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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: Making a Good First Impression Date: November 22, 2006, Wednesday Thought: We get a mental image of the person on the other side of that name. Since we cannot see the person themselves, the image projected by the name is important. Jog: OK, I know it will sound critical, but it isn’t meant to be that way. As I scrolled through the blog listings, I found myself shaking my head at some of the usernames listed there. I asked myself, “How do we choose those names?” Some of them are logical. I could list a few of them, but I’ve decided not to single anyone out. Mine, for example is a little dorky. I am a municipal planner by vocation (yup, there really is a job like that), and my name is Dan…thus, PlannerDan. Not very original, but it works. I must admit, most of them are reasonable and most of them are very creative. However, some of them literally turn me off. We get a mental image of the person on the other side of that name. Since we cannot see the person themselves, the image projected by the name is important. That is unless you really don’t care about image or what someone initially thinks of you. And being that this is the World-Wide Web and it is likely we will never meet most of the folks we rub virtual elbows with, that very well may be the idea—an attitude of “I’ll never meet you so what do I care what you think!” However, I’ve found that this site in particular, WDC, is much more like a real community than anywhere else I’ve been on the Internet. I do care what my friends think. I do want others to have a good impression of me. Therefore, I try to present myself as I would if I met you in person. And that begins with my username. At birth we had no choice what we were named. Others did that job for us. As a result many of us go through life as Gertrude’s and Mortimer’s (not that there is anything wrong with Gertrude or Mortimer; but, I would not name my child that). I’m thankful my parents settled on Danny—that’s a safe name. But, our username is much different. We get to choose that name. So with that choice, how does one come up with names like, “Idiot from Bangkok” “Lusty Pervert”, or “Up Yours?” (totally fictional names but representative of the names I’m referring to.) What makes “Up Yours” believe I would ever want to read anything written under that name? Often, when I take a chance and enter that person’s port, I am surprised that the content is rather good. My first impression changes….a little. I still have to overcome the username. Hey, I’m trying not to judge a book by its cover; but, it’s hard sometimes. So, there, I’ve said it. I’ve gotten it out of my system. I hope I have not offended anyone. It was not my intention. It’s just that I’m a little confused as why, when given an opportunity to present a good first impression, we do so by standing behind a username like “Up Yours.” All of us are beautiful creations. We shouldn’t purposefully detract from the goodness of that creation. Hmmm, maybe I should change my name? Naw, that’s who I am. |
| Title: Anybody For Pumpkin Pie? Date: November 21, 2006, Tuesday Thought: When you approach the senior years the time seems to be only an instant. I stand here looking those senior years in the face and wonder how in the world I got here. Jog: I used to watch my grandmother make pies. I certainly did not tell my buddies that I spent time in the kitchen with grandma making pies. No, that was not a guy thing. But when I visited her, I had very little with which to occupy my time. I did not watch TV and there were no such things as Play-Stations or even DVDs. Nope, I had to entertain myself, which I did rather successfully. One of the things I did was to watch grandma cook. It seems the woman was always cooking. And, I’m glad she did because it was a real treat to eat the stuff she cooked. Depending on what kind of pie she was making, I would watch her prepare the apples, or pecans, or pumpkin filling. Then she would make the crust of the pie, mixing the flour and stuff. She would roll the dough and shape it with an expert touch. And, after she molded it into the pie pan she would add the ingredients. Like magic the smell would fill the house as the pie baked. And just like magic it would pop out of the oven perfect. She would often bake two or three pies at a time so we could usually cut one as soon as it cooled—that way I didn’t have to wait for supper to get a generous sample of the pie. Grandma’s pies are, in a simple way, analogous to our lives. There are all different kinds of people; we each have different ingredients that go into making our lives. When assembled with care and love they are unbelievably rewarding. When thrown together haphazardly we run a chance for them to be less than the best they could be. Like her pies, we don’t know how they will turn out until they run the course. A few of us have a hint along the way; but, it takes a long time to live a life. However, when you approach the senior years the time seems to be only an instant. I stand here looking those senior years in the face and wonder how in the world I got here. Fortunately, the pie that represents my life is still baking. I’ve managed to get most of the ingredients in there reasonably right, even though they may have been a little out of order or of the wrong proportion. As a result, a few bites may be a little bitter, but on the whole it’s a pretty good pie with loads of sweetness mixed in. However, unlike grandma’s pies, I still get to throw in an ingredient or two, even while it is baking. That’s what I’m doing now, tossing in ingredients. With each day I toss in a little more. But I’ve noticed I’m much more selective about the stuff I toss in there. I take a little more time to select the moments, a little more reflective, and a little more grateful for each ingredient. Now, I don’t know where this little discourse is going. I was just remembering—that’s what you do sometimes in the early morning hours before the press of the world overtakes you—and I remembered being a kid and the smells of grandma’s cooking. I remembered how skillfully and patiently she put her pies together, how it seemed she did not have a receipt but just threw it together on the spot. Of course, she probably never did have a written receipt because her mother taught her years ago by simple repetition. And I thought about how I live my life—how it has been built on endless repetition, refining it with each new experience or ingredient. Somehow that caused me to be able to get a mental whiff of the smell of grandma’s kitchen. I smile and suspect that my life has turned out relatively well. Although, I still have some time to run my course—a little more baking if you will—I am satisfied with the way it’s turning out. Isn’t it funny how the simplest memories become the ingredients of life’s little lessons? I’m looking forward for Thanksgiving. I have much to be thankful for. And I’m looking forward to a generous portion of pumpkin pie. I will eat it with great pleasure and without guilt of the calories. After all, I do believe I deserve it. |
| Title: Memorials Date: November 15, 2006, Wednesday Thought: For all my life I have always had someone there to watch my back. As I have gotten older, I’ve learned that I need to depend more on myself, for there are less people there who care for me. Jog: OK, I’ll warn you right now, if you hadn’t already noticed, I’m totally eat up with history, particularly American history. I’ve got books on the American Revolution, the Civil War, and the Second World War. Those events captivate me and cause me to lose myself in wonder. Therefore it should not be too difficult to grasp the fact that I was simply beside myself when I visited Washington DC several years ago. I can spend days walking among the memorials contemplating the significance of those remembrances of events and places and people. Of all the memorials in Washington, three of them moved me significantly: the Marine Corps – Iwo Jima Memorial, the Korean War Memorial, and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I want to single out the Korean War Memorial for this entry. I don’t know anyone who participated in that war. It is called the forgotten war because it has been delegated to the position of a “police action.” Well, any way you stack it, it is still a war. Once again our young men and women went to fight for a just cause. I don’t want to deal with the politics of the Korean War. That isn’t important to me right now. What I want to address is the spirit of the men who fought there. It was the American spirit. The Korean War Memorial captures that spirit. The Memorial is a collection of nineteen full-sized sculptures of individual soldiers. They are walking through a field of juniper on patrol—it could very well have been the Korean countryside. They come from all walks of life and all races. They are united as a single unit. That’s what we as Americans are supposed to be. Perhaps we need to walk among the Memorial and try to remember that. I spent a long time at that Memorial. I studied each sculpture—the expression on the face, their posture, and where they were looking. My mind wandered through that juniper field that they are walking through. I studied each man and finally made it to the last man. This one intrigued me the most. All the other men are watching the trail before them, looking forward. This one man is watching behind him, watching the trail behind. Notice also he is carrying the radio. A great deal of responsibility falls on the shoulders of this soldier. Those who walk in front of him are dependent on his vigilance. You know, we can’t always watch our own back. Sometimes we have to trust the other guy. That’s the way community is. For all my life I have always had someone there to watch my back. As I have gotten older, I’ve learned that I need to depend more on myself, for there are less people there who care for me. My mom and dad are long gone. It’s time for me to be the one watching behind me, watching out for my family. But, for as long as there is an America, we will have people who watch out for us. We saw this clearly during the 911 attack, when the firefighters and police officers stormed the collapsing towers to save folks. They gave their lives for us, just like those soldiers walking through the junipers at the Korean War Memorial. There are doctors, nurses, caregivers who have dedicated their lives to watch for us. There are your neighbors and friends who would sacrifice their own safety to help you in an emergency. When the Tsunami hit the Asian lands, folks criticized the US for not acting quickly enough. But when it was all said and done, our nation’s contribution, through aid and funds, more than matched the entire rest of the world. We are a people who watch for each other. I’m concerned that we have become calloused. I’m concerned that we have become a people who do not trust our neighbor any longer. We see conspiracies in every action of our local, state, and federal government. We’ve become seriously disillusioned with the goodness of our leaders as well as our neighbors. That is sad. For I think there are still folks out there who are bringing up the rear, who let us carry on with the things at hand as they watch out for us, like that American soldier at the end of the Korean War Memorial. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: We’ve Lost Sight of the American Way Date: November 14, 2006, Tuesday Thought: For years Americans have believed the American Way was to make lots and lots of money. The only problem is that most Americans don’t make lots and lots of money. Jog:Life is not a game of Monopoly. There are no “Get Out of Jail Free” cards and you can’t buy Boardwalk and the little red hotels with paper money from the box. Certainly, there are some basic principles that we learn from games like Monopoly. But, unfortunately we usually don’t learn from the game; we learn from living life in the real world. Wouldn’t it be great if, when someone bought all the good properties and took all your money after you landed on them, all you had to do was begin over again with a new game? Normally, we don’t have that opportunity. I know a young man who has been trapped in a game of Monopoly where someone else owns all the good stuff. Every roll of the dice promises to ding him somehow. There is a chance that someday this young man will be able to crawl out of the mess, but the near future appears very frustrating indeed. The frustrating thing to me is that our society does not encourage people to be self-sufficient. We live in a country of great wealth and even opulence. The visual media encourages people to enter further and further into debt. Why must we make it easy for folks to be overburdened with financial debt? It appears that is the new American Way. In my parent’s day, which was a product of the Great Depression, a person paid cash for goods. I remember my mother saving money to purchase a new refrigerator. We don’t do that today. Heck, we go down to the store and they let you have the thing and you don’t even have to make a payment for six months and it’s zero percent interest if you pay it off in one year. If you think that sounds like a good deal, it’s not. Most folks don’t pay it off and many of them don’t have the money to pay for the thing when the six months is up. So the appliance company lets you pay it out with added interest. Of course the interest is all that the poor joker can afford and the principle carries on indefinitely. The unfortunate guy ends up paying for the refrigerator multiple times before the debt is satisfied, if it ever is. And, don’t tell me the corporations don’t know that’s what will happen; heck! they’re counting on it. There are now companies that will loan a person cash with only a paycheck as collateral. It seems that all one has to do is show a past payroll stub and they can get a loan for that amount. Of course the idea is that, when the paycheck comes, all the unfortunate soul has to do is pay off the loan. However, by that time they’ve spent the money and can’t afford to pay the loan. So, with an added outrageous interest, the cycle begins again. The new models for cars have come out. One can now purchase the 2007 models. I couldn’t believe my ears the other day. I heard a dealership promoting deferred payments until January with a payment plan for seven years; that’s eighty-four months. Can you believe someone would actually take seven years to pay off a car? Dang! There’s nothing but interest on that thing. It costs as much as a house. Christmas is looming ominously before us. The holiday season is here. The retailers are licking their chops. Millions of Americans are planning on going into further debt so that they can purchase all kinds of junk for Christmas. These poor folks have worked all year long almost paying off last Christmas and now they are blindly lining up for more debt. Unfortunately, the credit card companies can’t wait. “There’s gold in them thar hills!” And, unfortunately the poor consumers will be wrung out and squeezed free of every bit of it. So what is the solution? I’ve advised my boys and their families to do what Linda and I have done. We’ve destroyed all our credit cards except one. We use that for company business only. Everything, I mean everything, including cars is paid for with cash. All debts are paid off, including the house. Someone, about this time, usually spouts, “Hey, but you’ll lose that tax deduction!” Friends, I would much rather have the money to invest myself than to count on a tax deduction. That is a fallacy that simply rationalizes remaining in debt. The goal is to be totally debt free. There are two ways to realize wealth. You can make lots and lots of money or you can reduce your debts to zero. For years Americans have believed the American Way was to make lots and lots of money. The only problem is that most Americans don’t make lots and lots of money. However, they spend as if they did. And the credit card companies and the retailers and the home builders, and the auto dealers let them. Christmas may be rather bleak around our house this year. We don’t intend to enter any sort of debt for this season. If we can’t pay cash for it, then we simply will not buy it. I wish that was how everybody else was doing it. I suspect it would cut down on much of the tension in families. And, perhaps it would give us an opportunity to emphasize the real meaning of Christmas and help us take the commercialism out of it. But, I know that is a dream. We haven’t even experienced Thanksgiving and Christmas is being promoted in the stores. After all, it is much more profitable. |
| Title: For the Rest of My Life Date: November 13, 2006, Monday Thought: Now, I knew there would come a time when my health prevented me from digging ditches. I hoped that when that time came I would have a warehouse of ‘nuts’ stored that would see me through. Jog: When I was young, in my twenties, the term “for the rest of my life” seemed like an eternity. It was a term that seemed to be associated with retirement. You know, that period when you find something to busy yourself with ‘for the rest of your life’--when you can’t or don’t have to work for a living any longer. I’ve been taught all my life that you store up nuts so that when you are older you don’t have to dig ditches for the rest of your life. Now, I knew there would come a time when my health prevented me from digging ditches. I hoped that when that time came I would have a warehouse of ‘nuts’ stored that would see me through. Well, between then and now, I got older. I am concerned that my barn is not that big. There just are not as many nuts in there as I would have wished I would have. I consider the social programs that our government has established to help us through the rest of my life. Yeah, that’s a winner. Social Security just may be able to pay the electric bill. Had I had all that money I paid the government invested in my own fund, well I would not need to worry about nuts. Don’t get me wrong; there are resources out there. We own property, have investments, and have a guaranteed income as long as I want to work. That’s not bad; it’s just that it could be better. I dreamed that the rest of my life would be spent getting up when I wanted to every morning; doing what I wanted to do and not answering to anyone. The rest of my life would be spent going places I wanted to see and doing things I have never done before. The rest of my life would not have any business suits or office buildings or wrist watches. For the rest of my life I would do things on my time and my way. That’s how I would spend the rest of my life. I began thinking about where I am in life right now. Upon considering it, I guess I’m not in too bad a place. I have no one to answer to at my job for I am my own boss. If I don’t want to work for a client, I don’t. Folks come to me to get me to work for them. There are more of them than I can work for, so I get to choose my jobs. In the morning I get up when I want to. Since I have responsibilities to these folks, I do have to get up and do something. But, I generally choose when that will be. Today, all day long, I’ve worn my Sooner warm-up suit and white socks. I’ve actually had to put my shoes on to walk Max around the lake. My lunch lasted from 12:30 pm till about 3:00 pm. When I returned to work I stopped off here in WDC and poked around for a while. I’m still poking. I know I will have to spend some hours later this evening getting something accomplished on my client’s work, but that will also be of my choosing. They pay me $125 an hour to do the things I do, sometimes more. I’m fortunate that they also pay my employee the same rate and fortunately I don’t pay him anyway close to that much. Out of this money I pay my expenses and overhead and put the rest of it in my pocket. Linda and I live in a decent home that has over 3,000 sq. ft. There are much bigger homes, but we don’t really need any more than that. The interesting thing is that we only owe five years on the mortgage and the dang thing is mine. We have another house that we will pay off next month. We let our youngest son live there. Eventually, it will be his. Since 911, times have been difficult for our business. Mostly, we have remained steady and shown a bare minimum profit. Things are looking better with the economy and promises to be quite helpful soon. I have considered when I will be able to begin to spend the rest of my life. I used to think it would be a set time, like at age 55 or age 65. I now know that will not happen for I’ve been spending the rest of my life for the last couple of years. I do what I want when I want to do it. We make a living from that. That may be as close to retirement as I will ever get. But come to think about it, I’m doing the same thing I had planned to do when I began to spend the rest of my life. |
| Title: On Finding Home Date: November 11, 2006, Saturday Thought: Today he has a home--a place where he wants to be--a place of security, familiarity, and peace. Our home would be diminished without his presence. Jog: It is good to belong. We all need that feeling of belonging. That’s what makes us feel comfortable; its security and peace; its familiarity and support. That is what home is. The place you live is an address on a page, a location on a map, and walls containing furniture. It takes that feeling of security, comfort, and peace to make the house in which you live a home. I suppose that is why on every trip I have ever taken I always, always want to go home. As you near your street and see the familiar things of your life the feeling of being home engulfs you. I like that feeling of home. I dwell heavily on this topic this morning because my dog, Max, reminded me of the importance of ‘home’ today. We’ve had our dog Max a little over a year now. When we got him he was a frightened and insecure dog. Events in his life had brought him to the point where he was being impounded because of a biting incident. My son knew he could not take the dog back home with him. He did not have the funds to retrieve him from the pound after the mandatory quarantine period had elapsed. His attempt to find someone to take the dog was unsuccessful, because who wants a dog who has been taken because of a biting incident? Max’s fate looked very bleak indeed. At the end of the ten-day impoundment, I picked Max up, paid his bail, and hauled him to my house, which was a new and strange place. Like a scared child he checked out his new surroundings. During that time his tail continued to wag and he did nothing but return any affection that we gave him. For a year we have worked very hard with this dog. Day by day, he responded and gave back what he could to show his appreciation. Over the period he has wormed his way into our hearts and has become a valued member of our family and my best friend. Today he has a home--a place where he wants to be--a place of security, familiarity, and peace. Our home would be diminished without his presence. Today Max and I took our regular morning walk. For the last month I have been taking Max on walks off-leash. It’s a new thing for him. He has the added freedom of roaming greater distances from me, under the condition that he comes to me when I call. He has discovered what freedom is. He has willfully limited his bondage to us by an invisible leash that he places on himself. As we walked through the wooded area near our lake, he bounded into the dense brush, out of my sight and out of my sphere of protection. I walked on, calling, “Come! This way!” so that he could hear my voice. Time passed and I became concerned that perhaps he had lost his way or run off. I called out, “Max, Come!” There was no sign of him. I had no choice but to walk on and continue calling so that he could hear my voice. Shortly, some distance up ahead of me, I heard rustling in the brush and the familiar black image popped out of the brush into the clearing. I saw his black head looking up and down the trail. Upon seeing me he began running to me, tail wagging, ears forward, tongue hanging out. He was home. He belonged with me and that is where he wanted to be. Now I know I should not be concerned when he disappears in the dense brush. He’s off chasing some critter either real or imagined. After all, he’s a Lab and that’s what they are born for. But, I now know that it is in his heart to come back. He’s found home and that is where he wants to be. We neared the house where we live. I walked and he trotted along off-leash, still stopping to chase a squirrel or a bird flying over head, but still heading in the direction of home. He is curled up at my feet now, asleep, dreaming dog dreams; still running through the brush or jumping in the lake, but always meandering in the direction of home. As long as I live I will remember the sight of Max as he burst into the open and out of the brush, the way he looked for me and the way he headed for me when he saw me. That’s what it means to be home. |
| Title: A Tribute to the Greatest Generation Date: November 10, 2006, Friday Thought: They were young and idealistic, if that is what you call believing collectively in giving your life to the American dream Jog:Some years ago Tom Brokaw wrote a book titled The Greatest Generation. I have it in my library. I am looking across my room at it right now. I don’t know if you are familiar with the work? It is about his father’s generation—my father’s generation. They were young men and women during the days of World War II. They were young and idealistic, if that is what you call believing collectively in giving your life to the American dream. So many of them did just that, in places with strange names they had never heard of before—names like Bataan, Coregador, Kasserine Pass, Salerno, Omaha Beach, Bastogne, Guam, Guadacanal, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. These were war years. Everybody pitched in and did their share for the war effort. At home mothers and sweethearts put down their dust-mops and picked up their rivet guns. They took their place on the assembly line and showed the world what a great and powerful nation we were. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Japan’s Admiral Yamamoto is attributed with saying, ”I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve." It was true. Slowly our great nation opened our eyes, yawned, and set about helping to defeat German Nazism, Italian Fascism, and Japanese Imperialism. With great sacrifice and loss of life our nation stood united and saw the awful task to the end. And as a result we are a better people for it. We owe a great deal to these people—to those who stayed at home and supported the troops and especially to those who proudly wore the uniform of our fighting men and women and oftentimes died in that cloth. Very few moments go by that I do not think of my father. As a young man he left the comfort of his home and stormed the beach of an Island called Okinawa, half way around the world. He was a warrior. He served with a band of warriors and would gladly have given his life for them. More particularly he was a member of a tank squad—a group of Marines. My father was the only survivor of his squad. His tank was hit and burned with his buddies screaming inside and him clawing at the jammed hatch. For the rest of his life he mourned his lost friends. My father was proud of these men and the Marine Corps. It was a pride that came from feelings deep within a man, at a place where none of us could go—not unless we were there. These young men and women came together after the conflict and built a great nation. I believe Tom Brokaw was right. This indeed was the Greatest Generation. I am proud of them. I am proud of my father. And along that same line I am proud of all the young men and women who have put on that uniform and done what they were asked to do. As we observe Veteran’s Day, I do not see a bunch of old fellas with American Legion hats and grey heads. I don’t see the arthritis and bad hearts that infect almost all of them. I still see the young bodies and strong determined spirits of that generation—the Greatest Generation. I see heroes now, and I always will. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: How Can We Be Bored? Date: November 9, 2006, Thursday Thought: I am one of those people who give very little stock in luck. It is not by chance that I have these things. You got to work at it. Jog: We kept our thirteen year old granddaughter the other day while her dad was working and her mom was out doing some mom things. Now, we love to keep our grandchildren, even though Linda and I are both worn out and pleased to see them leaving at the end of the day. That’s the joy of having your kids live right down the road—you get periodic grandkid fixes. Anyway we had the joy of being with this lovely young lady. And, she IS a young lady; she’s growing in places young ladies grow and looking like a regular woman. How dare she grow up on us! Now no matter how much of a joy it was for us to have her with us, I suspect rather strongly that it was not a total shared joy on her part. You see, grandpa is old. Well, to her anyone over twenty-five is old. And there is a law of adolescence that says, “You must not enjoy yourself when surrounded by old folks.” I know it’s a law because I witnessed it with her father when he was thirteen and her uncle when he was thirteen. It is a fact. I don’t know how many times my two boys said, “It’s boring around here.” I think it is just what they do best. Except CC’s girls, how in the world could they ever say that when living around that dufus. Well, Lauren crosses her arms, mopes and says, “I’m bored.” I tell you, the day is lost when they do that. Of course there is no way I can rectify this condition, short of spending money on activities, which I was not going to do then. Sometimes you just gotta be bored. You know, get it out of your system. Even grown ups get bored. We shouldn’t cause, good grief, look at all the things we have to do. I was telling someone else a story about a lady I know. She is in my cardiac rehab program with me. A couple of months ago she had the same surgery I had, a quadruple by-pass. However, there is heavy damage to her heart that I don’t have. Shortly after her by-pass she was informed she has breast cancer and the best course of action is further surgery. In a couple of weeks they are going to go in. Because of her heart condition they do not give her a good chance of surviving the surgery. This would be devastating to me. I’m sure it is to her. However, she is one of the most up-beat people I know. She always has a smile and good word for you. She fills her time with friends and activities. Her life certainly is not boring. As I walk through this journey we call life, I am amazed at the simple things that are given to us that keeps life from being boring. Twice a day God puts on a spectacular show, which promises to always be different at the beginning and ending of the day. There is no charge for that and it’s given freely. My garden is full of miracles that are there for me to observe. Isn’t it amazing how the Day Lilies open and close each morning and evening. I only know this when I walk among them and observe. Yesterday, I took Max for a walk around our little lake off-leash. He insisted on running in the water along the shore. He waded in up to his back and tried to catch the ducks. Rest assured they were all safe. He enjoyed himself tremendously. I was constantly smiling and chuckling at his antics. That certainly was not boring. I’ve got creative things to do. All of us in this site do. I’m writing projects that are yet unfinished. I must finish them so I can begin new projects that are unfinished. And, I have my work—all my cities. How can I ever say I’m bored? Perhaps I am lucky—perhaps. However, I am one of those people who give very little stock in luck. It is not by chance that I have these things. You got to work at it. Even the walk around our little lake takes effort on my part. I have come to realize that the rewards are great and the effort small for the return I get—a good investment indeed. So, I have determined that I must never be bored again. I only wish I could get Lauren to see that. Perhaps, in time she will. |
| Title: It’s Rainin’ Peoples Date: November 8, 2006, Wednesday Thought: It appears to me that the trend is people will be around us all in greater numbers. We can’t hide from them so we dang better learn how to live in harmony with them. Jog: (Plunk) Have you ever read something and thought for some reason it was significant but didn’t quite know why? That just happened to me. For some reason I stumbled onto a site; it contained two clocks: (Plunk) a US Population clock and a World Population clock (http://www.census.gov/population/www/popclockus.html ). I don’t know what brought me to this site—a mistake probably. But, in any event I found myself there. (Plunk) It’s a simple site that give the population of the US and changes as we add population. At the moment it adds a person every 13 seconds. (Plunk) It takes into account that one child is born every eight seconds and one person dies every twelve seconds. And, every thirty seconds someone immigrates to our country legally (Plunk) (God only knows how many sneak across our open borders in the still of night.) The overall difference is that we grow by one person every thirteen seconds. Now that is amazing. (Plunk) I know our country is growing, dang it, my town is growing. We are building houses like we had good sense. And, the housing is not always inexpensive. Where in the world are these people coming from? (Plunk)Even the small towns that I work with are growing. Everyone is concerned about economic development. The small towns want to attract a WalMart, the larger ones want to restrict them, (Plunk) and the big ones don’t care because they already got theirs. And, all this time we are growing. Now, the question I have is, “Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Heck if I know. (Plunk) All I know is that they gotta be fed and they need to be able to sleep somewhere. And while we’re at it, it would be good if they had a job so the rest of us didn’t have to take care of them. (Plunk) Our country, and the world, has a great responsiblility ahead of us. It appears to me that the trend is that people will be around us all in greater numbers. We can’t hide from them so we dang better learn how to live in harmony with them. (Plunk) I’m not sure we can do that. I hope we can. Maybe this election will give us some answers now that the Dems have some power. However, don’t hold your breath. (Plunk) While you are thinking about this, you might try taking a walk on a deserted pathway in the country or lay outside and watch the quiet night sky with your partner. (Plunk) But, if I were you I’d do it quickly while you still have the space to yourselves, cause its filling up fast. (Plunk) In the time it has taken to read this short entry we have added about fifteen new folks. And, this goes on day and night. (Plunk) See there goes another one. |
| Title: Make Your Mark Date: November 7, 2006, Tuesday Thought: Yours may be only one voice in 295 million. But it is an important voice. Jog: All day long today folks will be standing in line for the opportunity to make their marks on paper ballots and yank the handles of voting machines. No where in the world is the democratic process more pronounced than in the USA. Some call it an experiment, this system or ours, for it was a new thing that we tried some three-hundred years ago. And like any experiment we’ve been whittling on it and refining it as we go along. We did not invent democracy. No, the Greeks first sowed the seed in the government of the city-state Athens. That ancient government established courts of the people and every citizen had a vote in the assembly. The Roman government was most likely the first representative form of democracy. Here in the States we formed our government patterned somewhat on the British Parliament, which was first established around the 13th century. The English Bill of Rights was created in 1689 and eventually the people, rather than the monarchy, gained more power. It would be presumptuous of us to believe our founding fathers knew exactly what they were doing when they formed our government. The fact is that they were not sure it would work. With independent spirits that were more concerned with the rights of the individual states they compromised and formed a representative form of government, since none of them were strong enough alone to carry the burden of governing. And so, we decided to go the course together. It was a remarkable occurrence. Who would have thought those learned men would or could have built such a lasting foundation? But, by chance or design, I’m glad they did. Through the years we have had to lay down our individual interests and stand armed against those who would threaten this delicate experiment. Oftentimes we have shed the blood of our strongest and bravest to affirm our right to continue. We have grown and evolved far beyond the expectation or hopes of those men who represented the original thirteen colony states. We’ve become a great power with great friends and many more enemies. Countless immerging and fledgling countries have taken our humble beginnings and formed their own governments from the example. Some of them have flourished some have failed. Today, all across our nation, people will practice our style of government as we vote for whom we believe is most qualified and say our piece on various articles of legislation. We have a say in who will serve and how this great nation will be run. We really have a say. But, only if we vote. If we stand mute among the crowd we have no say. Oh, we are still benefited by the results of the voting, but we have not contributed in the process that was given to us by those founding fathers and paid with the blood of so many young men and women on the battlefields. Yours may be only one voice in 295 million. But it is an important voice. When added to the other voices of that multitude it is the most powerful voice in the world. And so, if you haven’t done so, I urge you to go make your mark on the ballot, or pull the handle, or punch the chads—whichever way you do it, go vote. |
| Title: The Benefit of Going in Circles Date: November 4, 2006, Saturday Thought: Now, I really like my bike. I ignore the fact that I look like a bear riding a bike as I cycle merrily down the street. Jog: Initially one would think it doesn't get you anywhere--going in circles. You work like crazy and you find yourself right where you started. And, in most cases that reasoning is sound. Except in the area of exercise--when you exercise the purpose is not where you go but how you do it. For the last seven weeks I've been going to cardiac rehabilitation three mornings out of the week. Prior to beginning the program I had to take a stress test. You may be familiar with that insane activity. That's where they plop your butt on a treadmill and dang near kill you just to prove you won't die when they run your arse into the ground during the rehab. They also make you interview with the cardiac doc, the dietitian, the physical therapist (personal trainer) and the nurse in charge (drill instructor). They develop an exercise program especially for you and then they run your arse into the pavement. Of course, they have you monitored with portable units that constantly monitor your heart (EKG) as they do it so they can have you stop just before they kill you. Devious, isn't it? Well, I've been doin' that for the last seven weeks. During that period I've spent time on the treadmill, stationary bike, and track, increasing my time incrementally each week. They also plop my butt on several weight machines in an effort to finish me off. So, I think, "Three times a week. I can endure three times a week. After all I have the other four to rest up." Well a couple of weeks ago they burst my bubble. I've been given an "off day" assignment for three of the four "free" days. Bless their hearts, they let me have one day totally for myself. Anyway, on those three days where I am to exercise at home, I am to ride my bicycle. Now, I really like my bike. I ignore the fact that I look like a bear riding a bike as I cycle merrily down the street. I like moving along the road silently, with the exception of my huffing and puffing. In the subdivision where I live, we have a little lake (big pond) with a nature trail around it. Max and I walk around it at least once every day. We see squirrels and rabbits and other varmits on a daily basis. Our little lake and trail lies between our house and a golf course. On the days the golf course is closed Max and I walk out there and I turn him loose, off leash, and let him run. We have a ball. Anyway, I've measured the distance from my house around the park and home again. It's almost a perfect mile. And so, I load myself on my bike three days a week and ride around the park until I raise my heart rate to thirty beats above normal and maintain it there for thirty minutes. I ride around in circles--always ending up where I started. Initially one would think it doesn't get you anywhere--going in circles. You work like crazy and you find yourself right where you started. But, on three days a week, I do as I am told and go in circles. On the other days I walk around it with my best friend. Life ain't so bad. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Being Productive Date: November 3, 2006, Friday Thought: Jog: Productivity is a measurement of accomplishment. It’s not a value. It does not validate a person or establish a person’s worth. It just measures how much progress has been made. I am convinced that is a problem of sorts. Our American work ethic is based on productivity…on accomplishing things. We certainly like to do stuff and get stuff and store stuff. The more stuff we can get and store the more we can point to and claim success. Our competitive spirit is killing us. As many of you know, I recently completed a tour of the local hospital where the doctors performed four—not one, not two, not three, but FOUR—bypasses on my heart. Now, something in me says that is good, because more is always better. But that’s the problem. Americans don’t know how to slow down. We go the same speed when we play as when we work. What difference does it make if you kill yourself by working or playing; you’re just as dead. I’ve slowed my pace considerably. I did not have a choice; surgery sorta does that to you. But after twelve weeks I find that my pace has returned to pre-surgery levels. Now, it isn’t all that bad since I like doing what I do. But, we must realize that there should be time when we permit ourselves to do nothing—nothing at all. Today is Friday. Many of us have weekends planned to the hilt. After all, that is the only time we have to do the yard work, housework, repair jobs, and other tasks that we put off during the weekdays. What would happen if we said, “I’m not gonna do it. Even if it needs to be done, this weekend I’m just not gonna do it.” Our work ethic tells us that is bad for we aren’t getting stuff done. And because of that, we feel guilty. It’s the same guilt that says we gotta get up on Sunday and go to church. Why? Why do I gotta get up and why do I have to get stuff done? The answer is—you don’t. The world will not end if you take this weekend totally for yourself. There is no guilt in that. Likelihood is that your blood pressure will go down and your stress level will reduce. Heck, you might even stave off a heart attack. It could be the best thing you’ve done for yourself in a long time. Make a note here that blowing off the weekend does not give you license to blow-off our other responsibilities. Unfortunately, we still need to go to the salt mines and work some. It’s just that we need to realize being productive is not paramount in every breath we take and every action we contemplate. Heck, often a moment of rest will heighten productivity. Hey, what a novel idea—resting helps you to be productive. Now, why didn’t someone tell me that before. |
| Title: I See a Critter Date: November 2, 2006, Thursday Thought: When it finally popped on-screen I was looking at a close-up view of a critter’s butt. Jog: I stumbled into my office at 5:30 am this morning, fully expecting to write a letter to a client, which has been forming in my mind all night. After turning on my computer and waiting for it to wake up, I decided to give the Africam another chance. So, I clicked on that link and waited…and waited. Sure enough, when it finally popped on-screen I was looking at a close-up view of a critter’s butt. I mean, full on. Eventually, the thing moved and I could see it was an Impala. I saw an Impala. I watched for a moment and then decided I really needed to compose that letter. So, I minimized the screen, placed it in a corner of my desktop and opened the software to write my letter. And guess what? Before I could start I got a picture of a baboon leaving the water hole. Two critters in one setting. My luck must be changing. In fact, it has been a good day so far. One of the email messages I got was a new sig that was gifted to me by someone. It seems that it is the product of a raffle. Now, I am completely dumb about this. I don’t know how I got in the raffle, what the result was, besides this sig, nor do I know who to thank. See, completely dumb. I would post in on my blog page but I don’t know how to get it there. So for everyone out there who had any part in this, Thanks! Now, I’m off to write a letter that needs to be witten. I see I’m gonna have to turn that dang Africam off so I can concentrate….drat that Tor! |
| Title: I Like Food Date: October 31, 2006, Tuesday—HALLOWEEN Thought: Every now and then I yearn for a real country breakfast. Jog: Of course I like food. That’s how I got this way. Like many Americans I have a love affair with food. The dang stuff tastes so good. And, you gotta eat it or you die. And, then if’n you eat too much of it you die because of that. It’s tough for Americans to deal with food when we live in the ‘land of plenty.’ It’s sad to see the photos of starving people in other lands who don’t see a meal for days. And yet here we live in a land where all we need to do is dial a number and some pimple-faced kid will deliver three meat supreme pizzas and a side of bread-sticks. Geeze, we are truly spoiled. But that sad fact does not diminish the fact that I love food and can get all I want. The reason I’m on this rant can be blamed on David McClain , the buckethead! He got us all talking about chili and beans. And, that got me to thinking about the food I was brought up on. My meals were nearly all home-cooked. My mom fixed our meals from scratch. I’m not real sure that happens much anymore. Businesses have found a way to package just about everything. I’d bet that somewhere along the way something in that meal you have this evening was pre-packaged. Now, I’m not saying that is all bad. I know the time constraints busy homemakers have today. But dang it, my mom was busy also and she fixed our meals with real food. And it tasted great!This sad fact was driven home to me the other day when we kept our grandkids over-night. For breakfast we had biscuits and gravy with sausage in it. We call that SOS. I’ll let David McClain tell you what that means, for those of you who do not know. Anyway, those grandkids of mine are used to having Fruit Loops for breakfast. They love coming to our house cause we have eggs and bacon, homemade pancakes, and SOS.I showed them how to break open the biscuit and spread the gravy on them. Now here’s the part that floored me. When the youngest picked up the homemade biscuit he said, “What’s wrong with this biscuit?” “There’s nothing wrong with that biscuit, Zak; it’s homemade.” To this Zak replied, “I like my mom’s biscuits.” Now, it’s alright to like his mom’s biscuits, but I know for a fact that they come out of the Pillsbury ‘whack ‘n bake.’ Man you ain’t ever ate biscuits until you eat some homemade country biscuits! And it’s like that with all the food that these kids eat. I remember my grandma’s homemade pies—to die for. Every now and then I yearn for a real country breakfast. What have I stooped to? I now look at a bowl of granola cereal…or even worse a cup of yogurt. Geeze, will someone please put me out of my misery? |
| Title: Whatever Works Date: October 29, 2006, Sunday Thought: And don’t ever get a woman to navigate for you as you take your vacation trip. Jog: OK, I admit it; sometimes I’m a little slow. And sure, I also admit that the instructions and directions that come with the gadgets I buy are totally ignored. Why use the dang instructions when all these parts are just laying there waiting to be handled and messed with. Might as well just start putting the dang thing together or filling out the form or whatever, to heck with the instructions; it’s just a waste of time anyway. Have you ever tried to get help from one of those instruction books that come with computers or the hardware and software that you get to make ‘em more useful—or how about the instruction manual for Windows or Microsoft Word. I swear they hire folks to just mess it up. They either put an extra step in there or leave a step out or reference a button that my computer doesn’t have—useless. And what in the heck do you need a map for? Lewis and Clark didn’t need no dang map. Heck, they made the dang things. And have you ever looked at one of the maps they drew? They got the dang Red River up in Kansas and the map ends at Colorado. Although it ain’t worth much, California isn’t even on their dang map. It’s like it fell off the earth. And don’t ever get a woman to navigate for you as you take your vacation trip. It goes something like this. “Linda, how far do we need to go before we get to the US Hwy 19 intersection?” “Well, the little star on the map is on the wrong side of the town we just left. I’m not sure if I use the red numbers or the black numbers. But I do know that we are about an inch from the wiggly thing that crosses the cute little shield with I-35 in it. There’s a rest stop in Peoria with a bathroom and Janice thinks she’s pregnant.” “Thanks dear,” I smile and say. However, I’m thinking, “What the hell was that! Man we are really in trouble. We have no earthly idea where the heck we are. And who in the heck is Janice?” Well, with this background information, I reluctantly share with you I don’t know how the heck to enter the entries in Nada little interactive story. It is a tad bit embarissin’ that everyone else seems to be doin’ OK. And, it’s easy to enter the text stuff. But when they get to the end and give you two boxes that needs to be either checked or unchecked and two empty boxes….well, that’s just too many choices. I’ve done two entries and Nada has had to edit both of them. I figure that just about the time we get to the end of this little story I might have it figured out. Let’s see, the first time I unchecked both boxes and left both boxes empty. That didn’t work. The next time I left both boxes checked and put stuff in the empty boxes. That worked too much. Nada had to go and take stuff out. Heck, next time I’m gonna check the top box and put stuff in the bottom box and see what that does.I conclude that it isn’t really necessary to read the instructions. Even if you do it wrong, somehow it works. Hey look at me. Both times I checked the wrong boxes and did the wrong stuff with the little empty spaces, and my entries still got there—must be magic. And if it works for Christopher Columbus, it’s good enough for me. After all he sailed across the Atlantic Ocean without a map and discovered America. What does it matter that he thought he was in India? It worked. |
| Title: Just Messin’ Around in My Port Date: October 28, 2006, Saturday Thought: I’ve been in here almost three years. Amazing isn’t it? Jog: I don’t spend enough time in here—here in my Port. I used to enter items much more regularly. But, stuff has gotten in the way and I just don’t spend the time I used to. I’d like to; but, I don’t. I sort of walked through the halls of my Port today and looked at some of the statistics. It was interesting. I began on January 2, 2004. I’ve been in here almost three years. Amazing isn’t it? I spent time today primarily in two of my folders: the Awarded Items folder and the Short Stories folder. Of all the items there I singled out four—two in each folder. "Please Lord, Help Me Find My Socks"  appears to be the most popular item in the Awarded Material folder; it has had 459 views and sports 4.5 stars, having being rated by 60 folks. The most popular item in my Short Stories folder was "Invalid Item" , which has had 341 views and sports 4.5 stars, having being rated by 14 folks. Those were the two most popular items.It is interesting that the most popular ones are not my personal favorites. My favorite in each folder is "Invalid Item" in the Awarded Material and "Invalid Item" in the Short Story folder. These items sport 5 stars and 4.5 stars respectively and have been viewed by 107 and 150 people.These are just numbers. They don’t mean anything and will not put any bread on the table. But, think about it; WDC has provided me the chance to touch people 1,057 times with just these four stories. Sometimes the same people have read the four stories, but often there are different folks taking a look at my stuff. Now, that’s not a very big number for an author. If that was all the books that I sold I would definitely need to keep my day job. But, what is significant is that before WDC no one saw my stuff. The exposure has been refreshing. Thank you WDC for the trip. I think I’ll tag along a little bit longer and enjoy the ride. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: What in the World Am I Doin’? Date: October 27, 2006, Friday Thought: I’m gonna find some site that watches paint peal and send it to him. Jog: Well the heart attack is over. They’ve tinkered on the ole ticker and zipped it up. Now I’m suppose to be productive again; and so that’s what I’ve been doin’ the last couple of weeks. I’m going full speed again. You know, meetings every other night, and working on stuff when I’m not at the meetings. Now, I know what you’re gonna say, “Slow down!” Trust me—I’m doin’ OK. But, life has a way of filling up. We have gotten three or four new clients—I lose count. I’ve got lots to do and don’t have a lot of choice but to do it. In fact, I’m working at crisis mode right now—from one crisis to another. Dang, I’m good at this! I got some news today. I don’t know if you remember me talking about my oldest son, Noel? He’s the one who works for the Sheriff’s department. He’s a sergeant. Or at least he was. He got a phone call today and the person on the other side, his Captain, said, “Is this Lieutenant Boutwell?” Noel says, “No, this is Sergeant Boutwell.” The Captain says, “Not any more it isn’t. It’s Lieutenant.” What a funny way to get promoted. Anyway, we are very proud of him. In fact we are proud of both of our boys. We’ve got much to be thankful for. Anyway, I was saying how busy I was. You’ve heard that before from me. Well, I can’t help it; I’ve just got stuff that needs doin. The purpose of all this is to say, “Dang that David McClain . I got stuff to do and he has my arse sitting here staring at a dang water hole in Africa! Who am I gonna charge that to? The crazy thing about it is that it’s 4:00am over there. 4:00am and I’m looking at a deserted mud hole. There ain’t even any animals there! I mean, this is like me goin’ outside at 3:00am and staring at my driveway. What’s the difference? Somehow David McClain is gonna pay. I’m gonna find some site that watches paint peal and send it to him.At least if I could skip rocks across the thing, it would help. But, I can’t; I just gotta sit here and stare at it. Wait! What’s that?.....nothing, false alarm. |
| Title: How Old Are You Really? Date: October 20, 2006, Friday Thought: Now, I know having a quadruple heart by-pass certainly did not help my score. But, surely, there has been some sort of mistake. My ruffled ego is still bristling. Jog: “How old are you, Grandpa?” That’s my granddaughter’s favorite needle. She enjoys the little game we play when she asks it. Regardless of what I say, it eventually ends in loads of giggles and her comment, “Gosh, that’s really old!” I love her dearly and wouldn’t for a moment give up the opportunity to play that little game with her. But, the idea of showing your age gets a little more sensitive the older you get. Surely, at some time or other, the conversation has landed on the topic of looking our age. Eventually the question is asked, “Well, how old do I look?” What a loaded question. You know you will probably be wrong so you try to err on the side of youth, regardless of the fact the 40-year old before you looks 65. So, I was interested when I stumbled onto a site that quantified, through a series of questions, just what our age really is, regardless of your actual age or how old others think you look. ( http://www.LowerMyAge.com ) In other words, you may be 35-years old but actually have the physical body of a 25-year old (yeah, right!) I began the questionnaire, confident that the result would prove my youth. Let me tell you the questionnaire is pretty extensive. You need to be able to name the medications you are on and know your blood pressure as well as your cholesterol measurements. They will ask you questions about your diet and your physical activity. In addition, your medical history as well as your family medical history will be taken into account. But, eventually they arrive at your real age. Now, let me tell you I was disappointed. Indignantly I proclaimed, “I am not!” You see, the dang test said I’m 77-years old. I don’t think so! I’m going to go back and take it again. This time I’m gonna answer ALL the questions and not guess at the measurements. And, if it gives me the same result, I’ll proclaim, “What the hell does it know; it’s obviously flawed!” Now, I know having a quadruple heart by-pass certainly did not help my score. But, surely, there has been some sort of mistake. My ruffled ego is still bristling. However, regardless of the accuracy of this silly thing, one fact has been emphasized. There is a lot that I can be doing to help my body reclaim a youthful condition. I am resigned to the fact that I will never have the body of a 25-year old. I know that. And so, I’ve come to the conclusion I will be satisfied to simply be my age. Yes, that’s right; I will be pleased to actually be 58-years old. I’m committed to whittling the years off of that silly real age calculation. You might as well come along with me for the ride. |
| Title: Don’t Blame the Muse Date: October 19, 2006, Thursday Thought: Growing up after all is not the same as growing older. I have no control over growing older but I can do wonders with growing up. Jog: “It’s not my fault!” Although probably not spoken out loud, this sentiment is expressed with alarming regularity by many of us; at least it is with me. It seems to help me function guilt-free, or at least guilt-less. I lay blame on a myriad of villains, ranging from open heart surgery, to a crowded schedule, to advancing age, or to the actions and deficiencies of other people. Rest assured the focus of the source of my inability to achieve is founded somewhere else, on something or someone else—not me. None of us is thrilled about admitting our deficiencies. I know I am not. It is much easier to blame the Muse for not writing or doing that thing needing attention, which looms before us. Years ago the comedian Flip Wilson had a line that we all laughed at. When faced with his failure he would say, “The devil made me do it!” It was a funny line and we all got a good chuckle out of it. Within our community of writers the devil gets some relief from this blame as we point to the Muse’s stubborn abandonment as the reason for not writing and our lack of creativity. Of course there is no Muse. There is only the stark reality of facing life’s responsibilities. We make a contract with life. We agree to be productive and creative if it will continue to bring situations our way for us to experience. We join the collective of other beings and form communities—places where responsibilities are shared and things get “done.” When we neglect those responsibilities or otherwise fail, we search for a reason to redeem ourselves with the community. Thus, we blame it on the Muse or proclaim, “The devil made me do it!” I have come to the conclusion that blaming the Muse is habit forming. It is much too easy to do. And, like any bad habit it takes real effort and perseverance to break. My business has been struggling the last several months. Rest assured I can give reasons for its recent slump. The economy is bad; untrue, the economy is healthier than it has been in a decade. Unemployment is less than 4%. Now think about that. That means more than 96% of working Americans have a job. And, hey, we share the workplace with 11,000,000 illegal aliens. No, the economy is still robust. I could claim my health problems for my slump. Surely open heart surgery and a quadruple by-pass is a worthy candidate. You would think so. And, for a few weeks that carries sufficient justification to carry me through my malaise. However, the fact is my skilled surgeon has fixed my heart. He has grafted new plumbing in there and restored the necessary blood flow to my heart. The dang thing is healthier than it has been in years. I have some tacky scars to live with, but my heart is ticking along regularly like an old Timex. I look around for other reasons to fail and point reluctantly to my crowded schedule. This is a valid reason; for you can only do so much within the hours allotted for each day. None of us can stop the sun in its trek across the heavens and squeeze one more hour out of the day—not that one more hour would do any good. The fact is we have twenty-four hours to accomplish all that must be done in this day—no more and no less. And to add insult to injury, I must admit I am the one who crowed that calendar. I have control over it. The sad fact is much of my time crunch comes from postponing tasks to a later date, which has a similar effect as my clogged arteries prior to my surgery—my schedule has a heart attack. The obvious solution is two-fold--don’t schedule so dang much stuff and do the stuff that is scheduled. Both of these are difficult for I have a very hard time telling folks “No!” And, I tend to procrastinate a tad bit. My advice to myself is to grow up. Growing up after all is not the same as growing older. I have no control over growing older but I can do wonders with growing up. The largest part of growing up is learning to accept responsibilities. I make a commitment; I fulfill it. That is responsible action. To make a commitment and then put it off and put it off again is irresponsible. That is the action of a child. Now, be careful here. The normal reaction to this statement is to claim one must always allow the child in us to surface. Only very dull and boring folks live life in the realm of adulthood exclusively. Jack must play, after all. There is no danger of the child not surfacing in most of our lives. In fact, we must keep the child in us ever present. But, unlike Peter Pan, we must grow up. Responsibilities must be faced and schedules must be kept. So, with that in mind I am carefully controlling my schedule. I am fighting the urge every morning to log onto WDC and spend the hours blogging and posting. I am planning my schedule and even practicing saying, “No.” I have committed myself to spend the necessary hours working on assignments and keeping track of those hours responsibly, after all that is the only time I get paid. That means less time in WDC and more time “out there.” But, by all means it does not mean no time in WDC and it does not mean no playtime. The child must play and I intend for it to happen. But, there is a time for playing and a time for not playing. It is time to stop blaming the Muse for deficiencies. If we are going to accomplish great things, then we must get about the business of doing it. Which means, by the way, Stealthman will be back...you can count on it. But, not today. |
| Title: Stealthman Returns Date: October 16, 2006, Monday Thought: But Stealman can’t tarry; there is work to do before the double-A batteries in the stealth belt run low. Jog: Dan smoothes out the Wal-Mart PJs with the cute little fire trucks on them. He pulls the ski mask down over his face. And finally he reaches for the super-secret, Jim-dandy, snazzy, stealth belt. With it securely fastened in the last notch (Note: Stealthman needs to lay off the Twinkies) he pushes the stealthifier button and disappears. “Ah ha! It feels good to be incognito, invisible, all gone-gone again!” Stealthman beams himself to New York City using his stealth atomizer. He looks around the fancy restaurant and sees an attractive hubby-looking guy and a sexy blond chowin' down on shrimp cocktail and sipping' Manhattans. He could tell by the tan on the blond that she was a California girl. “Must be Nada,” he thinks to himself (cause he doesn’t want anyone to hear him, an’ if he talked out loud to himself folks would think he’s lost his marbles)” He can tell she’s had a good day because of the new zebra skin shoes she’s wearin’. Stealthman walks up behind Nada and whispers in her ear, knowing the subliminal message that he leaves will be irresistible to her. Nada’s tan deepens to a rose color and she smiles. Stealthman thinks, “Hubby-dude, you’re a lucky guy tonight. Bet this won’t be in the ole blog page tomorrow.” But Stealman can’t tarry; there is work to do before the double-A batteries in the stealth belt run low. He taps the stealth atomizer keypad and with a crack and pop his atoms are flung through space and stuff to his new location. With his atoms reassembled he notices a sensation up around his crotch. He looks down and sees he is standing in water and his fancy Wal-Mart Stealth suit is getting all soppin’ wet. “Geez, you’d think Tor would at least get a house on top of a hill!” Stealthman looks around the soggy water world and sees a fella standing in a canoe with a couple of dogs. He notices his hind-parts are all charred and smokin’. Then he notices the lovely Mel standing high and dry in the house, calling out to her man. “Honey, I told you not to plug that butt-fan in when you were standin’ in the water. Now, you’ve shorted out the entire county. And, what are you doin’ standing in that canoe?” The mustache twitched, dislodging a piece of chocolate chip cookie that was stored there, and the buckethead responded, “I know I shorted ‘em out. I’m gonna paddle over to the power station and give ‘em a jump. See I’ve got my jumper cables with me!” With a smile the buckethead began slappin' water and rocking the canoe towards the power station. The dogs huddled next to each other and scanned the surroundings for an escape route. Stealthman grinned as he reached beside him and snatched up a stray cat. The cat bristled and yowled as if to say, “What the %@#&?” Cause that’s what cats say when they mysteriously levitate into thin air. Stealtman stealthily (he is stealthman after all) wades to the side of the canoe and drops the puzzled cat in the canoe. Stealman’s battery warning begins beeping. It’s time to go. As he pushes the homing button he glances at the canoe rocking violently in the water. He sees Tor swinging the paddle, losing one of them; he hears the screech of the cat and sees fur fly as the dogs try to get to it. Stealthman giggles to himself as he realizes Tor is about to take his annual bath. Stealman materializes in his office. The atomizer slung his atoms just right, leaving him dry and clean. He removed the batteries from the stealth-belt and put them in the handy-dandy stealth-charger. He smiled to himself and thought, “Tomorrow is another night. Who knows what deeds lay ahead?….Stealthman knows..hee hee hee! |
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