Missing Child

Law enforcement has asked that this photo be shared everywhere. Celina Cass, age 11, is missing from her home in W. Stewardstown, NH, since Monday, 7/25/11, at 9pm. She is described as 5 feet, 5 inches tall, weighing about 95 pounds, with hazel eyes and waste-length brown hair. She was last seen wearing a pink shirt, a pink pullover, blue shorts and shoes. If you have ANY information at all that you feel is relevant to her disappearance or whereabouts please contact New Hampshire State Police at 603-846-3333.

Post Script: 8/1/11 - After a massive search effort by local authorities, volunteers from various places and organizations, State police from several states, Fish and Game, Border Patrol, the FBI and the Canadian Royal Mounted Police, divers discovered Celina's body this morning in the Connecticut River about 1/2 mile north of her home. Please pray for comfort for the family, friends and community that are devastated by this horrible act, and that whoever is responsible is quickly brought to justice.

Please leave a comment below. I love hearing from you.

Red Wilde's Cat

Here's yet another great story by my friend Jesse Taylor II. If you like his stories please let him know by leaving a comment in, of all places, the comment section.

--Guest post by Jesse Taylor II

I've never felt any real sense of shame when telling folks that my Daddy was a heavy drinker. That's just the plain truth. I grew up with it and accepted it as part of his nature. He wasn't a "mean drunk". If anything, drinking brought out the entertainer in him. It was the times when he was drunk that he most often turned to his music and story telling talents and enjoyed the laughter it brought from his friends. Having said that, let me tell you a little more about the man.

Daddy was a heavy construction worker. That's what he liked. He would rather work on a bridge building crew, a road crew, or with a crew that dug ditches than to operate some factory machine. Of course, back in "his time", many of the construction crews quit for the winter. Cold weather takes a heavy toll on machinery, materials and men. It can be dangerous...much better to wait for better weather.

During lay-offs, there wasn't much to do except sit around the house, which Daddy couldn't stand. He didn't have any real hobbies, except for drinking, and he craved the company of his pals. Even so, there's only just so much time anyone can spend at the local VFW, or anywhere else with a fine selection of bar stools. The mind can only enjoy as much as the seat of the pants can endure. So, it wasn't unusual for men of Daddy's kind to "take the show on the road", so to speak. They'd get a "pint or a fifth" and a cold six pack and drive around to see the sights. Yes, yes, I know...drinking and driving is a terrible thing. It was back then, too, but it wasn't the huge crime it is now days. It was more socially accepted and that's just the way it was.

Of course, you realize this is all leading up to a story. So, having "set the stage", here it is.

It was a few days before Christmas. It had been real cold and the snow was heavy and deep. Daddy was laid-off from his job, so he was pursuing his favorite hobby...we'll call it "socializing".

As it so happened, Daddy was socializing with a workmate named, Russel Wilde. Folks called him "Red", because of his bright red hair and full, red beard. Red was another "old drunk", for lack of a better description. He made good money, but like most of his kind, he kept it all "drunk up". He lived as poor as a church mouse. The old house he rented was sparsely furnished and was heated by a single "pot-bellied" stove. His wife did have an electric cook stove.

Oh yes, he was married. Poor old girl, she was a good wife and mother who struggled along and endured Red's ways for the sake of her family. As I recall, she wasn't much to look at, but that's neither here nor there. Time is seldom a friend to a woman's beauty and that's especially true for a woman who has a drunk for a husband.

I went to school with Red's daughters. I'll never forget their names...Kathy, Lootie, and Vondretta. They were all healthy and happy little girls, even if they didn't have all the "niceties" denied them by Red's over indulgence. As I mentioned, their Mom was a very good mother and she saw that they were well fed and had clean clothes to wear, even if they weren't of the latest fashion.

Still, every once in awhile, she'd pack the girls up and leave Red to stay with her mother. It never seemed to worry Red. He knew she'd come back. He just went along with business, or lack there of, as usual. Lord only knows why, but Red was the love of her life. They say a woman marries a man hoping he'll change, but he seldom does...and a man marries a woman hoping she won't change, but she always does. Such is life, but to continue...

When we left our "heroes", it was about 2:30 or 3:00 am and Daddy and Red were driving around the countryside when Red says, "You getting hungry, Willard?"

Daddy maintained that he could go for a bite. So, Red suggested they go to his house where he'd "get the old woman up out of bed and have her fix us some 'tatters and eggs". So, that was the plan.

When they got to Red's house it was almost as cold inside as it was outside. The fire had gone out in the old pot-bellied stove and there wasn't anyone around to re-stoke it. A note on the kitchen table told the whole story. The wife had packed up the kids and ran back to her mother's to spend Christmas "in a decent family fashion". This didn't bother Red. He just told Daddy to pull up a seat while he kindled up a fire and they'd fry up their own 'taters and eggs right on top of the old stove.

Now, you didn't really want to sit down on Red's upholstered furniture, or what was left of it. You see, Red loved cats and he had about 20 of them in and around the place. So, always being fashion conscious and with an eye to keeping cat hair off his clothes, Daddy pulled an old, hard-backed chair in from the kitchen and sat down in front of the stove. Beer in hand, legs crossed and his foot nervously twitching, partly to provide a little warming exercise, Daddy sat there, observing Red's fire building skills.

Red had a rather unusual way of building a fire. First, he put a couple of large, split pieces in the stove, followed by a liberal covering of kindling, followed by an armload of wadded up newspaper. Over this, he poured a large "soup can" full of kerosene. Then, he grabbed up another section of newspaper and began twisting it into a torch, which he would throw into the stove to ignite the kerosene. He was having some difficulty getting his old "Zippo" lighter to work, but finally got a spark and was turning the torch over and over so as to insure enough flame for positive ignition when it was applied to the combustion chamber.

As this was taking place, Daddy continued his "cross-legged" vigil, sipping his beer and bouncing his foot, as was his nervous habit. As Daddy later recalled, it was about this time that Red's favorite cat, a white, long-haired cat that Red called an "Angora", took it upon itself to spring into action...no doubt coaxed into a playful venture by the dancing strings of Daddy's nervously bouncing work boot. From around the corner of the couch, it sprang onto Daddy's foot. Being startled by the unexpected attack, Daddy kicked his foot. He said the cat sailed through the open door of the stove even as Red turned and threw the flaming torch in, right behind it. Red slammed the door shut and stood over the stove, clapping and rubbing his hands together as if expecting instant heat. Daddy, somewhat bent over towards the stove, looked up at Red and said, "Red...I think I just kicked ye cat in the far (fire)!"

Red said, "You done what?"

About that time, they heard "Scritch, scritch, scritch" in the stovepipe. The cat worked the damper as it went through, rounded the elbow into the chimney and continued to "scritch" its way on up. Red, who's eyes were big as saucers as they intently followed the sounds, gave a big jerk and took off towards the front door with Daddy right behind him.

Outside, both men stood in the knee-deep snow, staring straight up at the chimney on top of that big, 2-story house. The snow was still falling fairly heavy, but they could see there wasn't any smoke coming out. Then, there was a large "poof" of black smoke, presently followed by, what looked like, an animated and independent portion of that smoke descending down the side of the chimney to the roof, where it smoked it's way along the peak, sat down on the gable end and started to lick itself.

Daddy was on his knees, laughing, but Red was not amused as he stood there, staring straight up at the smoking, black cat. Daddy said he'd just got up off his knees and was dusting the snow off his pants when Red shot him a glance and said, "Well, damn it! I hope he's got enough spit to put himself out!" Daddy hit the ground again.

Cousin Harvey

--Guest post by Jesse Taylor II

My Daddy insisted this story was true. You'll have to make up your own mind about that.

My Cousin Harvey Taylor wasn't as tall as the rest of the family. He topped of at a very skinny 5-foot six. Daddy always said smoking and drinking had stunted his growth. Harv claimed to have smoked his first cigarette when he was only 5 years old. In a tobacco growing country, where "roll your owns" are common and kids will be kids, that may be true. But, one thing is true, by the time he reached 15 years of age he'd developed a healthy taste for alcohol. Boys grew up fast in the coal camps of old Kentucky. Times were hard and the poverty took its toll. When he was 16 years old, "Little Harv" lied about his age and joined the Army. Hard to believe, but it really happened. But, I digress. We're not really here to talk about Harv's younger days. Let's have a word about his hobby...and chief occupation. Namely, that of being a drunk.

Now, just because Harv was a drinker, that didn't mean he was lazy. A great many heavy drinkers are very hard workers. They know that if they quit working then the money for alcohol will disappear. Harv didn't have any trouble holding down a job. Things were very different from what they are, today.

Anyway, as it so happened, Harv's outfit had a three day weekend. This meant Harv had Thursday night, all day Friday and all day Saturday to practice his hobby. He set to the task with gusto, according to reports. When Sunday morning came, Harv woke up in the bar. Actually, he woke up on the countertop of the bar, proper. You might say he had been "over served". As bad as he felt, he knew it was Sunday. He also knew there wasn't any use in trying to call anyone to come pick him up. Them that weren't in church would be in no shape to drive, having spent their time involved in their own hobbies.

Harv claimed he had a ringing in his ears, blurred vision, stomach cramps and a headache. Also, he knew that, if he was going to get back home, he was going to have to walk. His thinking was clear enough to realize that he really didn't want to put up with the noise of passing traffic, should he take the "easy route" by walking along the highway. Unsteady as his legs were, he decided he'd be better off taking the more direct and private route, down along the river. If the birds weren't singing too loud, he thought he might be better able to stand it.

As Harv walked along the river, he heard a sound that, in his impaired condition, sounded for the world like someone shouting for help. Somebody might be drowning. This spurred Harv into action. He took off at a "lope". The route took him over a high embankment and he ran head-long into a big "baptising" service.

Now, Harv was no stranger in the community. Some of those folks recognized him and knew him well. They knew what he'd been up to and could see he wasn't "up to snuff", so to speak. Well, one of the fellows clamped Harv in a good, old fashioned, "hand shake". This involved a few hearty pats on the back and a round of "well-wishings". Its a common occurrence between friends in that part of the country. Also, its not an uncommon trait that good friends can sense a conspiracy when it comes up. The first man passed Harv off to the second man, who passed him off again, and so on and so forth. Next thing Harv knew, he was standing in the river, shaking hands with the preacher. The preacher, being no stranger himself, grabbed Harv and, promptly, dunked him under.

Harv came up spitting and slinging water. The reverend, still holding Harv by the shirt collar, shouted, "Have you found Jesus?"

Harv shouted, "No!!" So, the reverend dunked him under, again.

Harv came up blowing more water and waving his arms around. The reverend shouted, "Have you found Jesus!!?"

Harv shouted, "No!!!" Back under he went.

Harv came up spitting and clutching at the air and the reverend repeated the question, "Have you found Jesus, yet!!!?"

Harv reached out, grabbed the reverend by the shirt, drew him in close and asked, "Reverend...are you right sure this is where he went under!!?"

City Evangelist, Country Church

--Guest Post by Jesse Taylor II

Back in the Appalachian Mountains of old Kentucky, when I was a boy, the churches were one-room, white, simple little buildings. They weren't anything fancy. Not that the size or construction of the church matters to the Lord, but our churches were simple and small because the people led simple lives and, when it came right down to it, didn't have the money to support the building and maintenance of a large church.

In fact, the day to day maintenance of the church was so simple that one man could take care of it. All that really needed to be done was dusting the pews and window ledges, sweeping the floor, and in winter, building a fire in the little "pot-bellied" stove. The outhouse might need some attention or, if the day was unusually dark or if the service was after dark, the kerosene lamps might need filling and lighting. Usually, this task was taken up by Uncle Jim Gibbons.

Uncle Jim was a simple man who lived alone in the same two-room cabin he'd grown up in. He never married, so he considered his only obligations were to his fellow man and his Lord.

I recall one Sunday morning when the whole community was "all a-buzz" because we were expecting to have a big revival, led by a big city evangelist. As luck would have it, Uncle Jim had been busy with his old mule, that morning. Seems the poor old creature wasn't feeling the best and Uncle Jim had been tending to him to the point where he clean forgot about the time. When he finally realized his mistake, Uncle Jim took off for the church in such a hurry that he didn't have time to grab himself a bite for breakfast.

Uncle Jim didn't drive, so his only way of getting to the church was to walk. He was accomplishing this with great speed that morning. He was going along at such a clip that he almost stepped on a possum. Now, Uncle Jim considered a possum to be some mighty fine eating...as did most folks around the area. Since he hadn't had any breakfast, he knew he'd be mighty hungry by the time church let out. So, never one to pass up a good meal, Uncle Jim found a stick and collected what the Good Lord had provided.

He didn't have time to run it back home, so he took it along, stopping only long enough to "field dress" it when he reached a stream crossing. He rinsed off his pocket knife and his hands and continued along to the church, freshly cleaned possum by his side.

As was mentioned, the church was a one-room, simple building. There weren't any closets...no "nooks or crannies". There wasn't anyplace to put the possum out of sight. The only place Uncle Jim could find was a ledge, just over the door, on the inside of the church. The menfolk used to put their hats on it, but that practice had ceased since someone had donated a double row of fancy, brass coat-hooks, which had been installed along the back wall. Now, there was ample room for everyone to hang their coats and hats and nobody had to strain up to reach the shelf.

So, it was up there, out of sight, that Uncle Jim decided to hide his possum. It seemed like the perfect place. After all, everyone would be in a church pew and would be paying attention to the evangelist, who would be putting on a real show from a little "riser" that ran across the front of the church. Nobody would be facing the back of the church, except for the evangelist and he would be too busy with the sermon to notice a possum tucked back up on that shelf.

The church service got underway. The evangelist was introduced and the "stage" was turned over to him. The preaching soon reached a fevered pitch. This was the old "fire and brimstone" type of preaching. These preachers believed you had to put the fear of God into your congregation. There was much pacing and jumping and stomping and waving of hands, gnashing of teeth and wailing of voices. The evangelist was putting on quite a show. As he paced back and forth, stopping every so often to bounce up and down for effect, he was laying on the gospel thicker and heavier. His voice was rising and falling. He was pounding his fist into his hands as he preached, "Every day of our lives we've got to get down on our knees and thank the Good Lord for the blessings we've received. Every day of our lives we've got to get down on our knees and thank the Good Lord for the food He puts on our table and the clothes He puts on our backs. Every day of our lives we've got to reach out our hands up to heaven, raise our eyes towards the sky and say.....Good God! What a rat!!!"

After that, Uncle Jim was always fond of saying that, "You can't hide what the Good Lord wants revealed." Bless his heart.

A Pigmas Carol

Written by the sister of Jean:

Hark! the Herald Piggies squeal, here it comes, our next slop meal!
We each try to get it first, rinds of bacon and liverwurst.
Sour milk and cracked up eggs, bits of veggies and chicken legs.
Jostle the bucket, make it fall, so farmer, too, can wear it all.
Hark! The Herald Piggies squeal, here it comes, our next slop meal!

The Christmas Pageant

This story was forwarded to me by a friend. You know, one of those e-mails that makes its way around to everyone's inbox. But I enjoyed this one so much I wanted to share it with you. The author is unknown but if you know who wrote it please let me know and I will be glad to give credit where credit is due for such a delightful story. I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas and feels the joy of this blessed season!

My husband and I had been happily married (most of the time) for five years but hadn't been blessed with a baby. I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if he would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with all my heart and raise it with His word as my guide. I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an umbrella."

God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son. The next year God blessed us with another son. The following year, He blessed us with yet another son. The year after that we were blessed with a daughter. My husband thought we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old.

I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with four children and I didn't want to disappoint Him.

I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the kitchen floor searching for baby chicks. I tried to be understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all twenty-three frogs. When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the mess. In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my children.

While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother (I didn't even come close) I did keep my promise to raise them in the Word of God. I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too. Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last wife."

My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant. My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine.

My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes." But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes." My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes." A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.

I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama-mama." Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as the wise men arrived.

My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and fur." The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation.

"I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," laughed the pastor, wiping tears from his eyes. "For the rest of my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense and fur."

"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I dug through my purse for an aspirin.

Jesus had no servants, yet they called Him Master. He had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher. Had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer. Had no army, yet kings feared Him. He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world. He committed no crime, yet they crucified Him. He was buried in a tomb, yet He lives today.

I feel honored to serve such a Leader who loves us.

Food Storage

I remember my mother, as did many old-time farm folk, always had a canning closet full of food that had been prepared during the summer (a time of plenty) to be eaten during the winter (a time of scarcity). Before the convenience of a market as close as your car will take you, folks routinely canned and preserved food for winter usage. In these uncertain times a lot of us are wisely trying to keep more food, fuel and emergency supplies on hand. My DIL wrote this guest post about food storage. (If you missed her post on couponing you can read that here. And check out her blog for ongoing coupons, deals, and more ways to save.)

Food Storage.
Also called stockpiling.

Chances are you either know what that means, or you couldn't care less.

So today I want to talk about:
What it is
How to get it
And why some people don't.

Food Storage is security.

Basically by building a stock pile of foods and goods that your family uses on a regular basis-you are preparing for the future. Kind of like the Biblical principle of the Egyptians storing away 1/5th of their grain in the "FAT" years. (Genesis 47:24) Then if one of those "rainy days" comes along and you have less pay then expected or NO job at all-you'll still eat. If you need to pay an unexpected bill-you can stop buying groceries and put that $ towards the bill.

Stockpiling food actually saves $ too. If I stock up on tuna when it's .25 a can and buy enough till the next sale-I don't end up paying $1 a can. That's just an example from 1 item. I try to do this with everything;)

How to store Food:

Simply one can or box at a time. That's the secret. Just get started. Before you know you'll have a nice little stash of goods. No one is saying to go stock the garage with a silo's worth of wheat! But if you see a sale on your brand of Peanut Butter for the week-by all means grab an extra one or 2 and tuck them away.

Most of the items in a food storage will have a long shelf life such as canned veggies, tuna, dry milk etc. There are plenty of commercial food storage sites on the net available to buy #10 cans of food from. While I have some of those, most of our food in storage comes from the good ol' grocery stores where I buy things in multiples, when they go on sale -with coupons of course:)

I find there are only really a few reasons people don't build a food storage.
Maybe 3.

1. They don't want to offend God.
2. They worry where they'll put it.
3. They're barely getting by now, so afraid they can't afford it.

#1: I don't know how many times I have heard someone say that they don't need Food storage because "God will provide". This is true. All that we have comes from Him. He is our great provider. But I can tell you I have never felt He is mad at me because I have had an extra case or 2, OK 5, of Hormel chili laying around. In fact I think He has been very happy when hard times have hit people like my Brother when he lost his job, or our neighbor's daughter and I was able to give them a good load of food and toiletries because I had a stockpile.

Trust me, we do not offend Him by taking some thought to be a little prepared. I mean really if our children do a little more then expected do we get mad? Why would food, an every day basic need, anger Him? Especially if there are children at home...He doesn't want us to wait for Manna, He wants us to get prepared for some of the things He's already told us will come: famines, pestilences, and earthquakes in divers places. (Matthew 24:7)

I have a feeling those will affect the food chain...

#2: Some of my first Food storage used to be in the cardboard cases I brought them home in and then tucked them under a bed. I now keep 5 Gallon buckets under another bed filled with Oatmeal, rice, wheat, dry milk, pastas etc. that we buy in bulk. Mac n cheeses, crackers, cereals, puddings etc. go on shelving. (We don't have a basement, so if we can do it-YOU can too:) Sugar is kept in galvanized trash cans with lids that I just throw the packages in that I bought for that reason alone, with flour in another as well.

#3: Might be the only excusable reason for not starting a stock pile. Most times though it can be just a mismanagement of one's $ that leaves them without even a dollar or 2 to put towards Food storage each week. I myself have had to ask if my kids really needed another $20 toy that would break in 2 days or should I buy 5 cases of canned Food at Aldi for that?


I put the toy back-I'll let them splurge at the yard sales...
Or better yet wait for Grandma to visit! :)

Really, in this uncertain economical time we live in, being prepared will be a blessing to your family. Please consider getting started today it only takes an extra can or box and you're on your way!

For more articles on Food Storage visit these great sites:
Prepared LDS Family GREAT! pics. of a food storage (much neater then mine;)
Safely Gathered In Food storage ideas,recipes, and Emergency Preparedness
Everyday Food Storage-great recipes to use your food storage with.