The Day Jesus Made His Mom Proud

Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories.

Every week Gregory goes to Sunday School and  every week he comes home and tells about what he learned.

This week Gregory learned about the first miracle that Jesus performed.

In biblical days, people were hard to get rid of.  If you invited people over for dinner (which in those days was called a feast) they would stay way too long and totally wear out their welcome.

One day Jesus and the disciples were invited to a wedding and Mary, his mother, was invited too.  (Either Joseph’s name wasn’t on the invitation or he couldn’t get the time off.)

Anyway, after the wedding everybody went over to the bridegroom’s house for some hardy feasting.  There was wine and food and music and fun and wine.

And just like today, if the wine runs out before the party is over, somebody has to do something about it.  That’s exactly what happened.

Just as Mary was going to refill her wine goblet, she overheard one of the servants  talking about how the guests were complete lushes who had drunk everything in the house including the water in the fish bowl.

“I will tell Jesus,” Mary assured the servants.

Mary wove her way through the revelers and found Jesus who was just about to belt out a rousing rendition of Amazing Grace on the Karaoke machine (hand cranked).

“They have no more wine.”  Mary announced unceremoniously.

To which Jesus replied, “Why are you telling me?” (Jesus tended to get a tiny bit sassy with his mom whenever she interrupted his Karaoke fun.)

Now Mary knew that Jesus would do something to help the people with their drinking problem (of not having anymore wine).   She ran back to the servants and said, “Whatever He tells you to do, do it.”

Once Jesus was finished singing (he was the original crooner, it was such a pity I left my heart in San Francisco hadn’t been invented yet), he looked around and saw six water pots and told the servants to fill all six jars with water which they did.

“Now,” Jesus said, “dip wine from the jar and carry it to the man who is in charge of the feast.”

Which they also did and by the time the man put the water to his lips, it had turned into the best wine the man had ever gotten drunk on!

So he called the bridegroom over and said,”Everyone else serves the best wine first, and after the guests have drunk a lot he serves the ordinary wine.  But you have kept the best wine until now.”

The man who was taking care of the feast did not know that Jesus had turned water into wine. The bridegroom did not know either.  The bridegroom just assumed that the servants had found the stash of expensive wine he had taken great pains to hide before everybody arrived.

But the servants knew and Mary knew that Jesus had performed his very first miracle.  Jesus had turned water into wine, not bum wine either, but really, really, really good wine. Mary couldn’t have been prouder!

“How’s that Jesus?”
“Keep pouring.”
“Is that enough?”
“No keep pouring!”
“Jesus! It’s going to overflow!”
“No, keep pouring, I know what I’m doing.”

 * * *

Until next time. . . I love you

Ten Ways to Tell if You’re Overdoing Thanksgiving

Hello Dear Readers!  I love Thanksgiving!  It’s one of my favorite holidays.  Every year I cook for my family and every year I look forward to it with great pleasure.  Maybe a little too much pleasure.  That’s why I’ve come up with this list of warning signs on how to tell if you are going to overdo Thanksgiving.

How to Tell if You’re Going to Overdo Thanksgiving
Woman looking pensive with leaves on her head

You’ve replaced the phrase “I love you” with the phrase “Olive you”.

You just got back from Potato Mashing Immersion Camp.

You’ve instructed your surgeon to break ground on that new stomach addition.

Architect looking at plans
“So the way I see it, we can knock out a wall between the belly and the button, and we should have room for an entire bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy.

In preparation for the big feast, you’ve managed to diet down to a size bite.

Even if you were to carry out pi to a million decimals, all forms of pi will be polished off by Friday.

“Of course I didn’t eat all the pumpkin pie! I ‘m an apple guy.”

You’ve taken to sleeping on a pillow of mini marshmallows.

Thanks to you and your voluminous Yam Stockpile the earth will be taking 6 days longer to orbit the sun.

Earth orbiting sun
“Gosh this week is really dragging by. What day is it?”

You made an appointment with your dentist to get your teeth sharpened.

Your new gravy boat sleeps six.

“Move over!”
“No you!”

Your husband, Tom, is slightly worried about you because his name is Bill.

You’ve been preheating your oven since the 4th of July.

You refuse to read, watch or listen to  anything that isn’t about Jello.

“Honey! Come quick! Look!  There’s Bigfoot!”
“Is he in the form of a Jello mold?”
“Is he carrying Jello?”
“Then I’m not going to look.”

And the most obvious way to tell if you’re going to overdo Thanksgiving:

Your appendix has been officially called back into active duty for the stomach reserves.

“Ten Hut!”


Until next time . . . Olive you

Road Tripping with My Brain, Peanuts

Linda Vernon Humor, humorous commentary about granny taking a road trip

Dear Readers Welcome! I am happy to report I actually made it home safely from my road trip on the freeways of this great state of California, the longest state in our great  nation, mind you, — where I spent four wonderful days visiting my daughter Jackie, her husband, Tyler, and my new grandson, Henry.

Peanuts gets worried

Of course, driving there,  Dear Readers,  took a tad bit longer than it should have due to the fact that I had to go 45 minutes at 40 mph before I could get my nerve up to pass a semi that seemed to my brain, Peanuts, anyway that it was driving recklessly.

The Menace of Rest Stop Pigs

Of course,  my brain, Peanuts, the crazy story maker upper,  had the truck driver  pegged as a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack who was texting his friend waiting at the rest stop up ahead  to see if there were any Little Old Lady Granny-Types, such as myself,  that he could  murder and chop up into a million little pieces and feed to the pigs.

I know it’s a preposterous thought, Dear Readers, I have to laugh actually, because I’ve never seen any  pigs at rest stops.

Rest stop?  Or Treasure Map to Murder?
Rest Stop? Or Treasure Map to Murder?

Restrooms, Restrooms Everywhere and Not a One to Use

Still, I didn’t stop even though I needed to use the restroom. I decided, instead,  to stop somewhere in  King City which the sign said was only 27 miles away.

It was at that point I entered the Twilight zone where the forward motion of my car was just an illusion wherein an evil force was pulling the road underneath me like a treadmill and  causing me to quit making any forward progress.  Here’s what the road signs kept saying:

27  miles to  King City 

45 minutes later:

11 miles to king City

40 minutes later:

3 miles to King City

a half an hour later:

You just passed King City

Carl Jr. Saves Me From Kidnapping Gypsies

I’m happy to report, however,  that I finally found an easy exit with a Carl Jr’s to stop at.   I pulled in to park  and just then a white van pulled up next to me, the doors flew open and lo and behold!

It was  chalk-full  of  gypsies!

Peanuts assumed this because the women were wearing long black dresses with gold bric-a-brac sewn to them accessorized by lots of dangling gold jewelry.

And they were clearly speaking a language that sounded very much like not English!

My Last Meal Pro-active-ness

As I was walking into Carl Jr., the gypsy driving the van and his cohort got out and stood next to my car.  I heard them chatting about something and even though  I couldn’t understand what they were saying,  Peanuts thought whatever it was had a definite “untoward” ring to it.

Where you goin' Little Old Lady Granny-Type?   "ttthhhrrrrrinnnngggg"
Where you goin’ Little Old Lady Granny-Type, such as yourself?  . . .Thwannngggg . . . 

My brain, Peanuts, started making up a story about how they were a roving band of gypsies, tramps and thieves — as the lyrics to the Cher’s song,  Gypsies, Tramps and Thievess is the only thing Peanuts  knows about gypsies.

I would say all the gypsies looked just like this only they really didn't.
World Renowned Gypsy Expert

Peanuts started thinking that maybe the Gypsies were in cahoots with the crack truck driver/serial killer, and that they were out looking for Little Old Lady Granny-Types , such as myself, and well . . . . well, never mind about the “well.”

The Final Gulp

So when I got into Carl Jr.s and looked back to see them still standing by my car — even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry — I went ahead and ordered the  Orange Cream Hand-Scooped  Milkshake because I thought it would be a fitting last meal.

If one were forced to eat  one’s last meal at Carl Jr., that is.

Orange Cream Carl Jr. Hand Scooped Milkshake
Good, but not that good.

The One-Piece Arrival

Anyway, Dear Readers,  you’ll be happy to know that  in the end I made it home safely.

And I must say!  I’ve got a new lease on life!    After all, it’s not everyday, one is spared from death by not being kidnapped by Gypsies and cut up into a million little  pieces by a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack and fed to rest stop pigs!

Proving once again, Dear Readers,  that it truly is the little things that make life worth living.

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Red Alert!!

My Brain, Peanuts, Red Alert!!!

Warning! Warning! Warning!

Errrrr! Errrrr! Errrrr!

Dear Readers, This is a 7-Points Bulletin!

If you are traveling in state of  California on freeway 101 today, anywhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles going north or south, east or west BEWARE!

Traffic may be unusually slow, possibly backed up for hours due to a Little Old Lady Granny Driver operating under the often misguided direction of her brain, Peanuts, who is going on a road trip to visit her daughter, Jackie’s family and her new grandson, Henry!

Jackie and Henry
Jackie and Henry


Be on the look out for and steer clear of the following:


Any woman who looks old enough to receive AARP  and pre-paid cremation opportunities in her  junk mail —  and who is  traveling south (God willing, but possibly north if her brain, Peanuts,  freaks and takes the wrong exit) in a little blue car with a bumper sticker that says:  What Happens at Grandmas, Stays at Grandmas.


Should you be unlucky enough to  come up behind Granny, tailgate at your own risk — as she will turn on her windshield cleaner spray (she’s not as nice as she looks) and pretend for all the world like she is simply getting the bugs off her windshield, but in reality is passively aggressively getting your windshield wet on purpose in an attempt to punish you for not driving as safely as she thinks you should.


Should she suddenly slam on her brakes in the middle of the freeway, do not be alarmed, there is nothing wrong with granny’s car, it will simply mean she was listening to a CD of Herb Albert and the Tijuana brass and her brain, Peanuts, mistook one of trumpet solos for the horn of an alarmed motorist.


Granny will no doubt be traveling in the slow lane, wedged between two trucks — either because she is too afraid to change lanes or because she is pretending she is in a convoy again. Probably both.


If you should see this woman driving around the mean streets of some drug n’ thug neighborhood in any town between San Francisco and Los Angeles, it will not mean that Granny is trying to “score” some illegal substances.  It will simply mean that, once again, her brain, Peanuts, picked the worst possible exit to try to find a restroom.


Four or five hours into the trip you may see granny pulled over to the side of the road being issued a speeding ticket. This will mean her brain, Peanuts, finally became so desensitized and bored with driving on the freeway that her brain, Peanuts, only noticed the number 88 on her speedometer when she saw the flashing red light tailgating her.


Let’s just hope and pray her brain, Peanuts, had enough sense not to turn on the windshield cleaner spray!

Ny Brain Peanuts
Beware of my brain, Peanuts, behind the wheel!

Until next time . . . I love you

33-Word Trifecta Writing Challenge: Shades of Clayton

Welcome Dear Readers!  This weekend’s 33-word Trifecta Writing Challenge is as follows:  Give us a thirty-three word piece that has a color in it. Use the color to describe anything you like, or use anything you like to describe your color, but keep it creative and keep it short. 

I chose this colorful picture of my grandson, Clayton, to write about today.


Shades of Clayton

Propeller’s blue, steering’s green

With shades of Mickey in-between

Here’s a fellow, who likes yellow

A mellow little yellow fellow

But his pants this poem will sabotage

Cause there ain’t no color camouflage

When Push Comes to Shove It’s Time for a Cesarean

My New Grandson, Henry William Benson!


Hello Dear Readers!  Well as you can see there’s been some excitement around here.  My new little grandson Henry William began his new life out in the real world on Saturday night after a long, leisurely road trip through BC (Birth Canal).

Henry Took the Scenic Route

 On his way through BC, Henry chose to dilly dally, making frequent stops along the way for snacks and pictures, then taking a nap or two — completely oblivious to the fact that there was a room of people anxiously awaiting his arrival.  Finally at long last, somebody just went and got the scissors and showed Henry the ol’ Cesarean Shortcut.

And, frankly, I was a little surprised when Henry wasn’t born with a miniature camera around his neck, clutching a tiny road map in his fingers and wearing a teeny tourist t-shirt that said something like “I just came through the birth canal and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”

Having a Baby Can Take a Lot Out of You

My daughter, Jackie, was a trooper through the entire 23 hours of back labor, front labor and sideways labor.  But not to worry.  She had a mid-wife who was there to help her!

The mid-wife, whose name was . . . well, let’s just call her  . . . oh I don’t know . . . I’m just picking a name at random here — let’s just call her Salisbury Steak.

Salisbury Steak, just for the record, Dear Readers, was about 40 years old and in those 40 years, had somehow managed to learn every bit of information a person could possibly learn with the possible exception of Albert Einstein and even he didn’t know as much about birthin’ babies as Salisbury Steak!

Add to that the fact that Salisbury Steak has managed to develop an esteem for herself that is unrivaled, and you’ve got yourself one heck of a midwife!  (And don’t just go by me, I’m sure Salisbury Steak will back me up on that.)

To prove my point, here’s a conversation Salisbury Steak and I had after Jackie had been in labor for 22 hours and her blood pressure had dropped to 60 over 30.

Me:  This isn’t going well, I’m concerned.

Salisbury Steak:  Oh, is that your medical opinion?

Me:  She’s dizzy and her blood pressure is extremely low, and she’s been in labor for 22 hours she’s been pushing for almost 3 hours and the baby isn’t any farther down than he was three hours ago!

Salisbury Steak:  First of all, 60 over 30 is not low!  She just needs to drink some apple juice, besides the baby is moving down now.

Me:  But isn’t this his foot way up here?

Salisbury Steak:  What?  No.  Let me feel it.  No, that’s just a fibroid tumor!

Me:  But she shouldn’t be drinking apple juice!  At this point, she shouldn’t be drinking anything!

Salisbury steak:  Oh really is that your medical opinion? (Salisbury Steak didn’t add, “What do you know about it old lady, you probably don’t even know how to work your smart phone like it do!” — but I could tell she wanted to.)

Me:  I’m concerned, we need to do something!

Salisbury Steak:  Oh really?  Is that you’re medical opinion?

Do you see how well Salisbury Steak handled the situation?  Her assessment that Jackie’s blood pressure of 60/30 was simply a result of Jackie’s mother being overly concerned and micro-managing Salisbury Steak’s sweet mid-wifing skills — was nothing short of brilliance.

And furthermore, it was becoming quite obvious that I was making Salisbury Steak’s mid-wifing experience a bummer and that I needed to please shut up!

Well in the end, Dear Reader, I am extremely relieved to report that Salisbury Steak finally decided that in Salisbury Steak’s medical opinion, Jackie did, indeed,  require a C-section a decision that could have been made hours earlier, but that would have required Salisbury Steak to hang up from chatting on the phone.  (She’s quite a popular one, that Salisbury Steak!  But, then, who doesn’t like Salisbury Steak?)

Anyway, by the grace of God, our sweet little Henry finally made his debut into this world thanks to the doctor who performed the cesarean section –and both mother and baby are safe and sound!

Before Salisbury Steak left she gave me a great big hug and said good-bye.

And I, too, bid farewell to Salisbury Steak.

“Good bye Salisbury Steak!” I said. “You big effing idiot!”

* * *

Linda vernon's drawing of a midwife, Linda Vernon Humor
Midwife Extraordinaire, Salisbury Steak

Life Is Very Beautiful

Hello Dear Readers.  I am happy to announce something wonderful.  My daughter, Nikki, and her husband, Matt, welcomed their first daughter, Lily Lucille, to her new life on January 15th  in the wee hours of the morning.

Lily Lucille Kaiser

Lily Lucille and Nikki Kaiser
Lily Lucille and  Nikki

Life is very beautiful . . .

Until next time . . . I love you all