Opinion

Every cloud has a silver lining. My great-grandma Whipple frequently expressed this sentiment. The first time I remember hearing it, I was sitting on the floor of her formal living room, enjoying a lollipop, because great-grandkids are allowed to do that sort of thing. And because she owned a candy shop.

Abbe Pierre was a well- known French priest who dedicated his life to helping the poor and the destitute. Abbe Pierre had a very clear state of mind. He used to say that we must always keep both eyes open: one eye on the world’s suffering so that we can fight against it and the other on its wondrous beauty so that we may give thanks for it.

Long before instant cereals, frozen waffles, frozen French toast, and toaster pops. my mother would fix breakfast for me and my brother.

Sometimes it was just cereal with or without fruit. Many times it would be pancakes, waffles, French toast or eggs. Breakfast might be soft boiled eggs, scrambled eggs or an omelet. Often we had bacon, sausage, scrapple or pork roll with our eggs. A large breakfast would include one of those meats, hash browns or home fried potatoes with eggs.

Last Sunday we lifted up our prayer requests and celebrations. There were a lot of prayers for people whose loved ones had died or were dying. There were a couple of 40-something parents who were dying of cancer. We prayed for them and their children. There was the infant who died in a tragic accident. She was the only child her older parents were able to have.

I am not fond of clichés, but the older I get, the more I understand the value of stepping outside the comfort zone and broadening your horizons. We often leave this to the young with admonitions off: go to college, discover yourself before you get married and travel before you have kids.

It is said that Christians are being martyred for their faith more frequently than ever before in human history. All over the world, in countries run by kings, tyrants and dictators, it is dangerous to be a Christian. It is common for family members to turn their own children or spouse into the religious police for discipline when they find out that he or she has become a Christian.

We were looking through pictures taken at a writer’s conference I recently attended.

“She has really nice hair,” hubby remarked about my friend Jill.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” I responded. “It’s like pure, black silk. She said her mom is Native American.”

“What tribe?” he asked.

I gave him my best “are you serious?” look. Only a boy who has grown up on a reservation would even think to ask that question.

In general, I’m totally against sexist statements and forcing people into stereotypical gender roles. But every now and then, I succumb to this antiquated way of thinking.

Recently, we went to our trusty salesman at the Ford dealership and told him we were in the market for a pickup truck. While he was checking inventory, hubby got to looking around the showroom. He was especially drawn to a somewhat sissified version of an SUV. The color he fancied was burnt orange.

Five days from now, registered voters in this county will have a chance to exercise one of their most important rights, the right to vote.

And every year about this time, newspapers across the county feature editorials, columns, etc., preaching on why you should go vote. You can probably count this column as one of those as well.

But in a county like Oldham, consistently ranked as one of the most wealthy, most healthy and best educated, voting should be a foregone conclusion.