My Neighbor

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They moved in quietly; he, wearing denim overalls and directing the movers as though he, himself, was doing the heavy lifting; she, wearing sweatpants and a terrycloth short-sleeved v-neck, hunting through the backseat of their car and carrying in boxes of what looked to be files and pictures.

I had watered their plants once a week after my neighbors moved out because I didn’t want whoever was coming after them to lose the beauty of peony bushes and spring flowers.

The day after the moving van, I rang their doorbell, plate of sugar cookies in hand.

“Hi, I’m from next door. I thought you might like a welcome to the neighborhood pick-me-up!”

The woman took the cookies and peered at them.

“I’m Mel.”

“Mel.”

The woman cleared her throat and her husband came from the other room, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Mel, is it? Name’s Gordy.”

“We’re glutton-free, both of us,” the woman said.

I took a step back. “I . . . I’m sor…”

“We can take them to work!” the man interrupted with a smile.

I nodded, tried to smile and went back home, glad I’d put them on a paper plate and not something I valued.

The next morning I chewed on my toast and thoughtfully sipped my tea with cloves and cinnamon as I watched out the window at my new neighbor digging up the peony bushes and spring flowers I’d watered before they’d moved in. They owned them now. They could do what they wanted. It shouldn’t matter, right?

I didn’t see either of them go to work – only putter around their house and yard, removing what I considered vestiges of beauty I’d grown accustomed to but didn’t own. I can’t say with complete confidence that they didn’t go to work, because I did and was only witness to changes that occurred at the house next door before I returned home. I started closing my curtains on that side of the house. Out of sight, out of mind. It didn’t help.

Saturday morning I decided to treat myself at Heddy’s Cafe. I got there early enough to get my waffle without much of a wait. They had only one small waffle-maker, and if you were there with a friend, you wouldn’t get your waffles at the same time. One of you would have to wait. But they were the best waffles I’d ever tasted. Herb, the owner strolled over to my table to chat and I told him about my new neighbors. He nodded, then winked, and wished me good luck. Maybe he thought I’d had enough bad luck that he should make certain I knew what kind of luck he was wishing me. And it wasn’t exactly bad luck, I’ll admit. It shouldn’t have even felt like an offense. It was just – unexpected.

As unexpected as, say, the light wash purple they were painting their house upon my return. Gordy waved his paintbrush my way and I waved back. The woman who still hadn’t given me her name ignored me and kept painting.

to be continued . . .

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With A SHOUT

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Death often comes in a whisper, and the bedside of someone who is dying is typically quiet.

Jesus’ response during the sham trial was quiet and silence. And after the scourging, taunts and accusations, and slow and painful crucifixion, Jesus had some things to say from the cross. But when He died, he called out in a loud voice.

The earth wasn’t silent either. The temple veil was torn in two. There was an earthquake. Rocks split. Tombs broke open, and some of the saints within them came back to life and were seen walking around.

And then silence reigned, but the silence was brief. The first day of the week brought a proverbial shout to trump all shouts. He lives?? He lives!!!

We’ll hear that shout again one more time. And soon. Be ready.

Matthew 25:50 And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit.; Matthew 27:51-53 At that moment the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth quaked and the rocks were split. The tombs broke open, and the bodies of many saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After Jesus’ resurrection, when they had come out of the tombs, they entered the holy city and appeared to many people.; I Thessalonians 4:16 For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a loud command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will be the first to rise. Image: 17041243732_7619819836_b-tpswww.flickr.comphotoscoconutphotos17041243732.jpg

Good Friday Confession

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We come to this night as we do every year to remember.
To recall the sacrifice our Savior, Jesus made for us.
But we cannot kneel at the cross without acknowledging why. Tonight we will also remember the sin that put Him there. Our sin.
So tonight we walk through the darkness of our lives in order to reach the light of our Savior’s presence. Knowing that confession and repentance brings freedom and cleanses us.
We take time to confess our idols: Money. Food.
Government. Work. Video games. Television.
 Phones. Computers. Even loved ones. Anything that stands in the way of God being first in our lives.
My Lord and my God, I claim You as the Source and Object of my life.

We take time to confess our pride and arrogance. Our self-centeredness. Our selfishness. Our expectation that others should do or be what we, ourselves, are not. Putting ourselves ahead of others instead of following our Savior’s example of service.

Father, You are first, not us. Our desires are not centered on ourselves, but are rooted in Your kingdom.

We take time to confess sins of omission: Good or helpful things that were in front of us that we could’ve done and didn’t. Praying fleeting prayers where intensity was required. Withholding good words. Living lives of careless indifference.

Jesus, although You are God’s Son, You spent Your time here on earth in healing, loving, and showing what God is like. We will do the same.

We take time to confess our sins against ourselves: Our addictions, even seemingly harmless ones. Our self-condemnation. Our negative self-talk. Holding onto the shame of things that Jesus has forgiven.

Jesus, we thank you for Your blood that removes Satan’s accusing power over us.

We take time to confess our sins against others: Gossip. Lust. Harsh speech. Unkindness. Holding a grudge. Having an unforgiving spirit. Using God’s gift of grace as a license for immorality.

Father, forgive us our sins as we forgive those who have sinned against us.

We take time to confess our sins against God: Finding little time to spend with Him in Bible-reading, prayer, and meditation. Dismissing our responsibilities to be God’s representatives in the world. Ignoring His Spirit. Ignoring His whispers. Laziness in seeking Him and His will. Tolerating evil instead of hating it.

O God, Who hears the faintest whisper of the weakest of Your children, we are unworthy. But we will stand for holiness as God’s holy people. Cause us to delight in Your Word and Your presence.

Connecting the Disconnected

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I’m not saying we’re living in Egypt. I’m NOT. Everyone who knows me knows my spatial aptitude is less than stellar. I don’t want to go into it here, but let’s just say proof abounds.

But the fellow next to me was getting on my last nerve . . . Okay, let me give you some background. I was in a geography class at the University of Write My Opinions On Your Test to get an A, and had slid into my seat at the last minute; having a weakness for Burger King bacon, egg, and cheese croissan’wiches, and convincing myself I had time to get one; going into the restaurant because the drive-through line was too long, and dropping some quarters on the floor which I then had to retrieve, slowing down the line. I know.

Anyway, my being barely on time is why I was seated next to a Mr. Know-It-All. All the back seats were taken by early arrivals. I hummed the chorus of It’s A Little Too Late – the one by Keith, not Chesnutt, as I passed each full chair until I found a place in the second row. I unscrewed my thermos lid, took a sip of coffee to show the people behind me I wasn’t in a hurry, and burned my tongue.

We were supposed to be talking about Pangea and this guy kept mumbling about how Palisades Park, New Jersey was Morocco which, let’s be clear, if Morocco was anything, it was in New York, maaybe Boston. NOT that it should matter now, mind you, since we clearly have the Atlantic Ocean in between anything that might’ve been something but now isn’t. See how irritating it is? I mean, think about it. Were we learning names of cities, nations, and continents only to have a switcheroo thrown at us by the time my descendants turned 80? I was getting a headache.

This is where things went slightly askew.

The professor pointed to me (ME! As though I was the one mumbling – which I wasn’t, other than to tell Mr. Know-It-All he was giving me a headache.) and asked for my opinion about Memphis. All I could think of was Memphis, Tennessee which he probably didn’t mean (did he?) which prompted me to say a little too loudly, Egypt.

What?

Our country could’ve been Egypt years ago. Yes, I KNOW. Spatial aptitude, remember? Silence descended over the class. I have never considered silence particularly comfortable, but I’d backed myself into a corner, so I kept talking. Was that a mistake? Of course it was.

Yes, Egypt.

At this point, I decided to take a distraction tactic.

And thinking about it, Brazil and the Congo, I pointed to the map at the front of the class, were a little too cozy. No wonder they parted ways. I don’t blame Australia for wanting nothing to do with Antarctica and just wanting to be left alone. I feel that way sometimes, myself. At this point, I glared at the fellow next to me, and added just to irritate him further, And I can’t imagine Anne of Green Gables in Halifax would have wanted anything to do with Play It Again, Sam in Casablanca. Well, maybe. She certainly wouldn’t have gone for Rick, at any rate. Unless his “We’ll always have Paris” line lured her in. But – no – I don’t think so.

The professor wasn’t keeping up. Egypt?

At this point, I thought it best to give in to the silence. I folded my arms, and to my surprise, Mr. Know-It-All said, Well . . . Memphis, Tennessee was named after the Memphis of Egypt. He shrugged his shoulders in a sign of solidarity.

I stared into space the rest of the hour while the professor waxed on about this and that. I couldn’t believe I’d said what I said. I couldn’t even remember what I’d said, but I knew it wasn’t terribly scholarly.

I never liked puzzles anyway. I do, however, have a predilection for country music, which is good because after class Mr. Know-It-All asked me to a Luke Combs concert scheduled the next Saturday, and, still being in space-out mode, I accepted.

And you know what? It was nice. Fun, even. And as we walked into a Burger King after the concert and he took my hand, I began to think that maybe this world is a little more connected than I thought.

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Rats

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I should have had my suspicions when I was shown the house by a realtor. (Upon reflection, perhaps it was the reason I got such a good deal.) I eventually concluded the previous owners surely had more than suspicions, but it apparently didn’t bother them. The house, itself, though clearly run down, had good bones. There were transoms above the front and back doors as well as the center window of three in the dining room. The doorknobs were those old glass ones, and even though they had lost their clarity, I dreamed of possibilities which included more than a swipe of Windex. The house boasted five fireplaces which added insurance costs despite the fact that they were unused and would remain so for the time being. But even though the cost of such things should’ve brought me to my knees, I love the thought of fireplaces. They would stay put. The hardwood floors weren’t as stained as you might imagine, probably thanks to the carpet tack holes around the perimeter of the downstairs rooms. I say it again: it was – is – a house beautiful enough to throw caution to the wind and sign a purchase agreement followed quickly by a sale. I moved in as soon as I received the keys.

The kitchen was equipped with a gas stove, an unremarkable refrigerator that would eventually need to be replaced, and a copper single bowl sink. Rubbing tungsten oil into its wooden cupboards could’ve taken the place of any gym workout. At least, that’s the excuse I used. Those cupboards, though. They included a bin that was part of the bottom row, and I felt like a Disney princess when I placed my bread and crackers in it. Charming!

I’d been in my new house for about two weeks when I noticed the crust of a piece of bread was partly missing. It’s hard to find good help these days, I reasoned, thinking of the bakery I’d begun frequenting.

A few days later I couldn’t ignore cracker crumbs piled in the bottom of the bin and scattered on the floor in front of it. The day after that I found myself sweeping away some not so small black specks from the counter; and that night I realized the irritating noise in my dream was the sound of scurrying. In what, I wasn’t certain. The walls? The floor?

The next morning, I put all of my food that couldn’t be canned or frozen into plastic bags and put those in airtight containers. The varmints would have to look somewhere other than my house for their treasure. No more free stuff! I yelled into the air.

They didn’t leave easily. If that’s the way they wanted it, that’s what they would get. This was war! And war brings sorrow. To my great sorrow, I gave my houseplants away. I emptied my wastebaskets every night and brought their bagged contents out to the garbage can which I had moved to the back of the backyard. I donated my countertop composter. It  was that gray green color that’s so popular, and I had received it as a housewarming gift, a favorite from the party thrown by an innocent, unsuspecting new homeowner – me.

I scoured every inch inside and out for tiny entry points, though, by this time, I was beginning to realize it wasn’t sweet little squeaky mice that were my roommates, but rats whose size was growing exponentially every time I thought of them. How in the world were they getting in? It was like a free-for-all. I sealed every crack and cranny I could with caulk and jammed steel wool into the rest. I would prevail!

Spring was peaking around the corner by the time I realized I didn’t just have a full-blown family, but a dark-hearted congregation whose members spread their good news to one and all with missionary zeal . . . Just a minute while I calm myself with another frozen donut. Life in my new house was fast losing its delight.

Determined to find their hiding places, I demolished a wall to the studs in my bedroom one day and cleaned out a large nest, including some little pink, hairless babies that I threw a towel over and stomped to death. When I mentioned it to a co-worker, she began to avoid me. Clearly, she had never experienced the trauma of infiltration.

My house began to smell like Christmas from the peppermint I sprayed throughout. It wasn’t difficult to convince myself to begin using all five fireplaces. If any of the monsters decided they were Santa Clause, the imposter would meet its fiery demise and I would have one less trip to the garbage can. I didn’t mention it to my co-worker.

I set all kinds of traps, and none of them included the humane kind. Do not cross me on this! If the rats had been sweet little things that sat by my shoe, tiny spectacles perched on their nose(s) while I read, I might have considered it. They weren’t. Not a one. They were unrepentant freeloaders and worse. I began to fear for my health.

By summer I had bought a cat, something I swore I would never do since I’m a dog person; but desperate times call for desperate measures. Kash didn’t need much food since there was plenty around my house for him to catch and eat. I had pity on him, though, and gave him tuna and Fancy Feast as often as he was willing to take it. But it had to be a kind of fast food delivery, since it couldn’t be left unattended. He’s not a finicky cat. I think it’s because he’s found his purpose in life, at least for now, and is happy being his rat-catching self. But the thing about cats is that sometimes they just want to leave you a gift. So many gifts. I began mumbling clean up in aisle one in my sleep. Another thing. You know how animals have quirks? Well I discovered Kash is a cat who loves an hour or two in front of the fireplace while I read aloud to him. And I wonder where his little cat thoughts wander while he listens.

It’s been a year since I first walked through my house, since I was swept away with its beauty and delightful potential. What. A. Year. But I’ve learned a thing or two about invasive pests. Firstly, you mustn’t and I mean not a whit allow any access to what they want or to your house in general. Secondly, traps are very useful as long as you’re not squeamish. And thirdly, find yourself a cat. Give him whatever he wants, do your best to share his joy with the disgusting blob he places in front of you, and read him stories by the fire.

I’ve now become somewhat contented as I look around at what I’ve done with the place – sparkling door knobs that hold promise of pleasure once opened, shiny brass, lustrous wood, and cozy rooms. I’ve even bought a few plants, although I have yet to bring them all the way into the house. And I can finally say with a degree of genuine sincerity, There’s no place like home.

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Sparkling Jewelry Worn with Work Boots

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Graduate school was where I learned about and loved the writings of Victor Frankl, in particularly what he had to say about hope. Having spent time in Auschwitz, his words carried more weight than someone who just bought a lottery ticket. He made the case that those who survive desperate circumstances aren’t necessarily the physically strongest, but rather those who find some meaning in living despite trials. And meaning can be found through using creativity. It can be found in helping another person. It can be found in determining our own attitude about circumstances around us. People who survive are those who hold on to hope. You might say hope is the glitter on a dark painting. It is jewelry worn with work boots.

The times of this uncertain world of ours are not a first or second or tenth to face an unsettled present and future. We are so far from alone in our anxiousness and confusion, it would be comical if not for the plane crashes that have become weekly breaking news.

To wit: The newly freed Israelites began a long tutorial on courage when they crossed through a sea which God’s invisible hand alone held back. I wonder who was more nervous – those in the front or those at the end of the line?

 

 

Christians from Peter and James to Polycarp and Tyndale faced persecution and death from emperors, kings, and bishops. I’ve always been touched by Polycarp’s response to the captors who came to get him. Would I have ordered a meal for them while I spent an hour in my room praying? I understand the prayer. The meal? I don’t know.

 

The pilgrims lived through a rough and uncertain voyage to a land they’d never seen.

Corrie Ten Boom and Anne Frank faced deprivations and uncertainty and horror.

Israeli citizens were kidnapped, raped, tortured, and killed.

Lately, too, some folks closer to home have met with trials and deaths of loved ones in East Palestine, Ohio; Lahaina and Maui; western North Carolina and the Appalachians; and the Pacific Palisades.

I’m leaving gaps, of course; gaps you can fill in yourself, remembering that not all uncertain times are on the news.

 

However, there is much good with the bad these days. We are watching an effort to restore (rather than reform) our government to its original state. It’s long, long overdue. We are watching more people turn to Christ. I anticipate changes in our nation’s food. We will see. We get to decide where we focus. We get to determine whether to weep or sing.

Romans 5 reminds us that we can experience peace despite tribulations, and those troubles provide a way for us to gain patience along with experience. And hope. Glorious, enduring hope.

Hope. It is the sparkling jewelry to our faith’s work boots. They, both of them, get us through the uncertainty of various threats, fires, floods, and more. I hope to see you, my friend, if not on the other side, next to me as we travel through.

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A Valentine’s Connection

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It was a tug somewhere near her throat and traveling down to her heart. It wasn’t always there – only sometimes. Like Valentine’s Day. Like today. Oh, she had friends; and they were the good kind; the kind she knew she could trust with her mistakes and dreams and everyday thoughts. But they had boyfriends or husbands. They knew what a lonely Valentine’s Day was, but their experience had become fuzzy with time and change of circumstance. They knew, but they had forgotten.

Maybe she’d watch an old movie? Or read a book.

woman reading a book beside the window
Photo by Rahul Shah on Pexels.com

After thirty minutes, she stopped and tilted her head. Had she heard something? Maybe it was a squirrel or raccoon. There had been four, maybe five squirrels all winter long nosing around by the bushes. And she’d caught sight of a couple of raccoons rummaging through the garbage three nights ago.

close up of a raccoon
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There it was again! Heart beating faster, she grabbed an old baseball bat she kept under her couch and tiptoed to the door.

“Augh!”

“Oh!”

He turned toward her as she threw open her door, bat held high.

“I’m sorry to have scared you.” He motioned to the street. “Car trouble. I was just searching for a connection for my phone.”

“Yea, it’s not great.”

She squinted. He seemed familiar somehow.

“Hey! Were you at the thing last week?”

It clicked. He had been one of the guests at a friends 30th birthday celebration.

“You’re going to be late,” she ventured.

“I was just on my way home from the grocery store.” His chuckle ended in a sigh. “I won’t be late for anything tonight.”

“I have wifi inside.”

Relief spread across his face.

“Let me grab something from my car.” He sprinted to the curb and came back with some cookies.

“I was going to watch an old movie and bought a Valentine’s treat to go with it.”

“I’ll put on some coffee.”

And suddenly Valentine’s Day lost its tug.

black ceramic cup with brown liquid with heart shape on black ceramic saucer
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Beautiful Savior

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Beautiful Savior, Lord of the nations,

 

Son of God and Son of Man!

 

 

Glory and honor, praise, adoration

 

Now and forevermore be Thine!

 

 

Beautiful Savior by Joseph A. Seiss, Moravian hymn, 1873; Images: jackson-david-8qudl9pDZJ0-unsplash.jpg; zac-durant-_6HzPU9Hyfg-unsplash.jpg

 

They’ve Got Tina

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They’ve got Tina.

When I heard someone say that, it was the first time I felt slight concern, though not enough, about a now 70 year old woman who was a Mesa County, Colorado county clerk.

County clerk. It’s a position that seems innocuous enough.* It is a job that includes preserving birth, death, marriage, and vital statistics records. These include deeds, liens, and judgments. Business licenses. Construction permits. Court documents. County clerks are responsible for entering data into computer systems and maintaining accurate records of all transactions and documents. And often the job includes overseeing the administration of local elections. And that responsibility includes maintaining votes from an election for 22 months following the election and 4 years following a contested election.

I’d heard a few things here and there, but didn’t pay close attention. However, Tina Peters’ name kept being mentioned.

As I understand it, some Mesa county citizens expressed their concern over votes being manipulated in the 2020 election and before that, as well. Tina didn’t take it very much to heart. After all, the system seemed to run smoothly enough and she trusted it. And then Dominion, the computer system relied on during elections asked to service their machine. Tina agreed, but out of an abundance of caution before they came to do so, she had an expert come in and, to simplify things in a way people like me can understand it, take a picture of the original vote results. After Dominion serviced the machine, Tina asked the same computer expert to take a picture again. It showed that data had been deleted and completely wiped off the server. Tina’s decision to so preserve those vote results provided proof of the felonious actions of removing critically important election-related data files (before it is legal to do so) under the guise of supposed “software update maintenance”.

Reports were made, accusations flew and now Tina is spending 9 years in prison. Her husband died in the midst of the trouble. Her home was raided including precious items of this Navy SEAL Gold Star Mother’s son. It seems like overkill for a county clerk, doesn’t it?

PBS called her a Republican election denier. The AP called her whistleblowing a voting data scheme. The judge called her a charlatan. (By the way, judges are the ones who determine which evidence is allowed and disallowed at trial.)

AP said “Peters was convicted of three counts of attempting to influence a public servant, one count of conspiracy to commit criminal impersonation, first-degree official misconduct, violation of duty and failing to comply with the secretary of state.

She was found not guilty of identity theft, one count of conspiracy to commit criminal impersonation and one count of criminal impersonation. Yet she persisted on social media to accuse Colorado-based Dominion Voting Systems, which made her county’s election system, and others of stealing votes.”

Why would a 70 year old county clerk persist in a lie when faced with prison and nine years, at that? I’ve heard prison is harder on women than men. I don’t know if it is, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

All of us need to do some research. Then we need to think about the perspective of the sources we are using and their biases and ours. But we are obligated in this wide world to do more than sigh or watch someone else tell us what to think.

So I won’t tell you what to think, but I’ll tell you what I think. I think elections are important, and this case shouts that this election needed a specific result, something must be covered up, and someone must be silenced. And the reason that is usually done in nations the world over is that someone(s) is threatened by a loss of control.

We believe we are aware of the stakes in the 2020 election, but I don’t think any of us is to a full extent. No. Someone is very protective of their control. I have to ask why. The usual suspect is money. Maybe. Maybe it’s more than that. Yes, it’s more than that.

We do know that trafficking of children, women, and drugs is at an all-time high. We know that at least 300,000 children have been “lost” in the last 4 years upon crossing our border. That’s a lot of Amber Alerts. Drugs can be sold once. A child can be sold dozens of times a day.

A child-trafficking network of this degree needs corrupt officials. It needs DHS, Secretary of State, Presidential approval, Office of Refugee Resettlement, and HHS to give a means to step away from protections that at one time had been put in place. As of March 2021, for instance, background checks are no longer required of each resident for a child to be placed in a home. The network also involves NGO’s, many liberal Christian charity groups, which receive money with no bid contracts to facilitate some of the trafficking and help cartels make money, helping themselves to payouts in the process. Our federal government uses these organizations to launder money. Said another way, public private partnerships use tax dollars to fund the world’s largest child trafficking organization. Democrats put it in place. Republicans funded it by abdicating their power of the purse.

US taxes fund trafficking. Let me say it again. US taxes fund trafficking. Are we understanding the enormity of this yet?  Entities involved in trafficking as well as the by now cascading travesties compromising our very nation needed cover by people willing to be bribed or weak enough to be blackmailed. And the integrity of our elections figures into that. A woman named Tina stood her ground, told the truth, and sent that beast of a network into a frenzy.

Jesus came and sacrificed himself on the cross to save our souls. But God put us in charge of the earth. We need to clean up this mess. Christians, we are not called to escape. We are expected to reign. We are expected to call a spade a spade. We are expected to not turn the other way.

Can we start by at least getting on board to stand with Tina, the County Clerk, and FREE TINA PETERS?

*County clerk job description I found online states: Create, maintain, organize and file various documents. Capture data on spreadsheets and in various computer programs. Run errands, such as collecting documents and transporting documents to other offices. Handle correspondence for the County Clerk’s office. Receive relevant fees and balance a cash drawer. Perform election administration tasks and capture election data.

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Sources: https://gaballots.com/evidence/f/how-long-must-erecords-be-kept; https://coloradonewsline.com/2024/10/03/tina-peters-former-mesa-county-clerk-sentenced-to-9-years-in-prison-over-voting-systems-breach/; https://www.cpr.org/2024/10/03/tina-peters-former-mesa-county-clerk-prison/; https://www.kkco11news.com/2025/01/24/can-trump-pardon-tina-peters-heres-what-district-attorney-says/; https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2024/12/please-remember-gold-star-mom-tina-peters-who/; https://joehoft.com/tina-peters-exclusive-im-letting-you-know-that-if-i-die-here-it-wasnt-by-my-own-hand-im-not-depressed/; https://www.courthousenews.com/colorado-court-of-appeals-finds-insufficient-evidence-to-convict-tina-peters-of-contempt-for-recording-in-court/; https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2024/10/one-last-hurrah-tina-peters-releases-her-mesa/; https://www.westernslopenow.com/tina-peters-trial-live/; Juan O Savin SITREP on Rumble [MIRROR] OPERATION: AMBER ALERT<U.S. CHILD TRAFFICKING (2024); http://MiCasaKids.org; https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2025/01/exclusive-tina-peters-important-message-prison-regarding-supremacy/; https://www.streetinsider.com/PRNewswire/Cyber+Crisis+and+Systemic+Abuse+of+Power:+Saving+Tina+Peters/23488086.html

No Accounting For Taste (conclusion)

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I was there on the dot of 6:00 and Chloe invited me in. The meal was some of the best Italian I’d tasted in – well – ever. By the time I’d enjoyed a second helping and gelato to top it off, Chloe had coaxed from me most of the important parts and some of the boring parts of my life story, including the suffering I endured from a theory book at every piano lesson until I was 16. When I told her I thought of G7 as having to do with more politics than music, we both laughed.

But it was when we retired to her living room for a spicy herbal tea, that I learned something about her.

“You’ve been following me out of the grocery store.”

I couldn’t deny it. “My curiosity got the better of me,” I admitted. “You don’t shop groceries like other people. And then when you didn’t go home with them, well . . .”

Chloe nodded.

“I don’t suppose you remember when I moved here. You’re too young.” She sighed. “I’ve lived all over the world. I was a chef. Studied at the . . . Culinary Institute of America . . .” She gave me a sharp look, though I had no idea why. Upon my look of innocence, she continued, “and was good enough to work anywhere I chose.”

“I don’t doubt it. Tonight’s dinner was amazing!”

“I spent a little time at Apicius,” she remarked. “Now that was an interesting experience,” she added under her breath.

When I began to ask why, she interrupted. “So I entertain myself now by challenging myself with varied ingredients to come up with something of note.”

Her explanation seemed off to me, somehow. While we’d dined, I had caught a glimpse in her pantry which deserved a standing ovation and showed she didn’t really need the items she bought at the little grocery.

“But you don’t go home.”

“No, no I don’t. I suppose you want to know why.”

I nodded vigorously.

“I like to remind myself of various times in my life, and I’ve found that place is an important part of that.”

I could see how that would be true. I, myself, was transported back to various times in my life just by driving through certain towns.

“I don’t suppose you can jet back to Italy every week,” I offered.

Chloe laughed longer than I thought my comment deserved.

She ignored it, though, as she continued. “One time I was holed up in a small auto shop for longer than I wished. But looking back, I recall the reasons for it as well as some surprisingly satisfying hours there.”

“But why were you . . .”

Chloe continued. “The church, of course, is a place of solace for me. Always has been. I prefer them empty. It’s quiet and Jesus sits with you if you want.”

“What does he like to eat?”

Chloe smiled. “I spent a year in a basement apartment in New York. It was a dump, but comfortable enough for me.”

“More comfortable than an auto repair shop?”

“Haha. Yes.”

“But I would think you made enough money to live in better surroundings.”

“It depends on what you think of as better surroundings.”

I left Chloe’s that evening having been given answers, but none that satisfactorily answered my questions.

I gave them up – my questions. It was clear she didn’t care to divulge much, though she was very good at getting me to chatter like a songbird. I consoled myself with the knowledge that I’d tried; tried to find out about Chloe’s peculiarities and found little to fill in the blanks. What she said near the end of my visit, though, stuck with me like a song that would play over and over in my mind.

“When you get to be my age, you value experience over money and knowledge over things.”

“What about people?” I asked. “Family? Friends?”

Chloe pondered for a few minutes so we sat in silence.

“Some are treasures, others, trash. But I do believe that all the times and places and, yes, people who slip in and out of your life meet you as one person and say goodbye to you as someone who became a little different because of the encounter.”

Different because of the encounter. I mulled over that final comment as I took inventory the next day. And the next week I thought about preferring experience and knowledge, times and places over things that seemed to me at the time to be more valuable while I unloaded coffee to the shelves.

I didn’t see Chloe for awhile after that. I asked around and heard  from a boy she’d hired to keep her up yard that she’d jetted to some other country. Which one? He thought maybe Peru. He seemed surprised someone like Chloe would venture further than the corner grocery.

“Oh, she ventures,” I defended her.

He looked like he didn’t believe me. I probably wouldn’t have either but for my experiences; like sitting outside on a misty evening just past midnight or eating amazing gelato with her in her very ordinary-looking house. It occurred to me that whatever I’d sought in following her, I’d found without realizing it. No, I didn’t find out much about Chloe, but I did discover a bit of her essence: Experiences not sought, but not forgotten; A little knowledge; And a time in my life when my usual expectations of people changed because of a grocery cart and a woman named Chloe.

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