%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  A sporadic account of my reaction to life. |
|
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: What’s With Thanksgiving? Date: November 22, 2007, Thursday – Thanksgiving Day Thought: Progress and civilization has certainly changed the meaning of Thanksgiving, hasn’t it? I suppose that’s progress. But, what have we gained when we forsake the original purpose of our holidays? Jog: Many would disagree that today is a religious holiday. There is no disagreement that it is uniquely North American. In the infancy of our nation, the pregnancy stage—the days before the birth of the nation, this land was a refuge to dissidents and religious radicals. Following the Reformation a number of splinter groups separated off from the Protestant camp. Because of their radical religious beliefs, they were not welcome among the mainline faiths and were ridiculed and persecuted for what they believed. Under normal circumstances, they would exist in the background of society, working and worshiping in the shadows of the mainline beliefs of that age. Some of these groups would die out because of the difficulty to move freely, restricted by prejudices and controlled by unjust laws. Such is the price for being different, for protesting against the accepted norm. Most of these folks were simple people—the common person. But they did not live in a normal world. They were living in a world being discovered. They were living in a world with new frontiers in strange places which were far from what the mainline considered normal. It was a good place to which to escape. And so they came. They crammed themselves and their meager possessions on small vessels that to our standards today would seem risky at best. Some of them died on the journey across the Atlantic. Some of them landed upon this land and succumbed shortly after because they were weak. It seems only the strong would successfully make this place their home. Perhaps it was a tenant of evolution—only the strong survive. Ill prepared for the inclement winters they came and scratched out a handhold on a new life. Many of them died for their handhold was not strong enough to survive. I suppose it really is a miracle, a testament to their faith that these people who were shopkeepers and tenant farmers survived. Whatever they were in the Old World, in the New World they became pioneers; and they adapted to a life of struggle, necessity, and simplicity. It is only natural that after enduring the hardship of the journey across the Atlantic, which was a relatively new trek itself, after enduring the sickness, and the harsh winter, they interrupted their chore of making this home and celebrated by giving thanks to their God for the good fortune of an abundant harvest and healthy lives. It was a decidedly religious thing. After all, they had left a land of persecution, where they were shunned from believing as they did and discovered a life that had no bounds on their faith. Many had paid with their life. They certainly left everything familiar in their life across those great waters when they chose to live in this new place. It was only natural that at this moment they stopped and gave thanks for what they had, which by the Old World standard was not much. Other folks came to this land. Most of them were not religious outcasts, but many of them were outcasts just the same. Some came seeking a new start, some came seeking adventure, and some came seeking an easy fortune. They came for different reasons; but they came. It is interesting that of the first to come, the settlers in Virginia, at a place named Berkley Hundred, had written Thanksgiving into their charter for the settlement. This phrase is recorded. "Wee ordaine that the day of our ships arrival at the place assigned for plantacon in the land of Virginia shall be yearly and perpetually keept holy as a day of thanksgiving to Almighty God." Thanksgiving has become a day of reflection. I suspect fewer Americans pause to pray before the thanksgiving meal; they reflect. It is considered a secular day. Most folks look forward to this day because it begins the holiday season, which includes Christmas. We have become too politically correct to wish each other Merry Christmas; it certainly is not appropriate to say a prayer of thanksgiving in public. Many Americans, the descendants of those early pioneers, don’t stop today to thank God for bringing them to where they are now. No, for us Thanksgiving is an opportunity to catch our breath before the buying season begins. Progress and civilization has certainly changed the meaning of Thanksgiving, hasn’t it? I suppose that’s progress. But, what have we gained when we forsake the original purpose of our holidays? Thanksgiving has become mainline now. Those early Pilgrims and pioneers in Virginia would not have put that clause in their charter had they been living in today’s age. The day was made a national holiday by President George Washington in 1789 with his proclamation. "Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be—That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks—for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country...for the signal and manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his Providence which we experienced in the tranquility, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed...and also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions—to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually...To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us—and generally to grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best." Do you suppose such a proclamation would come out of Washington DC today? I doubt it. However, I’m going to follow suit and do exactly what the Virginia clause provided for and what the proclamation of our first president challenges us to do. I’m going to give thanks to God on this day, and really mean it. |
| Title: Give Me a Stump to Beat On Date: November 21, 2007, Wednesday Thought: It feels good to finish something. It feels good to mark through at least one item on that “To Do” list. Jog: Every now and then, it does the soul good just to finish something. It gives you a sense of accomplishment. It matters not that your ‘To Do” list still consists of multiple pages, that one individual item is finished. You can now stand back and admire your work. Of course, I’m talking about my job; I finished an assignment last Monday. I now get to stand back and nod my head and say, “Not bad—not bad at all.” I’ve been working on this assignment for about eighteen months. I assisted the City of Sanger, Texas to develop a comprehensive land use plan for their city. You know, a guide for future development. We planned where all the thoroughfares will go, defined what we wanted our residential neighborhoods to look like, what we wanted to do with the parks (how many more and how big), defined the types of residential developments that we will permit, identified the forms for commercial development, and located where industrial should be located so that it was compatible with all the other land uses. In addition, we analyzed the old downtown district and prepared basic guidelines for historic preservation of that area. In order to accomplish all this stuff we drew in the community and got their feedback in several town meetings. We formed a citizen’s task force and had monthly updates throughout the process. In addition, we created a citizen survey that asked the community what they wanted and what they felt was important to address. Input—lots of public input. You gotta do that if you want the public to take ownership of the comprehensive plan as being their plan. All this effort has been summarized in a number of documents. I prepared a ‘brochure plan’, which is a twelve page brochure summarizing the process and the results. This brochure will be mass-produced to be used as a marketing tool for future businesses and developers looking for a new home. A text document of the Comprehensive Plan with approximately 150 pages was prepared that provided the planning principles and the desired goals for development. Of course, there are maps of the land use plans, park plans, and thoroughfare plan, which will be enlarged to 36”x42” to hang on the wall for future reference. All of this effort culminated last Monday night at the City Council meeting. A public hearing was held to receive final input from the community and to provide the Council with an opportunity to act on the document. No one had anything to say; I suppose we had said it all. In fifteen minutes the plan was approved by ordinance, which made it the law of the land. It took me an hour-and-a-half to drive home. All that is left now is to provide them with final copies and to send the final bill, which Linda is anxious for me to do. I stand back and admire my effort. But, I can’t dawdle too long. I have the same effort to complete for the City of Joshua, City of Granbury, City of Hillsboro, and City of Gainesville. Time marches on. The City of Sanger, now the owner of a brand new Comprehensive Plan, is anxious to revise their zoning ordinances to implement the new goals and directions in their Comprehensive Plan. That effort begins almost immediately; and yes, we have the contract for that assignment. Of course, we are also doing the zoning ordinances for a number of other cities. That means I’m still busy; but, that’s the nature of the beast. I’ve bored you so far just to drive home one simple point. It feels good to finish something. It feels good to mark through at least one item on that “To Do” list. It matters not how much is left. That one thing is now toast!...finished! So whether it’s a Comprehensive Plan, a term paper, a NaNo project, or the laundry, attack it...chip away at it. In the Clint Eastwood movie “Pale Rider” a prospector had a troublesome tree stump in his camp. Somehow, he got the premonition that under that stump lay a find of gold. For months he beat on that stump with a sledge hammer, only to have the stump tenaciously keep it’s hold to the earth, not budging. One day Clint Eastwood’s character and the miner attacked the stump together with a renewed resolve. Eventually the stump gave way. I don’t remember if there was any gold there; but I do remember the sense of accomplishment that was their reward. We all have our stumps to beat on. With a little renewed resolve, I wonder how many of them we can unearth? I think I’ll go now and beat on another stump. |
| Title: Sands of Time Date: November 20, 2007, Tuesday Thought: I am reminded that as infinite as it may seem are the seconds, each one falls like the sand in my hour glass, not to be counted ever again. Jog: I give you tonight my most precious possession, my time. I sit behind this screen and order the words such that we communicate. It’s a good use of my time. Whenever folks make a connection with each other--whenever there is interaction, time is well spent. It doesn’t really matter that I have little to say now, what matters is the connection. I will eventually push the ‘submit’ button and my message will be posted for you to read. Now, the question is: is my time wasted if no one reads my post? Well, I don’t really have to worry about that, because someone will read it. You are reading it now. Presumptuous of me? Not really, I know by the fact that my stats show that someone always reads my entries. At least they begin to read them. I have no idea how many pop in, read the first sentence, become totally disinterested, and pop out. I can’t say I would blame them for making a hasty retreat sometimes. Two or three will leave a comment. However, recently I have notice the interest in my ‘blog’ has been waning. Perhaps it is the NaNo thing going on and folks have used up all their words. Perhaps folks are busy and don’t have time. Perhaps it’s because I have cut way back on the time I spend in here and haven’t nurtured my friendships. Perhaps I simply don’t have anything to say that folks are interested in; maybe my entries bore them. Perhaps they’ve concluded time is precious and best spent elsewhere. It matters not; I am not offended or discouraged. I am content with the attention my little journal receives, whatever it may be. We have but a limited amount of seconds to spend. As we live our life, it seems like the seconds are as abundant as the sands of the Sahara. We let them slip away and often take them for granted; after all, there are so many of them. But, as I stare at the hour glass that I have on my desk, I am reminded that as infinite as it may seem are the seconds, each one falls like the sand in my hour glass, not to be counted ever again. Oh, how I wish I could simply turn the hourglass of my life over again and let the sands fall once more; but I can’t do that; and neither can you. And so, I am mindful of how precious my time is to me and your time is to you. And because it is, I take some of those seconds to sit behind this screen and order these words. For each time we communicate we share our sands of time. How better spent are the seconds than to make a connection with another living being. I suppose that’s why we write--why we write our poetry and our stories. We are making connections—a pretty good use of those precious sands of time. |
| Title: Introduction to The Dream Wanderers Date: November 17, 2007, Saturday Thought: Have you ever considered that there is a world that is only accessed through your dreams—an exact copy of this world. Jog: You know, its just a matter of availability. No matter how hard I want to do everything, I can’t do everything and have to settle for just something. I am writing constantly--studies, reports, ordinances, blogs, stories, articles—write, write, write, write, write. But, no matter how much I write something goes undone. Recently, it has been my journal; or as I call it my ‘jog’, because I hate the disgusting sound of blog—sounds like something you step in while trekking through a meadow. “Oh My God! I just stepped in a pile of blog. Eeww! It came over the top of my shoe and is now on my socks. Eeck!—the nasty stuff’s cold” Anyway, my journal…jog…blog has suffered from my other writing activities. Oh I know—“Join the club!” I can hear all you NaNo writers harping at me now. Well, I’m not excited about being the member of any ole club. I just want to get stuff done that needs to be done…an’ it ain’t happening. The really important stuff is really hurting--my job stuff. That’s what happens when you are not accountable to anyone--stuff hurts, unless you are super disciplined. And, lately I’ve been having difficulty in that department. So what happens? Well, I end up working on the stuff I enjoy and letting the stuff I NEED to do go by the wayside. When that stuff pays the bills, that is not a good idea. Recently it has been a new book. Yeah, can you believe it, I’m writing a new book. So what’s it about? Do you really want to know. I suspect not but it’s my ‘jog’, so humor me. Have you ever sworn you laid a something down at one location and find it is moved? Have you ever closed a door and then returned to find it opened; or opened a window just to find it closed later? We just chalk it up to forgetfulness, overloaded schedules, or old age. Sometimes we file it away in that place where we put the unexplainable, you know like UFOs, or little green men, or Big-Foot. What if there was another explanation to the closed door and opened window? Perhaps it can be explained by the dream wanderers. Have you ever considered that there is a world that is only accessed through your dreams—an exact copy of this world. Well, in fact it is this world, only it coexists in the dream realm. What if you could walk around in that world, that is once you learn how to access it. In this world there are no living things, except yourself. The Native American Indians have long held a place in their folklore and spiritual background for the dreamwalker. Even today there are those who affirm that they can walk amidst their dreams and even visit the dreams of others. My new book has entered the realm of dreams. Not quite a dreamwalker and not a parallel universe…something different. Introduce into this a malevolent person who decides to use this realm for their own purpose. Eventually there will be a conflict between good and evil. Hmm…so, how does it end? I’m not sure, I’m only 12,000 words into the story. |
| Title: Excuse Me While I Pop the Clutch Here Date: November 12, 2007, Monday Thought: The way I had it figured the girls would open the door slide in with that blue glow and immediately begin taking off their clothing because of all the coolness in there. To my amazement, it didn’t quite happen that way. Jog: I need an old fashioned pop-the-clutch start. Now, most of the kids today don’t have a clue what that is. There was a day when there were two kinds of vehicles: those with standard transmissions and those with automatics. Today’s kids have grown up with nothing but automatic. In fact, everything in their lives are automatic. They automatically get stuff; they automatically get what ever they want. Drive through the parking lot of the local high school. You will find brand new vehicles parked up and down the aisles. Every now and then you will find a junkard; but, mostly you will find new cars….or if you are from Texas it will be trucks. And, you will predominantly find automatic transmissions in those vehicles. When I was in high school my folk could not afford to buy me a car. They had this strange idea that I should work for the funds and buy my own car. However, dad did let me drive his work-car. He had an old 1954 Chevy that he used to go back and forth to work. One day his company furnished him a company car to drive and he no longer needed the 54’ Chevy. So, until he sold the thing I got to drive it. The crazy thing is I had absolutely no problem driving that car, even though it was your basic ugly and was a standard transmission. I first spent a significant amount of time waxing and polishing it up. Remarkably, it took a shine very well. I traded someone something for a set of chrome hubcaps that dressed up the wheels. I invested in some seat covers through JC Whitney catalogue, which did wonders for the inside, with the help of a little trick. I took the dome-light cover off and painted the cover with a thin coat of blue. When you opened the door a soft blue glow was cast, which I thought was pretty dang cool and romantic (now, remember I was a hormone driven teenage boy.) The way I had it figured the girls would open the door slide in with that blue glow and immediately begin taking off their clothing because of all the coolness in there. To my amazement, it didn’t quite happen that way. It took a little talent to drive that car. For one, I could never quite keep the battery charged. Nevertheless, being a standard, I simply parked the thing where I could get it rolling. Usually I could find a short downgrade where it took very little to get it rolling. If all else failed I could always park so the a little push and it would be rolling. I’d push that dang think and then jump in, throw it in low, and pop the clutch. Most nearly every time I would be rewarded with it turning over and then purring like a kitten. Remarkably, this little routine did not embarrass me in the least. Once it was started, unless it was nighttime and I had my lights on, it would start with the ignition the next time. In all its undependability, it was remarkably dependable. Just pop the clutch and it would start every time. Recently, I have had a difficult time getting started in my work. That is a critical thing since I am not answerable to anyone. I feel like an automatic transmission that has a dead battery. I need a little help to get started. I know that once going I would run faithfully just like that old 54’ Chevy. I’m sure I’ll keep cranking until my engine turns over. I may need to get all of you to get out and give me a shove. Maybe what I really need is to paint my light cover blue. Hmmm, that blue lighting was pretty cool. |
| Title: The Changing Definition of Celebrity Date: November 11, 2007, Sunday Thought: Our children’s heroes have become the outrageous, the rebellious, the debased, and the sensational individuals of the mass media. Celebrity has become shallow and selfish. Jog: Who was it who walked on the moon? The most frequent response besides, “I don’t know,” would be Neil Armstrong. I remember watching the event on a very small color TV—you had to distinguish between color and black & white once upon a time. Anyway, I remember it quite well. But, who else walked on the moon? I dare say every American would be hard pressed to name any of the astronauts who made a lunar stroll. There have been twelve in fact: Neil Armstrong Buzz Aldrin Pete Conrad Alan Bean Alan Shepard Edgar Mitchel David Scott James Irwin John W. Young Charles Duke Eugene Ceman Harrison Schmitt I bring this up because I have recently been contemplating the nature of celebrity. It’s my humble opinion that the definition has been changing as results of society’s changing values. I dwell on this topic because of something I heard in an interview the other day. It appear an author was sitting in a coffee shop having a cup of coffee and doing what writers sometimes do—observe the humanity around him. The author heard two men talking and discovered that they were two of the twelve astronauts who had walked on the moon. Here sat these two heroes totally integrated into the mainstream of Americana and totally unknown and unrecognized. It is amazing that men of this stature can be physically active in our society and be invisible at the same time. No one recognized these two great Americans. There are over 120,000 screen actors who are members of the Screen Actors Guild.--quite a membership. Dozens upon dozens of these members are more than visible from the Hollywood rags and visual media. Brittany Spears and Russell Crow can’t walk down the street without causing a stir. Outside of the weight gained by eating popcorn in the movie and the hour and a half of entertainment received, they have left very little to better the condition or further the standing of the human experience. The guy who throws a football down the field, the guy who catches it, the guy who jumps in the air and crams a basketball through a net, the woman who blasts an ace on the tennis court, or the guy who knocks a golf ball two-hundred and fifty yards and rolls it up to the lip of a hole in the ground—all these people are more well know than our scientists, statesmen, warriors, and humorists—our astronauts. It has not always been the case. There was a time before mass communication and advanced technology when simple people were the celebrities of the time. But, now the ability to sensationalize the insignificant and outrageous has given an unproportional emphasis to entertainers and athletes. Our children’s heroes have become the outrageous, the rebellious, the debased, and the sensational individuals of the mass media. Celebrity has become shallow and selfish. Roxy Heart, a character in the musical Chicago sings it well when she sings: I’m going to be a celebrity That mean somebody everyone knows. They’re gonna recognize my eyes My hair My cheek My boobs My nose” Now, I’ll not pass judgment on this new definition; although, it’s obvious that I’m a throwback to an earlier generation. There was a time when celebrity was not judged by a person’s outrageous action, how much money a person made, or the sensational. There was a time when honesty, integrity, and humility were the primary criteria for greatness and celebrity. It’s likely I am overreacting. Nevertheless, somewhere down deep within me there is a dread that something has been lost. Something is gone that cannot be easily recovered. Like Humpty Dumpty, it will never be put back again. Perhaps I am wrong. I so hope I am. |
| Title: Entries on a Page Date: November 10, 2007, Saturday Thought: Upon reading through the entries in all four volumes I have discovered, quite naturally, that I am a predictable and simple person. I don’t stray very far from the ideal and beliefs that form the core of my paradigm. Jog: I now have four volumes of my Sporadic Journal. In a little over a month, I will have four complete volumes. There is something comforting in being able to read through the chronicle of events in a person’s life. There certainly are no earth-shattering things recorded on those pages—just living. Because I was limited on time, I did not read through every page—of course not. What I did was to go to this day in each of the preceding years and see the things that interested me on that day—the things that spurred me to make an entry. Now, since I am currently writing this year, 2007 did not count. I was amused to find that I had no listing for November 10th in 2004. I didn’t even have a day close to that date. It appears my sporadic journal truly is sporadic. In 2005 I had nothing on this day; but, I did have listings on the 9th and 11th. On the 9th I related experiences I had with my grandchildren—a recurring theme, I have found. On the 11th I spent time extolling on the results of recent local elections, which had the flavor of a mild political rant. On November 10, 2006, I honored the memory of the men who fought in WWII. Tom Brokaw’s book, The Greatest Generation was my inspiration. I find my opinion and feelings have not changed; it’s been only a year. However, I am of the opinion that a hundred years could pass and I would feel the same. Veteran’s Day looms upon us. I suppose every year my journal volume will in some way be flavored by this theme. Upon reading through the entries in all four volumes, I have discovered, quite naturally, that I am a predictable and simple person. I don’t stray very far from the ideal and beliefs that form the core of my paradigm. I have a strong patriotic vein, a work ethic that is ‘old school’, I’m conservative politically—disgustingly Republican, and totally devoted to my family, most particularly my grandchildren. In addition, I find a reoccurring emphasis on that silly black dog, Max. Very few entries pass by without a reference to that dog. Therefore, why should this one be any different? As I sat there in the dark, tapping on these keys, I realized the urge to have a glass of orange juice. So, I made the trek downstairs to the depository of Florida Orange Juice and secured a generous portion of the golden stuff. As I walked, my constant companion, Max, traded his usual position of being on my heels to that of being immediately in front of me. I had to swipe at that continually wagging tail and admonish, “Move your butt, Dog!” He ignored me; and, so we stumbled together through the darkened house to the kitchen. I am now back at my computer, thoroughly refreshed with my OJ. Max has assumed his position curled at my feet. That is where he has been every year at this time as I record these events in my journal. He is the one constant in all of these entries—that dang dog. The Sun is beginning to break across the sky with reflections off the high cirrus clouds. It promises to be a glorious day. In a moment, I will complete this entry and place it in its position in the journal for 2007, to be read this time next year. I’ll take Max for his walk; or he will take me for mine; I haven’t quite figured out who takes who. Then I will return to a breakfast prepared by the love of my life, Linda. It’s been another entry on another day in my journal. Just the same as all the others; but in a special way, unique in itself. I guess that’s what they call life. |
| Title: Lest We Forget Date: November 8, 2007, Thursday Thought: I was comfortable in the knowledge that I could go about my business without being harmed or impeded in any way. Not all of my fellow students at the University of Oklahoma were appreciative of our safety. Many of them jeered and howled at the job “Mo” was doing that morning. Jog: August 22, 1967 was a special day. It was my father’s birthday. It was also two days before Linda and I were to be married. It was a Tuesday morning, bright, clear, with the temperature in the mid eighties. It was also a bright, clear day in Vietnam; but because of the difference in time zones it was August 23rd. Major Elmo “Mo” Baker was leading his flight of twenty F-105 “Thuds” on a mission north of Hanoi. “Mo” was a fighter pilot; he had over 2000 hours of flight time in the Thud. He had spent virtually all of his time in his service to our nation flying fighter planes. At thirty-five years of age he was one of America’s experienced air warriors. And as such, it was only natural that he was the flight leader of the twenty F-105s bearing in on a bridge north of Hanoi. He had been there before. Only a month earlier he had led the same flight of eagles on a mission to destroy the bridge, which they did. However, the North Vietnamese somehow rebuilt it; and, it was again funneling into Vietnam the stuff that fueled Ho Chi Minh’s war efforts. Because of this it was obviously a primary target. And because of that importance the North Vietnamese placed 138 anti-aircraft guns strategically around it for protection. Halfway around the world in Oklahoma I peacefully went about my business readying myself for my advancing marriage day. I was comfortable in the knowledge that I could go about my business without being harmed or impeded in any way. Not all of my fellow students at the University of Oklahoma were appreciative of our safety. Many of them jeered and howled at the job “Mo” was doing that morning. They were not concerned with his safety and were simply riding the wave of protest that was alarmingly, to me, much too popular. Being the flight leader, “Mo” was the first to peel-off and head down the chute with his two five-hundred pound bombs hanging beneath his wings. As a result, all 138 guns were firing at him. He was hit at least four times, with two direct hits in the underbelly of the Thud. Instantly his war-bird was engulfed in flames. His plane began to melt as it burned forward. He had no choice but to “punch out.” As “Mo” tells it an F-105 on fire is a spectacular thing—much like the space shuttle on re-entry. All of North Vietnam knew he was going down. “Mo” silenced his flight from the chatter, informed them to not send a chopper because he could not make it to high ground, told them to continue to get the target, and then said, “See you guys after the war.” He then punched out. His wounded bird was rolling when he engaged the ejection seat. As a result his leg hit the canopy as he was propelled from the fiery carcass of the Thud, breaking the femur of his left leg. Instantly, he knew he had a broken leg. He steered his chute towards a village with the hope that it would decrease his trek on the ground after he landed in the adjoining muddy field. He was captured instantly within fifteen seconds. The villagers were enraged and immediately began kicking and beating him. He was striped of his clothing and dragged to the village, where he was again beaten. Eventually militia turned him over the North Vietnamese Army. It was three weeks before his captors provided medical treatment for his broken leg. During that three week period the broken limb was used as a tool in their torture. In their attempt to secure information they would kick and beat on it with pipes. They would twist it until the toes were turned 180 degrees. “Mo” said all he could do was scream. And yet there was no way he was going to assist the enemy with any information that may harm another pilot or his mission in Vietnam. After three weeks new “shoot-downs” were brought in and their attention on “Mo” abated. “Mo” remained a prisoner of war of the North Vietnamese for six years. Many of those years were spent in the prison know as the Hanoi Hilton. During that time he suffered indignities that will never be understood by those of us who naively enjoyed our lives stateside. He was beaten often and deprived of nourishment and medical treatment. His love for his country and his commitment to his service never waned during that time. On one occasion a peace group from home visited the prison and he was paraded into an interview with them. Needless to say, today he holds no fondness for these people and quietly hides his contempt for their actions. Today “Mo” is a retired Colonel who is proud of the service he gave for his country. He lives just down the street from me. He and I belong to the same Rotary Club. This Sunday we will celebrate Veteran’s Day by placing 500 American Flags around town. “Mo” will help me. He will wear his American flag shirt; and, he and his wife, Honey, will get up early and unroll and place those flags at the curb. I’m honored to be able to call “Mo” my friend. I am still amazed at his story. I’m sure that every time he unrolls one of our flags and gently places it in its sleeve he is mindful of where he was forty years ago. How can he and Honey not live with that experience every day that they breathe? It makes me mindful of the blessings that I have; and, it reinforces the greatness of the men and women who continually pay the price for all of us. May we never take for granted the freedom that men like “Mo” have fought to protect. Thank you “Mo”; and thank you David. |
| Title: The Boring World of Finance Date: November 1, 2007, Thursday Thought: . Does it make a lot of sense to trust in a system that experiences an exorbitant deficit every year? What makes us think the government can take any better care of our money than we can? Jog: I apologize ahead of time for the length of this entry. I also warn you that it is dealing with what most folks believe is boring stuff--finances. But, I happen to believe it has an important message. What you do with it is up to you. I have made a number of investments in my life. The intangible ones are those I’ve made in the relationships of my family and friends. The paybacks from those are beyond measure. Included in the tangible investments are those I’ve made in property, primarily my home. My return from that investment is both immediate and long term. Most Americans share these simple investments with me or are striving to do so. After all it is the great American dream to have family and to own both property and home. I also have financial investments that I’ve made in stocks and mutual funds. I will get into that a little later. However, the one investment that every working American shares with each other is the mandatory investment in Social Security, which was created by FDR’s administration to lessen the financial distressed of the 1930’s Depression era. It is interesting to note that many of the social programs created by FDR’s New Deal were declared as being unconstitutional and struck down. Unfortunately Social Security (Federal Old-Age, Survivors and Disability Insurance program) survived the Supreme Court’s judgment. I say unfortunately, because this system has the worst return on any investment that an American can make and yet we are all forced to contribute to it. Now, I’m not saying we do away with this system. No, we need a system that truly helps those who are without resources. There should be a system of contribution for those who will need it someday. However, I am firmly convinced that I will never receive a fraction of the amount I have paid into that program. The remarkable thing about the Social Security program is that it is counting on not paying it back. Because of the restrictions on payment of funds, aging Americans can only hope to collect on this retirement fund when they are approaching their last years or if they in fact die. And, Social Security is the only investment program I know that is not passed as an inheritance to your children. It pays a fraction of the amount collected as a survivor benefit, but you will never ever receive the principle that was contributed. If you are fortunate to live past the age estimated by the Social Security’s expected lifetime for you, you will receive a pittance of the funds paid into the system. Most private retirement funds will pay at least an annual rate of 4 percent annually on your principle. Not so with the Social Security system. It may average out at 0.5% at best. Who in their right mind would invest for that type of return? And yet, liberal America is protective of this system. Suggest reforming it and it is the kiss of death for any politician. Somehow, someway along this traveled path we have become convinced the Federal government can take care of us. If the government would give me the choice of investing the funds I pay into Social Security, I would not have to worry about whether it will be there when I need it, which it won't and I don’t. I would be taken care of in my later years and not reliant on some overburdened social system. If we would encourage people to take control of their own destiny and learn how to invest their money themselves, we could relieve the rolls of those being taken care of by the government. Several years back, Hilary Clinton took a lot of flak about earning significant funds on a stock investment. There were folks who swore that you simply did not realize that type of gain unless you had insider trading information. As much as I dislike the politics of the Clintons, I have to admit that they are shrewd business people. What Hilary did was probably just a wise investment. It was neither crooked nor was it unprecedented. There are stocks and mutual funds out there today that will return significantly on ones investment. Unfortunately, we have been indoctrinated, as a people, to believe investments are for the rich and are very risky. This simply is not true. I contend that trusting my future to the government and to some stranger in a far away brokerage firm is even riskier. More folks should at least check to see if they could self-direct their retirement funds. What does it hurt to ask? A couple of years ago I stopped trusting my investment consultants and began directing my investments myself. I was amazed to learn that many firms will allow you to do this with company retirement plans, 401Ks, and Simple IRAs. You will get raised eyebrows and cautions from the financial experts whenever you ask if you can self-direct your investments, at least that’s what mine did. It appears that like the liberal politicians, the financial folks, you know the ones who make money off of managing your funds, well, they don’t think the average person is capable of controlling his own money. The world of investments has been the sole theater of the financial gurus. Financial investing is a world where the common man simply does not tread. There are a few simple truths that the common man should understand. First is that the arena of financial investments is not a closed membership. Each of us can trade stocks as well as the savviest stock broker. The Internet has made this much more possible and downright easy. The second simple truth is that there is no great secret to making money in the stock market. The fear that, if the common man invests on his own, he will surely loose his fortune is absolutely false. The fact to the contrary is that the common man is really the only one interested in how his funds are invested. If you think your stock broker has your best interest in mind, well you are delusional. Your stock broker may be a nice guy or even your brother-in-law; but he has HIS best interest in mind—always has and always will. Your broker does not make money when you make money. He makes money by managing your money and by selling and buying stocks for you. The third truth is that investing can be successful in any kind of market—bull or bear. All you have to do is to do your homework—study, study, study. If you think it is not worth all the study, then again you are delusional. That is where most folks give up. Most folks are quite content with making an annual return of six percent. I have friends who are excited about financial planners who enroll them into programs that guarantee a four percent return no matter what the stock market does. That is silly. That is no deal at all. My worst performing mutual fund (RYPNX) is returning at an annual rate of one percent—certainly nothing to be proud about. However, over a five year period it has performed at twenty-four percent. I’ve just caught it at the low end of the cycle; give it a few years and it will far out class my friend’s meager four percent guarantee. Comparatively, my best fund (DPCRX) is returning at an annual rate of 87 percent. Now, I am not at all concerned by the fact that it will not do that for the long haul. For the last five years it has performed at an adjusted annual rate of forty-five percent. Since its inception it has provided an annual rate of return of twenty-five percent. Much better than my friend’s guaranteed four percent rate and much better than any of my previous brokers. In addition, some energy stocks are still good investments. One of my oil company stocks (XTO) is performing at an annual rate of fifty-three percent. Overall, my portfolio is returning at a forty percent annual rate. Why would I ever be impressed by an annual rate of four percent? And what kind of care is the government taking of us with Social Security’s promise of 0.5%. Why do I harp on this stuff? Is it to show how smart I am? Nope, if I were really smart I would have started doing this on my twenty-first birthday! Is it to brag about all the money I’m making? Nope, there are folks who make lots more than I do. Why then? Well, I’m tired of folks telling us that we are not smart enough to understand the stock market. I’m also tired of folks telling me how bad the economy is. And I am totally appalled at the notion that the government will take care of me when I am old! It seems like the prevailing attitude today is for people to expect the government to do that. Does it make a lot of sense to trust in a system that experiences an exorbitant deficit every year? What makes us think the government can take any better care of our money than we can? It can’t balance its own checkbook. Why should I trust in Social Security? They can’t take care of us and I don’t trust them to do it. It appears to me the only alternative is for us to do it ourselves…if we will. |
| Title: It’s a Matter of Integrity Date: October 30, 2007, Tuesday Thought: We have one opportunity to make a good impression; and, as long as we live up to expectations each and every time, you get another chance. But, it takes only one disappointment to lose a client. Jog: Yesterday I fell on my sword. As humbly as I could I apologized for unacceptable behavior. I’m not used to doing that; and, it took a little effort. Being the boss means you are not accountable to anyone. Well, not really—I have clients to whom I gave my word that I would perform in a certain way and in return they promised to compensate me for my efforts. But, they do expect some effort on my part. I recently, as a favor to another consultant, agreed to perform a little study for a mutual client. It was a simple little job that would pay very little but would go a long way in paving the way for future efforts that promised to be much more rewarding. The only condition was that they wait for a couple of months for me to begin the efforts, because my work load was so dang snowed. That was agreeable to everyone and we went our respective ways. After a couple of months my work load showed no sign of dissipating; I was still just as overloaded as I was two months earlier. And so I put the job off, hoping that I would find some daylight tomorrow. I didn’t and two months stretched into three months and then four months. Tomorrow always seemed to be commandeered by some crisis elsewhere. By this time the client was hurting for the product and my consultant friend was apologizing for bringing me on board. Two relationships have been damaged. I have built my business on the foundation of quality work done on time. This was neither, since I had not done anything and we were already past the deadlines. And so, last week and all weekend I polished up my sword and fell on it yesterday. I worked all week and much of the weekend doing the planning effort I had originally promised. Seeking to redeem myself, which is difficult to do in business, I called and offered my apologies. I realized that my just reasons were simply excuses so I gave no reason for my tardiness and just said I’m sorry. The client was gracious but not pleased. Hopefully, the fact that I will not charge him for the project will somewhat offset the disappointment. After all, that is ten thousand dollars that he can keep in his coffers. Hopefully, the quality of the product and the gesture of compensation will afford me with another chance to serve him again. However, in business that does not happen very often. We have one opportunity to make a good impression; and, as long as we live up to expectations each and every time, you get another chance. But, it takes only one disappointment to lose a client. The loss of one client is not a disaster; in fact, it probably is not a bad thing in this case. But the loss of trust is tremendous. We have only our integrity to stand on. When you begin to lose that, you are on the road to disaster. I hope I never have to fall on my sword again. I don’t like the feeling. But, my pride will survive; I will get over the embarrassment. What concerns me is the precedent that has been set. If I do it once I can do it again. We cannot recover from loss of faith in us. There is no way that I can make someone trust in me; other than to earn that trust. And, so this week I’ve reacquainted myself with a truth that I already knew. Success is not measured in dollars and cents; it is measured in integrity. If you have it, you will be successful. If you don’t, no amount of effort can purchase it for you. Integrity comes by only one means; it is earned. |
| Title: Made a New Friend Today Date: October 29, 2007, Monday Thought: We walked out onto the golf course this morning, relatively sure we would not encounter any golfers hunting for stray balls or throwing clubs amidst the accompanying curses. Jog: He made a new and lasting friend today. Max is broadening his stable of friends. I swear that dog has more friends than Linda and I. As we walk along the path around our little lake we encounter folks occasionally. It amazes me that as we near them they will smile, nod at me and then greet Max with, “Hi, Max!” He in turn smugly wags his tail and trots along with me in tow wondering who the heck that was. Well, it was dark this morning when we went for our walk. There was a bright nearly-full moon and day was just beginning to break over the horizon. It was a little cool as fall firmly established its grasp on north Texas and hinted ever so slightly at the winter months to come. But, it felt good. Max loves it; the cool weather is always good for a few extra bounces in his step. He really so loves his early morning walks. We walked out onto the golf course this morning, relatively sure we would not encounter any golfers hunting for stray balls or throwing clubs amidst the accompanying curses. On Monday the golf course is closed for maintenance and rest. That means we can walk to our hearts content, which is quite a bit of walking on these brisk mornings. Needless to say, Max kept looking up and down the fairways, looking for some other walker taking advantage of the closed course. We usually encounter a few on each outing. But there was none. No one else was up before dawn and out on the golf course. And so Max looked for other opportunities to socialize. Now, the dog loves other animals. He will chase them if they run from him; and, he will just visit if they don’t. Of course squirrels and rabbits run from him. He gets great satisfaction form bearing down on them at full throttle growling and barking as he nears. Now, Max is much too fat and slow to catch them; but, he loves to think he can. Off in the distance Max spotted something moving. From where we were it looked like a cat. The dang dog loves to chase cats. And so before I saw his ears perk up and his gaze fix on the object, he was off. I heard the thumps of his big paws rapidly gobbling up the turf and saw him lower to the ground as he ran full speed ahead. Of course I yelled, “Max, stop! Max, here!” Of course he ignored me. His mind was fixed on the black cat ahead. All I could do is watch him bear down on the cat. And then something happened that punched my alarm button. “Max, NO!” I yelled, as I watched the white stripe on the cats tail raise in the air. “Max! That’s not a cat!!!” Too late—Max was introduced to Pepe LePew. He had never seen a skunk before. Well, today he got to see one up close and very personal. Well, dead-eye LePew scored a direct hit on Max. That dog came running back to me snorting and scooting his face along the grass. His sniffer was totally discombobulated. He looked at me as if asking, “Why didn’t you say something?” “Dang dog, come here!” I attached him to the leash and half drug him back to the house, with him snorting and rubbing his nose to the ground. “Dang dog!” Into the house we went—straight to the bathroom shower. Linda has this peppermint shampoo that we use on the dog…it is super strong. He and I both went into the shower. I guess I must have lathered that dog up a half dozen times. He still has a slight scent about him. Later in the day Linda and I think we raised a few eyebrows when we went out to lunch; no doubt we have a slight scent about us also. Well we aren’t interested in making any new friends today…one was enough. “Dang dog!” |
| Title: It Doesn’t Take Much To Be Grateful Date: October 28, 2007, Sunday Thought: There are times when I feel I deserve the right to have a pity party and commiserate about my misfortunes. Jog: “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.” There is a story from the Bible that causes me to stop and give thanks for what I have. Now, you don’t have to be a Christian to benefit from this story, you only have to take its message to heart. It was an uneventful day; one filled with countless miles walked on dusty roads—the kind where sweat constantly trickles down the back of your neck. Jesus and his rag-tag band of followers were somewhere between towns, probably nearing the end of a very long day. Then in the midst of that ordinary day the unordinary and unfortunate appeared before them. Out of the recesses of the undergrowth along the road came ten diseased lepers. Now to the Jew of that day these ten lepers were ‘unclean.’ In addition to being untouchable because of the rotting flesh of their affliction, they were also ceremonially unclean for social interaction; they were spiritually diseased. As such they received the brunt of physical, verbal, and mental abuse from those who were spiritually clean. In fact, by law whenever they approach a ‘clean’ person they were to shout a warning “Unclean! Unclean!” And that is exactly what they did upon Jesus’ band approaching them. They began to cry “Tame! Tame!—Unclean! Unclean!” Now the Bible tells us that for whatever reason, perhaps they recognized Jesus, perhaps it was a divine revelation, or perhaps it was just blind hope, in any case they changed their cries to “Jesus, Master, have mercy upon us!” And somewhere out on a dusty road, on an ordinary day, away from the crowds and the multitudes Jesus stopped and dealt personally with ten lepers. Instead of casting rocks at them and assailing them with curses, he reached out and did the unthinkable; he touched the untouchable and wrapped them with love. He said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” For, that is what you do when you have been cleansed. The priest would pronounce you as being clean again. As the lepers turned to comply with his command, a marvelous thing began to happen. Their diseased bodies began to mend. With each step they were healed. Now, here is the really important message of the story; it is not the miracle of healing; although, that is certainly a wondrous thing. The important message is the reaction of the ten healed lepers. Nine of the lepers went on their way, doing what they were told—obedient. But, one of the lepers could contain himself no longer and filled with gratitude ran back to Jesus and fell at His feet and thanked Him. He didn’t have to do that. Jesus did not ask for it. But, he did it from the overflow of a thankful heart. The Bible tells us Jesus asked, rhetorically, “Where are the other nine? Were not all ten healed?” This is not to point out or condemn the other nine; but, it is to rather highlight and accent the faith of this lone grateful heart. There is much in my life that brings me down; I have worries and problems that weigh upon my soul. There are times when I feel I deserve the right to have a pity party and commiserate about my misfortunes. But then I remember the quote that introduced this entry and remember the story of the ten lepers. I have no way been that unfortunate. In fact, when I consider my lot, I am blessed indeed. I suppose most of us when we really think about it can see where it could be so much worse. Sometimes, that does little to lift us out of the doldrums. But, for me, it goes a long way in helping me give thanks for what I’ve got, which is quite a bit. Now, I happen to believe that all ten of those lepers who met Jesus on that road were grateful for the miracle in their lives; how could you not be? But, I believe that one sole leper who returned and threw himself at the feet of Jesus in thanksgiving received a special blessing—not from Jesus but from the act of giving thanks. I’ll end this entry today not with a quote from the Bible but from a quote from Ophra. “Be thankful for what you have; you’ll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don’t have you will never, ever have enough.” Somehow, that sorta says the same thing; doesn’t it? |
| Title: Measures of Greatness Date: October 23, 2007, Tuesday Thought: Greatness is a product of the human spirit; our actions are only a testament to its existence. Jog: Old men often say great things; that’s because they’ve had so much time to learn. Now granted, there are still loads of old men that say stupid stuff; but the potential for greatness in each individual is increased proportional to the experience lived. So if we find an old man somewhere spouting stupid stuff, the likelihood that as a young man he was a blooming idiot is great. In such a case even the stupid stuff railed at his advanced age would be an improvement over the really stupid stuff he spewed in his youth. But, generally speaking, old men often say great things. I have come to this personal conclusion as a result of my own experience for certainly in the eyes of some, my grandson in particular; I am one of those older men. In my opinion, I organize and present my thoughts much more eloquently at fifty-nine than I did at twenty-one. It has taken me sixty years to get to this level of proficiency, if that is what it is. Occasionally, I receive comments from my friends in WDC that I write well. Those comments are appreciated; but they are generally only fodder for my ego and often exaggerated at best. I concede a small level of writing talent; however it has taken a lifetime to get to this point in my writing. I have long conceded to myself that I am not a great writer. I am able to communicate better than some and equal to most; but greatness is not among my life’s achievements. And, I am satisfied and content with that. Now, had I achieved my current level of knowledge and proficiency at the age of twenty-one perhaps then I would have had the opportunity to realize greatness someday. And, perhaps that is the difference in being recognized as excelling in ones field—that we demonstrate our greatness at an early age. Your mind is probably searching its data banks to pull up example after example of great men and women who were not child protégées. I can do that myself. For example Grandma Moses did not begin painting until she was in her eighties. But, I’ve seen her paintings. I have to believe much of her fame is due to the fact that she was old. Had she been an artist all her life what fame would she have achieved? Perhaps she would have been recognized only as a mediocre artist who got old. Please don’t see this as any slight to her abilities or greatness. I count her achievement as still being great. But, most of us need the experience of youth to nurture the seeds of greatness. Greatness often is subject to the perfect alignment of experiences and situations. For example, Winston Churchill may have been successful in his life’s endeavors but he would not have risen to the stature of greatness had it not been for the tragedy of the War. He was uniquely the man prepared to lead Britain through that conflict. At the conclusion of the War he was expendable. But during that conflict his tenacity and oratorical eloquence provided a foundation and an inspiration for the British people. Even today, we are inspired by his speeches. Certainly, young Churchill could not have achieved the same measure of success as did the elder statesman. Old men often say great things. Or at least they say it better. Early in his presidency Ronald Regan made a trip to Berlin. Upon seeing the Berlin Wall he stated, “That thing is ugly. It should come down.” Later in his presidency he had the opportunity to speak to the German people. In his speech he wrote the statement, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall!” Upon seeing this, the editors at the State Department struck it from the speech and sent it back to Regan. He put it back in and sent it back to the State Department. Once again the diplomats struck the statement from the speech and sent it back to the president with the comment, “This statement may offend Gorbachev.” Ronald Regan then picked up the phone and called the Secretary of State and said, “Would you please remind the persons who are editing my speech that I am the President; thank you.” The comment remained in the speech and is now one of the most familiar lines of his presidency. It is the wisdom of the years that permits old men to say great things. Sometimes they are said by great people; when that happens we remember them as being historic. Occasionally, greatness comes simply from being associated with great events. The generation of my father was infused with greatness. As a whole people rose to the level of greatness through the shared involvement in a great War, which was great not because of its grandeur but because of its scope. Men who were everyday Joes became extraordinary warriors. The simple became magnified into greatness. My uncle was a simple man; but, he was also a great man. As a sergeant in the 82nd Airborne his squad was captured during the Battle of the Bulge on the day following Christmas 1944. He neutralized his captors and led his squad back to friendly positions where he then revealed the enemy’s strength and helped to repel an attack on the American forces. For this he received the Bronze Star. I remember him as being a gentle man; and when he spoke to me his words were special, not because they were especially wise, but because they came from a great man. We don’t know what greatness is in store for any of us. My level of greatness will likely be obtained from advancing age since there is no special situation in which I am participating. As I get older and write more material, the opportunity for someone someday to read my stuff and find a degree of greatness is increased. I believe that all of us will achieve a measured level of greatness, even though it may only be perceived by our children and some of our associates. But, greatness is a product of the human spirit; our actions are only a testament to its existence. Old men often say great stuff. I am amused and encouraged that, as I witness the years pass, my chances for saying something great certainly increases. |
| Title: Nobility in Man is Not Guaranteed Date: October 22, 2007, Monday Thought: We should always seek the noble and worthy goals in life; but, we should do so mindful of the dire consequences of the alternative to that noble quest. Jog: I recently made a statement in one of my entries that there will always be sickness; there will always be hate; there will always be envy; there will always be prejudice. A member of WDC very respectfully replied that he did not believe this. This precipitated a healthy discussion between him and me, back and forth, through emails about the validity or fallacy of the statement. His eventual comment to me was that “As long as people believe this, it will be so though, because it’s what people have faith in that rule the world. And if believing in lies is what they want, it’s what they will get. There is no evil besides in the minds of men. That is where it started, and that is where it has to end.” The journaling opportunity provided by WDC is a marvelous opportunity to exchange ideas and beliefs. Many times we simply chat along with idle conversations; and, occasionally we encounter very healthy exchanges of viewpoints, such as the one I refer to above. I am still convinced with the validity of my statement. There will always be injustice in this world. No matter how perfect I want it to be, it will always be flawed. Granted, evil is present in the minds of men--not all men--but enough to threaten the well being of the others. To deny this fact is to delude oneself. In the early stages of the Nazi surge, many people sought to rationalize their way away from the evil of that system. Martin Niemoller is credited with saying, “In Germany, the Nazis first came for the Communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics, but I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me...By that time there was no one left to speak up.” I believe my statement that there will always be sickness, hate, and envy, and prejudice is still a valid statement. To believe otherwise is to close my eyes to the reality of evil in this world, just as many did to Nazi Germany. And, to believe that evil is present in this world is much different than believing in evil. We should always seek the noble and worthy goals in life; but, we should do so mindful of the dire consequences of the alternative to that noble quest. We should always emphasize the positive and strive to achieve those things that are good in mankind; however this does not negate the fact that human nature is possible of great cruelty and can be unbelievably self-serving. I have not lost faith in the goodness of my fellow man; but neither am I blind to human nature. I feel I have the same noble goals as my WDC friend; however, I am pleased that I also have other friends “watching my back” for I know there are those in this world who are not so noble in their desires; and there always will be. |
| Title: It’s Tough To Be Just a Thread Date: October 21, 2007, Sunday Thought: It makes me smile to think that somewhere someone may be wondering what ever happened to Dan. Some would certainly be surprised since I was voted “most likely to spend his life bumping into walls.” Jog: In October of 1969, out in California, our friend Nada was dealing with a distressed marriage to a stranger; David McClain was dealing with the Viet Cong during his Southeast Asia all-expense paid vacation. I was living deep within mid-America in Oklahoma City. I had a young wife and a one-year old little boy and was totally clueless of how I was going to care for them. I suppose I looked at my future with as much fear as Tor did the Viet Cong and I was just as uncertain about my abilities as a father as Nada was her’s as a mother. It amuses me to consider the parallels in these three lives as they ran their course almost forty years ago. Who would have thought these three lives would eventually be braided into the same rope through the connection on the Internet. I suppose we must all wonder at the wisdom of Al Gore for inventing it. I am further amused to consider how many times our paths have probably crossed over those years. Have we sat next to each at some restaurant? Perhaps, we’ve cut each other off in traffic or watched the other fly overhead in an airplane. As far as that goes, when we consider all the friends we have in WDC, how many times have our lives touched secretly? We will never know. The romantic comedy “When Harry Met Sally” deals with the dynamics of active lives and the passage of time. Sometimes they touch one another and have some meaningful effect; some times they are simply ships passing in the night. I think back to all my high school friends and the close friendships I have made during other phases of my life and wonder where they are now. It makes me smile to think that somewhere someone may be wondering what ever happened to Dan. Some would certainly be surprised since I was voted “most likely to spend his life bumping into walls.” I find myself in the middle of an entry that I don’t know where it is going. I’m not sure just what to do with it. I usually have some sense of direction in my entries. I usually know how I will end the thing. But since I don’t know where this one is going, I don’t have a clue as to how it will end. But, I suppose that is the answer. This entry is sorta like life. Sometimes we try to plan the thing out; but, really it just weaves itself in and out of life situations. We can’t really plan our lives; we have to just sorta direct them. It’s like shooting for the moon; we just point and shoot. Maybe we will hit it; it’s big enough. I look forward to reading more about Nada life. I am always interested in the stories surrounding the lives of my friends in WDC. Hmm, I suppose we are all part of one really big rope; all of our lives are somehow wound around each other. There’s gotta be some strength in that. Thanks for being part of my rope. Without you I would simply be a thread; and it's tough being just a thread. |
| Title: Seeing Life From 100 Years Ago Date: October 14, 2007, Sunday Thought : I determined that we really are products of our environment. The social climate in which we are nurtured molds much of our fundamental beliefs. Jog: Just because he’s old does not make him right. I remember thinking that about an old man who was past his 100th birthday. I had just finished talking to John Cole about the old days. At the time of our discussion that would make those days just before the turn of the 20th Century. John was born somewhere around 1875. I remember when he first told me his age; I thought immediately, “That’s only ten years after the Civil War.” He’s been gone several years now. To speak to someone who had watched the 20th Century dawn, to experience all the history of that time, to be a part of it, well, it simply amazed me. I expected wisdom beyond the ages to come from John; after all, he really was before the ages. At least he is the oldest person with which I have had an intelligent conversation. I was eager to ask him about his life as a boy and his impressions of current events of this time. I was thrilled with his descriptions of a time long gone and the accounts of his life that he shared. However, I was also disappointed. For I was to discover that John was not a particularly noble man; he was just old. From the lips of this elderly man, who I respected because of his advanced age, came a discourse of prejudice and racism that was unacceptable for our current age. I had to remind myself that John was not of this age; he was a relic from a different time. He lived in a time when things were vastly different. In the time in which John lived, even those who were considered ‘good men’ fostered the prejudices of the time. Even those who championed equality and fairness, who spoke out publicly and worked diligently to dispel the cloud of prejudice, even these men accepted as normal certain degrees and shades of social prejudice that we would likely recoil against today. It was difficult for me to wrap my mind around that. From my discussion with John, I determined that we really are products of our environment. The social climate in which we are nurtured molds much of our fundamental beliefs. Oh, we certainly have the ability to rise above the prejudices of our social structure through education and a sincere desire to improve our lot. Our intelligence can help us understand and even reform old thoughts. But, there is a part of us that will always be flavored by our beginnings. And John’s beginnings began in a previous century. There is no room in my life for bigotry, racism, and prejudice. Yet, even while I write these words I know that somewhere there is someone who likely believes me to be all of that. I don’t know who and I don’t know where; nor do I understand why. But, that is the nature of life. The question, “Why can’t we just all get along?” may be a valid one; but it may also be a foolish one. As long as human kind interacts with each other there will be those who are prejudiced over another—be it through ignorance or just plain meanness it will always be there. We are, it seems, destined to not get along. There will always be sickness; there will always be hate; there will always be envy; there will always be prejudice. There is no reason to be alarmed about that for that is just the way it is. But, that very fact means there is also a tremendous opportunity for people to rise to heroic levels of goodness and understanding. There is ample opportunity for improvement and a solid measure from which we may see our gain. There will always be an opportunity to change into something better. As I consider the society from which John came, over 130 years past, I have to believe we have progressed some little degree. At least it is evident to me as I consider our very different life viewpoints. It took a conversation with a man born in 1875 to cause me to realize this. Being really old does not mean you are necessarily right. It doesn’t necessarily mean you are wise. But, it does give one a reference on life that is for the most part very unique. And, that my friend deserves a little consideration. |
| Title: Random Thoughts on Carrying Burdens Date: October 13, 2007, Saturday Thought: Will there be a time when we no longer feel the weight of the world upon our shoulders? Or are we destined to replace one burden with another simply because it is in our nature to do so? Jog: In Greek mythology, a group of elder gods called the Titans ruled the world before the Olympian gods overthrew them. These elder gods challenged the new order and were led in battle by Atlas. The Titans were not successful in their rebellion and as the Olympian gods would have it punishment was due to the rebels. Atlas was condemned by Zeus to carry the weight of the heavens on his shoulders. You would think that mere air would not be that heavy; however, to the ancient mind the heavens were more vast than the ground upon which one walked; there was no greater burden. In any case it was the mythical explanation of why the heavens did not come crashing into the earth. At some time in our life each of us have identified with Atlas. As a college student the weight upon my shoulders got heavier the closer I came to finals week. I remember the feeling of relief when I turned in the last exam on the last day. When I walked across the stage to receive my degree, I swear I floated. Of course, I soon learned that the weight of the heavens returns in different form. Deadlines, appointments, events, and schedules continuously add to the heavens and find their place upon our shoulders. What great rebellion is it for which we are being punished? I know of none, except perhaps our stubborn will to live life our way and our relentless pursuit of material possessions. I wonder if the burden of Atlas will ever be released. Will there be a time when we no longer feel the weight of the world upon our shoulders? Or are we destined to replace one burden with another simply because it is in our nature to do so? In Greek mythology even Atlas found a moments relief as he talked Hercules into shouldering his burden as he trekked off for Hercules to gather the golden apples which grew in Hera’s garden. When he returned to the laboring Hercules, he had no intention of resuming his previous position. However, Hercules indicated that he was satisfied with holding the heavens and wished only to straighten his cloak as padding on his shoulder. Atlas, who apparently is not the brightest bulb in the set agreed to hold the heavens once more while Hercules arranged his cloak. Of course Hercules dashed off leaving Atlas to continue with shouldering the heavens once again; this time forever. There are several lessons that we may glean from this slice of mythology—such as, there is no relief from the worlds care. We must continue as responsible people and do the things that must be done. Maybe we learn from this piece of mythology that our burdens are our burdens; and, we should not expect the other guy to shoulder them; but, we should be grateful for those occasions in which they do. Or perhaps the lesson is that once you get your hands on Hera’s apples, don’t come back. I will let you form your own wisdom from Atlas’ situation. I have long believed that one of the wisest songs I ever listened to was “He Ain’t Heavy” by the Hollies. It was composed by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell. Russell was dying of cancer and the pair only met three times. There is great controversy over the origin of the title. Although it became the logo for ‘Boys Town’, my sources indicate the earliest origin is found in the Kiwanis Magazine of 1924. The story is that Roe Fulkerson published the account of an encounter he had on the streets one day when he met a weak and frail child carrying a baby and staggering towards a neighborhood park. Fulkerson remarked to the child that it appears he was shouldering quite a load. The child smiled and replied, “Why, mister, he ain’t heavy; he’s my brother.” The road is long With many a winding turn That leads us to who knows where Who knows when But I'm strong Strong enough to carry him He ain't heavy, he's my brother As we shoulder our burdens, it is heartening to know that some of us take on more than our share. With all the selfishness and greed that we see in this world, there are still some folks who are willing to crawl under that burden and lessen the load. Thank God for those folks and God bless them. |
| Title: Someday There Will Be A Day Date: October 12, 2007, Friday Thought: There will be a day when I will live only in my memories. Jog: There will be a day. For all things there will be a day. There will be a day when I awake and have nothing to do that day. There will be a day when I can no longer walk unassisted to the bathroom. There will be a day when the things I say and do will be treated as the fumblings of an old man. There will be a day when I will live only in my memories. Undoubtedly, just as sure as the sun rises every morning, there will be a day like that. But, it is not today; and will not be tomorrow or even the day after that. Today I spent my time in the corporate world. It is amazing at how much money I can spend when it isn’t my money. I spent, or caused to be spent, several million dollars on a number of commercial, industrial, and residential developments. I was responsible for the adoption of ordinances that will insure landscaping and construction techniques that were not required yesterday. The plans and regulations that I caused to be adopted will change the landscape of several cities, forever. Tomorrow no one will ever know; only the very well informed will see my signature on the changes. However, I will know. Every time I drive down a street that is there because I required it to be there, I see my signature on the landscape. When I shop at the shopping center, I know why the parking lot is landscaped and why the screening fence is located where it is located. I know why the park is located in a particular neighborhood. I know why commercial businesses are located on the corners of busy intersections and why certain roads are wider to enable traffic from neighborhoods to have access to the main thoroughfares. I also know why some roads have an abundance of curves and are narrower to keep traffic out. It’s because one day I had a plan; someone asked me where these things should be located and I told them. And, remarkably, so many times they listened to me. And on that day, somewhere in the future, as I sit and look out the window at seemingly nothing, I will be looking at my signature on the landscape. I will watch folks drive down streets that were placed there because I had a plan. I will see residential neighborhoods, where people live and play and know they are there because I had a plan. I will watch children walk to parks that are there because I had a plan. And on that day all of the work and deadlines and contentious zoning meetings will be worth it. Each of us leaves our mark on the world. Each of us, no matter how simple are our lives, causes the world to change in some way because we acted and the world reacted. Some of us are fortunate to mold the world into a better place. For each day for the last thirty years I have been leaving my mark on the cities of north Texas. The things I’ve done are transparent to the events that affect the lives of people living in north Texas. People don’t notice what I’ve had a hand in doing. Although, some folks know and are appreciative; and, that is good to know. Now, I don’t care for celebrity and I don’t need pats on the back to satisfy my ego. I am satisfied with the occasions of recognition that have been given me by my peers. It is good enough for me to be able to face this day and know things are different—better because I got up in the mornings and practiced my trade. The rewards of doing what I do are personal and are the source of deep satisfaction with what I see around me. People have asked me what it is that I do. I tell them I am a city planner. They say, “Oh, that’s nice.” I then follow with a simple explanation telling them I help cities grow. They say, “Oh, that’s nice.” I smile because they are right—it is nice. There will be a day when I will have nothing left to do; but, even in that day I will know that I left my mark. I will see it all around me. |
| Title: Nostalgia and Music Date: October 5, 2007, Friday Thought: I really don’t know what it is about these old songs; but they touch a place in my soul that the rap and hip-hop will never find. I wonder what music the old guys fifty years from today will listen to? Jog: I’ll warn you right now, that you will not get out of this entry what I’m feeling unless you have Dean Martin’s “Come Back to Sorrento” playing in the background—I do. I got a new CD today. Actually, it is an accumulation of old songs sung the old way, whatever that means. There are some people who have been gifted with a marvelous ability to move others with the sound of their voice. I know that I’m certainly dating myself by saying Dean Martin was one of those people. I get unusually nostalgic when I listen to Dean Martin. His style developed through his early years and was influenced by the crooning of Bing Crosby and flavored heavily with his Italian heritage, which was honestly gained. The son of a first generation Italian-American mother and an Italian immigrant father, Dino spoke nothing but Italian until he started school at five years old. I have always been impressed with Dean Martin. He earned his place in celebrity through hard work. Much of his early days involved doing things that were unsavory and probably on the shady side of the law. It is rumored that his career was helped at times by his association with the mafia—shades of The Godfather. Eventually he was a success in every theater of the entertainment industry. I suppose the most impressive fact, however, about Dean was his devotion to his family. Although not an angel by any means, being married three times, his idea of a perfect evening was to go home to his wife and children and watch television and play with the kids, leaving his Rat Pack buddies to party into the early morning hours without him. His image as a boozing entertainer was actually a fabrication that was probably his greatest acting role. Some have reported the alcohol in the glass he always held was usually apple juice. It was not originally my intent to provide a biography of Dean Martin. But, you gotta know a little about the man to understand his influence on so many folks. However, regardless of the history of the man, it is his voice that captures my emotions. I sit here at 3:10 a.m. listening to Dean sing one love song after another. Now, that has got to be a little insane in itself; but, that’s another story for a different time. As I listen to his smooth tones so effortlessly taking me through each song, flavored with a generous sampling of Italian, my memory takes me back. For some reason I think of my Dad, who loved to listen to Dean. Both are gone now; but, the two men were from the same generation—the one preceding me; and, although they never met they remind me of each other. I really don’t know what it is about these old songs; but they touch a place in my soul that the rap and hip-hop will never find. I wonder what music the old guys fifty years from today will listen to? Will the same depths of nostalgia be experience by those guys that I get when I listen to Dean’s music? Probably so, but if they do, I don’t doubt they will be listening to the likes of Dean Martin. But, I confess I’m probably a little prejudiced at the moment, as I listen to Dean’s “Inamorata.” |
| Title: Shadows in the Night Date: September 25, 2007, Tuesday Thought: When the evening shadows lengthen and the mantle of darkness covered the landscape, it was believed that spirits and beings of unnatural origin ruled. Jog: Darkness--it’s the way I begin each day. Early in the morning I awake and plod my way to the computer. I’ll write for a couple of hours before it gets light outside. The light is the signal to join the world. And, so for the next couple of hours I will work in the darkness—literally. I sit in my office with the light out, working from the light of my computer, which is sufficient for my needs. But, I am not alone; Max is curled up on the floor beside me. Much wiser than I am, he chooses to go back to sleep. However, any significant turn of my chair or disruption of noise and he is up, looking at me, wagging his tail, wondering what it is I will do next so he can rearrange his morning to be with me. In the darkness of the very early morning my mind churns and awakes to new ideas and old ideas brought back to life. I have a choice; I can discard the ideas or play them out, developing them, and perhaps placing them on the page. I have never understood the statement, “I’m not a morning person.” The most productive time of my day is usually the first few hours of the day. It’s as if during the night as I slept the ideas and concepts of my thoughts have gathered like a great tide, restricted by the dam of my consciousness. Upon awaking the gates are open and the gathered thoughts rush through the spillway to be used or discarded or filed away for later consideration. In ancient days the darkness was a dreaded time. You could not plant in darkness; commerce stopped. You could not travel at night, at least it was not advised; and usually even the battles of wars were stopped at nightfall. When the evening shadows lengthen and the mantle of darkness covered the landscape, it was believed that spirits and beings of unnatural origin ruled. So, in the evening men stayed close to their fires; and, if they were fortunate to be inside, they secured the doors. The Bible has much to say about dark and light. Jesus is described as the light coming to a dark and uncertain world. In the Bible darkness represents confusion and lostness; whereas the light represents salvation and enlightenment. The darkness places liitations on our ability to see. When I was a young man Linda and I visited a cave somewhere; we actually paid good money to descend into its depths. While we were there someone turned out the light so we could experience true darkness. Needless to say I was relieved when they turned the light back on. We lose much of the ability to understand our situation in the deepest darkness—to see what is around us, to see what is coming. As a child I was afraid of the dark. I remember having a difficult time going to sleep. A shadow in the corner, which was probably a shirt hanging on the back of a chair, would move, slowly of course which caused my mind to debate whether or not it had even happened. Sounds were magnified and promised alarming consequences. A closet door only partially closed would slowly open to reveal, well nothing; but, it suggested the worse. Somewhere along the way I grew out of these fears, well mostly. I still lock my door at night; and when Max and I walk through the wooded part of our route in the darkness, I still see moving shadows and hear hidden sounds. However, I am older now and much wiser, although some would question that as I walk in the woods in total darkness. For the most part the darkness does not represent a dreaded thing any more. It mostly represents a time of refreshment—recharging. It does not take my batteries much time to accomplish this. After four to six hours of sleep I am ready to proceed with the tasks at hand. In the early morning moments of the day, when darkness still claims the hours and begrudgingly lifts its mantle at the prompting of the sunrise, I can usually find myself laboring with my thoughts, arranging them in logical sequence, and casting them out to be seen in the light of a new day. And, that is how it is at this moment, as I sit here in the darkness, talking to you. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
