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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: Movie Review Date: January 2, 2008, Wednesday Thought: OK, I didn’t intend on making this entry a movie review. Jog: Linda and I spent a rather tame New Year’s Eve. We went to the movies with close friends of ours. The strongest thing I had to drink was a diet Coke. There was no whooping or tooting of horns as the ball dropped. Nope, midnight found me sound asleep dreaming about that dang movie we went to see. I don’t do that often--have dreams about movies. But this one left me incomplete, unresolved. To say the least, I did not like it, which surprises me since I usually like the stuff Will Smith is in. However, “I Am Legend” was a disappointment to me. The thing was full of holes. If you were the last person on earth, or at least one of them, and all the other people had mutated to carnivorous madmen who came out only at dark, what would you do? Well this guy’s in the middle of New York City; he has all the resources of the world just lying around him; surely he can be more creative than he was. My mind constantly worked the alternatives, as I slept. “I Am Legend” is in fact a remake of a story by Richard Matheson and was produced on film in 1964 as “The Last Man On Earth” with Vincent Price. It was remade in 1971 as “The Omega Man” with Charlton Heston. Will Smith’s version is by far the most acceptable version of the story; but in any case, it left me disappointed. Perhaps it is not the movie but the story that is my problem. I’m tired of the slasher and gnashing ghouls movies. I’m a little of a romantic. I like the good guys to win in the end and you absolutely gotta be nice to dogs, kids and the ladies. I know, that doesn’t sell tickets as well as the slasher and blood movies; but tough, I like what I like. I also hate inconsistencies in the movies—especially things that just don’t make sense. For example, in “I Am Legend” a woman and a young child drive up in a car and saves Will Smith from the ghoulies. She also has plans of driving up north to Maine or Vermont to find the good guys. The only problem is that the bridges to Manhattan had been destroyed years prior. So, how the heck did she drive that dang car up to Will Smith; and how the heck was she planning to drive up the coast—THE DANG BRIDGE IS OUT! In addition, in one scene Will Smith is hitting golf balls off the tail of a jet that’s sitting on an aircraft carrier. OK, that’s cool; but the problem is the airplane he’s standing on is an SR71 Blackbird. That’s a dang big plane that ain’t never landed on an aircraft carrier. So, how’d the dang airplane get on that boat? That kind of stuff drives me nuts. OK, I didn’t intend on making this entry a movie review. And, I hope I didn’t ruin the movie for you. Go see it if you’ve already seen everything else that’s out; just don’t expect much. And, Lord, I gotta find something else to dream about. I saw a movie with Catherine Zeta Jones the other day and I DIDN’T DREAM ABOUT HER. What’s the dang deal? |
| Title: A New Start, Again Date: January 1, 2008, Tuesday Thought: I will be quite happy if the rest of my years could be spent just getting it better. Jog: You know it is just a calendar—a way to organize time. Nevertheless, we have cultivated a sense of ending and beginning as we stand firmly on the January 1, 2008 square on our calendar. Somehow, it seems somewhat necessary to have periodic moments in life where we can stand up, dust ourselves off, and begin again--another chance to get it right. However, I’ve now experienced enough of these ‘dustin’-off’ days to not expect to get it right; I’m just content to get it better. In fact I will be quite happy if the rest of my years could be spent just getting it better. There are ways to make our lives better which costs us little. For example, I know my life would be better if I would just learn to ‘appreciate’ before I ‘judge.’ Sometimes joy can be found in this life simply by how you look at things. I remember the example I read somewhere about how we can see a simple statement in two different ways. It can be, “Good God, it’s morning.”—spoken with dread of the coming day. Or it can be, “Good! God, it’s morning!”—spoken with the expectation of blessings. I can make each day a little more special if I just try to appreciate the blessings that are there. Of course, when the trials are larger than life itself, that becomes difficult. That’s why I really need the practice. I find that I almost always feel better when I give to someone else. Little acts of kindness are infectious; they have a way of growing. It can be as simple as buying the cup of coffee for the guy in line behind you, as happened recently at a Starbucks. It could be even simpler, as in a smile to someone who hasn’t had one in a while. I have long believed that everyone is a creation of God; as such, they are important in God’s eyes. If they are important to God, then they should be worth a smile to me. Everyone is a creation of great worth, certainly worthy of a smile. The other thing that I can do for myself that cost very little is to eat right, sleep right, and exercise. These things are the hardest things to do in my life. It takes discipline to do these; and I am just a little shy of self-discipline. But, I know that, if I do the things that I’ve discussed, my life will be better. That is the key for a better 2008. I must choose to do it. We are complex creatures; we function in a world of multi-tasking. We juggle home, work, and play as if they were balls in the hands of a master juggler. Unfortunately, I am prone to dropping the ball and having to often begin again. I doubt if my life will become any simpler; that just is not in the cards. And so, I must take the opportunity to do better—not perfect, just better. Therefore, it’s good that we have this annual calendar event where we can begin the year new and fresh. With new purpose and resolve, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and take a new step off this square and into 2008. Just think of all the wonderful things we will experience this year. Oh, and the first thing I will do is to renew my membership in WDC. |
| Title: Here’s to the Floaters! Date: December 27, 2007, Thursday Thought: Just, doggone that Nada! I’m just so dang jealous of her floatin’ out there on that water. Jog: Now, I ask you, why the heck should I be working when Nada is out there floatin’ on the water, drinkin’ champagne and looking at chainsaw butts. By all rights, I ought to be out there. Well, except for a few small details.First is I’m too danged cheap to pay for the ticket. The only offer I’ve had to go out on the water for free was from David McClain . And that buckethead wants to get me in a dang canoe. His idea of dinner on the water is a cooler with a stick of bologna, some crackers, and a six-pack of Coors…and he’s not bringing anything for ME to drink. Hey, now that I think about it, I think he wanted ME to pay for the canoe rental. But, let me tell you, even if’n he bought the dang canoe and shared a beer, I’m still not getting in that dang canoe with that buckethead. Nope, I wanna ride on one of those big boats like Nada . I’m waitin’ for a bargain. Do they sell these boat floatin' trips at WalMart—maybe a ‘buy one get one free’ offer?Second, they won’t let me take my dang dog. Now, Max is used to walking on the golf course in the mornings. You see, he doesn’t like to poop in his own yard. So he drops little gifts all over the golf course. I call ‘em ‘poop hazards.’ It’s a little extra challenge for the golfers. You ever hit a golf ball that’s sittin’ on one of those piles. You don’t want to be there but it’s a blast to watch. Nope, I can’t take my dog on that boat. And if’n I did, watch your step when you walk out of your cabin door. And that little aroma that’s wafting under your door, well, call it aroma-therapy; there’s no charge for that. Third, I don’t think I could take the ‘up-chucking’ You see, that’s what Linda does when she even see’s a boat. Took her out on a boat when we were in Puerto Vallarta. They called it an excursion—yeah, right! After we were on the boat for just a little while, Linda leans over to me and says, “I’m not feeling real good.” I say, “Dang, Linda, we’re still tied to the dock.” “Oh, OK, I’ll try.” Bless her heart, the woman ‘up-chucked’ for the whole dang excursion. Before we were finished, she had every female on board leaning over the rail. Dangest thing I ever saw. Nope, can’t go floatin’ on the water until we figure out what to do about Linda. Maybe we could tow her along behind in David McClain ’s canoe.Fourth, forget the ticket. I can’t afford the clothes. Everytime Nada plans a boat trip I hear a sucking sound in California. That’s the displacement of air caused by Nada spendin’ money on gowns. Heck, the color of her hair even changed this time. But, dangit! She DOES take a good picture when she’s on that dang boat. Do they sell those gowns at WalMart? Nope, I’m afraid I’d have to get a loan on the double-wide if’n we were to plan one of those trips on the water.Sorry, Scarlett, I don’t have a fifth reason; four seems to be quite enough. Just, doggone that Nada! I’m just so dang jealous of her floatin’ out there on that water. She had just better keep them pictures comin’. And, talkin’ about pictures, what’s the meaning of sending us the photo of the ass end of a dude with a chainsaw? Why the heck doesn’t he use an ice pick like the rest of us…either that or a huntin’ knife. That’s a heck of a way to get ice cubes. It’s easier to just put the water out on the front porch like David McClain does…dang, I hear it gets cold in Missouri. You’d need a flippin’ ice-breaker to go boatin’ in Missouri. Do canoes come with icebreakers?Oh, well, I guess I gotta stay here and work. Things would fall apart without me, anyway. I’ll let Nada do all the floatin’. It takes real talent to float like that woman floats. I’ll bet-cha’ Lance taught her how to float. Yup, they do it so well. Guess I’ll have to just live vicariously from their floatin’ adventures. Well, that’s life. |
| Title: Annual Christmas Photo Date: December 26, 2007, Wednesday Thought: As I lined the grandkids up for their annual photograph, I thought of the significance of this photo. It made me smile. Jog: I take one every year; I guess it has become a ritual. I line all the grandkids up either sitting by the tree or on their stomachs in the living room with their heads in their hands and take a photo. It is remarkable how beautiful they are—well, at least to me. I’ve often thought that when we are gone and someone goes through our things, what is it we will leave behind in papers and stuff that will tell them about us? After a couple of generations have passed, how will they know what was important to us. Will they care? I like to think so. I have very little from either of my grandfathers. Both men died before I had any memory of them. All I have to know them by is dates and spoken memories. My parents told me stories about both of them. But, now my parents are gone and the stories are all second hand and even those are almost non-existent. That is not unusual with any of us. Unless we are chronicled by greatness, we are all forgotten in time. That’s the way time is; so there is no need in fretting about it. And so, I’ve purposed to leave something behind that folks can gain a better understanding about who I am. Most of it is in written work. I have my stories--my writing. My journals are important to me. They tell a little about my ideas and my thoughts; they present me in a way that no other writing can do. By reading hundreds of entries over hundreds of days, you can pick up the trends. Whether I intend to or not, I leave something of myself revealed to the world. And, that’s OK. When, on those occasions, folks go through my stuff they will find a variety of photographs. I have most of them catalogued in my computer and saved on CDs. I can only hope technology will not let me down and create new storage systems that cannot read the CDs. I make hard copies of those that are important to me. However, when someone goes through my stuff they will find photographs of the things that are important to me—my family. There will be photos of Linda. Usually they will be with me. They will find photos of Max. In this time of my life, he is significant to me. And, they will always find photos of my kids and grandkids. That’s were the meaning comes. They will find few photos of my job. Although it is important, it is not essential to my being. As I lined the grandkids up for their annual photograph, I thought of the significance of this photo. It made me smile. I even had to chuckle as I heard them prepare for the photo. “What are we doin’?” “We’re taking Granpa’s Christmas photo.” “Oh, like we do every year?” “Yeah, that one.” “OK, I want to be by Lauren this time.” “OK, I want to be on the end.” “Ryan, you gotta’ smile this year.” “I don’t wanna smile. I don’t do smiles.” “Well, I’m not sittin’ next to you if you don’t smile!” “Hey, Max…Granpa, can Max be in the photo this year?” “Sure.” And, that’s a little of what went on before the snap. I wish I could capture all of that in the photo. But, then I wouldn’t have anything for my imagination and memory in years to come. And, here is the meaning of Christmas to me. Well, most of it. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Grandkids - Christmas 2007 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Grandkids - Christmas 2004 |
| Title: My Christmas Eve Trip to Wal-Mart Date: December 24, 2007, Monday Thought: Oh, well I decide to just make it back to the safety of my house. I’ll not venture into this realm again, if I can help it. Jog: OK, I admit it; I am a total dolt at doing some things. I can plan a city; but apparently, I cannot be trusted with a simple trip to the grocery store. Linda handed me a list of four items: a white onion, a package of diner rolls, a container of low fat cottage cheese, and Pam original olive oil spray. Now how difficult can that be? I set off for Wal-Mart. On the day before Christmas, why not? Well I have two dozen reasons and they’re all driving cars and think parking is some sort of NASCAR competition. Eventually I find a parking space and am able to beat some little old lady to it—tough, I drove around that dang lot ten times before I found that space. Well, I jump from my truck and head to the door. Just as a precaution, I feel my pocket for my debit card. It ain’t there! In fact, I have no cards at all, including my driver’s license; I left them at home. Geeze, I walk back to my truck and remove it from the safe haven of the space, only to have the little old lady zip into my vacated space, cackling like one of the witches in Macbeth. I return home without my booty. Linda raises an eyebrow as I walk in the door; she knows I haven’t been gone anywhere near long enough. “License and cards,” I remark as I pick them up from the counter in front of her. She rolls her eyes. Somehow, I get the feeling she was not surprised. I return to the Wal-Mart parking lot and successfully find another space even closer to the doors. This one is down front, across from the parallel-parked handicapped spaces. I make it through the doors in fine shape and snag a cart. I’m not surprised to find the dang thing pulls badly to the right. I exchange it for a new cart, grinning that maybe the little old lady will get that one. First thing on my list is that onion. I pick up the first onion that I find. This is easy; I toss it in the cart. And then I read the list. It says, “white onion.” I look at my onion. It’s somewhat white. Well it ain’t red like the ones next to it. But is this right? In fact, it looks sort of yellow. How white does it have to be? Shoot, when you cook the dang thing, who knows? But, then Linda’s face looms before me, “Dan, I told you to get a white onion…this dang onion ain’t white!!” So, I walk up and down the vegetable bins lookin’ at onions. Then I see a whole bin of onions that are WHITE. I mean those were the whitest onions I ever seen. This has got to be right. I get one. Next on the list, frozen diner rolls. She has 25 in parentheses…(25). I guess this means she wants at least 25 rolls. I can do this. I find the frozen foods section and make my way to the breads. Dang, they had rows and rows of biscuits, but no rolls. Eventually I find two sets of diner rolls. One is a package of 36 rolls and one is a package of 10 rolls. I notice they both cost $2.47. Now this confuses me. Does the price speak to quality? Should I get three packages of the 10 rolls or just one of the 36 rolls? Heck, does it even make any difference? I pull out my hole card…I call Linda and explain my dilemma. There is silence on the phone and eventually she says in a calm voice. “Get the 36 rolls, Dan.” “Yes, ma’am.” And so I did as I was told. On to the cottage cheese. I find it easily; I consider my luck is changing. But then I notice that there are three different colors on the containers. It appears it has something to do with fat. One is whole, one is 2% and one just says ‘low fat.” Does it make a difference, damnit! I look at my list and am relieved to see she has “low fat cottage cheese” listed. I’ll get the low fat stuff. As I reach for the carton, my heart freezes as I see it says “small curd.” I stop and glace at the container beside it that says “large curd.” I look to the list; it doesn’t distinguish between the two. I get on the phone again, call Linda, and explain my dilemma again. After a long silence I hear, “Dan, get the small curd.” “Hmm, that was a little curt.” I think. Although, I don’t know what difference it would make, I do as I am told. I add the cottage cheese to my cart. One last item to get: the Pam spray. After negotiating up and down the aisles, I finally stumble onto the spray oils. I stand in front of the Pam displays and cannot find the one Linda has listed: “Pam Original Olive Oil.” There is Pam Original, Pam Original Canola Oil, and Pam Grilling Oil. But there isn’t a dang olive oil on the shelves…anywhere. And so, once again I get on the phone. I can tell Linda is not pleased with her recent popularity; I haven’t called her this much since we were dating. But, I am relieved that her ire is spent on Wal-Mart when she says, “Get the Canola Oil if they don’t have what I want!” “Well, they don’t have it, dang ‘em.” I try to be supportive and I’m very pleased to place the blame elsewhere. “I’m on my way home, I confirm.” “Yeah, sure!” (Now what’d she mean by that?) I pay for my purchase with our debit card. Now, that was not easy. I had to enter my pin, which I remembered for once. And then the dang thing kept asking me questions and I kept hitting enter. Eventually the machine said transaction completed and asked me to wait for cashier. Which I did. And, I’ll be danged if the cashier didn’t hand me my receipt and forty dollars in cash. “What? What’s this for?” The cashier looks at me condescendingly and says, “You requested forty dollars in cash.” “Oh, really?” “That’s right.” At this point, all the folks in line are giving me dirty looks. All I can do is to say thank you and put the cash in my pocket. Linda is not going to be pleased with this. Oh, well I decide to just make it back to the safety of my house. I’ll not venture into this realm again, if I can help it. I walk to my truck, which is patiently waiting to leave the Wal-Mart parking lot. I start the thing and look in my rear-view mirror. I see an old man sitting in an old pick up truck in the drive lane behind my truck. I put my truck in gear to let him know I want to back out. Nothing…he doesn’t respond. I honk my horn briefly to get his attention. Nothing…he doesn’t respond. I lay on the horn and honk boldly, thinking surely this will get his attention. Nothing….he doesn’t respond. I open my door and yell, “Hey!” (Santa will not leave me anything 'cause I just yelled at an old man.) The old fella snaps awake and looks at me. Slowly he rolls down his window. I say, “You need to pull up so I can back out!” Irritatedly he says, “I’ll pull up when they leave and give me a parking space!” I glance over in front of him and sure enough, someone is negotiating their way out of one of the parallel parking spaces. But I also notice that there are two empty spaces in front of them that the old codger could have parked in. “Sir, there are two empty spaces in front of them. Pull up so I can get out!” He responds by rolling up his window and returning to the land of OZ as he waits. And so I wait also as I mumble a prayer, “Lord, take me now, so I don’t get that way!” Eventually, I get home. Never again do I want to do the shopping at Wal-Mart. It takes a skill and talent that I don’t possess. I will just keep to planning and building cities. That’s something simple that I can deal with. |
| Title: In Awe of Communication Date: December 23, 2007, Sunday Thought: If had not watched myself create the ordered sequences of letters and words, I would think someone else did it. Jog: It is very quiet at the moment. It’s also dark; however, in forty-five minutes the sky will begin to take on shades of purple, red, orange, and yellow as the sun trudges from the horizon to its place in the sky. It is amazing that it does that without nary a sound, which reminds me that it is very quiet at the moment. I begin every morning in solitude, well near solitude; Max is always curled up at my feet, making little noises. At this time of day words tumble through my mind, often in unrelated strings of thought, sometime as genuine strands of sensible consciousness. It amazes me that the paragraphs, which are the product of this mental exercise, occasionally, make sense and say things that I often consider as being profound. If had not watched myself create the ordered sequences of letters and words, I would think someone else did it. Surely, the greatest creation of humankind has got to be language. From the spoken traditions of primitive man to the sophisticated literature of our current time, we have been blessed with the ability of sophisticated communication. In primitive times, through communication, Oggette could tell Ogg to get off his Neanderthal arse, watching the cave paintings, and go kill diner and drag it home. Today she just sends him a text message and ole Ogg picks it up on his way home. The ability to convey ideas is a wonderful thing. Moreover, to be able to record ideas as poetry or prose is simply amazing. I spent a significant amount of time recently browsing through my own port. I read several of my short stories and found that some of them were new to me; it had been so long since I read them I forgot the dialogue and even the story line occasionally. Some of them were better than others; and some of them were pretty good. It amuses me to find several of my favorites have not received awards or even high ratings. Collectively, my work has received several thousand views. My favorite piece has, as yet, received only 150 views. However, it is this blog (Jog) that is somewhat amazing; it has received over 12,000 views. Many other bloggers have received far more than that. The actual number is not important; what is significant is the popularity of the blog compared to the other works in our portfolios. I suspect the blog pages are dominating the activity in WDC; it’s just a suspicion. When you consider the thousands of blog pages that exist outside WDC the communication capacity of humankind is incomprehensible. I just consider myself fortunate that I am a small infinitesimal part of it; sort of like one of CC’s snowflakes in one of his recent entries. It is still very quiet in my world right now. |
| Title: Sometimes I Like a Little Company Date: December 22, 2007, Saturday Thought: Max’s tongue has begun to hang out of the side of his mouth and Zack’s cheeks are red. We make our way home, where Linda is in progress of cooking breakfast. Jog: I like company on my morning walks. Oh, of course, Max is always there. But, sometimes I get to share that walk with others. Usually it’s someone I run into out on the trail. But, sometimes it’s someone special that I take with me—like this morning. It was dark in the house when Max and I heard the rustling down the hallway. I knew someone was coming because Max’s tail was knocking stuff off the desktop as it began wagging. And sure enough, my ten-year-old grandson soon materialized out of the darkness, rubbing his eyes and sleepily standing in our midst. There is an early riser in every group. You’ve got a name for yours, our’s is Zack. When it was Linda and the boys and me, well then it was me. I always get up before the crack of dawn and greet the morning. Everyone else are pretty much sleepyheads. But, now I have company with Zack. “You want to go walkin’ with me and Max?” “Yeah.” “Get your jeans on and your shoes and socks.” “OK” That gives us a few more minutes for the sun to firmly establish its hold on this morning. We need to bundle up a little in the mornings; cause even if it’s supposed to be warm and nice today, the morning will have a welcome chill in it. Zack presents himself at the front door ready to walk. He’s standing there in his jeans and a short sleeve shirt. “Where’s your coat, Zack?” “I dunno; guess I left it at home.” I hand him Linda’s leather coat and say, “Here, put this on.” “I can’t…that’s a ladies coat.” “Oh, no it isn’t; it's a guy’s coat that Granma was just wearin’.” “You sure?” “Of course I’m sure.” “How do you know?” “Gravity.” “Oh, OK.” “Grandpa, my hands get cold.” “OK, here” I hand him a pair of Linda’s leather gloves, “put these on.” He has no problem putting on the ladies gloves. For some reason there is a difference in coats and gloves. We are now ready to walk around the golf course. Max is past ready; he’s been whining and nosing the front door for ten minutes. “OK, Max…sit!” Max trots over to the edge of the carpet near the entry and plops his black butt on the floor. It’s a ritual that he has to sit patiently prior to opening the door. He waits for the door. I open it and say, “Come!” I swear its like Mel Gibson’s cry of “Freedom” in the movie Braveheart. Max explodes into the front yard. He stops at the edge of our yard and surveys the world outside his front doors. He waits for us, but is totally immersed in joy. He has a difficult time walking because his wagging tail is controlling his butt. In a very short time, we have cleared the streets and sidewalks and enter the golf course. A squirrel with a big bushy tail sitting in the middle of the sixth fairway rewards Max. Max sprints towards him. The squirrel is somewhat confused, being in the middle, he must determine which way to go. He streaks for the nearest tree, which is a good thirty yards in distance. The black Lab bears down on him. Nevertheless, Max is no match for the agile squirrel, who makes the tree with time to spare, that is if he doesn’t stumble—he doesn’t. Max barks and circles the tree proclaiming that this is his dang golf course and you best keep your bushy arse out of it. Zack says, “Cool!” And so we continue around the park. We find a golf ball in the rough, lost by some frustrated golfer the day before. We throw a rock in the creek on the seventh fairway. At the eighth tee box, the water cooler has been left over from yesterday. Zack gets a drink and Max laps a drink out of a paper cup. We walk around the lake on the eighth green and come to the sidewalk that will lead us back into the subdivision. Max’s tongue has begun to hang out of the side of his mouth and Zack’s cheeks are red. We make our way home, where Linda is in progress of cooking breakfast. Zack is revived as we step through the front door and he smells the bacon. Max sprawls out on the tile in the entryway. Anyone coming in the front door or down the inside stairs will have to step over him cause he ain’t movin’. And so ends our walk today. It was good to have company. That’s confirmed as soon as I hear Zack proclaim, “Hey, Grandma! Guess what me an’ Grandpa saw?” Who knows what he is referring to? All I know is that we did it together—Grandpa, Zack and that black dog. |
| Title: Sometimes All You Get Is Bits And Pieces Date: December 21, 2007, Friday Thought: . Mine is a simple life and bits and pieces is sometimes all there is. Jog: This morning you will get bits and pieces from me. Mine is a simple life and bits and pieces is sometimes all there is. I consider this and then count myself as being truly blessed. It is not a bad thing to have the Sheriff as your friend. You certainly don’t want him as an adversary. I attended a meeting last night. About twenty people meet in the back room of a local restaurant to kick off the campaign of our County Sheriff. Here in Texas that’s an elected position. He brings his own horse and gun but everything else is furnished in the job. By state statute, the sheriff is the highest law enforcement authority in the county. I’m not sure how many officers he has in his department; I only know one—my son. As if I didn’t have enough to do, I will donate time and funds to get this man re-elected. It helps that he is a good man; I wouldn’t do it otherwise. On a completely unrelated topic, in a few minutes I will tear myself from composing this entry and prepare myself for my Friday Rotary meeting. We have a special program today. The Cowboy Poet will be in attendance. He’ll be decked out in faded jeans, bandanna, cowboy hat, and of course boots. We will be treated to several doses of cowboy humor—the kind that rhymes. It’s pretty potent stuff, packed with a healthy portion of cowboy philosophy. It always makes me smile; and danged if I don’t end up thinking about it’s message a little bit too. I’d share some with you; but you really gotta hear it—reading it just ain’t the same. Linda has done most of our shopping this year. Now, that I come to think about it she does most of the shopping every year. We got each grandkid two or three items, simple things. Zack got this Lego Hogwarts Castle. It’s just a bunch of building blocks. But, dang if the thing didn’t cost $100. What ever happened to $10 gifts? Anyway, we got that thing and a few others for the other kids. When we looked at the tree, danged if it didn’t look a little sparse. Well, we were going to give each kid a $100 bill also. So, Linda decided to give it to them in twenty-dollar bills. She’s gonna wrap each one of them in a different box. Heck, on Christmas Eve we’ll we unwrapping $20 bills all night. Oh yeah, and then there’s the box of rocks. I’ll have to wrap Zack a box of rocks. Every year he bugs the fire out of me about what’s in this one? I always tell him it’s a box of rocks. Of course, he doesn’t believe me. He will now. My dog Max is a free spirit. Now, he ain’t wild. No, he is content to live in the house with me; in fact, he prefers to curl up three feet from my feet and snooze most of the day away. Nevertheless, within that container of black hair and wet licks is a free spirit. I saw it today as we took our morning walk after my Rotary meeting. The trees in our subdivision park have lost their leaves. As a result, we can watch the activity that takes place in the upper reaches of the barren limbs. That’s where the squirrels frolic. It drives Max nuts. He sees them jump from limb to limb. They flick their bushy tails at him and taunt him. And he runs; his spirit is unleashed as he runs from tree to tree, bouncing and barking, totally content. The squirrels are totally safe from my natural hunter. He would not know what to do with one if he caught it. But, to him that doesn’t matter. He is free to romp and dream of chasing wild game. Eventually he comes back to the world and listens to me call him, reluctantly he trots over to me, willing and grateful for our friendship. However, a little of the spirit of the dog remains bouncing beneath the trees and barking at the squirrels. And that is as it should be. |
| Title: A Discombobulated Christmas Date: December 20, 2007, Thursday Thought: Just pucker up and smooch. Jog: Discombobulated—you know, of course, that is a perfectly good word. I have no idea why Webster chooses not to put it in his little dictionary. There is no better word to describe my mental and emotional state at this moment. Things just feel all mixed up—discombobulated. Perhaps that is part of what the Christmas season is for—to discombobulate us a little. You know, get us out of our normal pattern—rut. Now, discombobulation, in not necessarily a bad thing—it’s just a different thing. I find myself taking off of work during normal work hours to run around shopping—spending money for stuff I’m gonna give away. Geeze, I hate to spend money; but the stuff is so dang slippery. The harder I squeeze it the further it shoots out from my grasp. The dang stuff’s gonna hurt somebody zipping out of my hand like that. Discombobulation does that. I look forward to Christmas Eve like a little child. That’s when our house celebrates Christmas. My kids and their families come over on Christmas Eve and we have a big meal, gather around the tree, and open presents. I always feel so right when they are here. This year will be a little different. Since Noel, my oldest, is going through a divorce, his wife will not be here. Somehow, it just does not seem right for her to be here since she served the paper and had the Sheriff kick Noel out of the house--doesn’t fare well for the Christmas Spirit. So for the first time in fifteen years she will be missing from the gathering—some more of that discombobulation. Max’s near incarceration added to the mixed-up chaos of this year-end. Fortunately, he has been spared the embarrassment of serving time and has been pardoned (for the full story read my previous two entries). There is a list of seasonal failures that add to our discombobulation. We have several boxes of Christmas cards still in the box. They will probably remain there mired in the messy, mire of discombobulation. To all you sweet souls who sent us a card--thank you. They lifted our spirits and made us smile. The house is less that semi-decorated. The yard is void of Christmas lights, lighted reindeer, and nativity scene. We have garland around the door and a wreath on the front door; but that is it. We are a dark spot in the landscape of our street. Surely our neighbors are wondering what’s up with that. On the inside of the house we are void of the usual garland on the staircase, candles on the ledges and rails, poinsettias placed liberally around the house, and there isn’t a sprig of mistletoe to be found hanging in any doorway. If’n you are looking for mistletoe to give someone a kiss, well, you might as well just lay one on them right now for there ain’t no mistletoe. Just pucker up and smooch. In the midst of all this discombobulation, I find myself still in awe of the marvelous blessings of which I have been gifted. Sure, life has a way of getting all mixed up at times; but it also has a way of wrapping it’s loving arms around you and saying, “It’s gonna be OK!” I realized a long time ago that I have a choice. I can let the discombobulation flavor the nectar of this life with a bitter taste; or I can look past the chaos of discombobulation and see the glorious blessings that have been given to me. It is no choice at all; I much prefer the glory of the blessings. Time will eventually take me through this season. It will eventually assume normality again and get undiscumbobulated…well mostly. I so hope all of my friends will have a wonderful Christmas in spite of the discombobulation. If I don’t get to do it before Christmas Eve, I want to wish all of you a very, very Merry Christmas. My prayer is that if only for just a moment, the confusion will be ordered, the tear dried up, the hurt mended, the fear relieved, the anger dissolved, the doubt vanished, the defeat conquered, and the loneliness comforted. After all, that is the meaning of this season. That’s why the Babe came to us. Into a world of discombobulation a baby was born in a manger to bring peace and order to a chaotic and discombobulated world. Although I should not, I sometimes forget that. Merry Christmas, friends. |
| Title: Pressure on a Friendship Date: December 18, 2007, Tuesday Thought: Here I am, about to ask a friend to look the other way. Is that wrong of me? Jog: Is it fair to ask a favor of a friend, when that favor means bending the rules. I mean if I were really a friend I wouldn’t place a friend in that position. However, sometimes there is simply no recourse. About two weeks ago, I left my house early in the morning to take Max on his morning walk. That walk is something of an institution to us and as I have discovered it is also well known to the neighbors. Countless times, I have been talking to some casual neighbor and they have remarked, “Yea, you’re the guy with the black Lab. We watch you walk around the lake every morning.” I guess they are right; it has become a ritual to Max and me. Well anyway, on this particular morning Max and I were headed to the park and the lake for our morning outing. Max was on leash and restrained. We neared a group of children waiting for the bus. As soon as they saw us, I heard “Maxie! It’s Max!” Then a whole gaggle of kids surrounded us and began petting Max. He loves it. Unfortunately, one little girl got carried away and fell on her knees, throwing her arms around Max’s neck and hugging him up close. Max did not realize he was getting loving. He was startled by the arms around his neck and the face next to his. Well, as your suspect, Max snapped at her. His bite caught her on the fleshy part of the lip and punctured it. Well, it bled like crazy and she, of coursed, cried loudly. I immediately ushered her to her mom, who surprisingly was remarkably calm and clear. When apprised of the situation the mother immediately apologized to me…to me. I felt awful and was tremendously concerned with the health of the little girl. I also did not want this to traumatize the child of every dog she encounters in the future. The parents assured me it was not Max’s fault and that they had cautioned the child repeatedly about approaching dogs in such a manner. I still felt badly. Anyway, they took the child to school and checked in with the school nurse. It was determined that the child was not seriously injured and just as a precaution, they took the child to their doctor to disinfect the wound and clean it up. No stitches were required and it was determined that it was in the category of a scratch. Afterwards the parents came by the house to check on Max’s vaccinations, which are current. As far as the parents were concerned, the matter was satisfied and their daughter was no worse for wear other than a bruised lip, which in a couple of days had healed. Nevertheless, the story did not stop there. The nurse reported the bite to the city authorities. In a couple of days the father was contacted by animal control and asked for the address of the biting dog so it could be seized and impounded as a dangerous animal. The father informed them that they got their facts wrong and the dog was not a dangerous animal and it was their child’s fault for provoking the dog. The authorities said that it did not matter and the dog must be seized. The father said, “No way!” He did not intend to give the address because it was unnecessary. The authorities then informed the father that he would receive a citation for breaking the law if he did not release the address. When informed of all this I told the father to let me handle it. The director of Animal Control in the city is a close friend of mine. Her husband is also a planner and is one of my protégés. In fact, I attended their wedding years ago. I obtained a copy of the animal control ordinance and have discovered that the ordinance makes provision for a dog to be kept at home under ‘home quarantine’ if it meets a series of conditions, which Max does, except for one. The animal must not have been quarantined previously, which Max was. In fact, that is how we obtained Max, as a rescue animal. Space is short and I will not go into the details of the original quarantine other than to say it was unjustified also and was in another city. Therefore, here I am, about to ask a friend to look the other way. Is that wrong of me? I would not do that except I can’t bear the thought of them taking Max in quarantine over the Christmas holidays. Max has not left my side since I had my heart surgery. The dang dog gets sick when he rides in the car and would not understand the separation. It seems a little useless anyway. We have his vaccination papers, he is a totally inside kept dog, and he is not exposed to other animals without my supervision. The quarantine is for ten days following the bite and it has already been fifteen days. What purpose would it serve other than to satisfy the bureaucracy? My friend is to call me back later on this morning. Soon we will know how this plays out. |
| Title: Yuletide Moments Date: December 16, 2007, Sunday Thought: It is only for that moment that I dare to join the entangled, thronging mass of yuletide predators lurking in the marketplace. Jog: I sit here nine days before Christmas with a twelve foot Christmas tree gloriously decorated in our family room. It truly is a wondrous sight. But, beneath the tree it is still barren. Linda and I have not bought one gift. Excuse me; we have bought Max two gifts but no others. I would be content to not make a single purchase if it were not for one moment of the Season. On Christmas Eve, our little family will gather at our home. We will have our two boys and their families—all the grandkids. We have a very small family; in total, we will have nine people and one spoiled black Lab at our Christmas Eve celebration. We will have Christmas music, turkey and all the fixin’s, egg nog, and if it is cold enough I’ll have a fire in the fireplace. All of this is a precursor to the moment when either Linda or I says, “OK now, who wants to open some presents?” A chorus of “Me!...I do!...Yes!” will reverberate through the house as the grandkids rush to the tree and jockey for position. At that moment there will be presents under the tree. And, it is only for that moment that I dare to join the entangled, thronging mass of yuletide predators lurking in the marketplace. It is that single moment that I look forward to. I watch their eyes as they glance from one colorfully wrapped package to another, trying to choose which one with which to begin. I smile as the wrapping paper litters the family room floor as if it’s being run through a wood-chipper. My grandchildren are grateful children for I never see disappointment in their eyes—even when the gift they open turns out to not be that special something that they were truly hoping for. They have always been grateful for the gift they received. Now, be it known, however, that if it is in our power we will get each of them at least one special gift this season. Unfortunately, in order to experience that special moment Linda and I will be forced into the maelstrom of last minute Christmas shopping. It is not my most favorite thing to do. Nevertheless, I will do it; and I will do it with a smile on my face, if I have to draw the dang thing on. |
| Title: Things Are Not Always As They Seem Date: December 15, 2007, Saturday Thought: Be encouraged by the fact that the majority of people are good, honest, trustworthy folks. You simply need to be careful. Jog: Are we who we say we are? Some of us don’t know. Some of us really don’t have a clue as to the image we send to the world. We live in a world of our own totally unaware of how we are perceived by the rest of the world. Folks like that are usually the innocent of this world. They are naïve and sometimes a little mentally challenged. But, mostly they are just naïve. However, there are some people out there who are perfectly aware of the false image they send to others. In addition, because most folks are gentle and trusting people, they are prime targets for predators. I resent like hell tactics that take advantage of the innocent. When I was a very young man with a wife and child, we had a cemetery salesman visit our home to sell Linda and I burial plots. This guy had us feeling terrible that we were so irresponsible to leave our burial to our son, who by the way was only six months old at the time. Ridiculous—what does a twenty-year-old need with a couple of perpetual care burial plots in Oklahoma? Some salesmen should be shot. Then there was the woman who Linda worked with when we first came to Texas. She was a lovely young lady of about twenty-nine. She fell in love with a geologist and married him after a whirlwind three-month period. Only to find, one year later, that the guy had three other wives in cities around the country. Of course, he had taken on the responsibility for paying all the bills and managing the family funds. She found the house was in foreclosure for lack of payments, she was over drawn on all her credit cards, none of her payroll checks had been deposited, which her loving husband did for her on paydays, and her bank account and savings account, which were joint, were empty. And so when she looked around for an explanation; he was gone. Things are not always as they seem. About three years before I went into business for myself, I was poised to begin another venture with two other men. I had my letter of resignation prepared and ready to submit, as did another buddy of mine. Two of us had clients lined up and promises of contracts on the line. Heck, we had even looked at office space. The problem was with the other partner. This guy had my friend and I convinced that he was friends with the governor of Alabama and had a dozen road construction contracts ready to be issued. That was what he was bringing to the table. Dub and I were bringing our collected start up funds and a promise of monthly contracts to pay the bills. Then all of a sudden, we find that the guy is not registered in Alabama to practice engineering and not only that, but the guy is wanted for practicing without a license. Dub and I ask him about it and he denies it. We go home and think about it and guess what? We never hear from the guy again; he just vanished. Things are not always as they seem. It is enough to make you cynical and distrustful of others. But, be encouraged by the fact that the majority of people are good, honest, trustworthy folks. You simply need to be careful. And, don’t be ready to give from your life savings at the drop of the hat. Remember the old saying, “A fool and his money are soon parted.” We must not let only our heart control our purse strings; we must also use our head. P.T. Barnum is credited with saying, “There’s a sucker born every minute.” We need to be careful that at this moment it is not us. Unfortunately, in my life it has not always been the other guy, sometimes it was me. But, not recently and never again. |
| Title: Tag Team Date: December 13, 2007, Thursday Thought: Once tagged he would jump in the ring all fresh and aggressive and beat the daylights out of the antagonist who was just previously pounding the daylights out of his buddy. Jog: Well this entry is a tag-team entry. I remember watching professional wrestling on TV with my grandparent’s years ago. They loved professional wrestling, phony as it may be. Way back in the dark ages professional wrestling was more of a local event. There was lots of tossing of bodies, banging on the canvas, and brawling in the aisles of the arena. But it was all phony. Anyway, I remember they would have teams wrestle against each other. It was a two on two affair but one wrestler at a time. When one wrestler was just about done in he would somehow stagger to the corner where his buddy would be waiting with an outstretched hand. Once tagged he would jump in the ring all fresh and aggressive and beat the daylights out of the antagonist who was just previously pounding the daylights out of his buddy. I can’t believe I watched that stuff back then. The funny thing is my grandma would swear that it was legit. It makes me smile today to think about it. Anyhow, that’s how my entry tonight is being developed—tag-team. I will flail around for a moment with this entry and leave it for a few hours. I’ve got to go to a meeting. When I get back I will jump in the ring all refreshed and wail the daylights out of the remainder of this entry. (Two days later) Tag OK, I’m back. I’ve had two out of town meetings each day of this week. I’m now sitting on Thursday and have one in-town meeting and an out of town meeting scheduled for this evening. Needless to say it has been a busy week. Oh, and I also got fired by one of my city clients. That's right, I got canned...ain't it great? Well, I’d have fired me too. Last year when I had heart surgery, I signed a contract to do an update to a comprehensive plan and some zoning ordinances—about $60,000 worth of contracts. Well, needless to say I was sidelined and so was the project for about four months. Then my one and only employee, another professional planner, quit at Christmas time leaving me with about a dozen projects to clean up. Well, it’s been nothing but sweat and tears getting all the projects finished. In the meantime, the new client was still on hold. Seems as if they just got tired of holding, I can’t blame them. And so, I got fired. In twenty years of business, this is the first time a client has terminated a contract. Oh, there have been others who have chosen not to extend the contract; but this is the first time I’ve been fired. I’m a little concerned that I’m not bothered by it. In fact I’m actually relieved. My plate is still full and there are plenty of folks out there who love me. I’ll write a real nice letter to the former client and give them all the work I’ve done thus far. I can’t repair the disappointment they have in me; all I can do is walk away on good terms. On the other hand, I received an email from a long lost client who I figured had stiffed me for $8,000. They said basically, “Oops, we just noticed that we haven’t paid you for your services [wonder if the certified letters and numerous phone calls helped to jog their memory]. We really feel badly about that and are going to pay you now. Merry Christmas—and by the way, we want you to finish your project with us.” So, just figures…you know, you win some and you lose some. All in all it seems to work out in the end. So, don’t sweat the small stuff. Tag (off to do more stuff)….hey, I wonder if it’s cold in Missouri? It’s kinda toasty here in Texas. Who would know? |
| Title: On Living History Date: December 6, 2007, Thursday Thought: The critical moment in time is the one we are spending now. How we choose to spend this moment will write our history. Jog: This day in history, on December 6, 1941, the world was going about its business. It was Saturday in Hawaii. By all accounts, it was the first day of a beautiful weekend. On the morrow, life would slow down for Sunday. The military would operate on a skeleton crew; folks would sleep in late or get up early for a round of golf. Families would be preparing to go to church together. If you were in the military and stationed at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, you would certainly agree that you were glimpsing a little slice of paradise. Out on the open sea of the Pacific the Japanese task force was emerging from several days of storms at sea. The weather was clearing and it promised to be a good day for flying. On the morrow, 3,000 lives would be lost as a result of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. When compared to the estimated mortality for that day in the world, 87,000 people, that small figure almost seems insignificant. However, to most individuals who live on this planet the loss of even one life is a tragedy. The world, which was already at war, would enter into a military conflict of a magnitude it had never before witnessed. It did not realize it was glimpsing the dawn of a new age, into which the ending of the conflict would plunge it into an atomic era that had the potential to change the way men waged war on each other and yet afforded tremendous opportunity for civilization. But, on that Saturday the day before the Inferno, life was good and easy. This thing called history is an interesting concept. Have you ever stopped to think when history begins? Usually, until we can place a little distance in time, we don’t consider the immediate past moments as being historical. However, they are. Each second passed creates another moment in history. The significant seconds—those that impact the greatest amount of people are counted as being memorable. We list those in the history books. The less memorable moments, to the majority of the world, are simply stored in individual memories. There was very little for which to remember December 6th. However, the following day would be the last day of history for many individuals as they became part of the history of that day. Every American living would forever remember where they were on December 7, 1941. History is important to us. It gives us a reference in time, helps to define our purpose, and teaches us how we can better use the moments hurling forward at us, a lesson we often fail to learn. However, for all its significance and importance it is only a memory. The critical moment in time is the one we are spending now. How we choose to spend this moment will write our history. Most of the time it will be spent as the lesser moments for the world to remember—just our time. That is what life is about—each of us writing our own personal history and adding it to the total of everyone else’s. Sometimes we share in those moments and those are the one they record in the books. Most of the time we just spend them in lonely moments that live only in our memory, gone when our memory of them fades or passes away. And, that was what it was like on December 6, 1941. The entire world was experiencing those generally unassociated moments that are recorded in the memories of individuals. On the next day, December 7th, the moment would be shared by the world and written into the history books as a “date that will live in infamy.” None of us knows when the next historic moment for the world will occur. It may be tomorrow or even today. I can’t worry about that for I only have an opportunity to control how history is written in my life at this very moment. That is all any of us have. So, I suppose the lesson is to not worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow is destined for history. My main concern is to make the best of it within my ability to achieve. Hopefully, I will learn from history and not repeat the mistakes I have made in the past. Hopefully, my history will be well recorded. Nevertheless, it will be written as it occurs; may I, and each of us, live it well. |
| Title: A Little Latin Politics Date: December 4, 2007, Tuesday Thought: Everybody will be our friend—yeah, right! Jog: Well, into every life a little rain must fall. I suppose that applies to egocentric Latin leaders also. The election results are in and Hugo Chavez, the ‘top dog’ in Venezuela has been slapped down a notch. The Venezuelan elections considered a number of items that would have removed the term limitation for Chavez and also established a number of laws and statutes that would virtually make the man ‘President for Life’ with expanded powers. Yesterday the people of Venezuela said “NO!” Moreover, they did it in the best way possible, at the ballot box. Now, it may seem that this is a narrow victory—a mere 51% majority. Nevertheless, when you consider widespread election tampering by the Chavez group was expected, the margin is dang near a landslide victory. We need not delude ourselves into thinking relations will improve with Venezuela, not anytime soon at least. The man is still in control until 2012. But, in a region where democracy has been somewhat tenuous at best, it is a step in the right direction. That’s how it works—democracy. In November, our country will practice it ourselves when we elect a new president. I’m sure Hilary or Obama will bend over backwards to make things ‘right’ with all the despots and idiots of this world, Chavez included. As soon as George is replaced, the venom and hate that clouds the minds of the liberal leadership will abate and we can return to the quiet climate of appeasement and denial. Everybody will be our friend—yeah, right! The elections in Venezuela gives me pause for hope. The democratic process, when truly controlled by the people works. I may not like the looks of the government in power at the time; and it may even scare the hell out of me. However, there is always a chance that we can control it or even change it if we stand together with one voice. Geeze, I detest politics. But, as much as I detest it, I know I must be involved and participate in it. It’s kinda like Castor’s Oil, it tastes awful but is good for you. Now, what the heck is Castor’s Oil anyway? |
| Title: Captured in a Norman Rockwell Painting Date: December 2, 2007, Sunday Thought: You can’t buy Christmas; and I wish we would stop trying. What I experienced last night was free; all it cost me was a little time well spent. Jog: Why is it Christmas rarely looks like the scene on the greeting card or a Norman Rockwell painting? Well, it’s because we live in the real world; and the real world is in constant flux. Don’t get me wrong, those scenes are still there. Every now and then something happens that makes you feel like you’re on the cover of a greeting card. When that happens, life is good. I participated in a Normal Rockwell painting last night. That’s right I was in the danged thing. We had our annual Rotary Christmas Parade last night. We had marching bands, an ROTC drill team from the high school. We had horses dressed with lights all over them. A few of them wore fake antlers, as did their riders (how embarrassing for the noble steeds.) We had clowns, politicians, and beauty queens. The theme for the floats was Christmas in Texas—pretty original since we are in Texas and it happens to be the Christmas season. Each float was decked with lights and hay bales for folks to sit on and had everything from reindeer to cactus Christmas trees featured. My role last night was to be a judge and help choose the top three floats. They received a little wooden plaque and will be featured in the local newspaper as being a winner. Santa Clause rode in the last float, which was the Rotary float. After our trek down the parade route, we deposited Santa at the square in front of the police station where he greeted the children of the community and threw the switch on the community Christmas Tree. It was a scene that will be repeated thousands of times across the United States as small town USA celebrates Christmas. I thoroughly enjoyed all the chaos. I walked through the crowd at the staging area and reviewed the floats. One of my granddaughters, Harley, accompanied me in my official duties as judge. Moreover, I must confess I can be bought. For a paltry sum, I could be swayed to choose the Lion’s Club, the Fraternal Order of Moose, the Holy Cross Academy, or Troop 617 of the Burleson Boy Scouts as the honored winner. Nevertheless, as you guessed no one was interested in graft and treachery on this chilly December night. Folks showed up at the staging area with half decorated floats ready to receive the final touches. Hammers banged, generators hummed, some lights came on and more than a few stayed off—to which the Christmas crowd was witness to a few not so silent words of profanity. Harley and I thoroughly enjoyed the banter of small town USA community. Kids ran through the crowd, it was total confusion; and I had to watch where I walked because of the ‘horse-deer’ droppings that were gifted for us all. The standards of our parade are relatively low. One must show up and stay in line—that’s all. I am amazed at how much time and effort went into the floats. Some of them were quite elaborate; those of course were the serious contenders for the awards. But most of them were assembled by some interest group or organization within the community. Children and adults, who are still children, turned out collectively and assembled the Norman Rockwell picture I was in last night. This is the Christmas I love. I love the gathering together, when we assemble in our churches, at the parties, in our communities, and in our homes and celebrate the Christmas season. What I detest is the television commercials, shopping at the crowded stores, and financial suicide by credit card. You can’t buy Christmas; and I wish we would stop trying. What I experienced last night was free; all it cost me was a little time well spent. I can do without the Christmas connected with buying the latest gadget, which I’ve found gets more expensive every year. Pardon me if I don’t participate in that part of Christmas. But I refuse to deny myself and those I love with the true spirit of Christmas, of which a little I experienced last night. I will continue to remind myself and my grandchildren what Christmas is really about, like a broken record I will repeat it over and over again. I will do my best to remind them of the joy of our Norman Rockwell experience by dragging them kicking and screaming, if I have to, into the very midst of the painting. And, I will remind them of the simple truths of Christmas, of it’s simple beginning and of the Babe in a manger. That’s what I’m looking for this Christmas. I found a little of it last night; there’s some more coming in the days ahead. That’s what I’ll be doing this season, looking for the Babe. If you look for me this season, you’ll not find me in the mall. Nope, If you look for me, you will find me looking for the Spirit of love that came with that Baby in the manger. Yes, that’s where I’ll be. |
| Title: What Would Jesus Do? Date: December 1, 2007, Saturday Thought: What a stupid-assed question. How the heck does any of us know what Jesus would do? Jog: Higher education does not erase the ‘redneck’ from the ‘redneck’. I know. I have earned one Masters Degree and a portion of another. I’ve had so much academic crap thrown at me that the small amount that stuck seems to have qualified me as being a learned person. But, when all is said and done, a ‘redneck’ is still a ‘redneck.’ The only difference in me and some of my less educated brethren is I sometimes cover mine up with a tie; and I can control my outbursts of redneckism to some small degree. Behind my sophisticated facade is a man who is proud of the brave men who fought for the South, however misguided they may have been. I still think Dixie is a great song; and I get pissed when I hear of some ACLU lawyers suing a school to change the mascot from the “Rebels” to the “Fighting Butterflies.” And believe me when I say that not all rednecks support the KKK. There are a whole bunch of us who respects any man who gets up in the morning and works his arse off for his family—no matter what color he is; and I would gladly call that man my friend. These little vignettes of Dan are prompted because of my friend Carolina Blue ’s recent blog regarding the death penalty. I won’t get into that topic again. But something Ken pointed out has been sorta bugging me and definitely rubs the redneck in me the wrong way. It centered around Gov. Hucabee’s response to a question thrown at him during the Republican debate. Seems some guy, intent on condemning capital punishment asked, “What would Jesus do?”What a stupid-assed question. Now, don’t get me wrong; I’ve asked myself that question introspectively many times when I’m trying to figure out what I should do about some problem or the other. But, I resent folks who toss it around simply to gain a political advantage. How the heck does any of us know what Jesus would do? We ain’t Jesus. There’s no way we can know. All folks can do is guess. And so it just really burns my rear-end parts to hear folks ask that question. First of all, those folks askin’ the question are usually the ones who are screaming for “separation of church and state!” But, yet when it suits their political purpose they will ask a totally inane question like, “What would Jesus do?” OK Clyde, you asked that question, you had better be ready for a response. Be forewarned however, the only response I can give comes from the Bible, cause that’s were we find the words of Jesus recorded. Now, don’t you know, that as soon as you begin to get into the Bible those same folks then begin to say, “Oh no! A religious idiot! There he goes quoting the Bible!” Then no matter what you say, they follow up with, “Well that’s your interpretation; I see the Bible a different way.” Well, I’ve got news for Clyde. Some things in the Bible only have one interpretation. In addition, ole Clyde doesn’t have to like it; but, that’s the way it is. You drop a steel ball off of a building and every time it’s gonna fall down to the ground. I can point at that ball lying there and say, “That’s gravity for you.” Ole Clyde has the gall to say, “Well, that’s your interpretation.” Well, some things only have one interpretation; like it or not, that’s just the way it is. That steel ball is gonna fall down every dang time it’s dropped no matter what interpretation Clyde spins. Pretty rednecked of me isn’t it? So the next time some guy named Clyde is trying to prove a point and smugly asks, “What would Jesus do?” Give them the redneck answer, “How the hell should I know? Do I look like Jesus?” That’s exactly what Gov. Huckabee did, but nicely. However, the dang media dude wouldn’t leave it alone and rudely interrupted him and said, “Governor, you didn’t answer the question; what would Jesus do?” That’s a loaded political question; and the media dude knew it. If Huckabee would have answered the question and quoted scripture, some folks would then peg him for some sort of religious fanatic, others would tell him to keep religion out of it, and some would shake their head and say he obviously doesn’t know anything about the Bible. The fact of the matter is Clyde didn’t really care about what Jesus would do; all he was interested in was making some sort of political point for his position against capital punishment. So if’n ya’ll will excuse me now, I’ve gotta go wash my neck with a bar of Lava. Try as I may, I just can’t seem to get the red off of it. And, by the way, if you want to know my answer to, “What would Jesus do about capital punishment?” maybe someday I’ll get into it; but not now. Anyway, I suspect you’ve already guessed. |
| Title: Mixing the Good With the Bad Date: November 29, 2007, Thursday Thought: Maturity is being able to accept the bad and the good as integral parts of the whole. Jog: You know, I sorta think Forest Gump was right. Life really is quite like a box of chocolates. It is full of variety. Moreover, the interesting thing about it is that we often mix and match the wondrous with the tragic in the span of a single day or even a single moment. My box of chocolates begins with the tragic. I referred to a friend of mine recently, Harry Hunt. Last Friday Harry was digging a hole with a power auger and the thing grabbed his shirttail. Before he knew it, he was pulled into the auger. The effect was like a strawberry in a blender; Harry was messed up pretty badly. The auger literally pulled his arm off. He also experienced a broken collarbone and shoulder and a bruised spine. The doctors don’t believe he will be able to walk again. Fortunately, the trauma of having his arm yanked off also collapsed his arteries; there was very little blood loss—amazing. I visited with Harry on Tuesday. I took a day off work and made the trip with a couple of other guys and visited our friend, who had no idea that we were there. Within the tragedy of this happening, I received word from an old client that they wanted to pay an old bill of which I had given up any hope of collecting. Unexpectedly the client called and said, because of internal politics a number of valuable relationships had been hurt, including ours. They had become aware that I had not been paid for my services and wanted to make things right. So, next week I will get an $8,000 check for past services that I had written off. Amazingly, they wanted me to finish the project, which was only about a quarter finished—Merry Christmas. On the home front, my son is going through a difficult divorce, which should be finalized sometime around Christmas. How’s that for timing. It is sad indeed to see him experience this thing. However, I see relief in his face because the situation is almost over. It is bittersweet at best. The only thing good coming out of this is that Linda and I are spending lots of time with our grandchildren. Now, how much of a blessing is that?—lots. And so it goes, every tragedy in my life—every crisis—is offset by a celebration—a blessing. I suppose the song is right when it says: I thank God for the mountains, And I thank Him for the valleys, I thank Him for the storms He brought me through; For if I’d never had a problem I wouldn’t know that He could solve them, I’d never know what faith in God could do. Maturity is being able to accept the bad and the good as integral parts of the whole. I hope none of us experience sorrow and pain. Nevertheless, I know that it is that very sorrow and pain that helps me appreciate the joy and blessings that come my way. Maturity is being able to recognize the blessings in the midst of sorrows. If we fail to do that, we fail to seize peace and happiness in this world. Because, without a doubt the bad times will come. And, if we don’t recognize the blessings in the midst of those times, we will miss it. And that, my friends is the real tragedy in this life. When the Apostle Paul was sitting in a Roman prison, awaiting his hearing before Caesar, he wrote back to the Church at Philippi. In chains he penned these words: “I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” What’s the point of this entry? Is it to preach a sermon?—Nope! Although, a life lived right is a sermon in itself. And, each one of us has an opportunity to preach it. All I am saying is that our very ordinary day is filled with the good and the bad in life. Sometimes it is very good and sometimes it is very bad. But in each day we can find a little bit of both. It is much more rewarding to focus on the good things. Without that focus, we very well may miss the blessings; and, that would not be a good thing. God bless you all. |
| Title: Let’s Talk About God Date: November 25, 2007, Sunday Thought: Once again, I am reminded of life’s lesson—that your entire life can change in an instant. The things that you consider important and critical at the moment become meaningless and unimportant Jog: About thirty years ago, Linda and I stuffed everything we owned into the bowels of a U-Haul truck and headed for Fort Worth, Texas. We moved away from friends and family; everything that was familiar to us was left behind in our rearview mirror. A loaded Chevette with Linda driving and two small children and a black dog followed me on this journey. I suppose in a way the journey is still going because we are all still down here, all except our dog, Max, who died many years ago. I came to Fort Worth to finish my education. I enrolled in Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, at that time the largest Protestant Seminary in the World—and maybe still is. I was committed to do the Lord’s work. We Baptist have a term for it; we say we are ‘called to the ministry.’ And so it was that Linda and I, and those two boys, set about preparing ourselves for a life in the ministry. It is interesting how things have a way of changing. After about a year-and-a-half of living on the bare minimum and going further into the hole, I changed my academic goals to City and Regional Planning at the University of Texas at Arlington. Seems like a big switch, doesn’t it? Well, things are not always as they seem. Oh, the academic direction was different; but, the commitment to the ‘call’ has never changed; I simply changed the venue. I’ve noticed through the years that God often works that way. There is a passage in the Old Testament that says, ”In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps.” Which simply means, when all is said and done, don’t be surprised if the Lord has you doing something other than the perfect plan you envisioned. I’ve found that it is alright to make grand plans; but just leave some wiggle room for God to work. Well, one of the ways God worked in my life was to send a number of strong people of faith into my life to help me while God wiggled in my life. One of those people was Harry Hunt. Harry was my professor of Old Testament. His class was somewhat boring; but there was something in the man that drew me to him. I liked him and learned from him. I was pleased to find that Harry was a member of the church Linda and I chose to join while we were in Fort Worth. Not only was Harry a member of the church, he was a member of the men’s Sunday school class I agreed to teach. And so it was that I was to become the Bible teacher for a man who held his Doctor of Divinity and taught Old Testament at the world’s largest seminary. Needless to say, I came to class prepared. That men’s class became one of the greatest blessings of my life. It was comprised of a couple of millionaires, a couple of Texas bubba’s, some working stiffs, and a seminary professor. With all that variety you’d think we would have very little in common. But, that was not the case; we found that we were truly brothers. Fortunately, the sense of humor of these men was unusually keen and they kept me constantly jumping. We learned about the Bible together and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. I remember the first time a theological question was asked of me and I deferred to Harry. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Geeze, how the heck should I know?” I knew then I was going to make it. His other answers through the years included, “I don’t have a clue,” “Beats me.” “Hey, I teach Old Testament, that’s in the New.” I found that Harry was a regular guy. He had a wealth of education but he was just like the rest of us. Don’t get me wrong, when it came down to a matter of critical doctrine we would find the theologian amongst us. But usually, Harry was unassuming and just another one of the guys. A few years ago Harry had severe heart problems. It was touch and go for a while, but he finally stabilized in his condition. He has since retired from teaching and simply works at his farm and attends to his friends in the church. When I had my heart surgery, Harry was there. He visited almost daily in the hospital, said a few prayers for me, and encouraged me through my rehab time. All this time he has silently been a testimony to what a life of faith can be. I suppose he is still teaching me. Yesterday, I received a telephone call from another of the previous members of that men’s Sunday school class. Harry has been involved in a tragic accident. He somehow got his arm caught in some farm equipment and had it severed. Fortunately, he eventually ended up in the hospital and has been stabilized. It’s a miracle that his heart has stood the trauma. But, he has lost his left arm. His hospital is in a town several hours drive from here. I have not seen him, yet. His family and some of our mutual friends are with him. Harry is in critical condition but has improved somewhat. Once again, I am reminded of life’s lesson—that your entire life can change in an instant. The things that you consider important and critical at the moment become meaningless and unimportant. Priorities shift and life refocuses. I don’t know what tomorrow brings for Harry; I don’t know if he will have a tomorrow. What I do know is the spirit in which it will be greeted, at least from Harry. Tomorrow, whatever it brings, Harry will still have that steadfast commitment to his faith and the love of God that I saw on the first day I met him. I’ve known other’s like Harry—other’s who held this same rock-like faith and strength. However, Harry is the one I’m thinking of today; he’s the one who’s still teaching me what it means to be a Christian. I understand that there are those out there who do not believe as I do. There are those out there who believe that this faith of mine and Harry’s is a crutch—a weakness. My place is not to convince you that you are wrong. In fact, I respect your belief whatever it may be. All that I know is that when life has thrown it’s most challenging situations at me and men and women like Harry, they have endured with a strength that cannot be explained otherwise. So, if it be a crutch, then so be it. I will gladly use it as a crutch to make it through the valley. After all, did He not say that as you walk through the valley He is with us. And did He not say, “I go before you to prepare a place for you.” What’s wrong with using a crutch when the crutch is the Son of God? God bless you all; and God bless Harry, and may He bring him through this trial. |
| Title: Something Amiss at Thanksgiving Date: November 23, 2007, Friday Thought: The fact that it was prepared by loving hands whose only desire was to please me, heightened my pleasure and makes me truly appreciative. Their toil and labor at the stove did not go by unappreciated from this ole boy. Jog: Geeze, we had turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes, super-duper gravy to slather over it all, cranberries, green beans, corn, really hot rolls with lots of real butter, and pumpkin cake with really delicious icing. I ate sinfully…just really stuffed that food down. I had 'seconds' and a half of a 'third'. Then I found my position on the big stuffed couch, unbuttoned the top button of my pants and basked in the fellowship of my family. Oh, yeah, somewhere in there I might have burped. Now that sounds like I had a pretty good Thanksgiving; doesn’t it? I’d have to admit that I did, if only one little detail had been attended to. If we’d had just that one thing, everything would have been perfect. No one baked a pumpkin pie! Can you believe it? Imagine my horror when I perused the banquet table and did not see the thing of my interest—pumpkin pie. Now, not having pumpkin pie in no way means I can’t make a pig out of myself on all the other delicious morsels strewn about the table. Nope, all that other stuff was great. The fact that it was prepared by loving hands whose only desire was to please me, heightened my pleasure and makes me truly appreciative. Their toil and labor at the hot stove did not go by unappreciated from this ole boy. No siree…I said, “Thank you, but WHERE’S THE DANG PUMPKIN PIE?” Glances were shared by one chef and then another. Then they giggled and said, “I thought you were going to bake one” “No, I thought you were going to do it” “Nope, not me, I fixed the turkey.” “Well, I thought about baking one and then noticed I didn’t have any (fill in some ingredient I didn’t catch here), so didn’t” More giggles here and I was thinking, “Good grief, haven’t you ever heard of Wal Mart; they got that stuff!!” “Oh well, we’ve got pumpkin cake; that’s good enough.” Blasphemy!! It isn’t a Thanksgiving meal with out the climax of pumpkin pie at the end. Moreover, considering pumpkin CAKE instead of pie is no suitable substitution. That’s like putting seat covers in a Rolls Royce…it just ain’t done. Takin’ a Flintstone vitamin when you’re havin’ a heart attack. It just ain’t good enough. And then I hear, “Well, we’ll fix you one for this weekend.” What good does that do? The meal’s over—the opportunity lost! Pumpkin pie is destined to be eaten right after you finish off the last of your dressing and giblet gravy. When your plate is scraped clean and you’re about to bust, THEN you have your pumpkin pie. And that’s PIE not CAKE. If I remember correctly, the same thing happened last year and was the topic of great mirth. I see no humor in a pumpkin pieless Thanksgiving. And so, I’ve determined that I will begin early to assure there is pumpkin pie at the next Thanksgiving feast. Hints will be dropped on a regular basis, only to be increased in volume sometime around September. By Thanksgiving it should be clear that NO ONE EATS IN THIS HOUSE IF’N THERE’S NO PUMPKIN PIE!!! There! That’s the plan and I’m sticking with it. I am so looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner! |
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