Self-Immolation—Or, Happy Birthday, Patricia

A few minutes ago, I set fire to the hair on my belly.

Like Esau in the Bible, I am a hairy man, and because our air conditioner is still broken (spent yesterday calling around about parts), this morning when I got up at 3:30, I began working while only wearing my swimming trunks—No shirt.

And I set myself on fire.

That’s what happens when you stay out late partying the night before.

Yes, Wednesday night the Cowarts all gathered at a pizza party to celebrate baby Patricia’s 29^th birthday. Ginny and I whooped it up with the kids till almost 9 O’clock.

That’s why I’m so groggy this morning.

Patricia drove up from downstate with her boyfriend, Clint, to introduce him to the family; Hope we didn’t scare him off. He travels over the country designing and producing displays for trade shows. And this was the first time he’d met the thundering herd.

As part of the festivities we all sat in a circle and regaled Clint with stories from Patricia’s childhood—Merciless love stories which we thought would embarrass her to no end. Like, the time when she was three-years-old and wandered away from home as parents, grandparents, police and neighbors searched only to find she’d walked to a nearby medical center and taken an elevator up to the eighth floor!

Finally a nurse working up there recognized her as ours and brought her down.

Or the time as a young teen she showed great resourcefulness and ingenuity in caring for a stroke victim when a night-time tornado struck leaving her alone in the house with him.

Or the time she sewed dozens of my old neckties together to make a swirling skirt. Or how she snuck into a bar when only 14-years-old. Or… Well, there were other tales revealed by her sisters which don’t bear repeating here because they are not suitable for family viewing (which never stopped the Cowart family for reveling in such tales).

For family devotions (as is our custom) I spoke from First John about love.

I used one of my tricks (an old orange juice bottle, a two-edged combat knife, and a two-pound sack of rice) to illustrate how love lifts us up when we stick together.

Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God;
Everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.
He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love.
In this was manifested the love of God toward us,
Because God sent His only begotten Son into the world,
That we might live through Him.

When Patricia opened her presents, she found someone had given her two sets of false teeth—All gold teeth with electric glitter that lights up and sparkles in your mouth. She and Clint inserted the teeth (apparently called GRILLS by the younger set) and put on quite a show to our screams of laughter.

After such a wild party, you see why I felt drowsy this morning, and dozed off with a burning pipe in my mouth—which I dropped on my belly and caught this patch of hair on fire and had to dowse it out with my coffee and now I have this big red bald patch just above the waistband of my swimsuit.

Works better than a rooster for waking a man up in the morning!

I don’t think I’ll post photos of that today.

Happy Birthday, Patricia.