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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: Following the Market Date: June 12, 2007, Tuesday Thought: Don’t let anyone ever say you can’t do it yourself. You can!—that goes for anything and all things. Jog: I am not a great Wall Street warrior. I’m just a little player. About two years ago I took control of my retirement fund. I got sick and tired of other people investing for me and coming back with a sorry annual return. I figured, over the last five years someone else had been controlling the funds, it had returned about twelve percent on my money. Any way you figure it that is about 2.5 % annual growth. In an economy where inflation grows at about 3-4% annually that measures a relative loss. I figured I could do better than that. And so, I contacted my brokers and informed them they were no longer needed; I would direct my own funds from now on. You should have heard the wailing and gnashing of teeth. The predictions that I would soon be penniless and pushing a cart on the street were rampant. And so, I jumped in. Needless to say, initially I floundered around for a moment. I lost a little money and immediately retreated in a ‘woe is me’ spirit ready to concede that they were right. But, then I determined I would suck it up and charge on ahead. A little experience goes a long way. I soon adjusted and learned some simple truths about the stock market. Truth Number One, not everything is going down in a Bear Market. Really good stocks and mutual funds go up, even in a depressed economy. All you got to do is find them. And so I hunted and searched and read and educated myself. Today I am invested in seven really good stocks and funds—only seven. I am continually looking for others. I am delighted to report that the least profitable one is performing at about 11.6 % annual return. That’s not too bad. The others range from 27% to 43% annual rate thus far. Over a five year period these will likely adjust a little lower to absorb some off periods of the market. However, over a ten year period their history has consistently been high. That’s the Second Truth I’ve learned. Time is your friend. Good stocks always increase in value over a five year period—always. The trick is to get good stocks and funds. The Third Truth I’ve learned is to spread it around. Don’t stay invested in any one particular industry. Invest in a little oil, a little technology, some communications, and some banking. As time goes on, buy into the other markets. I have bought some foreign funds as well as American stocks. I have noticed that very rarely will all my funds be down at once. Some of them are always up. In many cases the ones that are up offset the combined amount that the others are down. That’s because they are good stocks and funds. Which emphasizes the fact that the granddaddy truth is to always buy the best stocks or funds in those different industries. And, that takes a little time and research. With the resources of the Internet, that is much easier to do than in days past. I share this with you today not to impress you with my financial genius. Nope, I’m just a featherweight in that area. The purpose is to share with you the fact that we need to control our own financial destiny, whether we have one dollar or a hundred-thousand dollars. As long as we let the other guy play with our money, they will fritter it away. And to be as bold as to suggest that we can do a better job invites scoffs and rebukes upon us by those mismanaging our affairs as well as our friends and neighbors who have chosen to let others mismanage theirs. Don’t let anyone ever say you can’t do it yourself. You can!—that goes for anything and all things. Don’t let them say you can’t go into business on your own, that you can’t become debt free, and that you can’t manage your own 401K or retirement fund. You can! But, when you do it, be smart. Study and learn—it will pay off. The real reward with just doing it is not the money that you make or the awards you receive. The real reward for just doing it, when others say don’t or you can’t, is the independence you receive. The true prize of taking control of your life is independence—or as Mel Gibson shouted in the end of his movie Braveheart—Freedom! It’s yours to claim; it’s scary as hell, but it’s there waiting for you…Freedom! |
| Title: Holding On Tight Date: June 11, 2007, Monday Thought: The poor guy at the end of the line held on for dear life as the centrifugal force pulled him in an effort to sling him into forever and beyond. It was great fun. Jog: When I was a kid, before I had the magic of an automobile, I spent a little time at the skating rink. You don’t see those around our towns anymore. Some of the smaller towns have them, but generally they are a thing of a different era. Well, anyway, I was a pretty decent skater. I could skate forwards and backwards and change between the two with enough grace to be proficient. The dynamics of the skating rink is a topic of another blog. Needless to say it was a social hot spot for emerging adolescence. But that’s not what I want to talk about. We had one game we played that was particularly harrowing. I don’t remember what we called it, probably something like ‘whiplash.’ If you are old enough you remember the one. We formed a long line of skaters; each one holding the hand of the other. The guy at the front determined the direction of travel. The idea was to build up speed and change direction suddenly. The poor guy at the end of the line held on for dear life as the centrifugal force pulled him in an effort to sling him into forever and beyond. It was great fun. That game comes to mind now as I try to get the things done that I have to get done. My job is exasperating—one deadline after another and one crises after another. The clients and the tasks run together. I forget which one needed the thoroughfare plan and which one has a public hearing. I constantly get calls asking where the finished product is. I don’t like this. I am working out of the mess, but it feels like I’m holding on to a giant game of ‘whiplash.’ I can’t afford to let go and don’t have the time to figure out that I’m having fun. As soon as I get a moment to catch my breath I’ll consider that. I think about the guys on my street, each one of us playing the game. Each one of us is holding on in varying degrees. Jerry, the guy next door, is cruising through the game. He has twenty-eight years of work at Lockheed-Martin, he is management and has dutifully built and invested a good retirement. His wife has twenty-four years of employment for the city government and has a retirement of her own. In two years Jerry plans to retire. He has a smile on his face and is enjoying the ride. Guy, the fella across the street from me, works for the government in a regional manager position. He is divorced and remarried. His ex has recently had the child-support significantly increased. In spite of his good job, he is holding on with both hands because he sees college educations looming on the horizon for four kids. And so it goes up and down the street. We are all holding on. Some of us look forward, like Jerry, to letting go. Others cling on for survival. Funny, whiplash used to be such a fun game. What happened? I guess they call it life. |
| Title: Take it Off—All Off Date: June 10, 2007, Sunday Thought: When he wanted to show respect for a person, he removed his hat—always. Jog: Seems I can’t seem to get off this kick about the attitude and actions of kids today. I know, I need to move on and get over it. But, you can blame this blog entry on Budroe . You see it’s all his fault. He wrote an excellent entry about what the actions and conduct of youngsters should be. (By the way, these things are not limited to youngsters only) This doesn’t surprise me in that Bud is prone to writing excellent stuff (disturbing ain’t it?; I toil and toil and turn out mediocre stuff). Anyway, one of the myriad items that he pointed out dealt with the fact that a gentleman removes his hat inside. You see, hats are worn for the outside; or at least that’s how I was taught. But, this little rule had some exceptions. At least they appear to in Texas and Oklahoma, where I come from. You see, my dad always wore a Stetson—always. I can’t remember a time my dad went outside without a hat on. Heck, I have very few photographs of my dad without a hat—a Stetson to be more particular. Now, I know for a fact that there were times my dad did not remove his Stetson when he was inside. If he were in a store or a place of business, he wore his hat. If he were in a bar he wore his hat. If he were inside and standing, he wore his hat. However, he always removed it when he sat down. He never wore it at the table; regardless of whether we were eating at home or in a restaurant, the hat was always removed. He never wore his hat inside a church—never. When he wanted to show respect for a person, he removed his hat—always. It seems that dad believed there were common rules of courtesy if you were going to wear a hat. If you were not going to observe these rules, then don’t wear the hat. Ball caps were a totally different story. You always removed the cap when you went inside—anywhere. Fold it up and put it in your back pocket; it fits there. And, kids today don’t seem to understand that the bill on the hat has a purpose. It is to shield your eyes from the sun. The bill goes in front. For someone to go out in public wearing the hat on back-asswards was to invite some one to slap you silly. To my dad only an idiot or a smartass would wear his hat on backwards. That’s the way he was taught. The Marine Corps actually taught dad how to wear a ‘cover.’ There were only two ways to wear it: the Marine way and the wrong way. If you chose the wrong way, well, you deserved what you got. It may seem silly for me to spend a blog entry on wearing hats—so be it. But, this entry goes far deeper than just the hat. It speaks to the prevailing nonchalant way in which we treat our respect to others. There was a time when we were accountable for the things we did. There was a time when it was expected that we respect those who have warranted that respect, being our elders, moms and dads, and those of authority. There was a time when folks strived to be a functioning part of society—helpful even; so unlike today where our children are taught to be individuals and if it feels go do it, no matter the consequences. There was a time we earned the respect of others instead of felt we were entitled to it through no effort of our own. That’s what Budroe s list of do’s and don’ts said to me.It’s a lot like that hat rule. We went to the movies the other day; some goat roper came in with his hat on and sat in front of us. My wife and buddy could not see over the thing. When we asked him to take the thing off, you’d think we had violated him personally. We shouldn’t have had to say anything. We ate out after the movie and were talking about the rudeness of the cowboy. It was then we noticed a group of folks with half the guys wearing ball hats as they sat to eat—most of them were on backwards. Perhaps it is a fashion statement—maybe so; to me it’s just plain rude. I know, I'm just an old fart that needs to get a grip on it. But, humor me. Take the dang things off; I’m old and crotchety and it will help me control my blood pressure. |
| Title: Hurling Steel Date: June 8, 2007, Friday Thought: What in the world does it say about human intelligence that we would voluntarily place ourselves in these iron contraptions and hurl ourselves down these narrow ribbons at each other? Jog: Driving to my clients provides me with opportunity to think. Usually that would be a good thing since my brain certainly needs the exercise. But, sometimes thinking takes me to weird places and has me developing strange ideas and concepts. Often the topic is some facet of my job—perhaps a new approach or application of an old approach differently. Since many of my meetings are in the evening I am often required to be driving during some portion of the evening rush hour. I’ve come to the realization that is not where I really want to be. If it didn’t put bread on the table and satisfy the mortgage company I’d tell them to forget it; it simply is not worth it. But it is an unfortunate requirement of my job. Anyway, as I was fuming in creeping rush hour traffic the idiocy of the action struck me. What in the world does it say about human intelligence that we would voluntarily place ourselves in these iron contraptions and hurl ourselves down these narrow ribbons at each other? That has got to be some kind of dumb. At that moment I yearned for the open spaces. Although I am no horseman, the beauty of open range and a horse for your only mode of transportation was very refreshing. I can understand the hermits of this world and their desire to divorce themselves of humanity’s clutter. What instinct is it for man to wish to attach himself to the clutter of the urban environment, of which its closest equivalent would be the ant hill? We rush in and out of the hole, carrying our bit of litter to the storage house. Back and forth we travel, hurling ourselves down the roads in continual repetition. I don’t need that in my life nor do I want it. So, what can I do? Well, I am fortunate; I work for myself. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I actually work for each of my clients. Let that be a lesson…we all have a boss…even the boss. Working for myself gives me options that others do not have. I can choose my place of work. Until recently, I chose to house myself in an office downtown. It looked very professional, and hey! I was a member of the ant hill and looked the part. A couple of years ago I changed that. I moved out of my downtown office and into my house. Glad I did. Today, I can work in my underwear if I so desire. I don’t; but I could. Sometimes I don’t leave the house. I suppose that could be bad since there is no way I can have a “snow day” and not show up for work. Unfortunately, the move to my house has been difficult for my employees. You see, I moved them to their houses. I set up computers and equipment in their homes and tied it to the main computer in my house. We had all the access to files and stuff that we had in the office downtown. I thought it was great; they could not handle it. Some of us simply need the structure of the ‘clutter.’ I no longer have employees. I’ve determined to not hire them back. I want to divest myself of the clutter; not create more. And so it is doubly frustrating when I need to leave the security of my office/home and travel through the clutter of humanity. And that’s why I was so struck as I drove down the highway the other day, watching the steady stream of iron flinging down the road. Dutifully I found my place and paced myself. But I thought of gentler times and yearned for the small town way of life, free of the hassle and clutter of the metropolitan area. Those of you who are stuck in little out of the way places, don’t envy the urban dweller. Be thankful for what you have. It is becoming more valuable everyday, this small town life. Amazingly, the planning models for urban growth now strive to recreate the rural character of small towns. Millions and millions of dollars are being spent on developments that offer the amenities of small town living. Seems silly that folks don’t just move back to the small town. It’d be cheaper. But, I suppose we are selfish creatures; we want the benefits of the small town and the opportunities of the metropolitan clutter. Seems we want our cake and to eat it too. Guess I’ll just shut up and eat my cake. |
| Title: Are We Worthy? Date: June 7, 2007, Thursday Thought: Some of us will brush that question off as trivial. To some of us it doesn’t matter. Jog: Sixty-three years ago and one day—the beaches of Normandy were far from quiet. They held the aftermath of a great battle. It certainly was not pretty. The water was still red with blood and the landscape promised that nothing would or could ever grow again in such carnage. But that was sixty-three years and one day ago. D-Day—every student of military history and most nearly everyone of my generation knows of it. It was before my time. It was the time of another generation—my father’s generation. Some would say it was the last time we worked totally united as a nation for a single cause. There have been other battles and other wars, but none that have been embraced with shared resolve at this one. I suppose it was the last time the entire nation recognized tyranny and stood united against it. On that day, sixty-three years and one day ago, 2,500 U.S. soldiers died on the beaches. It is not our greatest loss; we lost 12,550 at the battle for Okinawa. For all of WWII it is estimated we lost somewhere near 300,000 fighting personnel. I wonder if we could do that today? Could we stand united with that kind of loss? Even if the cause were just, I don’t think we could. Our world has changed. It is much different. It thinks differently now than it did sixty-three years and one day ago. Now, I don’t know if that’s bad. It is scary though. I keep remembering the line from “Saving Private Ryan” where the old man remembers back and asks himself, “Have I lived a good life? Am I a good person?” What have we done with the country that they fought and died for? Are we worthy? Some of us will brush that question off as trivial. To some of us it doesn’t matter. Many of us don’t remember that time; it was before we were born. But, the question still begs an answered. Are we worthy? |
| Title: I Now Pronounce You Husband and Wife—I Think Date: June 3, 2007, Sunday Thought: If there is no legal record of their marriage are they really just roommates instead of husband and wife? Jog: That’s the way you do it; you take one step at a time. And, when you do you find that you get somewhere. Granted it is not always the destination that you were heading for in the beginning; but, in any case you are there. I sit today on the other side of a very busy weekend. We accomplished out mission to travel to Arkansas and perform a wedding ceremony. We did and they are—married that is. This brings an interesting idea to the front. In order to get married, my nephew (grand-nephew actually) had to get a license from the county clerk. That’s how it’s done everywhere. When I saw the ‘to-be-wed’ couple Friday night I had them give me the license so I could fill it out and send it in after I performed the ceremony—again, that’s how it’s done. After the ceremony, when I was back in my room, resting from all the festivities, I filled in the portion of the license that pertains to the official performing the deed. I dated it, testified to the ceremony, and placed the information regarding my registration in the appropriate place. All that was left to be done was to seal the envelope, put a stamp on the thing, and drop it in the mail. That’s where I began to ponder the possibilities. What if I neglected to mail the document? What if I was suddenly afflicted with instantaneous Alzheimer’s and simply forgot? What if I mailed it and the postal worker accidentally dropped the completed license in the shredder instead of sending it on its way? What if the clerk at the recording office was seized with a sneezing attack at the moment she recorded the entry and wrote a “5” instead of a “6” in the big book of registered marriages? What if the license simply never made it? Would this couple still be married? If there is no legal record of their marriage are they really just roommates instead of husband and wife? Having saved themselves for the wedding bed do they find six months latter that there is no record of their marriage and they are in fact engaging in flagrant pre-marital sex? Of course we all witnessed the ceremony and know the innocence of their intent. But if there is no legal record of a marriage, are they married? Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? The answer is, of course they are married. The marriage license simply documents the fact that a marriage occurred. The couple becomes husband and wife on the day I certify the ceremony happened. If the license is lost, I simply re-certify to the ceremony that occurred. If the minister croaks (dies) there is a church full of witnesses that attest to the happening. One way or the other, they are legally proclaimed to be married at the time of the ceremony. But it still makes you wonder. What if fifteen years later a couple is notified there is no legal record of their marriage and are requested to provide an affidavit attesting to the original ceremony; and what if they both willfully refuse? Are they free to go their separate ways? Hmmm…how would history ever know? Of course, I believe that the civil documentation of marriage is simply a statement of what has already occurred. Being a deeply religious person, I believe that a marriage is sanctioned and blessed by God, without the permission of the civil authorities. However, since we live among other people in a society of laws, we document our actions by records. The civil authorities in fact are not granting us the right and privilege to be married; they require only that we document what we have done. However, they have established some rules and regulations for this documentation; they will not document the union of a brother and sister or someone who is too young to understand their actions. They will not document more than one marriage at a time for each individual. And of course there are more. The bottom line is that marriage is a spiritual union of two people—a shared commitment of two lives. The civil action records the event into the annals of history, nothing more. But, every time I complete my portion of the license, it always makes me think, "What if?" And, this makes me think about you. When was the last time you saw your marriage license? You have seen your license, haven’t you? Hmm…Is it really recorded in that county court house? I’m sure it is. Well, it probably is. |
| Title: Frazzled in Texas Date: May 31, 2007, Thursday PM Thought: Good grief! Jog: Tomorrow morning is full. At 7:00 am I meet with my local Rotary Club for breakfast. I will leave early because there is much to do. I have to get home and walk Max before we leave to go to Hot Springs. It’s about a six hour drive. It is terrible, but I find I do not want to leave my dog at home. I have grown unbelievably attached to that black dog. My grandson, Ryan will be house sitting for us and will take Max for his walks. But even so, I will miss him. He is glued to me all day long. Since I work in my home, he has the opportunity to stay by my side constantly, which he does. I find myself reaching down beside me and scratching him behind the ears as I concentrate on my work. I talk to him constantly. We really are best buds. The last time I spent the evening without him I was in the hospital with my heart bypass surgery. Linda said he slept by the door the entire time I was in the hospital. The day I came home he was so happy to see me. He sniffed me well, particularly my incision. From that day on he has slept at the foot of my bed, never leaving me alone. Now, I ask you. How in the world did it come to this—that I would make such a big deal over a dog? Good grief--he’s just a dog. Anyway, tomorrow I have a six hour drive and then the wedding rehearsal. As many of you may be aware, I am officiating at the wedding of my grand-nephew (I think that’s what you call him…my niece’s son.) Saturday, early evening we will have the marriage and the reception. Sunday morning I will drive back. I dread this—the drive back. When I get back I am faced with multiple deadlines for which I am ill prepared. Lord, how did I ever get so snowed? I look forward to the day when I can lessen the load. Woe is me! Bottom line is that I will be out of pocket for a couple of days. Perhaps I will drop a line Sunday evening, if we get in early enough and I have the energy to prepare an entry. In any case I will miss all of you. And, Max—I’ll miss that silly black dog—Geez, give me a break. |
| Title: An Honor as Well as a Privilege Date: May 29, 2007, Tuesday Thought: It is really an honor to be able to be there at the very beginning of these lives together and say the very first words to the couple—a glorious honor indeed. Jog: Little honors drift into my life; and for that I am thankful. Many of you may not know that I am a minister. I know, you thought I was a businessman of sorts. Well, each of us, like diamonds are creatures of many facets. Along the journey of my life I briefly pastored a little church. It was a white washed wooden chapel with a steeple and a bell. On Sunday mornings, and on days of unusually significance, we would ring the bell. I smile at the thought of the bell in our steeple. It was not the electric type that echoes across the urban landscape of today. It was a bell attached to a rope. Someone had the novel idea that was how a bell should be rung. You know, with someone attached to the other end of the rope pulling it up and down. I digress; forgive me. I was ordained by two congregations who loved me very much. I was nurtured through my early years of ministry by patient and forgiving Christians. The Baptist’s of the State of Oklahoma educated me by granting me with a significant scholarship. From them I received my Bachelor’s of Arts degree. All I had to do was be faithful to them and preach the Gospel, which I did and still do today. And so it is that I became a minister—a reverend. That’s how the mail I received was addressed. However, I never thought I was anyone to be revered. As is the custom with Southern Baptist, I was content with simply being called Bother Dan. My service to the congregation of that little church was a joy and a privilege that I will always remember. There are many honors provided to a minister, other than getting to preach to a captive audience every Sunday morning. You may not believe it, but to officiate at a funeral is a great honor. To be considered worthy of providing comfort at that time is an awesome responsibility and a tremendous honor. It was a difficult thing to do, particularly because of the obvious emotion that exists at that time. Unfortunately, since the little community I served was an old rural town, I saw more than my fair share of funerals. When there are only three churches in town, there’s a good likelihood you will be asked to perform this solemn task; and I often was. There are some stories I can share with you connected with this particular service. Someday I may do that. However, one of the other honors a minister has is that of performing the marriage ceremony. And I have done my fair share of those also. Interestingly, it appears that is one of the honors which keeps on presenting itself to me, even after I’ve stopped pastoring a church. I still perform marriages from time to time. Of course, I limit those opportunities to only special couples. Over the years, I’ve performed the wedding ceremonies of both my children, two nieces, a sister-in-law, both daughters of our (Linda and my) best friends, and scores of good friends. It is really an honor to be able to be there at the very beginning of these lives together and say the very first words to the couple—a glorious honor indeed. Several months ago I was contacted by my niece’s oldest son. He asked if I would officiate at his wedding. Of course, I will. So, this Friday, I will be taking off of work early and Linda and I will travel to Hot Springs, Arkansas. We will have the rehearsal that evening and the wedding on Saturday afternoon. It will be held outside at the pavilion adjacent to the Lake. I’ve been working on rewriting the ceremony I use. I like to write something special for each wedding so that it will be uniquely theirs. The couple, DJ and Brandy, will be having a Unity Sand observance as part of their ceremony. This is the first for me so I’ve written something special for it. All in all it should be a very nice experience. I consider myself blessed. Hopefully I will get to do this for my grandchildren. When I consider what God has given me in these years I’ve lived on the earth, I must agree that it has been one of abundance. What in the world did I do to deserve it? But, then I remember—I don’t deserve it. He just gave it to me as a gift; just because he loves me—that’s all. |
| Title: Is it Me? Date: May 28, 2007, Monday Thought: There appears to be an attitude of hostility in our society that was not there when I was a teenager. Jog: OK, I want to know. I want to know if it’s just me? I want to know if I am a prudish ole’ fart who is totally out of touch with what is acceptable or not. I realize times have changed. Folks seem to do things in public that my dad would have slapped me silly for doing. Is it just me? Am I the only one who wants to stand up in the middle of a crowd and scream, “OK, NOW YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR—YOU DOLT!” My neighbors across the street went to a band recital at the high school the other day. After it was over and they were walking to their car, a young man and his mother were walking in front of them. The kid was obviously angry. In fact he was yelling at his mother. Something like, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE YOU FAT, UGLY, BITCH. I’LL DO WHATEVER THE F - - K I WANT TO DO. GET IN THE F - - KING CAR!!” My neighbor tells me the mother was in tears and did as she was told. However, my neighbor pulled the young man around and shoved him up against the car and said, “What do you think you’re doing? That’s your mother. Show her the respect she deserves!” To this the young punk flung a stream of curse words at my neighbor and started towards him. My neighbor grabbed the kid and tossed him in the car, where his mother apologized and continued to cry. There appears to be an attitude of hostility in our society that was not there when I was a teenager. Of course, I was rebellious and did some stupid stuff. But never, NEVER did I disrespect my mother. That is obvious because I’m still living. Had I done that my dad would have killed me or made me wish I was dead. Similarly, Linda and I were eating out at one of our favorite family restaurants the other evening. It was a buffet where you serve yourself. Folks were milling around grazing at the different stations. In front of me was a teenager. He didn’t yell or spew any profanity. He didn’t have to, his shirt said it all. Written in large letters across the front and back was this saying, “I Really Don’t F - - king Care!” Please, I just don’t get it! I can’t believe someone would actually make a conscious decision to put that piece of trash on and walk through a family restaurant. Where the heck are his parents? They ought to be slapped silly themselves! Has being rude become the expected conduct of the day? Are there no boundaries anymore? Have I become totally archaic and out of touch with civility? Are Linda and I the only one who were offended? Why wasn’t he refused service? Why do we have to accept this as being normal? Why do we not rise in justified indignation against such action. This attitude is mirrored by the rappers who sing about disrespecting the police and any other from of authority. Why do we glorify and reward the profanity and hate which is spewed out to our kids in that media? Instead of condemning them we make them millionaires and idols. What is the world coming to when we set the bar of moral standard so low? We live in one of the greatest nations in the world. We have total freedom to be what we want to be and do what we want to do. There once was a dream that hard work and right living was rewarded with advancement and a better life. It can still happen today. But we are eroding that dream and cheapening the lifestyle. Our permissive view of freedom has given us the right to abuse that very freedom and even destroy it. Somewhere along the way freedom became synonymous with entitlement. Freedom without limitations can be chaos. Total freedom without accountability destroys that freedom. And, rewards that are not earned through hard work are not appreciated. What does all this have to do with the smart mouth punk encountered by my neighbor or the insensitive idiot with the profane shirt at our family restaurant? Well, somehow I feel they are a product of this age. There are no boundaries set before them. They respect nothing and no one because they have been taught that they are entitled to the profits of this great society at any cost, but certainly at no cost to themselves. That’s why family values are so important. It begins with the family. When the family breaks down, so do the values. Have I missed something here? Am I wrong? Am I just saying the things that every senior generation says about the adolescent generation? I hope it’s just that I’m a senile old fart. I hope that is it. Because if it is not, then we are in trouble. And, I don’t see how we can get ourselves out of the fatal downward spiral. I apologize to each of you for this seemingly negative entry. But, Good Grief! I just want to know if it’s me?! |
| Title: Daily Entries of the Presidential Kind Date: May 27, 2007, Sunday Thought: He had a sense of right and wrong that confirmed that he believed he was not above the law nor that his position gave him any privilege that made him better than anyone else. Jog: Years ago I developed a reading program that I loosely follow. Realizing that it is important to be exposed to a wide range of topics, I placed five books on my desk. By the way, this is a good use for those decorative bookends that we wonder how in the world we will ever use. Anyway, five books go on my desk: a current fiction book, a devotion of some sort, my Bible, a non-fiction book, and a biography. The idea is that as I complete one I replace it with one of similar category. Sometimes the categories change often—sometimes not. I change my Bible with another Bible, usually a different translation; I have many. This little system helps keep me out of a rut. I replaced my biography this week with a new book-The Reagan Diaries as edited by Douglas Brinkley. Thus far I am impressed with the book. Do you realize that of the forty-three US presidents only four of them kept a daily personal journal while in office? Those of us who write these blogs know how difficult it is to take a moment to jot down ones thoughts for the day. I consider myself as being a very busy person. But, my simple life pales in comparison to the demands of a president. Shame on me for justifying idleness in these pages on my busy schedule. What I am finding in the pages of Reagan’s diaries is a glimpse of the real person. Amazingly, I find the same person that I saw on TV. I did not find the bumbling and inept person that a drama driven press media tried to portray of him while he was in office. Nope, I found the guy that I thought was there all the time. Reagan was a very simple person. What you saw was what you got. He was a moral person. He had a sense of right and wrong that confirmed that he believed he was not above the law nor that his position gave him any privilege that made him better than anyone else. That’s what I found in his writing. Somewhere I read an example of this. During one of his stays in the hospital, he spilled a glass of water on the floor. Instead of waiting for the attendants to clean it up, he climbed out of bed and got on his hands and knees to wipe up the spill. The Vice-President, who was visiting at the time, gasped, “Mr. President, please, the attendants will do that.” Reagan quietly continued to wipe the floor on his hands and knees and informed all who were there that he had to do this. He was concerned that if a supervisor saw the water they may think the attendant did it. It was his mess and he would clean it up. We find in Reagan a man who is sensitive regarding propriety, so much so that even profanity, which overcomes us all at times, was delicately handled. Instead of writing “hell” he wrote “h—l”; and instead of writing “damn” he wrote “d--n.” Profanity, violence, and nudity in the movies bothered him; and helped to determine whether or not he liked the movie. Our fortieth president was deeply in love with his wife, Nancy. There would never be any scandal or questions of infidelity during his presidency. There were no starlets sneaked into the White House and no questions about whether the thing that was done with a young staffer was sex or not. Time and again I read where he was lonely when he and Nancy were separated by official duties. He valued home and loved the earth and animals. No doubt from what we have read there were issues with his children; but what’s new. We all have issues with family members. He was an honest man. The truth was more than words; it included actions and intentions. He was firmly convinced that what he was doing was right and he stubbornly held to those convictions. Whether Reagan’s approaches to the economic and social problems of that time were correct is for others to determine, as history surely will. But, there can be no doubt that his policy toward the Soviet Union brought it to its knees and shattered the Iron Curtain. What I found in these entries was a man who stood for something. He was not constantly reinventing himself to meet the whims of the most recent poll. Nope, in his case, what you saw was truly what you got. Many of us are political creatures. Our perception of the person is molded first by the political party to which they are attached. There is no way we can divorce Ronald Reagan from the Republican Party. There is no doubt that he was Republican. So, if you can, forget that. Just look for the man in these writings. And, when you read the diaries, if you do, don’t expect deep political thought to be explained. You will not find eloquent passages of flowing narrative. You might not even find a single quote that moves you, although I think you will. The entries are simple and often mundane; but, they are consistent. No single entry defines the work; it takes the compiled volume of entries to paint the canvas. And, when you stand back and look at the completed canvas, only then do you get a feel of who the total man was. I like the feeling I received. |
| Title: Keep On Pluggin' Date: May 25, 2007, Friday Thought: Sometimes it just doesn't happen. Jog: Sometimes it just doesn't happen. There are moments when I stand ready, with pen in hand and a blank sheet before me, to write the Great American Novel. But, there I sit with anticipation; and nothin' happens. I realize this "empty well syndrome" is normal. Or at least it appears to be a normal occurrence from the comments that surface in these blogs. And, I realize it's a "just hold on and something will come" solution. And so I wait; and, nothing comes. It happens in all areas of life: writing, job, home. This morning I woke early. Surprise! I always wake early. Anyway, I got up around 4:00am and positioned myself behind the computer. After staring at the blank screen for a moment I did the easiest thing; I clicked the Internet button and soon found myself in the world of WDC. Down the path of least resistance I walked. I first clicked on my email. There were six messages waiting there; I tossed the first "You Haven't Updated Your Blog, Dummy!" message and moved on to the other five. I now owe five nice people a comment. I stared at the Reply button; nothing came. And so I did the easiest thing; I clicked the "blogs" button and pulled up the recent blogs list. I read a few, smiled a lot, marveled at how different our lives are, and considered myself blessed to be in this place. They each deserved a comment--yes! absolutely deserved them!--well, nothing came. It is sort of a miracle that this entry has progressed as far as it has, seeing that nothing seems to be coming this morning. But, I suppose it is not much of a miracle to be rambling. But there is purpose in this idle wandering. For, I have discovered that even when the well seems to be void of any moisture, something is still there. There is a remnant waiting to prime the pump. So, what does that mean? Well, it means that although nothing seems to be coming right now, it will not last. Shortly, I will course with thought and creativity. I will produce what needs to be produced. It may be forced, but, once flowing, the stream of thought will flow again. So, what is the moral to this little piece? When things are just not coming, keep plugging along until they do...and they will. Just keep on plugging. Try it. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: The Challenge of a Miles and Mountains. Date: May 21, 2007, Monday Thought: One of the easiest thing to do is to start a race. Have you ever noticed that everyone looks good at the starting line? Jog: You know, there are two sides to a coin: heads and tails. There are two positions on a light switch: on and off. The saying goes, “You either are or you’re not.” That applies to most stuff physical, like pregnancy, breathing, even heartbeats. Like, you can’t be sorta pregnant nor sorta dead. When the ticker stops tickin’ you’re dead. You either are or you’re not. Some things go together; like you can’t have a finish without a start. You can’t land without going up. I like to think things are that simple; but both you and I know they are not. Take for example starting and finishing. While it is true that you can never finish what you don’t start, I discovered that things that are started may often be left unfinished. And that’s the one thing that’s driving me bonkers right now. I am an outstanding starter. It appears that I’m world class. I have started dozens of projects, both professionally and personally, that are now out there in limbo somewhere unfinished. One of the easiest thing to do is to start a race. Have you ever noticed that everyone looks good at the starting line? Heck, we’re all in first place at that point. But let the starter’s pistol sound and in just a few seconds it is soon apparent who will finish and who will lag behind. The Boston Marathon is a little race of 26 miles. This year over 23,000 people stood at the starting line and began a trek that takes on average anywhere from 3hrs 10min to 5 hrs (the latter if you’re eighty years old) to finish. In fact the winner this year finished with a time of two hours and fourteen minutes, which makes me want to rest just thinking about it. It is an amazing statistic that over 20,000 people finished the race, that’s 85% of the people. But, consider the fact that to qualify to even enter the race requires tremendous dedication and enormous discipline, not to mention extreme physical sacrifice. It is only the best of the best who are permitted to run in the thing; and even then fifteen percent of these people never see the finish line. Samantha Larson, 18 yrs old, has become the youngest American to ever climb Mt. Everest. On May 18 she stood at the top of the world, an accomplishment that is on many peoples list of things to accomplish but is rarely fulfilled. The mountain is 29,000 feet in elevation. I was amazed to learn that it is still growing. Today it is six feet taller than it was in 1999. This means that Samantha has climbed higher than anyone else in the world. To get to the top she had to take a first step. And, her name did not go into the record books until she took the last step at the top of the world. Isn’t that an amazing accomplishment? Samantha is no rookie at climbing mountains. In 2001 when she was twelve years old she and her father climbed Mr. Kilimanjaro. In fact, of the seven summits of the continents, Samantha has climbed six of them. The reward for taking the final step of any journey is tremendous. Finishing is one of the greatest challenges I face in my work. If I were good at it I’d be a very rich man today. But, I’ve cost my firm thousands of dollars by procrastinating on finishing projects. I have to confess, though; there is an art in learning how to finish assignments. I do it better than most, at least better than anyone I’ve ever had working for me. But, even then it is not good enough. I look at a dozen projects that are begging to be finished today. All I can say is that I’m working at them. I’ve got a couple that I’ve just started…even they are behind now begging for me to finish my start. I want to be a great finisher. I don’t really care about my form at the starting line. It’s the finish I want to master. Of course there’s a whole bunch of stuff between the start and finish that I have to do also, but right now I’d like to focus on finishing. I’m making a mental list of the stuff I have to finish. I’m thinking of all those stories that are left unfinished, that book that is waiting for publication, all those writing projects I’ve wondered about. On my list are all the home projects we have to finish—painting, constructing, replacing—Geeze! There are projects connected with my church and my personal spiritual relationship with my Creator that are still undone. I am dismayed and somewhat discouraged by the task before me. It might as well be 26 miles of pavement or 29,000 feet of mountain. But, at least 20,000 people showed me that 26 miles of pavement can be conquered and one 18 year old woman proved you can climb any mountain. Each one of them did it one step at a time. I suppose I can too. The question is do I have the discipline and determination to do it? I guess I’ll find out. How about you? |
| Title: A Timely Reminder Date: May 19, 2007, Saturday Thought: Most disturbing is the proclamations I hear of folks who whine about how dang old they are getting, only to commiserate that they are approaching forty-five. Heck, I’d take forty-five in a heartbeat! Jog: I keep getting these little reminders that time relentlessly marches on. You can no more hold back the evening tide than stop the march of time. Life has a way of reminding you of that ironclad fact in little but sure ways—like the little pains you get in the morning you never got as a child or perhaps the fact that gravity seems to be a little more aggressive with your body than it was, let’s say, thirty years ago. I now seek out the quiet places to dine—away from the chatter and racket of children and teenagers. I don’t understand the music of this generation; my God! I sound like my grandparents. And one of the most telling pieces of evidence lay in the fact that everyone of authority seems to be getting right out of high school—like my doctor, attorney, banker, police officers, and on and on. Most disturbing is the proclamations I hear of folks who whine about how dang old they are getting, only to commiserate that they are approaching forty-five. Heck, I’d take forty-five in a heartbeat! My mortality nudged me in the ribs yesterday. I received a phone call from my daughter-in-law asking me if I could do a favor. Well, of course I could. She asked that I bring my camera over to her house and photograph Lauren, my granddaughter, before she went to a school dance. Now, does a bear go in the woods? I take any opportunity I can to be with my grandkids. And, I must say, Lauren holds a special place in my heart, as you can see from my last entry in these blog pages. I snatched up my camera and happily motored right over to her house. My heart stopped when I walked in the door and saw Lauren. Time literally slapped me silly. My granddaughter, who is twelve years old, morphed into a young woman. She is not supposed to do that so suddenly. Apparently, she forgot that I recently had heart surgery. Needless to say my heart rate increased and tasked my renovated heart. It was a bittersweet experience. I beamed at the beautiful young lady standing before me and at the same time searched desperately for the little girl who sends me post-it notes. I realized one of them was slipping out of my life while the other one eagerly sought to replace her. Intellectually I realize that Lauren has got to grow up. I witnessed this with my own children, who somewhere discarded toy Tonka trucks for families of their own. I know that. It is just shocking to watch it at times. Of course, I would not have it any other way. I am amazed at the beautiful young minds that my grandchildren are growing into. I am excited that they have new and broadening experiences to embrace. I live again vicariously through them. It’s just that dang time thing—at times it doesn’t slow down to let me take a breath. However, I am a quick recoverer. I regroup and turn philosophical, as you can see. I reason that I might as well enjoy life as it will not wait on me to learn how; and there certainly is no sense fighting it. So, like always, I simply enjoy the moment. And I count my blessings; I do a lot of counting. I have an opportunity to spend this moment living. I think I’ll spend it as wisely as I can. Maybe it will help me learn how to spend the next. Oh, and I thought I would post some photos of the young beauty that caused this little entry. Go on and tell me how wonderful she is. I already know, but it makes me happy for you to say it. That’s how old folks are, you know? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: She Left Me a Post-It Note Date: May 5, 2007, Saturday Thought: I’ve deposited them in my library of memories to bring out on cold nights and distressed times when I need something very nice to remind me of how good life is. Jog: Lauren is thirteen going on twenty-one. At least she thinks so. She is still five years old in my books and a candidate for snuggles and noisy smooches that always brought giggles that melted my heart. I know those days are gone. Just like the days I spent with her father at that age. I’ve deposited them in my library of memories to bring out on cold nights and distressed times when I need something very nice to remind me of how good life is. She and her brothers spent the evening with us last night. We wined and dined them, which consisted of Dr. Peppers and all the Chinese food they could stand. We visited with them through the meal, which was a veritable competition of word flinging. Her older brother, by shear bravado, dominated the conversation. Ryan is fourteen going on twenty-one himself. Zachary, the youngest at nine-years-old fought for stolen moments to insert his gems of wisdom. But, Lauren graced the conversation with her smiles, rolling eyes, and thirteen-year-old gossip. I must admit she is a very lovely young lady. I’m alarmed that she has developed curves and shapes that testify she is no longer a little girl. I’m even more alarmed when I consider the adolescent young men who have undoubtedly also noticed. Having had two boys to raise, this is a new experience for me. I’m not sure I like it. I assume as long as I still get the prerequisite and much deserved hugs I will permit maturity to work its wonders on her. Without a doubt she has won my heart, but that was accomplished on the day she was born. As we gathered in the hospital room immediately after her grand entrance, she was handed to me first to hold. What a marvelous privilege. I whispered to her my everlasting affection as I gazed at her tiny face. She had won; that portion of my heart is forever hers. And so after a decade and three years and a fraction, I listened again to her giggle and drank in again that tiny face. After she left the house, her presence remained in my consciousness. She does not need to be in the same room with me to cause my heart to melt; she need only be in my memory. The house was quiet after her brothers and she were claimed by her parents and ushered home. Looking for something to fill the moment, I wandered upstairs to my office. As I sat at the desk I noticed a Post-It note stuck to the screen of my computer. My eyes misted as I read the note. In very neat handwriting was written in very large letters, “Hey Grampa! This is your beautiful granddaughter, Lauren. I love you!” I know; but, thanks for reminding me. |
| Title: Am I Blue? Date: May 1, 2007, Tuesday Thought: Why is it some days I am more inclined to make entries than on others. Some days just seem to have more motivation. Like the first day of a series Jog: The thing about the first day of the month is that it DEMANDS an entry. There is no way you can have an all blue month if you don’t make the first day. But, oh the pressure it places on you. On this first entry you’re batting 1000. You have a perfect score. Of course it’s only one day; but you can honestly say you have a blue month so far. Now, I know it won’t last. I know work will sneak in and claim my time and make me stumble. Shoot, the likelihood is tomorrow will be black. But, as for today, well, today I’m all blue. Why is it some days I am more inclined to make entries than on others. Some days just seem to have more motivation. Like the first day of a series…the first of the week, the first of the month, the first of the year. Saturdays and Sundays are always more conducive for making entries; those are the days I try to ignore my workload and just do stuff. Although, any day at 3:00 am works for me. I figure if I’m gonna be up at that ungodly hour I’ll dang well do with it as I please. I bet somewhere in the “Master Stats” the purple cases pour over statistics that show when folks are online and when they are blogging. They probably nod their head at the first day of the month and say, “Yup, there they go; everyone’s posting on the first day. Bet it won’t last though.” Well, all I can say is, “I’ve done my part!” Hmmm…I’m all blue this month, so far. |
| Title: Making Dreams Come True Date: April 30, 2007, Monday Thought: Dreams don’t have to be extravagant. They don’t have to be earth-shattering. However, it isn’t wrong if they are. Jog: What is a dream? Other than being a nightly occurrence in our sleep, dreams are difficult to explain. I suppose they are our wildest hopes and aspirations; they are where we want to be; they are our idea of fulfillment, and a reward for a life’s hard work. Dreams are fairy tales and happy endings, Prince Charming, and the Winner’s Circle. They are the motivation of our life and the things that carry us through another boring and mundane day. They can be simple as well as complex—attainable and yet sometimes beyond our imagination. If we can conceive of them, we can claim them. And sometimes we can realize them. All great things in life begin as a dream. The Taj Mahal first began in the mind of a dreamer. His dream was to build the most magnificent palace for his bride. It was fulfilled in a different form as it became the most beautiful and greatest memorial to his love. For centuries man has watched the skies and yearned for the freedom of flight as the eagle soared high above. Crude machines and contraptions were invented to claim this dream, but it was never realized until two brothers who owned a bicycle shop broke the bonds that hold us to the earth on a field at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Today men and women streak through the skies on silver wings fulfilling the dreamers of yesterday and validating the yearnings they felt as they stared into the challenge of the skies. In 1936 a young black man raced around the track in the Berlin Olympics. Young Jesse Owens won four gold metals and humbled Adolph Hitler, who was using the Olympics to showcase the superiority of his Arian Society. Owens was the son of a sharecropper who was the son of a slave. He lived in poverty and attended college by working part time. He never received a scholarship and was not permitted to live on-campus because of the color of his skin. And yet his accomplishments on the track have not been surpassed, even until today. He had a dream; it was rooted in the same dream of Martin Luther King who affirmed in his great speech: “I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.” How do we realize our dreams? Do we wait on them until they happen to us? Are we bystanders in the cosmic order of things where fortune slams into us unrelated to our actions? Unfortunately, there are some who believe that they are entitled to realize their dreams—that someone, somewhere owes them. That is a sad state in which to be. For there is no true appreciation of dreams which are realized absent of hard work and personal sacrifice. The realization of dreams is not gifted to us; it is earned. It is similar to the concept of ‘luck.’ The successful person is often referred to as ‘lucky’ to be where they are. However, that successful person is there not because of chance but rather because of hard work. Their luck is measured by the sweat of their brow and the bruised muscles and bent backs of hours of labor. People are making their luck even today. It’s the young person who waits on tables during the evening hours and attends class during the day, it’s the young mom and dad who spend hard long hours in mundane jobs so their children may have a better life than they did, it’s the immigrant who left family and home across foreign borders to seek a better place to be, and it’s simple folks like you and me, working to make ends meet. Dreams don’t have to be extravagant. They don’t have to be earth-shattering. However, it isn’t wrong if they are. Heck, dreams don’t really have to be reasonable. It’s realizing the truly unreasonable dreams that have catapulted our society through the technology age. We are literally seeing things happen that our grandparents would never have taken seriously. Remember, every accomplishment is rooted in a dream. That being the case, it is important to affirm that each one of us needs to dream. But, more importantly, each one of us needs to reach for that dream—to expend an effort to realize it. We may never succeed in achieving our dreams. For one thing, dreams have a way of evolving and refining as we move toward them. My dreams of yesterday are much different than my dreams of today. However, they are basically the same dream. I may never get there—realize my dreams. But, I’m not so sure I need to. Because, it’s not the dream that fulfills my life; it’s the journey. Along the journey to realize my dreams, I’ve found that the effort of seeking my dream has provided rewards that, when accounted for, mirror the dream itself. It is the backward glance of where I’ve been and the journey I’ve taken that affirm the dream I’ve realized. And so, with nearly sixty years of striving to realize my dreams, what makes me continue the journey?--the hope that the final reward is just around the corner, the excitement and challenge of stepping a little closer, the assurance that what I’ve done has not been for naught. All these things and more keep me seeking my dreams. And, the marvelous thing is that I’ve found the journey to realize my dreams has become part of the dreams itself. What a wonderful life we have. We may never realize our dreams, but then again we may. And, when I do, I know what I’ll do. I’ll set new goals before me; I’ll dream new dreams. For, I’ve discovered that it is not the dream that brings me joy; it’s the journey to my dream. Good dreaming. |
| Title:Does Absence Really Make the Heart Grow Fonder? Date: April 28, 2007, Saturday Thought: They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Does it? There is another saying, “Out of sight, out of mind.” Which one holds more truth in it? Jog: I’ve been out of WDC for over a week now. The load and strain of work and life in general has demanded my attention elsewhere. OK, so I ran off and did stuff. I’m still stuffing it. Seems as if it does not matter how much sleep I lose or how hard I attack the monster, it’s still there. My life is measured by deadlines. I move from crisis to crisis, dousing the flames that invariably spark up again when left unattended. Who would have thought I’d become a virtual fireman at this time of my life. And that’s why I’ve been away, putting out fires. I’m pleased that a few individuals have dropped by to inquire as to my well being and express well appreciated concern. That’s what friends do. I suspect most folks are tied up in work and other concerns that they simply did not notice my absence. And that’s understandable also. But, an absence such as this makes you wonder if anyone would really notice if you were gone for good. Well, of course some would mind, they’re friends for goodness sakes. But, most folks would not really care much. There is no animosity there, just ambivalence. That’s the way we are. All of us. We develop many friends in our lives and through the course of living we move from one stage to another in our life, dropping friends and loosing track of others. I think back at my best friends in high school. When I was living in that time I would have thought some of them would have been fast friends forever. Well, in fact some of them are, but that does not mean I’ve been in touch with them recently. Heck, I don’t even know it some of them are still alive. Our lives change like the changing of the season. The changes are not abrupt but gradual. Every morning I watch the daylight break as Max and I take our morning walk. I am always amazed that I never know just when daylight happened, even though I watched it break. I perceive the changes around me; things gradually become a little more visible, and by the end of the walk I see the remarkable difference of the brightness of the morning compared with the shadows of the night that faded away imperceptively before my eyes. Today, many of you are my friends. WDC is a special place. It is a place where we meet new people, share our dreams, kid with each other, and even endure a little drama every now and then. It’s a place where relationships are born and cultivated. It is like no other site I have ever belonged to. But, a catastrophic event, change in technology, or even financial difficulty can all interrupt our routine in here. It only takes a little time before we loose tack of our new friends. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Does it? There is another saying, “Out of sight, out of mind.” Which one holds more truth in it? I don’t really know—perhaps you do. All I know is that I intend to still be around, even it if there are occasional breaks in regularity. I wonder if anyone will be around to visit with me? Will it be “absence makes the heart grow fonder” or will it be “out of sight, out of mind?” I don’t know; I guess it depends on how long I’m gone. |
| Title: Blood is Not Thicker Than the IRS Date: April 16, 2007, Monday Thought: Being a southerner, I take particular offense to the fact that it appears I’m still paying the North to whip our butts down here. Jog: I am not a happy camper. How in the world do things get so fouled up? I’m talking about the IRS. Do you know that it was never supposed to be a permanent force in our lives? Nope, when the dang thing was created in 1862 it was for the sole purpose of funding the North’s effort in the Civil War. Being a southerner, I take particular offense to the fact that it appears I’m still paying the North to whip our butts down here. To heap insult onto injury, the first Commissioner of the IRS, appointed by Abraham Lincoln was George Sewell Boutwell. You guessed it, one of my descendants. You’d think he would cut me a little slack…I don’t care if he HAS been dead for a hundred years. Our accountant has finally sort of gotten our return to us. And I DO mean sort of. It’s a little late, but there is a good reason for that. It appears that someone has stolen all the returns mailed from the accountant to their clients which were mailed on April 9th. You guessed it; ours was one of them. Now, the accounting firm, which is a large national firm, has gotten the post office inspectors involved in tracking the problem. The next step is to bring the police into the picture. They suspect the thieves are going to send in the returns with altered return addresses and then attempt to cash the checks. In any case, the low life thieves have information regarding the annual income of the clients and their Social Security Numbers. This is not good people. So, we will be sending in a duplicate return tomorrow. Now, that is only part of the bad news. It appears I have to pay the government this year. Yup, when all was said and done the bottom line said, “Give me more money!” As if I haven’t already given them enough. But, no, my blood lineage with George Sewell Boutwell will carry no weight as I write an additional $5,000 check and send it into the black void of the Federal Government. Now, that is all bad. But, I got to thinking. Maybe it will turn out OK. We know that thieves are lazy people and not too bright. I was thinking, if they are sending in the returns to get the money refunds, just maybe—maybe they will see that mine owes money and write the check and send it in. Don’t laugh, it could happen. |
| Title: Wanna See a Photo of My Kid? Date: April 15, 2007, Sunday Thought: But, the way I have it figured you’ve now had opportunity to beat a hasty retreat out of my blog if you need to. Jog: I don’t mind looking at a photo or two of someone’s kid. In fact I rather enjoy it. What I don’t enjoy is looking at dozens of them. Oh, I can take it just fine every now and then, but some folks think I’m interested each and every time I see them. I would never be so rude to tell them so. But, I grimace inwardly when I see certain folks because I know the next thirty minutes will be spent talking about junior and looking at sixteen different poses of him as a cumquat in the school play—you see one cumquat and you’ve seen them all. Now, if the child happens to be one of my grandchildren that is a totally different story, being that they are all gorgeous and quite photogenic. I have a couple hundred photos to show you if you don’t believe me. I bring this up because I am going to show you a photo I took this morning. It’s one of my dog. Now, I know I’m like those obnoxious people showing reams of photos of junior the cumquat. I apologize right now for that. But, the way I have it figured you’ve now had opportunity to beat a hasty retreat out of my blog if you need to. Many of your know that I had quadruple bypass heart surgery last August. One of the things the doc told me to do was to be sure and exercise. Well, among other things, I walk my dog; it’s a heart-healthy thing to do. We walk anywhere from 1.5 miles to three miles daily. It’s good for both of us. As a Lab who lives inside the house it expends some of the energy he builds every day, and as an aging fat guy with heart issues it builds my cardio system. Like I said, it’s good for both of us. What is strange is that we have discovered a completely new community during these little walks. To my amazement there are other folks who regularly hit the trails at the same time Max and I do. It’s funny but we have a different network in the morning than in the afternoon. In the mornings we run into Missy and her owners, either Vicki or Henry. Also in the morning we run into a couple of toy poodles, Maggie and Charlie and their owner Neal. As we make our way onto the golf course, Ernie and Mattie, two Scotch Terriers always scamper across the fairway to see Max. Their owner rides dutifully behind in his golf cart. In the afternoon we encounter Oreo and his Masters David and Sherry and their kids, of whom Max likes five-year-old Nathan the best. The afternoon usually finds Shadow, another poodle waiting in his front yard for Max to walk by. And then there is Jessie, another black Lab who loves Max and scampers around him and sometimes tags along for the whole trip around the lake. Occasionally, we run into Ollie a miniature something who barks like crazy at Max, sending his owner into hysterics every time. You see Max would use him as a snack if he so wished, and Ollie is scared stiff of all the dogs his size. It really is funny to see. Max simply ignores him. Now, you may think this little entry is about my dog Max, again. But, really it is not. It is about community. As a municipal planner, that is what I try to do—build community. We need places where people have the opportunity to interact with each other. They need to be pedestrian oriented places. Instead of concentrating on bigger streets and bigger lots, we need to concentrate on making our spaces good places for community. That means the sidewalks need to be wider; there needs to be open spaces where folks can walk and visit with each other. We need to have lakes and parks and trails built into our subdivisions, even if the lots and houses have to be a little smaller. Take if from me large lots do not necessarily represent value and quality. It’s the amenities that count. Make the amenities good enough and regardless of the size of lot the quality of life will be raised. I see it as Max and I practice community every day as we walk. It works; I’ve spent a lifetime watching and learning how it works. OK, I said I was going to share a photo of my dog, Max. This is one that I took of him and his girlfriend Missy. These two are really something to watch together. Max will look for her every day. When he sees her he just lights up. It is the same with her. They are constant motion so it was not easy to get a photo. But I snapped this one in a lull in the action. You can’t see it, but she has her paw resting on his shoulder. It is a result of community. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Pennies From Heaven Date: April 14, 2007, Saturday Thought: I’m not sure I will like a world without pennies. They have been part of my life all my life. Jog: I found a penny the other day. It was just lying in the parking lot. No telling how many other folks just walked right on by and left it there. A penny is not worth much anymore. I know it’s worth one-cent, just like it was on the first day it was minted. But the value of one cent has changed. In fact the metal is worth more than a penny. You can’t buy anything for a penny. When I was a kid the gum machines were all operated on a penny. At least you could get a piece of gum—not today. Today it’ll take you a quarter to get a piece of gum. Isn’t that pitiful. So, about that penny I found. The date on it was 1960; it was minted in Denver. I held it in my hand and pondered about that date 47-years ago. I remembered the age but not particularly the year. So, when I got home I did a little research on 1960. Dwight Eisenhower was president of the US when 1960 began. By November John Kennedy had been nominated and finally elected over Richard Nixon as president. The first Playboy Club with bunnies opened for business in Chicago. The age of the sexual revolution of the 60’s was dawning. Russia shot down an American U-2 spy plane piloted by Gary Powers. He was later placed on trial and convicted of espionage. The USSR also jumped forward in the space race by putting two dogs into space for short orbits. The US was looking forward at Vietnam; the French, defeated at Dien Bien Phu in 1954, left the door open for the US to take the lead in that sector. The Olympics was held that year and a young black fighter named Cassius Clay won the gold medal. As Mohammed Ali, he later became the greatest fighter of American Sports History. I was in the sixth grade and looked forward to a great summer doing nothing particular except playing. That penny, like many of us has been through a lot. I wonder who held it over the years? Where did it travel? If it could speak, what tale would it tell? You know, the Federal Government is considering doing away with pennies. It seems they are more trouble than they are worth. In fact, as I mentioned earlier, the metal is valued at more than one cent, so that means we are losing money every time we mint one of them. The first penny was struck in 1787. The Lincoln penny, which is the one we are familiar with today was first minted in 1909, and was the first coin to bear the motto “IN GOD DO WE TRUST.” The copper colored coin was in fact copper when it first was minted; however, the coin now consists of 99% zinc. If they do away with the penny the methodology would be to not change any pricing at all. The amount would simply be rounded up or down to the nearest nickel. I’m not sure I will like a world without pennies. They have been part of my life all my life. As a child they were the only thing I could save. I seemed to spend the others. We would have to change our ways a little. Do folks still wear “penny loafers” that have a penny tucked into the face of the leather? Do you remember that? And it just doesn’t seem the same asking, “A nickel for your thoughts.” We would also need to change the words of the old song “Pennies From Heaven” to “Nickels from Heaven.” Or in our age of inflation it would probably need to be “Quarters from Heaven.” The lyrics would have to change to: “ Every time it rains it rains Quarters from heaven. Don't you know each cloud contains Quarters from heaven. You'll find your fortune falling All over town…” Hmmm…not the same is it? Well I hope they keep the pennies. I like them—always have. So, the next time you walk by a discarded penny laying on the sidewalk, pick it up. Even though it is valued less than it is worth, it’s special. President Bush has approved new designs for the penny to take effect in 2009. We likely will not be seeing the Lincoln pennies that we are so used to. So, appreciate them while we still can. |
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