What’s big, red and white and has a bunch of hoses, more equipment than your granddaddy’s toolbox, and a 75-foot mechanical ladder on top?

Mary has moved again, this time to Mannheim, near Heidelberg. She still considers her primary residence the apartment she shares with Rainer in Gelsenkirchen, near Dusseldorf.

Funny, the things you learn when you tuck manners away and allow yourself to eavesdrop.

My friend, Mary Noble (a Southern woman who goes by two names), and I had just slid into the ancient red leather and steel booth of the old-fashioned diner on the outskirts of Birmingham and placed our order for breakfast.

Jesus sought to make things simple. In his day, one of the most complex things was the Sabbath. Religious insiders worked day and night churning out new rules and regulations concerning the Sabbath. The big issue concerned the definition of work because work was prohibited.

A recent Associated Press article reported that “church pews remain separated by color.” The article stated that the Sunday worship hour is still the most segregated hour in America as a result of the “mentality of self-segregation.”

Four years ago I told The Wife that Hillary Clinton would run for president in 2008, and win. She has told me that it would never happen.

The voice mail was simple, straight-forward and one of those lovely surprises that I much prefer over the ones like, “I’m calling from your accountant’s office. Please call immediately,” or “This is your plumber and I’ve got some bad news.”

Americans need rest and we are not getting it. God knew a long time ago that we needed rest more than we need respect. So, he shut down on the seventh day and insisted that his creation do the same. Today, neither rest nor the Sabbath gets respect.

This has not been one of my better weeks. And as they say in the South, if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Perhaps including Mama’s son-in-law, a.k.a. the guru-in-law.

He was born 200 years ago on Jan. 19, 1807 at Stratford in Westmoreland County in the state of Virginia.

His father was a hero of the Revolutionary War who served in high political office before losing nearly everything in bad financial investments. When the boy was 5 or 6 years old, his father left the family, never to return, dying when the lad was 11 at Cumberland Island, Ga.

It’s the third week of January, and I’m officially off my diet. That’s a new record for me. But, like most things in life, it’s all in how you look at it. Three weeks is 21 days, but for a dog that’s two months. And I think we’ll all agree — two months is a really long time to stay on a diet.

What should happen to this gang war in New York City? No matter that these gangs are worth millions and have access to daily national and international media outlets. The Trumps control America’s time and for those who travel to their casinos, they control their money and entertainment. The other gang, The O’Donnells is a female dominated gang and they seem to be willing to get into a street fight at the drop of a “do” — that’s Donald’s do (is all that hair his).

Home Depot shareholders enjoyed record earnings in 2005, and Chief Executive Robert Nardelli took home $38.1 million in total compensation that year. When Nardelli recently resigned and invoked his $210 million severance package, the news was reported with hints of outrage. But Home Depot committed to the severance package years ago.

Have you noticed how many people don’t have any common sense? A serious epidemic has swept our country and wiped out a lot of common sense.

Nature tosses us a surprise just often enough to keep life spicy, doesn’t she? Several years ago it was a black swan near Tinsley Mill, and at about the same time, a rufous hummingbird in the Peachtree City backyard of Charles and Sandy Davis. (This one’s ba-a-ack, and she’s brought a friend.)

I first met Dan Brigham in late 1983 or early 1984. I had arrived in Peachtree City to become the pastor of a four-and-a-half-year-old church, Fayette Fellowship, an Assemblies of God congregation.

The magic wallet made its first appearance at the county fair when I was only 7. That summer, we all piled into the back of the green station wagon with brown faux wood panels, and after a short drive, we stood at the gates of the Lakewood Fair Grounds.

Since Eve shook her head at Cain and Abel, as they squabbled over a toy on the tent floor, mothers have said the same: How can brothers be so different?

His hand-prints are all over my heart. He held it for years in an uneasy, complicated grasp that I could never escape. Though I tried. Lord knows I tried mightily.

As we ministers walk through our parish lives, sometimes we run into something that just takes our breath, stirs us to a new God consciousness, and leaves us feeling blessed that we were called into such a life work.

I first met Mary Ann in the early to mid-1980s. She was married to a chiropractor named Robert Calhoun. They both began to attend services at the church I served at the time and my middle son, John, became fast friends with her youngest son Greg. In fact, if John was missing, he was probably at the Calhouns and it was known that her door was always open to the neighborhood kids.

I saw a Traveler the other day. He wore a tattered tweed coat. Bent with age and time, he sat on the edge of a rusty park bench in downtown Asheville. With jerky motions from age-spotted hands that long ago stopped obeying the commands made of them, he tossed seeds onto the ground.

When Mary Jane went to see a doctor about a misaligned toe, he said it would need surgery. She laughed and said, “No, thank you,” that she was 68 and probably wouldn’t need it for more than about 20 more years anyhow.

Ring the sirens. Raise the flags. Kiss the babies. Praise the Lord. I have run across a truly enlightened Yankee woman. One whose admiration for Southern womanhood runs to such mammoth proportions that she is willing to shout it to the four corners of the earth.

Funny, when we were kids, Virginia was “down south.” From where we are this morning, in the western Virginia mountains, it has a decidedly “up north” appearance. And feel.

The year “seven” rhymes with “heaven.” If you want to have a heavenly year, take the advice of the Apostle Paul who instructed us “to speak the truth in love.” That’s my New Year’s Resolution and hopefully for every year thereafter.

In a perfect world, everyone would have his dream job. There would be no unemployment. Everyone who wanted to work would be able to. Work would be a pleasure, not a burden. Our jobs would earn us ridiculous amounts of money for the college education we received, an education paid for by our parents.

A few days before Christmas a clerk at a store said to me, “Is it just me or are people more rude this Christmas than at other Christmas seasons?”

The financial power of black-eyed peas and collard greens

Write this down. Mama was right. That’s right. I said it and I mean it. Mama was right.

We are the Bible belt. Been known for that a long time. Since about 1920 when journalist H. L. Mencken coined the praise to characterize our regional emphasis on the Bible and its importance to daily life.