Fun with fury

Letters! We got letters!

Letters! We got letters!

There are some days that it’s really hard not to cackle like a total wacko when I see the response from certain letters we publish. Yeah, it’s that little-sister, poke-the-bear thing, and I just can’t help it.

I’ve lived in Arkansas all my life, and well know how strongly people hold on to beliefs, especially when it comes to religion and being told what to do (unless it’s being told what to do by a preacher … then it’s “yes, sir, amen!”). My own background during my childhood was basically Church of Christ during the school year and Baptist in summer. My mom and her parents were Church of Christ, and my paternal grandmother, with whom I often spent huge chunks of the summer, was Baptist, as were many of my closest friends (plus Baptist Vacation Bible School was cool even in the teens; Church of Christ stopped crafts around sixth grade).


Stained glass at St John the Baptist's Anglica...

Stained glass at St John the Baptist’s Anglican Church, Ashfield, New South Wales. Illustrates Jesus’ description of himself “I am the Good Shepherd” (from the Gospel of John, chapter 10, verse 11). This version of the image shows the detail of his face. The memorial window is also captioned: “To the Glory of God and in Loving Memory of William Wright. Died 6th November, 1932. Aged 70 Yrs.” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


A few events in my late teens and the reaction of church members so disgusted me with the multiple layers of hypocrisy that I haven’t been a regular church-goer in years. Plus, I hate crowds, and huge churches terrify me (even my old church has more than doubled the size of the sanctuary, classrooms, etc.).

However, that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God, because I do. I just refuse to believe, like so many now seem to, that he means for us to hate anyone who isn’t like us, or to force our beliefs on others (c’mon, reverse psychology, guys … you just make people dig in when you do that!). I don’t attend church, but church is people, not buildings … it’s in your heart.

All that to circle back to today: We have partner papers in the northwest part of the state, and several times a month, I and the opinion editor there exchange letters meant for the other. We use the same electronic form, and the partner papers there are wrapped around our northwest edition, and since readers sometimes get confused about where they read something, we try to get the letters to the right place.

Today, Greg sent me a letter that made reference to one we ran that basically said, “Hey, guys, enough is enough with the religion letters, already. You’re not going to change any minds, so give it a rest and us a break.”

And yes, I chortled like a maniac when the original letter came in because I knew it would stir some people up (I’m a sick, twisted puppy, yes I am).

True to form, a reactionary reader took great umbrage at that, and emailed a letter, which Greg forwarded. A snippet of the exchange (dedicated to spirited little sisters everywhere) as the discussion continued:

From: Brenda
To: Greg
Sent: Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Subject: Re: Letter to the Editor

It’s all a conspiracy anyway, and I’m the ringleader … at least I’m sure that’ll be what she’ll tell Steph when she calls her. <G>

From: Greg
To: Brenda
Sent: Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Subject: Re: Letter to the Editor

Glad to finally know where all those conspiracies come from. I admire your work — blueways, UN Agenda 21, the second shooter in 1963, Obama’s Kenyan birth, earth is flat, etc. Good stuff. Job well done.

From: Brenda
To: Greg
Sent: Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Subject: Re: Letter to the Editor

Insert evil laugh here …



Speaking of poking the bear, a lot of  people know about Luke’s weirdness, up to and including his toddler-like habit of utilizing the tap and tug. (Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. … What??? … uh … hi. … Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.)

This morning he added a new one.

He had tapped on my back earlier in the morning around 4 (darn cat, but at least he didn’t bop my head this time), waking me up for a little while until I waved him off. Closer to the time the alarm was to go off, he returned, jumping on the bed. When I didn’t move, he apparently found it necessary to make sure I was still alive and approached a leg.

Poke. No movement.

Poke again, using just the tip of a claw.

Yep, got ‘er up.

Look at this! I'm so hungry, I want to eat my paw! Now make with the food, lady ...

Look at this! I’m so hungry, I want to eat my paw! Now make with the food, lady …

Ya gonna feed me now?

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