It is good to laugh.

I was thinking that I had, in these blogs become very serious, almost preaching or teaching again. It is time for a bit of humour. First a little note about the painting. I found some plant and seed catalogues in my study and had a look through them. I was amazed to discover that there were so many different types of Iris. Looking at them reminded me that my father grew these plants when I was not even a teenager. he only had two varieties, blue and yellow. I had never noticed there were now so many more.

I decided to create a painting or two from looking at the catalogues. As I sat painting the memories began to flood my mind. happy funny and sad memories all brought about by an Iris. I feel a few more coming on.

I remembered my old scoutmaster, John Lyson.  He used to recite verse and such and always made us laugh. He often told the tale of Albert at the zoo being eaten by a lion.

He also had this wonderful act of whipping from his pocket a sheet of paper and pretending he was reading a letter. 

They were always different but went something like this.

Dear Mother,

"I am writing this slow because I know you cannot read fast. 

We don't live where we did when you left. Margaret read in the paper that the most accidents happened within twenty miles of home, so we moved. I will not know the address for a while yet as the last family that lived here took the numbers with them for their next house so they won't have to change their address.

This place we're renting has a washing machine. The first day I put four new shirts in it, pulled the chain, and I haven't seen them since. 

It only rained twice this week, three days the first time and four days the second time.

The coat you wanted me to send that you forgot was too heavy to send in the mail. So we cut off the big buttons and put them in the pockets.

I heard that Sis had a baby this morning but I haven't been over there yet to find out if it's a boy or a girl so I don't know if I'm an Aunt of an Uncle.

Our neighbour up the road fell in the whisky vat. Some men tried to pull him out, but he fought them off playfully, so he drowned. We cremated him and he burned for three days.

Three local kids went off the bridge in a pick-up truck. The one that was driving rolled down the window and swam out. The two sitting in the back drowned. They couldn't get the tailgate down.

Not much to tell this time. Nothin' much happens 'round here.

Love, Your Son John

As a preacher my style was loose and I  was often criticised again and again for bordering on frivolity in the pulpit.  Some of my fellow clergymen railed against this habit of introducing humour into my sermons. 

I remember once saying to them "If only you knew how much I hold back, you would commend me. As a  preacher, I think it less a crime to cause a momentary laughter than a half-hour of profound slumber." 

I am frequently accused of taking life to seriously, let me explain. 

I may seem serious when often I am not what often makes it seem so is my desire to get things exact. Precision. Surgical precision has always been important to me. I was saying to a friend yesterday how one little word can change the whole meaning of a sentence. 

Let me give an illustration to finish. There is a true story about Noah Webster, the man who wrote the  Webster Dictionary. The story told that his wife once caught him in the pantry in the act of kissing the maid. 

"Why, Mr. Webster," she said, "I'm surprised." 

"No, my dear," he replied. "I'm surprised' you're amazed."

Have a laughter filled day, or relax and start the day with a laugh.