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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: The Magic of Christmas Date: December 20, 2006, Wednesday Thought: Well, it’s still out there. You just gotta look for it Jog: Where is that magic called Christmas? I’ve looked for it all over. When I was a child I found it easily. It built up within my soul until I thought I would pop with wonderment and expectation. The sounds, the smells, the happening of Christmas was everywhere. In the little town where I grew up, the city work crews would adorn the street lights with garlands, and colored lights, and candy canes. Banners would stretch across the road with images of Santa Clause and reindeer. The words, “Merry Christmas!” was at the end of every conversation, every sale, and every greeting. Our Christmas tree was one of those aluminum artificial things that had a revolving colored light that changed the color of the tree as it rotated. Geeze, that thing was gaudy. But the memory of it makes me smile today. The magic of Christmas has been replaced by commerce. The power of big business is the moving force. Advertisements bombard television for the latest and greatest gadgets. And have you noticed that not one of them is inexpensive? When I was a child a gift of a coloring book was appreciated. Today’s child would consider it an insult. But folks, that’s not his fault. Children are still innocent. Our age of enlightenment and information has created a monster. Every child wants his own computer, cell phone, video game, plasma TV, and high tech gadget. Our teenagers want NEW cars to drive to school. And, the really sad thing is WE GIVE THEM TO ‘EM. The measure of popularity is by what you’ve GOT. And Christmas is a big event for big business. All this stuff is promised to our young people and made easy to get by payment plans and reduced interest rates and special deals where you get it now and worry about paying for it later. The attitude is if you want it you can have it. My mom and dad were products of the Great Depression. The gifts under their trees were hand made or hand me down. A few of the presents were store bought, but not that many. My mom and dad saved and scrimped for every dollar to be able to pay in cash when they bought a new refrigerator. A loan for a large dollar item was an agreement between two people. My dad said, “A man is only as good as his word.” When he made arrangements to pay installment payments, he paid them. To not do so would be dishonest. Today I see folks letting things go back, filing for bankruptcy, and ignoring payments. Where is the integrity of the deal? And big business does not help matters. They don’t want you to pay for it. The credit card companies would rather you paid eternal interest on the cards—that’s where the big money is. And this is Christmas' big time for business. Where is the magic called Christmas? Well, it’s still out there. You just gotta look for it. I see it in the face of the small child who still believes in Santa Clause. I see it in the small nativity scene sitting in a window. I hear it in the old Christmas songs that come though the speakers of the stores or my radio. I see it in Linda’s smile as we put the artificial Christmas tree up, the same artificial tree that we have had for thirty-nine years. I experience a special anointing of Christmas magic in my memories of Christmas past when I think of my mom and dad who have passed to a better place. I see it in small acts of kindness performed by folks in WDC as well as my real life. The magic is still out there. If we will just stop and look for it, we will see it. I need the magic of Christmas. I need to believe that we still care for each other. I catch glimpses of it all year long; but I am especially sensitive to it this time of year. Merry Christmas, dear friends, Merry Christmas. |
| Title: Forty Years of Wondering Date: December 18, 2006, Monday Thought: I wonder how in the world I got here? There must be some mistake. Jog: When I was a kid in high school, late at night as I lay in bed, I would often wonder about my future. I had no great expectation that I would go to college. No one else in my family had ever gone so why should I be any different? I knew that somehow I would have to make a living for myself and eventually my family. I just kinda figured I would be a laborer who worked for minimum wages and eked a living from pay period to pay period. That was an honorable thing to do. After all, both of my grandfathers were laborers; and, my father, although more than a laborer worked hard all his life to make a dollar. That young boy lying in the bed wondering had very little idea of what constituted success. Today, I have a much better idea of what constitutes success. It is much easier to do so when it is done after the fact. It was a surprise to me that I actually finished college and received a Bachelor’s degree. To say the least, the fact that I went on and received a Master’s degree was totally amazing. Out of my graduating class, I would have been one of the least likely to make it. And to have experienced thirty-nine years of marriage to the same woman is almost a phenomenon. That same girl I dated as a high school senior is still hanging around with me today. Today, I don’t work for anyone other than myself. For twenty years I have been the boss. That’s a long stretch from the image of a minimum wage laborer. I got to thinking about all this as a result of the after-meeting I attended tonight. The after-meeting is the one that happens after the real meeting. The real meeting was a Zoning Board of Adjustment meeting held by the City of Bedford, Texas. Being their planner, I have to attend and present the City’s position in any case presented before them. The case happened to be a variance for a cell tower. It was presented for the applicant by another planning friend of mine. The application was approved and I visited with my friend in the parking lot. There was an invitation to carry our conversation to a local restaurant and four of us took him up on it. I was struck by the nature of the conversation. It made me examine the network of individuals with which I live and work. Our little network includes owners of companies, developers, realtors, mayors, city managers, and those who are considered movers and shakers in the communities in north central Texas. Now, I don’t consider any one individual as being any more important than another; but the social gurus would certain call most of these folks important. And, I suppose they are. It’s a lot of big fish in a very little pond; but, it’s my pond. I would have never believed I would have the influence politically that I now have. Nor would I have believed the degree of respect that my peers give me because of my work in this region. My personal influence is not much; but, at times it will gain special audience from those who matter. Like that young boy who used to wonder about his future, I sometimes lie in bed and wonder about it again. I wonder how in the world I got here? There must be some mistake. I keep waiting for someone in the crowd to proclaim, “You’re right. It’s a mistake! Give it all back!” Then I realize it is all a matter of time. You see, it only took a short 40 years to get here. It took a lot of poor decisions; and a lot of corrections and restarts. Three steps forward and two steps back--little by little I amazingly did a few things right and climbed to this spot. Now, there are a lot of better spots higher up. But, I like the view right here where I am. I am high enough to see the sun rise in the mornings and see it set in the evening. I feel the refreshing breeze of freedom on my face and cling to the promise of hope held firmly in my grasp. I have enough tomorrows left to still lay here and wonder how it will eventually end. But I no longer worry about where I’ll be. I may lose all I have; and, if I do, I will still not worry about tomorrow. I’ve had enough good yesterdays to carry me through. From experience I have confidence that Linda will always be there, so will my God, and then of course there is that black Lab. I am a fortunate man. Maybe that’s what success is. Somehow, I believe tomorrow will be OK. |
| Title: Things That Go Thump in the Night Date: December 17, 2006, Sunday Thought: Dogs are so transparent. When they miss you, they let you know. When they want to play, they let you know. When they love you, they let you know. Jog: Thump…thump….thump--I don’t have to see it to know what it is. It’s the black waggy thing again. It has been known to scatter papers off the tops of coffee tables, send coffee cups sailing onto the floor, and terrorize small knick-knacks displayed on low lying shelves. Low hung Christmas ornaments are in danger of being launched into the hallway. When properly used it tells me Max is happy. I don’t think there is an improper use of the thing. When I come into the house from a meeting or greet Max for the first time of the day it gets a power boost by using the whole rear end of the dog to wag it enthusiastically. It ceases only when Max sleeps. But even then a momentary dog dream will set it into motion…thump….thump…thump, as it strikes the floor. I do not need an alarm clock. Nope, at 5:00am every morning, on the ones where I’m still in bed, I hear that thumping against my dresser, as Max stands looking at me, wondering why I’m not up. I’ve grown to like the sound. Sorta like the noise your spouse makes when they sleep. Lord have mercy on me if I call it a snore…but, if it quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, and looks like a duck, well, chances are it’s a duck. Same thing with sleep noises. Dogs are so transparent. When they miss you, they let you know. When they want to play, they let you know. When they love you, they let you know. That black dog of mine has bonded to my side. There is nowhere else he would rather be. If I go upstairs, he follows. If I go outside, he lies by the front door until I come back in. Heck, if I go to the john, he lies right outside the door and waits for me. As we walk off leash in the park or on the golf course, he is constantly turning his head in my direction to be sure we are still together. If I change direction, he makes the correction. I am convinced that there is nowhere else he would rather be. He would not run off because he is where he wants to be. Such devotion amazes me. I have never been exposed to this kind of devotion. And because of his loyalty to me, I will also do anything for this dog. Good Lord, Dan, it’s only a dog. You may be right, but I can’t change the way I feel about that black hunk of fur. We are best buds. Hey, I think Linda is a tad bit jealous. What’s that I hear?—thump, thump, thump. |
| Title: What’s In the Box? Date: December 16, 2006, Saturday Thought: I’m not sure it is important that I know. I know the story of how it came to me, which is good enough. And, that’s what is in the box, which I introduced to you in my last entry. Jog: The sun rose on queue that morning sixty three years ago. High cirrus clouds caught the rays of the sun and painted orange fingers across the sky meeting the horizon and the ocean. A young Marine carefully descended down the netting secured on the side of the ship. His buddies were either toiling alongside him or had already taken their places in the landing craft. The beauty of the morning was lost to him as the weight of the purpose before him assaulted his emotions. On the island, a young Japanese soldier drank in the full beauty of the morning. The morning rays that streaked the sky reminded him of the flag he had tucked into his vest pocket. The rays on his flag were written inscriptions of the family histories of his comrades. He would take it into battle and afterward he would fly it proudly as a sign of honor and courage for years to come. It was the first day of April, ‘April Fools Day.’ What a joke they were playing on the Japanese Army. In a short while the Marines would storm the beaches of Okinawa and lay claim to this strategic military site. Slowly the Allied forces had pushed the Japanese from island to island within a continuing decreasing radius, constantly getting closer to the sacred homeland at its center. And as the Japanese Army pressed it’s back to the wall of the homeland island, their ferocity and resolve to prevail or die increased exponentially. And so they died; oftentimes it was a horrible and violent death, for the Marines had retrofitted mechanisms that turned their tanks into deadly flamethrowers. That was the only effective way to clear the myriad caves where each became a battlefield. My father was the young Marine. He fought his way across the island. The campaign lasted a month. The buddies who climbed down the netting with him had either died or would be wounded. He would never see them again. Yet, he would remember them forever. Fighting his way across the island, he gave no quarter, there were no prisoners. Anyway, there were few opportunities since the Japanese would rather commit suicide than surrender. Many got that opportunity and took it. My father had very little to remind him of that experience. He brought back only two items from the battlefield. One was a Japanese rifle. It was damaged. A bullet hole had penetrated the stock, showing the path the bullet had taken when the soldier carrying it was killed. One solitary soldier tied in a tree had pinned down his whole company, until his life was dispatched. The soldier was left in the tree; his rifle fell to the ground where my father claimed it. Much later he would fashion a new stock for the weapon and store it in his gun case as a silent testimony of one man’s conflict against another. Years ago the rifle was stolen. The other token taken from the battlefield was a small flag. It was wrapped around the arm of a young Japanese soldier who had died on the battlefield. It was soiled and torn. It would never fly again. Instead it was folded and stuffed into a duffle bag. Over the years, it found its way to a drawer containing various keepsakes. The Japanese soldier who carried the flag was forgotten. Family had long ago accepted their sacrifice for the Emperor, not knowing of the fate of the flag that was carried into battle. Years ago I found the flag midst the memorabilia of my father, who also has died, as an old man far removed from that battlefield. But yet the flag endured. I folded the flag and kept it in a drawer for quite a while, not knowing how to display it. At the time it was captured, it represented the commitment of a people who attacked my country while she slumbered and would see her defeated in battle. No longer would it fly in honor of the principles it represented. Such is the fate of those who lose in war. But, I must respect the men who believed in a cause and died for that belief. My father had little respect for them, having seen his buddies killed. So, when it passed to me, I decided to store it honorably. I purchased a simple but tasteful wooden box. I carefully folded the flag and placed it in the box. Over the years I have unsuccessfully tried to get a translation of the writing found on the flag. I may never know what those characters written on that flag mean. I’m not sure it is important that I know. I know the story of how it came to me, which is good enough. And, that’s what is in the box, which I introduced to you in my last entry. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Interesting Stuff Just Laying Around Date: December 16, 2006, Saturday Thought: Like, there is nothing else I would like to know than the history of Party’s toaster. Wouldn’t that be riveting? Jog: OK, I’ve seen a photo of partyof5dj’s toaster and vivacious  ’s office mug. We are surrounded with all kinds of interesting things (a toaster?). So, I decided to take a couple of photos of interesting stuff on my desk. Please pardon the mess on my desk—cluttered desk = organized mind. And, I also thought it would be interesting if some others did the same. Like, wouldn’t you kinda be interested in seeing what goodie is layin’ on David McClain ’s desk. I mean beside the half eaten bowl of dog food.So, take a photo of one or two things of interest and tell us about them. Like, there is nothing else I would like to know than the history of Party’s toaster. Wouldn’t that be riveting? And CC’s desk, can you imagine what’s on CC’s desk—probably the evening dishes if’n he uses the dining room table as a desk. An’ maybe we can collect all these blogs and send them off to Doc’s-R-Us and have a psychological analysis done. Now, wouldn’t that be revealin’. (BTW, don’t send that stuff to me…put it in your own blog. What am I gonna do with all that stuff?) Who was it who recently told us her husband is becoming a shrink-type? On my desk I have a neat hour-glass. I like the thing. There is something therapeutic about watchin’ that sand slip through the glass and grow its little pile in the bottom glass. Of course it is only decorative, 'cause I timed the dang stuff and it falls a little short of an hour, except for the times it fell a little long for an hour. Never did it fall right on an hour. But, it’s cool. Everyone should have an hour-glass. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Now, what in the world can be cooler than an hourglass on a messy desk? Well, maybe a box. This is a box on my shelf next to my desk. It’s what’s in the box that is interesting. Want to know what it is? You’ll never guess in a million years. Maybe later. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Totally Covered Over With Water Date: December 15, 2006, Friday Thought: As a member of the human race it seems I have inherited the condition of being overwhelmed. Apparently that’s what we humans do. Jog: I’ve been whelmed before. In fact I operate in a whelmed condition. That’s a funny word; isn’t it? I rarely see it used like that. The dictionary tells me it means “to be covered with water.” The way I am accustomed to seeing it is as “overwhelmed,” which in fact a repetitive thought. If whelmed means to be covered with water, overwhelmed means to be covered over with water. Now if you’re covered with water, how else will you be covered if not over. The repetition of being covered over with water carries with it the idea of excess. In other words one is so covered with water there is no chance to not be covered with water. It means the surface is out of reach. And that is how I feel at this moment; the surface is out of reach. Health issues, job issues, financial issues, family issues, and the demands of the season all tend to submerge one such that the surface is out of reach. How does one deal with that? Well, the simple fact is that we have little choice but to take the next step. So, that’s what I do--take the next step. As a member of the human race it seems I have inherited the condition of being overwhelmed. Apparently that’s what we humans do. The blogs of WDC are full of folks totally covered over with water to the point where the surface is simply out of reach. Our goal is not so much to reach the surface but to at least get to the ‘whelmed’ position. Very few of us actually break the surface. So, what’s the trick? What’s the trick to living this life under water? Oh, I don’t know if there is really a trick, but I do believe there is a way to do it. Much of it begins with attitude; the way we approach life. You see, it benefits us little to dwell on the negative side of living. In fact, that just pours water onto our head, making it more difficult to even see the surface. Nope we must have an approach to living that lifts us but does not push us further down. One way to do that is to recognize our condition, define our problems; and deal with them one at a time. That’s not easy to do when they are all pressing in on us simultaneously. But it can be done; it just takes a little practice. We must first of all focus on the issues, identifying and separating them. Although they may be legion, it can be done…with a little practice. Now, don’t be depressed when you line these issues up before you and you find yourself staring at a multitude that numbers with the size of the Chinese army. It doesn’t change the situation; rather it gives you a sure opportunity for work. Prioritize the army the best you can. First, select the most grievous issue and then the next and the next, so on until you have the army in line. Don’t jump in working yet on that pressing issue standing at the head of the line. Do a little more refining. Separate out the issues that are manageable, the ones that will take a very little time and effort to resolve. Spend some time getting a few of them out of the way. It helps to have some victories. Then work on the big ones. You don’t have to resolve them all at once—just chip away at them. The goal is progress…it helps to see that at least you are heading in the right direction. But you know, we do not do this without any resources. Each of us, no matter how limited, has resources. The greatest resource is that we rarely have to do this alone. I have Linda to walk with me as I go. Believe it or not, my black Lab, Max, is my constant companion. As trite as it may sound, we also have our friends in WDC to walk a spell with us. And, as our new friend Budroe would confirm, we’ve got Dad. Those of us who are Christian would recognize that as being God. I would be truly lost if I had to do this thing called living alone. But with the crowd of folks I have walking with me along the way, well, it makes it a lot easier. And sometimes, in fact more times than I can count, it makes it down right pleasant. That’s how I do it. That’s how I address the army of issues facing me-by walking with my friends. So, every morning when I get up, I count my blessings. First I am grateful that I opened my eyes and actually got up. I then look forward to the little stroll that I will take that day. Sometimes it begins with a very early morning walk with Max and Dad. Sometimes I have to jump into the crowd and just begin walking. The exciting thing about it, though, is that when I have the right attitude about this little walk, I get somewhere; I make progress. And, that is good—very good. |
| Title: The Island Country of Bloggovia Date: December 13, 2006, Wednesday Thought: Who knows how far this little exercise will go? Jog: Well, I’ve been a bad boy. I was sneaking around the office working on the computer on private stuff all of yesterday. If I catch myself I’m gonna fire myself, ‘cause what kind of employee charges hours to work when he isn’t working? Not me! The fact of the matter is I simply won’t charge hours to a client, ‘cause I didn’t do anything. Lord knows I’ve got enough to do. But I rationalize that since I started work the day before at around 5:00am and didn’t get back from a client meeting until 10:30 pm, I had a little time to spare yesterday. Some of you know what I was working on. I created an imaginary island country. It has cities, rivers, mountains, bays, and beaches. I’ve been naming them. I asked a few of you to help me name this stuff and you are coming through nicely. So far I’ve names for 4 mountains, 5 cities, one beach, one river and one cape. I still have more features to name of every category. So, if you have a favorite name or always wanted a mountain named after you, here’s your chance. So far we have: 1. Peak Atcha (Elev. 7,327)....(Nada) 2. Traband Peak (Elev. 6,348)….(PastVoices) 3. Cape McKay Beach…. (Kay) 4. Great Windini Peak (Elev. 7,844)….(Winda) 5. Vivacious River….(Vivacious) 6. Cabo Da Schip….(Schip) 7. Party Peak (Elev. 8,123)….(Party) 8. Gardenview….(Garden Girl) 9. Lindapolis…(Dan) 10. Dansburg…(Dan) 11. Gardenview…(Garden Girl) 12. Debsboro…(Deb) Bloggovia has a costal highway and interior highways. It is an independent democratic nation located in the Ocean. It measures approximately 70,000 square miles. It is 116 miles wide at its narrowest and 605 miles in length. I’m sure it has an interesting history; but that is still waiting to be written. I am posting an image of the Bloggovia map in my blog; however, I’m sure it does not have the resolution to read it clearly—sorry about that. When I get it completed I will attach a PDF to an email for everyone who participated with a name entry. Perhaps we can write some short stories or even poetry using it as a resource. Who knows how far this little exercise will go? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Working With a Lump of Clay Date: December 12, 2006, Tuesday Thought: When growth is directed in accordance with the plan, the product is amazing. Property values increase, quality of life goes up, and good spaces where people live and play happen. Jog: I have always thought it an amazing thing the thing that sculptors do. To take a lump of clay, shave some off here, put a little on there, applying pressure here and there, shoving and pushing the pliable material around until it fits the shape in your head. The sculptor knows there is a shape somewhere in the midst of that lump of clay; all he must do is to help release it so others can see it too. I do not profess to be an artist. I’ve certainly not done any magic with clay. That’s something I would like to try someday. However, I’m afraid it takes a level of discipline and talent I simply do not possess. But in a sense I do the same thing with my chosen vocation. My clay is a growing and dynamic happening called community. Some are cities, some are towns, and some are barely spots in the road on the way to somewhere else. I can’t get my arms around my subject and it is difficult to see its shape. You can only get a sense of it when you stand back, way back. Aerial photographs and carefully constructed maps give you a sense of the scope of a city. I do the same thing with these dynamic, moving, always changing, phenomena of streets and structures that the sculptor does with clay. Only, the city is always thinking of where it wants to go, reaching out for new space like a handful of Jell-O slipping through your fingers. The trick is to learn how to control the evasive and spontaneous nature of the city so that it grows and slips how and where you want it to. The process is really rather simple—not easy but simple. There is a wondrous order to the planning process. No matter the size of city the process is always the same. Once you learn the process it becomes a matter of educating the leaders and shapers of the city. Sometimes they listen; sometimes they listen selectively, and often they don’t hear a word you say…or at least they don’t believe what you say. At that point I can only shrug and concede that is their choice. Two years ago I began sculpting on the City of Hillsboro, Texas. We began with a handful of interested residents. As usual their vision at the beginning was grandiose. They saw their community as the crowning jewel of the region, brimming with industry, overflowing with commerce, teaming with humanity seeking a home, and lusting for the tax base that new growth brings. In other words their expectations were high. That’s OK, for their expectations were possible—on a more realistic scale. There is much potential in this city. And so, I began where they were. I let them share their dream for the city. They poured out their desires and goals, and we wrote them down—putting them on paper. When we were finished we stood back and examined the goals and decided if the written words reflected where they wanted to be. Eventually, they confirmed, in a consensus, that those written statements of growth goals were what they eventually wanted their city be. And so, like a recipe for a cake, I took the goals and began to mix the ingredients. Like a child helping their parent in the kitchen or in the shop, the residents walked hand in hand with me, making a myriad of decisions along the way--each decision molding and shaping the future city a little more. They could not see the final product as we toiled along the way. But they didn’t have to; I could. And so, we planned the locations of the thoroughfares and the shapes of the neighborhoods; we discussed and laid out the types of commercial that we wanted in each sector of the city. Along the way they discovered that green spaces and parks were important, so we built a park plan, careful to include not only active ball fields but places where people sit and watch the sun set or walk their black Labs. Eventually, the map of the city emerged from the chaos of the dreams. Each color represents an integral piece of growth- yellows and shades of yellow representing residential growth, reds and shades of red representing commercial growth, the lilac is the areas of industrial growth, greens are the places where people recreate and play, and blues repersent the places of worship, education, and government. Like a Picasso, the artwork was finished; the sculpture has taken its shape. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** But this is only the beginning, for all we had was the plan. Now the real work began as we crafted and formed the instruments that would implement the plan. These are the dreaded zoning ordinances and subdivision regulations that tell people what they can do with their land and where they can do it. Texans do not like to be told what they can or can’t do with their own land. I understand that; I’m a little stubborn myself. However, the goal here is not to push people around like a bully, but rather to guide them like a parent. The idea is that you can do whatever you want with your property as long as it does not adversely impact your neighbor’s property. When you hurt the guy standing next to you, well, that ain’t right. Zoning ordinances serve that purpose. They guide a city in implementing the plan they worked so hard to create. When growth is directed in accordance with the plan, the product is amazing. Property values increase, quality of life goes up, and good spaces where people live and play happen. Last night, I toiled once again with the City of Hillsboro as they recommended a brand new zoning ordinance to be adopted for their City. It’s a frightful thing to be the Council who creates this kind of control devise. After all each one of them is an elected official and can easily be voted out of office on the next election. But a years effort of crafting that ordinance is about over. Only one more meeting and it will be adopted. It takes years to see the result of a plan. Growing a city is a lot like growing a child. You set the groundwork and then step back and let them grow. Hillsboro is on its way. We are working on more plans with them—fine tuning the overall plan. Someday they will realize their dream. Slowly, these new plans and regulations will begin to shape the city in ways they will notice visually. Most folks will not know why or how this happened. But I will. As I drive through the cities for which I have helped to develop plans, I can see the difference. No one remembers that consultant guy who guided them through the process. Usually the City Council takes all the credit, after all they are politicians. But I know that all over north Texas there are cities growing and shaping because of the plans my firm has developed. And there are a handful of other people who know it too. That is good enough for me. And that is what I do. That is why I work so hard—it makes a difference. |
| Title: Lookin’ for Stuff Date: December 10, 2006, Sunday Thought: I’m lookin’ for stuff right now. Jog: It’s close to 3:00 am as I begin my morning today. This is early even for me, who usually gets up around 4:30 am. I spend a couple of quiet hours on the computer. It’s great at that time ‘cause no one, I mean no one, is up and around at that time, at least not in this house. Those two hours before 6:30 am, when I walk the dog, are productive hours. That doesn’t mean I get any ‘work’ work done but I do get ‘writing’ work done…well some. During the wee hours of the morning I usually peruse my email and ‘my favorites’ website links. I usually don’t remain at any particular website very long. I answer office email and clean the folder, putting unwanted SPAM in the trash. I seem to be getting a lot of ‘investment’ trash and someone really wants to sell me some Viagra really badly. Eventually I end up on WDC, checking and reading blog entries and making a few comments. I know it’s awful of me, but I don’t always make a comment to every blog I visit. Sometimes I’m at a loss for words, for whatever reason, sometimes I don’t know what to say, sometimes I just don’t want to talk (ask Linda, I get that way sometimes.) I’ve become very attached to our early morning visits, even if you don’t know I’m there. I always visit my Status Page in the morning, curious as to how many folks are up and walking around in my Port at that ungodly hour. I am always amazed that there are always a half dozen or so who are wandering bleary-eyed through my items. This morning I’ve only had four visits. I can usually count on one of those visits being to my journal; but not today. The visitors peaked at three items and opened one folder. They read some of my essays: one on the Forth of July, one on Christmas and one about my view on religion. Comparatively, yesterday was much the same except I had sixteen visitors to my journal, which is down a little. And, I had four visits, most of them to my Christmas essay on Christmas Melodies. I wonder sometimes what folks are lookin’ for—you know, as they wander through the Internet. I have access to the statistics page for our homeowner’s association website. I notice that we’ve had 45,000 hits this year. Now, we have a pretty good association; I mean it is a great neighborhood. But, why in the world would 45,000 people care. Answer is, they don’t. They’re just out there lookin’. I guess we call it browsing. My mom used to call it ‘window shopping.’ Folks are out there lookin’ for stuff. Heck, I’ve done it; and, I’m sure you’ve done it. But, I wonder if any one is finding anything; or do folks just go through life lookin’ for stuff. We humans cannot escape our nature. We are predators. Ever see movies about the big cats, you know the lions and tigers. They stalk their prey. They are out there in the jungle wandering through the underbrush lookin’ for something. Hopefully it ain’t me. My dog, Max, does it when we go on our walks. He’s always looking and smelling around, lookin’ for stuff. Our jungle is a little different, much more sophisticated. But we do it. I see it when we walk into a library; folks in there browsing through the books, turning the pages, lookin’ for stuff. During the Christmas shopping time people wandering up and down the aisles, lookin’ for stuff. We’ve got folks who wander into church on every Sunday morning, lookin’ for stuff. Sometimes they find it; sometimes they don’t. I wandered into WDC lookin’ for stuff. I’m lookin’ for stuff right now. I’m trying to find the words to convey a thought. I’m trying to understand the concept I’m trying to write about. If I figure that out, I may be able to write about it and communicate it to you, who are lookin’ for stuff yourself. Now, that’s not a problem: this lookin’ for stuff. We do that; we’re predatory; we’re supposed to look for stuff. So the big question is do we find it? Do we find the stuff we are looking for? Heck, do we even know what it is? I guess the answer is, sorta. We’ve all found some stuff that works for us. Some of us have found a lot; some of us haven’t found much; and some of us are still lookin’. Some of us do a great deal with the stuff we’ve found. We share it, passing it around with abandon, making other people feel fortunate they’ve found something. Some of us hold on to it closely like a precious stone, afraid to turn it loose. We’ve found so little we don’t want to take the chance of dropping it. I don’t have the space here to deal with the nature of the stuff we find. Nope, that’s the subject of another entry. I just want to focus on the fact that everyone is lookin’ for stuff. Some of us find stuff and some don’t. I’ve found a generous portion of stuff. I’d like to find some more, but I’m not worried about it. My prayer is that each of you will recognize the stuff you are lookin’ for and grab it when you can. There’s a lot of stuff out there in this world. I want you to have your fair share. Just remember though, the world isn’t always fair. And, you gotta earn the stuff you find. It ain’t as precious when it’s just given to you. See ya next entry. |
| Title: The Spirit of Christmas Date: December 8, 2006, Friday Thought: I will not walk among the crowds in the stores or fight the traffic or look for a parking spot. My Christmas will be simple. Jog We make a big deal out of Christmas time. If you wander through the blogs you will find memories detailed by dozens of writers. Almost all of them are tender memories focused around loved ones and times long ago. Christmas, after all, is made for remembering. That is really its purpose. Somewhere along the way and at sometime during this season we should remember the babe in the manger and what He represents to all mankind. When I thumb through the files of my Christmas memories, it is interesting that nowhere do I register the dollar amount of retail sales for any one season. I don’t recall the hot item of the season or how much it costs; and if I do it is not a particularly pleasant memory. No, the commercial things hawked during Christmas are not part of my memories. The situations and people connected to that season are, and occasionally some of the commercial items may be a party to my memory, but only as a secondary interest…just something to complete the scene. Christmas is all about the symbols: the Christmas tree, colorfully wrapped gifts, Silent Night and Jingle Bells, snow on the ground, a red and white dressed Santa, Charlie Brown’s Christmas, the Grinch, the manger, the star, the wise men, Christmas cards, smiles and perfect strangers saying, “Merry Christmas.” I drive between my client’s meetings and home with the radio tuned to the station that plays the old Christmas songs. Occasionally, I sing along with a verse if I can remember all the words—another symbol of Christmas. The season is short, in spite of the fact that corporate America would love to extend the buying season. The symbols of Christmas can retain their meaning only if we don’t overuse them. They are special and should be used sparingly. The floodgates of commercial Christmas have done that. The commercial Christmas has become oppressive and garish—way too much glitz and glitter. I’ve decided not to participate in the commercial Christmas this year. I embrace Christmas with all its symbols. The songs, the cheer, the good will. I drink in the color of Christmas—flashing colored lights, green wreaths with red bows, tinsel and ornaments, mistletoe hung with red and green ribbons. I gladly receive the gift of good will given every time someone wishes me a Merry Christmas. I am just foolish enough to believe they really mean it. I await with anticipation the sound of Christmas Eve when the church bells ring out. I look forward to singing Silent Night and Joy to the World. And, I do it at Christmas time. I save all the symbols of Christmas for Christmas. I will not walk among the crowds in the stores or fight the traffic or look for a parking spot. My Christmas will be simple. Although there will be gifts this year, they will be few. I refuse to purchase Christmas. I rather choose to experience it all around me through the symbols. Maybe by doing this I will again realize the spirit of Christmas. For I believe Christmas was to be experienced not bought. It was a simple message—a gift in the simplest and most innocent form of a baby. The only advertising program was a brilliant star and angels to herald the event. Only those who listened to the angels songs heard the message. That is the Spirit of Christmas. That is what the symbols of Christmas tell us. You can’t buy Christmas; you have to receive it as a gift. |
| Title: Do You Have the Time? Date: December 7, 2006, Thursday (Pearl Harbor Day) Thought: Notice how you never really know what time it is where our other friends in WDC live? Jog: Well, I am beginning my day at 3:00am this morning (CST). And, I don’t appreciate it one bit that the clock at WDC has already docked me an hour! Give it back! I can get a lot done in that stolen hour! Oh well, I suppose I will have to mentally do the math to get the correct time here in DanLand—it’s not too difficult, just subtract an hour. Notice how you never really know what time it is where our other friends in WDC live? They are out there in ‘sorta-zone’, meaning I sorta know. David McClain is easy and so is welkerdeb, they are in my time zone. But I never really know what time it is with scarlett_o_h. And zwisis is totally out of the question…I usually just guess if it’s day or night. Don’t even think about Nada ‘cause I get jealous…she’s still sleeping out on the west coast as I sit banging on these dang keys. That’s the interesting thing about having worldwide friends, one of them’s up at any given time. Like, right now as I check the “Who’s Online” feature I see that Mavis Moog is stirring in WDC in England somewhere. My best guess is it’s sometime a little before noon where she is.I do have a nifty clock saved in my favorites folder (not the WDC Favorites). At a glance it shows me the day relative to anywhere in the world. It’s a pretty neat link. It also gives me the exact time, which drives Linda nuts when I tell her I have my watch synchronized exactly with the time…I mean down to the second, according to the atomic clock. For any of you who would like to join my little group of time-keepers the link is as follows: http://www.time.gov/timezone.cgi?Central/d/-6/java Notice also, how sometimes we have to just ramble. I’ve been creative all week. Standing behind that eight-ball writing reports and ordinances and going to meetings. So, this morning I chose to just ramble. The really good thing is, I know exactly what time it is as I ramble along. And, I’ve got a pretty good guess if it’s night or day where you are. What more can you ask for? |
| Title: Every Now and Then the World Dumps on You Date: December 5, 2006, Tuesday Thought: I will not whine about this. That is a waste of time. I will methodically squirt each fire with what water I have available and try to control the blaze. Jog: I’m not going to cry or whine about it. I hate when folks just whine and moan about all the stuff they’ve got to do. Usually, when we whine about the load the world is dumping on us, we must shoulder some of the responsibility for being in that mess. It often comes from the inability to say, “NO!” It sometimes is the result of putting off the necessary until it is at the brink of chaos. And, then sometimes it’s justified because the world really did dump on you. Well, I feel dumped on. Last week began reasonably well, that is until about 10:00 am on Monday morning. That was when my only full time employee submitted his resignation. I thought, “Oh, OK, I can handle this. In fact it might be a good thing.” And, it very well may turn into a good thing. However, on Wednesday of that week I met with Barry to review the status of our projects that he was handling. It was not good news. He is behind on almost all of them. There is text left to be written on studies that should have already been written. There are meetings scheduled that I will have to pick up, and of course they are conflicting with other meetings I have already committed to. And there was the realization that we have been losing money, big time, on some of his projects, which was not really new news. One project is about $70,000 over budget. Guess who gets to pay for that? It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just about finished, but it is not. And, Barry is the only one who knows the project well enough to finish it. The bottom line is it should have been long finished this summer. And, to make things more complicated, my personal clients have been calling with new needs and deadlines. I’m excited about the prospect of all this work and the money we can make. But I am overwhelmed with tasks. Have you ever been in the position that you don’t know which fire to put out? As you rush to one, another one flares. Like I said, I will not whine about this. That is a waste of time. I will methodically squirt each fire with what water I have available and try to control the blaze. Eventually, I will get control of it—eventually. I am still convinced this is a good thing. I remember the day when I had no work to do. I did not like that. No, this is a situation I can deal with. The only way to get rid of a boulder is to chip at it until it’s gone. Well, I’m chippin’ as fast as I can. But there is a silver-lining in this storm cloud. As I look over my shoulder I can see Linda adding up the fees and sending out the billings. We might be able to stop and have Christmas, after all—maybe sometime around June. |
| Title: Toppers of All Sorts Date: December 2, 2006, Saturday Thought: Over the last several years I’ve obtained a small collection of hats. Some of them I like; and a few of them I like on me. Jog: I have never really cared much for wearing hats. The reason is quite simple; it messes up my hair. Now, I know that simple little statement will evoke some eye-rolls and smiles. “Good grief, Dan, how can you be so vain?” Well it does. And, when you’ve got as little to work with as I do, you just don’t want your hair messed up. But in recent years I’ve grown older (Duh!) and have come to really not care if my hair’s messed up—well, I don’t care as much (I’m afraid vanity will hold it’s nasty grip on me until I die.) Anyway, in the last several years laziness has won over vanity. When Max nuzzles my elbow with that cold nose of his, it means “Take me for a walk…now!” I usually don’t have time to spend on grooming and coiffing. I grab the leash, throw on a hat, and off we go. So, hats have become an interest to me. Over the last several years I’ve obtained a small collection of hats. Some of them I like; and a few of them I like on me. Now, I’ve got to stop right here and introduce you again to my new friend Budroe . David McClain first introduced him to us sometime last week. Well, I’ve been over rummaging through Bud’s port and found a delightful little folder just about hats. It’s sort of a devotional--of sorts. Well anyway, you’ll be seeing more on that from one of our other friends, so, I’ll not send the link right now. The important thing is I really liked that folder about hats. Even so, I determined that I wasn’t going to blog about it for a couple of reasons. Anyway, here I am doing just that—discussing hats. The reason I’ve changed my mind is because, early this morning when I opened my email, I received a pleasant surprise of a gift from another of my new friends, gardengirl. She gave me a bright new Christmas hat, which I immediately placed on the top of this journal, where it belongs. So, you see, with hats firmly established in my sphere of influence I simply had to do a hat blog. I get my fondness for hats from my Dad. He wore hats. In fact I can’t remember often when he did not wear a hat. He wore them in his leisure time as well as when he worked. In the oil field you gotta wear a hat. Hard hats (metal) dent whereas heads don’t. There is a lot of metal in motion on a drilling rig. You gotta wear a hat. But, I noticed my dad even wore his hard hat with style. He would cock it slightly on his head and it would look just right. Cocked too much and it looked silly. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Dad would not go anywhere in public without his Stetson. Now, some of you folks who are not from Texas will call it a “cowboy hat”—don’t! That’s not right, and it just shows that you know nothing about cowboys or hats. By the way, we don’t wear cowboy boots, either. They are just boots or just hats. And although you can’t see them Dad was wearing a new pair of armadillo boots. His boots cost him about $400 to $500 a pair; and that was many years ago. In about thirty minutes it will be light enough outside to take Max for his walk (or does he take me for mine—the jury is out on that one right now.) By that time I’ll be finished with this entry and it will be snuggling warmly in its spot at the top of my blog. I’ll grab my hat—it’s cold outside today so I’ll be taking my Oklahoma Sooners sock cap. I’ll pull it snuggly down over my ears and hit the trail. My ears will be warm. You know, it’s nice to have a good hat. |
| Title: My Persistent Friend Date: December 1, 2006, Friday Thought: Mr./Ms. Reminder has proven to be consistent, if nothing else. Jog: This is the first day of the last month of the year. There ought to be something significant about that, but, Lord knows what it would be. I began today with an old friend. My most faithful commenter is Mr. Reminder. Everyday he pops into my blog and leaves a little comment. He is not very articulate for he says the same thing over and over again. But there is merit in persistence. His gentle reminder that I have not posted an entry today is very helpful. I make a mental note of that fact and sometimes I even sit right down and jog out a message. Not only is Mr. Reminder persistent, but I suspect he is also a perfectionist. I can assume he is the kind of guy that has a little peg for each tool with an outline on the board that shows what tool goes where. Of course, his garage floor is spotless. He has an eye for detail, for he keeps track of exactly how long it has been since my last entry. I mean the guy keeps track down to the minute. I have considered dropping him a note and telling him I am a grown up boy and do not need his assistance. But, I stop short of doing that. After all, he is only trying to be helpful. And, besides, if it were not for Mr. Reminder, some days I would have no visitors to my little blog site. Mr. Reminder is a little of an introvert. I know nothing about him. He does not have a blog page of his own where I can reciprocate with comments regarding his entries. Nope, I think he is a very private person who chooses to read and comment on our pages without leaving a clue as to who he is. Hey, I’m not even sure he’s a he. It is very likely he’s a she. In that case I understand why she has not gotten more informal with me. After all I am a strange guy with whom she has very little to talk about. In any case I’ve noticed that when I am active online, he…she…whatever, is quite content to stand on the sideline and not butt into the conversation. It is only when I remain silent that he/she ventures into my site. I’ve determine not to worry about him/her. Perhaps over the years he/she will warm up and say a little more, but, I doubt it. Mr./Ms. Reminder has proven to be consistent, if nothing else. |
| Title: What Now? Date: November 29, 2006, Wednesday Thought: If we focus on the positive we may even enjoy the trip. Miracles come into our lives every day. Jog: I am not a fatalist. I don’t believe somewhere, somehow there are events waiting to happen to us that we just cannot control. I don’t believe God or the devil causes bad things to happen to us for their entertainment. Stuff just happens. That’s the normal way of life. When God created this universe of ours, he set the natural order of things into motion. We often bump into that motion and experience the consequences. God does not send tornados and hurricanes to mess up our personal lives. They are a natural order of things. He doesn’t kill babies or take our loved ones because we missed a Sunday morning in church. Things happen to us because we live in a dynamic world and sometimes get caught up in the chaos of things. The classic answer to the question, “Why?” is “Just because.” Don’t search for deeper answers; if they are there, they are probably too complex to understand them—just because. However, I do believe that we have a loving God who wants good things to happen to us. There are blessings in each of our lives that are directly attributable to God’s hand in our lives. Miracles still happen and God is the source. I believe God is a God of intervention. At times He enters into the natural dynamic of life and intervenes. Contrary to what some folks believe, my prayers are not just useless babble to unhearing walls. God does hear us; He does act. Now, it is not always the action I would chose; and it is not always on my time schedule. But, over the course of my life, I can’t recall a single earnest prayer He has not answered. Occasionally, we have opportunity to suspect there exists a grand conspiracy from God or the devil or karma, which is intent on messing up our life. Many of our friends in WDC are walking down that path right now. I am facing a change in my work load—a challenge of exciting proportion. It is interesting that this is happening at Christmas, which instead of being a time of great joy and gratitude has become an emotional roller coaster with corporate America. The success of Christmas seems to be gauged on how profitable the retail businesses will be. Financial institutions will obtain a windfall in the form of spending of funds the consumer just does not have. Personal debt will increase and by so doing guarantee substantial interest and income to the credit card companies—a successful year. Christmas has become a season of spending and debt. Somewhere along the way the focus on the message of ‘good will to man” has diminished, along with the babe lying in the manger. Last night, on my way home from a meeting, I had a blow-out on my truck. The tire did not just go flat; the dang thing exploded and left rubber all over the Interstate. Now, tires for my big ole truck are not cheap. And, unfortunately, I can’t just buy one tire. I need four. I asked myself, “Why did this have to happen now? Haven’t I got enough to deal with? Where’s the money gonna come from?” See, we all ask that question, “Why?” It did no good to ask myself those questions. I realized that the flat tire is not a conspiracy, no more than is the business situation I am facing right now. The flat?--I called my son who lives not one mile from where the blow-out occurred, and he came and helped me change the tire, which is another story in itself. As I drove on home with the spare mounted on my truck, I found I was in a state of deep satisfaction and contentment. I was not thinking of the mess I’m in with the tires. Nope, I was remembering how Chad jumped out of his truck last night and finished helping me change the tire. I was thinking how fortunate I was to have a young man who loved me enough to stop what he was doing and go help dad. I remembered the little boy who played in my back yard in the sand with his Tonka trucks. And, I watched those grown arms tug and tighten the lug nuts of the tire. I smiled when I thought how fortunate I was that this happened right where it did instead of miles away on a deserted two lane road away from help. Things will work out—for all of us. If we focus on the positive we may even enjoy the trip. Miracles come into our lives every day. They come to us on busy highways when we have flat tires and in hospital rooms. Oftentimes we don’t recognize the true miracle. My miracle last night was not that my blow-out happened in Chad’s back yard; although, that was fortunate indeed. Nope, my miracle was Chad. That God prepared that little boy and grew him into the man he is today, is the real miracle. At Christmas time this year, we will probably not have lots of gifts around the tree. That doesn’t bother me anymore. Because the true gifts around our tree will not be wrapped. The real gifts will be my children and their children, Linda, and even Max. What greater gift can I receive? There is only one; that is to realize God gave His only Son to me as a gift. Somehow we have got to establish the real reason we have this time of year. This little event has helped me to do that. I look forward to tomorrow and am determined to keep the true meaning of Christmas in my heart so that I may experience Christmas every day of the year. |
| Title: Evaluate and Adjust Date: November 28, 2006, Tuesday Thought: It’s just a situation with a solution. Jog: If you haven’t noticed by now, life changes. Every day brings new situations demanding responses. How one addresses these changes will most likely determine the stress level in that life. Some folks panic at every change, make a big deal out of it, and as a result spend an enormous quantity of “grey matter time” on it. In other words they think about it, and ponder about it, and examine all the possible scenarios. My oldest son will literally worry himself sick about a situation. I have lived long enough to learn creating scenarios does little towards coming to a solution to the situation. So I simply don’t do that. Now, let me share that there is a big difference in creating multiple scenarios in our minds and evaluating a situation. I work through a situation, come to a conclusion, and take specific action. That’s what I call evaluation. It does no good to play “what if.” My capacity to handle all the “what ifs” of a situation is limited. In fact, since I can deal with only one situation at a time, I do not bother with all the “what ifs.” Only one of the “what ifs” is gonna happen anyway; and the chance that I can accurately identify that “what if” is remote. I can’t control the actions of others, so I ignore the “what ifs” and spend my energy on acting on my evaluation of the situation. In simpler terms, I just don’t worry about it. By the way, I have always told my employees that we don’t have problems in my firm. I know what a problem is and this ain’t it. We have situations. We respond to a situation, find a solution, and act on it. I live my life the same way. Every situation has three responses: identify, evaluate, and act. OK, what has motivated me to follow this line of thinking this morning? I have encountered a situation. It seems the other professional planner who works for me has handed in his resignation. For the last eight years he has been an important member of a team. We have impacted much of north central Texas with the plans and regulatory tools we have prepared for the municipalities in this area. With Barry’s resignation I will be alone for the first time in the history of my firm. I have reduced the size of my office, changed the way we operate by putting our offices in the home, and increased my client base. Now, I will have to serve that client base by myself. That’s what I call a situation. The simple fact of the situation is that I will now save $100,000 annually in salary and benefits, that’s about $8,300 a month. The downside is that it also increases my work load by an additional thirty hours a week, at least until I decide how and if that position will be replaced. There’s tons of stuff to be done: evaluate the progress he has made on existing clients, reassign work loads, adjust schedules, contact clients, and a bunch of hidden stuff waiting to be discovered. I can approach this with fear and trembling or I can see the opportunity waiting here. I chose to see it as a challenge. There is an opportunity now to restructure my business to more closely fit my lifestyle. I control my destiny. I look forward to the days ahead and what they will bring. But, I am cognizant that I cannot do it alone. I cannot do it by myself. Each new step will be taken with Linda by my side. And I will walk in the footsteps of Jesus who walks in front of me, leading the way. With that being the case, how can I ever believe this is a problem…it’s just a situation with a solution. |
| Title: The Christmas List Date: November 27, 2006, Monday Thought: I can still see him in my mind, with his feet dangling, sitting in grandpa’s big chair at the big desk, laboring over the list. Jog: The marvelous thing about this site is how we inspire each other. Often I will begin my blog entry with a blank mind—no clue as to what I shall write about. But, after visiting a few blogs of you talented folks, I will settle on an idea. And, that is exactly what happened after I visited Special Kay last night. Her blog reminded me of a Christmas list I found on my desk top several years ago.The author of the list is my oldest grandson, Ryan. He was just a little tyke at the time, learning how to write. The idea that he could make a Christmas list was new and exciting to him. So one day, during a visit to grandma’s and grandpa’s he busied himself with preparing a Christmas list. After his parents finished visiting with us, they took him home and we found this list, written with a red pencil and printed boldly. For years it has been folded and kept in the big family Bible; that’s where we keep important documents like that. Here is his list. 1. Racetrack 2. Videogame 3. Pisl shopiner (pencil sharpener) 4. A bag of piisls (bag of pencils) 5. A fon to put in my room (a phone to put in my room) 6. A telescop so if my fradsnedened n if machn I will have a telescop (???) 7. A printr (a printer) 8. A klock (a clock) 9. A trashcan (a trash can) 10. A postr for my room (a poster for my room) 11. A fax mshen (a fax machine) 12. A staplr (a stapler) 13. Sum papr (some paper) It is obvious grandpa’s office was his inspiration for many of the items that found its way to the list. I can still see him in my mind, with his feet dangling, sitting in grandpa’s big chair at the big desk, looking around the room for inspiration and laboring over the list. Ryan is now taller than his grandma; his voice is much deeper; and, his feet have long since dangled from any chair. What are the valuables we have hidden in our house. For sure they include the jewelry, Linda’s doll collection, our computers, and some other expensive stuff. But that piece of paper with the carefully lettered scrawl with Ryan’s list, well, it ranks among the most valuable. For, it is a testament to our memory of a little boy. We have some other things along that line that we have gathered during our 39 years of marriage. From time to time they come to our attention. We pause, smile, remember, and then move on. That’s what life's all about. |
| Title: Check Them Out Date: November 25, 2006, Saturday Thought: Now, that is the general method I use when and if I chose to evaluate a writer on WDC. Jog: I have been amazed at how smoothly the WDC site operates. The give and take between the authors is commendable. I have never seen coarse and rude language used in any of the comments. The self-rating system seems to be working. I am certain that much of this is due to the hard and vigilant work of the moderators. But, generally, the folks who participate in WDC are civil and generally nice people. I have found few people in here who I would not be proud to include as my friend. I don't always agree with them but would be proud to know them as a friend. And so it is worrisome when spats seem to occur between personalities. In one of my recent entries I discussed the nature of our “handles” and how they caused a first impression. Well, you just don’t always know how to judge folks in here. Oh, I know we are not supposed to be judgmental of anyone. But, let’s face it folks—we must make a decision somehow as to whether or not we want to pursue a relationship (of any sort) with the people you meet. I know I always counseled my kids to choose their friends. Don’t be hurtful or exclusionary, but don’t choose friends who will bring you trouble and heartache in the future. We sorta need to do that in here also. So, what do I look at when I check out a WDC writer? Well, here are some of the things I look at. Remember, this is me…you may do it another way. 1. I read their bio in their portfolio. Usually that little piece gives me an impression of who the writer is. But, all it does is provide a flavor of the person; I must read on. Sometimes there is some silly quote or passage that tells me very little. That is not a problem; it’s just a little frustrating. Often, they imply a religious preference or lack of preference. That has absolutely no bearing on my decision to read them; it just adds additional flavor. 2. I take a brief look at their port. When did they join? How many items have they entered? What kind of variety of material do they have? What color case are they? If they are brand new this gives me opportunity to welcome them into the fold. If they have only poetry in their port, I know they are much more creative than I am, for I am a poetry dolt. I identify with the writers of short stories. We instantly have something in common. 3. I take a look at what others think of them. I check their Merit Badges. Really nice folks seem to get the attention by receiving lots of Badges. However, this is usually a function of how long they have been in here. However, if they’ve been in here for years and years and not received even one Merit Badge, then they probably don’t interact much with folks. 4. I take a look at their Trophy Case. Active members who enter contests and share their work with others often are rewarded with Awardicons. Multiple Awardicons causes me to respect their work a little more, even before I read it. We have some very talented people in here. Most of them are recognized by these little awards. I have a habit of going to the ports of folks who have given me caustic and poor reviews to see what the quality of their work is. It has been interesting at times and humbling at others. 5. I read their stuff. I select one or two or three works and read them. If they are good, I tell them. If they are not, well, I often don’t say anything if I can’t say something nice. It is one thing to be helpful with your comments and another to be rude. We have to realize the difference. 6. I consider the content of the piece. I respect any work that is delivered in style. I abhor profanity for profanity’s sake. There are some words that I will not use. I do not appreciate reckless flinging of profanity. I am not a prude and have heard all the words in all the contexts; therefore, I do not intend to waste my time on mere profanity. I believe even simple pieces, including our blogs, can be delivered in style. There are many out there who do it in style. Those are the writers I read. 7. I peek at the stats. As far as I am concerned this is the most insignificant thing to consider. I look at the stats as a curiosity, mainly. I never make any decision as to whether I will or will not read a writer by where they are ranked in the stats. Therefore, I could have left this one out. Now, that is the general method I use when and if I chose to evaluate a writer on WDC. I don’t do it very often. But there are times when the actions of a writer cause me to want to know more. |
| Title: A Little Game Called Eight Ball Date: November 25, 2006, Saturday Thought: “Sitting behind the eight-ball” is a curious expression. It has been commonly recognized as being an unwanted and precarious position. Jog: It is relatively comfortable here. My belly is full and I am suppressing a burp that wants to be set free. I don’t know why; this is my house and I can burp if I wish. I’ve finished a couple of days of watching football, with all my favorite teams winning; only one more game to watch: Oklahoma University (OU) and Oklahoma State (OSU). A win by OU and I will be in guy heaven. So, I sit here relatively content, waiting for the OU vs. OSU game at noon. But there is a shadow here that keeps the overall feeling of euphoria from being complete. My total state of contentment is halted short of being complete by the nagging presence of responsibilities. Dang! It’s tough being a grown-up. I can compare this feeling to that which you have two days before you begin finals in college; or to dropping your IRS return into the mailbox, knowing you now owe the government thousands of dollars which you simply don’t have, or perhaps it is even like beginning a five-hundred mile trip on a half tank of gasoline and only ten dollars in your pocket. I’ve done all of these and can testify to their relative similarity--otherwise known as “deep do-do.” This state I am so inadequately attempting to describe is that of sitting behind the eight-ball. “Sitting behind the eight-ball” is a curious expression. It has been commonly recognized as being an unwanted and precarious position. It means the unfortunate soul occupying that position is in deep do-do. Now, one has to use one’s imagination to really understand the depth of the situation. For, the image only truly works if you can imagine a huge black ball the size of your house. Once you imagination can conjure up that image, imagine me sitting behind that big black ball the size of your house. If any of you have ever played “Eight Ball,” you realize the purpose of the game it to sink the eight ball into one of the pockets of the pool table. That means the dang thing is going to be smacked decisively—I guarantee it. It is just a matter of time; and so, you don’t want to be sitting behind that dang ball. But here I am—again. This time the eight ball is the City of Alba. On Monday I have a meeting with the Economic Development Commission of that fair town. I have promised to have a Comprehensive Plan document prepared for their approval as well as a new zoning ordinance for their review. I have neither of these in form sufficient to serve that purpose. I’m close, but just not there yet, which means I get to work during the remainder of the holiday weekend. I will have it ready by the deadline—I always do. It’s just that I’m a little tired of sitting in the shadow of the proverbial eight ball so dang much. The really frustrating thing is when I crawl out of the shadow of this eight ball I crawl into the shadow of another. And, I have several waiting to take its place. The immediate future has the City of Quitman, the City of Alvarado, and the City of Mineola waiting in line. The silver lining in this position is that as I crawl from eight ball to eight ball I get to drag the bag of coins with me that I found there. Geeze, the things one must do for a bag of coins! And so there you have an image of my professional life: an old fat guy running from eight ball to eight ball, gathering coins along the way. I am beginning to get the idea that I am too old to be doing all this running. I think I need to have fewer eight balls out there—you know, maybe just enough so that I could walk between them. I’m sorta used to the shade they cast; it’s all this scurrying around that is getting tedious. |
| Title: My Take on Giving Thanks Date: November 23, 2006, Thursday – Thanksgiving Thought: The misery which has entered my life is measured on a slight scale compared to others. But, nevertheless, I am justified beyond limits to give thanks for what I have been provided. Jog: Warning: This is a religious entry. If you are offended by the Christian faith and the expression thereof, then read on at your own volition. Picture, if you will, a dusty road somewhere in Palestine. The exact location is not known; however, the Bible account (Luke 17:11-19) tells us that we are somewhere between Samaria, to the north, and Galilee, to the south. The Jordan River lies in front of us just a little ways up the road. Walking down this dusty road we find Jesus, the Son of God. Close behind him there is a little group of followers. Still further behind are two or three stragglers bringing up the rear. Up ahead of us is a small village. No one in the party really knows its name. It is simply a village on the road to Jerusalem. It has been a long and dusty day. It’s been one of those days that brings one to ask himself what he is doing out there in the first place. Everyone is tired. Everyone is thirsty. Everyone is hungry. The day has been uneventful and there is little promise that it will change. Yet, unknown to anyone, except Jesus, ten miracles are about to happen. Unknown to anyone, God is going to move among them. And as a result, the lives of people will be changed forever. Suddenly, they are confronted with an apparition of misery. For out of nowhere, possibly because of the setting sun in their eyes, out of nowhere appears a gathering of several unfortunate souls--ten to be exact. What a sad sight it is in front of them--this crowd of beggars with damaged eyes, nose, and hair. The lepers lift up their diseased and deformed arms; and unearthly sounds gurgle through their deformed throats as they cry out a warning, as the law commands them to do, “Tame.....Tame....Unclean!...Unclean!” And then suddenly the cry changes to, “Jesus! Master, have mercy on us!” Jesus hears them; He acts immediately. Understand that there was no big show. He did not gather everyone around him and say, “Now, watch this.” He simply did what he had to do and confirmed it with a directive to the lepers. He said “Go at once and show yourselves to the priests.” The priests would pronounce them as being once more clean. The priests would pronounce them as being cured. But, please realize that is all the priests could do--pronounce that they were cured. It was the leper’s going in obedience which was their trial of faith. It was their obedience that opened the way for God’s healing grace. And so they go, stumbling and dragging diseased bodies to the priests. And shortly a marvelous thing happens. Their limp arms begin to surge with strength. Their sightless eyes begin to receive sight. New sensations of health surge through their bodies; and this tells them that they are being cleansed. They are being cured with each step that they take. And, upon this miracle being fully realized, upon their lives being changed forever, upon the realization that God had personally intervened into nature and taken broken, twisted, rotten bodies and made them strong and straight, you would think surely this would have been a moment of much thanksgiving. This would surely have been a moment of great rejoicing and praise to the Master Physician. But, as we examine the situation, we find only one of the ten healed lepers has turned back to the Savior. Only one voice proclaims God’s glory. Only one cleansed man falls at the feet of Jesus and gives thanks. Were not all ten cleansed? Were not ten lives reclaimed? Where are the other nine? Can there not be found any to give glory to God, save this one stranger? I certainly have not experienced misfortune comparable to that of those ten lepers. The misery which has entered into my life is measured on a slight scale compared to others. But, nevertheless, I am justified beyond limits to give thanks for what I have been provided. I have no grounds to judge and condemn the nine who seemingly were ungrateful. I can only identify with the one grateful heart who returned. The fact that I have my facilities and can earn a living is a blessing. The woman God sent into my life is a great and wonderful blessing. The strong, fine young men who are my children are a great blessing. The grandkids who call me “Grandpa” and fill my home with screeches and laughter are continual blessings. The black dog who even now lies beneath my feet and who recently saved my life is a blessing. On and on I can go, filling the page with blessings in abundance. And so, as did that single, lone leper two-thousand years ago, I stop where I am; I walk back to the feet of the Savior; I fall on my knees and say, “Thank you, Lord.” It seems such a small thing in exchange for all I have been given. I’ve learned that it is all that I can do; but, I’ve also learned it is enough. |
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