It's That Time of Year... Again

By G. E. Shuman

Well, friends and neighbors, it’s that time of year again.  No, I’m not referring to a time of sleigh bells and snow flakes, or tree lights and tinsel.  I’m not talking about the “packages, boxes and bags,” that the old Grinch once went on about, or even "the reason for the season."   No, good people, what I want to mention here today has to do with this blessed, wonderful season when American Christians have to suffer through irritating and unrelenting anti-holiday, insulting news stories from the national media.

You know the stories I'm talking about.  They always start to appear the very day you finish the Thanksgiving dinner leftovers and find that it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, just as sure as Jack Frost nipping at your nose.  Reporters 'dutifully' tax their expository talents for us, relating, in all seriousness, how some special group, person, place or other is the first this year to be offended by a show of religious free speech, such as a manger scene in a city park, or a cross on someones front lawn.   Each year someone always manages to persuade a judge or two to ban Christmas music in public places, too.  To me, it has always seemed a bit of comical irony that the malls still play carols through their music systems to put people in the mood to shop.   Hearing "Joy To The World" helps ease the pain of slipping that piece of plastic into the checkout card reader, it seems.   And, guess what?  Those songs are not 'holiday carols,' as if all of us didn't already know that.  Like it or not, ye easily offended people among us, they are CHRISTMAS carols.  As for the trees and gifts?  Those are not holiday trees and gifts, they are CHRISTMAS trees and gifts.  Thankfully, although somewhat strangely, our increasingly secular society will never convince big business to shun Christmas.   At least we still have that. 

Now, I have to ask, am I the only one who has noticed that the anti-holiday sentiment is always aimed at the Christian holidays alone?   Why don't unbelievers EVER pick on the Muslim or Buddhist holidays?  For some reason, doing so must be more wrong, I guess.  Something tells me that there is much more going on here than acts of caring folks heroically protecting people from the terrible fate of having to look at a cross or a manger for a few weeks in December.  If that were all, those folks could just look the other way, as I would need to do if in the vicinity of that 'free speech' piece of 'art' that is a crucifix in a bottle of urine.    

The most recent Christian holiday attack seems to be the new revolt against the television broadcast of "A Charlie Brown Christmas."  For people like me, who grew up with this Charles Shultz classic, this effort at censorship is just stupid. "Good Grief!" as Charlie would say.  For  those who disagree, I have a suggestion that has always worked well for me.  If I see something on TV that offends me, I don't need to write to the networks and the newspapers to get it removed from the airwaves.  My television remote has a cool little rubbery thingy on it, which solves the problem for me.  It is called an 'off' button.  Maybe you guys could get a remote like mine. 

I do have an idea for people who think the public display of Christian holiday symbols is wrong.  Folks, if you believe in the big bang theory instead of a loving God and creator, then hang up some planet models this time of year.  Yes, those things might look a little like big tree balls, but that's okay. They're not a manger, so no one will stop you, even if you display them on the state house lawn.  And, most of us do love to see the planets.  If you also believe in biological evolution, celebrate Charles Darwin's birthday with statues and banners proclaiming his birth.  No one who disagrees with you will care or find a judge to make you take them down.   Best of all, if you don't believe in anything, your job is really easy.  You can just relax.  

I do, also, have one word of caution.  Current world events, even including the rise and boldness of people who say that there is no God, are quite clearly predicted in the Bible.  We all stand somewhere on this issue.  You might not believe in Biblical miracles and prophesy, but I'd be careful.  Just tell me one thing these days that really seems totally impossible.  Can't think of one?  Me either.  If it were me, (and it is not) before I protested too strongly against the celebration of Jesus' first arrival on earth, I might consider the idea that He really is coming back here, probably very soon.   He and his Father made the universe, and He's not gonna be happy.   ...Just sayin'.

George's World, a new 740 page collection of George's columns from The World, is available at xlibris.com, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com and your favorite bookstore.  The Smoke And Mirrors Effect, George's first novel, can be seen at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com.  Enjoy!

Kids, Eat Your Turkey!

by G. E. Shuman

Call me an outdated, carnivorous dinosaur if you like. I'm getting used to the idea of living in the past, and I'm actually pretty comfortable here. As proof of my 'oldfashionedness,' I was disturbed by a recent advertisment put out by PETA.  You know, PETA; the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Did you see the ad? It's okay if you didn't, because I'm going to tell you about it in the next paragraph.  As an introduction, let me say that, personally, I like animals, (even when they are in places other than right beside the mashed potatoes,) and could not care less if you or anyone else leads a vegan lifestyle.  Unlike PETA, I don't tell people what to eat or how to live, so I should be commended for my great tolerance, don't you think?
I do think that I am, at least, more tolerant than those PETA folks who put the particular ad I'm referring to into circulation just before Thanksgiving Day.  (This is the part where I tell you about it.)  The ad said, precisely: "Kids. You wouldn't eat your dog.  Why would you eat a turkey?"  Evidently, those well-meaning folks at PETA were never taught the difference between a farm animal that was raised specifically for consumption by humans, and a pet. If you are unsure of the difference, remember that dogs have leashes... turkeys usually don't.  (If you do have a pet turkey, please forgive me.)  I suspect that the PETA folks don't care a whit that many families in this country will be grateful to have a turkey, or a chicken, or some other poor, "unethically-treated" animal as the centerpiece of their Thanksgiving feast.  They also must not care about any division their advertisement may cause those families on that day, or the fact that there will  have been a certain amount of sacrifice for some families to even provide the yearly feast, this year.  No, let's just be sure no turkeys are harmed, and that they all live long and happy lives.  I know, my ideas are outdated; I am that old dinosaur.  It's just that, to me, our world has, sadly, become a place where animal rights are revered high above those of people.  You will never happen upon an abortion clinic for pets, and rightly so.
There are thousands of family-run and industrial turkey farms in the United States, providing over 254,000,000 turkeys anually. (USDA 2012 stat.) That's two hundred fifty four MILLION of these great individual sources of economical protein, for consumption by American and foreign families, each year.  (Hey, forget the dog, it sounds like the turkey is man's real best friend.) Those family farms must also mean little to people who actually spend money advertising against turkey eating, but PETA isn't about people, after all.
Regardless of a person's predisposition to the eating, or not eating of meat, isn't it a little late in the year to suggest to kids that they not eat turkey... (or their dog,) this Thanksgiving?  Most of the dogs will be full of dog food, which is yucky and usually contains poutry (chicken and turkey) byproducts. But, it's probably okay for dogs to eat turkey, even if kids shouldn't.  Right?  Most of those big birds that families will consume on Thursday are already processed and in supermarket or home freezers.  If not eaten, wouldn't they have all died in vain, PETA followers?  Perhaps between now and next spring you can convince all of those turkey farmers to grow soybeans instead of poultry, but I hope not.  If you do, next Thanksgiving I'll have to go out for a burger.  (Kids, eat your turkey, while you can.)
Seriously, dear readers, I wish you all a wonderful, loving, thankful family time this week, however you choose to celebrate the holiday.  As someone who cherishes Thanksgiving as a day of giving thanks to God for all of our blessings, including meat on our table, I never thought I would be saying this, but, Happy Turkey Day!  (Save me a drumstick.)

It's Not My Puppy

By G. E. Shuman


So, last night I was out on the side lawn, in the dark, in the rain, watching my wife’s new puppy do her little doggie duty.  She’s already pretty well trained, I think, for an eight week old. (Not my wife… the puppy.)  But, nothing’s perfect. Nearly, and I mean nearly, every time we pick Day-Z up after a meal and plop her on the lawn, she succeeds in doing some plopping of her own, and the other thing too.  I’m not sure if that really means the puppy is trained, or if we are, but it keeps little presents off the carpet, either way.  And, either way, I’m not worried.  It’s not my puppy.   Now, as I said, I was out on the lawn with my wife’s puppy, watching the thing wander around in the dark, and the rain, and wondering why I was there.  Suddenly, a man who was walking his own dog down our street in the rain, stopped and said, and I quote: “What am I looking at?”  To which I failed to respond, as I wasn’t certain who he was talking to, or who he was ’looking at’; me or the dog.  He then repeated: “Hey, what am I looking at?”  And then: “Is that a ferret?”
“No.” I responded, a little put out that he would mistake the baby dachshund for a ferret, until I realized how much she looked like one, with her short legs and long little body, ’ferreting through the grass’ in the dark.   “It’s my wife’s puppy.”  I said.
“Oh!”  He replied.  “I thought you had trained a ferret. Ha, Ha.”
“No. It’s a puppy.  It’s not my puppy. It’s my wife’s.” I repeated, somehow thinking that I might look less strange standing in the rain with someone else’s puppy, I guess.
“Ha!”  He said again, as he continued walking down the street.
“Ha, indeed!”  I thought to myself, feeling slightly insulted that someone would think I would be outside in the dark, in the rain, with a stupid trained ferret.  Did I look like a ferret-training type of person?  No, I didn’t think so.  I looked like a person who had a puppy out for a rainy poop, as if that was a more dignified type of person to be.  Besides, it wasn’t even my puppy.
I will say that Day-Z, my wife’s ferret, I mean puppy, has fit into our home pretty well, so far.  I’m not sure how it all works, but she seems to have succeeded in filling what must have been a little tube-shaped hole in Lorna’s heart.  My thinking is that the last two kids are threatening to leave the nest, and that Lorna, evidently, wants to always have something to pick up after, and something for ME to pick up after.  I had no hole in my heart, but probably had one in my head, for suggesting that we go look at the litter of puppies when I heard about them a few weeks ago.
Please understand, we are not people who think of puppies as members of the family.  No matter how many sweaters and booties we walk past in the pet stores, to us, puppies are pets.  I will never have an “I Love My Granddog” bumper sticker.  (Another sticker I will never have is one I noticed recently on a lady’s car: “All My Children Have Four Paws.“  Really? Well… um… if that is true, what does that make you?  Just sayin‘. )   No, Lorna and I have adopted two beautiful children, and the adoption of a child is a wonderful and binding legal proceeding which I highly recommend.   We didn’t adopt Day-Z. We bought Day-Z.  Sorry Day-Z.
So, here I am this evening, in my recliner, writing about an animal, even as that very animal snuggles down in the small space beside me.  I’m sure she has not made her last mistake in the house, will continue to drag my shoes behind the couch, and will cost more in maintenance over the years than she is probably worth.  That’s okay.   It’s not my puppy.