Monthly Archives: September 2015

Five Rules for Being on My FB Friend List

Author’s Note: This is my “cheeky monkey” attempt at diffusing some of the frustration I’ve seen popping up (in myself and others) regarding FB posts. If you start to get offended, leave immediately. 😉

I’ve found myself really frustrated by FB lately. Overwhelmed and discouraged by some of what I see and hear, I decided to take a humorous look at my friend list, what I believe my friend list represents, and what my issues really are.

If you’re not on my list, review the rules and reach out. I may or may not take you back

If you’re still on my list and made the cut, please play by my rules.

  1. This is my electronic gin joint; sometimes, it caters to the lowest denominator in the spirit of connection (or what passes for connection these days). If you give in to the spirit of offense, you may want to check out. However, sexual harrassment or abusive language directed at a person instead of an idea or action is not tolerated.
  2. FB is not reality; I may sometimes need to drop or add people simply to play with features, bugs, or hacks (it’s just the way I’m wired). If I were you, I would be more worried if you showed up on my doorstep with an obeisance including high-quality coffee and I said no.
  3. No one bashes anyone over differences in idea or expression; we are tolerant in the way we express ourselves and let each other express one’s self. I will not tolerate Christians bashing non-Christians or pagans (and/or Protestants) peeing on the Pope. Tolerance does not mean complete acceptance however.
  4. My legal name is NEVER to be connected with my Facebook name or my blog unless a life is in mortal danger or a soul is in eternal danger. Sometimes, writers just have to do what they have to do; we mustn’t jeopardize day jobs or real-life social constructs when exploring ideas. However, I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to take themselves out of this world just because of something I wrote.
  5. The pattern is there is no pattern: I am a crazy writer with a crazy schedule and sometimes I explore crazy ideas.

Misty and the Oom Sound Weapon

Author’s Note: When it’s just me around the house, I have a no-kill policy for creatures. I try more for trap and remove. I’m just squeamish about dead things (but getting better). This story is based on a recent incident, but it’s written from the perspective of the creature. Let me know what you think.

My name is Misty. I’m just a quiet grey creature who’s so very small, and I don’t like a lot of attention or noise or actions. My clan tries to live and make peace with the Ooms. They don’t understand us too well. They’re so big, and sometimes they’re mean. And they don’t listen when we try to talk.

We try to listen to our Elders. They teach us the ways of the Ooms–which ones are dangerous, which ones make good living mates, you know, all the important things.

My clan, in their peace-making efforts, lives in the big caves of the Ooms. These caves are warm and often provide us lots of food. Sometimes, they are too well lit. Other times, they don’t understand we want peace, and they set traps to catch us. The ones who get caught smell funny and are never seen again.

Too many of my older brothers and sisters have disappeared this way in my cave. I’d been a really good mouse, and I really tried to listen to my Elders.

But I really blew it last week.

My Oom cave had three levels. Our Elders have said none of the levels should be visited openly in daylight when the sun can be seen. But I was SO hungry. I just had to venture out.

I was in this cool and quiet room in the Oom cave. Nothing was happening. I couldn’t smell any good food, and I couldn’t find the water I kept smelling, so I sat and thought about it.

All of a sudden the door burst open. I thought it was an Oom, but then there was this awful, loud noise. It was in my lower hearing range, and I could feel it shaking my insides. It couldn’t really be an Oom; none of the Elder’s stories said anything about sound and noise and feeling sick and vibrating in my belly. It went away for a while.

Then it came back. It was horrible. It looked so real, like an Oom, but it had this horrific sound. It had to be some deceptive Oom machine made to look like an Oom. It just had to be a weapon, something the Ooms made to hurt my clan.

And it approached me…Ooms aren’t supposed to approach us. It’s the Elders’ rules! I don’t know about their machines though. Don’t the Oom machines have to follow the same rules as the Ooms?

I sat, shaking and quaking. I didn’t have any Elders to help me. I just didn’t know what to do.

All of a sudden, I was tumbled into something with an artificial sky. I could see everything. The sky was above me, but I couldn’t get out even though it looked like I could run for it.

The horrible Oom sound machine flew me through the Oom cave and put me outside the Oom cave. It was so bright. I started getting sick all over again. I just couldn’t stop shaking. I peed and peed and pooped and pooped.

And I could not escape.

I was alone for a while. The Oom machine kept going away and coming back; it tapped the sides whenever it was there. I started to feel okay when it left, but I would get sick all over again when it came back. I really hoped it would go away and never come back.

This was a disaster of epic proportions. I cried and cried, but the Elders just couldn’t hear me. As the sun moved and the air got cooler, I saw another Oom. I started shaking as it approached me. It didn’t look like that other bad Oom machine.

At least, it was quiet. It started to move me through the air again. You just can’t imagine how horribly scary it is to fly when your clan was never designed with wings. It started taking me to where the winged clans live; most of the winged clans are good and won’t make my clan disappear. The lands of the winged clans have lots of nice leaves and ground, and I can hide. I will follow the Elder’s rules about hiding this time!

The Oom dumped me out. I wanted to yell at the Oom. I tried, but it was walking away and I was too angry and scared to put my voice in a way Ooms can hear.

I stopped, and I stayed where I landed. I thought it was all safe, but then… I smelled it. On the wind…

It was a Destroyer. It was horrific. The sound isn’t as bad as the Oom sound weapon, but you know once you hear it you have to run for your life. The Elders tell us no one ever meets a Destroyer and lives to tell about it.

I ran and ran. I finally found a little hollow and hid. The Destroyer passed, but it was so horrific. I froze. I’ve sat here for a week. My friend the monk who goes by Chip leaves me little nuts. He tells me I have to leave soon.

I wish I would have listened to the Elders.

Elders, if you can hear me, I promise I will be a good member of the clan. I promise I will listen to all your rules. Just come find me and take me to another Oom cave, any Oom cave but that one. And make sure you tell little clan members about the Oom sound weapon!

Zippy Takeover, #7

I know it’s been a while. I’m sorry… but not sorry enough to put my tail between my legs and hang my head.

I’ve had a rough few months. I don’t know how to talk about it. I’d talk to ‘Zee, but her Dad has been away off and on.

It’s my Mom. She’s not been her usual self. She hasn’t walked me. She doesn’t hold me. It’s only been the last few days that she started petting my head or stroking my ears or hiding my paws when I need to bite and lick them (really wish she wouldn’t do that).

Many nights ago, she went away for a night. When she came back, she smelled like the V-E-T, only the human V-E-T and not just any human V-E-T but a different human V-E-T. She went straight to her bed and rarely got up for days. And her smell was different… it was better and not better, like something was fixed and something was broken.

Sometimes, she grabs her belly like something’s wrong. Other times, she seems okay, almost better than okay; she goes like she’s going to get on all fours with me, but never quite makes it.

I try to get on the bed with her, but my ‘On has been really mean. He won’t let me touch her much, and he makes me go to my bed. I tried to run and jump and sneak up on her, but when I land on the bed, her smell gets really bad and she curls up and doesn’t look at me. It’s only been the last few nights where I could sneak in and put myself across her feet as long as I climb gently.

I’m frustrated. All I want to do is sleep… and eat… but mostly sleep. I wish I could tell my Mom how I feel and what I need. I wish I had figured out all those hand signals so I could have learned other hand signals. I wish ‘On would tell me what I’m doing wrong; I just want to be a good dog so I can stay because this has been a really good place for me to be.

I just don’t understand…

Note from Zippy’s Mom: It’s kind of hard to explain to a boy dog about human hysterectomies and related after care, especially when he’s deaf. I’m on the mend, and in a few weeks, good Lord willing, it’ll all be back to normal chaos for us. He is truly a good dog, and this is his fur-ever home. 🙂

The Flute and the Drum

A fairy princess
Tiny, dainty, demure
Suddenly exploded
Became tall and angular
A giant sprite dancing in answer to Pan’s flute
Soft and sweet but repetitive and restrictive

We used to dance together in Pan’s clearing
Whirling, twirling, stretching, laughing

Now I hear the beat of another drummer
The flute no longer moves me
My staccato steps pound a pattern of warfare and advance

I hear the flute and see my sprite
There she stumbles, careens, crashes, mumbles
She hears the flute and the drum
And can’t understand why I’m deaf to the flute
And she can’t find the rhythm of my heart in the cadence of the drum

She cries, wails, the silence of her steps deafens my war cry

I stop

We sit in a circle of silence

Pan blows his flute to soothe his sheep
My drummer still sounds the battle cry
But our circle is silent yet

What a quiet joy to have a dream of day
When the flute and drum
Weave a melody of unity and uniqueness
When no one cares
If you hear
The flute
Or the drum
Or the beat of another’s heart

May the steps of my dance and the swaying of my soul
Begin to blend the flute and the drum
So the sprite’s sobs turn to joy!


Head butts against clear nothing
The endless chasm covered by a floor of glass
Invisible walls all around
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
The futility of defiance
Draining light and life
Deepening despair and darkness
Not enough, never enough
A sigh, a shrug, a turn
No words to dress the naked emptiness
No lines to hide the glaring futility
The light, the light, I’ve lost my light
No, the light is never lost, I am lost
The once clear directions melt and marble
In the mud and muck of modernness
Vanity, vanity, it’s all vanity
No salvation from Solomon’s wisdom





Why Dance Should Be Part of Worship Per Psalm 149

*ducks the flying daggers and rolls for cover under her computer stand*

I’m going to start with a story… actually two. And they will dove tail at the end… sort of.

Story 1

Many moons ago, when I went to a small liberal arts college to major in a physical science, I acquired a gaggle of friends of all genders, denominations, religions, spiritualities, sexualities, etc. You get the picture–proper rebel without a clue about life, love, and relationships.

Judy was in that group. She was tiny with a focused ball of energy that carried her through studies and extracurricular activities and clubs and late night game nights. She was actually a theology major at our liberal arts college of one denomination, but she wasn’t that denomination. She had a dynamic way of bridging all denominations and explaining us to ourselves.

She had an irreverent yet fun phrase to explain the Bible, “Like Prego, it’s all in there.” She was trying to teach us that God put together every jot and tittle of that Good Book to help us live life in a way that pleased Him. Not that I was quite ready for that lesson at the time.

Story 2

I have always been frustrated by some Christians’ attitudes to resist new things. New music styles, new songs, new ways of ministry… I agree that Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever. However, we are broken people living in a broken world. Things change; nature cannot create order without extensive energy expenditure, so entropy rules the day. However, even in the midst of an entropy tidal wave, our knowledge in many subjects is expanding exponentially. Change can and must happen as long as it does not violate God’s Law.

Dance is one of those “new” things. Some Christians seem to see dance as a delight to the enemy. And I would agree in most cases in the modern world. However, I believe there are and could be forms of dance that Abba would find pleasing. Unfortunately, I never knew how to prove it… until recently.

Since my surgery, my sleep patterns have been greatly disturbed. When I can’t sleep at night and I’m too tired to read, I channel surf. One of my favorite overnight shows is Reflections. They do pretty soothing music and scenery with Scripture verses (obviously, it’s not airing right now). Most recently Psalm 149:3 flashed on the screen. I would have danced for delight had I not just had abdominal surgery!


This is where the stories get tied together. I encourage you to review all of Psalm 149; some of my favorite variations include International Children’s Bible, Complete Jewish Bible, Holman Christian Standard Bible, and New King James. Avoid Douay-Rheims; it just misses the mark.

Although I had always assumed the psalm was written by King David, its unknown author has issued a call to worship that isn’t just about sitting around singing songs, sharing socials, and staying within the four walls of a place of worship.

It starts by telling us what worship is. It is praise to God Most High.

Then it tells us how it is accomplished. You sing songs. You play music, and right there in verse 3, you dance!

The psalm also tells us where it is accomplished. We can worship corporately in a public assembly or quietly in the privacy of our beds.

Finally, we are given a two-fold why. The first is a being reason: because Abba is happy with us and loves us; He saves us through Jesus. The second is a doing reason: the psalmist issues a battle cry and we are to fight the battles Abba gives us to expand His kingdom. Yes, worship is a weapon of warfare, and dance is just one tool in our arsenal.

Let’s keep fighting the good fight!

Update to Primal Scream 4…

Now, post-hysterectomy but still with ovaries intact, I’ve been stuck in the house. Flat on my @55 in bed and not doing much but struggling to clear anesthesia and intravenous painkillers…still. And not having a lot of fun with my very long to-do list getting longer.

I stumbled into a room that I’ve not been able to tolerate due to pain and heat and other issues. Those missing journals? Sitting on a table I knew I’d checked many, many times.

Now, I’ve had a lot of visitors in and out, and some I’d rather be permanent exiters than visitors. But I suspect those demons from the alternate dimension of Panmultimegadaimonium just got too bored or too embarrassed or felt too uneducated to keep my journals so they magically returned them.

Unfortunately, they are missing several pages. The numbering looks oh-so close to mine. I sincerely hope those demons aren’t experimenting with forgery. I also hope images don’t get released of those pages.

Because those demons are like a lot of people… they can’t tell reality from imagination, sanity from insanity, stories from biography, encouragement and exhortation from gossip and backbiting…