country poetry & more

John N. Clayton grew up in an atheistic home and spent his youth working to disprove the existence of God. Now he is a dedicated Christian, traveling the world disproving myths and challenging people to “Think! Think!”, offering incontrovertible evidence through science and nature to prove that God exists and that the Bible is his word.

In a bi-monthly non-profit magazine called “Does God Exist?”, Clayton shares his biblical and scientific knowledge to show how the two are in total agreement, despite what so many people teach to the contrary. Many books, pamphlets, tapes, CDs, DVDs on this subject and others are available on loan or can be bought at cost. With a wonderful knowledge of physics, astronomy, geology and other areas of science and common sense, Clayton was a high school teacher for 41 years, often refuting many theories presented in text books.

For more information go to http://www.doesgodexist.org or e-mail: jncdge@aol.com .

Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
cgtrent@att.net

After a lifetime of farming, plus occasional jobs such as heavy equipment operator, construction in a mobile home factory, and remodeling houses, I eventually decided to take a computer course for easier work in later life. I snagged a secretarial position with the local highway patrol and thought I was fixed for the duration. Then hubby Harry's health began to deteriorate, and it finally dawned on me that if he was forced to retire, I needed to be at home with him. As soon as I mentioned this possibility to him, he said, "Ok, lets move to the mountains."

No telling how long this sweet guy had been dreaming of the change, but didn't want to force me away from a job I loved. He was able to enjoy over two years here in Sandia paradise before moving on to better things. Then I wrote him the following letter:

Dearest Harry,

Every morn as I slowly awaken, Are you here? is the first thing I think, or out on the porch drinking coffee, and watching the mountain turn pink?

Remember I told you a long time ago, when speaking of death and the one left below, that one of the hard things with which to contend would be loss of a confidant, listener, friend. Just after the service, the first thought I had was that Mike's eulogy would make your heart glad when I got home to tell you of all he had said, that your message of hope could somehow be spread.

I wanted to share all the sights and the fun of the tour of old England with the other four Gunns, and the dozens of cousins I've met here and there, and the Edsel I passed on the main thoroughfare.

I'm wearing your shirts, so comfy and long, still pound out and sing your favorite songs, try to keep up the Blazer the way you would do, and turn on your "toe lights" when each day is through.

I know you'll be happy for this glad event: your whole big retirement is now being sent to my bank account, just as you would want. You can rest assured I'm not starving and gaunt.

We now have a traffic light at the freeway where we pass underneath going toward Santa Fe. The Bagel House closed, and the auto parts store, so there's no place to rent a U-Haul anymore.

Just over the hill from our own paradise live David and Coleen, new neighbors so nice, in a house with two decks and a marvelous view, thanks to Tony and Molly, who make dreams come true.

Kooky Red and her roommate today are engaged in building a living room iguana cage for the fast-growing lizards called Mya and Blue, so that Dianne can soon have her own bedroom, too.

With pictures and poems, I made you a book named just "Old Weird Harold", which I undertook when those two sweet grandsons, Joel and Jake, petitioned me for a special keepsake. In it they will find some things that you wrote, of selling the farm and life's anecdotes. Your writing is published now, better than Poe, with more wit and humor and useful info.

I've started to cover the dining room wall with things from the farm so we can recall the good things that happened in those happy years before we retired and became mountaineers.

That squirrel is back, digging under the house; I guess he may think that since I've no spouse to deal with his sneaky but cute rodent ways, he'll now have free reign for the rest of his days. I'm using big rocks to perhaps slow him down, and it that doesn't work, there's concrete around to cover the holes like you did at first, and squirrel stew, maybe, if worse comes to worst.

It's not as much fun watching "Whose Line?" without you to share in the glee. House cleaning now takes a bit longer, but I'm so glad your soul is set free. I need you so often when problems arise, but I try my best to look through your eyes to see a solution just as you would do, and-- often as not-- use your Krazy Glue. It fixed up the sprayer hose yesterday eve, and I'm slaying weeds like you wouldn't believe.

I've done lots of trimming on several trees, declared holy war on the noxious bindweeds, transplanted more cactus, am rocking the lope, and pamper the grass with water and hope. Those scrub oaks have roots much like the mesquite, so many new sprouts, I can haardly compete. So with a small brush and the Roundup I love, I swabbed every leaf, wearing surgical gloves, and with much trepidation I'm waiting to see if it kills just the bushes and not the pine tree. Two sunflower plants, as tall as the eaves, make a natural screen so that no neighbor sees your spot on the porch with that marvelous view, the mountains that always remind me of you.

Love forevermore,
Gail