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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: Hangin’ Out Date: July 16, 2006, Sunday Thought: That was our simple little evening. It doesn’t get any better than that…well, not much. Jog: Ryan and Zack spent the afternoon and night with grandma and grandpa. These two boys are wonderful people. We played with Max and just rambled the first part of the afternoon. Ryan wanted to get on the Internet and visit with his friends. So, I set him up on one of our computers. He asked how many computers we had in the house. I was a little surprised when I counted them and found we have six. However, only three of them have Internet access. Zack, on the other hand, was interested in seeing the new Harry Potter DVD we just purchased. So, he and I set ourselves up in the media room and fired up the big screen. Our TV is a 64 inch screen with surround sound. We have theatre lights running around the perimeter of the room. Zack feels like he’s in a theatre. He and I watched Harry until grandma called us down for dinner. That was an experience. Linda fixed hamburgers for us tonight. It was a simple little menu—hamburgers and chips. It’s significant for Linda and me, because we have not had a hamburger for a couple of years (I’ve been on the Atkins’ Diet.) They were great. Ryan, who is a growing thirteen-year-old, ate three of the things. Anyway, after our meal we continued the movie until Max began acting up. He carried every toy he had into the room and barked at us. Then he continued to paw us. Seems as if he was ready for his walk. He did not seem to be at all interested in Harry Potter. And so, again Mr. Potter was interrupted as Linda and Zack headed for the park with Max (spoiled dog!) Eventually, Zack finished the movie, but not with Linda and I. By the time they got back and the movie resumed, it was grandma and grandpa’s bedtime. We left both boys in the theatre room to finish the movie. Tomorrow we will take them to church with us and go out to eat. That was our simple little evening. It doesn’t get any better than that…well, not much. |
| Title: Reality Date: July 15, 2006, Saturday Thought: Why in the world would I spend my valuable time to sit on my rear and watch reality? Jog: Stephen King wrote The Running Man under the pen-name of Richard Bachman. The story is about the ultimate reality TV event. It appears the cost of incarceration and rehabilitation of violators of society’s laws became exorbitantly expensive in this fictional world. And, some media moron discovered a way to make money from the situation. The solution was to turn the fugitives loose and broadcast the chase. The premise was simple. Those who finished the race won their freedom; those who didn’t were killed by their pursuers. Very few finished the race. And, the entire thing was broadcast into the living rooms and sports bars across the nation—reality TV. The audience loved it. I’m not a fan of reality TV. I don’t watch Big Brother, Survivor, Cops or any of the other concoctions dreamed up by the entertainment moguls. I think it is absolutely ridiculous. Have our lives become so warped that we do not recognize reality? When we wake up in the mornings do we not begin our own version of reality? It costs nothing to look around us and see the world. Reality is all around us. Why in the world would I spend my valuable time to sit on my rear and watch reality? If a person truly is interested in reality situations, why not try personal research. There are programs with every police department that permits interested citizens the opportunity to ‘ride-along’. There are no commercials and you get to experience the reality of crime prevention as you become an informed citizen. Hospitals support volunteer organizations that permit interested people the opportunity to experience the reality of the medical needs of those around us. Unfortunately, you may need to empty a bed-pan, but, hey! That’s reality! Have you ever volunteered at a homeless shelter, served food in a bread-line, or delivered blankets to the indigent? That’s reality. Become a volunteer for Meals On Wheels and help the elderly in ways that surpass providing a good hot meal. That’s a taste of reality. I once volunteered at an adult literacy program. I helped adults learn to read. It is remarkable the number of adults who can’t read. It amazes me the way these often intelligent and courageous people assimilate into the world of the literate. They find ways to ‘get by’ the employment application, doctor’s forms, letters from creditors, and the myriad traffic and instructions signs used to direct us to things like standing in line. That is reality. Why does a person need to go to television to find reality? How does reality TV benefit those watching? I will draw no conlusions from my questions. Sometimes I don’t have any answers. Sometimes all I can do is shake my head. Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m not condemning anyone for watching the stuff. Hey, I’ve watched it myself—but, not any more, not in a very long time. The reality of my own life and those around me are sufficient to occupy my mind and efforts. The irony of it is, our blogs are in a way a reality ‘fix’. But, they are different. We get the opportunity to observe others and establish relationships through our efforts. We don’t simply lay back in our easychair, munch on popcorn, drink our diet drink, and soak in the TV images. We have the opportunity to create and to interact. And, that’s what reality is—interacting with the world in which we live. I think more folks should turn off the TV and try it, myself included. |
| Title: Playing Catch-Up, Again Date: July 14, 2006, Friday Thought: I have determined that America’s favorite game is not football or baseball. No, it is “catch-up”. This is an amazingly versatile game. You don’t have to be in good physical condition to play it. You don’t have to be financially well off. You don’t even need to know the rules to the game. Jog: OK, I know it's a cheap shot. But, I was reading some of my old entries and found one from September 2004 that I thought was sort of interesting. Now, will someone tell me the rules of "jogging". Is it legal to rerun one of your old entries? Well, if it is, then just send the cops over to my house; 'cause I'm gonna do it now. ************ [From September 2004] -- Catch-up is a very expensive game. It’s best played after you determine that you’ve spent your last dollar on groceries. It’s also a game of surprises. There are numerous forms of catch-up. In fact, there are more forms of catch-up than I am able to discuss in this little discourse. There’s the holiday version. It’s primarily played as a result of Christmas. Corporate America is its sponsor. Sometime around August, Corporate America begins to advertise Christmas. You may have thought the purpose of Christmas was to celebrate the birth of Jesus—silly you. The purpose of Christmas is to buy ridiculous stuff that we really don’t need, for the purpose of overextending ourselves financially so that we can play catch-up. Closely associated with holiday catch-up is vacation catch-up. Places like Disney World and Las Vegas are prime sponsors of vacation catch-up. They say vacation catch-up is very therapeutic. They say that you have fun playing this version. However, it’s curious that there is nothing material that is exchanged, except money—yours. But of course, money is the baseballs and gloves of the game. That’s what we use to play catch-up. There’s the medical form of catch-up. There are two versions of this game. There’s the involuntary version, such as a heart attack. This is not a fun version, but it is played by millions of unfortunates. There’s the voluntary version of the game, such as braces. My son and daughter-in-law are playing this version. Their oldest son has been selected to receive five-thousand dollars worth of braces. What fun, they’re speechless at their fortune. There’s governmental catch-up. Not wanting us to feel neglected, the IRS has selected a number of us to play the governmental version of catch-up. This is a very easy version to play. There’s just one rule: give them however much they want. This is an easy rule to follow because if you don’t follow it they will come and take it anyway. I’ve enjoyed the kinder, gentler IRS. They smile when they take your possessions. What nice people. There’s automotive catch-up. This version teaches us versatility. There is more than one way to get to work in the morning. You can take the bus. You can use your wife’s car. You can ride in with your neighbor. What you don’t do is use your own car, because it is at the shop having a new motor put in. And forget about that little ‘do-dad’ that you were planning on buying for yourself when you made the last car payment. This extra three-thousand dollars will keep you playing automotive catch-up for months. There’s Super catch-up. That’s where you play all the versions at once, including education catch-up, alimony catch-up, homeowner catch-up, and my wife’s personal favorite: clothing catch-up. I’ve been a little silly with this piece. But it seems that I’ve been playing this frustrating game all my life. As my earning potential increased, so did my responsibilities. As my age increased, I added the version called retirement catch-up. Unfortunately, I’ve not had much time for that version. Gee, I wonder why. |
| Title: Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock…Tick Date: July 13, 2006, Thursday Thought: I could have saved him the effort; I already knew I was pregnant. Jog: Several days ago I mentioned in my “jog” that I had experienced some tightness in my chest when I walked Max. Some days it was worse than others. In any case, it was worrisome enough that I scheduled an appointment with my doctor, ‘cause that’s what you’re supposed to do. And, I did. Well, my doctor had me make an appointment with my cardiologist. However, before I was to meet with him I got an EKG and a chest x-ray. They came back and said the x-ray was OK. I proceeded to meet with the heart specialist. At that time they ran another EKG and then told me they needed to run some more tests. The following week I had an echocardiogram and then a stress test a couple of days later. Now, an echocardiogram is nothing but a sonogram of the heart. You know a picture just like they do for expectant mothers. After the technician finished smearing that yucky stuff on me and probing around, I asked if he could tell me if it was a boy or girl. He said he didn’t know the sex but was pretty sure it was twins. NO WONDER I HAD TIGHTNESS IN MY CHEST….I’M PREGNANT. Well, in my expectant condition, I showed up at the same office a couple of days later for the stress test. Now, have you ever had one of those things? This is my second. This one didn’t go any better than the first; they darn near killed me on the treadmill! Then…then, they ran me through a microwave! I’m a little concerned about the baby. In any case, I finished my tests. I figured they darn sure ought to know something about me now. They did everything except dissect me. Yesterday I popped into my cardiologist’s office to get the news. I could have saved him the effort; I already knew I was pregnant. But, I went in to humor the man and collect a little on the outrageous insurance that I’m paying. When he came in he had reams of papers and pictures and graphs and charts. After the initial greeting and after he leafed back and forth through those papers he said, “Well, Mr. Boutwell, it seems as if we’ve got a little issue here.” “What do you mean "we"; are you pregnant too?” No, he tells me; we seem to have found something. It appears as if there has been damage to my heart. And then he tells me that I’ve had a dang heart attack. “Oh yeah, that’s news to me. When did it happen?” He wasn’t sure, but the tests confirm each other. I’ve had a heart attack. “Whew! I thought I was pregnant.” Nope, not pregnant, just a little problem with the ticker. The bottom line is that he sent me home with instructions to not exert myself and to get back with him regarding the little proposition that he offered me. He informed me that he recommended I have an evasive procedure called an angiogram. You all probably know what that is. That’s where they poke a roto-rooter down your arteries and look for blockages. If he finds one, and he suspects he will, he inserts a stint or two or three. So, my friends, it appears that I’m not pregnant after all. It’s just a little matter of a heart procedure. I haven’t called him back to schedule it yet. I’ll call back next week. I’ve got meetings scheduled with clients through the rest of the month and if I can, at all, I want to schedule this thing for the second week in August. Geez, I hate hospitals. I wonder it they have wireless hook-up for the internet. I can only hope. |
| Title: Beware! Dog Blog! Date: July 12, 2006, Wednesday Thought: Jog: We had a pleasant day today. As far as work goes, it was a disaster. For some reason we ended up keeping my three grandkids (ranging from 8 yrs to 13 yrs). When I got to their house to pick them up, someone said, "What about Mattie?" Mattie is their brand new Jack Russell Terrier puppy. Mattie is a lovable ball of fur. She only weighs four pounds but thinks she is a Great Dane--so much for youth. Well, I loaded mattie into the truck with the grankids and we all went to grandma and grandpa's house. Now Max (70 lbs. of black Lab) has never met Mattie. We were a little concerned how he would take having his pup invade his kingdom. We took it slow and let them get acquainted. Soon we discovered we had nothing to worry about. Max loved Mattie. Mattie thought Max was the biggest chew toy she ever saw. Needless to say, they played ALL DAY LONG!. I've prepared a photo account of their meeting. Now, I'm not very good at this so let's just see how it comes out. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Meet the fellas. The little ball of fur is Mattie, the big brown eyes is Max. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I suppose this is the shake before the contest begins. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** No one told Mattie that size is the great equalizer. She just comes in for the attack. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** This has got to hurt. Mattie clamped down with those needle teeth on Max's lip. He was quite a gentleman; he just shook his head and she went rolling across the carpet. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Mattie hasn't quite got the hang of this fighting stuff yet. No one told her to not bite herself. Max just looks on as she bites her own leg. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** But she recovers nicely and goes for the take-down. Of course it helps greatly if your opponent simply flops down to let you reach him, as Max did. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Could this be a pin? Looks like it's the old Head-Pin move. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** After the romp it's time to take a little nap. Mattie hid in a group of stuffed toys we have displayed in one of the rooms. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Max, on the other hand, retreated to his favorite spot beneath my desk. I had to move the chair so you could see him. Usually he just wraps himself around my feet in there. Well, that was my afternoon. I guess you could say it went to the dogs....(sorry.) |
| Title: I’d Like to be a Lump of Coal Date: July 11, 2006, Tuesday Journal: A lump of coal is not very exciting to watch Jog: Compare two fires; one is made from crumpled newspapers the other is a lump of coal. Which is preferred? Well, it depends. If you are not looking for much warmth and if you are not concerned with longevity, the crumpled newspapers will make a glorious show for a brief moment. A lump of coal is not very exciting to watch. However, it glows steadily and radiates warmth as it does. Now, I suppose there are merits for both fires. If I want to get your attention, I suppose the newspaper fire is a good choice. However, you better be looking in my direction because it will last only a brief moment. If I want to warm you as you sleep, then I suppose a lump of coal (and his buddies) would be the more productive choice. Everything has its purpose--some are for show and some for utility, some are brief and some long-lasting. At the end of the day one leaves you with a pile of ashes and the other with a smoldering ember. My attention to my job has been a series of newspaper fires. I work furiously for brief moments and then sit in a pile of ashes. I remember when the excitement of my job was a lump of coal. The irony of the predicament I find myself in is that I absolutely love doing what I do. I’m just tired of doing it. Getting a different job is not an option; there is nothing else I’d rather do. Ah, that’s not quite true. I would like to try being filthy, stinking rich for a while. That would be nice. Occassionally, we hit these little plateaus in life. The normal reaction is to take a vacation. You know, get away from it all. Well, the problem is when you own the dang company, you don’t get away from it; it goes with you. At least mine does. My options are limited. Basically there is only one: work harder and longer, make more money, and then take time off. In other words, I need to become a lump of coal. I’m working on it. Unfortunately, all I have is a box of matches. Have you ever tried to light a lump of coal with a match? |
| Title: A Response to My Friend Mavis Date: July 10, 2006, Monday Thought: There is no question you have the right to believe as you do and even a greater right to present your position in this forum. Jog:[This blog is in response to an argument that Mavis made to a blog by vivacious  . Mavis’ response is in her blog page under the title “ "Invalid Entry"  ”]Mavis, your argument is well ordered and presented. It is obvious you are an intelligent person who also is quite eloquent. There is no question you have the right to believe as you do and even a greater right to present your position in this forum. You have done so graciously and without spite, and I respect you for that. However, as you have guessed, you and I are not in agreement. You begin your argument by presenting your suspicion of a doctrine that focuses on an afterlife or ‘other worldliness.’ That places us at a disadvantage for the remainder of the argument. For the very nature of all religion is a focus on ‘other worldliness.’ I fear we will never be able reach an understanding when the foundation premise of my faith is not accepted as being valid, or even possibly so. This is the point in which all philosophy begins. I contend that all philosophy is religious philosophy, for one begins with asserting that God exists or does not exist. As you know it is the Ontological Argument, which certainly predates both of us and is argued anew with each new generation. So realizing that you and I stand on different paradigms to present our arguments, I will continue. You state the basis of Christian faith is found in the messages of the scriptures which have been massaged by powerful men through the centuries. It is true that the scriptures have indeed been manipulated by men. In the Dark Ages they disappeared from the common man entirely and were the sole property of the religious agenda to be used and manipulated to their own selfish desire. Thus we have the Spanish Inquisition and the creation of the Anglican Church when the Pope refused to recognize the divorce of Henry the VIII. In fact, the scriptures were not available for the common man in England until King James ordered a translation of the scriptures into English in 1611. However, the scriptures that we have in our possession today stand without any manipulation. Archeology has discovered older documents much closer to the original manuscripts of which the manipulative masters of the Dark Ages were not in possession. Remarkably, the volume of findings demonstrates a remarkable clarity and conformance with existing records, including the 1611 King James translation. We now translate the text from near original documents, free of manipulative actions of intermediate impact. I myself have a copy of the Greek New Testament and can see for myself the ideas as presented in the scripture. You argue also that the most devout believers are found in the most deprived areas. Although not intentional, you infer that the poor and deprived are easily manipulated into accepting the only argument presented by missionary zealots. No doubt some of this occurs. In fact, some of it may occur on a grand scale. But you do injustice to the concept of choice. Each man, no matter the condition, has an option to reason and make a choice. Is it a foregone conclusion that simply because one is poor and distressed they lose the ability to reason and make decisions? Is it not possible that even a poor man can determine that this religious doctrine is delusional and should be rejected? If that is possible, then is it not also possible that the same poor and distressed can make a rational decision that there is validity in the doctrine? Why must we assume that acceptance of the doctrine is simply the power of wishful thinking? If we were to assume you are correct in the premise that acceptance of this message is the result of a delusional mind, we would need to also accept the premise that those who accept this idea are irrational. However, when I examine the brief history of man I find many of the most brilliant and rational men have believed in this ‘other worldliness’ concept. How can one simply dismiss their intellect and reason as being delusional? No doubt there have been intelligent despots who have done terrible wrong in the name of their religion. But this does not answer the question nor negate the arguments of those great men and women who profess a belief in this ‘other worldliness.’ Now, this in itself does not prove that I am correct and you are wrong. However, it does present a possibility that I am correct. To refuse that would be to close one’s mind to the possibility and that would be irrational. It is unreasonable to assume that God controls every action—the bounce of a falling rock, the path a bird flies, the turning of every leaf in autumn. There are those, of which I am one, who believe God has a permissive will. The universe has been set into motion; the seasons come and go; and nature brings storms and drought. All these things are part of a devine hand that set them into motion. Bad things happen to good people simply because they do, not because God wills it. The natural order of things brings crises into our life. It is not a measure of our goodness or our badness. Things happen. This does not mean God is not in control. It is all His permissive will. Now, it also does not mean He can’t intervene in time and perform miracles from time to time. He can do as He pleases; after all He is God. It is a fallacy for people to account every event in their life as being God’s will. Most of our life is lived according to the natural order of things, His permissive will. God’s will for an individual is not measured by the spouse he marries, or the job he gets, or the illness he contracts. None of these things are necessarily God’s will. No, God’s will is found in our devotion and commitment to Him. You see, it was not God’s will that I marry my wife. Nope, I could have married someone else and still been in God’s will. God’s will is simply that I live a life consecrated to Him. When I do that, I am in God’s will. That gives me great freedom in this world. I can do almost anything knowing I am in His will. I can fall in love, choose a wife, get a job and do whatever. If I am consecrated to Him I can know it is in His will. Being a Christian does not have to be difficult. And when I do this, I find joy. That is why the Apostle Paul could say, as he was in prison, “I can be happy in whatever state I am in.” I reject the idea that being a believer is a hindrance to creativity, that it is a crutch for the weak to use as an excuse for underachieving. I reject the idea that belief in God hinders innovation, self-reliance and co-operation. And I reject the premise that religion has failed in these areas. Paranoia and blame is not a product of believers. Paranoia and blame has no religious preferences. A non-believer can be just as paranoid as the most rabid Christian fanatic. The proof of faith is not determined by scientific proof, where blue substance “A” is mixed with yellow substance “B” and produces green substance “C”. You cannot conduct a laboratory experiment to prove that God exists. The primary proof of God lies in the realm of legal proof. God is validated by the veracity and reliability of the witnesses. The only way I can prove your husband smiled at you this morning is for him to tell me. Unfortunately, this means I must trust my witnesses. I have an enormous resource of witnesses for this line of thought, and this is a topic for another time. Let me close by saying only, I have considered the witnesses that God exists and that Jesus is who he said he was. Consequently, I have concluded that it takes more faith to not believe than to believe. |
| Title: Blessings of a Misty Morning Date: July 6, 2006, Thursday Thought: We don’t always have a clear horizon before us; sometimes there’s fog and mist. Jog: Sometimes we can see forever; sometimes the rain washes the air and we see past the horizon on clear fresh mornings. Today was not one of those days. The rain rinsed our neighborhood and gave the grass and other growies a welcome drink. But the morning was not clear. The clouds hung low and promised more rain. As Max and I walked along our little trail through the woods I stole occasional glances further down the trail. A mist hung in the air and concealed the horizon. I was fascinated with the effect. The landscape was painted with decreasing intensity as I looked from hill to hill. The farthest hill stood shrouded with a thin blue haze. After the continuous days of clear skies and oppressive heat, the change of that morning was welcomed. In fact, it is the change of environment that helps me appreciate the clear days. Likewise an overabundance of overcast and mist helps me appreciate the crispness and vibrance of clear summer mornings. There are some mornings when I get up and my world runs like clockwork, everything is in its place and things happen just right. When that happens I breeze through the day and feel like I’m invincible. But, just like the haze and mist I encountered in my walk this morning, there are also days when I can’t seem to find purpose or reason in my actions. I’ve been stumbling through about a week of those recently. Work as hard as I might, I just don’t seem to get stuff done that needs to be done. But, that’s the way life is. We don’t always have a clear horizon before us; sometimes there’s fog and mist. My fog and mist comes in the form of health concerns and loads and loads of work deadlines. It makes me weary, this fog and mist of mine, but it does not depress my spirit or deter my journey. It just makes me weary. You see, fog and mist are not necessarily a bad thing. There is beauty in the mist on the hillside as it embraces the water’s edge. The gentle fog that wafts close to the surface in the early mornings has always intrigued me. It is not always necessary to see clearly to experience the beauty of God’s creation. The mantle of mist has a beauty of its own. Likewise, I have determined I don’t always have to experience the ‘on’ days to be blessed. I can be blessed when I have ‘off’ days also. Much of it depends on me. On my ‘off’ days, if I choose, I can sink into depression and self-pity and lose the blessing of people and things around me. I’ve noticed a long time ago, that my problems are miniscule when compare to the problems of others. It is my choice how I receive each day. Isn’t it much more pleasant to embrace the fog and mist of the day and wait for the blessing that will surely follow? For, I have found that fog and mist do not last forever. Eventually, the sunshine and blessings of the clear day will come. I would much rather anticipate their coming than sulk and dread a gloomy day. Clear days and misty, foggy days—it takes both to teach us how to appreciate the other. I will not look forward to the gloomy days, but I will not dread them either. I will take them as they come and expect within them also to find a blessing. |
| Title: An Evening Sky on the Fourth of July Date: July 4, 2006, Tuesday Thought: Here in America, this is what the Fourth of July is all about. Jog: Fireworks streak into the night sky leaving a blazing rainbow of sparks. At the apex of it’s flight it burst into gloriously bright colors of red and gold, blossoming across the sky and coaxing ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaaahs’ from the people seated on the grass far below. A reverberating boom follows the spectacular sight and causes small ripples to form in my diet coke. We all eagerly await the next aerial demonstration and are not disappointed as a silver streak arcs from the ground even before the final sparks of the last are spent. And so it goes as fireworks of every shape, size, and magnitude fill the July Fourth evening sky. The scene is usually the climax of a busy day ranging from parades in the morning demonstrating patriotic themes on all the floats and music from the marching bands, which always have their own rendition of “The Stars and Stripes Forever”. Later in the day we walk through the festival area where we get hot dogs, cotton candy, and the appropriate drinks, depending on whether or not you are a ‘tea-totaller’. It is a scene that is pure “Americana.” Although, I am quite sure at other times other peoples in other lands celebrate similar events proclaiming their national pride. But, here in America, this is what the Fourth of July is all about. But, how often do we pause to consider the source of this aerial demonstration. The exploding pyrotechnics and resounding booms send giggle through the youngsters. But, there are men and women among us who have seen similar aerial demonstrations in real life. Rockets and explosions are products of war. For generations our fellow Americans have seen for real the violence of which our fireworks mimic. I point this out not to cast a damper to the joy of the celebration. Not at all—for we should celebrate what has been done for us. We must celebrate their sacrifice and honor their memory. My father was one of those who paid this price. As a young Marine, he stormed the sands of Okinawa in WWII. He saw things a young man should not have to see; and did things that he would never forget. He did it for an idea, for a way of life, for reasons that he could never explain or even understand himself. Our friend Tor is one of those young men who paid a great price. My eternal thanks and respect go to him. I walked down the Wall in Washington D.C. and ran my fingers across the names on that wall--so many names. I said thank you to each of them. I will never forget them and what they did. Our young men and women again serve for us in Iraq. There is no consciousable way that anyone could not show support to these fine people. The liberal press does not do them honor. We must. So, I urge each of you to enjoy the fireworks. Enjoy the day and laugh and play. When the colorful display lights the night sky above me, I will remember those who paid the price. And I will whisper to them a quiet thanks--thanks for all they’ve done for me. |
| Title:Looking Out the Window Date: July 3, 2006, Monday Thought: Is the world outside that window a magic place to him, full of wonders with birds, and squirrels, and rabbits waiting for him to sniff out and chase? Jog: I have my office in the upstairs study where it overlooks the street. Crepe Myrtles have grown to the second story and produce an abundance of red flowers, which encroach upon my view but frames it with glorious color. On the cloudy days I open my drapes and widows wide so I can take in the beauty of the view. It is a gentle blessing to be able to work at home. I often sneak up to my office before sunrise, open the window framed with the Crepe Myrtles and wait for the sunrise to color the morning sky. In the last few months I have been sharing that scene with my black Lab, Max. Anytime my window is open he positions himself so that he can view the world and simply sits and watches. His ears perk up when something of interest comes into his view. However, Max rarely barks. He simply takes in the view with the curiosity of a five-year-old. I remember when my boys were five-years-old. I was constantly assailed with, “What’s that?”, “Where are you going?”, “Can I see?”, and the ever present “Why?” Well, that’s Max. If I pick something up, he has to see what it is. If I walk down the hall, he has to see where I’m going. If I open the window, he has to see what’s out there. As I sit and watch him looking out my window, I wonder about his world. What is he thinking? Does he appreciate the security of the home we have given him? Does he consider himself fortunate? Is the world outside that window a magic place to him, full of wonders with birds, and squirrels, and rabbits waiting for him to sniff out and chase? Perhaps all he is doing is looking out the window with no other purpose than that. His gaze out the window pulls me into a conversation with him. I move to the chair next to him and take a good look myself. I say, “Whatcha see fella? You see a cat?” He looks at me with those brown eyes of his and knows I’m talking to him. He wags his tail, as if to say, “I don’t have a clue what you’re saying, I just like to hear your voice.” I continue, “Hey, there’s a bird in the Crepe Myrtle!” I tap the window in that direction. Max looks; he sees the bird; his ears perk up. Then he looks at me again, with affirmation that he sees the bird. We watch it together for a moment. I stroke his head; he wags his tail. Eventually, I break myself from the moment and leave Max at the window. I return to my work at the computer. Shortly, I feel him at my feet wedging himself between the desk and my legs. He finds his place under the desk, displacing my feet. I move to give him room as he lays down with a big sigh. I momentarily glance out the window again before I return to work. And that is how our day goes—almost every day. |
| Title: What Do I Do With These Things Now? Date: July 2, 2006, Sunday Thought: Now, in the world before virtual logs and even before computers, the common man kept his journal in, of all things, a book. Jog: OK, it’s obvious that I’m never going to have an all blue month. My routine seems to have become that of a weekend warrior. You know, I’m in on the weekend and out during the weekdays. It isn’t particularly my choice. The bank and the utility companies tend to get testy when I don’t send them money on a regular basis—they’re funny that way. Consequently, I will labor in the ‘salt mines’ during the week and spend as much time in here as I can on the weekends. I suppose that’s why I named my blog (yuk, still hate that word) My Sporadic Journal. My friends at WDC have been faithful to visit when I am around. That concerned me a little. Not being in every day and involved with the happenings sometimes places you on the outside looking in. Well, perhaps in the real world that’s the way it happens. I’ve found in WDC folks just take you as they get you. How very fortunate we all are that we found this place. In my case, I just stumbled into it. Good stumble, huh? I will have had this Jog (Journal + Blog = Jog) for two years this coming July 6th. The entries have not been daily, not by any means. However, they have been steady—sporadic, if you will. Two years of sporadic entries, what in the world do I do with them? Now, in the world before virtual logs and even before computers, the common man kept his journal in, of all things, a book. Daily, he would faithfully enter tid-bits of his life. I’m sure there were gaps in the record just like now. But, the point is, he had a physical record of the thoughts which were placed on paper. Somehow that seems significant to me. Why would someone keep a physical record of these things? Excuse me please, but when I read some of the stuff that is placed in blogs, I have no idea. However, when I read the regular blogs that I visit, I am impressed with the thoughts recorded there. I agree those should be kept, for some reason. But, why? It is important to me to be productive. Sorry, that’s the way I am. If I am going to do something, I want to do it right, and I want to do the best job I can. If I play, I want to play well; if I am being silly, then I do a good job of it. Occasionally, I even make a fool of my self well. Writing is a productive exercise to me. My product may not be considered by others to be quality material, but it is often the best I can do under the circumstances. I receive a strange sense of satisfaction when I reread some of my old entries. Of course, there are a few of them I frown and say, “What in the world was I thinking?” I am occasionally impressed by some thought, sometimes amused, sometimes moved with nostalgia, and often confused by what I wrote. But that’s OK; I’m generally pleased with the content. I enjoy the interaction of the blog pages. I enjoy the feedback and the relationships that are established with the other writers. That’s something the journals of old did not have. To get interaction with a journal, it must be read. But journals are historical as well as contemporary. An understanding of the writer can be conveyed to generations to come through his journal. Relationships with individuals not yet living can be established. That is a significant function of a journal. So, what about all these entries I’ve made over the last two years? What do I do with these things now? Well, I’ve been downloading them into a document. As they accumulate, I will organize them chronologically and eventually self-publish the volumes. In fact, I will publish seven copies of each volume in a hard cover format: one for me, one for each of my sons, and one for each of my grandchildren. Someday they will each get a copy, but not today—someday. |
| Title: Another First Date: July 1, 2006, Saturday Thought: I am the author of my life. Jog: As we wander through life’s experience, we encounter a myriad of firsts—some of them are grand and some are simple. Some of these firsts are milestones in our life, like our first marriage. I remember my first marriage; in my case it is also my only marriage. I sometimes introduce Linda as my first wife. And there was my first child. You will only have one first child. I remember the first time I held my baby sons. Now, I know it sounds a little silly, but there are some firsts that you repeat over and over again. There is the first lick of an ice cream cone, first bite of a slice of cocoanut cream pie, or the first scoop of a new jar of peanut butter. These are little joys that don’t qualify as earth shattering events or memorable happenings. But, somewhere down deep inside of a person an electric spark of glee curls our mouth into a smile when they occur. There are firsts that give your soul a feeling of awe and wonder. The first ray of sunlight painted in the early morning sky, the first scent of freshness after a steady rain, the first Day Lilly to bloom in springtime, the first nuzzle of a puppy—these are a few firsts that continually amaze and please me. I will not address the firsts in our lives that bring pain and grief. Although these firsts serve to complete our life and give us a reference point to measure and appreciate the good things, I will not dwell on them here. Needless to say, those firsts are present and serve their own purpose. What brings me to this topic is the fact that today is the first day of July. I’ve had other first days of July, in fact I’ve experienced fifty-seven of the little buggers. I can’t say I remember a single one of them in detail. This one will also likely pass unmemorable into my life history. But, like that first scoop into a new jar of peanut butter, I look at the coming month with hope and expectation. It lies before me like a blank page ready to be written on. It has the potential to be a romance story, a tragedy, an adventure, a mystery, a documentary, or even a devotional story. Likely it will be a hodge-podge of all of the above. The type of story I write on the first blank page of the month before me is still to be determined. What it will be is not as important as the fact that I have a choice about what is written there. Although, life will toss various tid-bits of events and crises at me, I still have a choice of how I fill the blank pages. I am the author of my life. I believe I have a divine relationship with my creator, and I live in a universe that was set into motion by His hand. Nevertheless, He gave me the choice to write on the blank pages of my life. I look forward to the first day of July. I will dip my pen into the ink-well of experience and boldly write the letters that make it meaningful. [A little side note here. Life’s experiences are written in ink. There are no erasers here. When I mess up, it is there for all to see. All I can do is to go forward. Spending time in the past with an eraser just makes a mess on my page.] So, what will be the first thing I write on this blank page? Well, I’ve already begun with this note to you. There is a lot of blank space before me and volumes of ink laden pages behind me. I’ve got work to do, and so do you. I think I’ll start today with having that first cup of coffee—one of the simple firsts I enjoy. |
| Title: Where I’m Suppose to Be Date: June 25, 2006, Sunday Thought: With all the doubt, uncertainty, and insecurity in my life, I wouldn’t have given a snowballs chance in hell that I would have made anything of my life. Jog: Remember the night you graduated from high school? For some of us that was a mighty long time ago. Well, in any case, it was for me. That night I was just thrilled they let me out. Actually, I was a bit surprised. I thought I would never be out of school. I thought if I ever got out my world would be perfect. Well, I graduated into a world that was not perfect. It was 1966 and a little skirmish was going on in Southeast Asia. Because of Vietnam, I figured my future was uncertain. My immediate plans were to get a job for the summer and date Linda as often as I could. In the fall, if I was still around I would go to college until I was asked to go to Vietnam. Tor knows what I’m talking about. He received an all expense paid vacation in balmy Vietnam. For some reason, I just kept on waiting. The papers never came in the mail. I figured my file had gotten shoved in a file drawer and slipped to the bottom of the drawer, lost. I bring this up because at that time I had no idea where I should be in my life. I simply hung on and let it happen to me, wondering all the time what was to eventually become of me. It was difficult to imagine me at the advanced age of fifty-seven. I half expected that I would be homeless and dependent on nice people for a handout. I did not know where I was going. Well, fifty-seven years later I look back on the journey and am a little amazed at the trip. I’ve accomplished some things that the bylines in my senior annual would never have imagined. I married my high school sweetheart. And, more amazingly she stayed married to me for almost thirty-eight years. She needs a medal. She gave me two wonderful sons, who think Dad is amazing. I’ve certainly got them fooled. I graduated from college with a degree, which surprised everyone, me included. I became a Certified Engineering Technician, which was totally unrelated to my degree program. Eventually, I became a pastor of the First Baptist Church in town. In high school I was terrified to even give oral book reports much less stand before a congregation and proclaim the Gospel message three times a week. For some reason I continued my education, which included two years at seminary and then a transfer to another university where I obtained a Master’s degree. I became the senior planner in a large engineering firm; left that job and started my own planning firm. I’ve got plaques and awards all over my office wall. Today I am known as one of the experts in my field and have loads of clients. I look at my life and wonder about the young kid who graduated on that night so many years ago. With all the doubt, uncertainty, and insecurity in my life, I wouldn’t have given a snowballs chance in hell that I would have made anything of my life. The only sure thing I had going for me was Linda. I wonder if that kid would be satisfied with the place I am today? Certainly he would. He surpassed his expectations. Could he have done better? Could he be in a better place? Well, I’m not sure he could be in a better place, but he could have certainly been in a different place. I could have made better decisions that would have left me more financially fixed. But that’s the only real thing that could have been changed. When I consider the whole, I’m where I ought to be. And, it’s not a bad place. None of us are probably where we should be; there’s always room for improvement. But all in all, things have come out right. I consider myself fortunate and privileged to be in the place I am. And, most importantly, I’m very thankful that I’m not here alone. |
| Title: Why I Write Date: June 24, 2006, Saturday Thought: The ability to pass an idea, thought, or emotion to another in such a manner that they understand is a wondrous thing. Jog: Occasionally I surprise myself and say something that I consider somewhat meaningful. While responding to my friend David McClain 's blog, I stumbled into a thought. Now, Tor was expressing feelings regarding the frustration of writing, which I have witnessed from others numerous times right here in WDC. More than just witness them I have experienced them.The question “Why do I write?” has probably been the title of countless articles, papers, and journal entries. The pilgrimage we take to discover the answer can be very frustrating and downright discouraging. We are plagued with questions like, “Will anyone read it?”, “If they read it, will they like it?”, “Am I qualified to call myself a writer?”, “Am I delusional?”, and “Is this stuff any good?” Now, I suspect you’ve asked yourself these questions, because I’ve done it myself. Well, why do we write? I can only speak for myself. I write to communicate. It is a very amazing thing, this concept of communication. The ability to pass an idea, thought, or emotion to another in such a manner that they understand is a wondrous happening. Now, we don’t need words to communicate. We can do it with a smile, a look, or even a gesture—I’ve gotten some of those before. But, I believe the purest form of communication is the written word. It is surely the most durable and long-lasting. Ever since man scratched his picture messages on cave walls we have been recording events, thoughts, and ideas. The first simple writings said, “Og and I cornered a saber-tooth tiger; it kicked our ass.” Five-thousand years later we can smile at Og’s misfortune, because he wrote it down. This brings me to the topic of publication. Publication is simply the mass production of the written word. It neither validates the word nor enhances the words; it just says it a lot of times. It is a fallacy for us to measure the meaningfulness of the words we write by whether they have been published. Publication is occasionally the result of writing; it is not a prerequisite. Like Og, I write because I want to say something to someone else. Occasionally, the words I write are directed to me; that is still communication. Sometimes the ordered placement of my words says something to someone else. When they do, it pleases me. And that is all I want to do—communicate. However, I am a little jealous that Og has communicated to millions of people with his single cave-wall publication and I have not. |
| Title: Chocolate Chip Cookies, One of Life’s Little Delights Date: June 18, 2006, Sunday Thought: Now, there are chocolate chip cookies and there are Chocolate Chip Cookies…I mean they are all good, but some of the little morsels are better than others. Jog: We go through life rather quickly. During this tour, we find things that revolt us, delight us, and things that we simply don’t care about. Among those things are chocolate chip cookies. They are one of life’s little delights. Now, I am not a world traveler; so I don’t know if chocolate chip cookies are normal fare in the rest of the world. If they are not, they should be. I’ve been on the Atkins’ diet, in one form or another, for the last three years. I’ve done quite well, I must add. I dropped a total of 130 lbs during that period. Sure, I gained back about twenty, but I’m on my way to dropping that and more, even as we speak. Why is this significant? Well, as you may be aware, the Atkins’ diet is a low carbohydrate diet. Things like bread, pasta, and chocolate chip cookies are taboo. The American staple, the hamburger is simply off the chart; so is pizza. What can I say? There is a price to be paid for all those pounds lost. It has been ages since I’ve had a chocolate chip cookie. So you can imagine my delight when today I ate one of the delectable culinary creations. Now, there are chocolate chip cookies and there are Chocolate Chip Cookies. I mean they are all good, but some of the little morsels are better than others. I ate one of the really good ones today. Needless to say, my Father’s Day was complete. I knew the cookie was going to be good because of the reputation of the establishment from where it was purchased. But, I forgot how good it could be. You see, I did not eat it at the restaurant; I took it home. I popped it in the micro-wave for just a moment and warmed it up. The heat released the fresh baked cookie smell. I was slobbering when I took it out. I felt the heat of the cookie in my hand and instantly my expectations were driven to new heights. I did not bite the cookie. Nope, it was a little soft. I tore a small piece from the mother cookie, with a melted chocolate chip in the center, and popped it in my mouth. With orgasmic delight I savored the dang thing. I was delighted that I had dang near most of the cookie left. So, little by little I tore and chomped on the remainder of the cookie until it was all gone. Do I want another one? Not at all--the one was good enough. I silently giggled to myself as I thought of how good the next time will be. Why spoil the moment by gobbling down on other cookies until they become common place and mundane. Although, I’m not sure that could happen. Nope, I am content with the one magic chocolate chip cookie. I am considering, however, that there might also be such a thing as a magic pizza. Hmmm, I wonder. |
| Title: On Looking at Adversity Date: June 16, 2006, Friday Thought: There will be crises in my life enough that I don’t need to create new ones. Jog: Why does it take a lifetime to figure out what it takes to be content? I suppose part of the answer is that much of life is cause and reaction. We live our lives in “band-aide” mode. Officially it’s called “crisis management”, where all we do is move from one crisis to another. It takes a lifetime to figure out that most of the crises in our lives are not that critical. Part of the reward of being a planning professional is that I’ve learned to plan for the general goal and handle the crises as they come up. Worry serves no purpose and just causes wrinkles. Years ago a little story was told to me that made a lot of sense. It seems there was a man who owned a carpet company. He spent his days laying carpets in homes in his area. He was an expert at doing this but needed help in his business. So, he hired a young man and sought to teach him the trade. On the young man’s first day at work the veteran carpet layer stood in the vacant room and gave the young man this advice. “Now, I want you to lay this carpet the way I showed you. But this is very important. If you make a mistake, don’t try to cover it up. Tell me about it. You can’t make a mistake that I can’t fix. The only mistake you can make is to try to cover it up.” What this little story tells me is often time we create our own crises. We forget the joy of just living and rather try to obtain perfection; and when we mess up, we try to fix it by ourselves; in the process we worry about it. I have had employees come into my office with somber looks on their faces and moan, “We’ve got a problem!” To this I have always responded, “No, we don’t have a problem. We have a situation that has a solution. I’ll tell you when we have a problem, and this ain’t it.” Now I am not a particularly wise man. I certainly do not have all of the answers. I’ve got a hint about a few of them. I’ve found there is little good achieved in focusing on the negative side of life. There will be crises in my life enough that I don’t need to create new ones. When I consider the blessings in my life, I find that they far out-weigh the tribulations. I am constantly reassessing the problems in my life and reclassifying them as situations with solutions. And when I find myself with my back to the wall and the carpet cut wrong, I get help. There is always someone out there who can fix the mistake. Now, bear with me as I dip into the spiritual area of my life. I could not do this without the reassurance of higher force in my life. I can get all intellectual about this and call it a Supreme Essence, but to me it is simply God. There are some things that only God can fix. There are those who will turn me off at this point and scoff at my gullibility. However, I know, and that’s all that counts. He is the source of my strength and the basis of my contentment. How can I be anything but a winner? |
| Title: The Birthday Gift Date: June 4, 2006, Sunday Thought: You know, it just doesn’t get any better than this. Jog: “Hello?” “Hello, who am I speaking with?” “It’s Zack.” “Hi, Zack, its grandma; what are you doing?” “I’m just sitting here watching TV.” “I see. Can you tell me what day today is?” “Sunday.” “Besides that?” “June 4th.” “That’s right; what else?” “It’s my birthday.” “Right! Grandpa and I wanted to call you and wish you a happy birthday.” (Zack turned nine today.) “Thanks” “And, we were wondering if you were doing anything special for lunch? We’d like to take you to lunch. Do you want to go?” “Sure!” “Let me talk to your mom.” “OK.” Zack places his hand over the phone so he can yell to his mom. “Mom! Grandma and Grandpa want to take me to lunch; can I go?” And so our morning ended as we looked forward to the lunch period with our youngest grandchild, Zack. Now, Zack is a special child. He has an imagination, which at times can be a challenge, especially when given too much idle time. Like the time he painted the van with blue spray paint. Or the time he used the refrigerator as a marker board, with the permanent ink stuff (Sharpies). And, then there was the night he saw the lever on the pole and pulled it down just to see what it would do. The lights at the ball park shut down, in the top of the third inning. It took thirty minutes for them to come back on and a host of pissed parents, coaches, and players could resume the game. And so, Linda and I took our special grandchild, Zack to lunch. When we got to his house, he was not home. He came bounding out of the neighbor’s house all grins, excited about his solo outing with Grandma and Grandpa. I collected Linda from Zack’s house and we journeyed through our little town (30,000 people) to Tai Pan Chinese Restaurant. For some reason all our grandkids love to go to that place with us—go figure. We handed him a birthday card with a twenty-dollar bill tucked inside. He glanced at the card and snatched at the money—good reflexes. Zack ate his fill and talked about stuff you talk about with grandparents, none of it too deep. Afterwards we dropped by Borders Bookstore to see if there was something there he wanted to spend his money on. Can you believe it? The item that excited him the most wasn’t a book or a CD; it was a DVD of Barry Manilow Live in Las Vegas. Hey, the kid has different taste. He also likes Frankie Valley and the Four Seasons. Anyway, the ride home was filled with discussions of “Mandy”, “Copa Cabana”, and “I Write the Song.” He asked questions like, “Grandpa, do you think Barry Manilow would teach me to play the piano?”…”You think I could go see Barry Manilow and sing Mandy?”…”Does Barry Manilow still practice piano?” Fortunately, we arrived shortly at his home. Off in front of us he tore, hitting the door at full bore, and shouting, “Hey Mom! Look what I got—a Barry Manilow DVD.” When Linda and I entered the living area, his older brother, sister, and mom were all smiles. I casually commented, “Now you can not only listen but watch Barry Manilow for hours. And lucky you, it’s a two disc set.” I caught a lot of eye rolls as his mother answered, “Thanks, we needed that.” As soon as we could we punched up the DVD player and started the disc. Soon we were watching the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas with Barry Manilow on stage. Linda and I stayed only a short while. Zack’s attention was elsewhere. We left Zack bouncing with the music and singing along with Barry Manilow. His mom and brother were in stitches laughing at the star struck nine-year-old. On the way to the truck Linda smiled, shook her head and said, “Can you believe it?” “I know,” I replied with a grin, “Barry Manilow.” You know, it just doesn’t get any better than this. |
| Title: Don't Punch Me; I Might Explode! Date: June 3, 2006, Saturday Thought: I must say I was much better behaved at my doctors visit. The magazine rack was left untagged. Jog: Max and I had a big day on Friday. We both visited our doctors. Max is recovering from Heartworm treatment. Yesterday was his six month checkup. He was not particularly pleased with the visit. Traveling with Max, our seventy-pound Lab, is a chore. To say the least, he does not like the truck. When we first got Max I had to pick him up to put him in the truck. How embarrassing--having to pick up a hunting dog to go in the truck! Immediately he would turn on the waterworks. I have never seen a dog produce the volume of slobber produced by that dog. The frirst time we took him in the truck, within five minuets of the ride he was gagging and chucking-up his food. During all this time he is shaking. For some reason the dog is terrified of riding in cars and trucks. Knowing that we would be making this trip, I've been working with him. Every morning our walk begins with a very short ride in the truck. I have a fancy truck that will let me fold the rear seat up to provide a flat surface in the back seat. I place towels in the floor-board an on the console, where he likes to stick his head. The first few weeks we worked on simply getting in the dang truck. We are now excited when I open the rear door and Max gingerly, but willingly, climbs in the back seat on his own--major victory. Each day our walk ends with a little ride in the truck, with each one getting a little longer. I am pleased to report that the slobber volume has been reduced to a trickle. I'm far too realistic to assume it will stop completely. All this has been accomplished with lots of praise and patience and loads of treats. It appears he now looks forward to climbing in the truck. Anyway, on Friday, Linda, Max, and I got in the truck to take a visit to the vet. Linda and I were like proud parents as Max stood in the back and stuck his head over the front seats console to watch stuff. There was not a gag one. We were accepting of the moderate flow of drool during our little trip, but the bottom line was he did not throw-up. We drew blood, growled at the vet assistant, peed on the magazine rack (how embarrassing), and barked at a prissy cat that waltzed through the waiting area flaunting her authority--she's the vet's cat. The report was good. Max is negative for heartworm. We bought his Heartguard medicine and tackled the trip home, which went marvelously--lots of slobbering, but that's all. We considered Max as having a good doctor's visit. I must say I was much better behaved at my doctors visit. The magazine rack was left untagged. I've been having some tightness in my chest during my walks with Max. Big deal, a fifty-seven year old dude ought to have a little effect of a long walk. Only, the tightness has been occurring more frequently and has concerned me a little. So I went in to see my doc. I had a good visit. He talked with me awhile, listened to my ticker, said it sounded like a Timex, and had me take an EKG. For some silly reason he seems to think I'm a little stressed. He gave me a prescription for some anxiety medicine. I don't think they will help. I put them on the computer keyboard and they didn't work on even one of my assignments. What good are they? And then he gave me a prescription for nitroglycerin. Don't they blow buildings up with that stuff? Yup, same stuff! I feel I should have some one preceding me as I walk with a red light and a warning "Explosives Approaching!" So OK, I got the dang prescription. On our walk this morning, I got a little twinge of tightness so I thought I'd try the dang things. Hey, they work! Well, the bottom line is that I go in for a chest X-ray next week and then an appointment with my cardiologist. Who knows where that will lead. All I gotta say to them, is I've got meetings at my clients scheduled this month and somehow we've got to work around that--as ridiculous as that may sound. |
| Title: OK, Did I Go To Far? Date: May 31, 2006 Thoughts: Jog: OK, I've got to set this up. So hang in there with me. Many of you know that I serve on the Board of Directors of our Homeowners Association. In that capacity, we have to contact folks who violate our regulations. They are never happy about that. It is another authority in the chain of authority. However, the rules and regulations were there when they bought the house. It amazes me they seem to think they apply to someone else. One of our residents is a County Commissioner. Recently, he refused to move his boat out of his front yard. We sent him four letters asking for compliance. He ingored them. This was over a three month period. Our next step was to have the attorney write him a letter. He wrote three. The commissioner finally called the management office and basically said, "Do you know who I am?" "Doesn't matter, move your boat." Bottom line was he was fined and had to pay. Well this pissed him off. And so yesterday we received a letter on County Letterhead stating he was unhappy with us and will pay the dues because he has to...for now. And he also complained that we were lax on enforcement of violations. He said he could not wait untiil the state legislature removed all authority from HOAs. Well, it ticked me off. So, I wrote a letter of my own. So you tell me, did I go to far? June 1, 2006 John Mathews -------- Burleson, TX 76028 RE: Regulatory Responsibilities of the HOA Dear Commissioner Mathews, We appreciate Johnson County’s interest in the operation and enforcement of the Mountain Valley Country Club Estates Homeowners Association regulations. Similar to you, we are also concerned about the violations that occur in the development. Being a public official, you are aware of the restrictions to budget, administration, and enforcement that government and quasi-governments face. We assure you we are doing our best. As you are aware, we are not a police force and therefore we must follow a process to have violations satisfied. For example, as in the case of your boat, which had ____ separate contacts with our staff and our attorney, it simply takes time to resolve these issues. Sometimes it takes a matter of months, as you can attest. However, the process works, as you can see when you drive our community today, which has very few boats or trailers on the street. And, those that are there, well, we are working on them. In addition, since these people are our neighbors, we are understandingly reluctant to begin this process. For that reason we usually wait several days before the process is initiated. This often permits the violation to take care of itself. We wish we did not have to do this. We wish a select few of our membership did not ignore the regulations or determine the rules do not apply to them. However, we both know that will not happen. I’m sure you face this problem with the County. Thank you for advising us about the possibility of changes to state law that will further affect the operation and administration of HOAs. Whatever the future may provide, we are more than willing to work within its parameters, as we are now. We are not concerned with the ability or inability of HOAs to be involved in foreclosures. Our HOA does not foreclose on property. That is the purview of the banks and we are more than content to let them continue that function. We are confused however about your letter being on Johnson County Letterhead. We assume that is an official position of all the Commissioners and the Judge. Is Johnson County Commissioners Court officially taking the position you have provided? We can only assume that they have. Please, convey to them our desire to be a merit to Johnson County by the quality of development we strive to maintain. I am concerned, however, that since your letter focuses on your monetary commitment to the HOA and the possible change in that commitment at some time, that you have some interest in this as it pertains to your official capacity of County Commissioner. You must agree that we cannot adjust our procedures to your status as a commissioner. We are concerned that you may have violated a conflict of interest by sending this personal letter that deals with your personal finances on County letterhead. Perhaps you may wish to have the County Attorney provide an opinion so you may be clear on this matter for future occasions. Thank you for your comments. Please feel free to provide input at any time. Respectfully submitted Board of Directors Mountain Valley Country Club Estates HOA Copy: Roger Harmon, and County Commissioners Court Bill Moore, Johnson County Attorney |
| Title:Why Am I Telling You This? Date: May 28, 2006, Sunday Thought: I ignore the comments by folks appalled that we keep such a large dog in the house. Jog: Now, I want you to know right now I’m not a gushy, emotional, type of guy. I have never been a proponent of crying. I suppose I’m of the old school that real men don’t cry. Well, at least they don’t cry much, and when they do it’s a controlled leak. I have to admit that there have been a few movies that were real tear jerkers that yanked on me pretty hard. When that happens it’s usually pretty dark and Linda has succumbed to rampant leakage, so it’s usually pretty easy for me to fake through the moment. Many of you probably do not remember the movie “Brian’s Song.” It was a true story about Brian Piccolo and Gale Sayers. They were football players of considerable talent, especially Gale Sayers. Brian Piccolo had cancer and died at the peak of his career. This was the story about these two men’s marvelous relationship. At the end it was very moving. Well, it seems I watched that movie alone one afternoon. Linda was out grocery shopping. Just before she came home the most moving part of the movie occurred. I could not believe I was fighting the tears. My eyes moistened significantly; my nose began to sniffle. I thought, “Hey! Get a grip on yourself, Dan!” About that time Linda bopped into the house with a sack of groceries. She gave me this weird look. I was so busted! Well, it happened again tonight. However, this time it was not a movie. It was a book. Now, I’ve never..NEVER been moved to tears by a dang book. But this one did it. And Linda was sitting right across the room reading a book of her own. My eyes swelled up; my nose began to sniffle. So I did the only thing I could do; I said, “Damn, that tea just goes right through me. I’ll be back; gotta visit the john.” I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and visited the john. I recovered nicely. The world would have never known, except for my broadcast in this “jog.” What caused this unmanly lost of leakage control? Have you read John Grogan’s book Marley and Me? It’s a wonderful book about the relationship of a man, his wife, and their dog. I expected a simple little story that would be sort of cutesy. I was thoroughly captivated by the relationship of this dog with his people. It's a true story; it's well written and carries with it life lessons of enormous proportion. All through the book I found myself identifying with Marley the Lab, thinking, “Hey, that’s my Max the Lab!” I must admit, my Max is much more disciplined. But I fell in love with Marley and validated feelings for my own Max. I have solidly joined the ranks of the fervent dog owners. I’ve accepted the hair embedded in the carpet, dog drool on my suit pants placed there five minutes prior to my meeting, and pieces of dry dog food scattered over the house for later snacking. I’ve conceded that Max is truly a pain in the rear, but have also affirmed he is well worth it. I ignore the comments by folks appalled that we keep such a large dog in the house. This little book, Marley and Me, has certainly touched my heart and helped me gladly consider my relationship with my slobbery, cold nosed, lumbering, black canine. I will cherish him a little more because of this wonderful little story. If you haven’t read it, and if you are a dog-lover, you must treat yourself and read it. |
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