A Carnivore's Paradise

 

(Writer’s Note: In my upcoming book “Angel Food Cake” A Forty Day Devotional for an Upside/Down World, there are stories referencing angel experiences. Included is one from November of 2015 at Patak Meats, Austell, Georgia. It was to my great dismay that I arrived to shop there this past week only to discover their business closed because of a fire. It has moved me to create this blog post.).

*****

In the early nineties at the beginning of a career in the beverage alcohol distribution business, I was living in Smyrna, Georgia. One of “the guys” favorite places to play golf was at a quaint little course in Austell named Dogwood Golf Club.  It was when speaking of an outing there one day a coworker suggested to me, I should visit a nearby butcher shop called Patak Bohemia.

“It is just a stone’s throw from the course,” my friend would say. He went on to explain that Patak had a smokehouse on property and their sausages were the best one could find on this side of the Atlantic. It was also pointed out to me that all the fresh meat was processed without fillers or preservatives.

Primarily a wholesale distributor, their retail store in the early days was an adjunct to their growing presence in Atlanta’s grocery stores.  Closed on Sundays, Patak’s meat market was and is open only the first Saturday of each month. If one could not manage a visit into a work week schedule, then they marked their calendar for that critical weekend day.  It is this first Saturday visit almost thirty years ago that marked an indelible image in my memory.

First Saturday Line

It was a scene straight from an Eastern European travelogue, complete with one of Cobb County’s finest directing traffic out front on Ewing Road. The customer line from the front door snaked outside into the parking lot.  I found no lack of patience in myself nor the folks standing in wait with me, for we all knew what was literally in store for us.  I had to put on my best listening ears for much of the understandable conversation would flow with heavy eastern European accents. Frequently customers would speak amongst themselves or with the store’s service staff in native tongues, and I could only guess if I was hearing the Polish, German or Czechoslovakian language. You see, expatriates from neighboring counties and states marked their calendars for a first Saturday Patak trip back in time to their native lands and culture.

A sweet memory always accompanies my reflections on the early days going to this carnivore’s paradise. When my late father-in-law Herschel came to live with us, he cherished visiting Patak because it reminded him of his favorite mid-west butcher shops back home along the northern Illinois, Wisconsin border.  In his last years my daughters would often accompany me. Every trip for them was a feast for the senses and they would always remind me to get some liverwurst for Pappy!  For me the main attraction at Patak’s has always been their slab bacon sliced to customer specifications. Taking an always big slab, the ladies consistently cut a slice and hold it up for their customer to judge before prepping the order. 

Sausage Chalet; a Feast for the Senses

Of all the characteristic attractions of this unique place, one that stands crystal clear in my consciousness is family.  Patak Meats as it is named today is a quintessential example of a realization of the American Dream.  Over three decades I have seen it grow into the second generation. Tony Patak, who fled during the eastern Europe advance of communism, planted his dream in Cobb County, Georgia.  Now his children are carrying the dream forward and preparing a path for a third generation to be able to do the same. The small family business is a critical underpinning of what makes our country great. Patak Meats is an oasis in the desert of a fading cultural climate that would nurture growth of the Judeo-Christian values which have been the basis for our great American experiment.


Let us pray that this family business will get back on its feet and thrive another thirty years through the family’s next generation.

****

Bradford Bosworth

September 2021                                                          



Bags and Butterflies


(Writer’s Note: This is the first post to The Standard Chronicles Blog in more than two years! How does that happen? I don’t know. But I will begin to surmise some of the reasoning for this departure in this coming expose. Bear with me please. BB)

 



Two years ago, I was an avid explorer of this neighborhood I call home. It lies within the fading shadow of Kennesaw Mountain in the sunset hours of each clear day. The days are less clear now than when we moved here in March of 2019. It is not because the newness has worn off, although novelty is a contributor in some small ambiguous way. More so because our world has become increasingly upside/down, a concept that begs explanation.

Many things have happened two years hence and were I to try to write about them in total, I am afraid the word processor may have to join me in the grave.  I will try to lowlight a few. Ready? A virus escaped from China. We had a Presidential election. Notice I did not say we elected a new president. We experienced lockdown. We put masks on. We got poked. Anyway, some of us got poked. And at least one of us had a motorcycle accident!

Water of Life Tower

In the summer of 2019 I would, as a matter of routine, walk through our Mclaren Gates neighborhood around Lewis Park and up Catholic hill by the water of life tower, adjacent to Kennestone Hospital. It was always a joy to witness the children running about playing in the park and neighboring schoolyards. There was a sense of awe in the sounds and sights of soaring hawks common to the area. I would often trade out the walk through the neighborhood for a hike up Kennesaw Mountain.  These forays would always be my barometer for how good a shape I was in at the ripe old age of 67, which brings me to the heart of the matter.

Summit View Water of Life Tower
                      

It was one of my last hikes of Kennesaw Mountain in early August of 2019. From the summit I was making my way back down to the Stilesboro Road Visitor Center when I stopped at the bench overlook adjacent to Kennesaw Mountain Drive. I was enjoying the vista of Little Kennesaw Mountain with Powder Springs in the background when I felt something tickle my right knee. Looking down there was a beautiful brown butterfly flickering there next to a big old age mole.  It was a very graceful moment until I noticed something blueish purple and out of place in the crevasse of the big boulder underneath my feet.

                                                                           The Bench

It was plastic and as I leaned down to get a closer look, I could see a knot and then realized it is a disposable bag of canine fecal matter, doggy doo! Uh oh! My serene, environmentally friendly green moment had been interrupted by a previous visitor’s apparent lack of self-awareness (see forgetfulness). I tried not to get hyper critical. After all, I had decisions to make.  I looked over both shoulders scanning for a garbage can. Nope, none there. Oh well, time to continue my beautiful excursion through this pristine National Battlefield Park and head back to my parked truck. Nope, can’t do that, I’ve got to do something about the bag of s—t someone abandoned.  What if a park Ranger happened by just as I was walking away? I might be accused of environmental sabotage. Oh my gosh, just what we need in this our critical era of global climate change!

Bag and Butterfly

So, I did what any responsible citizen would do. Do the next right thing, pick up the discarded doggy fecal matter in the non-biodegradable designer bag and place it in a trash container. No big deal, right? I gingerly picked up the bag using my index finger and thumb. Oh God I thought, how long had this bag of …been here? Now what do I do? Go back up to the top where I know there are trash cans. But I’m already on my descent!  

I resumed my journey down the mountain with a bag of excrement, between my fingers attached to my arm extended away from my body. Pretty soon the bag was swaying back and forth in sync with each stride. I already was beginning to feel self-conscious as some cars passed me on the descending road. Then I came upon some hikers ascending.  It is not unusual to have a few people not acknowledge you or look you in the eyes. Most all I came upon quickly diverted eyes from the swinging sack of dog dung to either on the road below or the forest above. Soon I would reach the pinnacle of awkwardness as I came across some folks walking their dogs. And those dogs wanted no part in the poo I was carrying as each pulled and tugged their masters in opposite direction. The quizzical looks on those folks faces became for me moments of humor.  I imagined hearing under their breath, “Well there’s the bag of crap. Where’s the dog?

At the time, I had every intention of writing a blog piece about this experience and then procrastination took hold. I thought I could gather more material and incentive for the story on future hikes. Then the park started charging entrance fees, which at first turned me off and with winter approaching I decided to wait till spring to pay an annual fee.  Well spring never came! Instead in its place came a virus from China.  Things have never been the same. We are approaching authoritarianism in our government.  The truth has never been so obscured, nor our freedoms so threatened here where we live.  Our upside-down world became more upside down! In an upside-down world the most difficult thing to discern is Truth.

As I complete this piece for the “Standard Chronicles” I am reminded of my sure-fire way of locating something truthful. It is something that will set me back on course, something that will last and bring some serenity to my life. I find it in my faith. It is summed up in these words of Jesus the Christ, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. (John 8:31-32)

After some semblance of normalcy, we are entering a second phase of mask mandates, potential lockdowns and no children in the playgrounds. The only thing consistent in the messaging we receive from our government and medical community are inconsistencies.  Not wanting to be an alarmist, I will make every effort to do with all the bulls—t what I did with the dogs—t two years ago.

                      


Bye Bye


Bradford Bosworth                                                                                      August 2021

 

Life's Forever Pattern



Our Always Open Table

Open Table


"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."
 Romans 12:2

My wife Patti and I recently took a trip to the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We stayed in Asheville, N. C. at a friend’s house; a weekend getaway gifted as a wedding present. We decided to travel for a Valentine’s Day celebration of Love, the most constant and eternal of all our human experiences. We had made this reservation months before we began the process of looking for a new home. Suddenly we were confronted with a difficult decision. We found our new home much quicker than we anticipated and had made an offer. With our closing date in three weeks we discussed postponing the trip. Love prevailed and we headed for the hills!

Warming Toes

Our long weekend in the Appalachians included visits to two historic turn of the 20th century structures, the Biltmore Estate (built early 1890’s) and the Grove Park Inn (built 1913). Our experience was a feast for the senses. The numerous and immense fireplaces in both buildings begged our imaginations of life without central heating and air, an amenity that is a design for modern-day construction. In these two dwellings there was much space to fill with the material stuff of life. All the ornate antiquities were deftly positioned in their special place for their specific purpose and function. Today these valued pieces speak as bit players in a theatrical story of a faraway time much different than now.

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance.”
 Romans 8:25
Eagerly Waiting

By the mid-February calendar, the Blue Ridge is still and amidst winter. It is off season for the immense tourism industry in Asheville. Nature is dormant cold and more grey than green, lacking vibrant colors. Driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway it appeared the marvelous miraculous Appalachian spring was quietly standing by, eagerly awaiting our Creator conductor to wave His baton so nature could bust out in harmonious symphonic bloom. Looking closely, one would notice beginning buds on the tips of the hardwoods casting a slight maroon shading across the grey undulating ridges. It was a blessed respite from the huge transition Patti and I were knee-deep in back in Marietta.


Chaos

Nothing can strain a relationship more than an event that jolts you out of your familiar surroundings and constant routine. For Patti it was leaving the well-known home of her residence for the past thirty years. We are talking here of the nuking of one’s comfort zone! The pattern of our world is where everything has its place and there is a place for everything. This world was completely disassembled in short order. As anyone who is familiar with the process knows, the experience is an emotional Niagara Falls. It is a willful journey that can separate us from God's will but not His love. I cannot hold a candle to the faith my wife Patti possesses. Her reliance on her relationship with her risen Lord is like a tide that lifts all boats. It is a river of Living Water carrying me along with her. Even so the disagreements began escalating along with quibbling: what to keep, what to throw away, where to put this and where to put that.

Reassembling Pattern

Our soul yearns for constancy and consistency. Permanence is comforting. The world offers little that is steady and fixed. The more we become attached to the fragile nature of the material pattern of the world the greater potential of our lives shattering into tiny pieces. Our salvation is found in the eternal. It can be found in the not yet but almost blooming hardwoods. The miss-located book still packed away in lord knows what box. Black stain from the ashes of the cross on brand new white sheet bed linens. At the pinnacle of Patti’s and my discomfort and bickering we decided together not to conform to the pattern of the world and fix our eyes on the reason for the season.


Completion

We moved a dining room table and wine rack with surfaces comprised of individual stone tiles which ended up in various boxes. The misappropriated boxes needed to be sought out. During a moment of need we decided to center ourselves in the Good News of the Cross. We completely reassembled and reset the tiles in the tabletop. Our petty disagreements vanished, and peace replaced chaos. The individual tile squares found their exact right position and place. Our new abode became a home more abiding in the Light of the World, a hopeful haven nestled in His will for us! The dining room is one now conforming to the message of the open table. It reminds this couple of a pattern that does not conform to the world we live in.

Love Pattern!

Father, may we constantly be reminded to fix our eyes on your Son and His model for our lives in this world. Amen

Bradford Bosworth
March 2019


Joy & Water


Susan and John Fleming & Chuck Whiteside


Haiti 2018 Reflections


John 16:33

Tebow's trials and sorrows.

It has been less than three days since returning from Haiti to the comforts of a familiar bed and a consistently hot shower. A week in a locale that defies most descriptors and where the people speak an unfamiliar language was truly another world to this man. As I learned on the first go-around last year, the return here is akin to scuba diving decompression or an atmospheric reentry by an astronaut. Although there were no time zones crossed, it seems I can feel jet lag. Maybe it is my age?

The first time this scripture from John’s Gospel spoke to me was in 2009, December 5th to be exact. I had been watching the SEC Football Championship and noticed John 16:33 on Tim Tebow’s eye black. I helped establish a Google record that evening. At the time, the scripture reference was the most trafficked Google search for one time ever. Tebow was strongly ridiculed for his open display of faith as well as crying on camera. His Florida team lost the game 33-13. Indeed, this night Tebow was having trials and sorrows (NLT). Maybe it is the when and how I first tasted of this Christ lesson, but it is one of the first I ever memorized.
"Our Boys"

On my first trip to Haiti, my tendency was to view our Haitian guides and translators in a different light, thinking they were better off than the rest of the population there. They could speak our language, were well educated and I just viewed them through a different lens, so to speak. This year our directors, Lori and Charles invited each to give our morning devotion each day. Subsequently they all shared with us their tribulations (NKJV). My lens changed, and I could see this group who the team refers to as “our boys” no different that the rest of their brethren in Haiti, and no different than suffering (HCSB) missionaries that travel to and from in this disparate land.

Joy

On our last and Sabbath day, we went to Church and worshipped together. We rested and played like boys and girls together and the trials and tribulations, the suffering and sorrows washed away. “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation” (Isaiah 12:3). If just for the moment, we were all able to overcome the world.

Agape from our boys.

Yahweh, may we take heart in your Son’s teachings and find peace as if a life preserver in choppy waters. Amen


P.S. – Very early in Patti’s and my relationship, maybe second or third date she gave me an agape card. Inside it had the scripture John 16:33. There are no coincidences and the honeymoon is not over!


Amen Brother’s and Sisters


Bradford Bosworth 
October 2018







Glimpses of the Unseen

Seventh and finale in a series.

Patti & Brad Bosworth



2 Corinthians 4:16-18

2018 Sixes/St Andrew Haiti Missionaries

We Americans are impatience experts, anxiously anticipating impending failure that we let the present slip away and with-it God’s divine blessings for us go un recognized. This cannot be said of our Haitian brothers and sisters whom we attend to. They come early in the morning, line up, sit quietly, wait patiently for a moment of our time to build upon relationships begun years before. In addition, they receive a touch of physical comfort from educative advice, managed medication and vision enhancement. Their patience, their lives, their very presence defines perseverance of hope uncompromised by their circumstance.


Yes, their harsh environment and living conditions play havoc with their outer person, but if you join them on Sunday for worship you will find a vibrant Body of Christ rich in an abundance of serenity. They live admirably noble lives. These Haitians’ focus is on the presence of God in their life which no circumstance can shadow. What visitors see in Haiti, is a literal wasteland with refuse strewn along every street, buildings still crumbling away from an earthquake many years before. It is a material rebuilding that never becomes finished. But these people we see are whole and complete in their unbridled love of Jesus and the faith that accompanies that affection. In other words, they have not fixed their eyes on the seen but dwell instead on the eternal Love of the Father, or that which is unseen.


The unseen in Haiti this week has included the broken English of one of our local translators as he read from the Gospels and delivered to us a heartfelt devotion before we started the day. It has been a young deaf school girl who showed us how to sign- I- love -you- last year, running to greet us with hugs and sounds of joy. Our team was being renewed day by day like when we heard voices in exuberant song from school children echoing in corridors or floating through barren fields. These glimpses of His eternal grace are what keeps us coming back year after year.


Papa, as we raise our arms with hands opened wide, lift us up into your eternal glory just for today. Amen



Patti and Brad Bosworth 
October 2018










A Carnivore's Paradise

  (Writer’s Note: In my upcoming book “ Angel Food Cake” A Forty Day Devotional for an Upside/Down World, there are stories referencing ange...

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