Tag Archives: true story

You know you live in a Redneck Town when . . .

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My daughter lives in a tiny town in the Midwest. And while getting ready to elope, Jennifer went to the local flower shop to order a small, quaint bouquet of flowers. On the day of her expected departure, she returned to pick up the bouquet and found the flower shop was closed for the day. Knowing one of the owner’s relatives, Jennifer dashed over to the bank.

The mother-in-law said, “Your bouquet is down at the drive-through.”

So Jennifer went to the local beer store, known for the coldest beer in town, and drove up to the window. “Do you have a bouquet of flowers for me?”

Jennifer's flowers“Yes,” the lady replied, grabbing the arrangement. “Oh, how pretty,” the woman gushed as she handed Jennifer a large bouquet of fake lilies complete with leaves, glitter, and rhinestones.

Jennifer, trying not to chuckle, said, “Do you have another arrangement in there?”

“No.” the woman shook her head.

As Jennifer drove away, she called me and explained the situation. “I didn’t know I had to specify real flowers at a flower shop, Mom.”

Laughing heartily, I reminded her that God has a great sense of humor!

Jennifer, in keeping with a good attitude, has decided to keep the flowers forever as a symbol of her and her husband’s new nutty love for one other.

A great big congratulations to Jennifer and Randall — may God Bless your marriage mightily.  With much Love, Mom.

Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.” Ps 126:2

The Magazine Mission

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This summer Steve, Keith, and I had worked hard to capture an aerial photograph worthy of being published in a soaring magazine. Keith, not only flew the Phoebus, but had purchased an excellent camera for the shoot. (Click for previous camera post.) And Steve, high-time pilot, strategically looped the 172 around the glider trying to keep me within range of a good shot.

Although our mission was unsuccessful, I have decided to share one of the photographs from that flight, just because GOD is good, and I like the shot! Click to enlarge!

Phoebus Soaring by Lady Deidre

Oh, Yeah! We hammered him!

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I was downstairs when I heard furniture scraping across the floor above. Steve never moves anything outside of an airplane, so I dashed upstairs with a journalistic attitude thinking, “This is going to be good.”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Steve scooted the file cabinet away from the wall. “I got a mouse cornered.”

“Do you want some poison?”

“No!” Steve shook his head. “I want the hoe.”  When I returned with the yard tool, he said, “Now turn it around.”  I watched as the man started hunting a mouse with an upside down hoe, spear style.

Steve stabbed at the critter, but the mouse was quicker and it skirted away. So he chased the mouse and cried out, “Help me! We need to get him cornered.” So I helped him box in the gray mouse again. Steve arched his tool high and brought his weapon down to crush the mighty mouse but the wood handle bounced off the concrete floor and flung the sharp end into his temple. Blood was drawn!

The mouse, sensing a complete moron, got away and scurried into an old heavy metal frame. “Get the hammer,” Steve ordered. (Now it was serious.) With a hammer in my hand, Steve ordered me to the end of the pipe so he could ram the mouse. “Hold the hammer still.”

Now I’m a bit squeamish when it comes to mice, so I wasn’t excited about being that close to a disease-ridden-fur-ball. So I tentatively held the hammer in place, while Steve shoved the stick through the pipe. The mouse plopped out at my feet. Steve yelled, “Hammer him!”

I screamed and brought the hammer down ever so gently on the mouse’s head. (Hey, I’m not out for blood.) The mouse wiggled, and I danced about on my tippy-toes and screamed louder.

Steve kept yelling, “Hit him! hit him! hit him!” The pressure was mounting. I felt like I was in grade school again.

As I squealed, I brought the hammer down on top of the mouse’s tiny head. The mouse jumped straight into the air, and I let out a blood curdling scream that would have stopped traffic on the runway!

Steve cried, “You hit like a girl!” He picked up the semi-conscious mouse by the tail. “I’ll just give it to the cat.”

“Wait!” I cried, “Let me get my camera.”

After the snake and mouse hunting debacles, Steve has decided he doesn’t want to hunt any more!

He was a mighty hunter before the Lord. Therefore it is said, “Like Nimrod a mighty hunter before the Lord.” Gn 10:9

Send an Angel

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Recently, Mike over at Resting in His Grace suggested I use an ANGEL in my post, and Cathy over at Did Jesus have a Facebook Page? asked me to share one of my angel encounters to encourage others.

So here’s my angel story for you: A couple of years go my son, Brian, was working in the oilfield. It’s a very dangerous job, so I would send out the Lord’s angels everyday to keep him safe. One day his boot slipped over the drilling hole just as a thousand pounds of pipe came crushing down over his boot. Everyone  froze and watched in horror. They knew, without a doubt, that one of their buddies had just lost their foot.

Suddenly, everyone started screaming and scrambling at the same time to locate the missing foot, and the driller cried out, “I can’t find your toes!” Another hand was working to get the damaged boot off my son’s foot, when Brian called out, “That’s because I still have them!” As he wiggled his toes in the air, everyone on deck stared dumbfounded.There was no psychical way that my son’s foot should still be intact.

Later, my son told me, “Mom, I couldn’t have moved my foot back into my boot far enough to save my toes. I’ve tried, it’s not possible.  Keep sending those angels they work.”

So now your asking — do ANGELS really exist? A big resounding, “YES, they do!” I recommend sending out the Lord’s angels daily to help your children, family, friends, and church body. You can send them to comfort, to fight evil, to protect, and to keep loved ones safe. Go ahead — save a life today!

For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone. Psalm 91:11&12

Steve’s Tarzan Tumble

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Reporting live from the funny farm airport! Our latest snake fiasco. For the previous snake story, go here!

Steve spotted a four foot snake crossing the airport driveway and hollers, “Snake!” Then out the door he sprints. “I can get it!”

Now, you must understand, when I asked Steve to be a Tarzan and kill the snake, I mean with a shovel. Steve is not a Tarzan type with rippling muscles who can twist a snake’s head off with his bare hands. He’s a short, round pilot with white running shoes. However, his shoes have never actually reached sprint mode before, nor Steve for quite some time.

Nonetheless, I excitedly dash out the door, camera in hand, to photograph the killing of the beast, but what I witness is Steve lunging toward the hard concrete fast. I thought, WOW, he’s actually tackling the snake. Nice dive, dude! My next thought was, but what if the snake is poisonous.

When I reach his side, he’s lying on the concrete holding his wrist. First, I look for the snake just in case the beast is lying nearby and has reared its ugly head. Then I politely ask, “Did he bite you? Are you okay?”

“No, I tripped over my tennis shoes. I was going to catch the snake by the tail, if it wasn’t poisonous, so you could take a picture of it,” Steve admits.

Dear noble pilot, could you please just kill the snake next time, I’m will to photograph a dead species. For now, I have placed a shovel in the front door as a warning for all trespassing snakes — we aim to kill, maybe.

I have enclosed the crime scene below.

He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it; and whoso breaketh an hedge, a serpent shall bite him.  Eccl. 10:8

A Joyful Boom!

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The doors

This is one of those stories, when reflected upon, makes me laugh joyfully every time!

Steve and his sons are known as extremest. Steve being the radical pilot; his eldest son, Steve II, is the radical warrior; and Cody, the youngest, the radical skydiver. Adrenaline junky is their middle name.

Steve II, home from the war,  brought pins to his father’s place for a little show and tell. Normally these devices are used in grenades to make them go boom, but the boys got this brilliant idea to stick a pin in an orange. Excited by the new game, the boys rushed outside not realizing that the glass doors had locked behind them. Steve II tossed the orange explosive a few feet from the group and turned to go back inside.

When the boys discovered the doors had locked and the fruit bomb was about to blow, they plastered their bodies against the glass doors and screamed as the orange cocktail exploded. Bits of pulp splattered across their backside in a gold spray.

After a good hearty laugh, I crawled off the floor to let the orange encrusted boys back inside with a, “You’ve been juiced!”

I perceive that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and do good as long as they live. Eccl. 3:12

The Old Stolen Caddy

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I was parked at the post office when the vehicle next to me swung his large door toward my car. Of course, the movement caught my attention, and I glanced up. The passenger, sporting a sheepish grin, waved. As I returned the smile, I thought wow that looks just like the old Caddy – the STOLEN Caddy. Mind you it’s been gone for years, but you never forget grandma’s old  heavy metal floater.

Being an amateur private eye, I backed up to investigate. Yip, there it was, grandma’s crushed bumper. I immediately started memorizing the new tag number, while fishing around for a pen. Suddenly it occurred to me, I was being too obvious. Especially since the man in the Cadillac was trying to back up, and I was located directly behind him. So I drove to the alley and parked, jotted down the plate number, as if that wasn’t too blatant.

When I saw the old Cadillac drive up the street, I decided I needed to verify what I had written down.  (I have a mild tendency to swap numbers and letters. It could be why I didn’t do well in school, or maybe it’s because we didn’t have a NAME for it back in the day.)

In the end, I couldn’t help but wonder what the thief was thinking. Why would you drive a stolen vehicle, down the middle of Main Street, in the SAME itty-bitty town as the theft took place? Perhaps, he thought we had forgotten. Or maybe, the Caddy heist didn’t give the new owners a list of possible towns to avoid. Hello, we still live here.

Thou shall not steal. Ex 20:15