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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: Zoom-Zoom Date: April 13, 2007, Friday Thought: My investment in time has made me a wealthy man--but, not necessarily in dollars. Jog: It’s Friday. It seems like yesterday was Monday. My week has just shot by. Did I enjoy it—that time that was spent? I’m sure I did; I just don’t remember all of it. That’s the way it goes as you get older. Linda’s mom, who is eighty-eight, told her years ago that the time just speeds by the older you get. I wonder why that is? Surely each of those days was filled with 24 hours that were each comprised of 60 minutes? The law of time did not alter for me. But, here I sit scratching my head and saying, “Where did the time go?” I also play the other game connected with “Where'd It Go” called “I Remember When.” I remember when my boys were little—toddlers. In fact, I remember standing over their crib watching them sleep; I stood there in absolute wonder at the perfection before me and grateful of the amazing gift of their little lives. I remember wondering what would become of them—what kind of men they would grow into. I was scared stiff at the responsibility of being a dad. I had just turned twenty when Noel was born. Three years later when Chad was born my maturity level was still that of a kid. And, that’s what Linda and I were—kids raising kids. But, the awesome task of raising two little boys fell heavily upon my shoulders; and in the still of the night when they were sleeping I watched them and silently confirmed my commitment to them a thousand times. And, then there is today, almost forty-years later. Where did time go? I’m not jealous of time lost, for I don’t consider it lost. It was spent. I’ve tried to invest a little of it. Most of it went into those little boys. A good chunk of it went into Linda—the best investment I ever made. All of it was placed at the feet of my Lord and dedicated to His service—sorry to get preachy on you but that’s just the way it is. My investment in time has made me a wealthy man--but, not necessarily in dollars. When it comes down to it, the dollars are really unimportant. It’s the other stuff that has paid off. Every time my granddaughter calls me Grandpa I deposit another coin into the treasury. To see their dirty faces causes me to want to wash them but it also causes me to increase my wealth exponentially. Has it gone by too fast?—certainly. Do I have regrets?—certainly. Am I disappointed?—not in the least. So, I guess this brings me full-circle. I am back to sitting here wondering what happened to my week. Well, it was spent living. I was doing stuff, like working and working and spending time with Linda and Max. What I wasn’t doing was worrying about what I missed. Cause, I didn’t miss a thing. However, rest assured that the rest of today and all of my tomorrows will be spent appreciating each one of them. I marvel that I wake up every morning. I understand the older you get, that little task is a celebration in itself. I drink in the freshness of each new morning, the dew on the grass, the feel of it as it soaks my shoes when I walk, the sight of Max romping through the brush and running down the fairway to catch a squirrel or rabbit, which are perfectly safe. I appreciate the cold on my nose in the morning and the trickle of sweat that runs down my neck during the heat of the day when I choose to work in the yard. Each of the moments for the rest of my life will be savored and appreciated. And, I will continuously whisper under my breath, “Thank you, Lord.” I found a site on the Internet that is beautifully done. Now, they are selling cars. I already have one and don’t intend to purchase one of their cars. But, the site is filled with images of things that happen in life. Don’t get hung up on the cars, and by all means don’t go out and buy one. But, look at the images and remember the times you’ve spent just like that. Life is certainly zooming by. But, a little Zoom-Zoom in our life is not a bad thing. Just consider the time as an investment. It will pay off in the long run. It has for me. (You may need to use the 64K line speed if you have limitations) http://zoom-zoom.mazda.com/ |
| Title: Pull Up the /Covers; It’s Safe Date: April 12, 2007, Thursday Thought: I don’t know what it is; all I know is that at that moment I really didn’t care about my clients or the bills or even my health. Jog: I woke up early this morning. I could tell by the minimal light filtering through the top of the drapes that it was indeed still dark outside—well, at least too dark to go walking. It was some time around 5:00 am. I threw the covers off and stumbled into the master bathroom to take care of some business. Max followed me in there. I swear there is no alone time with that black dog. Anyway, being so early, I did not want to remain up; so, I stumbled back to bed and crawled in under the covers. Now, I don’t know what kind of bedding you like on the bed when you snuggle down to sleep. Me, I like it just like Linda makes it. We have a sheet and two quilts as cover. We purchased some satin sheets once. I have to believe that is a learned experience. The satin was certainly smooth and slippery—too much so. For some reason I much prefer the cotton sheets we have now. Anyway, I could not help but to smile when I pulled the covers snuggly up around my head. It felt really good. Now, in that early morning hour I began to write this entry. Nope, I didn’t jump up and rush to my computer. I just let the words bounce around in my head; I was much too comfortable to get up. I figured if I remembered it later I would write about it—if not, well, there would be other topics to claim my entry space. But, I did remember and so I now chronicle those fleeting thoughts rested from my early morning snuggle. It is strange that at that moment, it really made no difference my state in life. My whole existence was reduced to that king sized bed and those covers. It mattered not what the rest of the house was like, be it mansion or shack. I just did not care. My only concern as I lay there in the darkness was the covers up around my head. It did not matter how much money I had in the bank nor if I even had any money in the bank. I had those covers and was warm, toasty, and comfortable. I heard Max rustle over on his bed; I assume he was thinking the same thing about his bed. It must be true that the really important things in life can be reduced to the very simple pleasures, like a bed and comfy covers. Now, you will not be surprised to find that I am a strange person. I readily admit it. I do not like to sleep with silence. Nope, for some reason I need some noise. I have this sound machine. You’ve seen them; heck some of you probably have one yourself. That makes you a strange person also. Anyway, my machine has a number of noises, ranging from rain fall, to tropical forest, to trickling brook, to wave action at the seaside. I like the wave action myself and use it as background noise as I sleep. Linda puts up with it. Anyway, as I lay there listening to the waves roll in, snuggled down in the covers, I thought about how fortunate I was at that very moment. I was contented. Please understand I did not spend much time thinking about that for I drifted back to sleep for another hour and a half. Why is it we feel so safe and secure snuggled down into the covers? It must be some primordial sense. Or possibly it reminds us of the safety of the womb. I don’t know what it is; all I know is that at that moment I really didn’t care about my clients or the bills or even my health. I had all I needed, if only for just that moment. Dawn sprung I got up and took my morning walk with Max. I’m glad that I did not stay in bed. I’m glad I drug myself away from the covers. As comfortable as it is, it just is not the same in the full glare of daylight. Nope, I’m perfectly happy to enjoy that special moment during the nighttime moments. It gives me something to look forward to every morning—along with watching the dawn break as I walk Max around the lake. And, imagine—we get this opportunity every single day we are alive. It is really good to be alive. Thank you, Lord. |
| Title: Take a Number and Get in Line Date: April 11, 2007, Wednesday Thought: Don’t feel sorry for me; just support me, as you do so well, and give me an ear to speak to—it can even be the deaf ear if you wish. Jog: Many of you who frequent my sporadic blog are aware of the pitiful plight I’ve been whining about for the last, oh, I don’t know—million years. “I’m so busy…I’m so busy.” It’s enough to make you want to slap me silly. I don’t know how you have contained yourselves. But the fact remains I have dug myself into a deep hole here and all I have got to work with is a shovel, so I seem to keep on digging. Would someone please take this dang shovel?! Now, the purpose for me even talking about this is that it is something that is happening to me and has sort of gotten my attention. Therefore, I feel compelled to write about it. The last thing I would want is to elicit sympathy and provoke a pity-party. Don’t feel sorry for me; just support me, as you do so well, and give me an ear to speak to—it can even be the deaf ear if you wish. Being busy is the nature of the beast in my business. The only way you can be profitable is to have clients—the more the merrier. Unfortunately, at the moment I seem to have plenty of clients. It’s like getting a drink out of a fire-hydrant—a little more than I can handle. But, that being said, I seem to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s just that it’s such a long dang tunnel. I finalized an assignment this morning at 3:30 am. I sent that little puppy and checked one off my list. Although, they very rarely stay checked off; they will likely want a formal presentation and some fine tuning…and then there will be copies; they never get enough copies. I turn my attention to the tiger I have by the tail—all those other things I have to do. At the moment the tiger is purring; the dang thing's asleep. But shortly it will awaken and be very hungry. I’m ready; I’ve got the dang tiger in one hand and a stick in the other. Somehow, I think I’m over-matched. But, what’s a few scratches—“Nice, kitty.” I will wade in this morning and put out a few fires and then try to finish up another assignment. It would be great if I could finish two in one week. Hey, you’ll be very proud of me; I’m gonna call a client and tell them I can’t do the assignment they are asking of me. The City of Rockport wants me to come down and give them guidance on preparing an annexation plan for the city. I did one several years ago and they now want to redo it. Now, that is a logistical problem. Rockport is on the Gulf Coast and I am located way north almost on the Red River. Texas is a big state and to drive there will take five or six hours. And that’s one way. I’d have to spend the night. To go down there means I lose two days. Now, of course I get to bill them for the time I spend driving (flying is just as bad), but I’d lose two days of getting all these other fires out. By the time I got back my house would be burned down and that tiger would have eaten Linda—can’t have that. (Oh, Max would have let the tiger eat her. It’s a dang tiger and Max ain’t dumb.) And, so here I sit. Up to my neck in alligators and all I got is this dang stick. If I have any luck at all the alligators will eat that dang tiger. It’s Wednesday. Half the week is gone and I’m running out of week. Of course, it will bleed into the weekend, it always does. The good news is it is going to be a sunshine filled weekend—for all the good it does me. But I will still be here. Kicking stuff out of the way the best I can, holding on to that dang tiger and beating the alligators with the stick…”Nice, kitty.” Anyways, I got a new game plan for getting out of this hole. I stole it from Sears; it’s called, “Take a number and get in line!” Works for them. Why not? |
| Title: Empty Date: April 9, 2007, Monday Thought: I can deal with it. Jog: Empty….that’s what I thought when I directed my attention to my entry today. Is it a negative word? Is it bad to be empty? Don’t know if it is particularly bad, could be sad. Sometimes you turn to the well to draw some inspiration to write and it seems empty. What do you do? Well, you can pull up the empty bucket and sit and stare at it and consider how dang unlucky you are. You can throw the dang thing back into the well and try again. Or you can ignore the fact and just forge on ahead as if your bucket came back full. I choose the latter. Now, you may think that is delusional—that you are just in denial--but, not so. Often I know that I’m running on empty and refuse to let it stop me. I throw stuff on the page and just hope some of it sticks. Often there is enough substance there to work with. It may be tedious, but it works. That happens in life sometimes. There are times when I consider my state and determine there is nowhere to go. I just feel empty. I usually recover from these brief moments realizing the enormous abundance that fills my life. I am surely blessed. But that doesn’t stop me from coming up empty sometimes. I know that this is just the human condition. We all run on empty sometimes. What causes that feeling? Well, it can be caused by a number of things. I’m sure there are learned people on this very site who know the clinical reasons. But, for me, it has something to do with my health. I ran into a brick wall last year, about eight months ago. The wall was mortality. I realized that I was no longer eighteen and I did not have a full life left ahead of me. I realized there were limitations on what I could do and on the time I had left to do them. That realization left me feeling somewhat empty. I struggle with it even today. It is a struggle that I can deal with, but a struggle just the same. Now, that does not mean that I am not grateful and appreciative of the things that I have. I certainly am. I face each new day with a sense of wonder and a joy in my heart that is founded upon my faith. I tend to smile a lot and count my blessings constantly. My fortune in this life is truly great. And although I am not rich in material blessings, by any means, I am blessed. I have all I need and just a little more. But regardless of all these blessings, I still feel empty at times. I suspect that some of this feeling comes from the fact that I am overloaded with work and responsibility and cannot see the way out. I’ve come to a time in my life where I want to simplify things. I want to lessen the load and coast for a little way. But the responsibilities that come with running a business does not permit for much coasting. I cannot take a vacation because there is none available. There is no one who I can pass the load off to, even for just a little while. When I don’t work, I don’t produce. This business which was born of lots of sweat and tears has grown over the years. It has become a child that was nurtured into a mature active thing that has taken on a personality of its own. Somewhere along the line I figured out that I no longer run it but it runs me. I know that. There’s just not a lot I can do about it. And so, I’ve learned to deal with empty. Intellectually I know that I am far from being empty. I know it spiritually also. But, knowing these things does not keep the feeling from creeping in sometimes. In a few hours I will be walking Max in our morning trek. I will be walking into the east along the little lake near me. I will see the sun rise over the horizon and watch the fingers of brilliant colors spread across the heavens. I will see Max come to me when I call. I marvel at the way he runs to me with his tail held high, happy to be with me and in the outdoors. At that moment I will be far from empty. Later in the day, clients will call me with questions and problems. I will solve them. They come to me for solutions and I give them to them. That feeling of satisfaction fills my soul and makes me feel useful, as if what I do makes a difference. That is far from being empty. I will likely say a prayer or two during this morning. I know I am not speaking to the wind. Someone hears me—someone who is big enough to help me through my moments of distress and someone who truly cares about me. That is very far from being empty. I will feel full to the point of overflowing. I know that will come—later. It’s just that right now, at 3:30 in the morning there is a feeling of ‘empty.’ That’s not particularly bad, but it’s just a little sad. I can deal with it. |
| Title: The Promise of Easter Sunday Date: April 8, 2007, Sunday Thought: Had Jesus stayed in the grave the group of common and frightened men would have scattered to their own design. But, because of the Resurrection, the world was turned upside down-a new day dawned and a new hope was established. Jog: The specialness of this day weighs down upon me like an unseen cross. It permeates my existence and draws attention to it’s meaning with each idle moment of my morning. I chatter away and do a hundred mundane things, but my mind and spirit return constantly to that unseen cross. It is not an obsession; it is more of a consistent reminder—like a string tied around my finger. Only in this case the string is bound around my heart. My wanderings through the blogs this morning finds, to no great surprise, almost all of them make reference to Easter—some just in passing and some connected with bunnies and colorfully colored eggs. Many entries account the meaning of their faith and the very specialness that they feel regarding the significance of this morning. To Christians, this is the most glorious day in creation. There is no doubt that Christmas has its fair share of glory, being the day we celebrate God initiating His saving plan for mankind. The birth of a baby is always a tender event. But, Christmas was only the beginning. God wrapped Himself in the form of flesh and blood and entered into our corporeal world to work a wondrous miracle in all our lives. How can that not be celebrated as a great day? But it was only the beginning of the beginning, which was to culminate in the death of that very same babe. It was the death of Jesus that was the beginning of the end. As Jesus hanged on that cross, He was nailed there as an innocent man, guilty of no wrong. It was by His own design that He experienced this terrible thing for us. For at that moment He actually became guilty, taking the burden of my wrongs and the wrongs of mankind existing and future upon Himself. The sentence of eternal damnation for my fallen state was paid once and for all when Jesus died on that cross. It is significant that one of the last things he said was, “It is finished.” I couldn’t pay the price to redeem myself. The gentlest and kindest person who walked the face of the earth at that time was not worthy to pay the cost. It just was not in any man of God’s creation to be able to do it. And, so God had to do it Himself, in the form of His Son, Jesus. And so it is we celebrate the Cross of Christ, that terrible and agonizing act--the ultimate punishment that mankind devised for itself. But, rest assured please, we would not celebrate the Cross if the events of the following days had not occurred. No, if what happened three days later had never transpired, the cross would be a forgotten tragic event in the life of one simple man. It is the Resurrection that gives meaning to the Cross. It is the Resurrection that gives meaning to the birth of the babe. Without the Resurrection there is no celebration of Christmas. Had Jesus stayed in the grave the group of common and frightened men would have scattered to their own design. But, because of the Resurrection, the world was turned upside down-a new day dawned and a new hope was established. The rabble remains of Jesus’ followers burst forth on history with a zeal and commitment of this new hope that was established and guaranteed on that first Easter morning. And, they burst forth with a conviction and confidence that would not have been possible if Jesus had remained in the grave. No, a lie could not explain how this defeated group of common men became the vanguard of the greatest movement in history. Their message was nothing less than miraculous and it was totally supernatural, fueled by the devine hope that was gifted to us on that day of the Resurrection. It is a hope that remains today for each person who is willing to embrace the truth of who Jesus is. There are some who read my words and shake their head at the length to which a seemingly intelligent person can be deluded with this mystic drivel. I realize that. In fact, it is more popular today to ignore the significance of the Christian message for the more intelligent option of human reason and logic. There are those who profess that the miracle of the Resurrection is a fable, a crutch for individuals to lean on, a weakness to be sure. They find no proof in the fables and ramblings of the ancient story of redemption. They have evolved above the need for religious thoughts to validate their existence. They continue through life using their own compass assured that they are doing the right thing, that we who do believe in the Resurrection and the Truth of Jesus are delusional and simply wrong. But as others before me have pointed out, what if they are wrong. What if I am right and they are wrong. I will still have lived my life respecting my fellow man. I would have still fed the hungry and given support to the weak in their time of need. I would have still chosen good over bad and sought to better the condition of my friends and neighbors and even the stranger. I would have still lived a good and worthy life, if even it were delusional in that one aspect. What if they are wrong, though? They would miss the greatest promise in life, either now or through eternity. How can anyone be so sure?--so sure as to forfeit the promise of eternity. The scripture says it well. The apostle Paul was speaking to the learned men of Rome when he said, “Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.” I could never be that sure. In this case, it takes more faith to not believe than to believe. I wish you all a very blessed Easter. |
| Title: Katherine for President Date: April 5, 2007, Thursday Thought: I jokingly suggested that Katherine Zeta Jones should be running for president, she’s easy on the eyes. Upon further consideration, it has occurred to me that her chances would likely be pretty good since the vast majority of the vote is politically clueless. Jog: In an age of total communication, where ideas and thoughts are flashed around the world in a matter of seconds, when we can see things happen as they are happening, when every person has access to a cell phone device that takes photographs and videos and transmits them instantly, when the entertainment media can fabricate any special effect, situation, or condition through graphic technology, in that type of society running for president of the United States is no longer a political action. Of course, the whole idea of ‘political’ is changing. No longer does ‘political’ depend on one's position on the issues and personal integrity (I must admit that integrity has never seemed to be a political attribute.) Nope, it seems ‘political’ is determined by presentation and spin. In a recent exchange of ideas with our friend Budroe I jokingly suggested that Katherine Zeta Jones should be running for president, she’s easy on the eyes. Upon further consideration, it has occurred to me that her chances would likely be pretty good since the vast majority of the vote is politically clueless. Being elected depends on presentation. It takes an actor nowadays. Hmmmm….like Ronald Regan or Arnold Schwartz……(whatever). Hey, Sonny Bono was elected to the House of Representatives. And Fred Thompson was a US Senator, who by the way is gaining significant pressure to enter the race.If our population is so inclined to visual appeal, why not really give them something appealing. Of course, you’d have to do something to garner the female vote; I’m not sure the split dress with the plunging neckline that ends up at her navel will have the same effect on the women vote. But present her as an advocate for women’s rights and that should gain enough support. Remember, it doesn’t matter what she says for the mass of men’s vote, they aren’t voting with their mind anyway. It scares me to think the American public is so pliable and predictable. We would have upstart movements out there that would rally to elect her simply because they get a kick out of manipulating the system. An example is what is happening with “American Idol”, where talent doesn’t matter. I fear we will never again know what our president truly thinks or stands for. From this point on, they will all be ‘packaged’ and presented as skillfully as a Hollywood special effects production. As far as that goes, why not just run a special effects president. What does it matter that he isn’t real…he looks real on film. Just splice a computer generated image into the news-footage—create it with special effects. Hmmm….I bet they could get him (it) elected. |
| Title: Just a Comment or Two Date: April 3, 2007, Tuesday Thought: I guess what I’m saying is that you don’t have to leave a comment every time you walk by. When you do, I appreciate it. Jog: Do you have a system for making comments? I mean to blogs. Is there some rule or process that you use? I for one have evolved over the years that I’ve been in WDC. I mostly comment on blogs. I suppose when you comment on items it can be considered a review. My reviews have been severely curtailed in the last year—shame on me, I suppose. I’ve taken a look at my stats on my blog (geez, I’m using that nasty sounding word) and have determined that we readers are fickle folks. I receive sporadic responses to my blog entries, which seems fair since my entries are sporadic at best. I figure about one in three readers leave a comment. But, what is of interest to me is what causes folks to leave a comment as opposed to read ‘n run. Now, I’m not complaining about that—no, not at all. I remember the day when my comments received for days at a time were zero—nada. But, some of us get 20 to 30 comments and some of us come up dry. Is it the content? I know that’s some of it with me. Sometimes I read a blog and think, “Wow! What in the world can I say about that?” Like when you ladies talk about PMS, now there’s no way I can leave a constructive comment and win. Heck, I’ll probably get blasted for even bringing it up. And, I’ve noticed that stories about military engagements and history receive a pretty low draw from you ladies. Sometimes I’m at a loss for words—don’t know how to approach it. I am rarely at a loss for words; but occasionally it happens. Sometimes the writing is so bad that I don’t finish the entry. Usually content full of profanity will turn me off. There are some things you can say in public and be fine. There are some things that you can say in public and be fined. Just because this is a personal blog does not give someone license to be rude and crude. I’ve always thought that if you wouldn’t stand in the middle of crowded PTA meeting and shout the words, don’t write them. Sometimes my mood does not match the blog entry. If I enter a blog room feeling silly and looking for a good laugh, I usually don’t respond to heavy topics like depression and even suicide. If I’m melancholy and just a little down, I often don’t care about a pony ride through the blog pages; although, often it helps. After all, there are some very talented writers in here who can pull any Sad Sack out of the dumper. I guess I’m just saying that sometimes I just don’t feel like saying anything. So I don’t. And, if I feel that way sometimes don’t you have the right to also—sure you do. There are some writers in WDC who you can always count on. They leave a comment no matter how difficult it obviously should be. You know who you are; and we certainly know who you are. And, because of your faithfulness you are loved and appreciated. But, don’t ever feel like you must leave a comment. I understand that sometimes we just don’t. The last time I checked, WDC was a voluntary participation site. None of us get paid for our regularity. We are here because we enjoy the company of other writers; we have made friends. And, because they…you…are my friends you check in every now and then just to see how I’m doin. Thanks. Along the way we make new friends, who sometimes get into the habit of stopping by also; and that’s good too. Sometimes they leave a comment and sometimes they don’t. And that’s OK. I guess what I’m saying is that you don’t have to leave a comment every time you walk by. When you do, I appreciate it. I’ll drop by your place as I can; I so enjoy doing that. But, I might not always leave a comment. Usually, it depends on my time crunch. Sometimes, I don’t know what to say. And, sometimes I just don’t want to say anything. I just hope that at the times you need a word; I say something that you can appreciate. The bottom line is that I still don’t know what to make of the stats page. Guess it’s just an interesting curiosity. Now, what have you got to say about all this? Any comments? |
| Title: Spam’s Place Date: April 2, 2007, Monday Thought: Folks out there need people like me, because I find out stuff. It could be a cheatin’ husband or a runaway kid. It could be a suspicious death or even an insurance claim that the company doesn’t think it ought to pay. I work alone and I carry a gun. Jog: Hi, my name’s Spam Hummer. I’m a gumshoe—also know as a private-dick, a private-eye, or just PI. I live in a time where Ford Fairlanes were pretty classy cars, when Dick Tracy was popular in the funnies, and dames still acted like dames and you could tell the difference. I’d like to thank my friend PlannerDan for letting me come in here to talk to ya. He’s a pretty good Joe for a Dan. Hell, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have a voice—crazy ain’t it? Folks out there need people like me, because I find out stuff. It could be a cheatin’ husband or a runaway kid. It could be a suspicious death or even an insurance claim that the company doesn’t think it ought to pay. I work alone and I carry a gun; I know how to use it as well as my fist. It’s not a pretty world where I live and work. There are others like me out there. I suppose you’ve heard of Mickey Spilane, Sam Spade, and Mike Hammer. We’ve even had a couple go Hollywood on us; you may recall Peter Gun. Those are a few of the breed who pound the street and get paid to find the answers to questions others don’t want to deal with. Yeah, that’s right; I do it for money. I’m not much to look at. My suit is probably out of style. I don’t fit into polished society; and I really don’t give a damn. If the money’s good, I’ll do it. But, don’t ask me to go foul of the law. There are some things I just don’t do; and breakin’ the law is one of them. I was part of the law once. I had to leave because I had problems with following rules that tied my hands. You see, I kinda like to do things my way. Ask around; you’ll find that my way works. It’s a thankless, nasty, brutal and lonely way to make a dollar; but, I do it because I’m good at it. You don’t have many friends in my line. However, the ones you got are good to the core. Jocko owns Jocko’s Bar. That’s my watering hole. It’s more productive than a library when you’re looking for answers. Almost everything going down surfaces in one way or the other at Jocko’s bar. The patrons aren’t a part of high society, like Ruben the local drunk. Most folks would spit on a man like that—not me and Jocko. Ruben is solid gold; he just smells like whiskey. I’ve also got friends with the cops. My old partner Dave Frisco has made it good in the force. He’s a lieutenant now. It helps to have a friendly face with the cops. And of course, I couldn’t find a pencil or a paper clip if it wasn’t for Cassidy; she’s my girl Friday. Cassidy’s quite a doll. If this business wasn’t the only thing I was good at, I’d leave it and make Cassidy more than just a girl Friday. I’d never say it, but I’d be lost without Cassidy. She stays with me cause she sees more than a common PI scrapin’ out a livin’. She sees me; and, most folks don’t. If you get a chance drop by my office and have a cup of coffee and a jelly donut; that is if there are any left. I’d like to get to know you. And, hell, there’s no telling when you’ll need to find stuff. Remember, I’m pretty good at finding stuff…for a price.
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| Title: It Was No April Fool’s Joke Date: April 1, 2007, Sunday Thought: What a feeling it must be to know that any one of your comrades or yourself could be the last casualty from the last bullet on the last day of the war. Jog: Sixty-two years ago today the largest sea-land-air battle in history began. It was no April Fools joke. By the time the Battle for Okinawa was over the carnage totaled 130,000 civilian, 100,000 Japanese military and 12,000 American fighting men killed or missing. That numbers about a quarter of the total population on the island in the Spring of 1945. My father was one of the Marines who landed on April 1, 1945. Obviously, he came home. It took about eighty-two days for the American forces to sweep the island and win the battle. The battle occupies a strange black-hole in the history for that time. The war in Europe was over. Hitler and his henchmen were gone. The end was certain for Japan; it would not prevail in this conflict. However, the fanaticism of the Japanese military assured that there would be no surrender. Every inch of Japan would have to be wrested from the grip of a stubborn and proud military. The promise of loss of life was great. The American people could expect numbers far exceeding any experienced at Okinawa. Indeed, also just as great was the desire to end the nightmare of war. Surely there is no more frustrating time than to see the victory within your grasp and know that you must endure a little longer. What a feeling it must be to know that any one of your comrades or yourself could be the last casualty from the last bullet on the last day of the war. But, that last day promised to drag out indefinitely. This battle weighted heavily in the decision to use the bomb on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. It is a debate that is waged in the halls of academia even to this day. But, remove the knowledge of hindsight, faced only with the promise of horrific fighting that would surely continue at great cost of human life—American men for certain; the decision to just end the thing seems to make more sense. It’s been sixty-two years since my father scrambled up the beaches of Okinawa. Much has happened in history. The event has become a paragraph in the history books—a paragraph that is diminishing in size with every year that passes. Soon it will be just a sentence and ultimately only a notation. That is why I felt it necessary to spend a moment remembering those men. That generation is quickly passing. In a few years there will be no survivors of he Battle of Okinawa; old age will be the final victor. So, I take this opportunity to salute them and to remember a time when such a sacrifice could be offered without public ridicule by the press and those seeking to profit from political agendas. Somehow it seems important for me to stand these years removed and say, “I remember you.” (More... http://www.b-29s-over-korea.com/Japanese_Kamikaze/Japanese_Kamikaze12.html ) |
| Title: Finding Celebrity Where You Can Date: March 31, 2007, Saturday Thought: Sadly, once the celebrity obtains that status it is good-bye little home town, Hello Hollywood! Jog: Many of you do not know that the little town where I live is the hometown of Kelly Clarkson. I’ve always been a little amazed at the importance that we sometimes place on the place a celebrity was born, raised, or graduated from school. Well she wasn’t born here; but she went to high school here and she calls this her home. You’d think the Chamber of Commerce had some role in her conception, aware that she would someday bring attention to the little burg where I live. I am equally amazed that someone hasn’t gotten a sign and placed it on the City Limits that reads “Burleson, Home of Kelly Clarkson.” Sadly, once the celebrity obtains that status it is good-bye little home town, Hello Hollywood! Another singer did that a few years ago. I remember seeing Leann Rimes singing on stage in Fort Worth. She was just a little thing then but even then she could belt them out. Both of those young ladies have left Texas in their rearview mirror. But, Kelly occasionally comes back to Burleson to visit. As her celebrity grows she may grow away from these roots, but our little city still proudly pounds on its chest and says “Home of Kelly Clarkson.” However, I am here to inform you that Kelly Clarkson is not the only celebrity in Burleson. As a matter of fact, you should know that the other celebrity in Burleson is generally ignored because he is not seen around about town much. Of course, I’m referring to that super hero known to the WDC group as Stealthman ("Invalid Entry"  ). Yes Stealthman has been out in the Burleson public recently. Just the other day when Kelly was visiting home, he dropped by to visit with her. Being a hometown friend, it was an informal visit. It would warm your heart to see the two reminiscing about old times. They were sitting in Kelly’s bedroom. Of course, you can trust that Stealthman was a perfect gentleman. Kelly sat up on her bed surrounded with pillows and Stealthman sat in the easychair next to her bed. They passed the time for hours. One of the photographers who accompanies Kelly popped in and took a photo of the two old friends, with Kelly looking gorgeous and Stealthman decked out in his Stealth suit. For those of you who love to have photos of such events, I’ve included the photo below. As you can see, Stealthman had Kelly captivated with his charm. Unfortunately, his suit was turned on. And, that’s the way it is in small town Burleson, where life is lived by the six-pack, the men go by two names (Joe-Bob, Billy-Don, Jimmy-John, Carl-Ray), the women smell better’n a Longhorn steer, and old friends pass the time in their bedrooms without any nasty gossip. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Just a Bunch of Random Stuff Date: March 30, 2007, Friday Thought: I have been concentrating on being vertical. Vertical is a good thing to be. I’ve been horizontal before and that was quite disturbing. Jog: OK, I’ve had a difficult time of blogging (what a nasty word…I think of Steve McQueen fleeing from the gooey Blob every time I say that word….or I check the bottom of my shoe to see if I stepped in some foreign material deposited in my front yard by a canine visitor in the night.) Anyway, when you examine my blue calendar you see that there is a shocking lack of blue days. What can I say; I’ve been busy. I’m a little disappointed to find that you have all sailed on quite nicely with your lives without me. Surprising, since I figured the world revolved around me. But, you’re never too old to learn new things so I reluctantly admit that there is meaningful life in the world outside my influence. Except for Max, that dog lives five feet from me. When I sit at the computer working or “jogging” (cross between a journal and a blog…not to be mistaken by a blurnal which is also a mixed breed) he curls up under my chair…when I eat he curls up under the table next to my feet…when I watch TV, there he is curled up at my side. His devotion to me is pathetic and causes me to consider seriously the solemn responsibility of returning such devotion. I find myself constantly reaching down and petting him or scratching behind his ears as he lies curled there. Ah, but I am rambling. I have been concentrating on being vertical. Vertical is a good thing to be. I’ve been horizontal before and that was quite disturbing. There was that time at the Rotary meeting when I remarked to a doctor friend of mine that I “felt funny.” If you have any doctor friends, never ever tell them you feel “funny.” Before I knew it I was laying prostrate, that’s as vertical as you can get, in the middle of the restaurant floor. I remember he said something like, “Call 911 !!” Four days later I was dismissed from the hospital with good news and bad news. The good news was that after a volley of tests they could honestly tell me that they didn’t find anything. The bad news was that they didn’t find anything. So, I’ve concluded the best strategy is to remain vertical. The last time I was horizontal they cut me up and fiddled with my heart, which confirms my theorem: Folks won’t mess with ya if you stay VERTICAL. I’m thinking about getting some T-shirts made that say “Enjoy Life…Stay Vertical!!” I’ve got a bucket load of work to do next week. The only way I will be able to get it done is to work all weekend, which I will do to varying degrees of success. I tend to be easily distracted on the weekend. It takes a form of discipline that I am in short supply to work away the weekend. There are so many other projects that I want to do. 1. Do any of you remember Bloggovia. That’s the island country I created. I have mountains and cities and beaches and other geographic stuff named for folks in WDC. ( "Invalid Item" ) Well, I want to write a history for Bloggovia…or perhaps a travel-journal of the island. 2. I’d also like to spend some more time with Spam Hummer ( "Spam Hummer -- Private Eye" ). I’d like to add a couple of stories and then develop a little of the relationship between Spam and his Girl Friday, Cassidy. 3. I have a series of sermons (yes, for those of you who did not know I once pastored a church) I would like to complete and add to my sermon folder ("Sermons I Have Preached" ). 4. I am arranging all my “jog” entries into three separate volumes so that I can self-publish them…just a few copies for my library and to share with relatives at a much later date. 5. I’d like to self-publish my two books: Across the River and The Day the Towers Fell. There’s lots of other projects that I’d like to work on; but, these are a neat list of five as taught by scarlett_o_h. I figure if I can work on any one of them anytime soon I will be doing good. Oh, yeah, it would be nice if I could have a BLUE month. But, I figure that would be just too much to ask. Oh, but did you notice welkerdeb has a blue month going. I suspect foul play there…how’d she do that?...Kevin musta helped her!! |
| Title: Remember When? Date: March 25, 2007, Sunday Thought: Well, in the old days before our computers assisted us with our writing, dealing with a misspelled word was treated a little differently Jog: I’ve been busy in the world of municipal planning this last week, which ranks up there with Perl Harbor Day and the Holocaust. It has not been an easy week. Today is the first break in the action. So, I wandered in here to see if any of you remember who I am and to visit a few blogs. I was distressed to see that David McClain is having computer problems. I hope he overcomes the dragon and gets back in here soon. But, Tor’s difficulties made me think a little about how it was in the days before computers.Does anybody out there remember carbon paper? It’s amazing that we used to depend on that dang stuff. You know, it was the only way we could get a copy of the stuff we were typing. And if you wanted two copies you had to use two carbons and two extra sheets of paper. And, if you were typing on a manual typewriter, which is just a shade up from a chisel and hammer, the second sheet got pretty dang light because you had to really type hard to get it to come through. And remember what happened if you misspelled a word? Today, my dang computer checks my spelling as I type. If I misspell a word it automatically corrects it. That is if I don’t screw it up to badly. And, when I do mangle a word beyond recognition, it places a little red line under it that shouts to the world, “Hey world! Dan can’t spell worth a flip!” Well, in the old days before our computers assisted us with our writing, dealing with a misspelled word was treated a little differently. You had to roll the paper out of the feeder a little way so you could work on the word. I remember an abrasive eraser that came with a little brush attached. You literally erased the ink from the page, taking with it much of the page; or at best you dimmed it down a bit before you typed over the spot. And you had to do the same thing with the dang carbons. That’s why the guy who invented White-Out is a billionaire today; I made lots of mistakes. And, if you edited the text, that meant a new typed original after each edit. I remember we had a secretary who typed a million words-a-minute at my first office. All day long those fingers flew like machine-gun fire as she turned out draft after draft. And before the day of the IBM Selectric, the keys would get bundled up and jammed because they could not clear out of the way fast enough. It amazes me that we had libraries full of books in that day when I considered how many letter strokes it must have taken to just produce one solitary book. Today I type my own studies; I insert color illustrations and photos; and use a myriad of styles and fonts to make the document really look professional. I have no use for carbon paper or even White-out. I produce my documents from my laptop keyboard and a little help from technology. It is absolutely amazing. We still have a couple of electric typewriters in the closet. They rarely get any use. They live in the closet with my slide projector and overhead projector who have been similarly replaced by Power Point and my digital projector. There are some things about the ‘good ole days’ that I miss. But, I must admit there are some things that I don’t miss at all, such as carbon paper and typewriters. I wonder what my grandkids will remember about their ‘good ole days?’ |
| Title: Moments of Contemplation Date: March 21, 2007, Wednesday Thought: It has taken me forty years to get to where I am today. At eighteen that seemed like an eternity. At fifty-eight it seems like a blink of an eye. Jog: I have lived in the corporate world for years. I’ve worked downtown in the high-rise building, eaten lunch across the street at the deli with the rest of the pack. I’ve dealt with corporate politics and watched as others were stomped on while the fast track crowd scaled the ladder. Heck, I’ve even climbed a few of the rungs myself. There was a time when I believed my success in the days to come was dependent on how well I played the corporate game. I play a different game today. Oh, I still deal with politics somewhat; but it is small city politics, which sometimes can be pretty dang nasty. But I don’t care about who is president of the American Planning Association (the professional association I am affiliated with). I don’t serve on the board anymore. I don’t submit my projects for awards anymore. They are still deserving; but, I don’t have room on my wall for any more awards. And, I don’t need the publicity. I’ve already got more jobs than I can do. After you are in this business for a while word of mouth gets around. If you’re any good, someone will want you. I’ve made a lot of friends and don’t worry about where I will work tomorrow; someone will ring my phone—they always do. Things have certainly changed since I first began in this business in 1978. I no longer work for big corporate America. Ten years was enough for me. For the last twenty years I’ve worked as a small businessman—a municipal planning consultant. Even that has evolved. I no longer keep a big office with secretaries, technicians, and professional planners. I have two employees—me and Linda. And, if she doesn’t straighten up I might just fire her (a constant threat which she ignores.) I take a moment to consider the differences between today and thirty years ago. Thirty years ago I was a picture of corporate America: tie, briefcase, meetings, airplane trips and overnight stays, marketing strategies…the whole nine yards. Today, at this moment, I am sitting outside on my back patio. I have my laptop hooked up to the wireless and all my office equipment is located upstairs in my study. I’m sitting here in my jeans wearing a Seattle Washington sweatshirt and my OU fuzzy slippers—not quite a picture of corporate America. My wind-chimes are chiming and the Redbud we planted four years ago is in full bloom. Max is wandering around on the porch looking for the right spot to curl up at my feet. The dang birds are holding a concert in our Red Oak and the breeze has picked up a little. Twice, I’ve had to chase some papers that blew off the table. There is still a lot of stress in my job. I’m still too busy. I’ve cut back in a lot of areas…had to. Seven months ago I lay on the operating table with some doctor guy carving away on my heart. That tends to slow you down a bit—but just a bit. My heart by-pass surgery was just another confirmation that somewhere, somehow I got it right. Had I not done the things I’ve done…worked as hard as I’ve worked, that little operation would have seriously changed my life. Having my office at home, being my own boss, not having the responsibility of other employees and office space, all these things have made my today much easier. I count myself blessed. I think back about that eighteen year-old senior that I was on the night I graduated from high school. I had no idea what was to come of me. I hoped that some how things would work out. I lived for the moment, often making stupid mistakes; but, somehow stumbling in the right direction. It has taken me forty years to get to where I am today. At eighteen that seemed like an eternity. At fifty-eight it seems like a blink of an eye. I don’t take much stock in the concept of ‘luck.’ My grandson, who is eight, says I’m very lucky to have the things I have. I just smile and agree with him. It takes a lot of hard work to be this lucky. But, I didn’t do it on my own. Heck, I didn’t do it at all. All that I have is the product of a loving God who showered his blessing on a confused and awkward young man. What did I ever do to deserve this…nothing? In fact I don’t deserve it…couldn’t earn it. I’ll just accept what He gives me and say, “Thank you, Lord, thank you.” And that’s what happens to me when I sit outside on my porch and work; I begin to contemplate my lot in life. If I could do it over again, there would be a few things I would change, but not many. I wouldn’t want to mess with a good thing. Ah, the wind is coming up substantially; the chimes are making quite a noise now. Max has found a baseball that has been tossed into our yard from the neighbors. He wants to play. It’s a good thing to be able to sit outside in the middle of the day. It doesn’t get much better than this. I think I’ll go throw the ball for Max. |
| Title: It Broke My Heart Date: March 16, 2007, Saturday Thought: I thank my God that I had parents who wanted to keep me. I don’t know what I would have done if as a child I had heard my mom or dad say, “Take him; I don’t want him!” Jog: I heard a story Friday that broke my heart. I am a member of the Burleson Rotary Club. Every Friday morning we gather for a breakfast meal and a program. We do loads of other great stuff also. For example, it was reported this morning that we have purchased eighty-two wheelchairs to be sent to the underprivileged of Mexico. We deliver them ourselves and see the recipients. It thrills our souls to see mobility come into the lives of these people. We also sponsor high school seniors with $11,000 in scholarships every year. That ain’t all; we work in several other areas. It’s a great club. One of the agencies we assist presented our program this morning. We help support the Child Advocacy Center of our county. This is an organization that assists abused children when they enter the justice system. Instead of having a dozen strangers question and quiz the abused child, the CAC provides a child friendly environment and represents the child as they go through the process, often pooling the questions and sparing the child from a traumatic experience. The CAC also helps to place children in homes when they are taken from abusive parents. It is a really difficult job that unfortunately has way too much activity. A lady known as Ms. Tammy runs the center. She spoke to us Friday morning and recounted the following story. Early in the morning, on Thursday, a mother came into the center with her eleven year-old son. Ms. Tammy greeted them at the door. Immediately the mother shoved the child to Ms. Tammy and said, “Here, take him! I don’t want him!” When Ms. Tammy tried to reason with the woman she responded, “I told you I don’t want him; just take him!” All this time the child was standing between Ms. Tammy and the mother. What must have been going through that young man’s mind? What was happening to his heart? Just as you suspected, it isn’t quite that easy to devoid yourself of a child. At least there was some paperwork that had to be completed and authorities to notify. Tammy’s staff began to work the system, looking for someone with which to place the child. The most logical person was the natural father. (The step-father was waiting out in the car; he refused to even go inside as the paperwork was being filed.) The natural father was contacted and it was determined that, since he was on probation for drug trafficking and currently could not pass a drug test, he was not a suitable solution. They checked with the grandparents; they did not want him. They checked with uncles and aunts; they did not want him. It appeared no one in this world wanted this eleven year-old boy. Early in the afternoon someone at the center purchased a soft drink and some snacks for the boy. Ms. Tammy was impressed when the child took the drink and snacks to his mother and shared his meal. Apparently she had no problem accepting the drink and food. How could a mother do that? As the day wore on it became increasingly apparent that they would not find a suitable home in which to place the child. The boy sensed this and approached Ms. Tammy. He asked, with tears in his eyes, “Ms. Tammy will I be able to go home with my momma now?” Over his shoulder the mother shook her head, “No!” That evening that little boy spent the night in the child detention center because no one else on this earth wanted him. I’m sure there are folks at the detention center who know the score and try to make it easier for an eleven year-old boy. But, what impact do the bars of the facility and the locks on the doors have on an innocent child? As he slept that night, what was going through his mind as he realized he was there because no one wanted him? I thank my God that I had parents who wanted to keep me. I don’t know what I would have done if as a child I had heard my mom or dad say, “Take him; I don’t want him!” And, I’m glad I told my boys I love them. I may not have said it every day, but I dang sure did stuff that showed them. This story just breaks my heart. How can Ms. Tammy leave her office everyday and not take each abused child home with her? Of course, she can’t do that. I applaud those amazing people who do this work. My prayers go out to them for strength and understanding. I pray also for that eleven year-old boy, who I will never know; and, I pray for all the other children who are abused both physically and mentally. God bless them! |
| Title: Nothing Like a Friend Date: March 16, 2007, Friday Thought: If you don’t have a friend that you can be yourself with, go out and get one. Jog: There really is nothing in the world like a friend. You know what that is: someone who likes you in spite of your short-comings. It would take a ream of paper to list all of my short-comings. I know it’s hard to believe, but I am far from perfect. Linda has known that for years. The amazing thing is she knew that before she married me and the silly woman did it anyway…go figure. A friend is someone you can depend on. They don’t always agree with you. Sometimes you need someone to tell it like it is even when the truth hurts. A friend will tell you the truth even when it hurts them as much as it hurts you. Your enemies will tell you the truth also, but they don’t care about you. They tell you the truth because it hurts. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell your friends from your enemies. But usually the friends show up when you really need them. I have some friends like that. You can count on friends. And, sometimes they come in handy. My best friend drives me nuts. There are times when I could pull my hair out because he irritates the snot out of me. But, even then, I know he would be there with me when everyone else would keep their distance. So, I have determined to be a little patient with my friend and not let the little things he does sometimes drive me nuts. Of course, that will not work. He will still drive me nuts. I’ve learned to live with that. After all, I think it is sort of amazing that he has learned to live with all my short-comings. Everybody needs a few friends, even dogs. That’s what prompted me to write this entry. I have been amused at how many friends Max has made. Linda and I will be walking down the trail and pass some jogger or other pedestrian and they will comment, “Hi, Max.” Everyone seems to know Max. He has also made a number of canine friends. As we walk through the park I will see his head looking around searching for something. Shortly, his tail will start wagging as Maggie, Misty, Oreo, Ernie, Charlie, or even Cesar comes into view—oh, doggie bliss. This afternoon I took Max for a late walk. As I left the house, Jessie was sitting on our front porch. Now, Jessie is a black Lab who lives down the street. Surely, she was just passing by as we walked out; but, it sure seemed as if she was waiting there patiently for Max. Anyway, off we went on our walk: me, Max and Jessie. She stayed with us the entire time. I noticed folks glancing at me and my two dogs, who to them look identical; however, as any parent, I can tell the difference. I watched those two interact. They played a little, snooped in the bushes a little and generally had a leisurely walk. It’s good to have friends, even if you’re a dog. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** If you don’t have a friend that you can be yourself with, go out and get one. I am fortunate indeed that I have a handful of folks with whom I can spend leisure time. Each of us should have at least one—our spouse. Linda has been my friend much longer than she has been my lover. And to be honest, I am much more thankful for the friend. As many of you know, my newest buddy is my dog Max. The two of us are nearly inseparable. So, my tribute is to my friends—be they virtual, canine, guy friends, or lovers. Thank God He sent them into my life. As I consider that, He’s a pretty good friend too. |
| Title: Musings About Self-Employment Date: March 13, 2007, Tuesday Thought: I encourage anyone who truly wants to begin their own business to do so. But, I caution you to count the cost and be willing to spend the time to make it successful. Jog: Well, we will eat tomorrow. I signed and transmitted $65,000 in contracts to two of my clients early this morning. The work will be completed within 6-12 months. Added to the other on-going contracts I have, it appears the bills will be paid this year. Although, that may indeed appear to be a lot of money, the contracts are relatively small ones. The cost of overhead the last couple of years has been terrific. I have effectively cut my overhead to almost nothing, since I have divested myself of employees and office space. It is amazing how much it cost to simply remain in business. This year will be one of ‘catch-up.’ It has been over twenty years since I have worked for someone else. I remember the day I gave my notice to my former employer. That was a very scary day. To step out on my own was a step into the unknown. And, now that I have been stumbling around in here for twenty years I am amazed at how secure it has been. And, that my friend is the ‘magic’ word—secure. It is security that keeps us tethered to employers. We consider paychecks given at regular intervals as being security. We consider company benefits as being security. We consider two weeks vacation and paid time off for personal needs as being security. Over the last twenty years I’ve discovered that I can have that same security and more by being my own boss. It is all a matter of discipline and hard work. I have heard it said that you must be willing to spend 60 hours per week for the first five years to make your business grow. I believe that is a very conservative number. Sometimes it has to be 80 hours and forget the first five years; I’m still spending extended hours twenty years later. But there is a HUGE difference. Before I began my own business I did the time for my employer; today I do it for me. That makes a big difference. I still have to share my earnings with Uncle Sam, but we get to deal with a much bigger pot. It is amazing the difference in Point of View on this side of the employment line. I am finding it harder and harder to support the entitlement programs fostered by our government. I’ve discussed this before. I have no problem giving out of my fortune to those who are truly needy. Sometimes folks need a hand-up. It is the continual ‘hand-outs’ that cause me heartburn. I never realized how often business owners are solicited for support, until I began my business. It is never ending; daily I receive phone calls asking me to contribute to one worthy cause or another. I have to pick and choose which ones I support. And, forget the tax write-off, it ain’t worth it. Unless you are Bill Gates, every time you spend money on anything, it hurts. But, I do it because I can; we must always be willing to give back to the system. As I rub elbows with other people who have stepped out into the void of self-employment, I have discovered a few things that are rather interesting. Wisdom. First, is that it does not take a college education to do this. I have known landscapers, surveyors, realtors, insurance peddlers, dry-wall specialist, and truckers who have made millions of dollars doing what they do. Many of them had only a high school education. I’ve also seen PhD’s who go bankrupt and scrape by from paycheck to paycheck. It isn’t how much you know that makes some succeed; it’s how they apply what they know. Courage. It takes courage to set off on your own. But courage alone will not cut it. You have to be able to sacrifice and keep on keeping on. This entrepreneurial journey is not a fairy tale; it’s a crusade. There must be a willingness to go where the ‘beasties and monsters’ live: the realm of the unknown. But when you go there, you don’t go blindly. You go with calculated caution and a burning resolve to succeed. If you try hard enough and don’t do stupid stuff, you will be a success. The difference in courage and the lack thereof is in the first step…and then the willingness to take another and then another. Faith. Being in business for yourself can be a very lonely thing. You are really on your own. Whether you sink or swim depends on how hard you can ‘dog-paddle.’ But no matter how hard you flail around you will not go anywhere unless you’ve got faith. For some, they place their faith in themselves and their abilities. That is enough for some. It is not for me. I place my faith in others. Of course, I first have faith in God—not that He will make me rich but rather that He will never leave me on this path alone. And, He hasn’t. Oh, there are times I’ve ignored him and struck off down some trail on my own. But, each time I’ve gotten tangled in the briars of that dwindling trail, He has been there to cut me free. And with Him has been Linda. She has had more faith than I have. For, you see, I’ve always known what was up ahead. I’ve always been in control of the course. Linda has had to watch and trust me. Now THAT takes faith. Lastly, you got to have faith in yourself. If you don’t, don’t begin the journey. Now, not everyone will be a business owner. Some folks will work for the business owner. It is important to note that whether you own a business or work for one does not mean you are a success or not. There are many successful people who work for others. That is not the point here. The point is that it is critical how we apply ourselves to whatever it is that we do. Successful people are not lucky. Any luck they have usually comes from very hard work done during the times others were sleeping. I’m a business owner. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I encourage anyone who truly wants to begin their own business to do so. But, I caution you to count the cost and be willing to spend the time to make it successful. And, if you have a healthy portion of these three things I’ve listed: Wisdom, Courage, and Faith, you’ll do just fine. As a matter of fact, if you’ve got these things, you’ll do just fine in whatever it is you choose to do. |
| Title: Never Give Up! Date: March 11, 2007, Sunday Thought: Each of us has the potential to be more than we are and more than what most folks think we are. Jog: I had a friend one time who held a philosophy that said, “I don’t want much; I just want more.” Initially, when examined, that sounds a little materialistic and ambitious. It is both, but if you knew my friend you would know that it was not to the excess. We need to have a spark in us that spurs us on to do more. Often times it is much easier to just give up—to settle for less. Now, if less is as good as it gets when we apply ourselves, then we must take pride in what we have done. But, if we get less because we refuse to put out the effort for more, well, then shame on us. We don’t have to have less. Even though it appears that life comes crashing down around us every time we gain a little ground, we must always fight to go on. There should always be a desire to have more. This was driven home to me today by a little lesson from nature that Max and I observed on our morning walk. All winter Max and I walked past the remains of a fallen tree. Perhaps it was struck by lightening or simply succumbed to some ferocious winds. In any case it lay broken and sprawled on the ground--it’s trunk still rooted to the earth but its canopy prostrate on the ground. I took little note of the tree. It was simply the fallen product of the storm—more debris that provided ground cover for rabbits and other critters scurrying for cover. But, this morning as Max and I walked by I noticed a marvelous thing. Spring buds were sprouting out all over the fallen limbs. And, I noticed the young growth was growing up toward the nurturing sun and away from the fallen carcass of it’s old self. Examination of the trunk reveals very little chance of these budding limbs receiving any form of sustenance from the roots of the tree. From all practical purposes the connection to the sustaining trunk and roots is non-existent. But, yet here it was in bloom. I am amazed at it’s fight for life. By all rights it should have given up. There is no chance that this tree may ever be the tree it was meant to be, or the tree it once was. But as Spring advances on us it exerts a valiant effort to live. It isn’t much and can’t expect to be much; but, it will fight for the right to be what it can be. The harsh heat of the Texas Summer will surely take its toll on the wounded tree. But, when Summer comes, I will watch it and take note of its progress every time I walk by. And, even though it is just a tree, I will respect it. You’ve just got to respect something that refuses to give up. There is much to be said about perseverance. Stubborn will that refuses to admit defeat has stolen victory too many times to be ignored. It is the thing miracles are made of. Each of us is a miracle waiting to be claimed. Each of us has the potential to be more than we are and more than what most folks think we are. We need only have the spirit of that broken tree I walk past in the mornings—refuse to give up or give in. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I am told that Sir Winston Churchill gave a commencement talk at a university during the dark days of the Second World War. The eloquent orator gave the shortest talk ever given. He stood before the graduates, academia, families, and associated and simply said, “Never, never, never give up.” And then he sat down. To me this ranks among the greatest speeches ever given. There is no mistaking the message. Although, not as eloquent as Churchill that broken tree demonstrates the same message. There is no reason that justifies just giving up. Each and every blossom tells me that. It is amazing what you find on a morning walk, when you open your eyes to the messages around you. |
| Title: Beyond the Familiar Date: March 10, 2007, Saturday Thought: Familiarity is good. It was good that my heart surgeon had performed the same heart surgery hundreds of times before he did mine. I want him to be comfortable. I want the guy who wrote the book—and he did. Jog: I admit I like the familiar things in life. Although we humans are social, we feel most comfortable around the familiar. When I get up in the morning I usually make way to My chair, in My office, behind My computer. I log on to the computer and navigate over to WDC; I first go to My blog space, and check My email. Even there I am surrounded by the familiar because I look to see if My friends—you—have done anything new. My routines have become familiar. Early in the morning Max and I head out for our morning walk. We’ve done it so many time that Max has become conditioned to which way we go. There are options along the trail but all of them have become familiar to both of us. I choose the way we go and he follows the familiar trail. Almost every day we run into other folks who are walking the familiar trails; they've become familiar to them too. We usually happen upon Mitsy or Charlie and Maggie, accompanied by their masters. We sometimes encounter Oreo on these walks. It is a delight to see them approach. Max has become familiar with them and enjoys their company. In the evening, when Linda takes him out, he runs into Jessie, Shadow, and Nugget, who is his one and only cat friend. They are familiar to him and he is comfortable around them. When we are home at work, I find myself behind my desk doing familiar stuff. Although it is creative work, it is the same. The processes are familiar because I have done them so many times before. That is what makes me good at what I do, repetition. I am intimately familiar with what I do. There is not a question my client can ask that I have not addressed before. From this familiarity with my work comes comfort. I know that there is no one in the room who knows more about this subject than I do. I virtually wrote the book. Familiarity is good. It was good that my heart surgeon had performed the same heart surgery hundreds of times before he did mine. I want him to be comfortable. I want the guy who wrote the book—and he did. But, I’ve come to believe that familiarity can also have a detrimental affect on us. Familiarity can also keep us from stepping out into new areas, trying new things. Even though I know the processes of what I do intimately, it does not mean there are no new ways to do it. We must always be open to new approaches to old problems. When I find myself doing something because that is how we always did it before, I get a little concerned. Clinging to the familiar can retard success; it can hold us back. I’ve never entered into the realm of serious publishing. That’s new territory. Of course I want to be published; doesn’t everyone? Ah, we say we do; but do we? It is unfamiliar territory, as the ancient maps have scribed a the edge of the world in the margins, “there be monsters and beasties there.” There is a Bible story in the New Testament about Jesus encountering a man at a well. For over thirty years this man came, or was brought, to this well every morning with the anticipation that a miracle would occur and he would be healed. All he had to do was enter into the water at the moment its waters first stirred and he would be healed. The only catch was that it was only the first person into the well who would be healed. Sick and bound to his bed his feeble attempt to crawl to the water was futile as more able folk always plunged beneath the healing waters and experienced the miraculous. For thirty-eight years he came to the well and for thirty-eight years he went home in the same condition as he came. Jesus came to the well one morning. As he walked around the well among the misery of humanity that was surely gathered there, he stopped and asked this man a simple question. Jesus asked, “Do you want to be healed?” I can imagine the response as the man answered, “Sure, I want to be healed! Why do you think I’m here?” The man may have even thought that it was a rather ridiculous question. I’m sure the onlookers who were there to simply observe thought as much. But, was it? Is that a stupid question? Couldn’t Jesus see the condition the man was in? What would make him think he would answer any differently than the affirmative? Well, think about it. Thirty-eight years is a long time to be sick like that. In thirty-eight years one can get familiar with your routine. In thirty-eight years you can even arrive at a place where you are comfortable. What happens when you are suddenly and drastically taken out of the familiar? It is a scary world outside the familiar. It takes a lot of courage to walk in the unfamiliar. It is a place that is outside our comfort zone. Walking outside the familiar is the most difficult thing that we as humans do. “Do you want to be healed?” “No, I think I’ll just stay where I am. I’m comfortable here.” “Do you want to be healed?” “Yes!” “Are you ready to take on the responsibilities that being healed will bring?” “Yes! I’ve never been there before, but I will go there if you will walk with me.” Every morning we open our eyes and get up to the familiar. And, although familiar is good, we are challenged to walk in areas that we have never been before. Most of the time we decide to stay right where we are. No one notices and we are comfortable there. I don’t encourage you to tear helter skelter into life with wanton abandon, like a bull in a china shop. But, I do encourage you to occasionally step outside the familiar. Don’t lay by the well for thirty eight years wondering what it would be like to be healed. Extend your reach, take a chance, dare to be healed. |
| Title: The Literary Elysian Fields Date: March 8, 2007, Thursday Thought: Once cast into cyber-space they found their way to permanent Literary Elysian Fields where unfinished ideas wait for a defining thought, awkward poems search for rhyme, and poorly structured stories weep in the far reaches of the fields together. Jog: There is a place where words go to die. I call it the Literary Elysian Fields. I’ve sent a number of them there myself. Before the time of computers they were sent there on crumpled pages tossed across the room. That was not a bad thing, for they could be resurrected on wrinkled sheets if one changed his/her mind about them. But the age of computers ushered in little chance of wordly resurrection. Once cast into cyber-space they found their way to permanent Literary Elysian Fields where unfinished ideas wait for a defining thought, awkward poems search for rhyme, and poorly structured stories weep in the far reaches of the fields together. To my chagrin I must admit some of my best stuff has entered the shadow plains of those fields—stuff that I had no intention of sending there. Through callous error I have sent them there myself, screaming in my brain, “No! What have I done?” Neglectfully I have built idea and thoughts to promising heights without hitting the precious “save” button on my computer. Of course, I have also been the unfortunate recipient of bad luck’s twisted antics, a power surge, a bolt of lightening, a virtual hic-up, an instant desire for some virtual bureaucrat to insist that I ‘log in.”—all these have claimed my valued words and exiled them to the Literary Elysian Fields. Are they gone for ever?—most certainly, yes! You can’t put an egg back together once it has been shattered and you can’t replace spilled milk without cleaning up the mess. Do I grieve for these lost words?—again, most certainly I do. But I grieve mostly because I am selfish. I want them back because I doubt that I can say what I said that well again. And, that my friend is a sign of a lack of confidence. Or perhaps it is laziness, viewed as a lost investment in my precious time. I suspect it is probably both. The thing is, I can say it again. And, I can say it better than I did before. What I’ve found, though, is that I can’t say it the same way. Each piece—each little comment is a unique creation. It may not be well formed but, my goodness, it is unique. I have found that it does not profit me to attempt to structure the same words in the same way again. I can certainly use the previous as a guideline; but, the new words will take on uniqueness of their own. They will weave new meaning and give birth to new word pictures. And, this is a glorious thing. It is like the birth of a child—a creation of an idea. Some ideas live on beyond us—past our corporeal time of influence. They become seeds of thought in new generations causing influences of their own. But, this only happens when I don’t despair of the earlier attempts which may now dwell in the Literary Elysian Fields. No, true tribute is paid to futile earlier attempts by starting again and writing over—writing new. Someone once mentioned to me the need to preserve and keep their written pieces private so that someday they would meet the legal status and be published. I suppose there is some truth to that. If you cast everything into the public realm of the Internet you run the risk of losing the privilege of letting someone else publish these works. But, by keeping all these words secret you also lose the freedom of watching them do what they were supposed to do—that is to convey ideas and thoughts and images that are uniquely yours. Kept secret, they never communicate. And without communication, words are wasted. I give that person the same advice as the one who grieves over his lost words to the Literary Elysian Fields. There are more words and more ideas to be shared. If you have determined you have used all the words due you in this life, well, then you are not a writer. You can always say it again, even better. You will always have a new poem, story, or discourse waiting to be created. So share your ideas. Give some of them away free; and if you want to, you may save a few of them to sell at the market place. But don’t hoard them and don’t grieve for them when they are claimed by the Elysian Fields for words. There will be more words. There will be many more. |
| Title: The Beginning of the Day Date: March 6, 2007, Tuesday Thought: If someone could package it and sell it, they would. But, lucky for all of us it can't be packaged and there is not price on it...it's free. Jog: It's really not a bad way to start your day. However, I hate walking in the morning when it is cold. But, I do it. Max pesters me until we get out in the morning...the very early morning. After I am there, I'm glad I did. It is a very small gift that my Creator gives me each morning. Just a sunrise painted across the heavens, that's all. If someone could package it and sell it, they would. But, lucky for all of us it can't be packaged and there is no price on it...it's free. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Now, I suppose I can still have a bad day...if I work at it. But it is difficult when it starts out so good. By the end of the day, the toils of this day will have me pretty much spent. The neat thing is that, if I but look up at the end of the day, God will give me another photo. That is if I take the time to look. ***** She is twenty-two years old. She's lovely. She is a little shy but has a smile that lights up the room when it flashes. Her name is Lorena, and she comes from a little villiage in Mexico. We met her in a Chinese restaurant, of all places. We eat there often. Lorena was one of the hostess there who sat people. Somehow we got to know her a little better than just a hostess at a restaraunt. Over the years we have invited her into our home, bought her Christmas gifts and birthday presents. She returns the gestures. Recently she has brought her two children from Mexico to live with her. We now feel like grandparents since we have virtually adopted Lorena as our daughter. Is it not strange how you develop relationships? And to think, it started by us just going out to eat one night. I will witness two miracles today. The first is the sunrise in the photo above; the second is the smile we will get from Lorena today. And to think, I didn't have to spend a dime for either one of them. |
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