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 |  A sporadic account of my reaction to life. |
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Over the years I have sporadically attempted to keep a journal. Each attempt has failed miserably. I think they expired because I established rules that were too ridgid for them. So, this attempt will bring with it very few rules. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** There are many incredibly kind and thoughtful people in WDC. One of them is zwisis. Out of the blue she sent me this flower gift. It reminds me of the Bluebonnets of Texas. Thanks, Sarah. And, I must not forget the very talented katherine76 who created the flower...thank you. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Well, it appears that my blog is going to the dogs. It aslo seems as if folks have gotten me pegged as a dog lover....they're right. Our very own Anyea   has gifted me with this Valentine card. Now I ask you, "How sweet is that?" Thanks, Anyea  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I have been fortunate to encounter many generous and kind people during my tenure in WDC. Debi Wharton is one of them. She gifted me with the following sig. It shows how sensitive and caring she is. It also shows that she read some my entries. She'll never know how much I appreciate the gift and the attention to my blog. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Case of the Dreads Date: February 1, 2008, Friday Thought: But the best thing to do is not worry about them and just take ‘em on head-on. And, it feels so good afterwards. Jog: Well I have the ‘dreads’ this morning. You know what that is; you’ve had them. They seem to follow me around, well all of us really. When I was in high school the ‘dreads’ were really big on oral book reports. I hated oral book reports. First of all, you had to read a dang book. Then you had to stand up there in front of everyone and talk about it. I hated that. Then into college, it didn’t get any easier. I hated mid-terms; just when you got finished with them, finals were on top of you. If it wasn’t mid-terms or finals, it was some deadline for a paper or project. The danged ole ‘dreads’ never went away. They just replaced themselves with other ‘dreads.’ When Linda and I were younger, I always hated the end of the month. You know, the time when the money runs out before the month does. And, I hated April because that was tax time and it seemed Uncle Sam always found a way to get more money out of this turnip. This morning the ‘dreads’ are in the form of a meeting in Granbury. I will present a draft of their comprehensive plan and set some dates for the public hearings. Although, I’m ready for the meeting, I dread the dang thing. Just can’t seem to get away from the ‘dreads.’ However, in my advancing age, I’ve learned some lessons about living with the ‘dreads.’ First is, they are an unpleasant fact of life. If you’re living, you’ve got some ‘dreads.’ It doesn’t matter who you are or what your bank account says, everybody’s got some ‘dreads.’ I’ve also learned that it’s much easier now to just ignore them; although that’s sorta hard to do sometimes. But, the best thing to do is not worry about them and just take ‘em on head-on. And, it feels so good afterwards. I’ve got a son who is a fretter. He worries about everything. He gets a case of the ‘dreads’ big-time. It doesn’t do any good to fret. I’ve counseled him to just be prepared in life and have confidence in yourself. When stuff happens, you deal with it. No need to fret about it until it happens. That gives us more time to enjoy stuff than to worry about what might not be anyway. But, regardless of my sage advice, I still get the ‘dreads.’ Only, now they are manageable. I just buckle them into the back seat and head out into life; I don’t let them drive the car. I’ve no idea where I’m headed with this entry and not sure how to end the dang thing. Guess I’ll just say what Porky Pig used to say at the end of the Looney Tunes cartoons…”That’s all, folks!” |
| Title: Happy Well Fed Birthday Date: January 29, 2008, Tuesday…(very early in the darkness) Thought: I figured since she hasn’t cost me anything today, I’d feed her twice in one day. Jog: Well, Linda and I ate at Steak an’ Ale last night. Although the chain has had some problems and sold off a bunch of the stores, the one Linda and I go to is great. They have a killer salad bar and cook a pretty good steak. And, let me tell ya, when a Texan says it’s a good steak you can count on it. That dang steak was good. For someone whose girth is a big as mine is, you’d think I could polish off a little ole 12 oz. steak with no problem. Maybe it was that baked potato….or maybe it was the salad that took a trailer to get back to my table…or maybe it was that little loaf of bread they bring to munch on--anyway you look at it, I was so full I couldn’t order the cheesecake as desert. I ordered this garlic buttered steak that was cooked to perfection. With a wave of my hand, I snubbed my cardiologist and woofed that baby down, savoring every bite I cut and chomped on. What was the occasion for this sinful display of cardiac disobedience? Well, my bride of forty years had a birthday. Yup, that’s right, Linda and I have been married forty years; and yesterday was her twenty-ninth birthday. I know that may be a little confusing mathematically, but I’m not brave enough or fool enough to question it. YOU tell her that math doesn’t work—I’m not gonna! After a while, if you have enough of them, birthdays get sorta boring. Heck, if you have enough of them they get depressing. And, if you really have enough of them, they get downright amazing—almost miraculous. I ain’t got that far yet. But this one was special—for no special reason except the fact that we spent it together—just the two of us. I know, after spending over forty years together (I dated her five years through high school and college), you’d think that we’d get used to spending time alone together. But, hey, what can I say, it was fun. Actually, we sorta overdid the eating thing because we ate out at lunch also. We visited a Chinese restaurant named Tai Pan for lunch. You know you eat out too much when they recognize you when you walk in the door and already have your drink order when you get to the table. They gave Linda her lunch free for her birthday. So, I figured since she hasn’t cost me anything today, I’d feed her twice in one day. This was especially economical because Linda happened to have a ten-dollar birthday coupon for Steak an’ Ale. That means I could get her chowed down today for almost nothing. Now, is that a deal or not? Anyway, we got home and rolled our rotund little selves into the house to be greeted by grandkids and a black dog. The grandkids acknowledged our entrance with a wave as they passed by on their way to other interests. The black dog wagged his whole butt as he greeted us at the door. You gotta love that dog; he’s so transparent. We were gone for a couple of hours and you’d think we were his long lost best friends. I didn’t even bring him a doggie bag and he still loves me…sorta like Linda. For some reason she keeps comin’ back for more. I’m sorta looking forward to my birthday in September now. |
| Title: Max and the Pick-up Truck Date: January 27, 2008, Sunday Thought: No amount of coaxing could get that dog to jump into the bed…or even try. I picked him up and put him in the bed. Give me a break! Jog: I suppose it’s not his fault. But, heck, there are some things you just sorta figure come naturally. Max is seventy pounds of black Lab. He’s a tad bit small for a male Lab; but that’s probably because his lineage is not as pureblood as some. Max doesn’t care and I don’t care; he’s my dog and he’s dang most all Lab. Even so, there are some things the dang dog just ought to do because he’s a dog. Like, he ought to love riding in pick-up trucks. Have you ever seen a bird dog that didn’t love to go in the truck—not me. Well, I guess that’s just not fair. It’s not that Max doesn’t want to ride in the truck; he just don’t know how. Yeah, you heard me—he doesn’t know how to ride in the truck. I thought that was sorta like natural—like peeing standing up for a guy. Let me explain. In the first year and a half of his life Max never really left the back yard. Oh they loved the heck out of him, but my son and grandkids relegated Max to the backyard and went about their business working and playing, taking breaks ever so often to pet and play with the dog. During that time Max never saw a pick-up. So, I guess it isn’t his fault he doesn’t know how to ride in one. On the first day I got Max, and that’s a whole other story that’s too long for this little entry, I dropped the tailgate, patted the bed, and said, “Up!” To which Max looked at me with a blank stare that said, “Are you kidding? What for?” No amount of coaxing could get that dog to jump into the bed…or even try. I picked him up and put him in the bed. Give me a break! I attached a restraint to Max to keep him from jumping out while the pick-up was moving, which was a total waste of time for the dog didn’t budge the whole trip. He just stood frozen to the spot. On our trip home we discovered Max’s other problem with pick-ups. He gets sick. When I dropped the tailgate to let him out he had thrown up in the bed of my truck. It appears Max has a serious anxiety problem with pick-up trucks. And as I said earlier, it’s sort of embarrassing to have a seventy pound hunting dog that doesn’t know how to get in and out of the truck. I remember one time when I was teaching Max to get in and out of the bed, our neighbor came outside with a group of guys. They waved at me across the street and I responded with a wave. Max was in the bed of the truck and it was time for him to get out. Realizing the guy’s eyes were on me, I said, “Out Max!” And then stood aside. Max looked at the ground and then looked at me with a look that said, “You gotta be kidding. I ain’t jumpin’ down there. You put me up here, turkey, you can just put me down.” And so, I wrapped my arms around seventy pounds of drooling Lab and picked him up and put him on the ground. The guys thought it was hilarious. I didn’t think it was so dang funny. Max has been mine for a couple of years now. I mean he is really a part of me. The two of us have a relationship that is one of trust, love, and affection that only someone who has experienced such a bond will understand. It is downright pitiful how spoiled the dog has become. But spoiled as he is, he has become a very well trained and obedient dog…most of the time. Linda and I have worked very hard with Max to get him to regain his confidence and release his personality, which he has done beautifully. But the one problem I still have with Max is that he still has a problem with riding in the pick-up. I’ve set out to fix that problem. For if Max could conquer his anxiety about trucks and stop up-chucking in my backseat floorboard, I’d take him with me as I travel. He wants to go. I can tell by the way he watches me get in the truck that he wants to be there. And so, I’ve been working on that. My neighbors probably think I’m touched in the head. I have been observed to be sitting in the pick-up, in my driveway, just sitting there, for an hour at a time. Now, unless they saw Max climb into the backseat, they don’t know he is with me. There’s plenty of room there when I put the seats up in the crew-cab. But I’m trying to get Max used to the truck. We don’t go anywhere; we just sit out there. At first Max just drooled and looked around, anxious. But the last few times I’ve noticed the drooling has almost stopped and he has laid down in the floor board. He’s ready for a few short rides around the block. It’s taking a little time, but we’re gonna beat this thing. As I write this entry the sun has broken over the horizon and the morning is calling Max for his morning walk. We will go soon. But we will do it a little differently. We will leave the house and sit in the truck for a little while—just long enough for him to get comfortable and lay down. Then we will drive to the park and chase the squirrels and maybe even walk out onto the golf course. And it will have started with a trip to the truck. Yeah, I think we’re gonna beat this thing. |
| Title: They Were Just Looking for Some Signs Date: January 26, 2008, Saturday Thought: Dang, I love being the hired gun. Jog: Towards the end of the day yesterday I was looking forward to the weekend. I get up on Saturdays early, as usual, and take Max out for his walk. However, these are special walks in that we don’t have to hurry—we can take our time and hunt for critters to chase and other such activities. So as I said, I was looking forward to Saturday morning. However, my plans changed with a phone call in the late afternoon. The City Manager from the City of Royse City called to get a little information regarding sign ordinances. It seems as if they are getting political pressure to change their sign regulations. Usually political pressure means someone with a little political clout has been told by a city official that they can’t do something they wanted to do. Let me assure you that money and votes count even in small communities. Anyway, the City Manager was preparing for an early morning workshop with the City Council on Saturday. She had done her research on signs and was going over her notes when she realized that she had not called her city planning consultant. So, as an afterthought, I get a call at the eleventh hour. During our conversation, it is discovered that I prepared the sign ordinances for a couple of the cities she is using as examples. In addition, I have recently done extensive research on LED signs. Eventually the discussion focuses on a request for me to attend the meeting. I assure her that I have nothing else better to do with my Saturday morning and would be tickled pink to be there. And so it was that my Saturday was sacrificed to capital gains—I get paid to go. The meeting went well. The Council was thoroughly impressed with my approach to sign regulations and have determined that they need a new sign ordinance and that I should be the one to help them get it. My little visit with the Council ended up as a new contract. However, this one is a little different than most of my contracts. I’m already hired; and on this one the fee is whatever it takes to get the job done. Very rarely do I get a blank check to do a job. The only casualty will be my Saturdays. The mayor wants to meet every Saturday until the new ordinance is adopted in order to receive input on the thing. Dang, I love being the hired gun. I just have to find out some way to get Max into the mix. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ‘municipal planning dog’ before; although, he has peed on a few signs. |
| Title: A Matter of Perspective Date: January 25, 2008, Friday Thought: Our outlook on life, including our approach to a blank morning, is really a matter of perspective. Jog: I’m blank this morning. No ideas about this entry. However, in a few hundred words I’ll not be blank anymore-just gotta throw words on the page. Thinking about the ‘blankness’ of the moment got me to wondering about Perspective. Our outlook on life, including our approach to a blank morning, is really a matter of perspective. It’s the old ‘glass half-full’ analogy. Do you see a glass half-full or half-empty? When we see the blank page before us, do we see an insurmountable void that must be filled or do we see a marvelous opportunity to fill the page. When we throw our feet to the cold floor in the morning do we say, “Oh no! It’s morning.” Or is it, “Great! It’s morning!” I don’t want to be all Pollyanna about this; that’s a little tiring also. But Gloomy Gus is also not the way to go either. One last example of perspective and I’ll trudge on to other things. I heard a story once about two shoe salesmen who travelled to deepest Africa to sell shoes. When they got there, they discovered no one was wearing shoes. Both salesmen sent a cable back to the home office in civilization. One’s cable read, “Send money for fare home. No one wears shoes here.” The other cable read, “Send more shoes! Everyone needs shoes!” It is a matter of perspective--how we choose to approach each moment of our day. And, granted, sometime it is a struggle to choose the positive approach. So as we kick through the rubble of our life, we need to make a conscious effort to count the blessings in that life. If we but look around us we will see blessings are numerous. Granted, they often are simply not as dramatic as the tragedies we encounter. However, I dare say they are much more rewarding. I see little examples of that in these WDC blog pages. A few entries back David McClain walked out on his front porch and saw the majesty of a new snowfall. I know how frigid our transplanted Texan is right now, but the blessing of that moment did not escape him. It’s a matter of perspective.Some would say that we are deluding ourselves, that life sucks. No doubt about it, bad stuff happens to all of us. But, it’s supposed to. That’s what life is—a series of ups and downs. There’s no doubt that some of us have more ups than downs; and that just doesn’t seem fair. However, life is not about being fair. It never was and it never will be. Life is to be experienced. And, we can choose to make the best of it or focus only on the bad. I contend we will be much happier if we focus on the blessings. Take time to smell the roses. Take advantage of the free things in life. Listen to a child giggle, Watch a butterfly or a bumble bee work a flower bed. Watch the snowflakes or the rain fall, whichever applies. Listen to the wind blow through the trees or the sound of the windchimes on your back porch. Smell the aroma of coffee in the morning, bread baking, or maybe even brownies. Touch your finger to the surface of a pond and watch the rings radiate or skip a rock across the pond. All these things are free; and unfortunately I take most of them for granted. I’ll try harder not to. I sorta think that will help me to see the glass as being half-full from now on. It certainly does not hurt to do that; and it might even help me smile a little more. What have I got to lose? It’s just a matter of perspective. |
| Title: On Turning Pages Date: January 24, 2008, Thursday Thought: It amuses me to be able to put in on the bookshelf for easy access and use—no more shuffling of pages. Jog: OK, I don’t know if you do this; but occasionally I lug out a file folder with my past writing in it. Actually, I have several folders—one is for my novel, one is for my short stories, one is for selected sermons I have preached, and I have five that contain my journals, one for each year. All of these file folders contain finished work, except for my journal folder for 2008. I occasionally read these works. However, to do so means I must shuffle pages and keep them in order. I like reading in bed and I am constantly kicking them across the room when I lay them beside the bed in the late evening hours after shuffling through them the previous evening. Therefore, I was very pleased to find that our local Staples has a new feature in their copy shop. They will actually hard cover bind your document. I mean they actually make a hard cover book out of the thing. I’ve decided to do this with seven large folders of completed material that I have, starting with my novel Across the River and my compilation of short stories. The binding costs are a very affordable ten dollars per book. Of course, you either have to provide the copy or they have to run it; you have that additional cost to absorb. I chose to simply give them a CD with two of the volumes in PDF format, have them print it two-sided, and bind it in the book; that cost me $30 per book. I will attach my own cover sheet to the front cover and will then be able to file the volume in the bookcase with the other books. This is a cheap way to get a volume of my work bound for easy reference. Mind you, I do not consider this as being published—just bound. I think it will be a very efficient way of storing my hard copy work. Moreover, it amuses me to be able to put in on the bookshelf for easy access and use—no more shuffling of pages. I foresee a day when this will be commonplace; heck, we will probably have the machine to do it ourselves—just like a stapler. I’m interesting in knowing if anyone else keeps hardcopies of their material. Sometimes you don’t want to read from a computer screen. Sometimes you want to do it the old fashion way; you know—turn the pages. |
| Title: Which Way Should They Go? Date: January 23, 2008, Wednesday Thought: Planning and the regulations that implement plans can sometimes be ugly; they often are certainly not popular. Jog: Today I travel. I’ll be taking a little trip to the big city of Alba, Texas –population 500. The City Fathers have seen fit to kick the little city in the butt to get it going forward. It’s been in existence for over 160 years. At one time, it had a whopping 2,000 people. That was when lignite coal was discovered nearby. However, then the depression came along and they closed the mines in 1940. People simply had no reason to be there, so they left. In an attempt to regain their hold on the economy and make their town a destination instead of somewhere you drive through, they have decided they need land use controls. They need something that will assure folks that new construction in Alba will be of a higher value and quality than what they have experienced in the past. They decided they needed a plan. In addition, as a result, they hired me—their hired gun. Today little Alba has a new Comprehensive Plan; and they have zoning ordinances to implement that plan. The only thing is they are not organized to use either one of them. Think of it like this: someone goes out, buys a brand new Cadillac, and then realizes they don’t have a driver’s license or even know how to drive a car. That’s Alba. Today, I’ll drive out there and begin teaching them how to drive their new Comprehensive Plan and zoning ordinance. Until recently, they have not had a building inspector. There was no need; they didn’t require building permits to build a house. As a result of earlier discussions with them, they now have someone to handle that responsibility and now require building permits. This is a very big change for the residents, who up to today, just threw up any old building anywhere they felt like it--not gonna happen anymore. They now need to create a planning and zoning commission and a zoning board of adjustment. State law has specific regulations of who can serve and how these are established. They now have to abide by specific regulations regarding publication and public notification of all meetings related to zoning. They have found Pandora’s Box and have opened it. They now have to grab a handhold and are holding on as the frenzy of bureaucracy and regulations takes them to a different place. Planning and the regulations that implement plans can sometimes be ugly; they often are certainly not popular, especially when you are the one wanting to build that building and are told you cannot. However, if it is done correctly, the face of the city will change for the better. If it is done correctly, property values and quality of life will improve. If it is done correctly, people will one day look around and realize they live in a pretty nice place. That’s my job—to help them do it correctly. And so today, I will drive to Alba and meet with the major and other leaders of the City. I will assist in pointing them in the right direction and then give them a little shove. Like helping a child learn to ride a bike, I will stand to the side and help them right themselves when they fall down…and they will. But, that is what I do. |
| Title: Welcome to the Neighborhood, Wilson Date: January 21, 2008, Monday Thought: You never know when you’ll need a 55-gal. barrel. Jog: We moved Wilson into his hew house yesterday. Wilson is my best friend’s father. Fortune would have it that the house across the street from me became vacant. Wilson’s son, Jerry, talked him into buying the thing and moving in. Now the interesting thing about this is that Jerry is my next-door neighbor. Yup, that’s right, Jerry lives next door and Wilson now lives across the street. Wilson is 92 years old. Needless to say, he is a little set in his ways. The remarkable thing is that he has all his faculties about him. His memory is intact and will unload upon any unsuspecting passer-by a lifetime of stories. He walks quite well without any help at all. He does his own cooking and house cleaning. It may be a little hit-and-miss; but it gets done. Scary as it is, Wilson also drives his car. This move will be good. Jerry and the entire neighborhood will keep an eye on Wilson. The house he bought has a picture window in the breakfast room, living room and master bedroom. These windows provide him with an excellent view of the woods and the small lake that is nestled into our subdivision. Out his front door is civilization and urban life; out his back door is nature. I think he will be quite happy there. This is the last move Wilson will make. It is sobering to realize that his remaining years can be counted on his fingers. He was born in the middle of World War I; and served in the Air Force in World War II. The world has experienced a lot of change since Wilson has been on it. When Wilson was born the fastest mode of transportation was the locomotive, which held the amazing speed record of 80 mile per hour. Whereas in recent years the now obsolete Concorde crossed the Atlantic at Mach 2 (1,500 mph). The Space Shuttle, which is now also obsolete, orbits the earth at about 12,500 mph. The telephone was in it’s infancy and beginning to be assimilated in many homes. Today, well, you know what has happened with communications today. Well, about a half dozen neighbors moved Wilson’s stuff into his new house. It’s funny the things a 92 year old man holds as being important. Years ago he bought three 55-gal drums. He used them for burning dry trash when he lived in the country—years ago. Anyway, Wilson has moved these barrels with him in his last two moves, one of which relocated him from the country to an urban area, where open burning is certainly not permitted. For some reason, we could not part him from these three 55-gal barrels. His only response is, “Why, those are perfectly good barrels. You never know when you’ll need a 55-gal. barrel.” Who am I to argue? So, somewhere we will have to find a place for three 55-gal. barrels. And, that was my day yesterday, helping to relocate my new neighbor. Today I’m sure Max will introduce himself to Wilson. I hope he likes black Labs. I think he does, because he has a story about a black Lab that I think I’ll get to hear again. As Max and I walk the trail through our wooded area and around the lake, I’ll smile, knowing that over there in one of those houses, Wilson is watching us, thinking about a black Lab he knew a long time ago. And, if anyone happens to be visiting him at the moment, I suppose they’ll get the opportunity to hear the story…again. |
| Title: Obsolete Information Date: January 20, 2008, Sunday Thought: So, I ask you, what about all that information I’ve stored away—all that obsolete information? What in the world is it good for now? Jog: Over our lifetime, we accumulate an enormous amount of information. Much of it is in the form of experience and that is very useful. Sometimes we learn from our experience and then some of us are destined to revisit our mistakes repeatedly, wasting all that valuable knowledge. I suppose it has been that way since Og taught Og Jr. how to hunt game. In one of the comments from shipperke regarding my last entry, she mentioned a slide rule and asked if I had one of those thingies. The answer was yes, plus a bunch of other stuff that we don’t use anymore. In the course of my career, I made a number of vocational detours. City planning would be my eventual vocation, but I got there via the route of civil engineering. I never became a civil engineer; but I did become a cracker-jack engineering technician. In fact, I hold a certification as a Civil Engineering Technician. Somewhere along the way, I found city planning more interesting and went back to school to get a Masters of City and Regional Planning. I was thinking about all that stuff I learned early in my career—all that algebra, geometry, and trigonometry. Although I took calculus in college, I never really used it. Algebra and trigonometry were the primary tools I used as a civil engineering tech. Although we had the use of a calculator, the early calculators did not have algebraic potential. The trig tables were my bible. Using these tables, I entered the sine, cosine, tangent, and cotangent of angles into the formulas. Notes were carefully kept on a pad and filed away for future reference. We don’t do that anymore. Everything is calculated automatically by computers, which also provides map printouts and records of the calculations. We’ve come a long way baby. So, I ask you, what about all that information I’ve stored away—all that obsolete information? What in the world is it good for now? Is it just taking up space in my memory banks, space that can be used for other more useful stuff? It is a little disconcerting to know that much of the talent I’ve developed is no longer useful. In my early career, I occasionally worked on the survey party of engineering firms. I learned to operate a transit, a theodolite, and a level. I used a plum bob, chaining pins, and measuring chain. We had a four-man crew on the survey party. Today, the survey party is reduced to two people. Distances are measured by use of GPS equipment. The way I did it way back then is obsolete. Hmm, what good is it to know obsolete stuff? I am concerned that the advancement of technology has made the need to know how to get the answer unimportant. It is no longer necessary to figure complex formulas by long hand; let the computer do it. After all, there is rarely any situation where a computer will not be used. It is much more important to know how to operate the computer and to know what information to feed the thing. That is sad. Much of the stuff we do today skips the middle stuff, the calculations. Our kids are taught to recognize the problem and how to enter it to get the answer. And, lordy, there is never any reason to check the computer; is there? I asked my grandkids if they had ever diagramed a sentence. They screwed their face up and said, “What’s that?” Do they not teach that in school anymore? I know, by reading the text messages and seeing some of the email, our whole society has forgotten the middle stuff when it comes to writing. Although I hated diagramming sentences, I can see that it made me better understand the construction of a sentence. The same goes with the construction of a paragraph and the parts of a written piece. When we take liberties with grammar and structure rules, we erode the art of writing. For Christmas this year, I purchased one of my granddaughters a journal. I have encouraged her to write in it as often as she can. Maybe I can help salvage a little of the art of writing in this child. On the other hand, has that also become obsolete, like a bunch of the other stuff I’ve learned in my lifetime. |
| Title: From Note Pads to Screens Date: January 19, 2008, Saturday Thought: I have barely even touch the surface of what technology has done and is doing for us today. Jog: I remember the day when we did not have computers sitting on our desks. Actually, it was not so long ago. Thirty years ago, our office operated in a different manner. I was working for a very large engineering firm at that time. Oh, I did the same kind of stuff for my clients; but we got the job done in a different manner. We did not have personal computers. My mode of input was a pen and pad of paper. All my ideas formed on that pad. My trashcan was my friend. It held all the crumpled drafts of letters and reports that did not make it off my desk. The salvageable material that went into print was neatly paper-clipped and placed in the in-box of our typist. Amazing, we used to hire people for the express purpose of typing. My usual typist was named Barbara. She had no idea what was going on the page, but she placed them there at a rate of eighty words per minute. When Barbara finished typing my text, she gave a hard copy back to me, where I marked it up and made revisions. Now our firm had programmable typewriters. There was a very small screen on the typewriter that held a scrolled line of text that was held in memory. Otherwise, Barbara would be destined to re-type the entire text again. Nevertheless, we would go through this process a number of times—passing the text back and forth between Barbara and myself. Eventually we would arrive at a final document. All that has changed now. Most professionals, that I know, do their own typing. We very rarely begin with a pad of paper. We now create and edit text on our own computer sitting right there on our desks. That’s the way it’s done now. Of course, when I had my office open I hired people who were proficient with Microsoft Word and other software. They would take markups and initial text and do the fine-tuning that still was necessary to be passed back and forth. But, Oh my! It is so much faster now. Dang, I even have voice recognition on my computer, I can dictate to it, and IT will write the dang report (I’m still working on that one.) All sorts of things help me produce my copy now. My computer has more memory than I can imagine. My first computer was a little Apple and had about 150K memory. I typed and saved one chapter at a time. Today I can hold the equivalent of the volume of our local library and still have memory left over—unbelievable. My personal set-up here at my home office is pretty awesome. I work on a laptop with a 17”screen. I have a secondary monitor that gives me two screens to work off of. Many times I will pull text of one project up, post it on one screen and then type, and edit from another. My computer is hooked up to a printer/scanner on my desk as well as two other printers that are remote. Linda has a computer and printer on her desk and we are linked to a central server computer through a wireless modem. At one time, I had six computers hooked up to our server. All the material from our company is stored on that central server—maps, aerials, letters, photos, reports, ordinances, and miscellaneous stuff. Currently I have eighteen years of material stored in that one computer (needless to say I have back-up discs of that material.) Technology is amazing. Today my little home office can produce the same quality product as the national firm I used to work for. I have very little limitations on what I can do in-house. The things I can’t do, I out-source. The world of communication and information has no limits. I can talk to you on the other side of the world and even see you on my screen if I turn on my camera and you turn on yours. You can even be on a cruise going through the Panama Canal and we will still be connected. I can send you a book by PDF and you can have it in mere seconds. I have barely even touch the surface of what technology has done and is doing for us today. However, in the span of my professional career, it has been unimaginable. Who would have thought? |
| Title: Maybe I Ought To Do Some Work Date: January 17, 2008, Thursday Thought: It was a two-pooper and I am expecting great things for the rest of the day. Jog: Well, it appears to be a ‘two-poop’ day. Our morning walk went great. Max chased the squirrels, tagged a million trees, and sniffed and investigated every bush and mailbox along our trip. It was cold this morning. Someone said the wind chill was in the twenties. That’s cold for a Texas boy. I dressed warmly, maybe a little overkill; but, dang it I hate when my ears and face get cold. Anyway, it was a two-pooper and I am expecting great things for the rest of the day. I have loads of work to do—a number of projects. However, I’m going through a very difficult time at the moment. Seems as if I’ve got a little ‘burn-out.’ I’ve had it for the last couple of years. I find that I do only what I have to do to keep my clients happy. I am shoving deadlines around and making excuses for not meeting them. That is not good; and is not like me. Somehow, I’ve got to work through this—just a few good years and I can hang it up…or at least slow it way down. WDC does not help the matter. WDC is a very good substitute for doing productive work. I can bask under the cover of ‘creativity’ and rationalize the time spent in here. We both know that is a cop-out. Nevertheless, WDC is important to me and will not be discarded. I just need to exercise a little discipline and put it in its right place. I’m working on that. Anyway, I’ve got a public hearing in the City of Joshua that I must prepare for, and several clients are waiting on material from me this week. Since today is Thursday, it appears I will be doing some honest work the rest of today, tomorrow, and probably on the weekend. I don’t see that I have any choice; after all, it is a ‘two-poop’ morning. |
| Title: Nothing Less Than Perfection Date: January 16, 2008, Wednesday Thought: I refuse to settle for less. Why should I or you do so. As far as I am concerned, we deserve the best. But, the best doesn’t come free. Jog: It is human nature to always want more. At least it appears to be my nature. When we are served cheese sticks at Olive Garden they give us six, I always want more. Yesterday I received a check in the mail for an investment. I looked at the amount and wanted more. My grandkids flood into the house with hugs and kisses; sure enough, I always want more. Even when I realize that I am fortunate that I received the blessing I received, I always want more. It’s just my nature. And sometimes I feel badly about it and chastise myself for being greedy. I am, after all a greedy writer. I write because it provides an outlet for my creativity. I write because I enjoy it; it’s something productive. But, make no bones about it, I write because I am also a little selfish and a tad bit greedy. I like to receive responses from people. I am pleased when I receive comments in my blog. I like to know that others are responding to my trivial thoughts. If an entry goes without comments, I am disappointed. However, I am rarely disappointed because my friends out here stop by and comment, even when they think the entry is ho-hum. I also love reviews and rating for my pieces. Who doesn’t? Like I said before, I always want more. The other day I wrote a new piece and posted it for review. As soon as I wrote it, I said to myself, “That’s good stuff. Folks will like that; you ought to get a few 5’s.” (Remember, I said I was also greedy.) Now, my world does not end if someone does not give me a 5 as a rating. There are other things much more important in my life that getting a rating of 5 in WDC. I do get a little miffed when someone callously tosses a 3 in with the other ratings. I can’t help it I just get miffed. Anyway, I wrote this new piece and posted it. Then I began to get reviews and ratings. To my delight, everyone liked it. My ego swelled beyond recognition. In fact, as to date sixteen folks have read and rated the piece. That’s not bad for being just a week old. The interesting thing about this is that the first fifteen reviews rated this little piece as a 5. That’s never ever happened to me before, have every rating a 5--until, yesterday. Yesterday I received a glowing review of the piece, of which I was very grateful, and received a rating of 4.5. That means fifteen 5’s and this single 4.5. Now, I am certainly pleased with the overall rating. And, even the kind soul who gave the 4.5 had glowing things to say about the piece. So why, pray tell, am I disappointed because I don’t have a perfect rating of 5. I suppose it could be since we so rarely achieve perfection our soul yearns for it. We so often settle for less and tell ourselves that we don’t deserve more; we don’t deserve perfection. We come to the point where we feel perfection is an unreasonable goal. I worked for a major engineering firm in my early days. That firm had a system of employee review where the employee and the supervisor both filled out a performance sheet on the employee. The two then got together and went over the sheet comparing notes and making comments. Supposedly, that was a way to help the employee to improve and see the areas of needed change more clearly. Well, it appears I flunked the review process. You see, I have a very difficult time rating myself low at anything. Therefore, my sheet was full of 5’s. The supervisor's was not. My supervisor shook his head and said, “Dan, you are rating yourself within the top two or three percent of the entire firm, and we have hundreds of employees, including all the principals and vice-presidents. Do you think that is realistic?” My response was, “Possibly not—but why in the world would I tell my employer that I am less than the perfect employee they are seeking. I certainly don’t do the same thing the president of the firm does, but for what I do and what you pay me, I’m the best you’ve got. And, as far as I’m concerned that’s the top one percent of the firm.” Hmmm, he didn’t see it my way. That’s probably why I own my own firm now. But, anyway, there it is. I refuse to settle for less. Why should I or you do so? As far as I am concerned, we deserve the best. But, the best doesn’t come free. You got to earn it. It isn’t worth it if it is just handed to you; there is no value in it. But, when we do what we do and we do it well, we should expect perfection. So, that’s why I’m disappointed in the solitary 4.5. No doubt I will receive more 4.5’s in my life and possibly even some 3’s. I will gladly accept them, especially if I’ve earned them. But, I don’t have to expect less than perfect, and neither do you. |
| Title: Exit Plan Date: January 15, 2008, Tuesday Thought: I suppose I was lucky; that is if luck is determined to be the product of hard work and persistence. Jog: When I was a kid in high school, I was totally clueless of what my life would be. I wasn’t particularly doubtful of myself and my abilities; I was just clueless. I looked at the world around me and saw people living in fine houses and driving nice cars. I knew that somehow they had earned the right to have those cars and live in those houses; but I just didn’t know how the heck they got in the position to have them. I also knew there were definitely folks who had stuff and folks who did not. I just assumed that I was one of those who did not. In fact I kinda conceded I would always be that way. There was no bitterness about it; it didn’t piss me off; it was just the way it was. I also knew there was an allotted amount of years that I had to acquire any means that would support me when I got old. I watched my grandparents grow old. They moved into small houses and stayed put. Each month they looked for the Social Security check and were frugal with the money they received. They did not get much money; but along the same line, you didn’t need much money. Gasoline was 18 cents per gallon and you could get a loaf of bread for a dime. Heck a penny was real money then; you could actually purchase a piece of bubble gum for a penny. I knew that somehow I had to ‘make something of myself’ if I were to have the things it took to survive. My problem was, as I mentioned before; I was clueless. Not only did I not know how I was to get there; heck, I didn’t even know where I was going. Somehow, by the grace of God, I began going in the right direction. Now, some kids are well focused on their direction in life; and like an arrow shot from a tightly strung bow, they zip to the target. My path was more like a bumblebee in his search for honey. I meandered the field hoping that somehow I was going in the right direction and would somehow end up at the honey hive. I suppose I was lucky; that is if luck is determined to be the product of hard work and persistence. I focused on a single plan, a single principle: Always take a step up, never walk laterally. Now the step up can be infinitesimal; and it can even seem to be a step lateral or even backwards. But, every step must lead to a higher plane, however slight it may seem. As a result, I am now where I saw others, when I was just a kid. That kid would say I am now one of the ‘haves’ and not one of the ‘have not’s.’ Of course, that kid would be wrong. We are all ‘haves’ and there is always someone somewhere who has more. It’s not the things you ‘have’ that make a person a success; it’s the person that you become along the journey. I consider all this as I stare directly into the challenge of a whole new phase of my life. There comes a time in each person’s life when he must make an Exit Plan. Now that sounds sorta terminal. It really isn’t. Heck, the day we are born we begin to exit this journey. Nope, all I’m saying is that it is now time to determine what retirement means to me. I am convinced that it is not the same as it was for my grandparents or even my parents. I am certain the ‘baby boomers’ will do this differently. My bumblebee route to this moment has left me with options that I would have never thought open to me. I am not rich, by no means; but neither am I destitute. I have resources that if planned correctly will keep me comfortable and free of worry. It is amusing when I think of the advice I was given by ‘old timers’ when I was young. It really was very good advice. Most of the times I rationalized why I could not do the things they counseled—things like putting twenty-five dollars in savings with every paycheck. There were always things I needed to use that twenty-five for. However, had I put fifty dollars back with every check, when I was twenty; I’d have about $28,000 extra today. Now, that isn’t much, but had it been $250 a month, I’d have an extra $150,000 to play with today. Needless to say, if I knew then what I know now, I’d be a very wealthy man. But, who is to say I’m not wealthy? Oh, perhaps not in dollars, but in other areas I am a multi-millionaire. I think about that young high school graduate back in 1966, forty-two years ago, and I wonder about the next few years, as I work on my Exit Plan. Who would have thought I’d make it even this far?—not many. We are entering the era of the baby-boomers retiring. I wonder if our economy can take it? Somehow, I have the feeling it will. Oh, we can’t depend on Social Security; it will be bankrupt in a few years. But, somehow, we will all make it. |
| Title: Early Morning Moments Date: January 14, 2008, Monday Thought: But, the perk I really enjoy is that when you get drowsy in the late morning or after lunch you can put your feet up on the desk and take a siesta. Jog: Sometimes I lay there and force myself to sleep. When that happens the sleep that comes afterwards is not very rewarding. I wake every ten to fifteen minutes and peek at the clock beside my bed. My mind does a mental countdown as I keep track of the time. After a while, the time keeping becomes a distraction of its own and I begin to ponder the value of lying there—but I do. Eventually, I give up and throw my feet to the floor. I head to the computer. I have to have something on which to occupy my active mind. WDC is a welcome diversion. Usually I can perform this little drama without disturbing anyone around me. Linda sleeps on. The only exception is Max. He will follow me in the dark to the bathroom, to the kitchen and eventually to the computer. He will then dutifully curl up on the floor beside me close his eyes and continue where he left off beside the bed. One of the really neat things about working on the computer at this unnatural hour is that you can do it in the dark. I wonder about how many other WDC members are going through the same gyrations as I am. It is a little difficult to tell, since we are in fact a member of a worldwide community that has daylight somewhere sometime. I have to do some mental calculations that usually break down and conclude there is a bunch of folks out there doing the same thing I am at the very moment I am. I dare say there are a sizable number of cohorts who are also conscious or at least semi-conscious during the very wee hours of the morning. Occasionally, I am very productive and actually get something done on work—get a jump on the day. Usually that does not happen because my interest at pre-dawn moments is not on work. So, I will work on some project—a story, a blog, investments, or just simply reading. Most of the times however, my early morning moments are spent throwing words on the page, watching them magically transform into ideas. This is somehow soothing. And, after an hour of so of this I find that I am yawning and thinking about the warmth of the covers. If I have enough time left, I can return to dreamland and snatch an hour or two before officially beginning the day. If, however, the sun is beginning to color the horizon, Max will not allow me to return to the sanctuary of the bed but will insist that I venture out in the cool fresh morning, which reluctantly I do. Fortunately, I am one of the lucky souls in this world who does not have to face the rush hour melee every morning. That is one of the perks about having your office in your house. Another is you can work in your pajamas if you wish. But, the perk I really enjoy is that when you get drowsy in the late morning or after lunch, you can put your feet up on the desk and take a siesta. Now, that my friends is heaven. Ah, my peek at the clock tells me it is now 4:50 AM. The sun will not crash in upon me until about 7:32 AM. I have begun to yawn. If I stumble back to bed now I will have about two-and-a-half hours of sleep. Poor Max, he will have to relocate to the bedroom again. See ya folks! |
| Title: How About Reviewing Again? Date: January 12, 2008, Saturday Thought: Anyway, this interest in getting reviews for my short story has led me to the review pages, which in turn has led me to actually reviewing some pieces myself. I had forgotten how pleasant it is to review other pieces. Jog: OK, I've spent the morning browsing through WDC at the various sites where a person can get a review done. Yes, I know, I have been visiting outside Bloggville. I am again amazed at the marvelous diversity of this site. I've been a member of WDC for about four years and I am still finding aspects of it that fascinate me. My interest in the suburbs of Bloggville have been prompted by the new short story I wrote. The thing was written in its entirety in one day. My friends here had nice things to say about it; but I am curious what folks who don't know me think about it. Now, don't any of you get offended and assume I don't think you review my stuff fairly. It's just that you are so dang nice. It is like Linda; I know Linda will say nice things about my story. She can't help herself. She would rather build my confidence than offer a negative critique about anything I do. Except my driving. For some reason she thinks she can do that better. However, that subject is off the table for discussion. Anyway, this interest in getting reviews for my short story has led me to the review pages, which in turn has led me to actually reviewing some pieces myself. I had forgotten how pleasant it is to review other pieces. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. However, I did find some junk out there in WDC land. Please forgive me for calling it junk, but there is no other way to describe it. My only consolation is the fact that one persons junk is another's treasure; and I am sure I'm in the minority regarding those particular pieces. I've determined that if I am to receive reviews of my new piece the least I could do is to review other pieces out there and hope the author will volunteer to visit my little port. But how do I get them to review a particular piece? Is is rude, as part of my review, to insert a sentence that says, "By the way, under no obligation, if you want to take a look at one of my pieces "Invalid Item"  is wanting a review...but again, no obligation." (Notice how I shamelessly worked that into this entry)Oh well, the subject of this entry is reviewing in general. Do you suppose our blogging has detracted from our commitment to the other aspects of WDC, like writing stuff and reviewing stuff? Hmmm. |
| Title: Writing of The Last Visit Date: January 10, 2008, Thursday Thought: Sometimes I get possessed by an idea. Jog: Sometimes I get possessed by an idea. As a result some new literary work usually pops up. That has happened over the last two days. I’ve been working on a new short story. Several months back I made a visit to the vet with Max. While we were there we noticed a man with his dog in the waiting room. I could tell he was very emotional. He kept stroking his dog and was very sad. I found out later he was waiting to put the dog down. I felt terribly for him. Max was bouncing around smelling and being cute; and this poor man’s dog was in severe pain. I haven’t been able to get the picture out of my mind. And so, I decided I would write about it. And I did. If you get a chance, give it a gander. It may be a tad bit sad. In fact, it was extremely difficult to write since some of it was biographical. But in any case, here it is. What do you think about it?
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| Title: Vacation? What’s That? Date: January 9, 2008, Wednesday Thought: To my father the only real work was hard work. It was not an ends to a means; it was the purpose of life. Jog: I heard tell of a fella who took off work for a whole week and did just what he wanted to do. He put the whole family in the pick-up, drove to some get-a-way place, and did absolutely nothing productive. Now, I’ve heard that others do the same thing. Heck, some of them even go out and float around on some boat for a couple of weeks. They call it vacation. It’s a great concept; I’ve determined that I’m gonna try one of those things. OK, maybe that’s a little silly of me. Of course, I’ve taken a vacation before—but not many. I guess my slant on this thing called vacation is hereditary. My dad set my work ethic a long time ago. Work was just something you did that told the world a little about what kind of person you were. To my father the only real work was hard work. It was not an ends to a means; it was the purpose of life. There were two things a man was expected to do: tell the truth and make a hand. I grew up in the oil fields of Oklahoma and South America. For the first fifteen years of my life we bounced back and forth to one oil field or another. My dad worked everyday. He worked when he was sick and when he was so tired he couldn’t see straight. I was expected to do the same thing; and did. I remember that there was absolutely no excuse for not going to school. I did not stay home sick from school. Yeah, I know, I probably gave the whole dang school the flu; but I attended class. There were three criteria that justified staying home from school. You had to exhibit at least two of them to warrant staying home. Dad would ask, “Have you passed out? Have you thrown up? Do you have a fever? And are you bleeding anywhere?” I had to answer yes to at least two of them or get my ass up and ready for school. These criteria applied to staying home from work also. My dad did not believe in vacations. For my entire childhood I can remember only a very few times we did the vacation thing. As a result, I also rarely take a vacation. Oh, I know I ought to. At least some folks say I should. And I’m going to. I’ve determined that I want to visit some of the Civil War battlefields this year. I’m ready to drag Linda around Dixie and check some of these sites out. She’s amazing; she will walk through those areas and listen to my rendition of history until I know she is sick of it. And, then she’ll say what a good time she had—and mean it—amazing. Anyway, I think Gettysburg is calling me. I’m gonna begin planning a foray to Gettysburg. Unfortunately, it can’t be a simple trip; I’ve got to make a project out of it. We can’t just pack up and go. Nope, I’ve gotta do research on it. I’ve got to plan all the stops between here and there. That means lots of reading and research on the places between here and there also. And so it begins—the birth of a vacation. I know that the Vegas odds-makers are now laying odds as to whether or not I’ll make it. Don’t count me out—yet. I can do this—I think I can at least. |
| Title: A Two-Poop Morning Date: January 6, 2008, Sunday Thought: I really want you to have a good day because of the experience I’ve had with two-poop mornings. Jog: There are a number of ways which we measure the success of the moment. Every morning that I wake up, I count that simple act as a success, of which I am extremely appreciative. You would be too if your chest had been split open and folks had whittled on your heart, like they did mine. Yessir, every morning I wake up is a good morning. Nevertheless and even so, some of mornings are better than others. Now I know it’s a little crass, but Linda and I have a simple way of gauging the beginning of our day. Quite simply, if it’s a two-poop morning we know we’re off to a good start. It begins very early in the morning with Max. In fact, Max is the key. The dog needs a morning walk every morning. Try not giving him his morning walk; it’s a disaster. He will pester you all day long. Therefore, his morning walk is a requirement; and I’m the guy that gets the early morning duty. Of course, once I step out into the day, regardless of the weather, I am rewarded with the freshness and glory of the morning. Today was no different. As I walked down my drive to the sidewalk, the first thing I saw was God’s glorious painting across the heavens. There were oranges, yellows, reds, and purple streaking the clouds from the horizon to directly overhead. Max was excited as we turned down the walkway that leads to the golf course where we begin our walk. Promises of squirrels and friends awaited him and he was as excited as if it were Christmas morning. In fact, it is to him—Christmas morning. Every morning seems to be a gift that is appreciated to its fullest. It places much more emphasis on the gift when I glimpse it through that black dog’s eyes. After we reached the golf course and turned down the cart path, Max had the urge to let nature call; that was the first poop of the morning. It was Max’s little gift for the sixth fairway—a poop hazard. He chased a few squirrels before he heard a familiar bark. Shortly, coming through the clearing onto the golf course, entered Missy, about fifty yards ahead of her owner, Vicki. He romped and played with Missy, teaming up chasing squirrels up the trees. Eventually we would encounter two toy poodles, Maggie and Charlie. At that point, Max availed himself of his second poop—I guess it was all the excitement. Before returning to our home Max encountered an additional Chow, took a romp in the creek (Bad dog! You just had a bath) and chased more squirrels. As we enter the house, ready for breakfast, Linda greets Max and asks me, “How’d it go today?” I responded, “Great, it was a two-poop morning.” Thus, we have established a measurement of success for any event. When asked, “How’d the meeting with the new client go?” I respond, “Oh, it was a two-poop morning.” She nods her head; she understands. I have to watch myself; I often let the expression sneak into my business. “How’d Mayor Moncrieff respond to the zoning proposal?” “Oh, I think everything is going to be OK. It was a two-poop presentation and I think we’ll get final approval from the City Council.” A client asks, “Do you think we will have any problem getting the zoning ordinance approved by the community?” “Oh, I don’t think so. It’s a good ordinance, definitely two-poop quality.” The expression does not lend itself to graceful explanation. I watch myself very carefully, but have used it amongst very good friends and colleagues. I believe the expression is catching on, though. The other morning, I greeted a colleague with the standard, “How’re you doing this morning.” Along with a smile I got the response, “Oh, it’s a two-poop morning so far.” I immediately knew he was having a good day thus far. For those of you who think the subject matter of this entry is a little ‘off color’ or socially unacceptable, I apologize. However, please understand that my intentions are good. I really want you to have a good day and because of the experience I’ve had with two-poop mornings, I can’t imagine a more pleasant expression for some of you. I’m sure my friend, Tor would understand; he’s a two-pooper from way back. So, this gorgeous Sunday morning, I cannot think of a better wish for all my friends than having a two-poop morning. God bless ya’ll. |
| Title: Statistical Overload Date: January 4, 2008, Friday Thought: The Internet really is a remarkable thing. Without it, there is little chance that my stories would be read, and I hope appreciated, by thousands of people around this world. Jog: OK, those of you who space out when statistics are used, get ready to zone out. I’ve been a member of WDC for four years now. Like so many other things, it just doesn’t seem that long. I have been satisfied with cruising around in my own little world in here, remotely conscious that there is a wider world connected with WDC, this is the World Wide Web after all. In an effort to gain a little insight as to what I am a part of, I searched the site-wide stats for WDC. What I found was somewhat interesting. Basically, I have concluded that the group of regulars that I have come to know over the years is really a very small group. There are currently 98,795 active members in WDC. Of that total number, 96.2% of the membership carries free memberships status. Who would have thought that?—not me. Only 0.6% of the total active members have Basic memberships; and 2.7% have Upgraded memberships. I renewed my membership on January 1st. Because I have 248 items in my portfolio, I was virtually out of room with my Upgraded membership. Therefore, I upgraded to a Premium membership and discovered that there are only 0.4% of the active members that have that level of membership. Out of 98,795 members, there are only 458 Premium memberships. This is a writer’s community. As such, you would think there is lots of material here. And, in fact, there are around 790,360 items posted in the portfolios of WDC. Nevertheless, that only equates to eight items per membership. Since many of us have scores of items, that means many members have written very little. I’m not sure what to think about that. Now the stats page tells me there are 205,020 journal entries. There are currently 1,527 journals in WDC; that equates to 134 entries per journal. What got me started on this statistical foray was a visit to my personal stats page. I am often curious about what is being read in my portfolio. When I post a journal entry, I usually get ten to twenty visits. Some of you get many more, but my little journal simply is not that popular; and that’s OK with me. I’m content with the little attention that it does get. However, what interests me is that there are always folks visiting some of my other items, most usually a short story. I will have four or five different stories visited each day. Even more interesting, there will be occasions where an individual story will receive multiple visits over the course of several days. When I look at the source of my visits for the day I usually find several from out-of-site locations often connected with Yahoo or Google. Over the years, thousands of visits have been made to items in my portfolio. In the past, I have assumed those were mainly from other members of WDC. However, now I believe a large number of visits are from out-of-site sources. The Internet really is a remarkable thing. Without it, there is little chance that my stories would be read, and I hope appreciated, by thousands of people around this world. Oh, it is a very small audience to be sure; but it is no less remarkable. Therefore, if you are a regular visitor to my portfolio and this journal, it’s good to see you friend. I look forward to these daily visits. You don’t have to comment; just drop by for a moment. In addition, if you are a stranger, someone from outside the membership of WDC, I want you to know you are certainly welcome. Perhaps in this small world of ours I will bump into you and have the opportunity to return the complement. I certainly hope so. |
| Title: Motivation, My Fickle Friend Date: January 3, 2008, Thursday Thought: The problem we have with motivation is that we often wait on it to exert itself in our life. Don’t hold your breath; it won’t do it on its own. Jog: Motivation is a fickle friend, to say the least. He is somewhat selfish in that he always wants to do what HE wants to do. The trick in life is getting Motivation to do the things that need to be done. Unfortunately doing chores is not always fun. In order to accomplish that little trick Motivation’s friend Responsibility has to exert his lofty head. That requires Responsibility’s twin, Discipline to respond. When all three of these work in harmony, I achieve goals and actually make money, which goes a long way in satisfying Desire. The problem we have with motivation is that we often wait on it to exert itself in our life. Don’t hold your breath; it won’t do it on its own. You can call it your Muse if you wish; and I find writers love to blame inactivity on the absence of a Muse. After all, it’s much more satisfying to blame my lack of production on someone else. However that story will not be written, edited, submitted or whatever without a little effort on my part. That’s where Responsibility and Discipline come in. As a grown up, and I know we all hate to be grown up, we must do the things we don’t want to do. We don’t always have to like it; and, often we don’t; but we need to do them anyway. Now, if we keep our eye on the reward at the end of the task, Motivation is a little easier to arouse. I look at this brand new year in front of me and see a number of areas where I need to improve. It is easy to procrastinate; and sometimes I can even rationalize why I should delay fulfilling my responsibilities. But, I’ve done that in the past and where has it gotten me?—nowhere I really want to be. That is the purpose of goals in my life. Goals help me focus on the reward for exercising responsibility and discipline. For example if I want to be several sizes smaller in the waist, visualize how I will look and how I will feel, which is a dang sight better than at the present. If I want to be free of financial burdens, imagine what it would be like to be totally debt free. If I want to be published, imagine that article in the magazine or that bound book. All of these are goals; and all of them are reasonable and attainable. Motivation will help you reach the goals—keep you focused. Responsibility will remind you that we are grown-ups and have others depending on us. Discipline will get you out of bed and moving towards the goal. I encourage you to examine each area of your life. Jot down the goals for this year. Put them somewhere where you can see them regularly. Sometimes we have to help Motivation a little. We have heard this pep talk before; heck, I’ve given it to myself on a somewhat regular basis. But, it is critical to my future, and I dare say yours also, to heed the need to do something about it. I must not sit idly by and wait for motivation to wrap its arms around me and toss me into the fray. Nope, won’t happen. I must be the aggressor as far as my future goes. I must act. Motivation is in fact only a great tool that keeps me focused. The marvelous thing about this is that we don’t have to wait for a new year to begin. We can begin on any morning. We begin by taking the first step, and then determining to take another—remember responsibility and discipline. Now, lets all purpose together to go out into the world and be responsible grown-ups. This time next year I wonder what we will be saying. Will it be, “Geeze, here I am again—dang it!” Or will it be, “Geeze, that wasn’t so bad. Look what I did!” |
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