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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: Ninja Stealthbunny Date: March 5, 2007, Tuesday Thought: Geeze, I wish he'd stop starin' at me !! Jog: Ok, I know CC, Tor, and Party are gonna call me a Sissy just because I got a cute little bunny sitting in my intro page. Budroe will keep his mouth shut because he got a fuzzy one...least mine isn't fuzzy. It's not that I'm not thankful, cause I am. You know those other guys are gonna point and say, "Planner's got a bunny...Planner's got a bunny" Well so what? I kinda like the little guy. gardengirl gave him to me and I'm proud of it. What those dummies don't know is that the rabbit's a Ninja Stealthbunny! He and Max the Stealthdog are quite a team. He's got his own Stealth jammies and a little wabbit stealthbelt. So Tor, if'n you laugh at him he's gonna kick your arse. An, if'n CC gives him any problem he'll chase that sissy Peedy till his tongue hangs out. So's you two LEAVE 'EM ALONE. I was going to get real serious and philosophical, but it's sorta hard to do with those bunny eyes starin' at me. Guess I'm have to wait until after Easter, when the Ninja Stealthbunny goes on vacation. Geeze, I wish he'd stop starin' at me !! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Message from an Old Softie Date: March 4, 2007, Sunday Thought: I don’t have to know why it happened, all I have to do is appreciate it. And I do. Jog: Well, you can blame this entry on welkerdeb. She did just about the nicest thing a person could do. She spread a little love around to everyone. She reminded me again that this place (WDC) is a special place. I know it is just another webpage with a bunch of strangers tapping out messages. Or at least that is what so many folks thought. But it has become so much more than that to so many more people. Until I began blogging in here, I did not believe that the virtual people you meet could be compared to the non-virtual folks you bump into everyday. Being faces and names on a screen is just not the same as being in the presence of flesh and bone peoples. At least that was until WDC. Maybe it is that we are a community of writers—a bunch of folks who try to express their emotion and feelings with the written word. Perhaps that makes us a little more susceptible to opening up to our virtual friends. Perhaps we have a little more refined sense of expression and can identify a little better with each other. Or perhaps just the right amount of chemistry happened and something special was born-something that would not happen under anything but the right circumstances. Or perhaps I am dreaming or just naïve. Perhaps this does happen at regular frequencies on a myriad of other sites. Maybe—but, I don’t have to know why it happened, all I have to do is appreciate it. And I do. Perhaps it’s cause I’m a guy, I don’t always say thanks or respond to every comment. I’m sort of insensitive like that; it’s a male gene. For all those times I did not respond and for the times I just plain forgot to say thanks, well—Thanks! Deb, dang it girl! See what you did. I just performed a bunch of mushy stuff. Now, I’ve got to go out and do something manly. |
| Title: Sometimes Life Gets In the Way Date: March 3, 2007, Saturday Thought: As I attempt to take care of the business of getting jobs out and meeting deadlines, life happened to me today. The funny thing is it will happen again to me tomorrow. Jog: We schedule things that we want to accomplish and a strange thing happens along the way—life happens. No matter how momentous the occasion, significant the situation, or historic the event the little things in life still seem to happen. Folks will still get up early for work, rush to the office, pay bills, fall in love, and do a myriad of other things in spite of what I schedule in my life or that happens to me. On the day I die someone will be born; someone will have their first kiss or buy their first house. Folks will sleep in late and head off to vacation. Kids will still be kids and folks will still do dumb stuff to each other. With all the stuff I have on my plate the ordinary events in life still occur. This morning when I opened my email, greeting me there, was a message that I had been given an awardicon. Seems as if my piece "Invalid Item"  has been awarded first place in a contest. I started my day with a smile. As the day crunched forward it soon became time for a doctor’s appointment. It was a switch from the usual for it was to be with someone else’s doctor for a change. Max, our black lab, had an appointment with the vet. A couple of things happened at the vet’s that have stuck with me.We found out today that Max has bilateral hip dysphasia. It is not unusual in large breed dogs; but, it was information that we were not pleased to hear. Linda and I suspected that there may be a problem and hoped we were wrong. However, the vet said Max could be the poster child for the desease. Fortunately, he can be treated and live a relatively pain-free life. We now enter into the world of dog drugs and treatment. I was certainly surprised to find the drug he would be taking cost three dollars for each pill. Now when you consider that he will be taking these daily, that’s a healthy sum of money. Max’s doctor, who is a lady doctor that I have chosen to call Vetette, says he is a perfect candidate for surgery that will likely correct much of the problem. However, the surgery will cost $1,200 per hip. Looks as if either way we are going to be paying vet bills. However, Max is worth it and, although we are certainly not pleased, we can afford it. In that sense the dog is a lucky dog. While we were waiting to pick up Max (we had to leave him there for a few hours so they could take x-rays and do tests) we were touched by a little tragedy being played out by another family. Lying in the waiting room with us was a large chocolate Lab with her master. Her master was affectionately petting her and visibly upset. It seems as if the canine lady was in a rather bad way. The dog and master were waiting together for the last time. She was in severe pain but lay there quietly, with her master. I could see his heart breaking as we waited for our own dog to be returned to us. It seemed so unfair. Linda and I both were moved by the tenderness the dog’s master showed as he stroked the aging lady’s back. Every now and then the old girl would turn and look at her master, with only moments left in her life. It simply breaks my heart. I thought about that all afternoon. I kneeled next to Max, stroked his back and said, “It’s OK fella, I’ll take care of you.” I don’t know when or how it happened but I’ve become so attached to this creature. And so, as I attempt to take care of the business of getting jobs out and meeting deadlines, life happened to me today. The funny thing is it will happen again to me tomorrow. It’s just that today it seemed so much more significant. The things we consider important in life constantly rearrange themselves. I have an entry half-way worked up that deals with the important stuff in our lives and how we place priorities on them. When I feel a little more philosophical I’ll finish it and fling it at you. Right now, I’m still a little affected by that lovely old dog and her master. Somewhere in our community a family’s heart is breaking with the lost of a loved pet. They don’t know it, but a total stranger grieves with them. It’s difficult to live life as an old softy; but, I do the best I can. |
| Title: My Experience With the Game of Champions Date: March 2, 2007, Saturday Thought: Anyway, it amazes me at how little we take to claim a victory. Jog: I’ve noticed that it usually doesn’t take much to make it a good day. This was discussed by our friend Budroe in one of his recent entries, which does not surprise me at all since all of Bud’s entries are very rewarding. Anyway, it amazes me at how little we take to claim a victory.I’m not a golfer. I tried but didn’t make it. The idea in golf is to whack that little white ball down this manicured lawn with as few strokes as you can. Seems simple enough. However, there are about thirty things you gotta do right in the two seconds it takes to swing that club. Do one of them wrong and everything cascades down around your feet in rubble. Do most of them wrong and you’ve got my golf swing. I quit playing golf because I got sick and tired of walking in the high grass when everyone else got to walk on that manicured lawn. The first time I played golf was with some buddies of mine. One day they said, “Let’s play golf on Saturday. Do you want to play, Dan?” Perhaps they were expecting me to say, “Nope, I’m not worth a flip at playing golf. I’d rather stay at home and peel paint from the eaves.” Well, if that was what they were expecting, it’s not what they got. “Sure, I’ll play. But let’s do it very early so I can play through before the crowd gathers.” That should have told them something. Everyone wants to play early. In fact, early is when the crowd gathers. Anyway, one of my friends was successful in getting an 8:00 am tee time. The dice are cast; there is no turning back. The few days before my first game I thought it might be good for me to learn the game. I borrowed some clubs, some golf shoes that clicked on the pavement when you walked, and bought a package of balls that came three to a package. I couldn’t figure out why I needed three, I’m only playing one game. I decided to visit a driving range and practice whacking that ball. That was revealing. I missed it half the time, leaving the little white orb sitting boldly on its tee laughing at me. I bounced it down the range wounded with the gash deposited on the top of the ball. It whistled when it flew on its erratic course. I hit the thing to the left and to the right and straight up a few times…and I missed it a lot. Did you know that they actually had the gall to inform me that a swing and miss is counted as a stroke…ridiculous? Eventually, I determined that I was ready. Regardless of how many practice balls I attacked, I would be no better prepared than I was at that moment. So I waited for Saturday. Saturday was a gorgeous day. It was the kind of day that when someone first sees it they say, “Gee, I’d like to play some golf.” And that’s exactly what the multitude of early risers did on that day. All of creation was at the golf course. And where did they want to spend their early morning hours? At the first tee, of course. This golf course had a loud speaker at the clubhouse that announced the tee times. Therefore, no one could miss the fact that it was now time for my group of four to tee off. What did I have to worry about? I’d practiced earlier. Besides, I looked really good and my shoes clicked on the pavement when I walked. Our foursome entered the tee box. I decided that I would go last. I’d let the experienced golfers tee off first so I could go to school on their swing—every little bit helps, you know. One by one the golfers addressed the ball, swung the club, and hit the ball. Each time you could hear the whoosh of the swing and the solid “whack” when the club contacted the ball. Each time the ball flew into the air down the course out of the presence of the gallery that watched intently. Out there where the ball bounced down the fairway was solitude and safety. That’s where I wanted to be. It was my turn. I’m embarrassed to even recount it. I approached the spot I had picked to tee the ball, placed my ball on the tee…three times because it kept falling off. I readied myself to step up to the ball. I looked down the course as if I had any control over where the dang thing was going to go. I waggled the club, because that’s what you do. I looked down the course again. I then knocked the dirt off my cleats and remembered that this was golf and not baseball. I stepped up to the ball, took a deep breath, drew back the club and swung. I missed. I heard a few chuckles from the gallery. I regained my composure and swung again. Again, I missed. I’m already two strokes down and I’m not even off the first tee. On my third swing, I was determined to hit the dang thing and, if need be, take half the dirt in the tee box with me; I was not going to swing unproductively again. To my relief I heard the ‘whack’ on the ball. I searched the heavens to see the white orb sailing down the fairway. I nearly missed it but fortunately noticed something bouncing along the ground about fifty yards in front of me. At least I saw it until it bounced into the creek that crossed the fairway. Someone asked, “Do you want to hit another one?” “Nope, I’ll play this one.” No way was I going to go through this again. I could not bear to have another miss. So down the fairway I strolled while creation waited at the tee box for me to get out of the way. This, at fifty yards at a time, was going to take a little while. Most folks would take issue with playing their ball out of the bottom of that little creek. Not me—I relished the privacy down in its depths. What I did not know was how I was going to get out of there. My first two swings managed to beat up the side of the creek as the ball struck it and rolled back to me. So, I did what I had to do; I picked the dang thing up and heaved it with all my might down the course. It was the best shot of my day—the only time I would find myself in the fairway. The rest of the day was spent behind trees, in the high grass with the snakes, or in the little beaches some dolt had placed around the greens. For some reason I continued to play that game for a number of years. I figured I would improve. All I can say is that sometimes I’m wrong. This was one of those times. Oh, every now and then you’d hit the ball just right and it would make your day--a little victory. I guess that’s why I kept doing it—for those times when everything went right. Eventually, I gave up on the game. For me it was a lonely game, always played away from the group. Nope, I determined to just save my money and find an easier way to be humiliated. Lord, knows there other ways that can be done. |
| Title: Man, the Image of God Date: February 28, 2007, Thursday Thought: Being created in God’s image does not mean that we always exhibit the wisdom and compassion of God. No, it means that we have the capacity to do so. Jog: What does God look like? When I stand before my mirror and gaze at the handsome creature there, is that image what God looks like? Doesn’t the Bible say we are created in His image? If that is so, then God must be an aging middle-aged white male, blond hair, blue eyes, tall, a little overweight (seems as if God could do something about that), and reasonably good looking (I said reasonably.) Hmm, so that’s what God looks like? I don’t believe the Bible had me in mind when it said, “And God created man in His own image.” That would be a tad bit presumptuous of me. And, it certainly does not mean to convey the idea that the inverse was true, that God in any way reflects the image of His man creation. Nope, that’s not it. The truth of the scripture is that any quality that man possesses was given to us by God and can be attributed to His character and nature. In that sense, we are to take on the character of God, in as much as we can do that. There are things we have been given in God’s image that none else in his creation has been given. In those things we are in His image. The other beasts of creation certainly exhibit varying degrees of intelligence. My best buddy, Max, is pretty smart, at least I think so. But in the final analysis, he is still a dog--certainly a creation of the Father, but not created in His image. Chimps, apes, and other primates have been shown to exhibit many traits that are similar to humans. They reason, they bond with others, they show a sense of community. But they exist on a much lower plane than that of man. Lest we get conceited and think too much of ourselves, we must be reminded that our position in the order of things is not of our own doing and it has no real bearing on our goodness or even merit. We were created for a purpose—in God’s image for sure, but we were to serve a special purpose. The Hebrew word that is translated as ‘image’ is ‘tselem.’ It comes from a root that means ‘to shade.’ When used figuratively it means ‘to resemble.’ The idea of shade is an interesting one. If you consider that we are created as a shade of God, that denotes marvelous variety and uniqueness to God’s creation. We are not to be a carbon copy of God—God’s mirror image. We rather take on shades of God’s devine nature—not exactly like God, but a resemblance nevertheless. This same idea is emphasized in the New Testament when Christians are challenged to be Christ-like. We know that none of us will take on the mirror image of Christ; but each of us must seek within our own abilities to be as much like Christ as we possibly can. That we can never live the sinless and perfect life as did Christ is a foregone conclusion. But even though we may not be able to live perfect lives, Christ knows that it is in each of us to have the desire to do so. In that sense we are Christ-like. In that sense we are created in the image of God. It is at those moments we most resemble God. We are created in God’s image in that we share some of the divine nature of God. He made us that way. We have a sophistication of communication that no dolphin or ape will ever possess. Not only do we communicate audibly, but we have the ability to produce written language and read that language. Even the most primitive of tribes have a form of language that provides a means of recording and transmitting ideas. God created man for the purpose of communing with his creation. Part of being in God’s image is that we have the ability of sophisticated communication. We are created in God’s image in that, like God, we have relationships and exhibit complex emotions. The mockingbird chatters away with its lovely song. Do you suppose he takes pleasure in that song? Does it make him happy? I contend that his song is sung only as an act to define territory or to attract a mate. Once attracted, does the mockingbird fall in love? There may be a bonding of male and female, sometimes even a lifelong bond; but I doubt if love is the reason. We are the only being that can evaluate and nurture relationships. Unfortunately, we often do a poor job of it, but that does not lessen the fact that it is in our ability to make conscious decisions as to how our relationships will develop. We choose who we will like. We control our relationships. Granted, these are often influenced by the actions of others towards us, but even that is a conscious choice. Not only are we a creation of God in His image; we are in fact creative because of that. As far as I know, we are the only being that gets teary-eyed at a beautiful painting or a moving sonata. An ape can stare at the Mona Lisa for a lifetime and never appreciate the beauty of the subtle smile. The falcon and eagle can be in the same room as Michelangelo’s David and never appreciate it for anything other than a perch. A dolphin cannot read the works of Shakespeare or Wordsworth and ever appreciate the emotion crafted within those words. All these are things of creation—man’s creation. We have the ability to create for the benefit of the rest of mankind. Majestic buildings, bridges that span the lakes and rivers of our cities, canals that cut through rock for the purpose of commerce, penicillin and the polio vaccine. All these things are man’s creation. And, each of them pale when compared with the creation of God; consider the sunset which is painted in the heavens everyday or the newborn baby or a leaf. But, in the sense that we possess the ability to create, we are in God’s image. Being in God’s image is quite an honor and can be very rewarding; but it also brings with it much responsibility. Because we have the ability to do these things, man also has the ability to bring great harm and cruelty into the world. It is a product of our great gift. Being created in God’s image does not mean that we always exhibit the wisdom and compassion of God. No, it means that we have the capacity to do so. We also have the capacity to fail. And although it often seems that ‘to fail’ is what we do best, the creative spark of goodness that we receive from God’s image often shines through. And when it does, it makes it worth being created in His image. There is so much more that can be said regarding what it means to be created in God’s image. The discussion far exceeds the scope or capability of this simple little journal. But, this journal itself is an example of being created in God’s image. Because of that creation, I can attempt to place thoughts and ideas in order to convey a complicated concept. And the reader completes the cycle by reading and thinking about these ideas—forming opinions of his or her own—creating new ideas. We were all created by God. Within that creation is a person of great worth. Within each one of us there exists the ability and the desire to do great things, understand great ideas, experience passion and disappointment. That’s the way it is when you are a creation of God’s own image. It’s a great responsibility we share. I would not want it any other way. |
| Title: Checking In Date: February 27, 2007, Tuesday Thought: I was bound and determined to get back in here and at least say, “Hi.” Jog: Hi, I’m Dan. I’m supposed to be a fine citizen of WDC, but have been away for a few days. That’s what happens when you let life get in the way. After being out for a whole week, I come in here and find that my friends have been trudging on with life without me. How dare them? Deb’s kicked butt or just about to, Tor’s reminiscing about outrunning bulls, Nada took me down the red carpet at the Oscars, and Kay’s son made this cute little dinosaur that Ami ruined by naming it Penisaurus Rex. All in all, things haven’t changed. Being way too busy has its good points and its bad points. The good points include making money, which helps to pay the bills and keep the wolf from the door. The bad points include getting tired way too often and missing you friends. I was bound and determined to get back in here and at least say, “Hi.” So, I snuck (that’s a good word) in here at 3:00 am and read a few blogs and jumped right into this entry. It doesn’t matter that I have nothing original or brilliant to say…it’s words on the page, and that counts. Beside, it’s dang difficult to be brilliant and original at 3:00 am. I’m working on it…give me a little time and I’ll stumble into a mess of brilliant. But, not tonight—tonight I’ll just have to settle with a bunch of words on the page. Like I said, that counts! |
| Title: Alternative Lifestyles Date: February 19, 2007, Monday Thought: I don’t know if there is a truck gene and a doll gene that we get implanted when we develop in the womb. Jog: I have no idea where the topic of today’s entry came from. After I had written it, I considered filing it away in some dark spot in my files. Many folks will take issue with it and may even be sorely offended. That was not and never will be my intention. There are times when we have to just say what we think and stand and take the results of what we say. Just know that it is said without malice or ill feelings to anyone. You don’t know nowadays. There was a time when you could make sweeping generalities about men and women and those generalities would be readily accepted. But, you don’t always know nowadays. Very basically we believed girls played with dolls and guys played with toy trucks; Girls primped and kept themselves clean and presentable and guys, well guys really didn’t give a damn what they looked like. It seems my boys were happiest when sweat and dirt were caked on their little foreheads. There were exceptions to the case, lots of them, but generally the roles were pretty well defined. Now, I haven’t done an in-depth study of the characteristics of human beings. I don’t know if there is a truck gene and a doll gene that we get implanted when we develop in the womb. But it seems to me that we have operated this way ever since the dawn of man’s existence. In the early morning Og left the cave, hunted for lunch, generally in the form of something that would bite back, killed the dang thing, and then drug it back to the cave. Ogette stayed in the cave and cared for the family unit, which was by no means an easy task. But that was the way they were built. The man was bigger, stronger, and well suited for the challenge of the hunt. That was also why when the tribe was threatened by an aggressive neighboring tribe, it was the guys that trotted off with the clubs and spears to do battle. The woman was smaller, less strong, and well suited for what she did in the cave. By the way, being bigger and stronger had nothing to do with intelligence. Both halves of the unit had the need and the capacity for intelligence. Our world today is much more blended. We are very smart beings—almost too smart. We’ve found ways to convince ourselves that the natural roles that served early man very well are, well, simply outdated. Somehow in our quest for total equality we have determined that men and women are the same. Ignore the physical parameters that nature has built into the system, we have a better way. We tell ourselves it is alright to mix the roles. And to some degree I agree. There is no reason we should not have a female president. Women possess the intelligence and psychological abilities that it takes to be leaders. Heck, I’m ready for a Ms. President. (I’m just not sure I’m ready for the one that’s currently running.) But, if I’m cornered in an alley by a couple of thugs with chains and I call out for help, I’m kinda hoping I get a couple of 235 pound, muscled up guy cops. Sorry, that’s just the way I am. There are times when being politically correct is stupid…well most times in fact. I believe that anytime you have to attach an adverb to a word there is an agenda behind it. I would much rather be just ‘correct’ than’ politically correct.’ Recently, when I was in the hospital, I lay there with my chest split open and glued back together after my heart by-pass surgery. When the pain prompted me to click the little button that summoned the nurse, I was pleased when the female nurse came in. I had both male and female nurses of equal ability. Don’t ask me why I preferred the female. I suppose it had something to do with the fact that as a little boy, when I got sick, it was mom I associated with nurture, sympathy, and compassion. It wasn’t that dad did not posses these skills, but mom’s application seemed right. In my mind’s eye dad still went out in the morning and killed the beast and drug it home for dinner. Our society is trying as hard as it can to reverse these roles. We must be careful. You know what the old saying is: “It’s not nice to mess with Mother Nature.” We stand and permit this to happen because during the course of man’s history we have indeed done some stupid stuff. We have over defined the roles and placed unreasonable expectations there. For example, there is no reason women should be paid less in the workplace when they perform the same job as a man. There should be no reason why a woman cannot hold the position of leadership in any organization, including our government. There is no reason a woman should not be considered an equal in the marriage contract. There is never any excuse that warrants physical or emotional abuse of a sexual basis. To take advantage of position and social status for the purpose of sexual exploitation is abhorable. We have done these things because we have over defined nature’s definition of the role of a man and woman. We are now in peril of overcorrecting in some areas. However, there is also no reason we should abandon the traditional family unit in our zeal to correct past inequities perpetrated on women. The family unit consisting of a man and woman and their offspring is as natural as natural can be. To substitute any other model or lifestyle and claim it is an acceptable alternative is contrary to the natural pattern; it is unnatural. That is not said with any intention to degrade or diminish the persons who do so; it is just a statement of fact. Nature does not work that way. As far as I remember, it takes a male and female to procreate. Any messing with that formula is contrary to nature. It is well in my nature to be able to tolerate those who wish to pursue alternative lifestyles. I do not condemn them. I will be please to work alongside them and even honestly take them to be my friend. Every person has been created by his Creator as a person of worth and must be considered that way until they prove otherwise. In that, we are equal. But, never mistake my tolerance of alternative lifestyles to be that of acceptance. I can not accept the lifestyle as being a natural course of things, since it is clearly not. Do these statements make me homophobic? Not at all. You see it does not bother me to have gay basketball players in the NBA, or the NFL, or any other sport. I don’t have a problem with having gay policemen and soldiers and politicians. I would hire a gay to work for me and with me, and have. That is a personal choice each person makes. I don’t believe coming out of the closet means you must now surrender any rights. Nope, the gay guy is just as entitled to those rights as I am. But, just don’t try to tell me or teach my children that being a gay couple is an acceptable lifestyle. It is not and never will be. It is simply an alternate lifestyle. I will tolerate the lifestyle and respect the right people have to choose it. But never will it be the proper course of nature. In the days of the caveman, a complete tribe of Og’s only would be destined for extinction. For it to survive there had to be an Og and Ogette. If I am wrong on that point, please enlighten me. |
| Title: He Liked Me! Date: February 16, 2007, Friday Thought: I remember Noel’s words to me when I told him of Coach Gilbert’s passing. After a short conversation he said in reflection, “Yeah, I remember Coach Gilbert; he liked me.” Jog: As we get older, mortality naturally begins to shrink our world of friends and acquaintances. Folks die and go to better places. In fact, those of us who are Christians believe this place we currently inhabit is but a flicker in eternity’s lasting flame. Well, I noticed the flicker this week. My little town lost a dear friend. He was only an acquaintance to me; but, he was an important part of the world that makes up my little community. Keith was a teacher—a coach to be certain. When my oldest son was in high school, he had a particularly troubling time. Struggling with who he was and what he was to become, my son gave up on the future and coasted through the last few years of school. Grades were poor, attitude was rotten, and life was generally unpleasant for everyone who came into contact with my young man. I have jokingly stated that at the age of sixteen someone came in to my house and stole my oldest child, replacing him with an unruly substitute. We threatened many things and were a hair close to literally sending him to the Marine Corps. But magically, one day, someone brought my loving son back and reclaimed the other one. We are glad to have him back. That was many years ago. During that period in my son’s life, he had very few heroes. To say the least, I was not one of them. His mom and I are certainly his heroes today; but, that was not the case then. However, one of the people that Noel respected was Coach Gilbert, his weight-training coach. Coach was the single thread that kept Noel centered. I don’t know what he said to Noel or what he did. All I know is that there are many young men who share the same testimony. On Wednesday of this week, Keith Gilbert lost his battle with esophageal cancer. It was a very short journey. Keith was diagnosed in October and we lost him in February. I remember Noel’s words to me when I told him of Coach Gilbert’s passing. After a short conversation he said in reflection, “Yeah, I remember Coach Gilbert; he liked me.” I’ve thought about that quite a bit since he said it. I’ve decided it’s one of the greatest compliments one person can pay another, especially a teacher. While it is certainly a commendable thing for people to like you, I feel it says so much more to have them see that you liked others. That is the true test of a generous person—one that gives to others. Of the things that my son remembered of his high school years was the fact that one man—one coach—gave of himself and made it obvious that Noel was liked. Keith was not seeking to be well liked himself—to be the most popular coach in school. Nope, it was much more important to let a troubled young may know that, in his mind at least, he was worthy of his friendship. “I remember Coach Gilbert—he liked ME.” So many years later I finally understand the great gift Coach Gilbert gave my son. I wish there had been others like that. Perhaps there were, I don’t know. But I will be eternally thankful to this kind man. I didn’t have the opportunity to thank him for what he did. Had I known, I surely would have. But, someday in Glory, I’ll be able to shake his hand and tell him how much that simple gesture means to me—how much it meant to Noel. I’ve determined that someday when I go to be with my Maker, that’s the epitaph I would like to leave, for others to think of me and say, “I remember him; he liked me.” |
| Title: Am I Crazy? Date: February 16, 2007, Friday Thought: Each of us needs to practice the art of saying “NO.” Jog: I can’t believe I actually turned down a job. Oh, I’ve done it before; but, never because I was simply too busy. I often decline to propose on assignments if I feel they are outside our expertise. But, rarely do I turn them down because my plate is full. Nope, I usually just shove stuff over and take on the new guy. I can no longer do that. When you fill a glass to the top, it runs over. It can only hold so much. And, my friends, my glass is full and I’m running over. Now, running over is good; because it means you are making money. And, making money is generally good because that means you are keeping the wolf away from the door. I generally like wolfless doors. When I lost my last employee an avalanche of work came cascading down upon me. I found that he was not servicing our clients like I wanted, which meant I need to give them a little extra effort. Also, within the last 30 days, several of my established clients have called up, out of the blue, and given me new assignments. That’s good. But, it does make life a little interesting, if not chaotic. So, two weeks ago an engineering firm called and asked if I would propose on preparing a Comprehensive Plan for the City of Bridgeport and they would do the engineering for us. For years I have cultivated the marketplace to familiarize our firm with engineering firms in the region. They usually don’t do planning work and I stay the heck away from engineering. However, the fields overlap when cities begin to address their long range needs. At a time when work was scarce I found that teaming up with the engineers helped bring the bacon home. Well, we have come full circle now. Everyone knows our firm and we constantly get calls to team with other firms. That’s what I’ve been working so long and so hard on. So, when I have to turn one down it breaks my heart and seems a little detrimental to my overall business plan. However, you can only do so much. You’ve got to draw the line and respect the limits. Now, what in the world does this mean to you? Absolutely nothing, if you’re thinking only about my situation. But, it can have direct application to any of you who do as I do and load your schedule to the brim and past. Each of us needs to practice the art of saying “NO.” It isn’t as easy as just saying no to every request asked of you. Nope, sometimes you gotta say “Yes” even when you’re snowed under. The quality of your “yes’s” must be carefully determined. Even with a loaded schedule we sometimes have to give a little more of ourselves. It isn’t easy to know when that should be. Like everything else in life, it takes practice. Hey, I’m an old codger and I’m still learning this art. I’ve heard the saying, “Give until it hurts.” Well, I’m changing that to “Say ‘No’ even when it hurts.” We’ve got to learn to say “No” when it hurts. I’m the first to admit that I’m the first in line to take the class. The line forms behind me. |
| Title: Spiritual One-a-Day Date: February 15, 2007, Thursday Thought: Spend a lot of time with God; talk to Him often and your relationship will be easy and comfortable. Ignore Him and go your own way, and we tend to grow distant and disjointed in our spiritual relationship. Jog: I’ve been around this spiritual block for some time now. I’ve learned that being a Christian is not a club a person belongs to; it’s a relationship you have. And, like all relationships it grows or stagnates by the amount of effort one spends on it. Extended time spent separated from those we love often has a detrimental affect on that relationship. It is no different with the spiritual relationship that one has with God. Spend a lot of time with God; talk to Him often and your relationship will be easy and comfortable. Ignore Him and go your own way, and we tend to grow distant and disjointed in our spiritual relationship. Now, this is really kind of difficult to do with God. Because, as I am walking away from Him, He is tagging along right behind me. The good news is He’s still there. The unfortunate news is that since my back is turned, I don’t know that. Every now and then I have to remind myself of which way I am facing. I’ve got to physically remind myself to turn around. And, when I do I am constantly amazed that my Father is still there—just a step away. So, I’ve determined the best action is to give myself frequent reminders to turn around. I call it my Spiritual One-a-Day—just like a vitamin only much more critical. Even if it is just a brief moment, you need to take this One-a-Day. I have had plans where I did in-depth Bible study in the mornings. There is nothing wrong with that, except I often don’t take the time. I’m in too much of a hurry. I am always looking for ways to spend a little quality time. To me, the best time is in the morning. Unfortunately, I try to fit everything into the morning. But, that is still the right time for me. Written study guides are good, but are often expensive and bring with them rules to follow. I hate following rules in the early morning. I like to do it my own way. And so, after a few days the written study guides usually fall by the wayside--incomplete. I heard about something new. Someone else said this is the way they do it, and I thought it was a good idea. The book of Proverbs is an interesting book. It has an enormous wealth of spiritual wisdom and guidance. The ideas are short and easy to grasp, but within them are spiritual truths waiting to be discovered. The interesting thing about Proverbs is that the book consist of 31 chapters—the same as the days of the month. This lends itself easily to assigning one chapter for each day of the month. For example on the 15th day of the month I will read Proverbs 15, on the 16th I’ll read Chapter 16, and so on through the month. Now, it is obvious that some months will be incomplete for the entire book. But, that’s OK; by sticking to the days of the month I can pick up at anytime, even if I miss a day or two. It is my spiritual One-a-Day; today will be Proverbs 15. I need and go take my medicine now…spiritually that is. |
| Title: Fighting Styles Date: February 14, 2007, Wednesday, Valentine's Day Thought: With that I must gird my loins for battle and wade into the plague. I have versions of the document piled on the cart waiting to be totted off. Jog: By my title you may assume I’m going to discuss the latest fad in ladies shoes. Well, if that’s your assumption, you are so wrong. Nope, for the next several moments I will be delving into the mundane area of writing regulatory documents. This is your warning to run like the wind, if you wish. If you stay, you will find a broken and frustrated man; for, I will also shamelessly grovel for assistance, which I am quite good at. For years I have used Microsoft Word as my word processor. I do that because of its universal use. Seems as if almost everybody has a copy of that software on their computer. Since all my clients use it, I can transfer documents to them easily. The final task in almost all my assignments is to provide a copy of the document I am working on to the client. I usually provide them a Word and a PDF document. Among other things, I write ordinances, subdivision regulations, historic preservation plans, and prepare comprehensive plans for municipalities. The regulatory documents are always written in an outline format. It is necessary to be able to pinpoint any particular regulation, hidden deep within the body of the ordinance, by reference, such as Section 6, 6.1, A, 2. The ‘styles’ feature in Word permits me to do that with enormous flexibility. By using this feature I can add a new regulation in the middle of the ordinance and it will automatically adjust all the outline numbers and the format to accept the new regulation. Similarly, I can delete a portion and it will again automatically adjust the numbering and format. When you have an ordinance that is 170 pages long, that is a wonderful feature. For those of you who are interested, you find the ‘styles’ feature in the pull-down menu under ‘Format.’ The bad thing about ‘styles’ is that it is unbelievably complicated and sensitive. We often have municipalities try to tweak their ordinances with simple little changes. If you are not familiar and experienced with using the ‘styles’ feature, that is like doing brain-surgery with a pair of nail clippers—something’s gonna get messed up. And, once you mess up a document it is often not easy to fix. Well, that’s what has happened with one of my client’s zoning ordinance. The city attorney decided to make a few revisions, which is their right. As a result the client has now bundled all the spare parts in a bag and shipped it of to me with the instructions to “fix it.” And that’s what I did most of yesterday…and as soon as I get finished with this entry, I shall continue messing with the mess today. The other bad thing about ‘styles’ is that very few folks know how to use it. Don’t go to the Microsoft ‘help’ links for any help. That is a useless action. Nope, you usually learn ‘styles’ like you learn to ride a bike—by getting on and falling off a lot. So, if there are any experts in using ‘styles’ out there, I would certainly like to collaborate. I am not a novice at it, but sometimes I feel totally lost in the jungle of ‘styles.’ When it works right, it’s a joy to see. The page is well ordered; all the outline numbering is correct, and even the Table of Contents and Index can be generated and revised automatically. It really is a wondrous thing. However, when it does not work, it is a plague from hell. With that I must gird my loins for battle and wade into the plague. I have versions of the document piled on the cart waiting to be totted off. Hopefully, I will by some stroke of luck stumble into a solution. Baring that happening, I will cheat. I will remove the ‘styles’ feature and simply indent and type each heading the old fashioned way, one at a time….every time….Geeze! |
| Title: Hi Neighbor Date: February 13, 2007, Tuesday Thought: I’m grateful for the mental exercise that this site offers. It makes me consciously form my thoughts and challenges me to find the right words to express myself. Jog: It appears we are up at the same time. It is dark in my office. I’m typing to the light of the laptop screen. Max is curled up into a tight ball at my feet. I wandered in here at around 5:00 am—a little late for me. I immediately opened the WDC page and checked for messages; I had a couple. I spent a little time answering them and then surfed through the blog entries to find some of my favorites and then made a few comments. Only after that did I decide to click on the “Who’s Online” link. Now, that’s an amazing little page. It tells me that I am not in here alone. Somehow that pleases me. It’s still dark and quiet at my desk; Max is still curled up at my feet. But, somehow I feel like I have company. I am even more amused when I see that some of my favorites are puttering around in here. I wonder what they are doing. They’re probably sitting in their jammies…Oh Gawd, what a thought, Tor’s online. I quickly try to fill images of Jessica Simpson in my head. The thought of Tor sitting at the computer in his briefs overload my imagination…(think, Jessica…Jessica…Jessica!) It’s amazing how you can change topics so easily in here. I’ve written three long comments. One was sort of reminiscing, one was kinda funny—well as funny as I get—and one was very deep. Each one caused me to think, and sometimes that hurts. I’m grateful for the mental exercise that this site offers. It makes me consciously form my thoughts and challenges me to find the right words to express myself. Sometimes I do it well, but mostly I stumble around like a toddler. However, every time I feel rewarded with the opportunity to respond. It’s good to see you are online too. Please excuse me as I leave my post. It seems as if I’ve discovered I’m sleepy. I’ll be back later. Hopefully, I’ll find you online again. |
| Title: Realities We Face Date: February 12, 2007, Monday Thought: It’s good to know that there’s someone out there taking care of me even when I’m too busy to deal with them. Jog: There are some realities in this old world that I am not pleased with. My willingness to accept them or not is immaterial, that’s the nature of reality. In my short stories I can mold the world as I wish it. If I don’t like an ending I can rewrite it. If I make a mistake, I can correct it. Heck, I can even scrap the whole thing and begin over again. The stark reality of life is that we cannot easily do that in this life that we find ourselves in. Years ago, perhaps as many as thirty, I met a man who became my best friend. I am one of the fortunate souls who have had the privilege of having several best friends. I’ve heard it said that you are fortunate to have one really best friend in life. I’ve had several. I met my friend Phil at a time in my life where I was searching for spiritual identity. I wanted to know more about a God I was distant from. I wanted to graduate from having spiritual knowledge to developing a relationship with a loving and caring God. And so I searched—blindly and haphazardly. Linda and I were fortunate to stumble into a church in Norman, Oklahoma where we lived. I see now that stumbling had nothing to do with it. I believe God was nudging me along the way. That was the place he wanted me to be. That is where I met Phil. Over the years our friendship grew. We shared confidences and experiences. We did stuff together—guy stuff. I was much more athletic at that time—surprise, surprise. Our home in Norman was about five minutes from the campus of the University of Oklahoma. Phil and I shared a passion for the Sooners. We would spend hours analyzing the past and future of that football team. We would always come to a plan that, if followed as we saw it, would solve the team’s problems. Too bad no one listened to us; we were geniuses. I introduced Phil to handball. I considered that a real man’s game. I don’t know if you are familiar with it, but it can be very physical and even brutal. It’s played in a large room that is divided by a single horizontal line running parallel to the back and front walls. The object is to hit a ball to the back wall above a line painted four feet off the ground. When the ball bounces back the other player simply hits it back to the back wall before it bounces twice. There are a few other rules, but basically that is it. The little ball that is the object of our concentration is larger than a golf ball but smaller than a tennis ball. It is made of very hard rubber. Those familiar with the game know that it can be played at a very fast pace and at considerable velocity. It is typical that you run into walls while chasing that little ball, you get hit by the dang thing, and your hand will bruise right through from front to back if you strike that ball wrong. You see, you hit the ball with your hand. They make a glove to wear, but a real man plays without the glove. Now, doesn’t all that sound like fun? Phil and I would play often, sometimes three or four times a week. There was a court in the OU football stadium that was open 24hrs to the public. It was unattended and was available on a first come first serve basis. In order to secure a court, Phil and I would go late at night. Often I would be in bed asleep when Phil would call on the phone. “What are ya doin’?” “I’m sleeping.” “Why?” “Cause I’m sleepy.” “Oh. Hey, do you want to play some handball?” “Now?” “Why not?” “Sure.” “I’m on my way. Pick ya up at the curb.” I’d stumble out of bed, find my sweats, pick up my bag with my gear, and by the time I got to the curb out front, Phil would be waiting. Sometimes the role would be reversed. It didn’t matter who initiated the call, the other would always respond. We played handball on those outings. But we also shared a lot of stuff with each other. And, here’s the part that’s probably a little different. We always prayed with and for each other. They were honest prayers, heartfelt prayers, and true conversations with a living God. Thirty years later Phil and I are still praying with and for each other. I got a phone call from Phil last night. Fortunately, he did not suggest that we go play handball. That would have been a pitiful sight. Heck, one of us if not both of us would have probably died from exertion. Phil called and wanted to share some of what has been happening in his life. Before he did, he asked what was happening in my life. Phil did not know that I had quadruple heart bypass surgery. He was not pleased with me for not calling him. I should have called him. But I was touched when he said he’d been praying for me the last several months. It’s good to know that there’s someone out there taking care of me even when I’m too busy to deal with them. What a wonderful thing this relationship we have is. Now, it’s my turn to pray for my friend, Phil. Phil shared that he is in the midst of a journey of his own. After a slew of tests, he has been diagnosed with Primary Pulmonary Hypertension. At first that just sounded like it was a form of high blood pressure, which it certainly is. But the bottom line is that his form is very rare. Left untreated he will die within two years. Treated, they have no idea how much time he can buy. He is very fortunate that one of the few specialist in that field lives and practices in Dallas. It appears Phil is a candidate for a new experimental drug that is very promising. While he is participating in the study the drug will be free. In the event it is approved by the FDA, it will be available commercially at a very expensive price. Phil tells me treatment for this disease will cost near $100,000 annually. Insurance will not pay for it all. They will need to sell their house and adjust their lifestyle. Phil shared these things with grace and calmness of one who faces the future, no matter what it brings, with confidence. During the time of our conversation, he was much more concerned with me. I guess that is what drew me to him years ago. He is an honest man, devoted to his friends, loyal to a fault, and has a strength that is contagious. But, Phil is just a man. Now, he is going through his own personal journey. And, much similar to our friend Bud in WDC, I do not wish him to walk alone. But, I don’t have to worry about that. There will be a crowd walking with Phil. Of course, I’ll be there. But, he has a group of other friends and relatives, there’s a whole host of angels walking with him, and there is the God who Phil and I have come to know as being our friend; He will be walking there also. After all, He was with us on all those handball outings, there’s no reason He would not be with us now. And that my friends are the realities I face. But the greatest one of all is the fact that we do not have to face them alone. And that’s a good one. |
| Title: There Once Was a Codger Named Dan Date: February 11, 2007, Sunday Thought: I am so poetically-challenged even a limerick stunts my creative ability. Jog: Now I know it does not have the highest literary pedigree. But, I have long been fond of the limerick. I have a collection, so to speak, of limericks. They now number well into the hundreds. I have only one rule that applies to adding a limerick to my little collection; there can be no profanity or vulgarity contained within it’s verse. As you can imagine, that certainly cuts down on the number. I write very few of them. I am so poetically-challenged even a limerick stunts my creative ability. But, sometimes I try. For example, I penned this simple little verse this morning: There once was a fella named CC, Who got him a mutt he named Peedy. It had talent galore; Was as ugly as Tor, Who alike on the carpet does pee. See what I mean? I am indeed poetically-challenged. But I have found that limericks fill a simple need. Here is a Scarlett list of five: 1. They are not difficult to understand. There is certainly no deep philosophical message here. 2. They are brief and plentiful like chips in a bag of Cheetos. You can consume as many of them as you want…but, you can’t read just one. 3. They make your mouth assume the position of a smile. And on rare occasions they evoke chuckling sounds or even a full blown laugh. 4. They belong to everyone, the public domain. I have never seen a name other than Mr. Anonymous written after them. 5. Even I can almost do it. I’ve heard it said you’ve got to take baby steps to get to learn to do anything. Well, to me the simple limerick is a baby step to becoming poetically sufficient, if only marginally so. So, I guess all that is left is for me to share a few of my favorites with you—Oh! There are so many; where do I begin? It used to be my understanding That a minute is fixed - not expanding But my teachers have lied Cos it depends on which side Of the bathroom door you are standing ! *** I looked up "shin" for a lark - It's definition in Webster’s is stark. Nowhere does it mention That this bony extension Can find tables and chairs in the dark. *** There was a young man from Japan Whose limericks just never would scan. When they asked of him why, He’d respond, with a sigh, "It's because I always try to get as many words into the last line as I possibly can." *** The limerick packs laughs anatomical Into space that is quite economical. But the good ones I've seen So seldom are clean And the clean ones so seldom are comical. *** If t'were no Pain, how judge we the Pleasure? If no Work, where's the solace of Leisure? What's White, if no Black? What's Wealth if no Lack? If no Loss , how our Gain could we Measure? Hope you have a good day. I’d sign off with a limerick; but, I don’t have one….Oh wait, I’ll make one up. How’s this: One morning a codger named Dan, Said, “Oh, I most certainly can, Say goodbye with a limerick; It’ll be a neat trick.” Seems old Dan had a really good Plan. |
| Title: In an' Out Date: February 9, 2007, Friday Thought: Jog: OK folks, I'm gonna do something I rarely do--be brief. Believe it or not, I wrote a short story. I'm thinking about entering it in the Valentine's Day contest. Thought I'd get your feelings about it first. If you get a chance, give it a gander. It's kinda mushy (Geeze) an' no one's seen it yet.
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| Title: Early Morning Church Date: February 8, 2007, Thursday Thought: If Church is the place where we find spiritual revelation and inspiration, then I went to church today on my grey morning walk. Jog: Today this morning came without a dawn. I am fortunate that I live in north central Texas where we experience an abundance of clear mornings. That is conducive to glorious dawns. Often I marvel at the beauty of the morning sky as it splashes vibrant colors of red, orange, yellow and purple across the morning heavens. It is a free gift to me from my heavenly Father. He’s given me so many of them and I often just take them for granted. But, this morning there was no glorious sky painted with a kaleidoscope of color. No, this day the morning simply grayed in. We started our walk in darkness, which presents a challenge to keep your eye on a coal black Lab. The morning presented itself in shades of grey until in a single moment I came to the realization that it was daytime. Heavy clouds have a way of interrupting my glorious dawns. The weatherman promises rain today…sometime. If Church is the place where we find spiritual revelation and inspiration, then I went to church today on my grey morning walk. Max and I are so used to each other on these walks that we do them as a team. We go about our business, mine being placing one foot in front of the other at a pace that benefits my cardiac system and Max searches for wild game in the form of birds, squirrels, rabbits, ducks, and anything else that moves. We keep a watchful eye on each other. He follows my lead and I give directions; often this occurs when we are great distances from each other. It happens with a look, a whistle, or a call. Max always responds and I always watch for him. Like I said, we are a team. During our walk this morning, when the day was still quite grey, I had walked on ahead of Max, who was behind me checking out a rock or tree or sprig of grass. I often do that knowing that as soon as he finishes his business he will trot up to me and find another interest. I glanced over my shoulder to focus on the black mass in the grey morning. I did not see him. I stopped and turned around. My eyes searched the greyness to see some motion somewhere. There was none. Max was not to be seen. My next step was to call out to him, “Come!” That usually brings his head popping out of the brush to find me. Nothing—I heard or saw nothing. I called out again, louder, “Max, Come!” Still I saw and heard nothing. Concern crept into my heart. Had my dog entered the creek bottom and scurried after some critter and gotten disoriented? Was he lost? I determined that I must walk to the creek bank and check to see if he was there. I called out yet again, “Max, Come!” Concerned now, I readied myself to walk back to the creek. By chance I glance to my side. There was Max, patently sitting there with a quizzical look on his face that said, “Here I am; what's the problem?” Apparently, Max had circled around in front of me when I had turned back to find him. He was there all the time—obedient and waiting for me to lead him. It was me who had lost sight, not Max. And that was where I went to church. I realized that I do the same thing with my heavenly Father. I march off on my own expecting Him to always be there when I need Him in some crisis. And then in the chaos of my crisis I call out to Him and wonder where He is. I run on ahead flailing at my circumstance and calling out to Him and not finding Him. Eventually, in the quietness of my despair I finally hear Him speaking to me in that still small voice. He says, “There is no need to yell. I’m right here beside you.” I often do that—lose track of God. I get caught up in my problems and try to eradicate myself; and by so doing work myself a little deeper into the mire. I wonder where God has gone, why He has deserted me, why my petitions have gone unanswered? All the time I needed only to look beside me. He was there all the time. It’s amazing what happens on my morning walks. Sometimes I’m thrilled and amazed by the glorious sunrises. Sometimes I get to visit with friends. Sometimes I play with Max and work on his training. And, sometimes, like today I go to church. |
| Title: Modern Day Double-Speak Date: February 7, 2007, Wednesday Thought: We have already lost the beautiful script in our handwriting. When was the last time you turned in a term paper that was handwritten. I certainly do not want to write a short story in long-hand—much less the edits. Jog: I know I’ve not quite gotten the spirit of this blogging stuff. Heck, I still have a difficult time calling it a blog. It seems so much more scholarly and sophisticated to call it a journal. But, it’s not a journal. It’s more than that. It has immediacy to it. This writing does not wait patiently for years to be discovered. It is by no way a gathering of private thoughts tucked away in a book in a drawer. Nope, it is read instantly and is literally out there for the world to see. And you get comments on it—from strangers! For that reason it does not feel like a journal. But, dang it! I just hate the word blog. That sounds like something you step in. So I will continue to buck the tide and call mine a “Jog”—you know a cross between a journal and a blog. I heard a report the other day stating high school teachers are seeing a decline in writing skills in their students. There is so much text messaging and emailing going on that students are subconsciously blending it into their writing. I’ve never understood the pull of text-messages. It seems inconsistent to have a perfectly good telephone in your hand and then type out the message on that little keypad. However, reason has never entered into the popularity of a fad. I have a friend whose wife is deaf. She cannot use the phone but she can use text-messages. Now that makes sense. But that is not the case everywhere. My friend also has two daughters in their very early twenties. In one month one of his daughters had an $800 cell phone bill. Much of it was texting. Have you read George Orwell’s book, 1984? In that book he introduces a new language called double speak. It is a form of word conservation. The theory was that there are too many wasted words—unneeded and superfluous. We should use the words we have more efficiently. No longer would we describe a sunset as being beautiful, gorgeous, captivating, or glorious. Nope, one word will do: good. But we all know that ‘good’ is a little lame to describe ‘gorgeous’. So, we will add another word to accent ‘good:’ double-good. And if we want even more emphasis we can use: ‘double-plus-good.’ Now, I contend that the email language and the text-messaging language is not much different than George Orwell’s double-speak. This is not all bad. And, I don’t intend to run around like Chicken Little yelling, “The sky is falling!” I suppose there are times when some of the abbreviations are fine. Heck, I use them occasionally. But, I’m concerned that we use it to a degree where the beauty is lost from our writing. We have already lost the beautiful script in our handwriting. When was the last time you turned in a term paper that was handwritten. I certainly do not want to write a short story in long-hand—much less the edits. Look at some of the job applications I have reviewed and try to read that scribble. The ideas in the Declaration of Independence would not be affected whether it was written in long-hand or typed; but, it certainly is much more aesthetic and impressive as it was originally written. Where do we draw the line? I don’t know. All I know is that I must practice discipline in my own writing. As a result, you will probably not see a lot of LOL, BRB, BTW, or cute little emoticons in my stuff. I don’t shun them; and, certainly don’t think they are evil. I just can’t afford them. I will continue to write out my comments. Not because using the email-speak and texting-speak is wrong. Nope, I’ll write them out because I am a writer. That’s what I do. If I am going to be a writer, I need the practice. This is by no way a judgment on any of the writers here at WDC or anywhere else. It is just a concern that I have that we have become lazy in our communications skills. Someday, I want my grandchildren to read what Grandpa had to say. I hope when they do that they will be able to understand it. **************************** I feel I must enter this editorial note regarding the above entry. I was mistaken about the George Orwell 1984 reference to double-speak. He never said that. It was "newspeak"--a way to shorten the language. My basic premise is still accurate; it is simply the reference that is wrong. If you are interested, Google on "newspeak" and see what it says. |
| Title: Cold Morning Walks Date: February 4, 2007, Sunday Thought: I could see the dawn creeping across the frosty meadow that hugs the little lake in our subdivision. So, I left the screen unattended and prepared to take Max for a frosty walk. Jog: It’s cold outside—not the bitter cold that assaults every exposed surface with stinging needles, but cold enough for a Texas boy. Needless to say, I don’t like the cold. I don’t like the way my cheeks sting and turn red. I don’t like my nose to run. I don’t like being bundled up like a piece of crystal in a shopping bag—you know layers and layers of stuff that is there just to protect you. I don’t like the fact that it takes me so much longer to get outside in the winter than it does in the summer. I don’t like gloves. I have to take the dang things off to put my hand into my pocket. I can’t operate my cell phone with gloves on; and, when you do take the dang things off, there is nowhere to put them. I simply do not like cold weather. And it’s cold outside. On this cold Sunday morning I quietly went to my upstairs office sometime around 5:00am to piddle round on the computer for a while. I slept in this morning; I usually get up around 3:30 or 4:00 am to begin my day. But today is going to be a leisurely spent day. I will work for three or four hours on ‘work’ work, but the rest of the day will be mine…I hope. I began my morning in WDC by reading my email and some of my favorite blogs. One of our friends is preparing to submit and article and I had the privilege of reviewing it. I enjoyed that moment. I have some very talented friends here. Another of our friends wrote an entry regarding his continual experience with disturbing dreams. I was touched by his articulate presentation of his feelings. He is a good man; as much as I wanted to say supportive things, I found myself at a loss for words. What can you say that will help a friend struggle with his personal dragon? It is after all a personal thing. I sat looking at the screen and felt a cold nudge at my elbow. Max was gently reminding me that it was morning. I could see the dawn creeping across the frosty meadow that hugs the little lake in our subdivision. So, I left the screen unattended and prepared to take Max for a frosty walk. Did I tell you it was cold outside? I walked briskly down the sidewalk to the little bridge that enters the park area and introduces the little lake to the outside world. I noticed the ducks were huddling near the bridge. Usually they begin to waddle off to the water when they see me coming. Most certainly Max’s presence puts an extra waddle in their strut to the water. However, one dumb duck held back. He just stood there watching the other waddle off. Surely he saw me coming. But nope, he didn’t budge. Max slowed his trot to a slow stalk. The bird dog in his nature said, “Duck!” With a sudden burst of speed the black Lab did what black Labs were bred to do. Max headed for the dumb duck, who still did not budge. Now, Max is a little short of experience when it comes to catching ducks. In fact he has never caught one before. So it is not surprising that his lunge missed the duck by a feather. However, it was sufficient for the dumb duck’s mind to register “BIG ASS DOG!!” With considerable squawking, wings flapping and feathers flying, the duck beat a hasty bearing to the lake. Max, who was surprised he did not have a duck in his mouth, watched him scamper to the waters edge. I suppose a near catch was good enough for Max’s ego, for he promptly trotted off down the trail, tagging trees and sniffing acorns. We crossed the little creek that feeds the lake and entered the adjoining golf course. On this cold early morning the golfers have chosen to keep warm and stay inside. We have the golf course to ourselves. And, so we walk down the cart paths, or at least I do. Max scampers from side to side, checking the trees for squirrels and looking for rabbits in the brush along the rough. In the distance I see a black and white bundle of energy bounding toward me; Mitsy has spotted Max and is hastily making her way to him. Max, being the macho black Lab that he is, tries to ignore her. His violently wagging hind-end gives him away, though. Max and Mitsy bound across the fairways to and fro playing. I walk with Mitsy’s owner, Vickie for a while. This is alright for Max, who seems to look forward to his encounters with Mitsy. Eventually, we part and Max and I continue our walk until it brings us to our front door. Fortunately I get to leave the cold outside and wander back upstairs to my office and waiting computer screen. I’m in a different mood now—content and peaceful. Perhaps I can now find the words to share with my friend. It’s warm in my office; and it’s cold outside. I really don’t like the cold. But, sometimes a walk, even in the cold, helps to put life into perspective. I wish you could go with me on these walks; I think you’d enjoy it. |
| Title: Things That Make It “You” Date: February 3, 2007, Saturday Thought: I suspect you have a space that is “you” somewhere where you are. What am I talking about? The nick-nacks—that’s what I’m talking about. Jog: There are some things in my office that make this space uniquely mine. They actually make it “me.” Take that stuff out and put your stuff in here and the room will be “you.” I suspect you have a space that is “you” somewhere where you are. What am I talking about? The nick-nacks—that’s what I’m talking about. My grandkids love to walk through my office and pick stuff up. When they were little it always prompted a question: “What’s this Grandpa?” I would then put my wisest persona on and assume the wise grandfather role. I swear they think I’m the smartest person in the world. The older grandkid is getting old enough to know better. Now, he has determined that he is the smartest person in all the world. His parents are down-right dumb. Grandpa is still special. Dang! I like being a grandparent. But, that’s teenagers for you. Do you suppose the nick nacks you have in your room say anything about your personality? If each of us were to wander through each other’s office/work space what conclusions do you suppose we would form?--depends on the nick nacks, I suppose. I invite you to examine some of the stuff in my office. What conclusions would you draw? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Two decks of cards. One deck has the most wanted Iraqis on each card, with Saddam Hussein taking the Ace of Spades. The other deck is a series of patriotic scenes. The Ace of Spades is a photo of Harry S. Truman in uniform of an American doughboy from WWI. The Ace of Clubs is a photo of Col. George Patton, son of General George Patton. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Napoleon Cannon. At the museum of the Battle of Richmond (American Civil War) I purchased a miniature Napoleon Cannon. The cannon was originally designed by the Emperor Napoleon. It became the artillery piece of choice for both the North and South during the American Civil War. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** P38 Lightening. One of the premier fighter aircraft of WWII, the P38 was instrumental in gaining control of the air in both the Mediterranean and Pacific theaters. This one on my desk is a hand carved wooden replica. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Geisonoceras. First identified as Orthoceras, this Natiloid lived in an ocean that existed where the Sahara Desert is now located around 350 million years ago. The sea animals were buried in lime and silt that under heat and pressure became marble. The marble was quarried, cut and polished in Morocco. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** George and company. A number of years ago I worked with the American Planning Association’s chapter in Texas to introduce new laws regarding planning regulations. I was present on the day George Bush (then Governor of Texas) signed the bill into law. Unfortunately the PlannerDan in this photo is 120 heavier than the PlannerDan today. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Section of Rail. In the early days of the twentieth century, an interurban rail system existed in central Texas. It tied the City of Fort Worth with dozens of outlying communities. History is rich regarding stories of riding the Interurban in those early years. The rail system has long vanished. However, a section of rail has been discovered and sectioned as a piece of memorabilia. Certain individuals have been awarded with these sections upon recognition of special efforts performed regarding historic preservation. I received mine from the Historic Commission of the City of Burleson, Texas. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Awards and accomplishments. Twenty-five years of work as a professional municipal planner as recognized by various degrees, awards, and certifications. It’s a short wall, that’s why it looks so crowded. The work and service represented by these pieces of wood and paper is tremendous. My gratitude to those who worked with me is even greater. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Excalibur. The sword of King Arthur—this sword on my desk is a letter opener. But it represents all that the story of King Arthur stands for—truth, honor, gallantry, and equality. I use it to pry things open, stick into places that I can’t reach but need to, and even to scratch my back at times. But sitting on my desk, it always reminds me of Camelot. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Flag of my Father. He served with a band of heroes. He was a US Marine who fought in the Pacific during World War II. He was one of the few survivors of his original company of Marines. He was my father. He died an old man. This flag draped the casket at his funeral and was given to me on that day. It reminds me that he was bigger than life and will remain that way in my heart forever. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** First Dollar. Over twenty years ago I began my business. The first check we received for payment was cashed. The first dollar that was counted into my hand was kept and framed. We have received several million of these since that time. Most of them have passed right on through as overhead and expenses. I got to keep a few of them. But this one was the first one and is special. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** 1958 Corvette. My love affair with the Corvette began when I was a young boy. My dream was to own one someday. This one is a cast iron replica of the 1958 Corvette—the same one that was featured on the early TV show Route 66. Fifteen years ago I purchased a real one—a 1980 Corvette. I still have it. And, I’m still fascinated by it. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Our World. I have always been interested in far away places. That is one of the fascinating things that thrills me about the Internet. These far away places become real to me. This globe in its stand has been twirled countless times as I look up the place a new contact is located. It brings a smile to my face as my grandkids slowly turn it and put their fingers on these far away places. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** George for President. I don’t know why I kept these. These were passed to the crowds by the thousands during the 1988 Presidential election. George Bush Sr. and his running mate Dan Quayle were successful in defeating the Democratic candidates Michael Dukakis and Lloyd Bentsen. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Now That’s a Knife Inspired by the line from the Crocodile Dundee movie, I found this little knife somewhere. The blade is ten inches in length and is two inches wide at its widest. This is what is known as a Bowie knife. It was made famous by the legendary Jim Bowie, who died at the Battle of the Alamo. This one was made in India. For some reason I just had to have it. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** What’s in the box? An earlier entry dealt with this box. Stored within it is a Japanese flag that was taken from the battlefield on Okinawa by my Father. There are written inscriptions on the flag that are still a mystery to me. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Family Crest Years ago I was motivated to learn as much as I could about where I came from--not like Fort Worth, like my heritage. I searched and researched and walked the cemeteries and dusty archives of county buildings; and I discovered where my people were from—at least back to 1611. During that time I researched and obtained the Boutwell crest. It ain’t much, but it’s ours. Well, that’s some of the stuff in my office. I have other stuff elsewhere; but, I thought this would be enough. I’m running out of space to put stuff. As far as I’m concerned, that’s not a bad problem to have. |
| Title : My Own Version of 60-Minutes Date : February 2, 2007, Friday Thought : Each moment, no matter how mundane the situation must be savored. At the end of each 60-minute period we should be confident that it was spent wisely. Jog: 60-minutes is a popular TV show; it’s also the measure of time that I have to do this entry. Like the ticking lead into the TV show I hear the steady tick…tick…tick in my mind. I no longer have 60-minutes I have less than that. Time does that; it passes—steady and relentlessly, it passes. It passed much slower when I was twenty. It seems that year lasted a decade. I remember wanting to goose Ole’ Man Time to get him to move along. I could not wait to finally be legal. Well, I’ve been legal a long time and gotten sorta used to it. Being legal is greatly over-rated. Along with the extra privilege it brings are more responsibilities and accountabilities. Today my time is allocated in an Outlook calendar. I try to keep it catalogued in three month periods. It is critical that I do that. I used to be able to keep my appointments in my head or loosely on my calendar. These days it is critical I write them down immediately. For the immediate month before me every day has some sort of appointment. They are often changed or cancelled, wrecking havoc in my life. New appointments quickly sneak in to take the place of cancelled ones as well as shove existing appointments, who were comfortable right where they were, aside to make room. That’s the price one pays to do this business I do. But my work is not the subject of this entry; no the subject of this entry is the callousness that time takes with the moments allocated to me. It tramples on my time like a freight train loaded with a hundred cars of lignite coal. It moves down the path of my life with momentum that carries it right on through the bright spots and special moments of my life, relentlessly. I am fortunate that its momentum carries it through the storms of my life also. Steadily it moves like that freight train—or perhaps at times it moves like a glacier with eons of pent energy and force within its massive mass it steadily creeps forward. Freight train or glacier, the analogy makes no difference; onward it goes. As a testament to that fact, my bright and shiny 60 minutes has been whittled down to twenty-five now. And even as I finish this thought—before the period goes at the end of the sentence, it is less than that. Of all the things we measure, be it our height, our weight, the number of children we have or in my case the grandchildren, the most constant and exacting measurement is time. How we observe it is important. Notice I did not say “how we spend it,” for we do not spend time. Time passes without our say regarding the quantity of how much passes. We are given only one opportunity to affect time. We have the choice on how we observe it as it passes. We can do this prudently or carelessly. It is our choice on how it is spent. Even when we fill our calendars with business meetings and chores, we can make a conscious effort to value those moments--enjoy them, if you will. Each moment, no matter how mundane the situation must be savored. At the end of each 60-minute period we should be confident that it was spent wisely. And as many of you are so quick to point out, sometimes the wisest allocation of our time is to idleness and unproductive moments. I agree. I have spent close to fifty of the sixty minutes allocated for this little entry. I wonder how wisely my time was spent? Are there other things that I could have done that would be considered a better use of this time? Probably, but I’m not concerned about that as long as these last fifty-three minutes satisfy me; and they do. I have taken those moments to communicate with you. I have not made any money with them. I can’t bill my time. But that is not important. I’ve received payment for those spent moments. I observed them well. I can’t change them nor do I wish to. They urge me to spend more moments just like this. They satisfied a need. With the last three minutes before me, I spend them satisfied and expectant of what they bring. Folks will respond to them and verify their worth. All in all, it seems as if they were well observed. And I have one more minute to spend after I type the period at the end of this sentence—not bad. |
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