Susan, Lady of Leisure #5


The ambulance arrived within five minutes, loaded Tom on a stretcher and took him to the hospital. Susan ran home and got her car, picked up Mrs. Burchill and followed it. Half an hour later Susan was sitting in the Emergency area holding Alice Burchill’s hand as a team of medical personnel worked on Tom in the examining room right beside them.

Soon a young Resident doctor came out wearing a cheery smile and put his hand on Alice’s shoulder. “Things are looking up, Mrs. Burchill. Tom went into a diabetic coma, probably soon after breakfast. We’ve given him insulin and he’s awake now, so you can go in and spend a few minutes with him. We’ll keep him in today for observation. He’ll need insulin injections from now on to manage his diabetes; other than that he should be fine.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Doctor!” Alice stood and rushed into the examining room.

The Resident turned to Susan. “Good thing you recognized the problem and got him in when you did.”

Susan shook her head. “I’m still amazed how this all worked. I mean, I took this sudden notion to visit the neighbors this morning and here he was. Now I’m so glad I followed that little prodding, if you can call it that.”

The Resident chuckled. “I’d say you should keep on getting notions like that. You could prove very helpful to your neighbors, especially people like the Burchills who have no family living nearby.”

He paused then and Susan could see his wheels turning. “You know, I don’t believe he’d be up to doing insulin injections himself,” he told her. “We’ll probably have to arrange for Home Care nurses to come in every day and give him his needles. Unless, as neighbour who’s an RN…” he gave her a meaningful look.

Susan grinned and nodded. “I get it.”

Awhile later Alice joined Susan again and said she’d like a ride home. “I need to pick up some things for Tom and come back. I’m so sorry to take up so much of your time today. But you’ve been a real Godsend.”

Susan took hold of the old lady’s arm. “Now, dear, I had nothing else planned for today, so don’t worry about taking up my time. I’m so glad that I can be of help to you folks. Makes me feel a lot better than if I were just idling around all day.”

To be continued…

Aprosopol Romance

Today’s WP Prompt says to create a new word and explain its meaning. Here’s mine:


I find that in most romance novels nowadays the main characters are aprosopol.

Prosopol is a Greek word meaning respect, as in “to have respect for someone.” Hence, aprosopol means without respect or no respect.

You could say contemporary romances are contramorous. The Latin word contra means against and amor means love.

I haven’t read so many contemporary romance novels in my life, but lately have investigated this genre again via e-books and I have been quite disappointed.

It seems to me that in years gone by the male MC and female MC met and usually fell in love — or at least into like. Even where they didn’t always see eye to eye they often had a certain basic respect for one another. There was usually some hope of them actually coming to terms by the last chapter.

Modern day romances tend to be so formulaic; I think most of us could write one in our sleep. Male MC meets female MC and detests her. Blah! He’d never marry this woman; she’s haughty, impulsive, headstrong, emotional. She won’t listen to his common-sense approach at all. NO WAY will he ever get involved with her!

And/or female MC meets male MC and loathes the man. He’s arrogant, unreasonable, unpredictable, insufferable. NO WAY is she ever going to be interested in him. So Chapter Two starts out with him spitting nails at her and she spits them right back at him. Lots of glaring, head tossing, fuming, insulting.

For the first few chapters every meeting they have serves to reinforce each one’s negative opinion of the other. However, somewhere near the end of chapter Two you get some physical attractions kicking in:
A) He’s thinking, “I want nothing to do with her, even if she’s knock-down drop-dead gorgeous.”
B) She’s thinking, “I’m keeping my distance from this ruggedly handsome hunk even if his physique sends hot flashes through my system.”

So they continue to spit nails at each other for another several chapters, but by now every second page mentions how he’s struggling to resist his attraction to her and/or she’s fighting the fascination she has with him. At this point it seems to be all sex appeal; they still manifest little respect for each other — but the world is turning.

Two thirds of the way through the novel either he gets himself into some sort of predicament or she does. He rides out with the posse and gets winged by the bad guys, or she falls in the river and needs to be rescued. His ship sinks and she must alert the authorities, or he’s in jail and/or about to be lynched for some false charge and she must step forward to plead his case even if she detests him. Or maybe she is at the mercy of some villain or gossip and he must rescue her/offer her refuge/marry her even if he’s averse to doing so.

In the end they get it together somewhat grudgingly, yet with promise of lots of steamy snuggles to come. (Though in some books these start to appear about Chapter three already!) So the theme actually seems more like “lust conquers all” than “love conquers all.” You just wonder if they are really going to live happily ever after when they detested each other so thoroughly at the outset.

I contrast this with the Biblical story of Ruth, where two people who admired and respected each other worked together on behalf of a destitute widow. And in doing so they found love for each other. Here I see so much better prospects for a true “Happily ever after.”

Anyway, I’ve managed to invent a new word for the Daily Prompt — and write my rant about contemporary romance — all in one post.

The Lost Coin

fireworks-235813_640Happy New year to all my readers! I haven’t been feeling so inspired to write fiction lately, so I’ll post a story I wrote long ago but have never shared publicly. This is my version of one of the miraculous incidents recorded in the Bible.


Who dropped it?

Was it a Roman soldier, striding along the dock, digging out the boat fare from his little leather bag? Maybe he had spent a few days at the spa in Tiberius for refreshment and was on his way back to his post.

Perhaps, hurrying to the boat, he slipped on a greasy spot and one of his coins went flying. He heard it splunk as it hit the water. He shrugged and hurried on. What was one coin, anyway?

Was it a servant girl, sent to the dock to buy fish for the family’s supper? Perhaps it was her first time handling money and her hands shook as she was paying for the fish? To her horror, one silver coin slipped between her fingers. It hit the dock and before she could grab it again it rolled along a plank and over the edge. She heard it splunk as it hit the water.

Oh, what would mistress say if she came back with not enough fish?! Would the master even accuse her of stealing it? But with a smile and a nod the kind fisherman handed her all the fish she needed and waved her on her way. She would have been so grateful!

Or was it a young boy, waiting while his merchant father inspected some cargo. Perhaps his father had given him this silver coin to amuse himself through the long business talk.
Maybe he was flipping it in the air because he liked the way it sparkled in the sunshine? Then he missed catching it! With a small thump the coin landed on the dock and rolled over the edge. He heard it splunk as it fell into the water. Quickly he ran to the edge of the dock and watched it sink down, down, down.


The Bible does not say who dropped it. But God had a plan for this little silver coin.

A fish was swimming around under the dock, looking up, waiting for some juicy bug to light on the surface. Suddenly something sparkly flashed through the water, coming down, down, toward him. A huge silver beetle! Yum!

The fish opened its mouth as wide as it could, anticipating the delicious crunch, and into its mouth went the coin. But it was not juicy and squishy. It was a cold, hard lump!

The fish tried to swallow but the coin was too big. He tried to spit it out but it wouldn’t budge. He wiggled this way and that, he swam in big circles, he leaped from the water and back down. But nothing would shake this awful hard thing loose from his mouth. It was stuck!


“Hey, Simon, wait a minute!”

Simon Peter, who was following Jesus into the house, stopped and turned to see who was calling him. Several men were coming toward him through the crowd, those men who came around once in awhile to collect the tribute money to help pay for the upkeep of the temple.

“Your Master is staying with you right now, isn’t He?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” Peter replied, then looked around at the crowd of people. Why did they ask? The whole town of Capernaum knew that Jesus was staying at his house!

“Your Master pays tribute, doesn’t He?” another man continued. “We’re collecting. Everyone needs to pay the tax to keep up the temple.”

Peter frowned. Did He? Did Jesus pay tax for the upkeep of the temple? Well, Jesus seemed to want to live just like everyone else and obey all the laws, so He probably did.

“Yes,” answered Peter. “I believe so. I’ll go and ask Him.” But he walked into the house wondering.

Why should Jesus have to pay for the upkeep of the temple? Jesus was the Son of God–and God was the owner of the temple. Why, that would be like making Herod’s sons pay for the upkeep on their palace!

Jesus looked up at Peter as he entered the house. “Peter,” He asked, “From whom do the kings of the earth demand tribute money? From their own people, or from the foreign lands they have conquered?”

“From the foreigners,” Peter answered, puzzled.

“Then the children are free?” Jesus asked.

“Well, yes,” Peter replied, more puzzled yet.

Jesus knew what the men had asked for. He knew the question going through Peter’s mind. And he wanted to teach an important lesson to the people listening. So He explained that it was true; as God’s Son, He should not have to pay for the temple upkeep, for the temple was His Father’s earthly house.

“But we must obey the laws of the land as much as possible while we are in this life. We don’t want to offend them and cause needless trouble.”

“Take a hook and line,” He instructed, “and go down to the lake. Throw your hook into the water. The first fish you catch, open its mouth and you will find a coin. Take that coin to the tribute collector and pay the tribute for you and me.”

Peter, still puzzled, hunted through the fishing gear that he had set aside when Jesus first called him to be a disciple. A fish with a coins in its mouth?

Well, we’ll see, he thought. He found a line and a hook and headed toward the lake of Galilee.


By now the fish may have carried that awful coin in its mouth for several days. Perhaps he had swum from one end of the lake to the other searching for food, but not able to chew anything. Pressing hard on the same spots all day and all night, the coin was like a bad toothache.

He was swimming slowly in the water near Capernaum when a tiny silvery thing splashed into the water not far away. Other fish darted away, frightened by this odd-looking bug, but the big fish was so hungry!

He opened his mouth as best he could and caught the tiny thing. But it was not a bug at all. It was a sharp barbed thing that jabbed into the roof of his mouth and there it stuck.

Now something was tugging on this sharp hook. It dug deep into the roof of his mouth. He wiggled and tried to break free, but he was so weak he could hardly resist. He was being pulled closer to the shore, the hook jabbing him every time he jerked back. Finally exhausted, he gave up the fight.

Peter, standing knee-deep in the shallows, reached down and lifted the limp fish out of the water. Holding its jaws open with one hand, he carefully removed the hook. Then he poked a finger into its mouth and felt the coin.

Peter was amazed. How could it be that, in this whole huge lake, the one fish with a coin stuck in its mouth would get caught on his hook? How could it be that Jesus would know that? Grasping the coin with his finger and thumb, he gave a little tug and out it came.
Now he looked at the fish. “Someone will be happy to catch you someday, “ he said, “but you’d better fatten up a bit first.” And he tossed it back into the lake.

Then he examined the coin, marvelling. “Truly Jesus is the Lord and ruler of all Creation!” he declared as he waded back to shore.


For awhile the exhausted fish floated in the shallow water near the shore. Then he opened and closed his mouth a few times–just to be sure.

The hook was gone! That horrible big lump was gone! What a relief! He flipped his tail back and forth, pushing himself into the deeper water.

His mouth was very sore, but not too sore to nibble from the weeds growing on the lake bottom. Small water beetles swam among the weeds; he would eat lots of those. Never again was he going to be tempted by sparkling things that fell from the blue above!

He swirled his fins and away he swam, so glad to be free. Being a fish, he had no idea that he was part of one of Jesus’ miracles.

Avalanche–Part 2

How long will it be before I run out of air? The question lingers around me like a noxious fume.

What am I doing here anyway? Why did I sneak over here, hoping and praying no one would know, so fearful they’d steal my gold? Right now I’d give it all to have one friend who cared enough to come and dig me out.

This is really crazy. Here I am, surrounded by all this wealth and I’d trade it this minute for empty space — space that would hold more air so I could live a few hours longer. Maybe long enough to dig myself out? Maybe not.

My mind snaps for a moment. I grope around, grab a bag of nuggets, and hurl it as hard as possible against the snow in the entrance. I hear the thud as it strikes, then falls to the ground.

Rocks. Small glistening pebbles. They won’t buy me enough oxygen to survive. They won’t buy me an air hole, never mind a hole big enough to crawl through.

If I could only melt my way through. I picture myself trying to melt some of the snow blockage with a lit candle, and I laugh. Oh, well. Maybe I should light one of them anyway. What difference can it make? Why not enjoy a little luxury as I’m dying? The candle and I can go out together.

Impulsively I crawl back to the entrance and try to move a bit more snow, but there’s no place to put it. I think about some fellow who wise-cracked one day that our town had a great snow removal plan. “It’s called Spring.”

Yeah. Spring will indeed move all this snow from the door of this cave.

And maybe next spring when the snow melts someone will think of me and come looking. If they find me they may use some of my gold to buy a nice fancy coffin for my remains and a headstone for my grave. It could say, “Here lies a very selfish man who died for his sin.” They’d choose marble, probably. Maybe that nice creamy-colored stuff with a cross carved on top. Or maybe just granite.

All depends on who finds me. Maybe some other miner will peek in and grab my bags, cover the hole, and my bones will be left here until Judgement Day.

I contemplate that day. Will the Lord come soon, like some preachers say, or will it be years and years yet? Or will He forget about us here on earth and go on to other things? I been in church a few times in my life, especially to funerals, so my mind drifts back to some of the songs and bits of sermons I’ve heard.

But I don’t want to die. Never gave it much thought before, but now I’m scared to die. Here I am, a prospector living all alone up here in the mountains, facing dangers every day, and now this. I’d better get ready, because I’m going to die.

I find myself shaking; tears are running down my cheeks. “Oh, God,” I shout into the darkness, “I’m afraid to die.”

Conclusion tomorrow.

WordPress Writing Prompt: Under the Snow

The House that Tom & Susie Built

“Oh, to be more patient!” Susie sighed as she got ready for bed that night. If only Tom could see my point! I don’t want to be a nag but he needs to make some changes — for the good of our home.

For one thing, he could say ‘No’ to some of these pleas for help. Like this morning when Uncle Jim called. Could Tom do a few repairs for Grandma?

“Yes, we love Grandma,” Susie had countered, “but any of your cousins could help her. They just say they’re too busy; well, we’re busy, too! We’ll never get our own house finished if you’re always helping this one and that one. Say ‘No’ this time!”

And had he listened? No. Then he wasn’t home in time for dinner, either, and the children became whiny and hard to manage. Irked, Susie grumbled at him after he did get home until he snapped back at her and stomped out to mow the lawn. The girls stood looking at her in wide-eyed silence until she shooed them outside to play. And Javon started to fuss.

Susie warmed up a bottle for him. “I guess I should apologize,” she told Javon as she fed him his bottle. “But maybe your daddy will think about this, too, and see that charity begins at home.” She brushed away the feelings of guilt.

Javon fell asleep and she started to vacuum, but she found resentment a bitter companion and was very thankful when Tom came in to say he was sorry. She apologized, too, and they both agreed that they wanted a happy home.

That night Susie whispered a prayer into her pillow. “I do want to be a good helpmeet for him, Lord. But there’s so much to do around here and the children need their Dad and… Well, You know it all. Please help us.” Then weariness overcame her and she fell asleep.

Next thing Susie knew, she and Tom were walking down a long road that stretched out ahead of them, then started to curve.

As they walked along, she had a sense of years passing. She glanced at Tom and saw with surprise that he had a cane in his other hand and was leaning on it a lot. She saw the grey in his hair and knew that hers was turning white, too.

Suddenly from around the bend in the road a man came toward them. With a spring in his step and a cheerful hello, he beckoned them.

“You must be the Reeds. I’ve come to show you your new house.”

She and Tom looked at each other in surprise and delight. The man, who seemed to be a real estate agent, led them around the next bend. Beside the road they saw a lovely new cottage.

Susie gasped. “Is this ours?”

“No,” the agent replied, “this is the home of John and Linda Thomas.”

Right then an elderly couple opened the door and waved at them. It was indeed a couple they knew from their congregation, but they were both very old now.

“Well, they certainly do deserve that neat home,” said Susie. “They’ve been so faithful in the church and such a good example to us all.”

The man smiled. “Yes, they’ve been building well all these years.”

They walked along farther and passed other houses, some looking very good and some rather ramshackle. One place wasn’t much more than a heap of crooked boards tossed together. The couple outside were bickering with each other.

The agent shook his head. “Even in old age some folks are still trying to decide whose fault it is.”

“I hope we don’t have them for neighbours,” Susie said curtly.

A few miles later the agent stopped beside another house. “And here we are, folks. This one is yours!”

Tom and Susie walked over to the house and eyed it dubiously. The siding had some jagged edges, a few boards were put on at odd angles. The door frame wasn’t quite straight.

“This is ours?” Tom sounded puzzled. He studied it up and down, and wandered around to the back, leaving Susie alone with the agent.

Susie examined the house and said to herself, “Somebody sure made a mess of things!”
The man seemed to read her thoughts. “It has been fairly well built. A few flaws here and there, but most of it is quite sound.”

He opened the door and Susie followed him into the cottage. Floor tiles were missing here and there. The fireplace stones stuck out at odd angles; amazing they didn’t tumble down!

“Oh, there must be some mistake,” she protested. “This can’t be ours!”

“Madam, I assure you, there’s no mistake,” he answered politely. “This is the house you and Tom have been building all these years. And you’ve done a halfway decent job, too. Some really good materials here.” He rapped on the wall. “Most of the subfloor is good wood. Most of the studs are in place, though some are a bit warped. Most of the roof is intact.”

“But…we would never build a place like this!”

“This is indeed your work, Mrs. Reed. What you have here is what you’ve put into your marriage all these years. You reap what you sow, you know.”

He pointed to the floor tiles. “Most of the time you and Tom have spoken to each other with respect — but not always.” Then he indicated several holes in the ceiling. “You and Tom have patched up most of your quarrels, but not all of them.” He waved at the gaps between the wall and the ceiling. “Times when each of you insisted on getting your own way. A bit was lost in your building. Selfishness is such a thief!”

Susie examined the fireplace with its stones askew and he explained. “These are the times you’ve accepted each other’s faults charitably — or complained angrily. They’re all here, just as you’ve stacked them.”

Susie cringed. What he was saying was too true. Sick at heart, she walked into the kitchen. The cabinets looked attractive, except that some of the doors were warped.
She didn’t dare ask, but he told her anyway. “Most of the time you’ve been honest with each other, but not always.”

Susie blushed, remembering a few of those times. “If only we’d known it would all show up like this,” she wailed. “How can we ever live here?”

The agent drew himself up in a huff. “That’s not my problem, Mrs. Reed. I’m only the agent of Time. My job was to bring you here and I have. All these years you and Tom have been building your old age. And may I remind you that when you were young you thought these things were good enough. ‘About like other couples,’ I believe you said then.”

He walked over to the entrance. “If you’d wanted something better now, you should have started years ago. Remember the old proverb: A wise woman buildeth her house, but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands.”

Susie hung her head in shame. “If I’d only known I was building I’d someday have to live with…”

“Perhaps you could still make a few repairs,” he suggested cheerfully as he opened the door. “And now, good day, Mrs. Reed. I have others to bring to their houses, too, including your children. They’re married now and are building their own homes.”

“My children! What kind of houses will they have? If only they could see…”

“No doubt they will be following the example you’ve left them, so their houses will be half-ways decent, too,” he assured her. Then he stepped out the door into a whoosh of wind and was gone, leaving Susie standing there contemplating his last words.

She turned around to look over the house again and a wave of despair overcame her. How many repairs could they make at this late date? She sat down in a chair and began to sob.
Then Tom was beside her and his arm was around her. “It’s all right, Susie. Don’t cry. We’ll do what we can.”

Suddenly she was sitting up in bed, with Tom’s arm around her. “It’s all right, Susie. Don’t cry,” he was saying. “You must have had a bad dream.”

Susie nodded, then thought again. “No, I’ve had a very good dream. and I hope I’ll remember it for a long time. She leaned on his shoulder. “Oh, Tom, I’ve been fussing so much about getting this earthly house finished and I’ve been neglecting the most important one!”

Mrs Lot Muses

My conjectures of what Mrs Lot might have thought and felt. Based on the Biblical account given in Genesis 19:1-26


As I said, I never dreamed that things have gotten so bad in our city that these guests lodging in our our own house would be in danger — and our own lives as well. But a few hours after supper we begin to hear sounds, voices and then shouting, outside.

Lot sends out a servant to find out what’s what the townsmen want. Before long he returns, looking seriously scared, and says to Lot, “There’s a crowd gathered in the street out there, sir, and they don’t look friendly.”

I peeked out a window. Now that was an understatement. The gang advancing toward out house almost looked vicious!

Lot goes to the door and some one shouts that he should send these two young men out. Next thing others are calling the same thing and Lot is outside now trying to calm them down. We’re all horrified when we realize what this crowd has in mind.

I told you Sodom isn’t very safe, but really! These young men have ought to be more careful about coming into a city and upsetting everyone. People should study the travel guides and find out about the inhabitants of a place before wandering willy-nilly about the country side expecting some kind soul to take them in.

And Lot might have known better than to bring them here. Maybe he could have spoken a kind word in their ear — a bit of warning — and sent them on their way before sundown.

Wait! What was that I heard? Lot, what are you saying? Not our precious daughters. What insanity would make you offer to send our beautiful girls out to that pack of wolves just to protect these two strangers?

As a precaution I order the girls to disappear, to go with the maidservants and hide on the roof top.

Well, thank goodness! These young men showed some good sense and dragged Lot back into the house. The mob was almost at the door; I was afraid they were going to tear Lot apart. Now everyone is stumbling around out there as if they can’t figure out where they are or where they should go. I’m so thankful they aren’t battering our door down to get in!

Seeing what they’ve done to the men outside, I’m beginning to wonder if these young men really are supernatural messengers. But why have they come? In any case, I pray God will have mercy on us this night!

Lot just came to me now and said the men are telling him we have to leave Sodom, that our daughters and their families need to get out, too. Fat chance our sons-in-law are going to pack up everything and go flying out of town on the say so of two strange foreigners. (I’m not sure they believe in angels and may think we’ve lost it.)

I’m not very willing myself, but I’d better do some packing, as Lot insists. The servants are helping, but they aren’t at all interesting in joining us on our wild flight into the night. Good thing we still have the two girls at home to help. Oh, dear, we are too old for all this upheaval!

I have a pretty good idea how this will go. We’ll head off into the desert and spend a miserable night, then by morning everyone will have come to their senses and we’ll come back home again. I hope and pray once these men have left us whatever their message is and are gone on their way we can settle down and resume our normal lives.

The towns folk may be annoyed with Lot for a few weeks but they will soon forget it. Then, as I said before, the next time he wants to bring strangers home I’m putting my foot down.

They’re urging us to hurry so I’d best get moving.


I’ve told Mrs. Lot’s story in a contemporary voice, not just for fun, but because this really is a story for our times. I don’t think she had a clue what was coming, and neither do we, but the Bible tells us there’ll be a day when this world as we know it will come to an abrupt end. All the things we love and claim as our own will someday be gone. This may not come in our generation — or it may — but Jesus tells us about His return to our world, comparing it to the destruction of Sodom.

Luke 17:28-30
Likewise also as it was in the days of Lot; they did eat, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they builded; but the same day that Lot went out of Sodom it rained fire and brimstone from heaven, and destroyed them all. Even thus shall it be in the day when the Son of man is revealed.

II Peter 3:9-14
The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.
But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up.

Seeing then that all these things shall be dissolved, what manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy conversation and godliness, looking for and hasting unto the coming of the day of God, wherein the heavens being on fire shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat?

Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness. Wherefore, beloved, seeing that ye look for such things, be diligent that ye may be found of him in peace, without spot, and blameless.

Mrs Lot Muses

My conjectures of what Mrs Lot might have thought and felt. Based on the Biblical account given in Genesis 19:1-26


Next I tell them the art gallery is open until eight tonight; they could probably spend some time there. “The Sodom Art Museum has a fine display of master pieces and there’s also an extensive collection of textile arts, wood carvings and pottery. I’ve also seen some cute miniature statues of the various gods of this land.”

He looked a bit horrified so I hastened to add, “Of course we know they are just silly images, but they are well made and interesting just to look at. I never worship them, though.”

My suggestion was met by sad frowns of disapproval from both of them. Critical types, I gather. For me it’s all relatively innocent, you know — just art.

By this time I’m getting impatient with them. I don’t want these fellows sitting around all evening with their gloomy countenances. So I try again, something totally innocent this time. I suggest that if music and the art gallery don’t appeal, they can maybe just stroll around Sodom and check out the architecture. Our architects have designed some very elaborate temples and an impressive civic center. With inlaid stones and colored marble, they’ve created some really nice patterns so worth seeing.

The one man just looked at me awhile and his face was so sad, like he was pondering some deep dark secret. Goodness, I thought to myself, this young man needs to be on anti-depressants! I even thought of suggesting he might try some for awhile if he was feeling really blue about life, but of course Lot wouldn’t appreciate me being rude to guests. So I just bit my tongue and refrained from suggesting any other attractions. If they want to sit here all evening and play tiddlywinks, it’s okay with me.

Now I will confess Sodom isn’t the greatest place to visit. As I said before, there are some really strange people here, but we try to be forbearing. It’s how they’ve been brought up, you know. We take the chance to say a few words now and then, but mostly we leave people to make their own decisions.

Yes, the people here are a rough bunch and their customs are so discouraging at times. Lot is often horrified by the immoral behaviour going on amongst the younger folks of this town, but I tell him, “We’re old, Lot. We have a different value system. You can’t expect the young folks to be as straight-laced as we were. We need to just love them as they are.”

He tells me it grieves him every day to see innocent children dragged into this perversion and I heartily agree. But what can he and I do except be a good example? “Let’s just live and let live,” I say. And he usually listens.

Though some times he gets so disgusted he even talks of moving back to the hills where his Uncle Abraham lives. I have no ears for that idea. “What?” I say. “Leave our daughters and their families. Lot, you know I’d never be parted from our precious grandchildren.”

I remind him of our lovely home and yard. “It would mean leaving everything we’ve ever worked for! I’m not interested in living up in the hills, and can’t bear the thought of going somewhere else and starting all over again at my age. Think again. Besides, we have no guarantees the next place we live would be any better, so I’m staying right here.”

Lot is a wonderful man, but sometimes he seems a little short-sighted, so I help him take a good look at things. And maybe if I’d been there when he was talking to these young fellows he brought home, I would have realized they would bring us nothing but trouble with the towns folk and persuaded them – nicely, of course– to go on their way to the next town. Maybe not, though, for I didn’t realize just how bad things have gotten here.

To be concluded tomorrow….

Mrs. Lot Muses

My conjectures of what Mrs Lot might have thought and felt. Based on the Biblical account given in Genesis 19:1-26

Mrs. Lot Muses

He’s a good man, my Lot. He’s always been a good husband and father; I have no complaints about that. He treats our servants well, pays them fair wages. He’s donated to various charities over the years; offers beggars a handout ever so often; never kicks stray dogs. And he’s always been kind to strangers coming into Sodom. (Which is what has gotten us into the mess we’re in now.)

He’s well respected in town, too, I’ll have you know. Every day he sits in the gate with the other elders and his advice is appreciated. Whenever a difficult situation arises in regard to our city, the town fathers will seek Lot’s counsel. They say they can expect Lot to come up with viable solutions because he has a good understanding.

So I really shouldn’t complain, but tomorrow morning I’m definitely putting my foot down. I don’t want to risk ever having this happen again. Never again will I spend a wild night like this one!

As I said, Lot has always been kind to strangers. Sometimes he brings home company on short notice and I try to go along with it and not complain. Well, this morning, he tells me, he was sitting in the gate with the other ‘grey beards’ and in walks these two young fellows, looking around like they have obviously never been here before.

Something about them appealed to Lot – and I have to admit they seem to be very fine young men – so apparently Lot jumped up and invited them home for supper. He said they were talking of just sleeping in the street tonight and, as I said, Lot has a good understanding of the way things work around here. He was afraid they’d get mugged – or worse. (I must admit, there are some really strange people in this city.) So rather than see them sleep in the park, he told them they can spend the night with us.

Anyway, Lot comes into the house this afternoon and tells me about these two men he’s asked home, wondering if we could treat them to our hospitality and good cooking for supper and could they stay the night? I must confess I was rather flattered and didn’t mind sharing our space. Innocent as I was, I didn’t foresee any problems. In fact, such handsome young men might even make good sons-in-law some day, should they decide to settle down here.

So Lot brings them into the house and shows them to the guest room where they can stretch out for awhile if they wish. Then Lot instructs the servants to get them anything they need. After this Lot comes to me and he whispers in my ear, “I think these fellows are angels.”

I didn’t take this very seriously at first. “They’d better be,” I whispered right back. “Remember we have two beautiful daughters at home and we don’t want any hanky-panky.”

(Mind you, it might almost serve him right if something did happen and one of these fellows ran off with Beth or Sue. Our poor daughters are getting teased constantly these days by all their friends because they are still so innocent.)

You know how smart young folks can be once they get wise to the facts of life. The other girls torment our daughters, telling them they’ll grow old and wrinkled and still be single because their prude of a father won’t ever let them out of his sight. I remind them that their other sisters found good husbands and they will, too, but teenagers are so eager to experience everything. It’s hard for them to wait for someone that suits their Dad.

Back to my story. These young men settled down in the guest room for a couple of hours and then we called them for supper. At the table they seemed nice enough, and I tried to make a few suggestions as to how they might spend the evening.

I told them the Gomorrah Generation Singers are going to be performing tonight and they might want to take it in. (Gomorrah being a city just down the plain from ours an we have a lot to do with each other.) “This group is world-famous for their talent and harmony. You won’t hear any better.”

The one young man looked at me and said, “I have already heard music infinitely more beautiful.”

“Oh,” says I, somewhat taken aback. “Do you have some really good singers where you come from, too?”

“The music is heavenly, an angelic choir,” he answered. Then he sighed, seemed almost as if he were homesick. “Compared to them your singing groups are like clashing cymbals.”

I’ll confess I was a little miffed at his dismissal of our local talent. After all, I myself have heard some beautiful sounds come from this choir – and the musical arrangements are out of this world. Incredible talent, I’d say! He didn’t have to brag up his own country so much.

To be continued tomorrow…


The Tenderfoot

The minute he stepped out of the stagecoach that morning we could tell he was a tenderfoot. A real lily. His boots were clean; his jeans had no holes; his hands had no callouses. After the first afternoon of riding the trail in the hot sunshine he says he’s feeling “a bit faint.” La-de-dah.

The second day on the trail he asked the cook if we’d ever be served oysters. Can you imagine? Cook’s roar of laughter almost spooked the cattle. But we’d break him in. We make all our new ranch hands into real cowpokes if we can and we usually have a lot of fun doing it. But this one was a real jewel – or should I say “a pearl.”

We were sure to warn him that when he used nature’s biffy he should turn over every rock around in case a rattler was hidden under one. After all, we’d say, “You don’t want any painful jabs in the behind and we don’t want to have to lance and drain ‘em.” Of course we all stood around sober as a judge as we told him, and he still hasn’t been informed that there are no rattlers in these parts.

After that I don’t know if he was more scared of the rattlers or of us; every time he lit off his horse he looked around real careful first. Well, that was just too good to resist, you know. One afternoon while the rest of us rode on, Art slips back and picks up this garter snake he’d seen beside the trail. Carries it along in his saddle bag until we make camp. When our tenderfoot goes off to dreamland, Art sticks this snake in one of his boots.

Next morning you should have heard him yell when he stuck his toe into the boot and the poor snake wriggled a bit. ‘Course we all offer to cut of a few of his toes if the snake bit him. Cook flashed a nasty-looking cleaver and we tell him it’s the only way to save his life. Thought he was going to keel over right there and then, ‘til he realized we were just funning him.

Early one morning, just for fun, Sam pours out a little gun powder around a dried up bush, then trails off behind a nearby tree. When our tenderfoot ambles off toward the woods for some privacy, Sam’s waiting, flat out, behind that tree. He lights the gunpowder and we all watch out the corner of our eye as this little flash of white zips long to the bush and gets there at exactly the same minute as our new cowpoke. Suddenly there was this poof and flash as the bush combusted. He jumped three feet and took off running. Did we ever laugh!

Oh, we had our fun with that guy in the four days he was with us. But he found the work too strenuous, so he quit and went to college. I believe he became a dentist; heard his name in the capital city one time I was there.

Look him up if you ever get a toothache. He was a good guy; probably didn’t deserve a bunch of rascals like us.

Not Such Bad Luck

Once upon a time in far-off China, there lived a farmer who had only one son — one precious heir to whom he would leave his small property. The farmer also had one horse. One day this horse managed to get out of his corral and ran off.

“Such bad luck!” the neighbors said to the man.

“Don’t speak too soon,” said the farmer. “How can you know if this is really bad luck?”

The neighbors were really surprised the next evening when the horse showed up with a dozen other wild horses following him. He led them into the corral and the farmer’s son quickly ran and shut the gate.

When they saw that he now had thirteen horses the neighbors congratulated the farmer. “This is such good luck for you!”

“Don’t speak too soon,” said the wise farmer. “How do you know this is going to be a good thing for us?”

Some days later the son attempted to break one of the wild horses, but the wild stallion would have none of it. He bucked frantically and the young man fell off, breaking his leg.

Neighbors shook their heads when they saw the injured son. “You were right, old man. This has been very bad luck.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” the old man calmly repeated. “How can you be sure of that?”

A few days later a local warlord came through the village and ordered all the able-bodied young men to come with him to help fight in his war. But when he saw the farmer’s son hobbling along, he shook his head. “This boys is of no use to me.”

So the farmer’s son was left behind because of his broken leg. The other young men who were forced to accompany the warlord in his conflict were never seen again. The farmer and his son rejoiced over the “bad luck” that turned out to be their biggest blessing.

There are times in everyone’s life when something constructive is born out of adversity.  – Lee Iaccoacca