I’ve never been much of a Bible thumper—always kept my relationship with God on a somewhat personal basis. And if you’re a Marx or Nietzsche fan you probably don’t want to read this, but in the past couple weeks, God has poked me several times—not in a bad way, but he has gotten my attention. A firm believer in ‘free-will,’ I adhere to the belief that much of what we experience is not the direct intervention of God but the result of our own choices. He just lays the ground rules of cause and effect.

On the other hand, I do believe on occasion God brings about occurrences in peoples’ lives that are often explained as “amazingly coincidental” …or maybe not. It’s not that these things haven’t happened on rare occasions in the past, but four times since just before the first of the year, I’ve been the recipient of messages from angels.

First this prologue is necessary: After six months of misery from knee replacement surgery last year, I swore to myself the I would not do the same on the other knee, although the doctor said this other knee is as bad or worse. I took arthritis meds, and for several months it seemed to be under control. As the already scheduled date for the second surgery approached, I planned to cancel it.

That’s when God poked me the first time, leaving me with a new level of agony in my knee. I couldn’t walk. A few days later, the surgeon’s office called to confirm, and the scheduled surgery now remains on the calendar. Sure, it might be a lucky coincidence but read on for God-poke number two.

Determined to go deer hunting at least once this season, I drove with a friend to a relatively remote area well before daylight the day after New Years. Far out in the Coldwater River bottoms, I attempted to back my pickup down a steep embankment but got off the gravel and jack-knifed the ATV trailer on the grassy slope. At five o’clock in the morning we were looking at a ruined deer hunt and an expensive towing fee, if we could even get one to come out there. That’s when we spotted headlights coming. Remember, we were in the middle of nowhere!

We were so far below the crest of the levee we didn’t have time to signal, but the driver of a white pickup truck stopped and shouted down at us, asking if we needed help. Producing a tow chain, a young man in his mid-twenties, hooked to us and pulled us out in a couple minutes. When I asked what we could give him, he said nothing. I asked his name.

“Micky,” he said.

He climbed in his truck and drove away. My friend asked, “Where did he come from?”

“God,” I said.

Two days later I went to visit an elderly friend in a nursing home who was having physical therapy for a stroke. I have had extensive physical therapy several times and have had no qualms with my therapists. Most have been very good, but the woman who was working with my friend was exceptional, especially since he asks lots of questions. This young woman patiently answered them all, while working with him. She did so in a way I found unusual in that she talked to him as if they were best friends but in a very professional manner. Head and shoulders above any I’ve ever met, I asked her name before she departed.

“Micky,” she said.

Just yesterday, God poked me a fourth time. I needed to purchase an exercise-cycle to use after the upcoming knee surgery and found one for sale locally. I was on my way to buy it when my cell phone rang. It was another friend who I hadn’t spoken with in six or eight months. It was a “butt-dial” he apologetically explained. We talked and I told him where I was going. He said he had an exercise-cycle he would give me for free. I give you my word, all of this is true.

Now, while on a roll like this one, I got to thinking perhaps I should take my two-hundred dollars and make the hour-long drive down to the casino at Tunica. But when I woke up today there was six inches of snow on the ground, and it was still coming down. Do you know when the last time it snowed six inches in Mississippi? And, no, we don’t have snowplows in Mississippi—and there’s no casino trip in my immediate future. God has such a wonderful sense of humor.

By the way, the next Vietnam Series novel should be out sometime this spring. I’ll let you know when it’s available for pre-buy on Amazon. Meanwhile, here’s the link to my Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/stores/Rick-DeStefanis/author/B00H2YO2SS

I look forward to your comments. 

Rick

We had an event down here recently that made the news for four or five days running. Folks up North didn’t quite understand why we Southerners totally freaked out when it happened. No, I’m not talking about Robert E. Lee surrendering at Appomattox Courthouse. We’ve come to terms with that…such as it is. I’m talking about something else. It’s not easy to talk about because it’s considered a four-letter word down here.

I’m talking about a four-letter word, the occurrence of which is often accompanied by the use of another four-letter word. Yep, we did hear it a few times, frequently accompanied by the F-bomb. Understandably, both came primarily from our northern transplants—bless their hearts. I’ll explain.

Living in the “sunny” South can be a challenge for folks from up North—at least for the first year, two, or three, and yes, I heard a few of them combining the F-bomb with that other four-letter word more than once. You see, up North, the word—not the F-bomb word—but THAT other word—is one normally considered fit for common usage and is not necessarily considered vulgar. But you say it down here in Mississippi, and you better get the heck outta the way. Just sayin’.

You see, up North that word is often combined with other four-letter words, like -fall, -plow, -salt, -shoe, or five-letter words like -chains, -tires, first-, third-, all of which usually occur by sometime in November. Yep, we got 5-8 inches of the nasty stuff, and it stayed around for four or five days. Down here, we folk set off the tornado sirens when the “expert meteorologist” says there’s a possibility of “snow.” There it is! Yes, I said it. I put it in lowercase letters to reduce the effect, but it won’t matter. I’ll probably be banned from Facebook, Amazon, the church bulletin, and every local paper within a hundred miles.

 

So, anyway, the difference is in the interpretation. “Snow” in Yankee is a fairly innocuous word indicating a need for those aforementioned other four- and five-letter pre- or suffixes— -plow, -salt, -tires ‘etc. Here in the South, on the other hand, the mention of this profanity is a call for mass mobilization. The lines at the gas stations stretch out onto the highway. The propane dealers sell out within hours. There’s not a generator to be found anywhere south of the Maxon-Dixon, and the grocery store shelves—well they can only be described in biblical terms (Exodus 10:12). Yes, it resembles the locust plague.

Grocery carts are piled high with two months’ worth of milk, bread, tater chips, and Diet Coke (the inclusion of which is to off-set the inflationary effects of the aforementioned chips and bread). And should you arrive there more than five or six hours after the “expert meteorologist” mentions the S-word, you’re screwed. You’ll be met with yards of empty shelves, or at the least, lines of shoppers stretching down the aisles all the way back to the meat department and not a grocery cart in sight. And if you waited until the four-letter S-stuff began falling, bless your heart, the drive home is gonna be an adrenaline ride that makes turn-4 at Talladega look like kitty cars.

There are several rules we Southerners follow while driving in snowy or icy conditions. First: Stay very close behind the guy in front of you. Not sure why, but it seems to be common practice, so just do it. Second: If you come up on a bridge or overpass, apply your brakes vigorously. Afterall, the bridge always freezes first and you gotta creep across it, even on the interstate highway. Never mind that jack-knifing 18-wheeler behind you. That’s why they put ditches and medians on the roads. Third: Do not under any circumstances exceed ten miles per hour. Oh, and if you Yankee transplants think you’re getting’ off from this one Scott free, guess again.

Northerners learn quickly that Southerners panic and drive ten-miles-per-hour for miles on end, even on packed snow. There’s only one response. TAILGATE!! Yeah, give ‘em some NASCAR bumper love. And at the earliest opportunity pass them in the median or off the shoulder of the road and hope you don’t overlook a concrete culvert. Poor things are simply frustrated, and not without just cause when the closest thing to a snowplow in the county is a front-end loader. The problem is in the venting. It only fogs up your windshield and increases your chances of ending up in a ditch.

Oh, and did you know that a four-wheel drive vehicle can’t stop any faster than a two-wheel-drive one? This issue tends to occur in both demographic groups and is described by Ron White as something that can’t be fixed, so I’ll reserve comment. The deer pics are for my northern friends, so as to sooth their nerves and relieve their anxiety.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…if you enjoyed this little commentary, please sign-up for my mail list. Go to www.rickdestefanis.com and do it. I have had numerous friends and loyal readers tell me “I didn’t know you came out with another book.” Subscribe and you will get about one email a month, and if you’re in a bad mood, that’s why God created the delete key. I now have twelve novels published—seven in the Vietnam War series and four in my Rawlins Saga western series. Subscribe and don’t miss another book. And your update: I finished the second draft of Specter of Betrayal the sequel to The Ghost, Rumors from the Central Highlands of Vietnam. I’m still hoping to have it out in the spring.

Happy reading, and don’t forget Valentines Day.