Columns & Editorials

While taping a video for Kids Talk About God television spots, I asked a kindergarten boy, “What did the signers of the Declaration of Independence declare freedom from?” He looked at me with some uncertainty and said, “Your parents.”

Dear Aunt B,

Hello, my name is Dina and I cohabitate with the world’s most interesting formerly feral cat named Olive. While I have exhausted my voice in columns past regarding Olive’s amazing feats of glory, she’s mastered some new skills that call for a revisit of her cool cat attributes. See, Olive has grown invisible opposable thumbs. Also, she is bilingual now. But, wait these are only two of the stories we will explore in today’s episode of Kaufman County’s finest purrcast, Olive the Grrrrrreat. How did we get here, you ask? First, let’s cue the Gilligan’s Island dream sequence music and go back all the way to April of 2017. I was working a design job in Granbury, TX. Someone who’d attended an event I’d styled asked me to come and redesign 2 rooms in her home using things she had in other parts of her house and in her storage buildings. In retrospect, I think she just wanted a good spring cleaning. Three days and one broken back later, the rooms looked magazine worthy. Imagine my face when the fee we had agreed upon was paid to me in gift cards. Let’s analyze that once more. I was paid in gift cards. I was livid yet nonconfrontational yet furious yet nauseated by the thought of the confrontation. So, I left with my broken back and money to burn at DSW and IHOP. Just as I was sinking into a woeful mood, my phone rang. It was my daughter-in-law. “Do you want a cat?” she said. “I’m getting one. My sister has a whole litter. They were found out in a field. They are too skinny, and they don’t have a mom.” Sick little kittens who lost their mittens, you say? That’s all I needed to hear. I am that crazy cat lady, after all.

“I sense God’s presence when I pray,” says Kaillyn, age 9. “God comes into my heart and gives me the power to lift my heart up and tell him all the things I need.”

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1a

Dear Aunt B,

During my mid to late 80s reign as community college queen of both North Central Texas and Northern Virginia (I am doing my twist at the elbow wave to the masses), I took some photography classes. Now, I know there are lots of photographers in this world, especially in these modern days. I mean you no disservice. Your work is gorgeous. I cannot duplicate your results. You have to admit, however, the photography game is drastically different in this digital world. For instance, I cannot manage these complicated edits with their preset lighting downloads and their photoshopping elements. My daughter-in-law’s favorite local photographer, for example, was able to photoshop my then 2-year-old grandson’s one pic of a smiling noggin in place of approximately 722 other photos where he was in hard core scream face mode. That is talent. You could not tell there were actual boogers dripping down into his mouth as he was holding his great-grandmother’s hand while standing in a pasture. But, photography in the 80s had a different set of difficulties that photogs today don’t have to navigate. The loading of the film cartridge is a whole column unto itself. Unless you forced that narrow, tabbed end into that little slit in the winder upper thingy just perfectly, the entire 200 yards of glossy brown film would recoil like a measuring tape full of memories. You dared not remove the film unless you were in complete and total darkness, either. I recall studying apertures and lens combinations and flash mechanisms and exposures. THERE WAS MATH INVOLVED, so much math. The only part I excelled at was the development piece, probably because I was an only child, hence solo work in a dark room was my jam. I tell you about these photography elements because, as often happens in life, a word bounced across my phone the other day, eliciting a guttural response of floods of memories. The word was macro. As if I were again 18 and sitting in a classroom, I blurted out, “Oh, there’s a lens setting for that!” Nope.

Last week I was surfing through Netflix and came across an intriguing program. The series was called “The Future of”. It is a series that explores a lot of different subjects like: Dating, Houseplants, Gaming, Space Vacations, Cheeseburgers, Death, Fashion, Skyscrapers, Sports, Health, and Headphones. All of these are fascinating subjects, and I have watched a couple of them and look forward to seeing more. But the first one that caught my interest was about dogs.

If you know how important it is to invest for your future, but you’re unsure of the road to follow, you may want to get some guidance and direction from a financial professional. But if you’ve never worked with one before, what can you expect?

Next week, we observe Independence Day, an opportunity to celebrate all the liberties we enjoy in this country. Of course, there are different types of freedoms – such as financial freedom, which can open the doors to many other opportunities. What steps can you take to gain your financial independence?

Late last year when we decided to move to Lone Oak, Texas, from Forney, a major consideration was availability of high-speed internet. In Forney we had gone exclusively to streaming television and cut our cost considerably. But with the move we knew that we would have to go back to satellite TV, and our internet service would probably be expensive and slow. We went back to Dish Network, and we have been happy to be able to record all of our favorite shows. However, our internet service has left a lot to be desired. We found that we could get WiFi from Cumbytel, a little local co-op that operates out of Cumby, Texas. But it isn’t really that fast, and it is very expensive.

Dear Th,

I grew up in a congregation that was very serious about singing and, in my earlier years, I attended singing and song leading schools. That is because I had preachers who were song writers and also taught at singing schools. My intermediate school principal was also my preacher, a very outgoing and overtly friendly man (in a good way) who was loved by everyone he met. His name was Don Boring, and he wrote a song that made a lifelong impression not only on me but on everyone who learned it. The song was called “Mighty Is the King Of Glory.” Not only are the words inspiring but the tune is contagious. The four-part harmony blends perfectly with each part: Soprano, Alto, Tenor, and Bass all complementing each other. I haven’t heard the song sung in over forty years, but sometimes when I am working in the yard the song will play in my head and I will remember my preacher and principal Don Boring.