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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: Home Security Date: October 8, 2006, Sunday Thought: We can sleep soundly at night knowing the alarm is set, Max is vigilant, and Smith & Wesson is within reach. Jog: “Woof….Woof, Woof!” The low bark emerged from a low rumbling growl. Max jumped to his feet; with his tail held high and ears cocked forward as he trotted to the door to intercept the evil force invading his home. We were protected. Standing erect, chest held out and feet firmly placed, he slowly looked around over his shoulder at me. His whole demeanor stated, “It’s about time you got here! I’ve done my job! The villain has fled!” I pulled aside the sheer in the side panel of the front door and gazed into the darkness—nothing. I shook my head and said, “There’s nothing there, Max.” He responded with a low rumbling growl. I took another look. The yard and the street were vacant. There really was nothing there. I returned to the family room in the back of the house, leaving Max to stand vigil by the front door. Two or three times a week this ritual occurs. What is it he thinks he hears? It really doesn’t matter; we appreciate what he is doing for us. We are his people and he must protect us. It’s such a little thing, but it is endearing, nevertheless. We often wonder what he would do if an intruder invaded our home to do us harm. From what we have seen, I think he would do what was necessary to protect us. That knowledge is somewhat comforting. We can sleep soundly at night knowing the alarm is set, Max is vigilant, and Smith & Wesson is within reach. Unfortunately, we had opportunity to make a trial run at 3:00am one night. It had been raining and the house and yard were totally soaked. Apparently the moisture seeped into our downstairs window and disrupted the contacts on our alarm system. Have you ever wondered how high the vertical jump of a fifty-seven year old fat guy is from a sound sleep? Unfortunately, no one was there to record the record leap, which surely would have been worthy of a Guinness record. I grabbed my buddies, Smith & Wesson, and headed for the living room. Max was already trotting from the front and back door, emitting that low growl of his but totally confused. We bumped into each other at least a half-dozen times. The alarm continued its deafening clamor. In short order both Max and I discovered there was no invasion, and still the alarm continued. It was Linda who cool as a cucumber walked to the alarm panel and punched the disarm code, stopping the incessant racket. It was only then that Max remembered he forgot to bark and uttered a solitary, “Woof.” Now, some may suspect that our home is not as safe as we think it is—that an intruder would take advantage of me and Max. But, that is just not so. For I am certain that Max and I would recover quickly and overcome the villain. After all, how dangerous could he be doubled over in laughter after viewing the two of us. |
| Title: I Don’t Wanna! Date: October 7, 2006, Saturday Thought: I suppose the root of my dilemma is founded in two sources: laziness and stubbornness. Jog: Of all people I should be the master of establishing priorities and seeing them completed. After all that is what I do as my livelihood. I’m a planner—municipal planner to be precise. I assist communities establish their growth goals and then implement them. If I can do it for cities, and quite well I must affirm, why in the world can I not do it on a smaller scale? Why can’t I set priorities in my life and see them through to completion just like my cities. I assure you it is not for want of knowing how. And, it is not because of a lack of desire to do so. I suppose the root of my dilemma is founded in two sources: laziness and stubbornness. As a stubborn child I contract the “I don’t wannas.” I don’t follow my priorities simply because I don’t wanna. I look at the mountain of work before me and sigh and say, “I don’t wanna.” It matters not that the creditors will scream their shrill, “Gimmies.” I will put my fingers in my ears and mumble, “I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna!” Shamefully, I point to the scar freshly made on my chest and say, “I don’t wanna and you shouldn’t expect me to wanna…see this. Don’t you feel sorry for me?” (I realize you can only ride that horse for so long and then it gets tired.) Oh, of course, I pull myself out of the grasp of my childish tantrum and apply myself to the adultly task at hand. I must do adult stuff, like work and make a living. It matters not that I don’t wanna; I gotta. The remarkable thing about this situation is I really enjoy doing my job. I like my boss, me. My commute to the office is short, down the hall and up the stairs. My best friend (Max) is constantly curled at my feet while I work. And I get to sleep with my office assistant, Linda (my wife.) And, can you believe it? I get paid to do this. Now, I ask you, “What’s not to like about that?” So, what is the purpose of this entry? Heck if I know. I’m just irritated that I’ve got a case of “I don’t wanna’s” and thought I’d rant about it a little. And, I suppose as long as I’m composing this little diatribe I don’t have to do the job thing. But, I can only ramble for so long and then it becomes more boring than it already is. So, I will now concern myself with doing those things that I don’t wanna. After all, it does afford me to live in this house and purchase that nice truck. That’s kinda nice. I guess I must admit that I really do wanna…just a little bit at least…yeah, just a little bit. |
| Title: What’s In a Book? Date: October 5, 2006, Thursday Thought: I have only begun the book. I’m a mere 160 pages through the 466 page chronicle. Each page has been rewarding. Jog: It’s not just another book. Of course, I did not expect it to be a disappointment because zwisis recommended it highly. It was not easy to get my hands on it. I had to get an inter-local library loan since my library did not have a copy. In fact, the computer search told me only seven copies existed in all the libraries in the state of Texas. I forget the exact number, but that same search said less than 100 libraries worldwide carried copies of the book. So I was thrilled when I received the telephone call from the library telling me my loan copy of “Jock of the Bushveld” was in. The book was first published in 1907. For those of us who are mathematically challenged, that is one year shy of one-hundred years ago. My loan copy was the twelfth printing and was dated 1925. It is interesting that the fly-leaf page had a hand-written inscription that said, “A Merry Christmas and Mother’s Love for Pattie Stewart – 1925”. It was given as a gift for Christmas with crisp new pages and solid binding. Eighty years later I wonder about Pattie—who she was and what became of her. But, here I sit in Burleson, Texas, reading her Christmas gift. Thank you, Pattie. And so I opened the pages of the book and began reading. Reading words penned a hundred years ago. I am struck at the eloquence of the writing. I am amazed to realize the change in the use of language over a mere one-hundred years. The age of ‘email’ and ‘instant messaging’ has certainly taken its toll on the structure of the sentence. I must admit that I had a difficult time reading the opening passages of the book. The sentences were long and flowing with graphic wording which painted images rather than present narration. The following example: Yet something you may guess, since with the man there often goes—his dog; his silent tribute to The Book. Oh, it’s little they know of life who cannot guess the secret springs of loneliness and love that prompt the keeping of a trifling pet; who do not know what moves a man who daily takes his chances of life and death—man whose “breath is in his nostrils”—to lay his cheek against the muzzle of his comrade dog, and in the trackless mile of wilderness feel he has a friend. Something to hold to; something to protect. The writer, Sir Percy Fitzpatrik, paints a landscape of South Africa that existed at the turn of the twentieth century. It’s a portrait of a time long past and of the men and morays of that time. I am thoroughly enthralled with the book, its style of writing, the history of that time, and the story of a man and his exceptional dog. I have only begun the book. I’m a mere 160 pages through the 466 page chronicle. Each page has been rewarding. I have to guess at many of the terms which are particular to that day and age. And, I am sure there is much that can only be understood had I been from South Africa. But I push those awkward moments aside and forge on through the story. Thus far it has been a joy. I thank zwisis for turning my attention to this slice of history and more particularly to the colorful telling of a passionate story of a man’s relationship with a dog named Jock. |
| Title: What a Nice Surprise Date: September 29, 2006, Friday Thought: Like a kid on Christmas morning I attend to each one of them with excitement and interest. I like getting mail--email or snail-mail, it make no difference. Jog: There is something special about getting mail. When I was a kid all mail was exciting. I didn't have to worry about bill collectors and IRS demand letters. So, I would wait for the mailman to deliver the post expectantly. During much of my high school years I dated a girl in a neighboring town. Now, that mail was interesting. As an adult I've learned to take the good and bad in the mail. I certainly get lots of junk mail. I get bills from creditors and the other usual stuff. But, occasionally I receive some fun stuff. During my recent illness I received lots of mail from well-wishers. That mail was delightful and accomplished its purpose of lifting my spirits. Perhaps that's the reason email is so popular. It gives us opportunities to reach out and touch each other. With the same anticipation, I click on my email icon every morning and wait to see what has come my way. I discard the ten or fifteen emails promoting Viagra and male enhancement products. That is not something that I choose to deal with unsolicited. If I need that kind of help, I'll ask for it. I also throw away the half dozen emails promoting the latest hot stocks. And, although I am sometimes tempted I drop the invitation to Trixie's Pleasure Palace in the waste basket. Somehow I imagine it is connected with the Viagra and male enhancement email. With that junk out of the way I look with interest at what is left. The remains are mixed with information and requests from clients, friends and associates. Like a kid on Christmas morning I attend to each one of them with excitement and interest. I like getting mail--email or snail-mail, it make no difference. Therefore I was pleased when Linda delivered an item to me she had gathered from our post office box. I glanced at the return address to get a clue as to who the sender was-The Upper Room, a devotion magazine. I opened it expectantly. Tucked inside the letter was a check for $25. The letter said, "Thank you for sharing your meditation to be a part of the November-December 2006 issue of The Upper Room. Without people like you who are willing to write about their faith, The Upper Room could not continue." What a nice surprise. This is the second check I've received from this magazine and the second piece to be published. It's just a little one page piece, but it might as well be an epic novel. It made me smile and want to do it again. The joy of writing this is not found in the receiving of the money. The joy comes from knowing somewhere, someone thinks my stuff is good enough to publish. Over the years I have written lots of stuff. Much of it sits in my folders unpublished and unread. These two little published pieces go a long way to validate my continued efforts at writing. It is possible this is the last piece of mine that will ever be published; who knows what tomorrow may bring? But it is just as possible that this little piece is the trickle in the dam just before the torrent is turned loose. Who knows? I don't know. But, what I do know is this--I would never have been published had I not sent it in. So there is a lesson there for all of us--do something. The old saying, "A ship anchored in the harbor is safe; but, no one ever got anywhere anchored in the harbor; and ships were not made to remain in the harbor." Writers write so that they may be read. Send that stuff in. Take a chance; you'll never get anywhere anchored in the harbor. |
| Title: My Best Friend Date: September 25, 2006, Monday Thought: And, let’s face it; some folks revert to baby talk and gush with the events of Rover when given any little opportunity. Jog: Those of you who have been wandering around our little blog group will recognize the fact that we have a bunch of animal lovers in here, more particularly dog-lovers. There is nothing wrong with that, in fact these particular folks are quite endearing. But, the world as a whole lifts their collective eyebrow at folks who are apparently infatuated with their dogs. And, let’s face it; some folks revert to baby talk and gush with the events of Rover when given any little opportunity. The recipient of this dog-gush usually rolls his/her eyes and thinks, “Good grief, it’s only a dog!” I have become quite a fan of Caesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer. The man does some fantastic work with dogs. It appears to me he can rehabilitate any dog and correct any bad habit. Your dog barks at other dogs, Caesar can correct that. Your dog jumps on people, Caesar can correct that. Your dog runs in circles and chases his tail obsessively, Caesar can correct that. I’ve watched his shows, which come on National Geographic Channel, with interest, because I’ve got a dog with some issues. I bought the guy’s dang book. And, amazingly, my dog Max has made giant strides and is actually become quite well behaved. Caesar has a remarkable rapport with dogs. It is truly amazing. He walks among his pack of thirty dogs, most of them large dogs, and it is obvious that he and he alone is the pack leader of the group. It is apparent he has a deep affection for dogs. He shows them love, but first he shows them discipline. The key to Caesar’s success is simple. He insists on humans being humans and the dog being a dog. He lets them be a dog and does not place human expectations on the dog. It is apparent to me that one of the biggest mistakes we make with our dogs is lavishing affection on them and sparing the discipline. Caesar says dogs need three things: exercise, discipline, and affection—in that order. But, first we must treat them like a dog. All my life I have owned dogs. All my life I have done it wrong. My family and I have treated various dogs we have owned as people. We’ve given them affection first and then discipline—rarely exercise. We have approached it differently with Max. Perhaps it was because Max had some ‘issues’ when we got him. After searching the Internet to see what I should do about my ‘aggressive’ dog, I found Caesar’s site and tuned into his programs. It has made a difference in Max’s life. In fact it has probably saved his life. Max has responded admirably. He has become totally devoted to me and Linda (but particularly me.) Max does simple little things. He respects our home; doesn’t chew on furniture or shoes. He does not bark in the house…much. He does not lay on any of our furniture—doesn’t even want to. He lies at my feet usually. He waits patiently in the other room as we eat; never does he beg at the table or search for crumbs while we eat. He eats dog food; we eat people food. After my surgery Max knew I was recuperating. Several times a day he would sniff of the wounds that were healing, just to check me out. He never strays more than five or six feet from me, watching over me. He has never been much of a licker. He is quite stingy with his licks, in fact. But, occasionally Max will reach up and give a solitary lick on my elbow or the back of my leg. And there is something in the way he looks at me. Of course, I’m sure I read too much into this. But within those big brown eyes I see a respect, trust, and devotion that I take for affection. And, as strange as it may sound, my life is fuller and richer because he is here. Max is a dog. I will not treat him as a people. But, that simple little fact will never lessen the affection that that dog has for me, nor my affection for him. He really is my best friend. |
| Title: Just Another Quiz? Date: September 17, 2006, Sunday Thought: I haven't seen very many Apples out there. In fact all I've seen are grapes. Should I be worried? Jog: I'm sure I'm bringing up the rear on this, I'm usually a little late. While shuffling through a few blogs this morning I ran into a number of them (well, three to be exact) that proclaimed identity to a fruit. "I'm a Grape!" all three said. So, not wanting to be left out, I went over to the site with the quiz
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** You are classic. Though at times you can be predictable, it doesn't take a whole lot to please you. You are generally pretty happy and easy to get along with. Now I don't know what it really means to be an apple. And, I don't know how many options of fruit there are available in this little quiz. But this is a very interesting little exercise. I have no idea how accurate it is...probably not very. But it does create a point of discussion. I see it could be very useful working with kids. OK, so much for that. By the way, I haven't seen very many Apples out there. In fact all I've seen are grapes. Should I be worried? |
| Title: Let Me Take a Breath Date: September 16, 2006, Saturday Thought: "Are you completely out of your mind ? It hurts like hell to cough. Heck, I can barely breathe!" Jog: Today is an anniversary of sorts; although it's only been six weeks. This time, six weeks ago, the surgeons were well in the process of all the gory stuff they do to perform heart by-pass. I'll not go into it, only to say, six weeks later and I'm still sore and healing from all their handiwork. I've also informed Linda to not pull the ole' childbirth pain bit on me again. Until you've had them rip open your chest, saw your breastbone apart, spread the dang thing, and then tinker with your heart...well you ain't lived. The worst part is the recuperation. For a week I had tubes running out of my chest. They gave me this little pillow to squeeze to my chest when I had to cough. Then these sadistic nurses would encourage me to breath deep and cough. "Are you completely out of your mind ? It hurts like hell to cough. Heck, I can barely breathe!!" Anyway, for all my friends who have wondered where the heck I've been, I'm recovering nicely. At least that's what the doctor tells me. I still have cuts that have not healed, it still hurts to cough...hic-up...sneeze...laugh or breathe. But I'm getting there. Needless to say, the recovery period has played havoc on my creativity. I just have not felt like being witty and creative. You'll just have to do with dull and boring. However, the good part of this is that I again am reminded of all the wonderful people who are in my life. That definitely includes all my friends at WDC. Thanks guys for caring and checking on me. I'll get in here and get into the groove as soon as I can. See ya! |
| Title: Hey, Read My Other Stuff Date: September 4, 2006, Monday Thought: I am curious if there is a favorite in your portfolio that you believe has not received the attention it deserves. If you post it, I’ll read it (as long as it is not a novel). Jog: Tor got me started checking out my stats. It’s a little habit that’s hard to break. But, I am interested in what folks are looking at in my port. Of course it is no surprise that most folks are looking at my journal (blog…jog). We have a group of loyal and kind people who faithfully read the blogs; many of them leave comments—something I am embarrassed that I do not do enough of. But, I notice that folks look at other stuff also. The next items of interest are my photographs, which are a poor assortment of pictures. Many of them have been posted there in route to the blog page. I can just imagine the confusion that some of the photos must cause. I suppose folks look at the photos because they are fast—in and out. I haven’t done a study of what comes next. Spam Hummer series gets quite a few looks. But, that’s about all they get are looks. Very rarely does anyone leave any comments. I wish the SM would change policies and let us leave comments without ratings. If I remember right, we can leave a rating without a comment, but not the other way around. I know I would leave more comments if I was not forced to rate the things. It always makes me smile when someone reads one of my older pieces. I wonder what drew them to that particular piece. There are times I wander into someone’s port and pick a piece that either has very few views or is very old. I suppose other people are like me and appreciate the attention to those pieces. I have noticed that since I have been involved with the blogs, I do fewer reviews of other work. I certainly write fewer pieces. That very well could be a negative about blogging. It detracts from our other work. It is common to have twenty to thirty views of my blog on a daily basis. Much fewer leave comments. I will often have a dozen other pieces viewed also, with most of those being photographs. I am grateful for that; but, I sometimes want to say, “Hey, read my other stuff too!” After all that is the reason I joined this site to begin with. So, I’ve determined that I will read some of the other stuff every day…just a little. You know, there are some pieces that I would love to have comments on. Over a period of time I have developed some favorites. Right now I’m partial to "Invalid Item"  . I have been fortunate that other members have recognized several of my works with awardicons. This little piece has not been one of them. I have always thought it deserved one. (Don’t anyone throw one my way because I mentioned it here. It’ll get one eventually.)I am curious if there is a favorite in your portfolio that you believe has not received the attention it deserves. If you post it, I’ll read it (as long as it is not a novel). And, maybe someone else will too. The blogs are great, but somehow I feel I should be working with the other stuff also. What do you think? |
| Title: In Search of the Super Sucker Date: September 3, 2006, Sunday Thought: We are looking for a vacuum cleaner that will suck the nails out of the floor boards. Jog: Being under the weather has some drawbacks other than just poor health. You get behind when you’re under the weather. I’ve got work at the office that needs to be done; my yard is a dismal mess. The Crepe Myrtles need all the suckers clipped off, the shrubs need to be trimmed, the flower beds need to be weeded—Lordy, the thing is full of growies that don’t belong there. And finally, the house needs a really good cleaning. We live in a two-story house with over 3,000 sq.ft—not huge but big enough. It isn’t fair to leave the entire house cleaning to Linda. Nope, I live here also so I should do my share. Usually the floors and the dusting are my domain. Since we acquired our black Lab, Max, the floors have been a hopeless case. How is it possible for one dog to shed so much hair? I swear, he sheds the equivalent of a Pekinese every day. We try to vacuum the hair but are unsuccessful. The best we can do it to shove it around. The hair totally defeats the vacuum cleaner; I’ve reverted to brushing the carpet with a dog brush, on my hands and knees. Only then do I manage to remove a large portion of the hair. But not all of it—nope, try as I may, there is still a Pekinese left distributed throughout our first floor. It’s embarrassing to have guests over. They leave with the stuff welded to the butt of their slacks and skirts. We found a wayward hair lying on the dining room table. The stuff is impossible. We have declared war on the dog hair. Poor Max just stares at us as we brush and vacuum and revert to profanity. He can’t help it; he’s just a carrier. We have determined to take a two-course action in our war with hair. First, we are going to get rid of all the downstairs carpet. We will remove it and replace it with tile. Of course we want something that is attractive, so our choice will be about $10,000 worth of new flooring. Second, in the interim we are going to purchase a “Super Sucker!” We are determined to find a vacuum cleaner that can defeat the hair. We are looking for a vacuum cleaner that will suck the nails out of the floor boards. We want it to be able to suck the pattern out of the wood grain. To find this ‘super sucker’ I have searched the Internet and made comparisons. I think we have found our ‘super sucker.’ It’s a Dyson Animal DC14. The reviews have been impressive, and the cost is not so outrageous—not if it will do the job. For a mere $500 we can arm ourselves with this weapon of mass hair-destruction. Utilizing e-bay we can get one for around $375. Seems like a deal to me. Now, we have some friends who shake their head in amazement. They see our solution as being misguided. They think a far better solution would be to get rid of the dog; or at least banish him to the back yard. That is a viable solution; it’s just not one that I am willing to entertain. Max has become a valuable member of our family. He is much better behaved than my grandkids or the children of our visitors. His place is in the house, until he demonstrates he is not worthy to be here. And, so, I will continue my course to find a ‘super sucker.’ Linda and I are at peace with that decision. I don’t suppose you’ve had experience with ‘super suckers’ of your own, have you? What would you suggest? |
| Title: Ode to a Paper Clip Date: September 1, 2006, Friday Thought: The silver paper clip has a certain class that fits a man of my stature. Jog: They have lain upon my desk for years. They seem to multiply inside my center drawer. I always seem to have one handy, having removed them from countless documents and reports transmitted to me by other folk. I don’t really know why we buy more of them, but we do. My little container is always running out of paper clips. And so I jam them in the little magnetic holder on my desk, fully conscious that they are multiplying in my center drawer. The simplicity and utility of a paper clip is remarkable. They have no corners. Their design is one continuous curve double looped to provide maximum holding utility. For some reason I like paper clips. My grandkids make necklaces and bracelets out of them, which drive me crazy when I need one and find them all hooked together. I’ve used them for the purpose for which they are made, holding sheets of paper together. But, I have also used them to open a desk drawer, punch in the little hole in the computer to eject a wayward CD or floppy disc. I’ve used them for a toothpick and all kinds of other stuff. They really are quite useful. I stay away from the plastic ones and the multi-color ones. Those are much too radical and bold for an old codger like me. No, I am a traditionalist. The silver paper clip has a certain class that fits a man of my stature. And so, as I stare at the scattered assortment of wayward clips that clutter up the top of my desk and procreate in my center drawer, I thought I would pay simple tribute this little metal wonder. As you will see, I am no poet. Never professed to be and will never achieve that level of talent. But, the paper clip deserves my attention, so I have penned a simple tribute to the paper clip—enjoy. Ode to a Paper Clip Small and silver your curves do tell of symmetry and precision folded so well. One grand loop of elliptical orbit courses Into twin loops of descending size with just proportion. Oh, how simple a design and propose can heed so many wants of man and woman’s needs. We bind the pages of some grand treatise Unpunctured yet loosely in tenuous but firm security. Our notes and idle thoughts are clipped together With haphazard attempts to seal the thoughts clipped there. Much cleaner than a violent staple that tears the paper As it forever leaves it's mark on the page like a rapier. No, the simple twisted silver clasp Affords us a way to bind stuff fast. And, if we need to change the plan, And it’s in our nature that we can, We can twist you out and change your shape to meet some need forced upon us late, We prod and poke and jab away To open stuff and save the day. Oh, the paper clip what would we do If you were lost to us to use. And at the end of your usefulness We snip you off and cast you away. Small and silver your curves do tell of symmetry and precision folded so well. One grand loop of elliptical orbit courses Into twin loops of descending size with just proportion. |
| Title: A Day of Lasts Date: August 31, 2006, Thursday Thoughts: We will never make life perfect. We shouldn’t even try to be perfect. But we can be better. Jogs: Today is a day of ‘lasts.’ It is the last day of August for this year. It is the last workday of the month—an opportunity to get a few more billable hours to go on this months statement. Since I had surgery on the first of the month, those billable days have been far and few between. It’s the last opportunity for me to add to my blog for this month; however, there are ridiculously few ‘blue’ days already that it doesn’t really matter much. Fate can play games with us. There are several lasts that could happen unaware. It could be the last opportunity to smile at a loved one. It could be the last hug you give. It could be the last opportunity to say, “I love you.” It could be the last opportunity to finish that story or book or poem. It could be the last day of health or the last day of productivity. But, that’s just the way life is. We rise every morning facing these possible last things, hoping they will not come today. And, for most of us they don’t. However, the mere fact that they could should order our perspective on our day. It’s easy to go ahead and give that hug, smile, pat on the back. If you haven’t said, “I love you” in a while, go ahead and do it. Determine to enjoy the trip into the office instead of fume and fuss over traffic. Make it a point to see the glass ‘half-full’ instead of ‘half-empty.’ Say, “thank you” one more time—and mean it. In this brief life we are given, we have a handful of ‘last days’ to spend as we wish. God willing we have many in front of us. And, although today is scheduled with all the mundane things that Thursdays often are filled with, it is an opportunity to enjoy what God has blessed us with. I remember I once stubbed my big toe pretty badly. Every step I took was painful until the dang thing healed. It’s amazing how much you take for granted just taking a simple step. That’s why, as I walk Max around our little lake, I smile and say a word of thanks as I take those steps today. My heart beats strongly and healthily today. It was not so on the first of this month. Had I not had the surgery, there is a good possibility that I could have experienced the last beat of that heart. That is a ‘last’ I certainly am glad to avoid. Now, I’m not trying to be melodramatic here. That’s not my purpose. In fact, I would probably have written these same words had I not experienced heart by-pass surgery. But, the simple truth is that each of us has a grand opportunity to make life so much better than it is. We will never make life perfect. We shouldn’t even try to be perfect. But we can be better. With very little effort we can each make today better. And as I considerer this ‘last day’ of August, better seems good enough. God bless each of you, and it’s my prayer that it be a better day. |
| Title: The Pull of Vandalism Date: August 28, 2006, Monday Thought: Kids will always pull pranks—always. Jog: It certainly does not feel like it was a long time ago, but it has been. As a high school boy my buddies and I snuck onto the school grounds and proceeded to decorate the school. We painted a light bulb or two so that there was a soft pink glow, we decorated the trash cans and we ran Jerry's underware up the flagpole. We were kids, it was a prank. We did other stuff like ring doorbells and leaving surprises on the front porch ran to hide in the bushes. Pranks—none of them caused significant property damage or destroyed property. I suppose they would fall into the category of vandalism—I suppose. But, there is a difference in those pranks and what has been happening in our quiet little subdivision. Over the last couple of years, teenagers have been inflicting their own brand of pranks. We have had them swim to the bottom of the swimming pool, pry open the intake grates and dump a load of soiled diapers there. It ruined the pumps, contaminated the pool and stopped swimming for the season. After $13,000 of repairs we were in operation again. Only to have all the pool chairs slit and thrown into the bottom of the pool. That was only $1,500 of damage. Apparently they resented the fact that we had a card reader lock on our gate, for it has been destroyed at least three time at a tune of $600 each repair. The Crepe Myrtle landscaping around the perimeter of the fence has been destroyed. The basketball goals have been continually removed of the netting. The Kiddie Cushion in the playground has been contaminated with oil and used to peel-out with their cars in the playground. The toilets and sinks in the bathroom have been busted and shattered, costing us another $1,000. It is interesting that the punch key lock on the doors, given to our residents, was used to gain access; hmmm, someone knew the code. They resent the signs that say, “Please do not drive on the grass, and stay on paved trails only.” They must resent them for they have been pulled up by the base concrete, bent, and disfigured. Since the signs costs $1,300 to install it is reasonable to expect it will cost the same to replace them. On my daily walks I have found broken beer bottles, condoms, and syringes scattered along the trails. Last night these kids drove through our neighborhood shattering windshields of vehicles parked on the street. Kids will always pull pranks—always. But what I see now is different than the pranks I remember. What I see now is a total disregard for the property of others. The families who live in our neighborhood work hard for the life they have built. They pay dues to the neighborhood association to care for and maintain their neighborhood. Families use the trails and enjoy the vegetation and wildlife. What is it that causes some kids to totally ignore the property of others? Why do some kids totally disrespect the well being of others? Why can’t they realize that their vandalism diminishes the quality of life of all of us, them included.? My only thought is that they have been taught to be this way by their parents. It must be a learned trait. The scary thing is that these kids will be the adults of tomorrow. Are we to believe that someday when they turn ‘of age’ they will magically turn into responsible adults? Or should we expect they will, as adults, still be selfish and disrespectful of their neighbor as they are today? And that is the sad thing; the jerks who vandalized our neighborhood today will be the jerks who live in our neighborhoods tomorrow, and they will likely raise little jerks who will make our lives miserable. However, I refuse to end on a negative note. I also have had the opportunity to witness the brightest and most promising kids in our community, and there are many. Each year we give scholarships to kids who excel. I am totally amazed at how much together these kids have their lives. I am honored and encouraged by their endless energy and unselfishness. When I witness the stupidity of some kids through the vandalism in our neighborhood, I consider the brilliance and humanitarian spirit of others and am encouraged. However, I am concerned there is only one salutatorian and valvictorian in every class; and the hopelss cases on the other end of the spectrum appear to be legion. I can only hope I am out of touch, that the good kids far out-number the bad apples—surely that is so—surely. |
| Title: Hey! I’ve Got Somethin’ To Say! Date: August 27, 2006, Sunday Thought: That is the glorious thing about this blog site. Folks have something to say and they are saying it. Jog: Now you may not want to hear what I’ve got to say. That doesn’t really matter, because the important thing is that I can say it if I want to regardless of whether or not you want to hear it. All over the blog pages folks are sayin’ stuff. Now, I’ve peeked at some of them, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t care too much for what some of them had to say. Now, I know what you’re thinking “Was he reading my blog? Did he just slam my blog?” Chances are I did not. Again there is a chance that I did. But who the heck cares? You shouldn’t. What you write in your blog is totally yours. A blog is a personal thing. That is why I would never, NEVER review an individual blog. Now, I might make a comment or two. But you’ll never find me blasting you for saying what you believe. I might say, “Hey, I don’t agree!” But, I defend your right to say what you say. Why? Because, by gosh I believe you’ve got somethin’ to say! It doesn’t matter too much what it is or even how eloquent you are in saying it. What is important is that you say it. And, unless you are hurtful by what you say, don’t apologize for saying it. If you are hurtful with what you say, or vulgar, or crude and rude, well I’ve got a solution for that—I won’t read it again. That is the glorious thing about this blog site. Folks have something to say and they are saying it. The cool ones, the popular ones, the ones that inspire rise to the top. Their reward is that they are read. But the important thing is that all of them, including the poorly written ones, are important. For each one permits one human to touch another human with his very own thoughts. What we do with that opportunity is each of our responsibility. But, if you have something to say, and you want someone to listen, it is up to us to say it as well as we can. It’s more than a responsibility, in fact, it’s a privilege. I am so pleased that on the occasions I’ve proclaimed, “Hey! I’ve got something to say!” There have been folks around who’ve stopped and listened. That kinda makes having something to say worth it. Thank you all—each and every one of you. |
| Title: Given Just a Chance Date: August 22, 2006, Tuesday Thought: It amazes me at how nice people are. Given just a chance and they respond with graciousness and kindness. Jog: Cards and well wishes still drift in on a daily basis. Over the years I've established a network of relationships in my profession, my community relationships, my church, and my family. Each of these areas is an extension of my family. It amazes me at how nice people are. Given just a chance and they respond with graciousness and kindness. How blessed we are to touch and be touched by the lives of so many people. My friends in WDC have expressed their well wishes and concern freely and sincerely. This has been mirrored with each of my other relationship, from the Rotary Club, to my Church family, to all my professional relationships. The amazing thing is that quite often each of these groups are unassociated with each other. The only common element is that I know them. This knowledge of others transcends my little world. It reaches past my fingertips and permeates into reaches that I would not consider normally. Isn't it amazing at how far our influence reaches? Through WDC it reaches around the world. It wafts through Texas through my professional connections. If I had a penny for each life that is touched through this network of relationships, I would be a wealthy man. But as I stop to think, I am a wealthy man. I don't have a lot of money, but I do have a lot of something else. Treasures are measured in something other than dollars. Geez, I think I need a bigger bank. |
| Title: Doin' Just Fine Date: August 20, 2006, Sunday Thought: Each day will be sweeter, each moment will be precious, each memory will be a deposit in this treasury given to me by God. Jog: It's been two weeks since they ripped open my chest and rearranged the plumbing in there. I am feeling fairly well considering what they did to my body. Fortunately it only hurts when I cough, sneeze, hic-up, laugh, or breathe. Other than that, I'm in tall cotton. The frustration of recuperation is driving me nuts. I'm getting tired of getting tired. I've got work to do and don't have time for this. Fortunately, I have a bunch of great clients who have said, "Don't worry about it. We'll wait on you." People are nice; or given the opportunity they can be. Two weeks ago Saturday, they wheeled me down the hallway to the operating room. That was an interesting trip. You certainly can get dissoriented laying on your back and watching the ceiling tiles pass by. I've come to the conclusion that they should put directions on the ceiling; you know, arrows and signs. As they wheeled me into the operating room I took in all that I could. I watched the members of the team prepare, noticed how big the lights were, and how unbelievably small the operating table was. It is amazing how common place life and death is. As I lay in the operating room waiting for things to progress, I was keenly aware that this may be the last thing I remember. All the answers to what happens when you die could be answered in just a short moment. Part of the process of my surgery is the little detail of stopping my heart. Now that ticker has been faithfully chugging along for fifty-seven years. I was just more than a little concerned with that little procedure. And so, I closed my eyes as the anesthetic took affect and drifted in to nothing. Almost instantly I remember waking up. I made the jump; six hours had passed and the ticker had restarted--amazing. The prognosis is good for me. The doctor says my heart is very healthy, althought not perfect. But he is pleased; and if he's pleased, I'm pleased. I'm in better shape now than I was. I had quadruple by-pass. One of the by-passes actually by-passed two blockages or they would have called it a quint. Of the arteries that were by-passed, three had 98% blockage and two had 95% blockage. We are extremely fortunate in this world. We all are extremely blessed. Each day we live is a tremendous gift. None of us are promised the next day. If God had chosen to take me two weeks ago, my life would still have been blessed, for I had received fifty-seven years of blessings. God did not owe me even one of them. I will live my tomorrows conscience of this fact. Each day will be sweeter, each moment will be precious, each memory will be a deposit in this treasury given to me by God. As I lay on my back in the operating room, I was conscious of this. I was not afraid. I held my hand in God's; and I knew that one way or the other I would still be holding his hand when I woke up, either here or with Him in glory. |
| Title: Ever Wonder About the Ceiling? Date: August 12, 2006, Saturday Thought: It's strange the thing you are thinking about as you are laying in the operating room waiting for the team to assemble. Jog: If I never came back in here would anyone really care? I've seen that question asked occasionally. The answer is of course someone would care. We are a community; we meet friends, develop relationships, grow close. Certainly, folks would care. But, the world we move in has a way of getting in the way. Our days are filled with things that demand our time. Some of them are useful stuff and some of them are pretty well meaningless. So in a way it doesn't matter if we come back or not, folks are gonna do the things they are gonna do, with or without us. The trick is to make the moments we rub elbows meaningful moments. Accept the little times for what they are and be grateful that you got to know someone else. Because, you see, that just makes a difference. As you may be aware, I've had opportunity to ponder about these things over the last week. Hospitals have a tendency for not permitting laptops in the operating room or ICU. As a result, I haven't had the opportunity to visit with my friend in WDC for the last several days. Last week the surgeons skillfully ripped open my chest and groped around in there for five or six hours. After they did their little job the surgeon remarked, "Hmm, this looks like a quadruple by-pass; I think I'll sew Ole' Dan up and send him to the line." So after about six hours they wheeled me into my new bed n'breakfast. Have you ever wondered about the ceiling? It's strange the things you are thinking about as you are laying in the operating room waiting for the team to assemble. You know, that's the time just before they dig in. I was laying there looking at the ceiling thinking, "I wonder if the last thing I will ever see will be that broken tile?" The next thing I remember is I'm fightin' like the dickens to breathe. Now, I did not realize I was not having any problem breathing. It must have been those tubes which were crammed down my throat. Eventually I won the war and the recovery room staff took the tube out. But that's all it was. One moment I am awake wondering what's gonna happen and then the next moment it is six hours later and the dirty deed has been done. Needless to say, all went well. I, of course, was a model patient. I am home today, recuperating. I will have more to say on this topic later, I'm sure. I'm just too tired to be wise and philosophical at the moment. I'm working my way up to that. |
| Title: A Little Professional Help Date: July 28,2006, Friday Thought: Jog: I know this will be unbelievably boring. But, I need a little help. I will be presenting a paper on Architectural Controls..you know the regulations that tell someone what the building can look like. It will be given to a group of laypeople who are serving on Planning and Zoning Commissions for the first time. I'm wondering if this paper is clear and informative. I'm not expecting very many reviews of this...anything will be helpful. I will be delivering the presentation this coming Monday. Thanks
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| Title: History 101 Date: July 23, 2006, Sunday Thought: It is amazing how just the addition of forty years and a little education can change a perspective. Jog: There is a world out there I never thought I would want to spend time in. When I was a kid in school the most boring class of the day was History. No matter how I tried, I could not find a reason to study it. After all, it was all water under the bridge. Of course I heard the arguments that history teaches us how to live today, that we had much to learn from history. I also was keenly aware that history repeats itself and it appears we don’t learn from it. How conflicting can that be? If we had this wealth of knowledge and we keep on making the same mistakes, why even mess with it? All it did was put me to sleep. There were other folks who were interested in it who could study it. Let them point out the way. It is amazing how just the addition of forty years and a little education can change a perspective. Somewhere, somehow during those years I cultivated a passion for history. Perhaps it was the fact that after the passage of time the history book began to chronicle events I experienced, moments I witnessed, things that were part of my memory not found in books but lived. There's nothing like becoming a part of history to cause one to become conscience of it. But, I think somewhere within me there was always something that recognized the importance of knowing what happened in the past and how it affected me and those I care about. I think it always was there, inert and unnoticed, waiting for something to begin the germination of a greater interest. I remember listening to my father account tales of family members long deceased, stories of how we came to this land, stories of who we were. I listened attentively to his brief accounts of his landing on Okinawa during the Second World War. His stories and tales became a part of my history. They made me aware of the greater stories of events and happenings in the past. Knowing that someone I knew was there made the events of history more real. I became a student of history both ancient and recent past. The death of my father rocked my world. I was struck by the fact that the world would never hear those tales from him again. I was deeply concerned that the world would forget the man who made history real to me. As a result I became obsessed with my family history. I researched the lineage and was thrilled to be introduced anew to people who held my name before I was born. Stephen was a soldier in the Revolutionary War, his grandfather Adam was a seafaring captain who settled in the New World, establishing our lineage in this place. Nearer to my generation was a cousin, Alexander, who was a sheriff in the Old West, soldier in the War with Mexico, and officer in the Confederate Army. His first cousin was my great great grandfather. My book, Across the River, is a faction (fact + fiction) about Alexander. We, who are writers, have a great opportunity. History waits for us to paint it in words upon the blank page. Every story I write has some piece of me weaved into it. Often it is not detectible; sometimes it is clear. I owe it to those who come after me to do my part in chronicling my personal history. Greater writers than me will take care of the really significant events of our time. Pulitzer prizes will be given for those works. Mine will not measure anywhere near those. However, each of us has the opportunity to leave the taste of history in the mouths of our children and grandchildren. What better legacy can we leave than to spur the imaginations of future generations, to cause them to pick up a pen and write their own chronicle? At one time, there was a world out there I never thought I would want to spend time in. With the help of my father and that secret desire hidden in me, I find it is a wondrous place—history. I look at my grandson and suspect that he is not aware of that world. Perhaps all I need to do is tell him a few tales; some stories about people long gone, people who held his name before him—perhaps. |
| Title: What Does My Free Time Cost? Date: July 22, 2006, Saturday Thought: Occasionally, it serves me very well to be non-productive. In those times, when I do absolutely nothing meaningful, I recharge my batteries, so to speak. Jog: Somewhere someone started the rumor that we occasionally have ‘free time.’ Now, I’ve been mulling that over in my head trying to figure out just what that is. I’ve come to the conclusion there is no such thing as ‘free time;’ at least I don’t have any of it. There are only two kinds of time, really: productive time and non-productive time. Neither one of them is free; they both cost something. Before you jump to conclusions, wait a minute and let me explain. Non-productive time is not necessarily a bad thing, although it can be. Occasionally, it serves me very well to be non-productive. In those times, when I do absolutely nothing meaningful, I recharge my batteries, so to speak. However, non-productive time shouldn’t be confused with procrastination. You know, procrastination is those times when I consciously ignore responsibilities that need attention. Now, that is not a good thing. Of course we all know that when we refer to ‘free time’ we are talking about that time that is not scheduled, moments where we have no plans to do anything, moments that belong solely to us to spend as we wish. We can spend those moments either productively or non-productively. I’ve already established the fact that being non-productive is not necessarily a bad thing. So, let’s discuss briefly the nature of productivity. Understand, first, the measure of productivity is not activity. The measure of productivity is the result of the time you’ve spent. Is there meaning in the time spent? Michelangelo painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. That was very productive. Yesterday I watched a snippet of Jerry Springer, which in my opinion was a waste of time and very non-productive. So what is the difference? Who says one is more meaningful than the other? Can’t watching Jerry Springer be meaningful to someone, somewhere? I suppose so. In the very least, it occupies time; keeps someone off the street and out of my way. I suppose there is merit in that. So what makes the time spent by Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling more favored than my moment spent watching Jerry Springer? Productive time touches others positively. Non-productive time is usually very selfish; it is meant to gratify the individual. Occasional moments of self-gratification are normal; we can expect some of that from everyone. But, extended moments of self-gratification can be harmful to the individual as well as those around them. It can be argued that Michelangelo’s action painting the chapel ceiling gave him enormous pleasure. Perhaps he was driven by the effort and totally self-absorbed in it. Perhaps he was; perhaps it was very self-rewarding. However, Michelangelo’s effort has brought meaning and pleasure to a multitude of people over the years; whereas, my snippet of Jerry Springer touched no one but myself. I would argue one was very productive and the other was not. How do we spend our free time? Not all of us will be able to paint a Sistine Chapel. The things on which we spend those unscheduled moments will be measured according to their value. It’s our choice whether they have great value or none. The creativity of writing is definitely not wasted time when it touches others, when it communicates. There is value in that; and it is time that is not ‘free.’ I rather consider it time that has earned value. It’s like a deposit in my ‘time spent’ account. Now, my moment watching Jerry Springer has cost also. It, on the other hand, was a diminishing of value of that time spent. In the bank account of my time, it was definitely a withdrawal. That is only a bad thing if there are no funds left in my account; if I don’t make any deposits; if all I do is withdraw. So, what is my conclusion? What have I discovered? Simple things, really. We have established that the time we spend is a thing of value. It adds value or it takes value away. In any case it is not free. When we do things that are shared by others, we increase the value of our time. When we keep our time totally to ourselves and horde it, we subtract value. That is the difference in productive and non-productive time. What can I do about it? Well, I can first of all be aware of how I spend my time. Just like my bank account, I must make deposits. So, as I finish this little piece and click the ‘send’ button, just consider it a deposit….I hope. |
| Title: Life is Eternal, Although We May Not Be Date: July 19, 2006, Wednesday Thought: The sun will rise; the sun will set. Life is eternal. Jog: I rose yesterday morning and walked down the trail in our subdivision with Max. It was near eighty-five degrees at 7:00am. Too hot already to enjoy the morning. Eventually, the temperature would exceed 107 degrees (Fahrenheit, of course). Today I did the same thing; tomorrow I will do the same--the day after that again the same. I wonder what is happening in the world around me as I routinely pass the minutes given me. Other folks are doing the mundane things of their lives. Across the world Forever, is doing stuff appropriate to the hour in her day as is Scarlett. We move through our lives on a routine—some of us walking the dog, some eating lunch, some lying down to sleep. I take a peek at the evening news and see death and destruction happening in this world. People are fighting each other, killing each other. Their world is in turmoil. And yet I walk my dog. The world moves on relentlessly, ambivalent to the plans of men: doing simple things as well as grand. In a hundred years no one will care about my day today. In two hundred years it will be history. In three hundred years it will be meaningless to most of the folks who rise up in the morning at that time and walk their dogs. The sun will rise; the sun will set. Life is eternal. I am told that in 100-billion years or so, the Sun will burn out and all will end—maybe. But to us, as we spend the minutes provided to us, the world—life-- will go on; in all practical sense it is eternal. In the scheme of things our history is but a flicker in a greater bonfire. We certainly are not eternal; at least not in this life—not in the corporeal scheme of things. There may be a different dimension that is spiritual and eternal; I believe there is. But right now I live my life, in all its brevity, in this world. The doctor looked at my chart and said, “There seems to be an event here. At some time or another, you’ve had a heart attack.” The statement should send ominous waves of concern and dread through me. But it does not. Likelihood is that the doctors will perform a medical procedure and patch the problem as well they can. If it is God’s will I will stick around a little longer. There is always a chance that I may die. However, there is probably a greater chance that I will get hit by a truck on my way to the hospital. There is no sense in worrying about it. What is certain is at some time I will die, as will you. The newborn entering into this world today shares the same fate, eventually. I am touched by my friends in WDC who have expressed concern about my health. Please rest assured I am concerned also and have been proceeding with the necessary action. The attention to my heart problem is important, but it will not steal my joy in life. I will not worry about it. I once heard a wise person say, “Worry is accepting responsibility that God never intended for you to accept.” I believe that. I can not control the giving or taking of life. I can react responsibly to the situations presented to me, but I will not worry about it. It ain’t my job. God has control. I will not assume I can do a better job. I trust Him. I care only that the things that I can control are done well; the rest I leave to Him. So, tomorrow I will rise and walk my dog. I will accept the day as a gift and will not covet tomorrow for it is not mine to give or take. Tomorrow owes me nothing. I am fortunate to experience today. And if am blessed with many tomorrows I will be grateful for that gift and will do the best I can with each of them. |
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