Shot? Not.

Yesterday morning TG taught our adult Sunday School class.

He occasionally performs that office for our pastor.

His lesson had to do with essential things to teach your children, or, if they are gone from the home, your grandchildren or any young people who may come under your sphere of influence.

Two of the things he stressed were the importance of learning respect for God-ordained authority, and being taught a solid work ethic.

I had to chuckle because our son, Andrew, age twenty-seven, was sitting beside me.

Andrew is one of the hardest-working people I have ever known. I'm not sure anyone could keep up with him, although I admit my girls are diligent workers too.

Eight days a week. There's not a slacker -- or a tattoo -- among them.

Their dad and I have been known to deliver an honest day's work for a day's pay as well.

And we did teach our children the concept of God-ordained authority -- starting with us as their parents -- and the necessity of having and demonstrating respect for authority throughout one's life.

So why did I chuckle during the Sunday School lesson? You may be wondering.

Because when Andrew arrived and slid into the pew beside me that morning, he had an announcement.

I got pulled over on the way to church, he said. And I didn't get shot.

Well, many in today's ultra-whiny race-baiting society may say. That's because you're white.

No. It's not because he's white.

It's because he stayed in his vehicle and did exactly as the law enforcement officer told him. And then some.

Then some?

Yes.

You see, Andrew carries concealed. Legally. As in, he was armed.

I first asked why he was pulled over. Speeding?

No. He changed lanes in the middle of an intersection. That's a no-no. A moving violation, as it were. A ticketable offense.

I wanted to know how he handled the whole thing, in light of the fact that he was packing heat.

He told me that first, upon pulling over and stopping, he rolled all of the windows down in the F-150 pickup.

Then, he said, he put both hands high on the steering wheel.

When the officer appeared at the driver's side window, Andrew said, Officer, I'm armed.

He lifted his elbows. The policeman peered in and got a visual on Andrew's holstered Glock. His eyes scanned the rest of the vehicle's interior.

That's fine, he said. Just don't reach for it. Then: Where are you headed?

To church, said Andrew.

You should know at this point, when Andrew is bound for -- or at -- either work or church, he strongly resembles an FBI or Secret Service agent. He's lean and fit. Dressed in a sharp suit and tie. American flag lapel pin. Clean shaven. Regulation haircut. 

All that's missing is the telltale earpiece and wire. Plus he doesn't talk into his wristwatch. That I know of.

The outcome? Andrew was dismissed with a warning. No shots were fired.

But then, he didn't exit the vehicle. He didn't give the officer any guff or disrespect. He didn't hold the loaded weapon in his hand. He didn't walk backwards or forwards or sideways or any way. He remained in the driver's seat with his empty hands in plain sight.

No matter what color his skin, I promise you that if my son had gotten out of the truck and walked towards that police officer armed with a loaded gun -- in his hand or not -- and refused to obey direct orders, the chances would have increased exponentially -- and quickly -- of his being stopped with deadly force.

I don't suggest that every single time an officer ever shoots a person on the side of the road or in a parking lot or an alley, that it's one hundred percent justified.

I do say that unless you were there -- and sometimes even if you saw a video -- you don't know exactly what went down.

And I do say that the average person who gets up every morning, takes a shower, dresses, goes to work, declines to break laws, minds his own business, and, when confronted by an officer of the law for any reason whatsoever, does exactly as he is told, is not going to get shot.

And I would like to say that all of those who believe people get shot by law enforcement just because they're black and for no other reason, were probably not taught the simple things my husband outlined in his Sunday School lesson.

More's the pity.

Work hard. Every day. Obey God-ordained authority. Every time.

Although truth is stranger than fiction and I admit that on any given day anything can happen, if you observe those rules, the probability is higher than you likely need it to be that you won't get shot by a cop.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday

Black Dresses Matter

For Dagny's second birthday in June, I was determined to buy her a closetful of at least one little black dress.

So I began clicking and faster than you can say Coco Chanel, I found the little-little black dress shop.

Booyah. I ordered two.

Dress one is sleeveless with an empire waist, tiered skirt, and a rosette at the shoulder. It is made of the tiniest baby-wale corduroy I've ever seen.

Erica promptly made a pearl necklace for Dagny to wear with the dress.

We popped the glamourous garment on our Dag and right away she knew it was special.

She didn't have to be told to pose.

Dagny is comfortable in front of the camera.

Even so, she surprised me that day.

Normally she's exceptionally buoyant and giddy.

But when she put on the LBD and was placed barefoot on an armless velvet loveseat, she began to emote.

As we moved her from one spot to another, she seemed to become more, rather than less, contemplative.

And although there was plenty of laughter throughout (as well as some frustration because I never feel I'm getting the shot I really want), I'll remember it as a shoot of Dagny being uncharacteristically serious.

Serious about wearing black? She must be my granddaughter. Work it, girl.

Because black dresses matter.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Looking good

So I'm bopping along in the grocery store last week.

I had a list. No snack cakes were on my list.

Perhaps I should explain.

In my kitchen is a large jar. It is meant to hold treats for all and sundry who may be in my kitchen and be in need of a treat.

However, since we were so busy all summer (more on that later), the jar has been empty for weeks.

It was like, if you're dropping by, best BYOT. Bring Your Own Treat. There was plenty of cold water on hand with which to wash your brown-bag treat down.

But with autumn looming and summer's dust settling, I got all snack-cakey again.

One day I trolled the Little Debbie section looking for pumpkin-type cakes. None were evident, so Star Crunch and Zebra Brownies were purchased and appeared in the jar.

The Zebra Brownies went over like a ham sandwich in a synagogue. I ate one and had nightmares for a week.

Andrew took one bite and threw the rest away. They are truly horrible. Do not go there.

Somehow only three two-packs remained and when I saw my grandchildren a few days ago, I gave them each one. I warned them of the disgusting nature of the Zebra Brownies but they appeared unfazed.

Ah, youth.

So anyway, I was waiting for Little Debbie to come out with some fall-inspired cakes. On the day in question, however, snack cakes were not on my radar.

Then, as I strolled by the cookie and cracker aisle -- having no need to turn therein -- a pretty lady accosted me.

Her anxiety was apparent. Do you know where the Rice Krispies Treats are? She asked, grabbing the handle of my grocery cart as if I might try to get away.

No, I said -- I was bewildered and I'll tell you why in a sec -- Maybe in the cookie and cracker aisle?

She gestured helplessly behind her. No, she said. I just looked there!

Then, maybe with the Little Debbie cakes? I suggested.

(Because as you may well be aware, at Walmart the Little Debbie cakes are not on the cookie and cracker aisle. For some reason known only to the Lord, they are across from the pickles.)

But back to my bewilderment. I had actually been thinking about Rice Krispies Treats very recently.

I thought you had to make them. It has been twenty years since I made Rice Krispies Treats. In my opinion they are too much sticky back-breaking work for the payoff.

But -- you can buy them ready-made? The revelation was like a lightning bolt.

I looked at my frantic fellow shopper. I didn't even know you could buy Rice Krispies Treats at the store, I revealed, hoping for more information.

Oh yes! They come in a box! She assured me, then ranted: I have a little old lady friend in a nursing home and she is craving them!

The look in her eye was wild as she released my cart and turned away.

The vision of an elderly person wanting some simple treat they could not have tortured me. Someone had asked for my help. I was eager to serve my fellow man.

Plus I had a sudden burning need to know where Walmart kept the Rice Krispies Treats.

Thus I trotted to the Little Debbie section and quickly scanned the shelves. Nothing remotely resembling a Rice Krispies Treat resided there.

A brilliant thought struck me: The bakery! Sometimes there are snack-type treats on shelves in the bakery section. By the bread and bagels and buns.

I high-tailed it over there and ... bingo! Rice Krispies Treats! They were in a sort of cardboard tray rather than a proper box. Cellophane covered them. They were huge squares. My mouth watered.

I popped two packages of those babies in my cart and began searching for the desperate shopper who had wisely sought my assistance.

It took awhile but I was determined and eventually I saw her, approximately ten grocery-cart-lengths away. I began waving a package of the Rice Krispies Treats. 

Did you find them? I hollered. And even as I did, I spotted the iconic blue box in her cart. It looked like a box of Rice Krispies cereal -- silly-hatted Snap Crackle and Pop characters and all -- but it was an unfamiliar size.

My new friend lit up. Yes! she replied, and pointed. By then I was alongside her cart. The bigger-than-a-breadbox carton of Original Rice Krispies Treats took up a significant amount of room in the bottom.

They were in the cereal aisle! She pointed behind her because as it turns out, that's where we were. My little old lady in the nursing home will be so happy! These will last her a long time!

Indeed, the box seemed to be at least a 54-count. Secretly I prayed her friend would live long enough to savor every last errant crumb of gooey Rice Krispies Treat.

I declined to show the happy lady the cellophane-wrapped Rice Krispies Treats I'd found in the bakery section. It was clear I'd gotten it all wrong.

We said our fond happy goodbyes.

I wandered down the cereal aisle, wanting to appear casual but in fact, dead serious. I was looking for the name-brand ready-made Rice Krispies Treats. The kind that, six or seven minutes previously, I had not even known existed.

And I found them! Original and Cocoa Krispies kinds!

Yes. I bought both. Turns out they don't exactly taste like the ones you make but, like most highly-processed snack foods, the more you choke down, the more they grow on you.

And it's so easy. Simply tear off the wrapper and get ready for a primo sugar rush accompanied by a dash of blink-or-you'll-miss-it nostalgia.

The shiny blue-and-brown-wrapped Rice Krispies Treats filled my snack jar, to the surprise and delight of all who spied them there. There were so many bars, they wouldn't all fit. I had to stash some in the cupboard.

Those quickly filled space in the jar as the level of Rice Krispies Treats went down. Soon the jar will be empty. But not to worry. As my TG is fond of saying: There's more at the store.

Speaking of which: Little Debbie has come out with Pumpkin Delights and Fall Party Cakes. In addition to both flavors of Rice Krispies Treats, those got bought and dumped into the jar too, to keep brief company with a few leftover Star Crunch.

Prompting my sincere sentiment to you as we teeter on the brink of the Fall Equinox: If Little Debbie Fall Party Cakes come, can Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes be far behind?

I think not.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday :: Happy Week

Save it for a rainy day

Yesterday, right on cue, the first acorns fell from the oak, hitting the roof like little grenades.

September first. Mmmmmm September. Next comes October, then November, then ...

Well. You know. My four faves, month-wise.

And today? Tropical Storm Hermine has made her presence known in a damp and determined way.

She's a gutsy lady. And loud. The rain has been drumming down for hours.

Tomorrow, sunshine and highs in the eighties are once again in the forecast.

I'm pretty sure the withering humidity is invited too.

We'll proceed with our Labor Day plans as usual. Maybe one last swim before autumn.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend :: Happy Labor Day