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Times (and Games) Have Changed

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

I miss charades. No, the world will not come crashing to a halt at the loss of this age-old parlor game, and I will probably live happily ever after if I never play it again, but I fear that the loss signals something a bit deeper.

If you’ve spent the last hundred years in a cave and aren’t familiar with the pastime, charades

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The Conflab That Counts

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

Our church’s longest-standing tradition has nothing to do with baptisms, communion or Christmas pageants, but the annual Fall Bazaar. Once a year we celebrate the gathering of the crops even though our congregation has only a handful of farmers. Every October we drag in armloads of dead cornstalks, fall foliage, and more cider than our digestive systems can safely tolerate, then hold a

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Rule #1: Just Have Fun!

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

We’ve missed something. My pillow still has a tag that reads, “Do not remove under penalty of law,” and even my ketchup bottle sports a label filled with information required by government regulation. So what happened to parades? Nearly every town of any size hosts an annual parade or two but I can’t find anything published by the federal government regulating the things.

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Poosey Digest: Think PIG!

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

It was some of the best advice I’d ever received. I was traveling into town with my friend Zelma and we were running late for a meeting. I’d just rounded a curve, and Boom!, a pickup truck pulled out right in front of me then proceeded to piddle down the highway at 40 mph with a stream of traffic backing up behind us.

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Common (Rotten) Core

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

Charlie Frankenhoff was a genius. No other word for it. And every year at the end of summer when I see the yellow school buses begin to roll past my house I think of Charlie.

Actually, his name was Mr. Frankenhoff to our freshman class of literature students, but outside the classroom we simply called him Chuckling Charlie. He taught English literature unless

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Belly Up to the Bible Bar

by Freida Marie Trump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

I’ve come to the conclusion that to call yourself a true American there are certain things you really must do… vote, stay informed, read the Declaration of Independence, and visit Branson, Missouri. Last week I crossed this last item off my patriotic bucket list. I realize that I’m sadly late in accomplishing this since most of the adult population has already visited this

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A Serious Condition

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

Herb and I have a great doctor. The little rascal can out-diagnose the best and he keeps up-to-date on the latest tonics, pills, and potions. If the paperwork doesn’t kill him we plan to keep the guy forever.

But there’s one malady I’ve contracted that even the town’s finest physician can’t cure. After a long weary year of wars, epidemics, tyrants, and weather

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A Remarkable Woman

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

Let me tell you about a remarkable woman. Her name is Stephanie and her age hovers between 50 and 70, depending upon the time of the day, the weather, and her mood. She married young, had a couple of kids, then divorced her husband. In her words, “He was okay …for awhile. But then all he wanted to do was sit around, said

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There’s Something About a Dreamer

by Freida Marie Crump

PooseyDigest_WPGreetings from Poosey.

Let’s hear it for the boy who’s so busy looking for four-leaf clovers that he misses the ball that’s hit to him in right field. Let’s hear it for the girl who completely misses what her math teacher was saying about Euclidean geometry because she was too fascinated with the patterns her teacher’s prism earrings were making on the far wall. Three cheers

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