The Fading of the Green

     Early on a chilly Sunday morning in early November, I woke early and took Mila for a walk. The sun had already risen above the horizon to cast a golden glow upon the trees, highlighting the newly painted leaves of yellow and red, yet leaving contrasting shadows that make for more brilliant sparkles in the dew upon the grass. An ethereal mist veiled the middle pond on the back stretch of the park trails, and the water was still, reflecting the morning as perfectly as a mirror.
     The air was brisk, as was my pace; Mila pulling me along to eagerly greet new scents and chase after the foraging squirrels. The grass is still mostly green, after a couple of days of soaking rains. Yet, the fade to brown has begun. While there is a sadness in the passing of summer, there is such beauty in the arrival of autumn with its golden, flame red, and orange shades of leaves adorning the trees in a brilliant display of life before the long sleep of winter. The mists that shroud the fields, lakes and roads at sunrise add a sense of calm to the new day, encouraging a deep breath and a few moments of meditation before the frenetic activities of work or play crowd the mind with stress.
     Though cars and trucks were already motoring to some unknown destination, they only interrupted the pleasant melodies of the mockingbirds, robins, jays, ducks and a few geese that played in the background, leaving the walk relatively quiet.
     In mornings like these, I strongly feel the presence of the Lord and am awed by the wonder of His creation. This, for me, is a form of worship that can only be appreciated in the stillness of the dawn. My heart and soul are filled with love and peace. Inspiration follows. I now write to share the precious experience with those who could not see, hear, smell and feel it. I encourage the reader to seek out these moments for they are a priceless blessing.




    May the Lord richly bless you,


    Lori Vidak   11/10/14

Velveteen Green Summer of '14

Brilliant green grass as lush as velvet

Leafy trees as bushy as cotton candy

Waters blue and forest from sky and tree

Colorful bursts of red, pink and yellow buds.

Welcome, needed rains to quench the earth.

Brisk breezes to keep all things cool.

God's blessed gift of relief and awe

Was the North Texas Summer of 2014.

Green Pastures

   

 I am a sheep, defenseless and clueless.

I need a shepherd, a good shepherd to guide and protect me.

I do not always choose the best pastures, the right paths,

or the safest waters from which to drink.

Without Him I will follow other sheep even if they are walking a path that leads to death.

I tend to wander off, distracted by other places. 

My Good Shepherd uses his rod to discipline me that I will learn to stay with Him.

He uses his staff to rescue me when I have fallen into a pit or gotten in over my head.

When I am injured or sick he is my healer, anointing me with oil.

Though my enemy is near, the Shepherd stands guard to defend me while I eat, sleep or drink.

The Shepherd gives me purpose; He harvests my wool.

Because of my Shepherd I have a happy, long life and am content basking in His loving presence.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me to lie down in green pastures;

he leads me beside the still water.

He restores my soul;

he leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;

for you are with me; your rod and your staff comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies:

you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; 

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Green pastures of lush grass, often decorated with bright flowers of yellow, red and blue are a place of bounty, play and rest. Few creatures can resist the urge to leap and play, then roll onto their backs to look up at bright blue sky. When sheep are scattered across the rolling hills or flat meadows, they appear like fluffy clouds hovering over the green, often mirrored by the fluffy clouds of white above.

When I think of green pastures, I remember my horse Angel and the hours she spent munching through them and the times I rode her across them. I think of green meadows filled with violets, daisies, and dandelions as my mom and dad flew paper kites with my brother Doug and me. I think of black and white dairy cows lumbering across the fields or huddled around a lone tree in the midst of a sea of green grass. I think of the smell of spring and summer, freshly mowed fields and lawns. Green pastures are simple contentment in the provision of the Almighty.

I love green pastures.

Lori Vidak 7-01-14

Why the Green Eyed Monster?

Why the Green Eyed Monster?

It twas Shakespeare first defamed the eyes so rare, 

and Disney who turned them against the princesses fare.

Portia: How all the other passions fleet to air,as doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair, and shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy!

O love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy, in measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.

I feel too much thy blessing: make it less, for fear I surfeit.

   Iago:  Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster

 which doth mock the meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger, but oh, what damned minutes tells he o'er who dotes, yet doubts--suspects, yet soundly loves!

Has jealousy raged so much the more from those with eyes of green?

Do not blue eyes cast a piercing gaze as well?

And do not deep brown eyes blacken with rage as mean?

Was it evil plot or chance, William and Walt, do tell,

To portray the color of spring into such a scene? 

Lori Vidak 6-20-14

     

Don't Mess with the Frog!

Today, I was scrolling through my Facebook posts and saw this: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=3649169309116&set=vb.1270958814&type=2&theater.

     "Hmm, what's this?" wondered the happy green frog.
     He watched as bugs, one after another, magically appeared and crawled across the smooth glass platter held by his owner's hand.
    "Wow, bugs on a shiny platter! My human really loves me!"
     His tongue ready, he aimed. Fire one! Fire two! Fire three!
     "What the heck? I know I didn't miss!"
     Fire again! Hit! Hit!
     "Hey! Wait a second. A game! I get you the high score and no bugs for me!"
     He caught on about the thumb and the game. When he saw the thumb move next, he thought, "Oh no you don't! I'm not falling for this again!"
     He jumped and clamped down on that thumb, trying to hold it for ransom.
    "Feed me! Now! And no tricks this time! You don't mess with the Frog!"

     I couldn't help myself. I had to make a post of this on Shades of Green.

Lori Vidak 6-15-14

Ode to Emerald Eyes

I was a wee lad when emerald eyes did gleam my way

brightened by rosy cheeks and a sweet smile from cerise lips.

A tiny, soft hand firmly grasped my own on that fateful day.

And with that first enchantment I have never come to grips.

That tot's sweet words filled my young head with plans beyond my years,

even as her heaven-sent embrace filled my heart with love.

I swear that an angel's voice whispered her name in my ears,

and promised this precious rose was born for me from above.

Such a gift from my own clan drew from me a solemn oath

 of devotion and protection which only death could end.

I know the union of our young souls was felt by us both,

A tot and a lonely boy, still too young to comprehend.

To the guardians about us, we were merely playmates,

as kinship expected a couple of children to be.

To them, our pretend nuptials were no hint of the fates,

but the mere harmless mimicry of ages nine and three.

Her screaming terrors in the night only I could still

as I drew my knightly sword to fight the demon shadows.

Then, with caresses to her tresses, I'd ward off fear's chill.

I would stay until the sun's light peaked through the window.

In the garden, we would walk to the fountain and skip stones,

While our parents picnicked out on the neatly trimmed grass.

Until that bigoted old galoot came with bitter bones

and placed his violent curse upon my lovely lass.

His fists beat his own daughter, the grandmother of my rose.

And in his wrath, he kicked aside the brave girl who cried for peace.

The fathers brought the old man to the ground and broke his nose;

The rosebud lay silent; the elder rose's breath had ceased.

The clan that sought to mend a terrible rift from the past,

It was now more torn apart than could ever be reconciled.

Though I fought to change the cruel malediction cast,

I was too young to stop my soul mate from being exiled.

Years of defying Granddaddy brought me brutal beatings,

but he was the laird, and his will was law in our castle.

I was ordered to forget, to stop my constant pleadings,

then to boarding school I was sent to avoid more hassle.

They ne'er knew of the picture I kept inside my head,

of emerald eyes that peered into the depths of my soul,

and like beacons guided my dreams as I lay in my bed,

across seas and years they gave me purpose, gave me a goal.

But when I learned of her tragic loss and relocation,

her emeralds became haunting orbs of sorrow and pain.

I felt her wandering clueless in a strange new nation,

and wondering if Sean would ever come to her again.

I could make no calls or send no notes, so help me I tried.

Whether by my folks or her grandparents they were all blocked.

So I plotted and found those with whom I could be allied,

through which to implement my strategies and have her stalked.

I learned the details of her daily life so far away,

all about her struggles, triumphs, talents and ambitions.

Everything I learned only increased my love for her each day,

and strengthened my resolve to outwit the prohibitions.

At last I traversed the great Atlantic to see her face,

and spotted eyes so green they rivaled the Emerald Isle.

She was still so young, yet endowed with such beauty and grace,

that my knees nearly buckled when I glimpsed her winsome smile.

Through the schoolyard fence she acknowledge me but a stranger,

and I at first could not comprehend how she could not know.

Was I not her Sean, knight to protect her from all danger?

I could hardly contain my heart's disappointment and woe.

Through my tears I observed a quiet, compassionate lass,

who was the one friend of a boy with cerebral  palsy.

He spied me staring at them just as they were called to class,

He pointed at me; I left before accused falsely.

I did see that emerald gaze from over her shoulder

and noted confusion in it and the sadness that I caused.

I wondered the harm I might have done had I been bolder.

I could have frightened her, me sixteen, she ten, and I paused.

Ten years fly by. I carefully watched her mature

while I anonymously worked hard to influence her life.

I was impressed by the resilience of one so demure.  

But, she drove men wild with naivety, causing me much strife.

I could no longer stay in the shaded perimeters,

so I made my move to make our paths literally collide.

I had spent hours pondering all the particulars.

So I applied my charm and turned the tide; she'd be my bride.

My rose blushed and her emerald eyes were incandescent,

when she heard my brogue, saw my brawny self and searched my blues.

Though Sean in her mind was a memory evanescent,

the Sean in her heart stood before her and re-lit love's fuse.

Oh what rapturous joy to gaze in those jewels of green,

to hear her laughter, hold her hand and talk with her again.

I caressed rose scented raven locks with blue velvet sheen.

My passion for her took a will of iron to contain.

But that cruel curse, spat long ago, raged from across the sea,

and suspicions of my intent incurred a demons wrath.

To honor my father and spare his broken heart for me,

I had to make assurances to him and alter my path.

My rose would be in my life, but I would not marry.

I had to give her away to the brother I had found,

and my goal of matrimony, now dead, I'd bury.

Instead she'd work for me; our discoveries would be profound.

The orchestration of all our lives seemed without a glitch.

My rose and I had reason to be together nearly everyday.

I was content to share with my brother her who made us both rich.

We made a happy family in a peculiar way.

Even though I had not foiled the curse, I did have victory.

I had obtained with sweet finesse that which was forbidden.

The blind bigot now appeased, I had my rose; she had me.

In all our years, no one discovered that which I'd hidden.

Then, my brother did the unthinkable and broke her heart.

I felt was given a second chance to make her my bride.

She turned to me, her friend, but passion freed tore her apart.

Comfort she needed most, and I, her host, had crossed a line.

A storm of jealousy unleashed its fury upon us;

my brother, now my enemy, my rose fled the fierce fight.

For her sake, we came to our senses and ended our fuss,

but not before my rose had disappeared into the night.

Against my own desire, I helped my brother bring her back.

To lure her in, I told her I would meet and sail with her.

then betrayed her with a kiss, dropping with a heart attack.

In fear for my life, she summoned my brother, the doctor. 

Near death, I saw a future where I was a fox's mate.

My brother's son was mine, and my rose bore a baby girl.

Blessings were mine if I followed the prophecy of fate.

If I did not, the end of my world would unfurl.

For a time, my rose was lost at sea with a rogue seaman.

My anger burned not against him but against my dear friend.

I stuffed it while my brother and I tracked her and that demon.

We dealt with the sea devil but were too late in the end.

That cocky captain was dead by his own foolhardiness.

My brother took a bullet to his chest and sleeps to recover,

but my rose was shot in the back and drowned--a hopeless mess.

Tubes and wires, bleeps and blips, doctors and nurses gave life to her.

I wept at her side for weeks and mourned the loss of my rose.

Comforted by the woman who carried my brother's son, 

The sexy fox I foresaw to whom I was to propose.

I could not quit life because, with this fox, I was not done.

Miraculously, my prayers for my friends were granted.

My brother awakened, announcing new faith and a gift.

Into my rose and the unborn, new life he implanted.

Her cheeks blushed; her emeralds shone bright; her recovery was swift.

Joy and thanksgiving engulfed my pitiful, depressed self.

My lost family was returned to me as good as new.

Now, we could all store the past away on some dusty shelf.

A future awaited us, which our God would see us through.

However, obsessed, I was unable to leave the past behind.

In a private moment with my rose, I stole a lengthy kiss.

After which, I left her alone to sort things out in her mind.

My brother went to find her; he felt something was amiss.

A note was left to reassure him but requested time and space.

He was willing to oblige her, but not me. I was provoked.

Twas me she was avoiding, and I'd say so to her face.

Later, I went to confront her, in the darkness I was cloaked.

Against the one who cursed me and against my entire clan as well,

Against my brother, against my God, and against my rose,

I fumed as I tracked down that woman to whom I'd raise hell,

Anger smoldering as I stomped along the road I chose.

I meant to punish her sore with a turn over my knee,

and I caught her off guard in the midst of an ancient site.

Like a volcano, I spewed my rage, my hurt, and let it free.

She didn't cower but was a quick, fearsome, fiery sprite.

I am ashamed of myself for I was a burly brute

and drug her along, shook her about, and bruised her backside.

I tried to take her, and twas my possessiveness at the root.

But she pointed out, she was not now nor ever my bride.

My fever dissipated, but not my justified fears.

Had I become the monster I thought my dad's dad to be? 

She didn't know what I'd suppressed all the years,

The bad blood that spoiled our childhood--tainted our history.

Yet still, she loved me, forgave me, wanting back her dear boss.

She had discovered a new story that we two now share.

I listened to her amazed, and my fear was at a loss

for the ancient ancestry of which I was unaware.

My rose had justified our relationship through the past

and blessed my future marriage to her husband's ex-mistress.

I had uncorked my bottled anger from my soul at last.

and we had come to an understanding through mutual distress.

Now, I am married to a beautiful fox, as I'd foreseen.

My brother and my rose are reconciled, their vows anew.

We all eagerly await the arrival of the weans,

and on the surface, at least life was going as on cue.

Yet, my rose has gone away on a trip with my brother,

and I sit here in my library with my wife in our room.

Emerald eyes still appear to me. Raven hair frames them.

I have loved my rose since her mother bore her from the womb.

My rose is at once my sister, my charge, and my inspiration.

I helped mold her into the woman she has now become.

She doesn't remember her Sean, a mere apparition,

as I remember the wee bairn my gran brought home.

If she doesn't remember her visits at the estate

or the young playmate that stayed with her in her folk's cottage,

would revelation do harm to her fragile mental state?

If she's stronger than I perceive, she would want this knowledge.

Such a revelation could change the delicate balance.

There are more people involved in our lives now than ever.

Can I confess the past without hurting our alliance?

Emerald eyes will have to search my soul to remember.

Not the end.

Lori Dawn Vidak

6-7-14

Green with Envy

Hello, my friends,

We've met before. I'm Envy. I've been around since the Garden of Eden. You can't help but be attracted to my lovely shade of bright neon green. There are few who don't love to bask in the light of my glow. Whether by day or night, I will get your attention. It's what I do. My sole purpose is to take your focus off your path, your work, your family, your friends, and especially off of God. It is easy to do. I simply give you a glimpse at what is just beyond your reach.
Look, just over there--that path across the way.
And, there. Your buddy's job is quite prestigious, isn't it?
Who's that across the street? Isn't that your neighbor's wife and three adorable boys. She's stacked, seems built for pleasure, if you know what I mean. Her husband is buff, no wonder he has a wife like her. You could use some time at the gym, don't you think? And those boys always win trophies. Your boys seldom do. Such a shame.
Wow, what was that? Oh, yes, it's your brother's flashy, red Porsche. What car do you drive? A Honda CRV. Hmm, well, I suppose it is practical. At least it's red.
Where's your boss, today? In Switzerland, skiing in the Alps? Didn't he fly there in his own private jet? When was the last time you took a vacation? Oh, that's right, you took the family on a camping trip to Turner Falls, Oklahoma. I guess you were surrounded by mountains if you can call those hills mountains.
Are you catching on, yet?
I enlighten you on all the things which you don't have, which you should have, which you must have! I disparage every good blessing you experience, by comparison. God's will in the matter is no longer important. All you see is what I put before you through selfish eyes of mortal finite sight. Ultimately, as I did to Adam and Eve, I draw you to God's Power, Dominion, and Creations, but away from Him.
I am your Master, and a good one. I drive you to work longer hours to get that raise that will enable you to afford that new Porsche. I encourage you to get that higher education even if you have to take out student loans of nearly insurmountable debt to gain the degree and skills to obtain that grand salary like your brother Bill. I will convince you to take out a second mortgage to pay for that mountain cabin. I will insist that you max out your credit cards to take that European Vacation. It will, after all, be so educational for the kids. Then, I keep you striving for more, always trudging to pay off your debts--so that you don't ruin your credit.
When the opportunities run out to achieve greater success, the credit is shot, the economy has gone south, or you just don't want to work that hard--I whisper in your ear that it's okay to appropriate that envelope of petty cash in your bosses drawer, to funnel some of the corporation's funds into your own anonymous account, to steal your friend's dress and a neat pair of shoes out of her closet the next time you visit, to beat up the guy who lives two doors down, whom you never liked, and take his $150.00 basketball shoes that you noticed happen to be your size.
     I started the First Truly Worldwide Green Movement. They have it. We want it. Let's take it. Slaves, land, villages, towns, cities, states, kingdoms, countries, nations, and empires were overcome by my green glow, painting the streets with the red blood of my subjects. Too bad the innocent get in the way. Red is such a complimentary color to green, don't you think?
    I have helped raise trillions of dollars for all those lovely, irritating commercials that interrupt your shows and sports games. Because of me, trillions more are raised to cover the medical expenses of my stressed-out servants. You know, all that anxiety is bad for the heart, causes cancer and increases the size of your waistlines. With more things comes more responsibility, and the need to protect what you have from those other people who want your stuff and aren't afraid to take it.
Of course, I am also the one who stimulates the growth of law enforcement; the legal system; the prisons; the emergency rooms; the hospitals; the latest greatest drug to cure those stress-related illnesses or numb the pain of a frantic or shallow existence. I am at the giver of the best high and dangle false hopes of the promise of youth.
I am the reason for the necessity of military spending. The size of the trade deficit and the National Debt of the Greatest Nation Under God on this planet are two of my grandest achievements. Soon I hope to bring down all governments through my influence upon the younger generation whom I have convinced that they are entitled to higher wages, welfare, healthcare, fancy clothes, tasty delights, fast cars, bling, cell phones, entertainment, higher education, housing, drugs, and alcohol--whatever they fancy really. Doesn't this seem reasonable?
I've convinced even my hardest workers that this is only fair. They don't mind, and if they do, no matter. They will keep working for me because they can never be satisfied. Even if they should find satisfaction, the rest of my restless, selfish clan will force the best and brightest to keep up the pace or suffer the consequences.
Yes, Yes. I know this will wreak havoc and chaos, but so it must to reset the game. Throughout history, I have been the catalyst of the collapse of even the greatest of Empires. Me! Little old Envy. Who would have thought?
God knew all along what I could do, would do. He established a commandment against me. Oh, you know. the tenth. Do not covet? Remember? No? So few of you guessed it. I'm not surprised. My dazzling neon green self has distracted you from even caring what God wants, you only care what you want. In fact, because of me, more and more of you have forgotten God. Many others never saw Him, don't believe He exists. And, without His light in the way--my light is ever so much brighter.
It's such a shame, really, that so few know Him. He's awesome in wonder. He did create the entire universe with a word. His inspiration is behind true innovation, wisdom, and knowledge. He is Love--not the wishy-washy, fickle affections and lusts that I tantalize you with, but real unconditional, sacrificial, steadfast, eternal love.
Get this, (even this brings tears to my eyes), He sent His only begotten Son to be born as one of you, a human, mortal, but perfect in obedience, love, and faith, to die as a sacrifice for your sins, an excruciating, humiliating death on a cross, that all of you can have eternal life with Him. That's how much He loves you.
You are a pathetic lot. I don't know what the Almighty sees in you, let alone understand how He can love you. He's so perfect, so radiant. In Him is the fulness of peace and joy. He is Love. How can He stand you? I don't get it.
I, Envy, envy those who find Him in spite of my distractions. I don't, however, envy the rest of you who sell yourselves short for a lessor light like me. Hell is what's in store for you. Hell is where I'll be spending Eternity, so you, who bathe in my light, will also be serving me there. We can be miserably unsatisfied and tormented over this unfathomable love and mercy that such a God would give to wretched humans. Until then, keep up the hard work, and live the impossible, never-ending dream of more and better.


Lori Vidak
Revised 3-12-20

Is Your God Green?

    Whether you think that marijuana should be legalized or not, if you smoke the weed, has it become your God? Think about it? do you spend more time smoking it, thinking about it, growing it, fraternizing with fellow pot smokers and talking about it than just about anything else. Do you spend more money on pot than you can afford? Perhaps more than on dates with your significant other, on gifts for your mom, on your education? Do you spend more on pot than  you give back to help others?
Can you walk away from that next hit, with not another thought as to if you'll ever take another?

    Anything that controls your life, becomes the center of your life, or influences your life to the point that you identify with it and others identify you because of it, has become an idol in your life--a green one. Maybe you don't care. Maybe you do. But, I personally wouldn't want to rely upon the almighty weed to help me put my life in order, to supply all my needs, or give me eternal life.
     Maybe you think you hear directly from God because you smoke weed, but I tell you that the Creator God doesn't need weed to enhance communication. In fact, being under the influence of any intoxicant makes you open to the voice and influence of demons and dark spirits, not God. If you want to hear from God, clear your head, and open your heart to Him, don't clutter up your brain with green fog.
    If you are simply a casual smoker, as some people are casual drinkers, I do not say that pot of itself is evil or that it will keep you from your salvation. I only say that when we play around with anything that can interfere with our thought processes and open us up to making dumb decisions, we reap what we sew.
    If you smoke marijuana, or are considering it, think on what it is really doing for you. Would your life be more or less fulfilled without it? Only you can answer that question. Leave a comment and let me know your answer. You can tell me what you think is good about the plant, or you can leave a comment about a bad experience with it.

Lori Vidak
5-16-14

My Dad's Green Fog

     Okay, I'm giving you fair warning that this is body humor, maybe vulgar, and definitely crude, but the embarrassing moments of being human gave birth to humor, if you have a sense of it. So, if you are offended by this post, I gave you fair warning. And if you are offended--lighten up!

     Before I ever knew a thing about pot, and the literal green fog that those who toke it make, my Dad was the creator of the only Green Fog I had ever heard of until I was 19 years old. Let me tell you a bit about Dad. He was a Texan, from generations of Texans. He was raised on biscuits and gravy for breakfast and beans for lunch and dinner with whatever fruit or veggie relatives could grow. He loved his coffee thick and black. His favorite sandwiches were baloney and peanut butter. He ate garlic on everything, and lots of it, except for the peanut butter. He mostly wore overalls and long-sleeved snap up or button up cotton shirts, sometimes he'd were jeans, but belts didn't always hold up his britches very well. He was a collector of anything he thought might be of some use. And he had an aversion to most types of soap. He was old school when it came to baths, once a month, maybe once a year was fine, with a little bit of washin' in the morning. He was a mechanic and a tinkerer and loved being outside in the heat. Didn't mind a good sweat.

     My first memory of Dad's Green Fog was the night he took Mom, my brother Doug and me to the drive-in to see--I don't remember--but it could have been James Bond, John Wayne, Disney or some cheesy Dracula movie. We had beans and hot dogs for dinner. The windows were rolled up so that we could hear the mono sound speaker more clearly. Doug and I were in the back seat. Dad let one rip. At first we all laughed at the sound. It was a classic--what every whoopy cushion hopes to produce when it becomes the practical joke of some kid or grandpa. Then, we gagged when the odious stench hit our nostrils. Tears squeezed from our eyes as our laughter turned into uncontrollable hysterics. This was the worst kind of laughing gas. We began to roll down the windows. Back then we had a Studebaker, with no power windows, but I don't think I've ever seen a power window roll down so fast as our little arms did that night. After we were able to finally speak, we begged to be allowed to sit up on the roof of the car. Dad had to say yes. He had exposed us to the toxic bean gas heavily loaded with garlic fumes. From that night on, my brother and I either sat up on top of the car or brought lawn chairs to the drive-in because Mom always forgot and fixed beans and hot dogs before the movie.

    The second memory of Dad's Green Fog B was on Saturday, after he had some home from working the night shift at Navajo Freight Lines. At the time we had two Basenji dogs, Kufu and Fala. Fala usually found a spot near Mom to park, but Kufu owned the coach, that is when Dad didn't claim it and this morning Dad was sitting in Kufu's spot, so Kufu sat at Dad's feet. Dad kicked off his shoes. My brother and I were watching Saturday morning cartoons, when we were suddenly hit with a wave of what smelled like nasty, moldy cheese and rotting corpse. We turned to see the squiggly hot odor lines rising out of Dad's shoes and from his socks. We pinched our noses closed and whined. Kufu, however, loved the smell so much that he buried his nose in one of the shoes. He rolled over on his back doing the happy dog. Then he rolled back over and stuck his nose in the shoe again. He sniffed deep. It was the first time I'd ever seen and heard a dog sneeze, and sneeze, and sneeze, and sneeze! My Dad laughed so hard he cried, and my brother and I rolled around on the floor giggling.

    The third memory of Dad's Green Fog C was after Dad had been working in the yard. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the back of a chair. He always wore an undershirt, the classic short sleeved, white t-shirt. His back was bothering him, so he laid down on the floor. This was a chance for my brother and I to tickle him. We crawled all over him, trying to find his tickle spots, and when we found one, he'd laugh then grab hold of us and put us under his arm in a vice. His pungent armpits were a torture trap. We squirmed, cried and laughed, trying to get away. Then when we did, our hair would smell like his pits. We thought it was funny, but when Mom would catch a whiff of us, we would get a bath in Mr. Bubble to wash the stench out. Now that I think about it, the smell of my Dad's pits, a skunk and Pot are very similar, except that my Dad's odors or the skunks never gave me a headache.

    As Dad grew old, his achievements in stench became legendary. Now that he's gone, I wish he were around surrounded by his own personal brand of Green Fog to stink up the room and the furniture. I miss him. He was eccentric, but he was a good dad in the most important areas of life. He taught us to love God, believe in the saving work of Jesus, provided as best he could, and studied the bible with us long before we ever entered a church door. I love him.
 

I'm Still Trusting, Lord.

    Tomorrow is May 1st. The rent is due. Other bills are due. I don't have the cash to pay them all. I will have fewer water aerobics classes to teach in May, and I'm already behind. I've been praying for the Lord to stretch those meager dollars in my bank account, to let the phone ring with news that I am the inheritor of a million dollars from some aunt I never met, could be an uncle, to find that part-time opportunity that will quickly earn me a few hundred dollars from home, or to win the lotto. I'm open to any miracle that the Lord will send my way.
   The answer to most or all of those suggestions is no, but I'm not worried because I know that the Lord is using this to grow my faith, conquer my fears and overcome anxiety. Do I really trust Him enough to wait upon Him? I do. I will not panic. The Lord will provide what I need, even if that is a lesson in how to better manage my finances and how to let go of my concept of what I have to do to pay the bills.

A Green Fog

    I was watching Hannity tonight; the topic of his show: Pot and its effects on our youth, our citizens and our nation, now and in the future, especially if federally legalized. Legalization is a controversial subject—makes for a great show with both those for and those opposed having reasonable, passionate arguments upon which their position is founded. I will not go into details on the debate. I believe almost every American has heard them.

   

      I have a handful of friends who smoke weed occasionally. They are not addicted to it. A toke on a joint mellows them out after a stressful day at work. They don’t smoke and drive.  They don’t smoke themselves stupid. Others in my life, who must remain unidentified, are without a doubt addicted to pot, and some entered through the gate to alcohol, prescription drugs and illegal drugs. All those who are addicted also smoke cigarettes. And all, whether addicted to weed or weed and other drugs or alcohol have either utterly been destroyed by it or flounder in unmotivated laziness.Their health, their memories, their ability to perform physically (this includes sexual), have been severely impaired. One died a few years ago, one had a heart attack several years ago, another is on dialysis, near death. Their ages range from teens to the fifties and sixties.

     Unfortunately, what person knows whether or not he is the one prone to addiction? Is it worth the risk? Some say yes. I say no because every individual interacts with family, children, friends, coworkers and strangers. If one smokes around them, they are contaminated. Society is drained by those who can’t hold a job. Brains are wasted in the stupor of the high. Memories are damaged. People are killed and maimed in car accidents by those that drive under the influence.

   How do I personally feel about Marijuana? I am the martyr, the victim. (I say this with the back of my hand to my forehead, my eyes closed as if to faint from the terrible weight of my burdens.) In reality I am both an enabler and a bystander. I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. A little alcohol goes straight to my head, giving me migraines and making me puke—after just one drink. I have never tried hard drugs, except one time when I was given a black beauty. I took half of the powder and was so wired I felt every molecule in my body vibrating and I hated it. My system is sensitive to all drugs, even the legal ones. Half a child’s dose of Benadryl will knock me out. I confess that I do have an addiction—caffeine.
     I was hooked as a teenager on coffee with cream and sugar, and Dr. Pepper. Later, as a mom and business woman, holding down extra part-time jobs to make ends meet and driving a teen and preteen around for all their activities, I discovered ephedra for extra energy— it was an herb, (so it had to be okay, right? Wrong!) I became hypersensitive to all stimulants. I get arrhythmias and panic attacks from even 1 cup of tea, half a cup of coffee or 3 good sips of Dr. Pepper.  Now, I drink only decaf beverages, but no diet drinks because aspartame and sucralose cause headaches and rashes. The following is my reaction to second hand exposure to pot.

    When the pungent, putrid odor of the plant and the smoke of a joint reach my nostrils, I want to get away, plug my nose and cover my mouth. I feel panicky, become nauseated, and the steady crescendo of a nagging headache begins. I often get arrhythmias. The longer I’m exposed to it, the worse I feel and yet I get the munchies which make the nausea worse. My coordination becomes affected; I feel dizzy and bump into things. Maybe for some, this is fun, but for me it is a nightmare. I try to explain this to those who smoke it around me, but they dismiss me as psychotic. I usually exile myself to my room, though it doesn’t help much, and sometimes leave my own home to escape the torture.

     Once someone cooked weed in spaghetti sauce and fed it to me, thinking it would be hilarious to get me stoned. I swear I thought I was losing my mind and having a stroke. I could hardly walk, form coherent sentences or see straight, and was so dizzy I thought I would pass out. The nausea hit me hard and so did the migraine. The person confessed to me what they had done. I was livid. I don’t put stuff like that in my body. What right does anyone else have to do such a thing to me? Shouldn't the same apply to smoke?

     And, to add insult to injury, those in my life who use the stuff are a drain on family finances, my finances. I can't take care of everybody, nor should, and I have far too often, but cutting people off is complicated, especially family.

    Do I get angry at those who want to legalize pot? Those who smoke pot? Yes, but I am also saddened knowing what a high percentage of pot smokers and their families will suffer in the future, knowing what this country will suffer in the future. Pot, drugs and alcohol problems will never be solved by government regulation or deregulation.

     In everyone there is a hole in their soul that only God can fill, and the only way to be filled with His Spirit is by faith in the saving work of Yeshua (Jesus,) the Messiah. In Him the soul is reborn. An eternal perspective on life is revealed and the temporary, fleeting satisfactions of selfish “pleasures” seem unworthy of precious time and resources. Seek that which is eternal, and be filled beyond measure with greater wisdom, peace, joy, hope and love—even in the trials of life.

Written by Lori Vidak 4/25/14