Feeding Bears

Have you ever seen the signs at National Parks, “Don’t Feed The Bears” ?

I remember camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains as a teenager, and a Black Bear decided that he liked our steel cooler (kept outside on the pick-nick table, DAD!) better than we did, and opened it with his claws like he had a can opener. He actually did the same to all of the other city slickers packed into that one small camp site. It was almost like driving into Sonic for him.  “Breakfast Burrito, tots, and a premium roast, please!”

Not to begin too off topic, but feeding critters is my topic today.  Teenage critters. Right now, I have a reprieve.  They are here every other weekend (not this weekend) and the amount of food that evaporates in that time is simply astounding. I hear my Fathers words, “Get out of the refrigerator, NOW!”

I always thought he was a bit uptight over milk, cold cuts, cheese, cookies, and the like. And it became more of a sport to me. If I could get in, and out, without him knowing, and then hear his sigh later in the day, ah… sweet victory.

My petite daughter consumes very little, although she does sneak chocolate (especially if I’ve been baking, any leftover Ghirardeli chocolates always disappear, bags to be found later under the mattress or sofa cushions.) So she is a hit & run artist as I fancied myself. A stealth bomber.

D is more like a B-52 on a carpet bombing run.  You hear the sound and the fury, see the smoke and fire from a long way off. Nothing hidden, The Rock is in the house, and someone or something is going down. Actually, it warms my heart and makes me smile, until I get to the check out.

For example, last weekend he was here by himself. Twinkle-toes had a dance competition, so I could determine exactly who ate what, because it was just he and I. And he knows that I can count.

It made me think of David Copperfield and the Statue of Liberty, disappearing before millions of pairs of eyes.

Admittedly, I’m just talking about several gallons of milk, several pounds of Creole Venison and Oreo cookies, but the principle is still the same.

Yes, Gorilla-boy can consume some food.  Trust me.  At 6’5″, 280 lbs, sporting a shaggy red half-beard, calories are an important part of his daily routine.  Seriously, the work out routines he and his team mates endure burn about 3000 calories per day. So if you are a growing 16 year old, you need to eat more than that just to keep up with the demands of your body regarding growth, and change, and health. It’s an awesome thing to see.

By the way, my fridge is full of venison, and am adding fresh pork later this week.  While I hate to admit it, I have even given thought to picking up fresh road kill in the days before he arrives.  Did you know that meat goats only run $35-40 a piece around here? I’m not ready for goat, or road kill, just yet. But I am heading to the food bank, things are getting a bit squeaky tight around here.

Switching subjects, let’s talk about the things that excite you, that bring joy into your life.

This week, Home Depot is going to deliver a brand new Washer and Dryer to my apartment.  Most men my age would not, could not, appreciate the beauty of a washer and dryer in their own laundry room, giving you the freedom to do laundry whenever you want! I can cook, and wash, at the same time!  Woo Hoo! They would be looking at Harley’s, or Corvettes, or young Blonds. Nope…. washers and dryers for this guy.  OK, now I could really use some prayer.

It says a lot about my life right now that this IS A BIG DEAL. No more Laundromats, I now can save about $10 per week in quarters for things like parking meters, and coffee. Or put them in my 5 gallon water bottle to save for a much needed vacation….

I’ve been working out, riding again, feeling good, and just trusting that whatever plan God has in mind, it is good. I am resting comfortably in the fact that He IS good.

He is really good, His steadfast love remains forever.

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About chuck

Aha! Look what I've created. I... have... made... FIRE!!!
This entry was posted in Bears, boys, Dryers, football, singleness, Washers. Bookmark the permalink.

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