Aunt Bostic Writes

Dear Niece,

I'm sitting at my kitchen table writing to you. Lila's dog, Champ, is on my lap. He's not happy (or safe!) anywhere else. I agreed to keep him while Lila and Hattie drove to Houston to see Dora. I'd forgotten Champ's troubles: incontinence, deaf, can't see and toothless. I'm grinding up his dog crunchies in that little food processor you gave me before the Storm. He's a sweet dog and I'm glad to keep him while the girls are gone but he reminds me how needy dogs and people can be.

Lila plans to drive back on Friday after going to the Houston After Christmas sales. I can't imagine that the sales will be any better after Christmas this year. Seems like the retailers are coupon crazy and slashing prices right and left. I bought less this year and made more. You showed me that "Buy Handmade" site of those young craft girls so I took this to heart. I made jelly, corn relish and decorated pine cones for the birds with peanut butter and sunflower seeds to give as gifts. I did some shopping at the Senior Center but only if the prices made sense. I'm not paying $7 for a kitchen towel with crochet on the top. My house looks like an old people's museum without adding to the atmosphere.

Did you see that news thing about Hallmark recalling snow globes? Seems the globes caught the light so well fires broke out. I read this and think you might have a good sermon illustration here. Something like, "snow globes focused light into fire and got recalled." People with great passion and ideas get recalled, too. Not everyone likes focus and passion. It's easier to just go along to get along. Not sure if this will help you. Did you use those Reader's Digest jokes I sent you?
Our pastor reads us "Life in These United States" when he can't think of anything for a sermon. Phew!

Champ just let loose on my lap. I'll say good-bye and love to you and your family.
Merry Christmas!

Aunt Bostick

P.S. Bridge Club got huffy with me again this week when I asked them what they thought of Rick Warren and President-Elect Obama. Every last one of them think Rick Warren is a big whopping liberal. I choked on my fruitcake when I heard that! Not a one of them knows how upset our GLBT friends and people of conscience are about the choice of Pastor Warren. I think Obama is doing his best to include everyone. He should have asked you to pray. No one knows you anyway. I doubt you'd offend too many.

Aunt Bostic Writes

Dear St.Casserole,
I hope you received the envelope of coupons I sent from Effie Pennington's house.
After Church and lunch we read their Sunday paper. She doesn't use her coupons and I hate to see them wasted so I hope you can use them.

When I go to another Church, I appreciate my own Church more. Effie's Church has a name like yours but she said they began to call your church "apostate" in 1973. I had to look that one up in her dictionary on the stand in their living room while she was turning out the tomato aspic. I thought she said something about their pastor's personal man health but that's not the same word.

Her pastor is a young man. I don't suppose anyone supervises him but he could use it. He's the one who prays imprecatory prayers. Thank you for explaining that one to me. I don't care for the idea at all. Like anyone should advice the Lord on how to hurt other people. Sounds rude to me.

Sunday, this young man preacher was discussing listening. He talked about how we don't listen all the time. True enough, I filter out most of what I hear because I am not interested in gossip. He wasn't talking about that exactly but used an illustration where he took the paper into a private place every morning and didn't want to be disturbed. Now what does that sound like he was doing? That's what he meant! Can you believe it? He went on and on about this and his wife was turning pinker and huffier than usual. She's the one who tells him to to get rid of if she doesn't like them. Where do they get pastors like this?

Effie said they had African American visitors two Sundays ago. It's an all white person church. If they don't let women preach, then you know the white boys want to hold on to all the authority. Believe me, Effie said, he pulled out such phrases as "white people can't dance" and other bon mots to beat the band. She was so embarrassed. It's not like he uses racial remarks to a white congregation but let two ladies wander in to worship and he's all about the 'hood. Effie may be old as Job's turkey but she isn't stupid. I said, "Effie, did anyone else comment on it?" She said they all just raced to greet and give coffee to the visiting ladies.

I thought his sermon sounded like he made it up on the spot. I thought your people liked to compose their sermons prior to preaching.

You let me know if you want those crochet hosiery bags I told you Annie Lemon is selling over at the Senior Center. The bags seem right popular and if you want one, I need to go get it this week.

Love to all of you,

Aunt Bostic

Dear St.Casserole,
Thank you for your phone call last night. It was good to hear your voice and get news of your little family. I'm homesick for you all and hope for a visit soon.

I'm glad you called last night. I spent this morning down at the Auxiliary Club playing Bridge. I don't care to go back. Beulah Lynch's usual Bridge partner, Bertie
Mae Smith Hedgins, has a new great-grand. Bertie went over to Waxhaw to be with her daughter. That daughter, you may remember, is the one who faints.

I agreed to be the fourth at the table and showed up about 9:30 a.m. to start playing. The girls play until lunch. One of them buys lunch for everyone else. It was Beulah's turn so I was glad to go. She owes me several lunches, but I'm not counting.

Everybody at the table began talking politics. I'd rather hear who is doing what with whom but I was a guest. Lillian Jenkins Caldwell announced that Sen. Obama is a Muslim and she would never vote for someone who isn't a Christian. I about dropped my teeth. They all jumped in talking this nonsense. I had a difficult hand at the time and was working on how to bid so I just kept quiet.

Beulah turned to me and said, "Bostick, you wouldn't vote for a Muslim, would you?"

I told her I might vote for a Muslim if one was running for President this term. The girls gasped. I said, "Senator Obama isn't a Muslim, he's a member of the United Church of Christ."

I about got shouted down. I blame those silly emails old people send around to each other with wrong facts and goofy ideas.

I asked the table if they remembered Anne Yates' daughter, Linda. Of course, they all remembered Linda because she was the guest organist every summer when she came to stay with her grandmother in town. I asked if they remembered that when Linda started first grade, they found out she had a learning problem with her letters. It wasn't terrible but it slowed the little girl down while she was learning to read. About that same time, Anne and John moved to their new house over by Clark Road. Anne decided to move Linda to the St.Clavicle Catholic School because she knew the reading teacher there and was near their new house.

Everyone at the table looked confused. I went on to tell them that Linda stayed at that school until 7th Grade. She's grown up now and married to that Baptist preacher.
I asked them, "Linda want to Catholic School. Should she be called a Catholic now that she's a grown woman?" Everybody said, "No!"

I told them that when Sen. Obama lived in Indonesia as a little boy, he went to a Muslim school. That's all they had there, I suppose. Now, he's a grown man who attended a United Church of Christ Church in Chicago for twenty years with regular attendance. His little girls were baptized there. Does it make any sense to call him a Muslim now? The table was silent.

One of them piped up and said what about his name? He has an odd name! I got to giggling then. Good Lord! Like we don't have the strangest names in the South! We have names so strange, we think the names are normal!

I should have held my tongue. I said, "That lady from Alaska you all think is so cute, she named her children 'Trac', 'Trig', and, after an airplane!" "Let's don't discuss unusual names this year."

By the time we finished the last Bridge hand, I was hungry but could hardly enjoy my chicken because it was cooked until it tasted like a dry piece of paper.

I've got several errands to run so I'll stop and put this out for the mail.

Love,
Aunt Bostick

Dear Aunt Bostick,

Thirty years ago today, I entered the sanctuary of the church where I served as the associate pastor, dressed in my Geneva gown for my ordination to the Ministry of the Word and Sacrament. It was a Sunday afternoon. My parents were in the congregation along with parishioners and my Commission from Presbytery. I wrote the service with huge chunks from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer interspersed with the 1956 Book of Common Worship of the P.C.U.S. I don't recall all the hymns, but we did sing "Be Thou My Vision". I remember that hymn because I've used it at each of my installations to new congregations since.


I was awed and happy to finalize all the steps taken to ordination. I was sick to my stomach with anxiety and, probably, lack of food. In those days, I didn't eat. Please do not comment that I've been healed of eating disorders "like a miracle!" (as I've heard you say) because I'm aware that I present in human form much differently than I did 30 years ago.


My Seminary professor preached the sermon. He is a Carolinian and his wife graduated from my college so our affinity began at our first meeting. He is at the Seminary still, writing books and becoming more distinguished looking as the days pass. He was kind to come to the Deep South and be with me for the day. I gave him a piece of the pottery distinctive to this area, the one with the black stripe symbolizing the Mississippi River.


I recall that you were there. You looked at me with amazement that I was becoming a pastor. Every pastor you'd even heard of was male and here I was, in your words, "a little girl". You wondered how ministry would be for me since most people found the idea of a woman in ministry odd and somehow upsetting. You were not quite sure if I should be ordained because you couldn't find the place in the Bible where it said I could be. When you told me this, I reminded you of the Biblical cites and that my denomination approved the ordination of women. Still, you weren't sure.


The local newspaper covered my ordination as actual news, not as the natural progression of a child raised in the church who was baptised, educated and given the approbation of God's people for ordination. After the article appeared, I received all sorts of angry letters from people who believed I was going straight to Hell. I saved mail from detractors in a scrapbook. The book didn't survive the 1985 hurricane so it is just my memory of those angry notes I recall today.


I began my ministry as happy as a gal could be. I was so ready, like a puppy, to jump into whatever God placed in my path, or whatever path God led me to walk. I recall joy so piercing that I could hardly stand it.


I am grateful today for all the good influences I've encountered along my way. I'm grateful, too, for my failures and roadblocks which taught me humility, sacrifice and resourcefulness. I thank God for my calling every single day.

Your niece,

St. Casserole

Dear St. Casserole,

Last Saturday, I went to Mr. Cruthird's Cut n' Curl for a new perm.
His new girl, Fern, put the wrong solution on the rods and I look like trash. She kept saying that I needed a new look which I do not. You can tell from my picture that my usual perm is just fine.

I told Beulah Lynch where you are. She said, "DON'T TELL ME that niece of yours is out-of-town again!" She gets such a charge out of you! She worries that Mr. C. and that little one of yours won't know who you are when you get back home.

I know you are enjoying being on the Big Church grounds, singing with your preacher friends, eating food you didn't cook and acting like you belong up there.
Don't forget where you are from and what you are about. When your Mama passed, I promised to keep my hand on your shoulder so you'd have a wise woman to watch over you. My dear, it's been a pleasure and I'm proud of you. Now, go home.

You've got plenty to handle in your own part of the woods without skipping off to see your pals and learn new songs. You can learn plenty just by being at home and keeping your eyes open. I saw the pile of books in your study and on your bedside table when I dropped by to give Mr. C. the rest of that chocolate pound cake we had at the Ladies' meeting.

I've got to run. I've got a chicken salad to make for the Smith's. Her sister-in-law's brother is about dead over at the hospital. We are all worried sick.

Lovingly,

Aunt Bostick

P.S. One of your friends wrote to ask if I'd get my own blog. Maybe in the Fall, I'm too busy now.

The View From the Pew #6 Easter

Aunt Bostick here.

I've got my feet up. Easter Service went just fine. The preacher hollared until his face got red. The Chancel Choir did three special pieces and held in there until Old Dr. Hammer got wheezing. Even then, the sopranos did well except for Lolly Parks who got a hot flash under her choir robe and looked like someone sprayed a hose on her.
By the time we got to the Five Fold Amen, I was ready to go home.

The family came for lunch. I'd gotten the ham out of the oven and put the Splenda into the iced tea when they all drove up in the driveway. The girls helped me put the asparagus, tomato aspic and potato salad on the table. We had Harris-Teeter ice cream for dessert. My coconut from scratch cake days are over until I get this tennis elbow under control.

This is my last post in the "View from the Pew" for my niece. I'm worn out and ready to just watch my soaps while I knit for awhile. I've got a Reader's Digest to get through and I need to finish hemming the downstairs bathroom curtains. Enough is enough.

As St. Casserole said to me this afternoon, "Christ is Risen and the Boat is about to Dock". I know you understand what that means.

Glad to be with you girls.

Aunt Bostick

The View From the Pew Holy Week 5

Aunt Bostick here.

I've been in church so much this week that my purse is filled with bulletins.

I went by Parson's Nursery this morning to get bedding plants. We plant or buy plants on Good Friday down here. I'll put them out in the side yard tomorrow if the weather is clear.

Tonight, I'm just worn out. I'm thinking about all you gals who've churched yourselves into a stupor this week. Chin up! Sunday is coming!

Aunt Bostick

The View From the Pew Holy Week 4

Aunt Bostick here. I'm not posting my picture today. I feel every single year this morning and I need a perm.

This picture of the Old Rommny Church in the UK will do. I'm thinking about water today.

The mid-West flooding and the up East heavy rains are just perfect for Holy Week. I'm sorry for those people. Too much water ruins and kills. Too little ruins and kills. You can't cry all the time although I've tried this week.
I cried the other day most of the day. We had a good rain here even if it doesn't make up for all the dry days we've had for the past six months. Cleaned off all the plants then set them growing lickety-split.

Holy Week gets me thinking of grief. Grief makes me cry. I'm just a hanky clutching mess until Sunday. You preachers think we'll miss the boat without all the Holy Week going into Easter things but those of us who know the Story don't. Going from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday is for newcomers. The rest of us understand.

They turned my dang water off at the house. I sent my bill in by electronic computer days ago but it takes ten days or so for the Bank to send a check to the Water Department then the Water Department eats bon bons for a few more days before posting my check. Came home from pruning roses in the Church memorial garden to find a bright yellow tag on my front door. Couldn't flush. Couldn't wash my breakfast dishes left in the sink.

Water, tears, floods, rain, Baptism. Holy Week. Foot Washing. Salted water for the parsley at the Seder Meal.

I nicked my finger pruning roses. Blood ran out, not water but I'm made of water.
I've got a pitcher of filtered water in the refrigerator. I drink it all day after I've had my coffee.

We are all together in this even if we don't know we are.

Time for "The View". Those ladies crack me up.

Aunt Bostick

P.S. The Iraq War is 5 years old today. I can't celebrate.

The View From the Pew Holy Week 3

Aunt Bostick here.
I was a bit teary yesterday. The tears started yesterday morning when I took my coffee to the back porch. I sat down to watch the birds and think about the day. I was fine until I started thinking about Jesus carrying his cross to Golgotha. Thinking about that boy carrying a heavy cross through a crowd who hated him made me cry. You just know that his mother and family were devastated.

This made me think about betrayal. Jesus loved people enough to tell them the truth about life and God and then then he was murdered.

If you live long enough, you know what it feels like to be betrayed. Hurts like the devil! Crying out for justice or fairness won't work in these situations. You get hurt no matter what you do.

I heard about how Sen. Obama talked about his preacher on the news yesterday. The think that amazed me was how Sen. Obama was not going to betray his pastor by throwing him aside. The issue of Pastor Wright's comments while preaching wasn't an either/or situation for the Senator. He stood with his pastor while saying he didn't agree with his pastor's comments, even if he understood why a Preacher would say things in righteous anger.

Sen. Obama could have betrayed his pastor, even though his pastor baptized his children and celebrated his marriage. I can't recall the last time I witnessed a public figure act as well as Sen. Obama.

I got a bit teary over how it must have felt to be Pastor Wright and Sen. Obama as they looked for a way to honor each other despite disagreements.

Writing about this makes me need another hanky.

Aunt Bostick

The View From the Pew Holy Week 2

Aunt Bostick here.
While I was talking with Myrtis about Wednesday Night Bible Study, I told her about being your guest blogger. I phone all the ladies on Monday night to remind them that we have Bible Study on Wednesdays in the Church Parlor. Our Church organized in 1912 and except when we had the black-out nights during WW2, we've met on the same night in the same place at the same time. Still, as Hospitality Chairwoman, I don't want the ladies to forget. Besides, since Ethel Blanchard got the high sugar, I have to remind everyone to bring a sugar free dessert every now and then.

Anyway, Myrtis and I discussed Holy Week. She said that when Rev. Christian did that foot washing on Maundy Thursday several years ago, all she could think about was how she needed her toenails cut and didn't want anyone to see her feet. She said that she wished that one year the Church would send somebody out to the older people's homes and nursing homes and cut their toenails. "I don't need for someone to wash my feet. I understand the Servant symbolism of re-inacting Jesus washing feet. What I really need is someone to cut my toenails!" She's right. You young people do not know what it is like to not be able to cut your own toenails.

I'm glad we are in modern times where I can write about toenails. No one should be ashamed of what they can't do anymore.

Think about it.

Aunt Bostick

The View From the Pew Holy Week

Aunt Bostick here, St. C. offered posting responsibilities to me for Holy Week.

I'm going to tell you straight out what it is like to be an older Believer sitting in the pew as you young people pastor us. When I fall short of ideas, I'll phone Beulah Lynch and get her opinion, too.

First off, about Palm Sunday: I know children are wonderful and if we don't include them early in worship, we miss the opportunity to disciple them. I like hearing the children sing and participate in the Service. I do not care much for letting them talk during the Children's Worship Time because they get "cute" and distract from worship. However, this post isn't about the place of children in worship.

Please remember that most mainline type churches are filled with women like me; older, widowed, living alone or in assisted situations, often far from our families.
We'd like attention, too. You may be young but you won't (God willing) be always. We can teach you a thing or two if you'd slow down and pay attention to us.

First off, Holy Week speaks our language. We know what it is like to live with impending death. We are closer to leaving this life behind than young people. We think about it all the time. When Beulah's Buick engine blew, it took every single one of her friends to convince her she had the time to get a new car and time to enjoy it. She just wasn't sure it made sense to get another car if she was going to join the Church Triumphant in the next ten years. She's in her 80's with 20/20 vision and the strength of a 40 year old woman from bossing the Ladies Drum Corp. all these years. Who do you think loads the drum cases into the Church Van? Those things are heavy.

Second, we know what it is like to face an ambiguous future as Jesus did. We've been there and done that and it's about time Cafe Press printed a tee-shirt for us.

Third, don't you young people understand that although we've heard the story of Holy Week many, many times, that we hunger for the hope Jesus Christ offers us in our time of life?

Push the eggs n' bunnies out of the way this Holy Week and love us, your older people.

Aunt Bostick

My dear Niece,

You have not posted in four days. I know you well enough to realize that you are thinking about the BE Cruise all the time. Dear, tomorrow is Palm Sunday. Next week is Holy Week. Dear, please pay attention. Focus your thoughts on Cross and Holy Week. If I could see you right now, I know you are staring at your toes trying to decide what color polish to get for your Cruise Pedicure.

I understand that you are worried about getting a small, non-liquid gift type thing for all twenty of your gal's swag bags. You've seen what Cheesehead is giving as her swag and now you feeling competitive and crabby. Please. Bring an inexpensive swag gift for each conferee is optional. Then, no one wants anyone to spend a bunch of money on the swag. Really, you should just calm down. The cruise is about self-help and with Holy Week and Easter, you gals don't have the time to be worrying about gifts for everyone. I believe Cheesehead said this to you earlier. What about a simple paper bookmark with your blog name on it? What about a bag of hard candies, a small bag? What about a bulletin from your church?

You are worrying what to take in your luggage. Remember that you will want to be comfortable. I believe your cruise director, George, said that no one dresses up anymore and for the "fancy" night dinner if you just wear clothing rather than your tiger striped bathing suit from the thrift store, you will be fine. People will either like you or not and your clothing won't make a difference. Besides, don't people like you usually?

You are worrying about people complaining if things don't go well on the cruise or if some of the planning had rough spots. Dear, have your revgals ever planned one of these before? Thought not. Help everyone to go with the flow and put on their big girl clericals or church suits and just have fun.

Really! You young people wear yourselves out with worry and competitiveness. Chill, as we used to say.

What are you to focus upon? Jesus and him crucified! Keep your heart and mind there.

Love,

Aunt Bostick

Dear Aunt Bostick,

I'm going to the RGBP BE next month. Any advice? Missing you, St.Casserole

Dear St. Casserole,

It's wonderful to hear from you. Just yesterday, I was telling Beulah Lynch the story about how you wore your vestments inside out and we laughed our heads off. Really, dear, your escapades keep us in stitches. I must remember to tell her about the time you fell out of your shoes while preaching! Keep her in your prayers; she's got competition this year for the Presidency of the Baptist Drum and Hymn Sing Association. I'm concerned her hives will act up because the stress .

I've got several things to pass on about the BE. First, get the idea of the "Love Boat" out of your head. No one dresses up for cruises anymore unless they are crossing the Atlantic. You can wear sleep pants, bedroom slippers and that ratty T-shirt and no one will care. I'm not sure people will notice. On the big dining nights, if your BE has one, be prepared to see people wearing everything from old bridesmaid dresses to bathing suit cover-ups in the dining room.

In my day, we dressed to ride airplanes. Now people look like they are on their way to the kitchen when they fly. Don't worry about your clothing. Cheesehead will be dressed better than you anyway.

Several of the RGBP gals will be exhausted from travel before they get on the ship. Help them get some rest so they can enjoy the speaker and meetings. I want all of you gals to relax, let down your hair and just be happy.

I know you talked Cheesehead into letting you room with her. Do I need to remind you to leave her things alone? Her make-up is her make-up, not yours. Try not to talk as much as you have the past few visits with her. She may want to have a thought or two without you yapping at her. Let her visit with her other friends, this isn't junior high school where you tried to pal around every second with Diane Gunn and drove her crazy. Let Cheesehead be Cheesehead without you hovering around like a crazed fly.

I hear that the speaker is going to be fabulous. Take notes so you can tell me what she says. Be sure to thank her for coming to the RGBPs because not everyone wants to be with a jiving group of clergywomen. Very few, in fact.

I hope everyone has a great time. I do not want to read about any of you in the newspaper. Try to let the other passengers get enough sleep.

Lovingly,

Aunt Bostic

Dear Aunt Bostick,

The Major Political Party in the state sends me several giant full color postcards daily touting their candidates. I'm even getting mass mailings of magnolia prints from the State First Lady printed in cursive! I didn't "do" Halloween this week because I know that the real "trick or treat" will happen on Tuesday with the elections. Any advice? St. Casserole



My dear Casserole,

I've been voting since Truman wore diapers. Did you get the one with the white Major Party Candidate with the picture of his Smaller Party candidate? Yes, the one where the opponent is Black. Good Lord! The subtle racism of the Major Party in this piteous State repels me!

Toughen your skin to balance between idealism and cynicism. Use your idealism to encourage hope for change and your cynicism to motivate yourself to get to work! The system needs our votes but pays little attention to us. Go to your local Council meetings, Neighborhood groups, State legislature to make your needs known. Speak up for those who have no voice.

On Tuesday, I'll vote for the candidate who has the most education and who repulses me least.

I want political parties to inspire me with thoughtful care of the children and elderly! I'm writing to the State Majority Party to tell them that I want them to put all their campaign money into programs for the poor like little children and old people. They don't care about the vulnerable. Health care for children and old people stink here. Immigration policy needs attention. Pay public school teachers a living wage! Throw out the school programs that exist to drive teachers crazy with paperwork and frustrate the children.

Let's make it a law that no politician can run for office unless his children and grandchildren attend public school. I know you sent your little precious ones to private school, so you are disqualified.

The Smaller State party isn't much better. Too bad the U.S. Attorney General's Federal Attorney Scandal cut off funds from one of the wealthiest benefactors in the State. Wait until people figure out what was done to them.

Get back to work, Sweetie. Do what you can to make your community better. Read about government. Read history. Pray. Think. Do. Isn't that what your sweatshirt says?

I've got more green peppers coming along in the garden. I'll send them on to you with Beulah Lynch when she comes to the Coast for the Baptist Ladies Drum Corp and Hymn Sing.

Love,

Aunt Bostick

Dear Aunt Bostick

Dear Aunt Bostick,
I'm flying to Ireland tomorrow. Everyone is happy for me. I'm not very happy, though. Why do I fret and fester before a trip?

Your Niece,
St. Casserole

My dear, how nice to hear from you again. I'm pleased that you will go to Ireland. Your Uncle, now in the Church Invisible, traveled to Ireland once to sell grass seed. He loved the country, the people and the pubs.

All of us feel a twinge about traveling from home. Leaving those we love best to board airplanes (subsidized by your govt.) where one is packed like a tinned fish with people who either reek of dry cleaning fluid or athletic activities is no fun. Once those cute young people stopped working the flights to be replaced with normal looking staff things changed with air travel. Travel becomes a physical endurance test instead of a flying party.

You'll go ahead with your trip. God will be with your family here. Your friends will be here when you return. You'll see new things in an world without hurricane debris or damage.

Just a few things: when drinking in pubs, do not wipe the froth off with your sleeve. Be kind to everyone and speak slowly. I'm not sure the Irish have an ear for your accent. If your feet hurt, your back aches or you do not care for your luncheon, keep this information to yourself. No one likes a complaining traveler.

I'll keep you in my prayers while you are away. When you return, please let me know why in God's name you got another cat.

Lovingly,

Aunt Bostick

Dear Aunt Bostick

Dear Aunt Bostick,

I've gotten stuck in my bloggage. Too much stuff is going on right now for me to have much to say in my blog. I'm not depressed. I'm overwhelmed.
What should I do?
Your Niece,

St. Casserole

My Dear Casserole,
How kind of you to write me with your troubles. You young things don't often ask those of us who've lived through World Wars, Skirmishes and the Bush Years our opinions. Your generation appears to be busy using credit unwisely, allowing your children to make family decisions and wearing your clothing too tight. I thank you my dear for asking my advice.
First, what kind of blogger are you? Do you have a theme other than whining? If you have a theme you may find topics everyday. Or, are you a blogger who blogs only when she has something to say? I doubt this as I have read a number of your posts and they appear to be of no consequence to anyone. Forgive me if this sounds harsh.
Second, how much of your life do you wish to share with the unwashed masses, I mean, your readers. Who are these people anyway? When was the last time you asked lurkers and others to comment? It might help if you knew your audience. If you find out who reads you you may wish to tailor your remarks to their varied sensibilities.
Third, as Ernest told me one day long ago as we lounged on the beach in Key West, write what you know. Avoid pontificating on those subjects which elude your experience and brain power.
Fourth, keep it short. Your posts are too long. And, dear one, what's all this stuff about cats? Not everyone loves cats as you do. Thank goodness you started a blog for Whistle. That cat chats about his birthday every day of the year!
Fifth, remember these rules of life: eat more bran, organize your eyebrows, stand up straight, vote for the Democrats no matter how much or little you have in your Bank, tend to your family, don't run to Walgreen's looking like the Wrath of God and use sterling flatware at every meal. Honor these rules and your days will be long and happy.

Lovingly,

Aunt Bostick