knit, or craft all day…but rheumatoid arthritis is slowing me down.

I used to put on makeup—lipstick and eye stuff…but it doesn’t satisfy anymore.

I used to kneel in my bedroom to pray…the knees complain too much now.

I still do spring-cleaning in the house…but it takes all spring time to do it.

I had no problem with reading…now I need glasses and a good strong light.

I must have the house real cool for sleeping…hangover probably from the change of things.

I used to hear a whisper a mile away…now I go for the close-ups or repeats.

I used to love to hang out the wash…smelled great but hard on the hands.

I am noticing that technology is changing too fast…it takes me longer to grasp the knack.

I tremble at the closeness of the world today…too many people with no place to go.

I sense the undercurrent anger stewing in people…this breeds coldhearted characters.

I find myself reading the obits in the paper…even though I don’t know too many people here.

I find myself having to take pills everyday…never was a good swallower.

I find young people are looking too young…to be starting a family.

I find the list too long of my great-grandchildren…hard to remember all those birth dates.

I find myself more grateful I can still drive…I value my independence greatly.

I find aging to be a literal pain…and I will be kicking and screaming, but smiling all the way.

 

See you in another ten years for an update on this!

Jeanne

The Women Behind the Curtains

 

A weekend has crept upon us again. Where’d the week go? It’s snowing here; got about 3 inches out there. It’s so white outside, you could hang out your white linens and never find them again… till spring anyway.

Speaking of hanging clothes outside, remember the old ways of doing laundry… summer, fall, winter and spring? Some of us had wringer washers while others cooked their clothes in a huge pot.

Nevertheless, winter was the biggest challenge. The clothes would be hung out on the line till frozen stiff, sometimes with icicles, and then we’ve drag them into the kitchen near the old wood stove and hang them over chairs or racks or stood them in the corner till they dried, which sometimes took days. We’d put newspapers down to sop up the moisture and protect the hardwood floors.

When the laundry had finally dried, we began the grueling task of ironing. Generally, everything was ironed, from sheets and pillowcases to bib overalls and underwear.

Most labor intensive were the starched items. You had to fire up the stove and boil water, put it into a bowl and mix in some starch and stir it up real good. Then you gathered the items to be starched and sprinkled them with water, sprayed some starch on them then fired up the heavy old flat-iron and went to work. If you had no time to starch, you dampened the items, rolled them up in a wad and stuffed them in the icebox or fridge till you were ready for them. No wonder people stayed slimmer back then; ironing would work up a good sweat on most anyone. Wow, the old times were a challenge!

We’ve gotten the chores done already and don’t you know, it’s almost noon already. Half the day is gone, used up, spent, out the window. I tackled the laundry and got the bedding washed and put back on the beds, made a lemon meringue pie, put my face on and said good morning to the world. Seems like it’s taking longer to do that every day. If I rose earlier in the day, it perhaps wouldn’t be almost noon by the time I got chores done. However, if I did that, I would be tired from not having enough sleep. Guess it’s basically a wash. (Get it…a wash!)

Oh well, back to Saturday. For lunch we finished the fish chowder from last night’s supper, ate our little cups of yogurt, and had weight watcher fudge bars for dessert. We’ll starve until supper at five. Plan to have baked codfish with a large tossed salad and coleslaw on the side, lemon pie for dessert. Then it’s off to bed after some thrilling TV show about some women being ripped apart from the monster man, her body disemboweled, buried in a foil wrapper and stuffed into some charcoal burner in some national park somewhere in the United States of America. Makes me want to sleep really well, huh?

Why do movie or television writers frequently portray women as victims? Horrendous crimes are repetitively sprung upon them; must be a mental deficit and/or have hatred towards the opposite sex. Many times the plot is about a marriage gone badly; so the husband chooses death by strangling, poison, shooting, or stabbing versus a quickie divorce in Arizona! Hmmm. Why does the woman always have to be killed, tortured, maligned, or butchered? Are we that obnoxious to society?

Anyway, I have had my fill of watching programs that glorify, promote, or focus on cruelty towards women. You see advertisements against animal cruelty projecting sad-looking faces of dogs and cats peering through the bars of cage after cage, all looking for a forever home. They’ve been through the mill, beaten, starved, bred out, gamed, or thoroughly stomped on. Yes, it gets to my heart but not as much as knowing that there are women out there getting nearly the same treatment. Maybe we could advertise; have women’s faces behind living room windows, looking disheveled, beaten, black-eyed, thoroughly stomped on, with pleading eyes staring blankly at the camera, begging for love, compassion, or kindness of some kind, looking for a forever home. Would that help? Hmmm.

Well, gotta go. The sun has come out, the snowy scenery looks bright, and the plow truck went by. How’s that for a good Saturday? Have a great day. See you tomorrow…

 

 

Birth Day!

fetus

copyright Jeanne E Webster.  All rights reserved.

~

1 day:
Conception

~

22 days:
Thub dub…thub dub…thub dub…thub dub…

~

Gee, Lord! You were right…this is fun! It’s goin’ thumpidy thump. I feel alive!

~

28 days:
Wow! My back is gettin’ stronger, and my liver, kidneys and ‘testines are growin’ too.

~

How much longer will it be, Lord?

~

35 days:
Papa, you’re so creative. Look at my eyes, legs, and hands! They’re almost shaped. Whoopee! I’ll be playin’ in no time!

~

42 days:
Hmmm…Papa, I think I can think now, and my mowf and lips are right here! See? I’m even gettin’ fingertails!

~

49 days:
Oh, Papa…look at me twitch my nose and toes! I’ve even got eyelids now. Watch me kick and swim in this watery pouch!

~

56 days:
Papa, thank you for all these things called organs! And, gee, my bones are turnin’ from that cart’lage stuff into harder stuff!

~

Wow! I just got fingerprinted!

~

Sssh…I think I hear people talkin’. They won’t hurt me, will they? Is it dangerous out there?

~

63 days:
Oh Papa, my toofers are coming in, and these fingertails will come in handy for scritchin’ the itchies.

~

Lookee…my head goes this way and that way. Am I cool or what?!

~

Oops…hiccup…hiccup…yep, I can do that now too!

~

77 days:
I can breeve a little too, Papa.

~

Oops, watch out…I went potty!

~

84 days:
I’m hangin’ on by my thummies! Whee! All systems are go! Am I ready yet, Papa? Is everyting ok?

(first trimester is abortion’s prime-time)

~

91 days:
Blahhhhh! Did you hear that noise I made? Ha Ha!

~

I’m learning to use my lungs by breevin’ fluid.

~

This thummie comes in handy. It kind of ends up in my mowf lots of times.

~

Was that a “No,” Papa?

~

98 days:
I’m feelin’ stronger, Papa. Is my heart really pumpin’ quarts and quarts of sacred fluid ev’ryday?

~

105 days:
Papa, I can taste now too. I can’t wait to eat that peanut butter sanwinch you said us kids would like!

~

4th month:
My bones are growin’ fast and fillin’ up with that marrow stuff. And look…I’m almost 8 inches long!

~

17 weeks:
Wow, I’m dweamin’! All right! This IS fun!

~

21-22 weeks:
What did you say, Papa? If there’s trouble, I’m developed enough now to be saved? Saved from what? Are there bad things out there, Papa?

~

20th week:
I hear my mommie, Papa!

(earliest stage that partial birth abortions are performed)

~

Mommie!

~

She can’t hear me yet. I’m not afraid now, Papa. Mommie won’t let anyfing bad happen to me. It’s safe here, nice and warm and comfy.

~

5-6 months:
I’ll be needin’ some air to breeve pretty soon. This fluid is yucky!

~

Watch me grab that umbilical cord and spin around. Whee!

~

I’d better rest up; I worked up a sweat.

~

I’m really growin’! I’m almost a foot long and weigh over a pound.

~

7-9 months:
My eyetoofers are cuttin’ through already.

~

Watch these peepers work! I‘m almost all grow’d up. I can sense that Mommie is getting’ grumbly.

~

HEY!

WHAT’S GOIN’ ON?

I’M FALLIN’, PAPA!

I’ve dropped down into a slide. This is scary! Papa, where are you?

~

Waaaahhhhh!

ABORTION: THE HARD AND SOFT OF IT

aabortion

© Jeanne E Webster. All Rights Reserved.

 

Abortion: A surgically invasive procedure that terminates the life of a fetus within a woman’s womb. That’s a soft-sell spiel.

Abortion: A savage, barbaric, cruel, and brutal murder of an unwanted, unloved, unplanned, unborn baby within its mother’s womb. That’s hard reality.

Abortion offers two things: certain death to unborn babies and marred consciences and bodies of women who avail themselves of this deadly, legally-correct procedure. Supporters of abortion rights profess that abortion is compassionate, yet reality starkly reveals that it kills every time, whereas choosing life saves lives and is compassionate.

Is it better for all concerned that unborn babies be killed so he/she won’t be brought into a situation where it will not thrive? I think not! The brief lives of aborted unborn babies end at the swinging doors labeled “women’s rights.”

Where are the rights of the unborn? Granting unborn babies the “right to live,” chances are always greater a born baby will thrive; with abortion, there is no chance whatsoever.

To those who favor abortion, I ask you, “Where would you be today if your mother opted for an abortion when you were a helpless, innocent, unborn baby lying comfortably in her womb, unable to raise your voice to cry out for compassion, for a chance at life?

As an unborn baby chosen by your own mother to be sacrificed on the “altar of abortion rights”, would it be comforting to know you were killed to protect you from the hardships of life? I think not! If anything must be “thrown-away,” it should be the quick-fix mentality of our generation.

We need to be reminded of the preciousness of life. Honor it and keep it sacred in our hearts. Grasp compassion and love with all the gusto we can muster…and choose LIFE.

Womb Talk

Newborn Baby in Mother Hand

© 2011 Jeanne E Webster.  All rights reserved

.

1 day:
Conception

22 days:
Thub dub…thub dub…thub dub…thub dub…

“Gee, Papa! You were right…this is fun! It’s goin’ thumpidy thump. I feel alive!”

28 days:
“Wow! My back is gettin’ stronger, and my liver, kidneys and ‘testines are growin’ too.”

“How much longer will it be, Papa?”

35 days:
“Papa, you’re so creative. Look at my eyes, legs, and hands! They’re almost shaped. Whoopee! I’ll be playin’ in no time!”

42 days:
“Hmmm…Papa, I think I can think now, and my mowf and lips are right here! See? I’m even gettin’ fingertails!”

49 days:
“Oh, look at me twitch my nose and toes! I’ve even got eyelids now. Watch me kick and swim in this watery pouch!”

56 days:
“Papa, thank you for all these things called organs! And, gee, my bones are turnin’ from that cart’lage stuff into harder stuff!”

“Wow! I just got fingerprinted!”

“Sssh…I think I hear people talkin’. They won’t hurt me, will they? Is it dangerous out there?”

63 days:
“Oh Papa, my toofers are coming in, and these fingertails will come in handy for scritchin’ the itchies.”

“Lookee…my head goes this way and that way. Am I cool or what?!”

“Oops…hiccup…hiccup…yep, I can do that now too!”

77 days:
“I can breeve a little too, Papa.”

“Oops, watch out…I went potty!”

84 days:
“I’m hangin’ on by my thummies! Whee! All systems are go! Am I ready yet, Papa? Is everyting ok?”

(first trimester is abortion’s prime-time)

91 days:
“Blahhhhh! Did you hear that noise I made? Ha Ha!”

“I’m learning to use my lungs by breevin’ fluid.”

“This thummie comes in handy. It kind of ends up in my mowf lots of times.”

“Was that a ‘No,’ Papa?”

98 days:
“I’m feelin’ stronger, Papa. Is my heart really pumpin’ quarts and quarts of sacred fluid ev’ryday?”

105 days:
“Papa, I can taste now too. I can’t wait to eat that peanut butter sanwinch you said us kids would like!”

4th month:
“My bones are growin’ fast and fillin’ up with that marrow stuff. And look…I’m almost 8 inches long!”

17 weeks:
“Wow, I’m dweamin’! All right! This IS fun!”

21-22 weeks:
“What did you say, Papa? If there’s trouble, I’m developed enough now to be saved? Saved from what? Are there bad things out there, Papa?”

20th week:
“I hear my mommie, Papa!”

(earliest stage that partial birth abortions are performed)

“Mommie!”

“She can’t hear me yet. I’m not afraid now, Papa. Mommie won’t let anyfing bad happen to me. It’s safe here, nice and warm and comfy.”

5-6 months:
“I’ll be needin’ some air to breeve pretty soon. This fluid is yucky!”

“Watch me grab that umbilical cord and spin around. Whee!”

“I’d better rest up; I worked up a sweat.”

“I’m really growin’! I’m almost a foot long and weigh over a pound.”

7-9 months:
“My eyetoofers are cuttin’ through already.”

“Watch these peepers work! I‘m almost all grow’d up. I can sense that Mommie is getting’ grumbly.”

“HEY!”

“WHAT’S GOIN’ ON?”

“I’M FALLIN’, PAPA!”

“I’ve dropped down into a slide. This is scary! Papa, where are you?”

“Waaaahhhhh!”

(reblog)

TGIF Macaroni & Cheese Deluxe!

MACARONI & CHEESE DELUXE

(LOW-FAT & LOW SODIUM)

(Guaranteed to please—rated as scrumptious as regular mac-&-cheese)

……………………………..

.

4 ounces macaroni, uncooked

1/2 cup sour cream

¼ tsp. salt

4 ounces shredded Colby cheese

1 cup ricotta cheese (or cottage cheese)

1 large egg

Pinch pepper

Pinch paprika

  1.  Cook macaroni according to package directions; drain
  2. Combine ricotta (or cottage cheese), sour cream, lightly beaten egg, salt & pepper in large bowl
  3. Stir in shredded Colby cheese.
  4. Add macaroni, stirring well
  5. Pour mixture into greased baking dish and sprinkle with paprika
  6. Bake for 45 minutes at 350°

Servings:  3   Preparation time:  30 minutes

Delicious!  TGIF!