I just took a longevity prediction test on the computer. Due to all my pure living (???), it said I would live to 104. I originally checked "moderate exercise," as I definitely don't lie in bed all day. However, after my conscience gave me a mild jab of truth serum, I went back and re-did the test, changing to "no exercise." Oops, there went two years. So, I'll only live to 102. But would I want to? Then I did the test a third time, deleting twelve pounds, bringing my weight down to what the latest charts suggest. If I add moderate exercise and get down to 135, my predicted demise would be at age107. That's scary. Bring on a comfy recliner and a box of chocolates.

Daughter, Beth, was standing at the checkout counter of the local drug store when she noticed another shopper smiling at her. Beth didn't recognize the lady but, as she was mentally scrambling to try to figure out whether it was someone she should know, she returned a tentative smile. After a hesitant minute, the woman said, "Did you know you have shipping tape stuck to your bottom?" No wonder she was smiling. Beth made a fruitless grab, and the lady said, "Would you like me to remove it?" Definitely! Beth will give her an all-out smile if they meet again.

The opportunities for Saki, Ed and Beth's dog, to go hunting have been very limited. I know of only two encounters. One was with a raccoon in the kitchen: a brief chase in which the raccoon fortunately withdrew through the cat door. The other was the surprise discovery of a sleeping possum who responded, with snarls, to having her nap interrupted. The other night, however, the family was having dinner on the patio when Beth heard a whiffing sound and a mild splash in the pool. She was the only one facing the pool and was surprised to realize a duck had flown in, converting the pool to a duck pond. She alerted the others and they silently lined up at a vantage point to watch the swimmer. When the duck looked up to see four people and a dog in the grandstand, she took off in haste. Saki is still patrolling the pool, just in case.

On Beth and Ed's weekend bike rides, they often stop at a rest area beside the river. There are resident geese, intermingled with some mallard ducks. As Beth and Ed were resting, the geese suddenly became alert and began running toward the parking lot where an elderly couple were getting out of their car. Having seen this little drama before, the kids knew the new arrivals were bringing dried bread to scatter for the birds. Beth asked the couple, "Do you have them named?" and they said, "Oh, yes," and pointing to one goose, "That's Mama." Then they told Beth and Ed that last year Mama had been setting on a nest, presumably hers, but when the eggs hatched, the little ones were mallards. That explained the mixed flock. The mallards are under the impression they're pygmy geese.

That brought back memories. (What doesn't these days?)

When we first moved here, the wildlife was still abundant. In '78, I had written, "A group of about thirty geese have ventured further and further into the near pasture, finding succulent morsels after the rains. The far edge of that pasture abuts the railroad tracks. Our top entertainment, rivaling TV, comes if we happen to be looking out when a train goes by. All the geese streak back, in fluttering squawking confusion, to our end of the pasture, which is away from the tracks. You have to SEE fleeing geese to appreciate their comedy."

My Mother's Day gift this year was a trip back to old haunts. During my college years, (1930-4) my dad was the pastor at Jackson, CA., with small churches in Sutter Creek, Pine Grove and Amador City. He would preach in Jackson on Sunday morning, in Amador City that afternoon and in Sutter Creek that evening. The Pine Grove service was held Wednesday nights. Hearing the same sermon four times weekly developed my ability to smile and nod while mind-wandering through other pastures. When Beth asked me what I wanted for Mother's Day, I couldn't think of a thing, material-wise. A few days later, I told her I'd been thinking how much I'd like to revisit the Jackson area to check out the places I remembered. She and Ed liked that idea, so we chose the day before Mother's Day, as rain was due the next day. I had figured I'd see only the exterior of the buildings still standing, but when we drove up in front of the Jackson church, there was a sign, "Rummage Sale." We parked and went in. I started showing Beth some of the architectural changes, and one of the women on the sales crew, asked, "You were here back then?" and I answered, truthfully, "I was the janitor here 75 years ago." They all gathered round to ask me about the old days and to bring me up to date. I was "Queen for a day," especially since it was the last day of the sale and they had been bored with the inactivity. Although the rummage sale was being held in the basement, the ladies also opened up the sanctuary, so I got the tour. As we were leaving, a woman arrived who actually remembered me and my family. She had been ten when I moved there at 16. I didn't remember her, I'm sorry to say. Sixteen-year-olds don't always recognize "kids," but we still shared some memories.

The parsonage, which was our home, was next door to the church and across the street is the Amador County museum. When we lived there it was the Brown home. The Browns were an elderly couple who enjoyed landscaping their full city block and maintaining the family two story brick home. The house had been originally built in the 1860's by Mr. Brown's grandfather to house his family of eleven children. We knew the Browns as neighbors, had picked elderberries in their yard (for jam, not wine!) and had been guests in their home. So, as we took the museum tour, I mentioned to Beth that I didn't think the Browns used the upstairs as I remembered the staircase being piled with boxes and "things." The guide overheard and was delighted to have a visitor who had known the Browns...again a lot of attention for this old gal. We did visit the other churches, or rather two of them. Two were gone, but we visited the sites. We drove by the quaint cemetery where small Rose Koehler is buried, the aunt of my best friend, Elizabeth Rose. If Rose were living today, I estimate she would be nearing 120 years old. We also picnicked at a spot I had remembered and saw beautiful spring scenery. It was probably my best Mother's Day gift ever.

An elderly woman was asked if she thought a lot about the things she had done. She replied that she thought more about the things she hadn't done. How true. These days, I think about the hugs I didn't give, the thanks that went unsaid, the times I should have said, "Good job," and didn't, the times I was "too busy" to help a good cause, the animals that didn't get proper care (due to my lack of knowledge at the time), the times I looked the other way when an injustice was obvious. Those are the times you will remember in the still, still night when sleep evades you. Keep them to a minimum.

            Love, and Blessings,    Darlys

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    In honor of my dad, this month's humor will be church-related, starting with an excerpt from a letter written by him to me, away at college, in 1932.
"Dear Kiddie: This is station UEP, Jackson, California, and the broadcast opens this afternoon with a story from Bonnie Scotland. The old lady had been very sick and was convinced that her end was near, so she called her niece to the bedside and said, 'Mary, I will nae be wi ye lang: perhaps by the rise o' the soon I will have taen a lang journey, but I want nae foolishness. Bury me in my black silk dress, but take oot the two back widths and make yerself a dress for the funeral.' But Mary said, 'O, Auntie, I could nae do that. I would always be thinkin' of ye and Uncle Charlie walkin' oop the golden street on the resurrection morn and all the angels a lookin' at ye.' But the aunt replied, "Dinna ye worrit yer haid aboot that. They'll not look at me at all. I burried yer uncle wi'out his pants and made a pair for yer brither.'"

    Little Susie, a six-year-old, came home from school whining, "Mommy, I've got a stomachache." "That's because your stomach is empty," her mother replied. "You'd feel better if you had something in it." She gave Susie a snack and sure enough, Susie felt better right away. That afternoon the family's minister dropped by. While he was chatting with Susie's mom, he mentioned he'd had a bad headache all day long. Susie perked up. "That's because it's empty," she said. "You'd feel better if you had something in it."

    A letter written in a childish scrawl came to the post office addressed to "God." A postal employee, not knowing exactly what to do with the letter, opened it and read: "Dear God, my name is Jimmy. I am 6 years old. My father is dead and my Mom is having a hard time raising me and my sister. Would you please send us $500?" The postal employee was touched. He showed the letter to his fellow workers and all decided to kick in a few dollars each and send it to the family. They were able to raise $300. A couple of weeks later the same post office received a second letter addressed to God. The boy thanked God for the recent infusion of cash, but ended with this request: "Next time would you send the money directly to us? If you send it through the post office they deduct $200.

    You may know the story about a town which was experiencing terrible drought. A prayer meeting was scheduled and everyone turned out, assembling in the town square. The minister got up to stand before them, and began by saying, "Oh, ye of little faith. We all came here to pray for rain, yet I see that not one person has brought an umbrella."

    Pastor Dave Charlton tells us, "After a worship service at First Baptist Church in Newcastle, Kentucky, a mother with a fidgety seven-year old boy told me how she finally got her son to sit still and be quiet. About halfway through the sermon, she leaned over and whispered, 'If you don't be quiet, Pastor Charlton is going to lose his place and will have to start his sermon all over again!' It worked."

    A little girl, dressed in her Sunday best, was running as fast as she could, trying not to be late for Bible class. As she ran she prayed, "Dear Lord, please don't let me be late! Dear Lord, please don't let me be late!" Running and praying, she tripped on a curb and fell, getting her clothes dirty and tearing her dress. She got up, brushed herself off, and started running again. As she ran, she once again began to pray, "Dear Lord, please don't let me be late!...But don't shove me either."

    Driving through a small southern town at holiday time, I stopped to look at a Nativity scene which showed great dedication and talent had gone into its creation. One small feature bothered me. The three wise men were wearing firemen's helmets. Totally unable to come up with a reasonable explanation, I left, shaking my head. At a "Quick Stop" on the edge of town, I asked the lady behind the counter about the helmets. She answered, indignantly, "You Damn Yankees with all your book-larnin' and yet you don't know your Bible." I assured her that I did, but simply didn't recall anything about firemen in the Bible. She called to her fellow worker, "Jim Bob, you hear Preacher Jones read every year about the three wise men. Where does he say they come from?" Jim Bob replied without hesitation. "You know the answer to that, Jessie Pearl. They come from afar."