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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: Blinking Lights Date:May 24, 2006, Wednesday Thought: How in the world can the computer companies make any money if they made the print cartridges interchangeable? Jog: There are time when pretty blinking lights bring pleasure; like when they are on the Christmas tree or when they are the city spread below you as you look at them from a hillside. But they bring no such enjoyment when they are on the dashboard of your car; nope, that usually means trouble. Nor do they cause me to smile in awe as I gaze at my expensive color printer and watch the little red lights all blinking together. “Hmmmm, I think it’s trying to tell me something,” I ponder as I scratch my head and stare at the colorful sight. I know what to do. I reach for the handy manual that comes with the printer. I leaf through the pages until I come to the trouble-shooting section. I swear there are two pages of options as to what to do when different combinations of lights are flashing. I make my way to the end of the list and read, “All print cartridge lights flashing, Paper light flashing alternately, Green Power Light flashing.” “That’s it! “That’s what it’s doing!” I read on, eager to find the solution to my problem and continue with printing my job. My heart sinks. There is no solution—at least not one that will carry me on through my printing job. The solution in the manual says, “If this happens, you’re stuck! We can’t help you. You need to take the dang printer into the shop, where we can charge you $200 to tell you it’s broken. Then if you give us another $1,500 we might fix it!” I toss the useless manual into the corner of my office, missing the trash can. I will retrieve it later and determine whether or not to keep it. As luck would have it, and good American dollars, I have another printer hooked to my computer. It also is a color printer and can easily handle the half finished printing job. I redirect my printer que to the other printer, leaving the flashing lights blinking in the other room. I send the job to print. On my monitor the print menu pops up with a message; “Check your print cartridges!” Sure enough, the black cartridge is very low, the magenta is low, and the cyan is virtually out. I pull open the supply drawer that contains the color cartridges. There lies one lonely yellow cartridge. My second printer shuts down; I have no spare cartridges. In despair I know what I have to do. I must mortgage my house to get money to purchase those dang cartridges! It never ends. Now, I could just borrow the cartridges sitting unused in the color printer that’s blinking. Nope, they don’t fit. How in the world can the computer companies make any money if they made the print cartridges interchangeable? Although helpful and reasonable, that would not be profitable. No, I gotta buy twenty different cartridges for three different printers. So, I’ve decided to change my direction. From now on, my reports will be done in crayon. I can get a big box that has lots of colors. That ought to keep me busy since I had to print twenty copies of that report. |
| Title:Man of the Cloth Date: May 21, 2006, Sunday Thought: But now you know. Does it make a difference? Jog: Did I ever tell you I was a man of the cloth. Well, that’s not how we are known in the Southern Baptist church. We usually call our ministers Reverend. When you get to know the preacher really well it’s Brother Dan or Brother Boutwell. But, heck, everybody is brother so-in-so. We don’t do it so much anymore, but back before the 1960s it was quite common. Anyway, I’m an ordained minister. I actually pastored a church for several years in Oklahoma. I preached to a bunch of folks, ministered to them when they were hurting, married a bunch of ‘em, and buried more than I can count. We call it “filling the pulpit.” That’s what the pastor of a local Baptist church does; he fills the pulpit. For those years I preached three different sermons each week, missing a few for holidays and vacations. I loved being the pastor of First Baptist Church Carney. I believe I was supposed to be there. Filling the pulpit of a Southern Baptist Church is an interesting happening. Baptist churches are an independent lot. Although the Southern Baptist denomination is an international organization, it is totally governed by the local congregation. You see, all these local Baptist churches cooperate together and fund Home and Foreign ministries. No one can tell a local Baptist church what to do, what to preach, how much to contribute, any of that stuff. They choose their own pastor and get rid of them when it suits their fancy. Now, becoming a pastor of a local Baptist church is an interesting process. You see, we feel each pastor is actually called to that particular church by God. The local church committee interviews pastors and they determine if it’s the Lord’s will to call that pastor to the church. On the other side, the minister seeks to determine if it’s God’s will to be at that church. When both parties agree, you’re called. I left Carney to complete my education at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas, which by the way, is the largest protestant seminary in the world. To make a long story shorter, I did not finish my master’s there. Needing to feed my family, I changed degree programs to the University of Texas at Arlington and got a masters degree in Regional and City Planning. What about that call to the ministry? Did I abandon that? Nope, it’s just postponed. I will continue that ministry after I retire. I’ll find some small church who needs a pastor but is short on funds. You see, once called, well I believe you’re always called. Now, why in the world am I going into all this? Well, I got to thinking, “Would this surprise anyone here?” Some folks, like Winda, already know. Would folks say, “Geeze, by the way that guy acted, who’d ever think it?” As I look at my portfolio, I wonder if the material is a credit to my faith? The question always presents itself, “Are the things I say and do consistent with what I feel a Christian should be? Am I a liability or a benefit to what a Christian should be?” When someone looks at me do they say, “That’s what a Christian is!” Or do they scoff, “If that’s what a Christian is, I don’t want any part of it?” I got on this kick because I have posted a few of my sermons in my portfolio. Recently, several of them have been getting attention. It seems that for the longest time no one cared about them. But recently I’ve noticed that one or two of them will be read every day. I usually don’t come right out and tell folks, “Hey, by the way, I’m an ordained Baptist preacher.” I’m not ashamed of it, by any means. I just don’t broadcast it. I figured I’m me no matter what the labels say. I wouldn’t act any different; so, I just figured it wasn’t important. But now you know. Does it make a difference? Knowing you folks, I’d say not one little bit. |
| Title: A Little Help For My Friend Date: May 20, 2006, Saturday Thought: I thought I’d just help him out with a little list of rules for guys when they find themselves in the house alone for a week. Jog: Well, my friend David McClain seems to be having a difficult time of surviving without the companionship of his woman (now all you feminist don’t get all upset about that term…that’s the way we talk in Texas.) It further seems that the fella needs a refresher in “chest beating and walking in circles”, cause that’s what us real men do, except for ccstring who we’ve not yet found a classification…we’re still workin’ on it. So I thought I’d just help him out with a little list of rules for guys when they find themselves in the house alone for a week.Rule No. 1: JUST SNAP OUT OF IT! This is freedom! Realize this is opportunity knocking. Answer the dang door! Rule No. 2: DON’T WATCH ANY OF THAT DAYTIME TV! That stuff is full of subliminal suggestions. Before you know it Ophra will be your idol and you’ll be hooked on the Home and Garden Network where they tell you seven hundred ways to arrange your kitchen shelves. Dang it! You don’t need shelves! That’s what Wal-Mart gives you them sacks for to carry stuff…just set them on the floor! But stay away from that daytime TV. Rule No. 3: EAT OUT! You don’t have to eat healthy stuff when your woman’s away. Think about it—she ain’t! Heck she’s out spending money an’ lettin’ some guy rub her legs and clip her toenails. This is your opportunity to chow down on those Double Man-Buster Hamburgers down at the DQ—an' pizzas, you can eat the whole dang thing! An' you can even have them put them little dead fish on 'em. And if you really want to be wild, go over to SONIC and order two of them foot-long chili hot dogs--Gawd, I love it! Remember, eat out! Rule No. 4: WEAR ANY DANG THING YOU WANT! Since Mel isn’t there to dress you in the morning….it don’t matter. Your socks don’t have to match. Heck! you don't even have to wear the same shoe. For the hell of it try wearing one boot and one jogger. (Note: Don't..don't you dare wear one of them sissy flip-flops!!) You can wear any shirt you want to. No one’s there to ask sweetly, “Are you gonna really wear that?” You don’t have to then stand there like a deer caught in the headlights and think, “Geez, I thought I would….but what’s wrong with it?” There ain’t no such thing as wrong. What’d ya think this is HGTV’s “What Not To Wear?” It don’t matter, wear it! (Side note here…us man types draw the line at wearing Mel’s clothes…don’t do that or we will revoke your “Chest-beatin’/Walkin’ In Circles” card.) Rule No. 5: DON’T CLEAN HOUSE! The really thoughtful male will not wash a dish or pick up any clothes while the woman is away. In fact, it’s your responsibility to practice this in every room. She’ll thank you for it when she gets home. This is your little way of giving her something to do with her time after she gets home. Being away doing all kinds of exciting stuff, without you, her life will be boring when she gets back. Show her you really care! Give her something to do with her idle time. Don’t clean house Now, I will not go into further rules, although there are many. I will stop at these five, because some woman here in WDC has ingrained that into us. And true to our gender, I always do what I’m told to do. But, Tor, buddy, I want you to know that I’m here for you. If’n you panic and turn on daytime TV or have the urge to clean house, just call me on the hotline. Remember, we're here to help you, buddy. (except for CC, we're not real sure where CC is?) |
| Title: A Formula for Happy Date: May 18, 2006, Thursday Thought: It’s kinda like Texas chili, there’s a million ways to make the stuff. Jog: I’m looking for a formula for ‘happy.’ I know that isn’t proper English; it ought to be ‘happiness.’ But, I’m not looking for happiness; I’m just lookin’ for happy. I thought I’d tell you the difference between the two, but I discovered I wasn’t too sure other than one is a noun and the other is an adjective. In any case, I want to be happy, and that’s what I want the formula for. So, what are the ingredients for happy? I’m not sure of the measurements but I think the ingredients include a healthy portion of acceptance, compassion, confidence, generosity, humility, and passion. Strange mixture isn’t it? I dare say there is more than one formula for ‘happy.’ It’s kinda like Texas chili, there’s a million ways to make the stuff. So, what about my formula? Remember, I’m not sure what the measurements are, but any good recipe for ‘happy’ has got to have a substantial portion of acceptance. I don’t know anyone who is truly happy who is also narrow minded and unforgiving. They may think they are, but I’ve gotta think they have not realized what good chili tastes like…or rather ‘good happy.” We have to “lower the shields, Ensign Chekov” if we are going to come into contact with the world. To live our lives totally guarded must be a tremendously frustrating experience. Every now and then we’ve got to trust someone else, even though we run the risk of being hurt. Mix into our ‘happy’ formula a portion of compassion. That’s nothing else than realizing what it means to walk in the other persons shoes. How does the old saying go? “I was angry because I had no shoes, but then I saw a man who had no feet.” How can we be happy with our own condition if we do not care about our brother’s condition. When I take the angel off of the Christmas tree and purchase the simple items for the name written thereon, it makes me feel good—not because of what I have done, but because of the thought some one is being helped to be happier with that little gesture. The season for my happy concoction will be confidence and generosity, for I don’t see how a body can be happy when it is scared and frightened. Now, that does not mean we are careless, frivolous or flighty. Nope, I must be content with who I am and trust in my own abilities. Confidence helps us hold our head high, chest out, and unafraid to take the next step. Generosity, lets me share what I have. That leaves humility and passion—powerful ingredients no doubt. Humility is not having to have the last word in an argument, saying you are sorry when you know you were the one wronged, and gladly doing without so someone else may have. Humility must be practiced to get it right, for the world around us tends to make us selfish. It is a precious ingredient that gives our ‘happy’ experience substance. And passion, well passion makes us human. Passion folds all the emotions of human experience into sweet nectar. Passion makes us seek for more than what we are, feel deeper than we thought we could feel, and give out of the overflow of our emotions. It is the foundation of our love for all things. However, passion is not to be mistaken with lust, nope that’s another cake, altogether. Notice materialism, money or possessions are not listed ingredients. That is no mistake, for they are not necessary for ‘happy’. Unfortunately, there are scores of people who think that kind of stuff must be added into the mix to get happy. Look closely, those people are not really happy. Anyway, mix all these things up and you get one man’s formula for ‘happy’—mine. Surely, you have your own formula. But, if you wish, you can use mine. That would make me happy. |
| Title: It's Good to Finish Date: May 17, 2006, Wednesday Thought: I have found it is dangerously easy to get caught up in the efforts to run the race and lose track of the finish line. Jog: Imagine you are a runner. The gun goes off and you start the race. Around the track you go. You race against the guy in the next lane; you race against the clock. Your goal is to cross the finish line first. But for some reason it never seems to get any closer. After a while you lose the will to win; you forget about the guy in the next lane and even the clock. You just want to finish the dang race. Where in the world is that finish line? Every task we approach should have three elements: a start, a body, and a finish. That is the way it is with my assignments at work. It is easy to define the beginning. That is recognized when we sign the contract. At that point all assignments are good; their prospects are promising and we are on schedule. The actual efforts expended to fulfill the scope of work is the race. I have found it is dangerously easy to get caught up in the efforts to run the race and lose track of the finish line. Some of us don't know how to finish the race. When that happens on one of my assignments, we lose money. It seems, with all the effort expended, the final product would be better. That is not always the case. Often the project comes out less than what it should be--overworked and still incomplete. That's why I always stress recognizing the finish line and crossing the dang thing. I finished a project last night. With the final vote of the City Council, Royse City adopted a new zoning ordinance and map. This established new zoning regulations on property, and, in many cases, changed the way land could be used. Needless to say, there were some people in the community who were not happy. This is, after all, Texas, and a man ought to be able to do what he dang well pleases with his own land...even if it is careless and a detriment to his neighbor. There were threats to sue, promises that this action will be remembered at the next election, and questions about who the heck is that dang planner guy anyway? "Who the hell does he think he is?" But that's how these assignments sometimes finish. Rarely is everyone happy. Sometimes they are; but not often. The reward comes as time passes. As land develops according to the plan and the regulations, you see a physical change in the face of the city. Things look better, values increase, the market responds with new quality growth. Years later, folks are happy with the way their town looks. Only thing is they forget who that dang planner was who helped them with the plan and the regulations. But, I remember. I see new roads located where they should be, shopping centers with landscaping and attractive sites, neighborhoods configured with parks and walking spaces and well maintained amenities. I see those things and remember the day it began. The effort expended on the assignment seems insignificant then. The fact that the assignment was finished well is evident in the product produced over time. It's good to finish. I have used my vocation to emphasize my point about finishing the job. It is applicable to everything we do. How many unfinished stories, articles, and books do we have in our portfolios? It seems that in many of those I have resigned myself to just continuing to run the race. It gets frustrating to continue with another lap around the track. Why don't I just finish it? Well, oftentimes I lose track of where the finish line is. I must stop and ask myself, "What do I want this piece to be?" If it is just a fun piece to satisfy my urge to write, I must conclude it and place it in my portfolio for safekeeping. If it is to be read by others, I must get it published...somehow. It will never be finished if I don't get it published...somehow. Look at the projects you have going. How many of them are unfinished? Which ones are important enough to finish? I ask myself, "If it was important enough to begin and has had significant investment in time to create, what must I do to see it finished? Hmmm...I wonder what my answer is? |
| Title: Important Stuff Date: May 15, 2006, Monday Thought: Life is full of important stuff. I got it happening all around me. Jog: Have you got some important stuff to do today? Think about that. What is it in your life at this moment that is important? Deadlines—deadlines are important. I have half-a-dozen city-clients who have critical deadlines looming on the horizon. These are important because they pay the bills. The decisions made as a result of these deadlines will affect how millions of dollars are spent. Some folks will welcome these decisions some will be pissed-off. Some of them will even get attorneys to sue us. Now, you’re talking sucking sounds as far as money goes when the attorneys get in the mix. All that stuff is important stuff. My house payment is due on both houses. That’s important. Gotta make those, cause if I don’t Linda, me, and the big black dog will be out on the streets. And my youngest child, who lives in the other house, will be explaining to his wife why mom and dad lost the house and they are now living in their car, which is not going to happen since we only owe twelve months on the silly thing and it’s totally paid off. Well, we don’t have to worry about making the house payments. But, you gotta admit it’s important stuff. I am invested in the stock market. I opened my on-line broker account this morning and found the Dow down -5.5, the NYSE down -53.63, the AMEX down -39.01, the S&P 500 down -2.01, and the NASDAQ down -5.73. Now, that’s important for several reasons. First, it shows uncertainty in the market-place, which is never good for the economy. Second, it has an impact on my personal investments, since the tide raises and drops all ships. Fortunately my little portfolio is making money today. That is obviously important. A friend of ours has a son who is in the hospital in the final stages of cancer. He will not leave the hospital alive. They are good people, who are strong in their faith and very much loved. When I consider the things happening in their lives, all the important stuff in my own pales in comparison. That is obviously very important. Tonight Linda and I will be eating out, as usual. We must decide on where to eat. Our choice is important. Do we eat at Antonio’s (Mexican), Logan’s (steaks), Sammy’s (Italian), Tai Pan (Chinese), or Fire Mountain (all you can eat buffet)? That is important stuff that will need to be addressed later. Life is full of important stuff. I got it happening all around me. My day is ordered around which important stuff has the highest priority, which changes depending on how critical the important stuff becomes. I suppose that is what life is all about—having to do important stuff. A little side note here—I’ve notice that the stuff that is important to my eight-year-old grandson is not the same as what is important to me. But he is important to me, so therefore his stuff is too. I started thinking about important stuff this morning as Max and I were taking his morning walk, which by the way is very important stuff to Max. I sat on a bench on the other side of the lake (really a big pond) and watched the ducks carry on with their morning ritual. It was a cool and gorgeous morning this morning. Other people were rushing down the highways in rush-hour traffic, clocking into the time clocks, sitting behind their desks drinking the first cup of coffee of the day, or riding with the work crew to some construction site. I was sitting on a bench at the lake, watching the ducks with my dog. I came to the conclusion that all that other stuff was certainly important, but spending that time at the lake, with my dog and the ducks, well, that was the truly important stuff of life. I said a little prayer, “Lord, thank you for putting me here and letting me be.” |
| Title: I Think I Remember How To Do This Date: May 11, 2006, Thursday Thought: All I really want all of those of you who visit my JOG to know is that, I MISS YA! Jog: Honestly, folks, I've found that I can't do all the writing I want, get the two books I'm working on ready, read and review, and keep up with my blog on any regular basis. Something's gotta suffer. Lately it has been the blog (or JOG as I have deemed it more appropriately.) Our billings have been off recently. The main reason is because I've been occupied with too many other projects. I have five main projects that demand my time. 1. The office...I've still got clients that for some reason expect me to be productive. Now, how unreasonable is that? 2. Church activities...now, not just the attendance to the services, but all the committees--the Deacon board, the Building Committee, the Property Committee, teaching a Bible study class 3. Homeowner's Association Board...being on the board of directors in a growing and very active homeowner's association is becoming a full-time job in itself 4. Rotary Club...I'm the current president and we are in the middle of the Scholarship Selection for nine scholarships that we award...plus all the other stuff. 5. Writing...I am finishing two books: one fiction and one non-fiction. Across the River has been accepted by BookLocker for publication as an ebook. Now this isn't a big deal since it is a POD publisher. However, they tell me they screen the books they use and only 30% are selected. I don't know if that is just hype or the honest truth. Anyway, Across the River should be published by September. I'm just about to submit "The Day the Towers Fell". Anyhow, that's what I've been doin. All I really want all of those of you who visit my JOG to know is that, I MISS YA! Perhaps things will slow down after I serve my term as president of Rotary, the dang church building is built, and the books published.....naw, I'll just find something else. God bless all of you...see you next entry, whenever that is! |
| Title: Accomplishing Stuff Date: May 4, 2006, Thursday Thought: I’m a hard-core hoarder. I come from a long line of hoarders. I can hoard nuts with the best of them. Jog: Our Christian work ethic, matters not if you are Christian or not this is the way it is in the good ole USA, hangs like an Albatross around our neck. We are a nation of achievers. For eons, it seems, we have been driven by the standard that to work and produce is good and to not do so is bad. A well known fable, that emphasizes this, is of squirrels storing away nuts for the winter. It’s good to hoard nuts and bad to play when you could be hoarding. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a hard-core hoarder. I come from a long line of hoarders. I can hoard nuts with the best of them. In fact that’s what I’ve been doing today—hoarding away. I got stuff accomplished today—that’s good. And I find no fault with this except for the fact that, for some reason, all this hoarding is a little irritating. Why should I feel guilty when I’m not actively hoarding. If I frolic under the tree, I feel guilty for frolicking. The other squirrels expect me to be hoarding. Sometimes, I just don’t feel like hoarding. I wanna frolic. I remember when my father worked in Venezuela. South of the boarder has a very different viewpoint on hoarding nuts. The Gringos, that’s us Americans, got up early and worked like the dickens all day long until our heads hit the pillow in the evening. The Venezuelans were much more reasonable, although not very efficient hoarders. They would stop work sometime around noon and go home for siesta. Then sometime around 4:00 pm they would open back up and work until 7:00 pm. The evening meal would not begin until around 8:00 pm or 9:00 pm and would last two hours, which usually involved some degree of frolicking. Now, I noticed that the value of nuts was not as important to them as to the hoarding Gringos. But yet, amazingly, they were a happy people. I guess the old Spanish moral is true: “All hoarding and no frolicking makes Jose a dull hombre.” Now, I am quite satisfied with myself today. I hoarded like crazy and got stuff done. But something in my mind tells me I should have hoarded a little longer, regardless of the fact that I’ve got a hoarding meeting tonight at the City of Royse City. I’m still pleased with myself for my hoarding accomplishment today. But, sometimes I wish we could move Texas south of the equator where hoarding is a little less important. |
| Title: OK, Now What Do I Do? Date: May 2, 2006, Tuesday Thought: I want to thank all of you for your help in filling out the survey. Jog: First of all, this is my second attempt at this entry. My first try was last night. I had the dang thing finished and wanted to go over to my port and check something out before I posted. You guessed it, I didn't open in a separate page and zapped the entry. The instant I did it I knew what I did. Geez, that irritates me. I just turned my computer off and said, "Later!" Well, now is "later." I reached a milestone last night and was very pleased with myself. As many of you know, I've been collecting responses to a survey regarding the 911 tragedy ("Invalid Item"  ). My goal was to get one-hundred responses before I finished the text. I want to have the book written before the fifth anniversary of the collapse of the Twin Towers. By the way, I want to thank all of you for your help in filling out the survey.Well, last night, number one-hundred turned in their response. I smiled. I'm past the first hurdle. All I need to do now is finish the thing. I'll be working on that in my spare "spare" time. I want to especially thank David McClain for actually sponsoring this for a time. In fact, it was that effort that caused my last act of desperation. I dedicated 100,000 gift points to sponsor the item for this weekend. It worked, I received 142 views in two days and got the last twenty-five responses, with the last one being last night. "Thank You!" to everybody who helped.And, if you didn't help earlier, you can still do something--buy the book when it comes out. |
| Title: Welcome to America Date: April 30, 2006, Sunday Thought: We are being asked to ignore the system of legal immigration. Jog: They call it civil disobedience. That’s were its OK to break the law if you think it’s a really bad law. Gandhi did it. Martin Luther King did it; and others have done it in the past. Sometimes it’s the only alternative left. It’s a very brave thing to do. You must be willing to face the consequences of breaking the law, for even though it is a bad law; it is, in fact, the law. On May first, Hispanics have determined to exercise a form of civil disobedience. In mass they will refuse to show up for work; refrain from purchasing any goods or products; and empty the schools across this nation. No laws will be broken by this act. But it will be done at the expense of the rest of us. I fully support the courage it takes to stand up and be counted for a cause. My problem in this instance is defining the cause. We are being asked to ignore the system of legal immigration. For years our country has said, “Come to our shores and be counted with us. Work with us and share in the opportunity to prosper. We welcome you to this land.” But, there is a way to do it. All that is asked is that they come through the system of legal immigration. I have attended college with men and women who have faced great challenges in coming to our country to get an education and to work here. They struggled with the language, learning English so they could understand the professors. They earned my deep respect, for I struggled through the courses and I knew the language, at least reasonably well. I’ve worked beside men and women who have come from troubled lands where to remain there would be to do so under threat of grievous consequences. But they came here first as guests and then later as fellow citizens. Many of these people waited for years as the system processed their case. They paid the price and earned the right to be here. On Monday we will be asked to support recognition of those who have come here illegally, those who have sneaked across the border in the dark of night, infiltrated our system and claimed the right to be here. To do this would be to ignore our laws. To do this would be to turn our backs on those who have waited in line for years for the opportunity that the illegal immigrant demands as a right. I will not deal with the impact that the Hispanic illegals have on our economy. I will not discuss the argument of how cheap labor has taken jobs that legals would have been able to do. I don’t intend to discuss whether or not anyone else will do the jobs. Those are discussions that will be argued for years to come. I only concern myself with the principle of earning the right to be called an American. It seems to me, there are a few things that one must do if they wish to be counted among our number. First, you must be willing to speak the language. We do not have an official language of this land. But for generations upon generations we have spoken English. Our laws were written in that language. We do not ask anyone to forsake the language of their birth or their heritage. When we sing our National Anthem, we sing it in English--at least we used to. We ask only that you embrace our American heritage and at least learn the language. Is that too much to ask? When you come to our land, you will notice our flag, the Stars and Stripes, flies above our government buildings. A great price in blood has been paid so we can fly that flag there. When you come to be counted among us, we ask that you respect that flag. We do not ask that you dishonor any other flag. But we ask that you become an American. Flooding the streets waving the Mexican flag is not how this is done. Let the flags of other nations fly proudly next to ours, but recognize that when you are in our land, that one, Old Glory, is OUR flag! I don’t know how successful this day of protest will be. There are some who will support this because it fits with their political agenda. They don’t seem to care about or even consider the fact that our borders must be respected. Unfortunately, I see this act as an opportunity for kids across the Border States to skip school and workers to get another day off. No doubt there are those who feel deeply about this and are greatly committed to the cause, but I won’t be counted among them. I open my arms to any and all immigrants who come to this land legally. Why must I also welcome those who do it illegally? |
| Title: Going to the Well Date: April 28, 2006, Friday Thought: And so, sometimes when I write, I do it haphazardly. I just haul water, not knowing what will come out Jog: You’ve sat before a blank sheet of paper and wondered, “What in the world will I write on this barren surface?” I know you have, because I can’t be the only one—the odds are too great. I face that little problem on a regular basis. It happens in my work as well as in my writing endeavors. As I look at the blank page it grows; it challenges me; mocks me, “Go ahead! Write something—anything!” What do you do when you face this blank sheet bully? Really, there are only few options available to you. You can ignore it; do something else; tell it you don’t care and didn’t want to write anyway. You and I both know that’s a lie, maybe just a little one, but a lie just the same. You could assert yourself; after all, it’s just a little piece of paper. Boldly grab it with your hand and wad it into a little ball; then toss it into the trash can and say, “Two points!” as it bounces off the rim and into the trash. Do this enough times and you may be drafted by the Dallas Mavericks; but you won’t get much writing done. Your third option and I’m sure there may be others, will be to go to the well. Surely you realize this is a figure of speech; but what does it mean? The basic sources of life are food, water, and air. There are certainly a bunch of other things that are important, but the very basic are these three. When man decided to stop following his food around and decided to grow it instead, he located near water. Eventually, he discovered that below the surface was a reservoir of water that existed even in the driest of lands. Communities were built around these wells, near the source of life—water. When the early pioneers of this nation settled the wilderness, the first thing they did was locate water. They erected temporary shelter and dug a well. Every day, it was someone’s chore to go to the well and get water. They would drop the bucket and listen for the familiar sploosh as it hit the water. Then they would draw the bucket heavy with the cool liquid. In times of severe drought, the well was sometimes dry, but not often. There was always the promise of water at the well. But you had to work to get it out. You had to make the trek to the well, drop the bucket, draw it to the surface, and haul it back to the cabin. There was no other way to get it. And so it is, when I approach the sterile, blank page. I can stare at it all day long and no words will appear. I can wad it up and throw it away, but no words will be written on it. Nope, not until I go to the well will there be anything placed upon the page. I’ve got to throw the bucket in and draw it out. And so, sometimes when I write, I do it haphazardly. I just haul water, not knowing what will come out. Often times it is more important simply to get something on the page than to worry about what it says or how it’s written. Perhaps this analogy is a little lame—maybe. But, I know of no other way to produce written words arranged in an intelligible manner, other than going to the well—again and again. |
| Title: “Focus:” the Elusive Attribute Date: April 26, 2006, Wednesday Thought: Unfortunately, we can’t focus on everything at the same time. Jog: I think I’m “focus-challenged.” That is the politically correct way of saying “burned out.” I’ve got tons of projects to do and I just can’t seem to focus on them for any great length of time. And that is exactly what I need to be doing. Recently, I’ve been working as many hours as I can on my business. Well, that’s not completely true. I’ve been busy doing stuff, but I’m not sure how productive it has been. My psychologist buddy tells me I need to take a break. But he says I need to take off about three months. THREE MONTHS!!! I ain’t never been gone from work for more than a week. I’m afraid three months would feel like a sentence to me. I’d be doin’ time. But, I know he’s right. Shoot, that’s what he does for a livin’—you know, tell people what to do. So, since he and I both know that a snowball has a better chance in Hades than I have of taking off THREE MONTHS, there has to be another way. Fortunately, we are headin’ into the summer months. That’s when we are supposed to take vacations. Now, I’m not right sure about what that is. I heard tell that some folks take one every year. Heck, after ten years, my company gives the employee three weeks off every year. So, I’m gonna ‘bite the bullet” and take off one whole week. Now, what was I talking about? Focus! That’s right focus—that’s nothing but disciplined devotion to a single project or subject. We ought to be able to focus on a multitude of things. Unfortunately, we can’t focus on everything at the same time. We can be aware of all those other things, but we can only truly focus on one thing at a time. When my boys were little, I worked a lot and went to school in the evenings. My children thought all daddies went to school at night. Anyway, even then, when they approached me with something that they had on their little minds, I would discard all the other junk and focus on them. Focusing is hard. Dallas is playing in the playoffs; it’s the fourth quarter with two minutes to go; Dallas has the ball on the ten yard line. It’s at this time Linda walks into the room and asks me about the color we need to paint the kitchen. Heck! At the moment I wasn’t even aware we had a kitchen! Shoot, I’m not real sure I recognized her! Now, Linda expects me to focus on her. I know I said those vows that committed us to each other. But, heck, that’s not fair! Do I interrupt her focus when she’s watching Desperado Housewives? Nope, wouldn’t think of it. Nope, that would be dangerous and I’m simply not that brave. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, focus—my mind has had a very difficult time being disciplined and dealing with one topic. Proof of that is the fact I’m supposed to be doing something else right now. I didn’t forget it. Nope, I just don’t want to do it. That’s not somewhere I wish to focus. I’ve determined that I will have a little conference with myself and call me on the carpet. I’ll tell me that if I don’t straighten up my arse is out of here. But then I’ll just stand up to me and say, defiantly, “I can’t fire me. I quit!!” That’ll show me. Now, where was I…..? |
| Title: Can’t We All Just Get Along? Date: April 24, 2006, Monday Thought: Hollywood and the Western romance novels have portrayed much about the honor code of the Old West. Jog: Well, no, we can’t. I wish we could just all get along. Hey, I want to just get along; but the sad fact is we can’t. As long has we humans are thinking, reasoning, acting, selfish people, we will never be able to just get along. I don’t care how much you want it; it just won’t happen. So, therefore, we must deal with the occasions when we don’t just get along. There are lots of ways to deal with this situation. 1) We can ignore it and maybe it will go away. This does not work with human nature any more than it does with cancer. Ignore a bully and he sees it as weakness. 2) We can talk about it and learn to understand it. Well, that is very insightful and educational; but rarely does it change anything—much less silence the bully. 3) We can pre-empt the bully’s actions and strike first. Now this is my personal favorite. This action stops the problem before it is a problem. Unfortunately, this is very unpopular. Often it may seem harsh and even unfair. If you suspect a dog is rabid and he is attacking your property and family and you kill the vicious dog, you have protected your interests and the lives of your loved ones. However, I guarantee someone will proclaim you should have waited to be absolutely sure the dog was rabid and a danger to your family. And just how do I do that; well, let it bite my child. Now, that would be proof positive. The problem is I now have a bitten child and still have a rabid dog. Hollywood and the Western romance novels have portrayed much about the honor code of the Wild West. Values and virtues of the ‘good guy’ have evolved through folk lore and legends. The good guy always wears white hats. He is polite to women, children, and dogs. His horse is his best friend. And, he never draws first; that’s the ‘bad guy’s’ job. Well, through my research, I’ve learned a few things. The ‘good guy’ sometimes wears a black hat. It has nothing to do with good or bad but everything to do with taste in hats. In the Wild West, the good guy was certainly polite to women, children, and dogs; but in most cases so were the ‘bad guys.’ His horse wasn’t his best friend; it was his transportation. And the ‘good guys’ rarely let the ‘bad guys’ draw first, not if they could help it. Doing that caused a severe shortage of ‘good guys.’ What has prompted my particularly personal attention to the Code of the Wild West is the simple phrase, “Can’t we all just get along?” The homeowner’s association, of the planned community in which Linda and I live, is comprised of hundreds of people. We all contribute equally to the financial maintenance of our common areas, which are extensive (see http://mvccestates.com ). A number of the residents insist on ignoring the rules. They drive their 4-wheelers and motorcycles on the green areas, they trash the lakes, they vandalize the facilities and deface the signs, and then they complain when they are corrected regarding these issues. Why can’t we just get along? Why can’t we just follow the rules? I don’t know; but, I’m thinking about strappin’ on a six-gun, getting’ me a white hat, and the next time a 4-wheeler pops up over our walking trail—shoot first and ask questions later. Of course, I won’t do that. No, I will just wistfully dream about the days of the Wild West and try to find another way. But, that is still my personal favorite. |
| Title: Attending to Important Things Date: April 23, 2006, Sunday Thought: Jog: Of course, that’s what I’m doing right now, attending to important things. It is curious how we assign priority or importance to the things we do. You know of course, the two are not necessarily the same: priority and importance. In fact priority and importance are somewhat nebulous. The edges are gray, not black and white. It’s kinda like my A.M. radio station when I’m traveling to a distant client; it fades in and out. The things I do in the present are not always important. At least some folks would not consider them as being important--writing in my blog, reading my friend's stuff on WDC, walking my dog, writing on my stories and stuff. In the scheme of human events these are rather mundane. The guy next door could care less about my blog; he doesn’t even know my WDC friends (that’s his loss), I’m not sure he even likes my dog, and I’m not really sure he even knows how to read the stories I write. To him those things are not important. If you ask him what the important things in my life are, I imagine he would say my job, the bills, my health, my family, and generally stuff like that. He is right, of course. Those things are important. But, we humans live in a complex world. We are not like dogs, who live in the present. Nope, we live in the past and the future at the same moment we are experiencing the present. Importance in my life is often shaded by the future. My job is important to me now because I think it would be nice to have a place to live tomorrow and the day after that. And although my past is, well, passed, the things I do right now also have a flavor of what I did back then. I remember stuff and make decisions on my today because of what happened in my yesterday. In that sense, what happened yesterday is important. I’ve got a list of stuff to do. So do you. I should write the dang thing on a scroll, because that’s the only way I’m gonna get it on one page. I usually like to list the things on that list in order of priority. Let me say that’s always a dismal failure. As I go through the list I think of something else that should be there. And, of course, it should be at the top of the list because it is important. I re-write the dang list. Halfway through the re-write I think of something else that should be at the top of the list—another re-write. Now, I complete this masterpiece of potential activity, usually quite pleased with myself at this accomplishment. It only takes one phone call from a client or a friend or even a stranger to disrupt my brilliant list and create complete chaos. Importance shifts with my priorities. So, I’ve given up the dang list. It’s only depressing anyway. There is no way on earth that I can do all that stuff, much less keep it organized. (You know, of course, it is in my very being to try) I’ve come to the conclusion that I will redefine importance. Importance will now be defined by my dog. To my dog, Max, the important thing in his life is what he is doing right now. He thinks no further than that. To him the important thing right now is sleeping at the foot of our stairs near the front door. In about fifteen minutes, the important thing in his life will be his walk with me. I’ve got to be able to do that. In fifteen minutes, when Max is concentrating on our walk, I am afraid I will be concentrating on the zoning ordinance for Royse City, or the new contract for Mineola, or the blasted insurance company that raised the employee insurance to a zillion dollars. Now, I ask you. What should be important to me in about fifteen minutes, my trek around the park with Max or all that other stuff? I suppose that’s a ‘no-brainer.” |
| Title: The Chili Contest Date: April 20, 2006, Thursday Thought: Thanks to the annonymous soul who wrote this. Whoever you are, you brightened my day. Jog: I have a policy in my 'jog' to try and keep my entries original with me. I rarely post someone else's stuff. I will often leave a link to it or refer to it, but rarely do I just drop it in here. But, today is an exception. The editor of our Rotary Club found this little story; I thought you might enjoy it. If you have ever attended a chili contest in Texas you will realize that there is a great deal of truth in the story. By the way, you will notice I have changed the names of the participants. I thought it was a nice touch. ********** (As told by CC--a Yankee) Recently I was honored to be selected as an outstanding famous Celebrity in Texas, to be a judge at a chili cookoff, because no one else wanted to do it. Also the original person called in sick at the last moment, and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking directions to the beer wagon when the call came. I was assured by the other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy, and besides they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted. Here are the scorecards from the event: Chili # 1: Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili JUDGE ONE (Tor): A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick. JUDGE TWO (Dan): Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild. CC: Holy smokes, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway with it. Took me two beers to put the flames out. Hope that's the worst one. These hicks are crazy. Chili # 2: Arthur's Afterburner Chili JUDGE ONE (Tor): Smoky (barbecue?) with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang. JUDGE TWO (Dan): Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously. CC: Keep this out of reach of children! I'm not sure what I am supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. Shoved my way to the front of the beer line. Chili # 3: Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili JUDGE ONE (Tor): Excellent firehouse chili! Great kick. Needs more beans. JUDGE TWO (Dan): A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of red peppers. CC: This has got to be a joke. Call the EPA, I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now and got out of my way so I could make it to the beer wagon. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. Chili # 4: Bubba's Black Magic JUDGE ONE (Tor): Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing. JUDGE TWO (Dan): Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili. CC: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me with fresh refills so I wouldn't have to dash over to see her. Chili # 5: Linda's Legal Lip Remover JUDGE ONE (Tor): Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive. JUDGE TWO (Dan): Chili using shredded beef; could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement. CC: My ears are ringing, and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed hurt when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. Sort of irritates me that one of the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Chili # 6: Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety JUDGE ONE (Tor): Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spice and peppers. JUDGE TWO (Dan): The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb. CC: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous flames. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except Sally the barmaid. Chili # 7: Susan's Screaming Sensation Chili JUDGE ONE (Tor): A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers. JUDGE TWO (Dan): Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef threw in canned chili peppers at the last moment. I should note that I am worried about Judge Number 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress. CC: You could put a grenade in my mouth and pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel it. I've lost the sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My clothes are covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth at some point. Good! At autopsy they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing, it's too painful, and I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach. Chili # 8: Helen's Mount Saint Chili JUDGE ONE (Tor): A perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili, safe for all, not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence. JUDGE TWO (Dan): This final entry is a good, balanced chili, neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 fell and pulled the chili pot on top of himself. CC: -------(editor's note: Judge #3 was unable to report) ************ Thanks to the annonymous soul who wrote this. Whoever you are, you brightened my day. |
| Title: My Kind of Night Date: April 19, 2006, Wednesday Thought: The sound of the beating rain and the splashes as each drop pelted the water covered streets brought smiles to my face. Jog: In the distance I hear rumbling. It creeps slowly towards me. The sky lightens as lightning flashes in the distance. It’s too far to see the lightning yet. I see only the brightened sky as the reflections are filtered by the thick cloud cover. In a moment spatters of raindrops will slowly dot the concrete in front of my house. I see a lightening flash….I count…one-thousand-one; one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three, one-thousand-four, one-thousand-five…the thunder rolls. I calculate…one mile. The storm is a mile from me. It will be here shortly. Even as a child I loved the storms. I would count between flash and thunder and marvel at my knowledge of where the storm was. Others would shrink into the house to wait out the chaos of the storm. I would watch it in wonder. The sound of the beating rain and the splashes as each drop pelted the water covered streets brought smiles to my face. I loved to see the rain caught in the violence of the wind and blow sideways in sheets against the house. The water would flood the street. Most of the cars in the street would slow as they plowed through the high water. But occasionally, a driver would speed through the street sending a cascade of water sheeting into our yard. As a mature adult I lay in my bed listening to the thunder, looking for the reflection of the lightening off of the clouds so that I can count….one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two. It’s remarkable that we grow older, but in some ways we never grow up. I’m eight years old again, waiting in anticipation for the storm to arrive. |
| Title: Snapshot of the Mind of a Consultant Date: April 18,2006 Thought: Jog You only have twenty-four little hours to complete one day. A good portion of them, six or less as in my case, are spent in the unconscience state of slumber, leaving eighteen. I have read accounts by others of studies that tell us exactly what and how we spend our day. I don't intend on doing that now, maybe some time later. It is good enough to assume when I finish eating, grooming, and spending the filler moments between activities I have twelve to fourteen hours to be productive in some manner. That is the promise of the day, that it will give me those few hours to do something. Recently, my few 'fourteen' have been consumed with projects that are both personal and vocational. They have snatched the few moments I have been spending on WDC and squandered them on those other things. I'll not bore you with a listing of those activities. Just know that I've not been sitting on my hands watching the flowers grow. But, that's just the problem. I'd like a little 'flower growing watching time'--not a lot, just a little. It seems like I am the victim of my own passion. I love to do things. I love to have projects going. As a consultant, I have learned to work on multiple projects long before multi-tasking was a buzz-word. I'm not sure I'd be happy without things going on. As a consultant, I have one product to sell my client--my time. I measure it out and sell it by the minute. That means every moment of the day has a value in dollars. My few fourteen are valued at about three dollars per minute. Unfortunately, I don't get to charge for all my minutes. Most of them are spent on all that other stuff I do. I try to spend a minumum of six of those fouteen hours as productive, billable time. That's the only way I can provide for food and shelter. This morning I've spent an hour-and-a-half letting the dog out, playing with the silly thing, and reading & and writing in WDC, that amounts to about $270 that I need to bill to myself. I'll likely spend a few more on here, take the silly dog on a 45 min. walk, eat and groom before I sit down to serious 'office business'. Those moments will be valued at about $330. So that means, I've spent $600 this morning on doing the 'other stuff.' I'll spend four hours this morning working on a project. That will produce $720 to put in the bank. Lunchtime will be valued at about $180. But, since I will also take my client to lunch I must add the cost of lunch, so it will be more around $215. We will travel, my client and I, to a nearby city for a 2:00pm meeting. By the time I am back in my office I will have earn another $450 on him. I will then switch projects and work on a different city for the rest of the day and the early evening--about $500 worth of my few fourteen hours. The rest of my evening, which is worth about $70, will be spent on my other stuff. Each day is different. Some of them are spent totally on things other than my clients--you know administrtive or 'overhead' stuff. But this is typical of my day--put into dollars. Now, this whole blog may seem a little materialistic--you know, talking about money. But that's how the consultant sees his day. Every minute is a dollar. Either I get to bill it to a client or I bill it to myself. I'd much rather bill the client, that's a lot more profitable. |
| Title: Something for Everyone Date: April 4, 2006 Thought: The concepts and ideas our founding fathers agreed to in those early days were mightier than the social mores of that age. Jog: We have a great sense of fairness in this land of ours. I would like to think it is part of the fabric that makes our country great. You know, the sense that “all men are created equal.” That verse quoted from the US Declaration of Independence has come to be interpreted as every person is entitled to his share of prosperity, which has been taken to mean “You owe me, mine!” Now, I don’t think our founding fathers intended to divvy up the spoils of this new land. They were not particularly concerned with an even split of the American pie. I do believe they saw a new concept of government in which each and every man shared in the same opportunity to work hard to earn a living and perhaps make his fortune. The idea was government would not permit either itself or someone else from giving each and every one of us our fair shot at prosperity. By no means should we believe that equality was dispersed evenly at the time of our Declaration of Independence. Some men were apparently more equal than others. Slavery still existed at that time. In fact many of these men who signed that declaration were slave-owners. Women had no say in the creation of this great document. Had they the opportunity, perhaps we would not have needed to amend our Constitution with the Bill of Rights; they would have been in there to start with. But the concept and ideas our founding fathers agreed to in those early days were mightier than the social mores of that age. Given time the power of those ideas would break the shackles of slavery and inequality as they inched humanity a little closer to truly being equal. I am concerned that our current way of life has contorted that simple and powerful idea of equality to mean entitlement. The marketplace no longer concentrates on producing a single product of quality, but rather opts to making sure everyone has something—a one size fits all mentality. We have turned into a “Swiss Army Knife” society. We think we have to have something for everyone. The cruel hard fact of life is sometimes we have to do without. Now, that’s a concept my grandkids are unfamiliar with. No one owes me anything—not the government; not my parents; and not God. Everything I have is either given to me as a gift or provided to me in return for efforts expended. If it was a gift, then I am truly grateful. If I worked my ass off for it, then I am satisfied with a day well spent. But I will never understand a people who expect the gift as an entitlement and resent the responsibility to work. There is no equality in that attitude. That was not what our founding fathers had in mind. I believe there really is opportunity for each and every one of us to share the fruits of these concepts of equality and freedom. Different people of different lands share these ideas with us. That’s what democracy is about. However, within the midst of our plenty, we somehow have to learn to not want it all and not expect any of it to be given to us. Somehow we need to instill in our children the satisfaction of appreciating the things we earn without coveting the stuff the other kid has. We have the opportunity to achieve for ourselves. When each of us accepts that as a gift and works within the limits of this system of equality, then each person has the opportunity to prosper proportionately. In that sense there really is something for everyone. |
| Title: Take a Look Around You Date: April 3, 2006 Thought: I much too often get caught up in my routine of work and social life to slow down and appreciate the simple things in my life. Jog: A cold nose on my leg greeted me this morning at around 4:30 am. It would not have invaded my sleep had I not turned over and emitted one of those nocturnal sounds we make when we are just waking up. Max took that as a sign to say good morning. Now, I don’t have a habit of getting up at 4:30 in the morning—or maybe I do. In any case I levitated from the bed and stumbled to the back door pulling on my jeans. I am one of those persons who when they wake, well they are AWAKE—might as well get up. I shuffled out on the back porch and took a seat at the large patio table. It’s quiet at 4:30 am. The mockingbirds are just beginning their morning repertoire. I love mornings like this morning. Here in Texas it is between seasons. I forget when Spring officially begins. But, I think it is here. I know this because the Day Lilies in our back yard are springing up and the Redbud and Bradford Pear trees are in full bloom. The mornings have enough chill in them to make me almost want a coat, as I sit outside at 5:00 am (it took a little time to get my computer and get started) and peck at these keys—almost. There is no wind, so I am experiencing an honest 60 degrees (Fahrenheit of course cause Texans have never gotten used to the Celsius thing.) I find myself out here at this early morning hour because my black dog, Max, needed to go out and do his dog thing. Now, I could have just opened the door and sent him out, returning to the warm sanctuary of my bed. However, finding myself alone on the back porch at 5:00 am I thought, “Why not? I’ll take this opportunity to enter my ‘jog’”—one of the advantages to having a laptop. I much too often get caught up in my routine of work and social life to slow down and appreciate the simple things in my life. If Madison Ave. could package the things I experienced this morning, someone would get very, very rich. Fortunate for me they can’t. It’s free, just like the sunrise. All it cost is just a little effort to extract oneself from the covers and walk outside. I’m quite confident the glory of the breaking morning is the same everywhere on this earth, which means we all have an opportunity to experience it. I heard a story of a man who was once imprisoned. All he could see was a sliver of sky through a window high in his confined place. He would watch the clouds on the summer days and occasionally glimpse the moon through his window. The stars were just as bright and mysterious in his prison as they were in the world outside its walls. And yet there were countless people outside those walls who never noticed the clouds, moon, or stars. In a sense, they were imprisoned in their freedom. The world and the universe above it are our inheritance. Just because they are free, does not mean we should take them for granted. We should savor them; and take time to notice. As Nada sails on her cruise, Forever nestles on her mountain, and Tor does whatever it is he does by his lake, we all have the same wonders handed to us as a gift. Nada will see the same moon at sea; Forever will feel the same wind that moves the clouds above her mountain; and Tor will pick out the same big dipper that I see in the night sky. The moral of this little dialogue is what we do with these wonderful gifts and how we each see them is totally up to us. Isn’t it truly a glorious thing? |
| Title: We Have Totally Gone to the Dog Date: April 2, 2006, Sunday Thought: There is no agenda with him other than the fact he wants to be with us—that’s all. Jog: OK, I admit it; I’ve become one of those folks who are infatuated with their dogs. I have always been ‘dog friendly.’ I just like dogs. But, I’ve always held the position that it’s a dog for Pete’s sake. Don’t go off and get all gushy about a dog or any pet as far as that goes. You know there are folks who are pet fanatics. Geez, that’s almost as bad as grandparents. Well, that was then; this is now—I’m totally devoted to our black-butted dog. Why? Why this change? Geez, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the boy in me. You know—a boy and his dog. For some reason we’ve just become attached to his furriness. Perhaps it’s the fact he is totally devoted to me. He even does what I tell him to do. I say sit and he sits. I say stay and he stays. I go to the little room and take care of business and when I open the door he’s sitting there waitin’ for me as if I’ve been gone for a month. He licks me on the elbow when I’m not paying attention to him and is grateful for just a returned scratch behind the ear. When I come home he is always excited about the fact I am home. His affection to me and Linda is honest and real and total. You don’t get that from the human folks around you. There is no agenda with him other than the fact he wants to be with us—that’s all. OK, what has gotten me into this decidedly doggie dialogue? Well, Linda and I are planning for a trip--a couple of trips to be exact. We need to travel to Tulsa, Oklahoma to see her mom. And I want to take a trip to Gettysburg to experience some of the history of the battle which was waged at there so long ago. Our dilemma is how are we going to do it? Most folks shrug their shoulders and say, “Just go. Let someone feed him while you’re gone.” Now that seems logical. But, both Linda and I are reluctant to do that. Max, the subject of this entry, has had some traumatic times in his short doggie life. It began when he was pitched out as a pup. He was picked up by animal control and spent a week of his early life in jail. Close to ending his life, my youngest son picked him up and took him home to his family. Now, you would think that was a good thing; and it was. However, he spent the next 18 months in the backyard, occasionally being visited by the kids, but virtually untrained and abandoned within the family. Which brings us to the day the neighbor kid stepped between Max and another dog when they were having an argument. The result was that Max once again found himself in jail, having bitten the kid. Since we have claimed Max, he is a changed dog. He has responded to our training and attention much beyond our expectations. He has claimed us as his own. Since we are now officing out of the house, he is with us an extended amount of time. We enjoy his company and he thrives on ours. And so, silly as it seems, we do not want to leave him at home alone when we take our trips. Therefore, I’ve been searching the net for opportunities to travel with him…or him travel with us. I have been amazed to find there are numerous hotels and bed & breakfast facilities that accept pets. We can even take him on the Gettysburg battlefield, although, he is not permitted in the museums and other buildings. All this means is that we need to ‘crate train’ him. He is already doing excellent on the leash. He walks beside me and not ahead of me. He walks with me, not the other way around. We have determined that he is in fact an extension of our family. OK, so there it is, my pitiful dog owner story. So, am I beyond hope? Do you think we should consider taking the black canine companion with us or just get a grip and leave him outside? Good grief, he’s just a dog! But, then…. |
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