Jets and Life

Strange day #2 - Sagas from paper carrier days

2010-07-12T10:38:00.003-05:00

It was the dead of winter and something sinister was afoot in the Perkins household. A flu-like illness was plaguing our entire family. All of us had headaches, malaise, and achey eyeballs. I don't remember that any of us went to the doctor - we just kept working and followed the lead of Mom, a stalwart lady who could defeat anything with the strength of her will.

Things came to a head on a bitterly cold Sunday morning. I awoke at 3:15 AM with a throbbing headache and headed out into the 7-degree cold to throw my paper route. Strangely, the longer I was out, the better I felt, and by 5 or so, my headache was gone. But it had been a tough morning. I remember wrapping a paper with a rubber band...which popped in the frigidness and made my hand bleed. But around 5:30 or so, I managed to finish the route and head home. As I approached our house, I was amazed to see a car belonging to my aunt and uncle in the driveway and all the lights in our house burning.

Here is what had happened. Both parents had intense headaches during the night, such that Mom finally convinced Dad to get up and call an ambulance. Dad never made it to the phone and collapsed on the living room floor. Mom got up, stepped over Dad, grabbed the phone and called her sister, Pearl. In retrospect, she should have called for an ambulance, but I'm sure her brains were scrambled at that point. Mom told Pearl to get over ASAP, then she collapsed.

Pearl and Raymond arrived to bizarre scene of my folks sprawled unconscious on the floor and quickly summoned an ambulance. Mom, Dad, and my younger brother and sister were all taken to St. Paul Hospital, and minutes later, I rolled up with a quizzical look on my face. Here's what had happened. Our source of heat in the house was a floor furnace. Just prior to all this sickness, our house had shifted and, unbeknownst to us, disrupted the gas line feeding the furnace in some way. The silent killer, carbon monoxide, had been seeping through the house for at least a week. That explains why we all seemed to improve when we left the house during this time.

I drove to St. Paul and saw my family. I don't know what was given them by the doctors, but all were doing much better. If fact, it seems that I was able to bring everyone except my dad home. I went on to church, where it was announced that the Perkins family would need electric space heaters to get us through the next few days. The wonderful folks responded beautifully and we were able to stay in the house until the floor furnace was repaired.

It's frightening to think what might have happened had Mom not made it to the phone. Here's why. If she had collapsed before calling Pearl, I would not have seen them in the floor when I got home. My custom was to park the car, go around to the back of the house and let myself in a back door to the kitchen, then head immediately upstairs to my bedroom for an hour or so of shut-eye. That might have been enough time for the deadly, almost undetectable gas to finish off my parents and my siblings. We were very blessed that morning. And it wasn't the first nor the last time my mom's strength of will saved the day for our family.

Two strange mornings on the paper route...

2010-07-11T19:48:00.010-05:00

My previous blog entry focused on my years spent as a paper carrier between ages 8 and 16. All those days of delivering the Morning News and Times Herald were toughening me up...it's just that I was blissfully unaware while it was happening that any good was coming from the jobs other than the money I was making.

I could tell a hundred stories but I want to examine only two at this time. Saga #1 was on a cold, dark morning at a very spooky part of my route. This was a section that I chose to walk rather than take the car. There were so many customers that it made sense to park the car, load up my paper bag, sling it over my shoulder, and take off walking. I threw papers to two parallel streets this way. The nervous time came at the end of Fairview Street. Getting to Kinmore Street from there involved walking down a connecting dirt road. Here, thanks to googlemaps, is how it looks today. (Give the picture a moment - it will eventually come into focus.)

Every morning, I mustered up the nerve to walk this dirt road. There is a single light pole halfway between the two streets and tall bushes form a wall on one side. In my mind, anything from escaped convicts to aliens to grizzly bears could be in those bushes. So I'd swallow hard, take long strides, and hurry through the eerieness to the relative safety of Kinmore Street, where there were houses and doors to knock on should I need to be escaping whatever was after me. Often, I thought about the plague of darkness administered to the Egyptians...dark so dark you could feel it! That's how dark it was on this little road, broken only by the light from that single pole.

This particular morning was just like most other winter mornings as I started the scary walk. Cold, darker than normal due to cloud cover, and the wind was making whirring noises as it blew through the bare tree branches. I, as usual, told myself that nothing was out there and strode resolutely ahead. Then I saw him.

He was good-sized but all I could see was his silhouette in the scant light from the light pole at the end of the dirt lane. He was walking toward me. Decision time. Do I turn around and return to the street from whence I came and take refuge on someone's front porch at 4:20 in the morning? Or do I man up and act like who I really was...a sophomore in high school, doggone it! Well, I decided to proceed. My feet were moving but I guarantee you, I wasn't breathing. I silently rebuked myself for not at least carrying a stick or a 9-iron or something!

I moved the paper bag from my right side to my left to provide an imaginary buffer zone in case this guy lunged at me with his machete. 20 feet apart now, then 10...as fate would have it, we were gonna meet directly under the light which was halfway down the road. At least I'd get a good look at him and perhaps be able to give the police a description of the killer with my dying, final words.

We came abreast of each other under the light. He was fearfully wrapped up against the cold; he appeared to have several layers of coats on and, importantly, a wrap around his face that covered everything except his eyes. Goodbye Mom and Dad, you too, Charlie and John and Marybeth, my siblings. I don't think I fired off a prayer - my mind was too paralyzed. Suddenly, he spoke. "Mornin'," he said in a voice that surprised me since I heard a tinge of fear in it. A tiny segment of my fear dissolved at that point...wait, he is scared, too??!! So I quickly responded, "Mornin'." And then he was gone.

I took long, hurried strides to the end of the road and the safety of the street light. Then I turned and looked back up the road. Nothing. He had disappeared back into the darkness. I got a warm rush. I had stared beady-eyed death in the face and had won. I fairly flew through the remainder of the route that morning, ridiculously proud of myself. But the self-congratulatory attitude didn't last long as I quickly realized that walking down that dark road the next morning, and the morning after that, and in fact, every morning from then on would be incredibly more difficult since now there was proof that evil men would step out of that tall shrubbery at any time...and probably grizzlies, too.

Well, this story took too long. I'll save the other wild morning saga for the next blog entry.

Throwing Papers

2010-07-06T07:39:00.005-05:00

People on the street often run up to me and breathlessly inquire, "Tim, what made you the tough guy you are today?" My answer is always the same and always succinct. "Throwing papers."

It started when I was in the 3rd grade. Mom and Dad decided that my older brother and I needed to start saving up for college. Either that or they sensed an air of entitlement from us that irritated them. Soon thereafter, we were the proud owners of a Dallas Times Herald paper route fairly close to our house. But those of you who are long time Dallasites may remember 1957 as the year when the drought of the mid-50's was broken. There were days when a canoe would have come in handy in delivering those papers.

The early months were terrible. The previous paperboy had left the "route book" a mess. My brother paid me $3.50 for each month, and often made nothing for his trouble. Gradually we began to show a profit, and both of us opened savings accounts at Grand Ave. Bank.

From 1957 to 1963, I was a loyal Times Herald paperboy. Seven days a week, 365 days a year. Hot weather, cold weather, tornadic weather (I remember watching the great Dallas tornado of April 2, 1957 as I threw my route). Then, in order to bring in the big bucks, I switched to the other paper in town, The Dallas Morning News. The key word there is "morning". For two years, I arose every morning at 3:15. I could usually be back in bed by 5:30. On school days, that would give me about an hour extra of sleep before I got up again to drag wearily to school.

Paper throwing, as it was called, is nothing like it is today. Nearly every paper deliverer today is an adult who does his/her route from a car, and the paper is tucked inside a plastic bag. He doesn't have to collect money from the subscribers at the end of the month like we did since folks today mail it in to the paper on their own.

We tough guys (today's deliverers are wusses) folded the papers and secured them with rubber bands. I remember the thrill of having a rubber band snap on ice cold hands...I've never been shot, but the pain from a bullet can't be much different. You want to scream, but that's not what you need to be doing, say, at 4:30 AM on a darkened street.

My parents laid the rules down early. Our driving goal was to give our route customers the best service they'd ever seen. This was demonstrated on rainy days. We didn't have the plastic bags, so Charlie and I would find a dry spot on the porch to deposit the paper. But often there was no dry spot, so we would open the screen door and lay the paper behind it. If the door was locked or if the area behind the screen door were wet, we would knock on the door and hand a dry paper to the thrilled customer. Sometimes this would earn us a tip ranging from 10 cents to (gasp!) a quarter.

My next blog entry will focus on some of the most memorable days I had while throwing papers and becoming the tough guy I am today, including the scary morning I returned to the house at 5:30 and found that the rest of my family was almost dead. (This is called a teaser, you know.)

A remarkable school...

2010-06-23T21:05:00.003-05:00

One of the biggest blessings in my life is the opportunity to be associated with the Rangel Leadership School for Young Women. This school is the only all-girls public school in the Dallas area. It targets the best and brightest females and strives to create and mold them to take leadership roles in society.

I'm driving a school bus for them this month, but it's not your typical summer school. It's a program called, "Each One Reach One", and the girls who participate volunteer to do so. Basically, it introduces them to the world of serving others. Here, for example, is this week's schedule:

Monday: Visited the Scottish Rite Hospital to learn about that great institution.

Tuesday: Visited Vogel Alcove, close by downtown Dallas, to become acquainted with this amazing place, a shelter for homeless children. They spent the bulk of their time there playing with these unfortunate kids.

Wednesday: Today, I dropped them off at the Dallas Farmers' Market, where they shopped for veggies. Then I took them to a residence where the veggies were transformed into a meal for 15-20. We then loaded up the food on the bus and I took them to the Preston Rd. Church of Christ, where the girls fed the women involved in a program called, "New Friends, New Lives". This program targets women who have been "rescued" from the sex industry, either as prostitutes or strippers, and are being given a new chance at being moral and productive in society.

Tomorrow: The girls will work on a "Habitat for Humanity" home.

Friday: The girls will visit a homeless shelter, learn how it operates, and give some of their time to helping out.

The day that we visited the Vogel Alcove, I asked one of the girls how she liked the experience. Her response: "This is where I want to volunteer when I'm an adult."

A remarkable school giving great kids life-changing experiences.

Putting a face on poverty...

2010-06-11T21:03:00.004-05:00

I've spent the week driving a summer school route - in fact, I drove it three times a day for five days. What I saw was stuff not usually seen by middle to upper class America. My route took me through the heart of south Dallas and through very poor parts of a section of Dallas known as Oak Cliff. Let's face it...the privileged very rarely see the ravages of poverty up close...and we like it that way. But I couldn't avoid it. Here are some observations:

In my world, transportation is a given. I open the door to my garage and there are always two vehicles there, ready to roll. In very poor neighborhoods, having a set of wheels may mean you own a bicycle, and that is how you get around. I saw older women on bikes this week and they weren't tooling around trying to lose weight. It was their way to get to the laundromat.

One day, I saw an elderly lady walking down the sidewalk, holding six or seven plastic bags filled with groceries. She was in poor health and was struggling. For a second, I was puzzled. There are no grocery stores in her neighborhood, which is, by the way, one of the drawbacks of living in a blighted area. Then it hit me...she had done her food shopping at a convenience store. No telling how much extra she had to pay for the items she bought, and if there's anyone who shouldn't have had to pay too much for anything, it was this woman.

Mental health is a huge issue in poor areas. On Monday, for example, I came to a busy intersection in a black part of town. There was a white guy standing in the middle of the intersection - he had positioned himself perfectly to avoid being hit by the traffic heading in four different directions. He had struck a pose. He had his eyes shut and his right arm was pointed straight up with a closed fist. It had all the trappings of a catatonic trance. He didn't move a muscle during the time I was able to watch him. On Tuesday, I drove through the same area and there he was. Only this time, a cop had him over to the sidewalk and was writing him a ticket. I don't know what his particular problem was/is, but I can guarantee he is unstable.

On my early morning run, I saw many individuals who sleeping outdoors. One was on a filthy mattress that lay in the shadow of a liquor store. This morning, I saw another guy curled up in the doorway of a business that hadn't opened yet. My house is about 30 miles from this area, but it may as well be on a different planet.

Jesus mentioned that we will always have the poor with us. That wasn't him giving us permission to ignore them, because he also talked about feeding, clothing, and helping those less fortunate. I also know all the things said by those of us who are "successful" - like how hard we worked to get to where we are, the sacrifices we made, the correct choices we opted for...all of those being true. Those in the cycle of poverty may be totally responsible for their status in life...but that doesn't absolve me as a Christian of my responsibility to share what I have. The ways I choose to share are probably not important...the act is. All of which was made clear to me this week. I'm glad God rattled my comfort zone a bit.

My Parents' Perspective

2010-05-30T21:48:00.005-05:00

My dad was stationed at Camp Roberts in California at the beginning of World War II. My mom, who had never been more than 50 or 60 miles from Wills Point, Texas, got on a train to San Francisco and married him a few days after arriving. Dad was probably destined for combat in the south Pacific, but a need arose for soldiers with post office experience...and Dad's mom had been a postmistress in west Texas, so he parlayed that into a position with the Army post office in San Francisco.

But there was still the time when he had to say good-bye to Mom and boarded a ship destined for wartime action...only to be inexplicably brought back to port and fortunately, Dad never saw combat. But he did an amazing job of getting mail to the soldiers who did have faraway addresses - we have several letters in our possession that call attention to the proficiency he brought to the operation, and what a vital operation that was.

One thing that has always stuck with me is my parents' description of what wartime was like stateside. About how often San Francisco and other coastal cities had to go dark after sunset and therefore render themselves less of a target for Japanese planes. There was always that fear that if Japan had the nerve to hit Pearl Harbor, they might have the capability of striking the west coast. My parents spoke of just how tenuous they perceived the nation's future was. Japan was certainly a formidable foe and Hitler was unstoppable early on in Europe.

Obviously, my parents had no way of knowing that Allied forces would eventually triumph. For all they knew, the United States might buckle under the stress of fighting what amounted to two wars half a world apart. Life was scary, freedoms were dear, and love of country was the adrenaline that pushed them to make the most of every day they had with each other - and make whatever sacrifices needed to be made for our country.

What hurts me now is the sometimes cavalier attitude that younger generations have toward our hard-won freedoms. I do cut them a lot of slack, however, because unless you have lived through a time when you think the country might fall, there's no way you can appreciate America like Mom and Dad did. They were in their 20's and didn't know if two months later, the war might be lost and the country's freedoms permanently destroyed. I'm sure that uncertainty made their love for each other and their country more intense and more precious. Fear was the adrenaline that drove relationships...and armies.

So I hope this Memorial Day that those who've never paused to grasp how this great country has managed to stay free will be struck by the sacrifices of those who've gone before us. And that they'll resolve to honor and revere the sacrifices made by our veterans, even by those who never fired a bullet at an enemy but made certain a sweetheart's letter was delivered to a homesick guy on the front line.

Why he's so ashamed of us...

2010-05-20T20:37:00.004-05:00

So sorry I've been such a slackard...I honestly wanted to write again about my aversion to the junk Hollywood churns out. But the guy America elected as commander-in-chief keeps begging to be reprimanded...if not impeached. So here we go.

He has bowed before the Saudi king and the Japanese emperor and seems to take delight in apologizing for the great heritage of our country. He claims we aren't a Christian nation. His people kowtow to the communist Chinese and apologize profusely for terrible Arizona...the same Chinese who have rap sheet a mile long of REAL dastardly deeds.

Of course, the other day Obama had a love-in with Mexican president Calderon. They acted like long-lost college lovers as they denounced Arizona for doing the unthinkable - enforcing a law already on the books. It was stomach-churning disgusting to the max. Most of America, polls show, stand behind Arizona in trying to do something about the massive problem of illegal immigration. But then, most of America is also against the health-care bill, cap-and-trade, and bailing out corporations. Obama doesn't care.

So why doesn't he care? It's simple. He's not one of us. What little we know of the guy indicates that the big influencers in his life have been loony-birds. And isn't it curious that we know nothing of his grades or papers from his time at Columbia University...and that Fox News cannot find a single classmate who even remembers this charismatic figure? By the way, I'm non-partisan about this. George W. Bush's whereabouts are fuzzy for a couple of years during the Vietnam war...he has never come clean about exactly what was going on in his life during this time. He, also, seems to have been hiding something.

I think Obama doesn't like America or her heritage. He has no connection with our military and thus no concept of the sacrifices that have been made and are being made to keep us free. Nope, it's all about him. His speeches are stunningly bereft of appreciation for America's history and her people. And since he doesn't act or think like typical America, it bothers him none to denigrate his country in front of foreign leaders.

The good news is that he is so out-of-touch that Americans who shunned political participation in the past are now rising up in huge numbers to alter the landscape in Washington. Hopefully, the election of Obama will one day be rendered by historians as an interlude in our glorious history when Americans briefly fell asleep at the wheel.

So puzzling...

2010-05-05T21:45:00.002-05:00

Left-wingers just keep getting farther and farther out there. Did you see where NYC mayor Bloomberg initially thought that the perpetrator of the Times Square almost-explosion would probably be "home-grown", "deranged", and somebody who didn't like the health-care bill? This is the typical mindset of liberals these days. They fall all over themselves trying to categorize Tea Party members as violent extremists, but somehow shy away from calling the Ft. Hood murderer a Muslim terrorist. Go figure.

They are also exposing their faulty biases with this Arizona controversy. Rather than accepting the real fact that Arizona is merely making a state law out of a federal law already on the books, the left has decided this is akin to Nazi Germany. Obama himself said that Hispanics who go out to get ice cream now have to worry about being pulled over and intimidated. Please. He either had not read the law or (more likely) wanted to score points with a huge minority voting bloc. Guess he doesn't want to hear about the deleterious effects of illegals on crime rates and drug enforcement.

Up is down. Wrong is right. Christians are scary and Muslims are our friends. Patriotic, peaceful Tea Partiers are evil but terrorists need to be coddled and babied. Hang on America. The wilder and more extreme the left gets, the more folks leave the Democratic party and look for more reasonable candidates.

Ugly numbers...

2010-04-20T19:48:00.006-05:00

Usually, when one points out Obama's unprecedented spending spree, his supporters start deflecting by saying bad things about Bush's spending or even Reagan's. Indeed, it's probably bad under any circumstances to increase the nation's debt. But what the president has done staggers the mind and shows what happens when you elect a guy who hasn't run a business and has no real economic acumen.

The non-partisan Congressional Budget Office has projected that over the next ten years, cumulative deficits will reach $9.7 trillion and federal debt 90% of the gross domestic product. Global capital markets are unlikely to accept that credit erosion. If they revolt, as they did in 1979, ugly changes in fiscal and monetary policy will be imposed on Washington.

How bad is the outlook? The size of the federal debt will increase by 250% over 10 years. Other than during WWII, this hasn't been seen since record-keeping began in 1792. It is so bad that by 2020, the country will have to borrow $5 trillion a year just to refinance maturing debt and raise new money.

No family can long survive spending beyond its means...sooner or later, it has to shut down all-but-necessary spending and try to get the wheels back on the road. Obama loves big government and he's the answer to every liberal's prayer. But this ain't play money he's tossing around. And to help cover his uncontrollable spending habit, he is resorting to another Democrat favorite...raising taxes. For our sake, and the future of our kids and grandkids, this neophyte spender-in-chief needs to be reined in. His first trip to the woodshed will occur in November.

The party makes 'em nervous...

2010-04-13T20:15:00.002-05:00

The liberals don't quite know what to make of the tea party movement that has swept across the land. But they do know they're scared of it. Most of us clean-living folk had never heard the term "tea-bagger" until CNN and MSNBC hosts started gleefully using it with accompanying leers. They also quickly rushed to judgment and claimed the tea party movement was saturated with racists and homophobes.

Now there's this. In a desperate effort to try and derail a groundswell of conservative sentiment, liberals have launched a website which recruits folks for the purpose of infiltrating the tea party movement. Once inside, these fine people will try to give the entire movement a bad name by making racist posters and signs, misspelling words on such posters and signs, and generally acting like rabble-rousers. This is typical of the Chicago-style politics of which Obama is so keen. Pretty much anything goes when your opponent has the upper hand.

And upper hand it is. Obama's popularity is at an all-time low (Gallup). Most want the health-care mess repealed. Democratic politicians around the country are trailing potential Republican candidates by double-digits. So it's time for them to trot out the really ugly tactics. It's all so predictable. As long as you can call folks racists and homophobes, you stand a chance.

So don't be aghast if you see someone holding a sign claiming Obama is Hitler (or maybe "Obamma is Hilter"). It's just business as usual for the party-crashers.

Welcome, enemies of America!

2010-04-06T20:12:00.003-05:00

Barack Obama continues to demonstrate in a very bold way that he is not only out of touch with the American people, but that he may be more in touch with our enemies.

Today, he voiced his goal to make nuclear weapons obsolete and apparently, he wants to start this process with our own. This guy is the anti-Reagan. He has overridden his own Secretary of Defense and announced that we won't be developing any new nukes. And then in a truly stunning move, Obama said the U.S. will not retaliate with nuclear weapons if we are attacked with chemical/biological warfare.

If I weren't already convinced that this guy is naive and nuts, well, this does it. It's an open invitation to our enemies (you know, the ones that want to destroy us?) to hit us with their best shot...we'll just turn the other infected cheek. You never give your adversaries this kind of information. There's a reason a catcher in baseball uses discreet hand signals with his pitcher to indicate the kind of pitch he wants...rather than shouting out, "I'd like a fastball, please!" Of course, we've seen this bizarre behavior from our Mohammed-in-Chief before. Remember when he told the world his timetable for withdrawing troops from Afghanistan? Absolutely brilliant!

And I haven't even brought up (yet) Obama's weird hatred of Israel. Oh, yeah...that's right. Israel is a long-time ally, therefore they are the enemy. Let's buddy up to Iran (how did that work out, sir?) and castigate our main friend in the Middle East.

Conservatives warned about this guy during the campaign. We told deaf ears that his values weren't ours, his past was obscure and cloudy, and his list of achievements non-existent. We detailed the long list of shady characters who've influenced Obama. But too many were caught up in the rush to make history with him and to believe his deliberately vague "hope and change" mantra. Sadly, we were right. Almost daily, our president is indeed making history. The kind that dooms us as a world leader.

Transitions

2010-04-03T12:26:00.004-05:00

A week ago, I lost a brother-in-law. Ralph was a consummate gentleman, a man of God who oozed integrity. These days, it's increasingly hard to find guys who qualify for words like "gentleman" or "integrity". He was the type of friend who would do anything for you and you didn't necessarily have to ask. Last year, even when his health was obviously limiting his activities, he repeatedly offered to come help me clean out and organize my garage. The point is not that he wouldn't have been able to help much...it's that he still wanted to be a buddy even in his condition.

I couldn't get Ralph to ever say anything bad about anyone. He simply considered others better than himself and refused to be drawn into discussions that included put-downs or gossip. Very simply, he was a better man than I. This in spite of the fact that I nearly cut his hand off many years ago. We were using a chain saw to cut down a large tree in our in-laws' yard. We were almost finished, but I was trying to cut a large piece into smaller pieces and Ralph's hand drifted a little too close. The saw kicked upward and nailed one of his thumbs. The thumbnail was almost completely severed and there were other slices all around the nail. The rest of his life, Ralph carried around maybe the ugliest thumb I've ever seen. And, he refused to blame me, saying it was all his fault. Yeah, right.

Four days after Ralph died, our 7th grandchild entered this world. Julia Kate Hall arrived, the 2nd daughter of our only daughter. Most Perkins babies are bald and stay that way for months. This kid has enough hair to wear curlers today. And she is drop-dead gorgeous. Now we know that everyone tells new parents that their baby is beautiful. Even if the kid looks like Joe Biden. But as an impartial (ahem) bystander, I sense that visitors are truly blown away by this kid's looks. In today's parlance, she is smokin' hot. She's already been asked out by two boy babies in the newborn nursery. I'm gonna have to start screening her boyfriends immediately.

So we said good-bye to Ralph, hello to Julia. But it's all good news. Ralph has been freed from a worn-out physical body and been given a new eternal one. We will see him again. Julia arrived less than 24 hours after we gathered around Ralph one last time. Transition. Nothing stays the same, nothing is stagnant. Every day, we are 24 hours closer to our reward. This week served as a poignant reminder to seize the day, live wisely, serve others, and enjoy every minute given us for what it is...a gift from God.

If only...

2010-03-26T23:32:00.010-05:00

It's no secret that conservatives dominate the broadcast airwaves these days. Regardless of the time of day, one has no trouble finding Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh or Laura Ingraham or Sean Hannity or Bill O'Reilly on the dial. The aforementioned have carved out a nice living by being the figurative towne criers for the Republican party. It's great to have smart, talented, quick-thinking spokespeople to filter through the politics of Washington, D.C. and give their listeners the pure-as-the-driven-snow truth, not the laughable lies that seem to regularly drop from the mouths of Obama, Pelosi, et al.

But I have a sizable problem with these folks. Somewhere in the quest to get the word out, they forgot how to be polite. And that's a shame. When a famous someone shares my ideology, I would prefer they have impeccable manners and a common sense of courtesy toward all, particularly those with whom they disagree.

Most of these "hosts" will talk at length with callers possessing similar political leanings and exchange opinions amicably, but when a liberal calls, they immediately become condescending in tone and soon, insults are flying. Often, they take a quote from a Democrat, take it out of context, and launch into a tirade about how awful the person is...not cutting the poor opponent any slack or realizing that occasionally people don't say precisely what they mean or perhaps choose a word that didn't exactly convey what they meant. Last week, much was made about a Democratic Representative who said something like, "we will control you", and when the GOP world heard the word "control", they siezed upon the quote as evidence that their opponents preferred communism over democracy. I've listened to the entire conversation and I feel the poor guy just picked the wrong word to say, something all of us who speak more than three sentences a day tend to do. Now rest assured, I disagree totally with this man's politics and would love to see him voted out in November, but come on, there's no need to have such a hair-trigger response.

Of course, the reason these folks have their high-visibility jobs is the fact that they DO act that way...arousing shouts of praise from conservatives and fits of rage from liberals. Ratings explode and reward them for their venom. In fairness, there is one fellow who endorses the company line AND treats liberals as people with brains. He is Mark Davis of radio station WBAP here in the north Texas area...he often substitutes for Rush when Rush needs a day off to cool his heels...and his tongue. I would hope that Mark someday has more of a national platform. It's so refreshing to hear someone whose intellect and conservative passion are matched by his respect for decorum and friendly discussion of issues.

Again, let me reiterate that I want nothing but failure for big-government liberals and their leaders. They must be removed from office ASAP. But wouldn't it be refreshing to have a polite give-and-take that doesn't leave everyone splattered with mud?

Uh, oh...

2010-03-21T21:23:00.004-05:00

Looks like the Dems will pass the obscene healthcare bill.

This will no doubt be a day the country will rue, probably as soon as the taxes hit. Or as soon as they really find out what's happened to their healthcare.

But it will accomplish one wonderful thing: it will clear Congress of the Democratic majority come November. That's the price you pay for ignoring the will of the people.

The final gasp of Obamacare?

2010-03-16T22:36:00.006-05:00

What the Democrats are doing this week shouldn't surprise us. After all, they pride themselves on being smarter than we and therefore know what's best for us. How else to explain the desperate and unconstitutional effort to get the monstronsity of a healthcare bill passed before Easter recess? By the way, the rush to get it done now is because Pelosi, Reid, et al don't want the 75% of Americans who hate this bill to have a chance to dissuade Congress members during the extended time off back in their home districts.

The Supreme Court has ruled that before a bill can become law, both houses of Congress must pass the exact version of the bill. The Democrats are playing fast and loose with the rules now, trying to get the House to pass a faux bill that can be altered later. Such is the level of their desperation and, dare I say it, immorality. Surely we can agree that Macchiavellianism is immoral and certainly, the Dems feel the end justifies the means at the moment.

Where is the outrage from the media about this? Oh, yeah. They're still in love with Obama, even though there are starting to be defections in the Anointed One's journalism army. One thing is for sure: the American public understands this mess. They have phoned the offices of fence-sitting representatives so much this week that some reps have had to disconnect their lines.

Hopefully, by Saturday, this healthcare bill will be dead...the bill that Obama hasn't read, he admits, and the bill that Pelosi wants us to pass and THEN find out what's enclosed. It will truly be a relief to finally stomp the last bit of life from this monstrosity and get started on a health bill that makes sense and doesn't hamstring our kids and grandkids financially. However, should it pass using the slimy, dirty trick process, I feel certain that the Supreme Court will quickly rule it unconstitutional. Mercy, would I love to write the majority opinion for that decision.

Why I hate Spring Break

2010-03-13T08:06:00.004-06:00

Woke up with a deluxe edition of a head cold this morning. What's doubly irritating about that is that my bride and I had planned to go to San Antonio to see elder son Brett and his family this morning. We don't get to see them enough anyway and then to mess up this opportunity is vexing...and I should have seen it coming.

Three years ago, on this exact Saturday, I had an all-day field trip to Lone Oak, Texas. It was a lucrative one - picked up the group at 6 AM and wouldn't return until 8 PM or so. I got them there okay but there was a problem. I had been assigned a newer school bus, a strange, unfamiliar beast...and I couldn't get the heater that keeps the driver warm to work. The passengers were toasty but I was a shivering idiot by the time we arrived.

Short story long, I felt the first pangs of illness around noon, and by sunset, I was a mess: feverish, alternating burning up and shivering, weak as a Nancy Pelosi explanation. I should have called dispatch and begged off, but like any male, I wanted to fight through it. All the way home, I had the overpowering urge to sleep...not a good thing when you're behind the wheel. We were returning to Dallas on I-30, and at one point, I passed the exit to FM 549 - the exit I take to get to our house. It killed me to know that instead of being home in 10 minutes, I had another 30 miles to go to get these kids home and another 30 miles back to FM 549 and a chance to go to bed. I eventually made it and spent the next 5 days in bed with the flu.

Last year, my sons and I decided to head to Arizona during Spring Break to take in Texas Rangers' spring training. Naturally, the days leading up to our trip were cold and rainy in north Texas and by departure day, I had a funny throat and a throbbing head. We had a blast, but my enjoyment was dampened by the fact that I wasn't 100%.

Well, Brett just called and said that if I have a miraculous recovery in the next 24 hours, to come anyway since he and Jenny are both off Monday. I've just taken a dose of Airborn (sp?) and maybe, just maybe, there will be a miracle
from a God who is sympathetic to my Spring Break curse.

$9.7 Trillion

2010-03-05T22:00:00.004-06:00

Remember about six weeks ago when Obama lectured the American public on family budgeting, urging us to do things like canceling trips to Las Vegas? Somehow, there has to be a better spokesman for economic strategies. The non-partisan Congressional Budget Office now estimates that Obama's spending will add $9.7 trillion to the federal deficit in the next decade.

Listen. You don't have to be Dave Ramsey to know that Obama is doing precisely the wrong thing when it comes to money. How many couples over the years have learned the hard way that spending more than you make doesn't work? Indeed, it leads to a deep financial hole that is next to impossible to recover from. How many parents have taught fiscal responsibility to their children by literally making them save up for a desired product and then buying it?

Compare this to what has happened since Obama took office. Need money? Print it. Need more money? Increase the debt limit. Need even more money? Borrow from China to the degree that even they are chastising us.

Most of America knows better, and that's why Obama's popularity is in a steep decline. Most of America doesn't want his financial naivete' to become a monetary nightmare that will burden our children and grandchildren.

This is what you get when you elect a guy whose life experiences made for the flimsiest presidential candidate's resume' in U. S. history. We can only hope that the November elections save us from his blind-leading-the-blind policies. Apparently, the Democratic majority in Congress can't be counted on to take the blinders off before then.

If we just hadn't been in such a rush to elect a smooth, charismatic black man to the nation's highest office. Looked like such a wonderful idea to so many. May we never be so delusional again.

O Canada

2010-02-28T20:19:00.002-06:00

I really am ambivalent about Canada's victory over the USA hockey team. I so wanted the Americans to win; they didn't really match up well talent-wise with the Canadians, but seemed to have an endless supply of grit and determination. This was exemplified by the tying goal late in regulation time, a goal which temporarily inserted a dagger deep into the maple leaf on the Canadian team sweaters. But a lightning-fast overtime ended with a quick wrister from Sidney Crosby and Canada's relief was palpable.

The United States will survive. We have NBA basketball heading toward playoff time, major league baseball in spring training, and American Idol going strong. We are extremely proud that our team almost won the gold medal in a sport that is still something of an anamoly in the country.

Canada needed this victory much more than the U.S. I've only been north of our border twice, but each trip has convinced me that those hardy folk up there are fiercely proud of their country. One of our trips coincided with Canada Day and I must say I have never seen so many flags so ardently displayed...on houses, from buildings, street lights, and wrapped over shoulders. And nothing is imprinted on Canada's consciousness more strongly than hockey.

I guess it has something to do with the ever-present frozen ponds, cold weather, and short days, but Canada has to have something to divert their attention from the severity of life up there. That's not a knock on those fine folk. I admire them for leaving the comfort of their homes, cabins, and igloos when the wind chill is -50. There had to be something to bring joy and vigor during the long winters and hockey was it. And the hockey players they have produced are almost without fail model citizens, polite and respectful, unassuming, and tougher than an angry rattler.

So from down south, we tip our hats to the Canadian hockey team and to their devoted fans. We almost gotcha, but not quite. There's no shame in barely losing to the best. And oh, by the way, your national anthem is better than ours.

More quality businesses...

2010-02-21T16:59:00.003-06:00

Since my last post, I have thought of two more businesses I'd like to give props to.

1. Costco. One defining quality that all great companies seem to have is a happy workforce, and Costco's people act like every day is Christmas. Now all this joy would be meaningless if the rest of the shopping experience was a dud. But Costco has great prices and quality stuff. Also, it's so great to get through a checkout line in less than two minutes...and Costco pulls this off as well. Yesterday, Carole and I bought one of those items where you simply take a ticket to the cashier, pay for the item, and then wait around for somebody to go to the back and find one. Well, literally one minute after paying for it, an employeed handed it to us. Service. You can't beat it.

2. Milestone Electric. This applies only to DFW denizens. Here's a company whose prices are competitive and spelled out prior to the work beginning. The work is done right. But it's the guys who show up from Milestone that set the company apart. It's as though Milestone hires only former Boy Scouts. They are freshly scrubbed and have eyes that twinkle. They're all in their 20's (it seems) and all sport that All-America look. They are polite to a fault. Indicative of how the company's approach is this example: on their last visit to our house, we presented them with a $50 coupon of unknown origin and vague expiration date. Mr. Boy Scout allowed it even though I got the feeling he was bending the rules a bit.

Again, chime in with businesses that you've found to be customer-friendly.

Quality...hard to find

2010-02-18T21:38:00.005-06:00

Since quality products and quality customer service is so hard to come by these days, I thought I'd give some credit where credit is due. After all, sloppiness and apathy has become prevalent in current society, leaving us with inferior merchandise and frustrating encounters with customer service reps. And I say "service" with tongue planted firmly in cheek.

So let me toss a few bouquets to some folks and products who deserve our plaudits...and our business:

1. The Honda Corporation. I started buying Honda lawnmowers in the 80's and my sons and I wore out 6 or 7 of them by mowing 25-30 yards a week, year after year. (That's how we got the funds to put our kids in Dallas Christian.) The mowers were fabulously reliable and produced great-looking yards. Then, in 1990, I bought my first Honda Accord. Since then, Accords have been a mainstay in our lives, never failing (never, I said!), and getting excellent mpg. Now, I'm driving my first Honda Ridgeline pickup, and it's a marvelous vehicle.

2. Tul pens. I'm extremely picky about writing instruments. Put the proper pen in my right hand and I can toss out some superb penmanship, a rapidly disappearing art these days. I found Tul pens at Office Max and decided to give them a try. Excellent. They come in colors and have a very narrow felt tip that gives a smooth, even stroke. My former employer, Dallas Independent School District, should have provided them to my students to counter the chicken-scratching homework that used to cross my eyes.

3. Lowes. Every suburb has matching sets of Home Depot and Lowes stores. Here's a hint: avoid Home Depot. I imagine that their merchandise and pricing policies are quite comparable. The difference boils down to how the customer is treated. At the Depot, it often seems the customer is an afterthought, someone to be avoided. At Lowes, the word has apparently come down from corporate suits that the customer needs to be treated with respect and friendliness. Employees actually seem to seek out puzzled-looking patrons to offer assistance. After the sale, Lowes is rock-solid in standing by their products and if the customer is dissatisfied, will bend over backwards to make sure the experience becomes a happy one. I'm sure there are occasional exceptions, but in the main, Lowes stomps Depot handily.

4. Walgreens. Since I've been a chronic-pain patient for decades, I've purchased many a prescription in my time. The decade of the '80's was a horrible one, because I was almost forced to use a now-defunct chain known as Eckerd's. Their pharmacies were staffed by highly-qualified pharmacists and highly-acned high school dropouts. Since the dropouts answered the phones and dealt with the customers, mistakes were as common as wobbly wheels on Wal-Mart grocery carts. Fortunately, Walgreens and CVS came along and filled the void when Eckerd's disappeared. The folks behind the counter at Walgreens are unfailingly cheerful and competent. And they don't screw up the prescriptions. Makes life worth living, eh?

5. Cotton Patch restaurants. For those of you who aren't in Texas, this is a home-cooking chain that tries to cook food like Aunt Bee. They succeed. The food is flawless every time. The wait staff is friendly but not smothering. The managers are great about wandering by and checking on customer satisfaction. And they know how to put a mean batter on chicken-fried steak and chicken-fried chicken, two mandatory Southern food groups.

Got any places or things you'd like to laud?

His Majesty's Service

2010-02-10T20:46:00.003-06:00

I was reading today and came across the story of a Catholic friar named Abbe Pierre. Pierre was assigned to work with homeless beggars in Paris after WWII. He found that many were freezing to death in the city during the winter, not having a place to flee from the cold. He tried to interest the community in the beggars' plight, but had no success. He decided the only option was to show them how to mobilize themselves.

First, he taught them to do their everyday tasks better. Instead of sporadically collecting bottles and rags, they banded together in teams to scour the city. Next, he got them to build a warehouse from discarded bricks and start a business in which they sorted out vast amounts of used bottles collected from around Paris. Finally Pierre inspired each beggar by giving him responsibility to help another beggar worse off than himself. That is when the project really took off. An organization called "Emmaus" was founded to carry on Pierre's work, with branches in other countries.

A few years went by and presto! No more beggars in Paris! And Pierre believed his organization was about to face a serious crisis. "I must find somebody for my beggars to help", he declared. "If I don't find people worse off than my beggars, this movement could turn inward. They'll become a powerful, rich organization and the whole spiritual impact will be lost! They'll have no one to serve."

Pierre eventually went to India and found leprosy patients to fulfill his desperate search to find someone worse off than his beggars, and when he found them, he was overcome with joy. He returned to France, and Emmaus worked to donate a ward at an Indian hospital. The beggars had found people who needed their help so the spiritual motives of their lives continued on.

For us, the lesson is clear. Has there ever been more opportunity than right now to be there for the less fortunate? With our economy struggling and unemployment rising, the gulf between the "haves" and the "have nots" becomes ever more obvious. Christ spoke a lot about this, about clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, giving cups of cool water to those in need. He instructed us to consider others better than ourselves. If we do this, we will have to go against the flow of society. Advertisers constantly urge us to think of ourselves first, pamper ourselves, and reward ourselves. For sure, there was a great outpouring of American aid and effort for Haiti...but most probably ignored the opportunity.

For a nation of individuals that increasingly struggles to "get in touch with your real self", Christ's admonition that "he who loses himself shall find himself" rings very true. This Pierre fellow had it all figured out.

The dangers of assigning status...

2010-02-02T21:59:00.004-06:00

The secular world wants us to believe that our mission on earth is to attain enough status to earn the love, recognition, and plaudits of others. Advertising execs, of course, get paid the big bucks to entice us into this dangerous web of artificial importance, much like the hunter lures the prey into the waiting trap. You are familiar with the various items that we admire: good looks, youth, education, wealth, wit, and so on. Next thing we know, we're acting in a condescending manner to the custodian and getting sweaty palms before shaking hands with F-16 pilot.

Sadly, Christians like me find ourselves playing the status game. It affects how we choose our friends, our purchasing habits, our manner of speech to those less fortunate than we, how we dress, and our attitude about our current level in society. Often, these things subtly become engrained in our mind and habits and pretty soon, we're indistinquishable from those who never darken a church door.

James 2 talks about the dangers of seating an obviously rich man up front for all to see while shoving a shabbily-dressed guy to the rear. Very strong language is used to show God's disgust with such preferential treatment. Don't know about you, but I'd rather not tick God off. We all should jettison any kind of people-rating system. I'll work on myself, that's for sure.

Personal Bucket List

2010-01-27T18:50:00.011-06:00

I often think of things I want to do before my personal 24-second shot clock expires, but usually I don't have pen and paper in hand to jot down these incredibly important tasks. So I'll use my flawed memory to present these, and also give probabilities of them happening.

1. Touch the Stanley Cup. No other piece of sports metal carries such impact and importance. Most hockey players refuse to touch it until and unless their team wins the thing. Probability of fulfillment? Less than 1%. It would pretty much require the Dallas Stars to win their second NHL championship, and the way their fortunes are going, it might take more years than I have left.

2. Fly in the Concorde. The Concorde is the most elegant aircraft ever and the fastest commercial jetliner ever built. Probability of fulfillment? Zero. About three years ago, British Airways retired their fleet, succumbing to the extraordinary fuel costs and pressure from environmentalists. If only I had ponied up the several thousand dollars to buy a one-way ticket back in the '90's. There are a few of the birds preserved for the public to see and visit, and maybe I'll at least get to touch one.

3. Live next door to a busy railroad track. There is still a lot of little boy still left in this arthritic old man. I would love it, even to the point of ignoring the hassle of being awakened repeatedly in the middle of the night. Sure, the train whistle can jar you from slumber...but the clickety-clack will immediately lull you back to sleep. Probability of fulfillment? Zero. I am going to try to avoid moving again in the time I have left on this planet. I'm gonna leave the job of cleaning out the attic to our kids.

4. Live next door to a busy airport. No big surprise there. Probability of fulfillment: um, zero. Carole would probably leave me over #3 and surely leave me over this one.

5. Meet Claudine Longet. I have already written in the past about my fascination with the former Mrs. Andy Williams. But since I'm already in trouble with my wife, I shall not push what little luck I have left. Probability of fulfillment: less than zero.

The Sleeping Giant Finally Awakes

2010-01-20T19:41:00.004-06:00

It's easy to be swept away by glitz. Folks buy cars all the time that they shouldn't have fallen in love with but couldn't help it. The paint was too shiny, the accessories too tempting, the ride too smooth, and next thing you know, those well-meaning folks are saddled with debt and have buyer's remorse.

A lot of Americans were swept off their feet by Obama...a guy who is well-spoken, looks sharp, has a winning smile, and generally fulfilled everyone's long-time vision for our first African-American president. His campaign promises, hope and change, sounded good and enough folks bought the ideas that Obama was swept into office. Now, however, the shine is off. A year has passed and the country officially has buyer's remorse.

Scott Brown's victory in our most Democratic state is exhibit A that America has finally seen through the glitz. Several Democratic politicians have gotten the message and today offered up conciliatory remarks, talking about the party needing to move more to the middle and away from the extreme left. But Obama may be the most arrogant human on the planet. He still feels that his personna is enough to sway folks to do what they don't want to do. But the people don't agree.

This is the great thing about America. Our democratic process allows people to effect change without resorting to coups or assassinations. On Tuesday, the shock-wave of change rippled all the way to the Oval Office without anyone firing a gun or storming a palace. Mistakes get corrected and politicians get the message without physical violence...at least some of them do.

Pat Robertson and Haiti

2010-01-16T12:38:00.005-06:00

We are all aware now of Pat Robertson's comments on Haiti and the earthquake and about how it was the result of a pact with the devil. This is wrong on so many levels.

First, the timing is horrendous. Now is not the time to pontificate. As someone wrote, you don't sit by the bedside of a friend dying of lung cancer and remind him that he shouldn't have smoked. This is the height of poor taste.

Secondly, his theology is suspect. I haven't found anything in the New Testament that alludes to God acting in such a punitive matter on innocent people. There are passages indicating that He disciplines His people when necessary, but nothing about wholesale, massive, indiscriminatory natural disasters as tools of retribution.

Each time Robertson does this, he undermines the hard work of Christians who take it upon themselves to administer love to those in need. For those looking for a reason, any reason, to belittle Christianity, he gives them years' worth of material. God wants His people to be giving cups of water, figuratively, to the less fortunate (Matt. 10:42). Millions take that task to heart every day, and thousands will be involved in helping those in Haiti. These folks are the salt of the earth - totally unselfish folks looking to do what they can without any publicity or accolades.

Robertson's influence, whatever it may be, would have been much better utilized had he spread the word about how to donate to the Red Cross or, even better, organized a group led by himself to go to Haiti and render real assistance.

Wind Chill - Baloney

2010-01-09T17:53:00.002-06:00

We've had quite a weather week here in north Texas, as have most of the denizens of the U.S. who live east of the Rockies. One particular morning, the temp was in the upper teens and the wind was gusting 30+ mph. That would put the wind chill at around minus 5.

But I have serious issues with this whole wind chill thing. The NWS says it's based on how the cold feels to a human face five feet up on a cloudy day or at night. It sounds very subjective to me but they say it's based on some "heat transfer" formulation.

Here's my beef. I think nearly everyone would much rather experience a calm, cloudy day when it's minus 5 than a very windy day in the mid-teens. The wind has a way of penetrating all those layers the experts tell us to wear. After it digs through all that fabric, it takes aim for nerves buried deep under the skin. There's a reason why "bone-chilling" is a common phrase during winter.

The coldest temp I've ever experienced was minus 1 F. It hurt not a bit. Now the sun was out, but there was no wind. In fact, I found the air rather invigorating. I would much rather have been in those circumstances, even had it been cloudy, than to have a windy, 20-degree day.

So the experts need to get away from their desks and step outside the next windy winter day. My hunch is that they will rush back inside and re-do the revered wind chill chart. And the next time the forecast calls for, say, 15 degrees with 30 mph winds, and they say the wind chill is minus 5, feel free to join me in hollering out, "B-b-b-b-b-baloney"!

Through a Glass, Darkly

2010-01-05T19:39:00.003-06:00

With each new day and each new problem, Obama proves that he's looking at things through a different prism than most in the country. This is not surprising since he has been pals with radicals and Rev. Wright for so long.

The latest blunder is, of course, related to the "underwear bomber", a real wonderful fellow who wanted to take hundreds down with him in a futile attempt to get to those waiting virgins. The Obama administration has opted to treat this fellow as a regular criminal off the streets rather than a terrorist. This is hardly surprising since "terrorist" is not a word used by those close to the president. This jihadist was "mirandized" and any significant info he could have passed on will now be lost forever.

A Rasmussen poll shows the vast majority of Americans want this guy turned over to military authorities. They also want to see water-boarding and any other "enhanced" interrogation techniques used to get him yapping. See, Americans understand this situation for what it really is - war. Radical Islamists are out to destroy the country. Therefore, we should use whatever means necessary to protect and defend our country. But Obama, I guess, sees all this as a big misunderstanding. If we saw things his way, we'd be bowing to various potentates and eliminating "jihad" from our conversations, too.

The Islamists are dropping major hints that they have only just begun this fight. Most patriots got the message on 9/11. The situation now is, will we continue to be fortunate enough to have passengers leap over seats and subdue the enemy, or will we have our head down in a magazine and miss the hints? We certainly can't count on Obama to be alert and vigilant. Whose side is he on, anyway?

Best Photos of the Universe, 2009

2009-12-31T14:04:00.018-06:00

Don't hesitate to click on these and see them enlarged...

Most of these were taken from the Hubble telescope...a few from ground observatories...

This next one quickly became known as the "Butterfly" shot...

Mellow...

2009-12-27T22:46:00.003-06:00

What a weekend! Somehow Carole and I have gone from newlyweds to having six grandkids in the blink of an eye. Somehow, 37 years filled with work, a little play, and blessings too numerous to mention have zoomed past - and we are left with wrinkles and aching joints, but 3 wonderful children who married extremely well and now have rewarded us wtih 6 delightful grandchildren.

The three kids and their kids descended on the homestead yesterday and it was a blast. I'm not sure how the game of "Let's Jump on Papa When He's Down on the Floor" got started, and I'll do everything within my power to prevent a sequel, but there's something magical about having grandkids taking a running leap at you and piling on the backs of those already engaged. Words can't explain my emotions. But it has to do with not caring that it hurt and even encouraging them to bring it on - because these are my grandchildren!

Our three children probably haven't projected this far into the future, but amazingly, Lord willing, time will zip by like a bullet train and soon, their kids will be carting their kids to their house...kids who will delight in leaping on them, too! And it won't hurt at all.

Feast your eyes...(shots I wish I'd have taken)

2009-12-22T20:12:00.016-06:00

Things I'm thinkin' about tonight...

2009-12-19T19:26:00.003-06:00

1. So disappointed that it appears the U. S. Senate will pass a health bill that the vast majority of America doesn't want...and, by the way, has been rushed through with such haste that nobody in the Senate has even read the whole bill. I'm fully confident that even though most representatives who are up for re-election will not return and even though Obama will be a one-term president, it will take years and years to undo the harm perpetrated by these out-of-touch politicians.

2. I do a lot of driving, at least 190 miles each weekday. I see a lot of cars on the interstate highways, to say the least. But there are two groups of cars that make me peer inside them, hoping to catch a look at the driver. The first group sport license plates that say, "Purple Heart". These are usually driven by Korean War vets or Vietnam vets, obviously. I stare at the driver and wonder how they were wounded or injured, and how serious it was. The second group is very rare. I've seen maybe 10 of these. These vehicles have license plates that say, "Former POW". I really, really stare at these drivers. Were they, perhaps, in the dreaded Hanoi Hilton? Were they held captive for years and years? It's all I can do not to pull in front of them, stop them, and thank them for the service they've rendered.

3. There's every indication that this is going to be a very brutal winter. The school district for which I drive a bus has a reputation for keeping the schools open even when roads are treacherous. I'm not excited about the prospect of slip-sliding sideways down a busy interstate, trying to corral a heavy, yellow monster...I sure hope the folks who make the "go, no-go" decisions think about those of us who transport children.

4. I'm making a point of saying "Merry Christmas" and not "Happy Holidays" this year. Just my little part in putting Christ back in the season for which He is the reason.

Enjoying your work?

2009-12-07T21:05:00.004-06:00

I've been thinking, lately. A scary thought, I know. What initiated this chain of thought was a moment on my school bus, a moment when I realized that I thoroughly enjoy this job. The hours are not oppressive, the pay is good (since I've been doing it 26 years), and the girls who ride my bus are wonderfully polite and mature. And I simply enjoy the physical act of driving a school bus.

It's a familiar scene: someone born in the mid-20th century gives advice to someone around 20 years old. "Listen, life is short," he says. "Find something to do with your life that you will enjoy!" Of course, following this instruction is problematic. We all want to do fun things, even at work. Being able to match up one's interests with an available and suitable job is tough. Most of us aren't too successful at pulling this off.

Coming out of high school, I was sure I wanted to teach. Nothing during 4 years of college diluted this goal. I enjoyed the subjects in which I had majors (English, History) and I looked forward to working with students. My student teaching assignment was pleasant and reaffirmed my plans. I got my military commitment out of way, returned to Texas, and was hired by the Dallas ISD.

Long story short. The negative factors of being a teacher in a large, urban middle school far outweighed the warm fuzzies I got from working with the kids. I had numerous discussions with Carole as the years went by...could we afford it if I moved to a private school...should I change careers somehow...ironically, she was saddled with a job that paid well, but was mentally and physically oppressive.

Fast forward to 2004. Carole retires after 34 years, having stayed with the same job. Two years later, I retire, never having changed jobs. I guess what we proved is that one can stay with a job that one doesn't particularly like most days and absolutely abhors on the rest of the days, and somehow survive and reap the financial rewards for having stayed the course. Of course, we leaned heavily on God and each other and were absolutely committed to doing what was best for our kids.

So what does one tell the 20 year-old? Chase your dream and find something totally fulfilling? Or understand that most folks don't get that lucky and wind up doing the best they can at something which brings way fewer thrills?

The Tiger Mess

2009-12-02T19:28:00.006-06:00

What is it with guys, anyway?

Here's a guy, married to a beautiful woman, a guy with incalculable riches and a lifestyle matched by few on the planet, who nonetheless throws his image and his marriage down the toilet.

I have to chuckle when I hear folks describe the Bible as a book of fairy tales, totally irrelevant for the present age. Even a cursory inspection of scripture reveals that marital happiness comes from the commitment of a man and woman to each other for life. We even stick that principle in wedding vows ('til death do us part), but many aren't taking those words seriously. Common thinking seems to be, "We'll try this and see if we like it." Or, "Hey, if it doesn't work out, we can always get a divorce." Sadly, the human toil from such shallow thinking is immense, especially with kids involved.

There was another head-scratcher from this Tiger mess. One of his "girl-friends" said that he is worried about his financial security. Here we have the most famous athlete in the world, a fellow whose endorsement contracts bring him millions and millions each month, and somehow it isn't enough. Again, the Bible speaks wisdom... about greed being a quest that never ends nor satisfies, the owner of big barns just wants bigger barns, to put it in Bible-talk. "A man's life does not consist of the abundance of things he possesses," it says elsewhere.

Now Tiger is a prisoner in his mansion, unwilling to step out and face the music, or the paparazzi. His marriage is in shambles, perhaps beyond repair. Now, when he appears at a golf tournament, there'll be as much talk about his private life (not that it is very private) as his golf game. He may not get to see much of the two kids he adores, should Elin choose to divorce him. It's almost as though an asterisk will be put next to his name from now on...

*stupidly ruined his life for a few moments of pleasure

Ah, commitment. So few seem to see it as the secret to marital happiness.

Stack the firewood now...

2009-11-25T16:09:00.005-06:00

You may have heard of Accuweather. This is a weather forecasting firm that sells its services to both media clients and businesses. They're quite good at what they do. Thus, I was interested in what they predicted about the upcoming winter weather in Texas.

Better get the firewood ready. On their prediction map, right there across the state of Texas, they write "Snow and Ice". Accuweather's lead meteorologist, the uncomfortably-named Joe Bastardi, says the climatological factors are almost identical to 1963. Well, I happen to remember the winter of '63 - '64.. I was a mere high-schooler then and I got up at 3:10 every morning to deliver The Dallas Morning News to 120 customers. There were (I looked this up) 63 mornings that winter with freezing or below lows. Many of the lows were in the teens.

But what I really remember was the frequency of ice and snow. Lots of it. In fact, mid-January brought a snowstorm the likes of which we rarely get in the DFW area anymore. A large swath of north Texas received 8-12" of snow, effectively shutting down the area completely. Unlike our neighbors in the northern U.S., we don't have a fleet of snowplows ready to respond to calamaties like this. All our cities do is half-heartedly spread some sand on bridges and overpasses and watch the fun begin. Film crews position themselves in advantageous places and simply wait for the inevitable spin-outs and jack-knifed trucks.

There is nothing that I have mixed feelings about more than ice and snow. I love snow days because you get a free day or two at home with nothing to do and no place to go...totally unexpectedly. On the flip side, those of us in the education business have to make up any days we miss, and those makeup days are generally beautiful, tranquil spring days that would have been perfect off days. Also, sometimes school isn't cancelled when it should be, and driving a bus on ice is problematic to say the least. And, I live 25 miles from the bus lot, with much of that route consisting of bridges that ice up quickly when the temp hits 32.

So, we'll see if Accuweather is accurate. It would be nice for my grandkids to experience building a snowman sometime in their youth.

Drunk Pilot

2009-11-18T21:31:00.004-06:00

On a March morning in 1990, an intoxicated crew of three climbed into the cockpit of a Northwest Airlines 727 and flew 91 passengers from Fargo, N.D. to Minneapolis. Having been tipped off, the FAA was waiting to arrest the crew upon landing. Fortunately, the plane landed safely.

One of the crew was the flight engineer, Joe Balzer, who has now told his story in a gripping book entitled, Flying Drunk. Fortunately, this is an amazingly inspirational saga. Balzer was in denial about his alcoholism, and after his arrest he got involved Al-Anon and got sober. Unfortunately, he had to face the music, too. He was found guilty of a felony and was sentenced to a year in a federal minimum-security prison on an Air Force base. However, there was a strange fear that he would escape, steal a jet, and zoom off to freedom. So he was tossed into the normal crowd of ne'er-do-wells at a maximum-security prison.

It was quite a shock for Balzer to go from the clear air at 35,000 feet to the cold dungeon of a federal prison. His recounting of the year behind bars consumes most of the book. The same smarts that made him a fast-rising pilot served him well when dealing with street-tough gangsters. But he survived. Throughout the entire ordeal, his wife never wavered in support of her husband. And most importantly, Balzer's faith in God remained powerful. He did more that just survive - he did a lot of teaching and helped a bunch of bad guys along the way.

Ordinarily, you don't give away the ending of a book, but since it's freely publicized on the book cover and at his website (www.flyingdrunk.com), I'll go ahead and tell you that Joe started from scratch and rebuilt his career, culminating in a job with American Airlines, flying MD-82's. The story of how he got that position is alone worth reading the book for. Throughout the pages, Balzer gives hope and advice to anyone caught in the web of alcoholism...all the while demonstrating how it is possible to overcome defeat if you do all you can do and turn the rest over to God.

Still want ObamaCare?

2009-11-16T20:28:00.003-06:00

This from the government's Centers of Medicare and Medicaid Services. Not Fox News, but from Obama's own administration:

"A plan to slash more that $500 billion from future Medicare spending - one of the biggest sources of funding for President Obama's proposed overhaul of the nation's health-care system - would sharply reduce benefits for some senior citizens and could jeopardize access to care for millions of others, according to a government evaluation released Saturday. The report...found that Medicare cuts contained in the health package approved by the House on Nov. 7 are likely to prove so costly to hospitals and nursing homes that they could stop taking Medicare altogether."

Chilling.

Contacted your senators yet?

Who Are You?

2009-11-14T21:38:00.002-06:00

A couple of months ago, on a whim, I added the "ClustrMaps" application there at the upper right. To put it mildly, I am floored by what I see. Several readers from South America? Someone from New Zealand? Three from the United Kingdom? A person in Egypt? All continents except Antarctica?

I have no idea how these folks are finding out about a very underwhelming blog or why they're stopping by. I don't even get the coast-to-coast readership in the United States. Only thing I can figure out is that you like the aviation pictures I select.

If you are one of these folks, I'd love for you to leave a comment and tell me how you came upon this meager effort. If no one responds, I'll know that all these people from exotic locales stopped by only once, hated the waste of their time, and moved on. Ah, the vagaries of blogging!

Further Proof

2009-11-06T19:15:00.003-06:00

In the aftermath of the Ft. Hood tragedy, further proof of Obama's incompetence is forthcoming. The guy is so cold. The White House alerts the news networks that the president will be commenting on the horrific occurence as he addresses a conference dealing with Native American issues. Obama spends 2 minutes and 20 seconds yukking it up with his audience before he mentions the murders. This man has the feelings and judgment of a tree stump.

Then today, he urges Americans "not to rush to judgment" about the incident. Were Major Hasan a white Christian, I guarantee that Obama would have not used that phrase. This officer is an Islamic terrorist, plain and simple. I heard an analyst say that this is the worst terrorist attack on our soil since 9/11 and I agree. Watch the White House in the next few days...they will not use the word "terror" or "terrorist".

This is what you get when you have a Muslim Kenyan as President. This is what you get when mainstream media falls in love with an image and disregards his inexperience and his checkered past. But keeping talking, Mr. President. The more you open your mouth, the more we find out about you. And the more we find out, the more certain your exit from the Oval Office will be.

New Age Stuff

2009-11-03T12:12:00.003-06:00

I'm not a big fan of New Age. Generally, the context in which I hear the term is religion, and from what I've heard of New Age religion, they have it all wrong. The further away from the Bible that people drift, the more desperate their attempts at happiness appear. It doesn't help to have Oprah touting "personal fulfillment" to the exclusion of serving God and others first, of course.

But this isn't about religion, at least not today. I've discovered that I'm a fan of New Age music. I guess it started a few years ago when I became of fan of Enya and her soft, soothing tones. And then I was fortunate enough to get a few free months of XM-Sirius radio with my new pickup truck. While station-surfing, I came across channel 72, something they call "Spa", and was quickly hooked. The music is hard to describe, but it is consistently dreamy, smooth, and sleep-inducing, something that may not be wise to listen to as you motor down the interstate...

Young folks won't understand this, but in the '60's, good music was still being written. And much of the music could be listened to without your clothing become frayed from the noise. Many of the hits were ballads - love songs, you know. Then came the hard rock era, and "easy listening" stuff soon couldn't even be found on the FM dial.

So finally, there is something that won't assault my rather old eardrums. Forget old age, I've found "new age".

Let's Get Halloween Under Control

2009-10-29T09:49:00.003-05:00

First of all, it's the most senseless holiday. It's origin is somewhat shady and billions of trick-or-treaters are blissfully ignorant of how all this got started. The list of things wrong with this annual diabetes starter-kit goes on forever:

1. We have high school sophomores with no costume other than their sagging britches going door-to-door in a valiant attempt to satisfy their sugar craving.

2. Kids no longer say "thank you" when handed their candy. Solution? Chase them down, reach into their sack, grab a handful of candy bars and tell them they are ungrateful monsters.

3. Kids don't even say "trick or treat" anymore. They just stand there staring at you, assuming the onus is on the giver, not the receiver. Solution? Reach out with an empty closed fist, palm up, dip into their bag and thump the side - making it sound like you've dropped a Snickers in.

4. Parents are driving their kids to more affluent neighborhoods in a desperate attempt to get more and better results. There oughta be a law saying you have to stay in your neighborhood.

5. This year, the day after Labor Day, the grocery stores magically transformed entire aisles into orange and black Halloween corridors, somehow trying to get us into the mood for this most trivial of holidays. Mercy!

So I hereby appoint myself chairman of a new political action committee called "Help Arrange Retro-Style Halloweens". We will be known by the acronym "HARSH". Dues can be paid in cash, check, or Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

Brady Doing Great

2009-10-28T19:21:00.004-05:00

New grandson Brady had some hurdles to cross upon arrival last Friday. His lungs weren't quite ready for the big-time yet. He was disinterested in nursing at first. And there was just a bit of jaundice that required a couple of days under the lamp.

He spent a bit over four days in the NICU and today was moved to the "special" nursery. He will stay there through Friday (when his antibiotics are finished) and then will likely go home. He has been weaned off his oxygen help and has developed a strong interest in nursing. Jenny is recovering so quickly from her C-section that she's been driving twice a day to the hospital.

So, all we need are good pictures of the young man. Should be getting them soon and when I do, they will magically and quickly find their way to this blog, and will no doubt supplant the usual aviation picture that typically leads off all this wisdom. In summary, God has blessed us incredibly and many prayers have been answered thus far.

Welcome, Mr. Brady!

2009-10-23T21:20:00.005-05:00

Coming to you from San Antonio, where grandchild #6 arrived at 2:40 this afternoon. He is Brady Thomas Perkins and he weighed in at 6 lbs., 7 oz. He had to be moved to NICU a bit later due to a lung issue, but at the moment it doesn't appear serious and the expectation is that he won't be there much longer than a day. Brett and Jenny were so hoping that this son would avoid the NICU since his two older brothers had extended stays there, but alas, it was not to be. Jenny is doing as well as can be expected after a c-section.

Brady's middle name has a bit of history. My great-grandfather on my father's side was Sam Thomas, and he was the postmaster of Aspermont, Texas. He was shot and killed at the post office one day by a man who was convinced Sam was messin' with his wife. I have the newspaper clipping at home that details the murder, and from what I can glean, Mr. Thomas was an extraordinarily well-respected citizen.

His daughter, my grandmother, was one of 7 sisters. She had only one child in her years, my father, and he was given the name of his grandfather and became Sam Thomas Perkins.

Young Brady Thomas has wonderful parents and I feel confident he will become a man as honorable as my father. Since I can't speak to the veracity of the murderer's claim way back in Aspermont, I'll hold off wishing Brady is just like his great-great-great grandfather...at least for now.

A disappearing backroad and a prayer...

2009-10-20T19:09:00.003-05:00

Carole and I had one moment of panic on the trip to Vermont. We were heading north from the south-central part of the state, dropping in on quaint general stores and finding foliage that was eye-rollingly fantastic.

That morning, on a whim, we had turned onto a backroad that lured us with a canopy of gold and orange and yellow leaves arching over the packed-dirt surface. It turned out to be a marvelous decision, as soon we were being escorted through incredible beauty, the kind of stuff that we had come to see. At one point, we stopped the car in the middle of the road (there were no other cars - period) and stepped out. Carole said something to the effect of, "Just listen to the silence." It was as though we had somehow been granted five minutes in heaven, and we struggled to soak in stimuli that our senses couldn't handle, at least not in heavy doses like this.

Later that afternoon, we chanced upon another backroad and decided that it was worth another go. This one was similar to the first...totally isolated and overflowing with color. There were places where the trees had shed enough leaves that we couldn't see the road. But our GPS kept assuring us that this was indeed a real road that would eventually deposit us back on our original state road.

Several miles into this foray, the road suddenly inclined upward and became more rugged. Also, there was a narrowing of the road as the trees crowded in. Then, we reached a place where there was a dip, and the lowering was filled with mud and water. We stopped and discussed the situation. Putting the rental car in reverse and backing down the road until we could turn around was not a good option. The road was too rough and twisty, and it would be a nail-biter to try and look over your shoulder for two or three miles of backward driving. But we had no clue as to what lay ahead...the road had been getting progressively worse, and despite what was on the GPS screen, it seemed to be dwindling down to nothing. So we prayed.

Getting stuck here would have problematic to the max. It was already mid-afternoon and would get dark soon. We were on a road with no name. We kept going in and out of cellphone coverage. The few houses we had seen weren't really houses - they were rusty trailers, surrounded by weeds, cars on blocks, and angry-looking dogs. And we were Republicans in state filled with Democrats and gay activists. After praying, we switched seats. Carole had been driving and I had been navigating and manning the camera. I hoped that our car had front-wheel drive and decided to forge ahead. We eased into the dip and the car started sliding sideways...but never quit going forward. Within 10 seconds or so, we were clear of the quagmire. But then, up ahead, lay an even larger swampy, muddy pig sty in the road.

By now the die was cast. Nothing to do but plow forward. Mimicking the first mudhole, the car began slip-sliding again, but determinedly pulled forward. Bingo! Cleared it. But how long could we keep this up? Well, we never found out. Just a few feet past swamp #2, there was a small opening on the right side of the road...just enough, perhaps, to turn the car around and begin the process of extricating ourselves from a bad decision. I pulled forward, then backed into the spare opening. If I went too far, the rear wheels would slip off a fairly steep edge and there really would be trouble. I slipped the car into "Drive", the wheels spun for just a split-second, and then we were moving forward and downhill and toward our escape. We still had to navigate through the two sluice-pits, and the car tried going sideways again in each of them, but we made it.

For some crazy reason, the foliage was even prettier on the way back down the road. And all the way, both of kept saying aloud, over and over, "God is good. God is sooo good!"

Back from God's Wonderland

2009-10-13T10:21:00.012-05:00

It would be hard to be an atheist after witnessing what we saw over the weekend. It has been a banner year for Vermont foliage and we got there right at the peak of the season. Most of the time, the sky was cloudy and misty, but that did not put a damper on the trees. Here are a few shots from the trip...and there are hundreds of others, trust me. Enjoy!

Ready, Set, Go

2009-10-07T20:27:00.004-05:00

(Think those USAF pilots are any good?)

Well, Carole and I are mostly packed and ready to leave the house at 5:45 AM Thursday to head out to the airport. From there, we fly into Boston. Then pick up the rental car and immediately get away from the big city and head to Vermont. The weather forecast for the area could be better...Friday will be cloudy and showery...but Saturday is shaping up as a partly cloudy day, and all I'm asking for is a little sun sometime during the trip.

We will be in Wilmington, VT on Thursday night, St. Johnsbury, VT on Friday night, and Rochester, NH on Saturday night. All reports indicate that not only have we picked an extremely good foliage year, but we'll be arriving at peak color in most of the state of Vermont.

The last time I was in Vermont, I can't even remember what kind of camera I was using. That was 1997. Since then, I've discovered the amazing world of digital photography and the unbelievable instrument known as Photoshop. So I'll be prepared with the proper tools and equipment...and the foliage awaits. Time to get it on!

NDE's and LTP's

2009-10-04T21:53:00.004-05:00

Ever since Dr. Raymond Moody's book came out in 1975 (Life after Life), I've been fascinated by near-death experiences. I think we all want to know details of what is on the other side of the curtain, and I believe Christians in particular want to check the living arrangements of their eternal home. It's just natural that those who believe more strongly in the afterlife would manifest greater curiosity than those who feel life is truly over with the last breath.

Carole cleaned out a closet last week and uncovered a book I had read a few years ago called Blessing in Disguise, written by an internist named Barbara Rommer. She has had a keen interest in NDE's because her father strongly hinted to her that he had experienced one; also, she lost a husband at a fairly young age. In her medical practice, she has frequently had patients who've volunteered information after an NDE. Her book, interestly enough, focuses on what she calls "LTP's", or "less than positive" NDE's.

Not every one who has a near-death experience finds it to be all glory and pleasure. A reasonable percentage find moments of difficulty and anguish. Dr. Rommer says that she has yet to interview anyone whose LTP was completely negative, however, because each LTP interviewee came away from the experience with at least some desire to make positive corrections in his or her life. Most are convinced they were allowed to resume earthly life in order to try and make amends for mistake made prior to their "near-death".

I don't buy into everything I have read about NDE's, simply because the Bible tells us that the road to heaven is rather narrow, and only a minority of folks are able to traverse this path successfully. But statistics indicate that a vast majority of NDE "experiencers" have a totally positive time when they're away from their physical body...it's all peace, joy, light, flowers, music, and banana pudding until they're told they are not quite ready for this wonderful new area and must return to earth. If nearly everyone is going to have their ticket punched, regardless of their acceptance of Christ as their savior, that kinda renders his sacrifice on the cross meaningless.

What gives veracity to these accounts, however, is the element of incredible knowledge these NDE'ers exhibit once they are revived. One gentleman interviewed by Rommer had traveled with his wife from his home in Florida to Milwaukee for open-heart surgery. He went into respiratory arrest and was clinically dead for thirty minutes - and was revived when the cardiac surgeon did an open heart massage, which was finally successful.

During this time, he found himself standing next to those who were trying to resuscitate him, and then he ascended to the top of the OR. He began wondering if his wife knew what was going on, whereupon he immediately found himself in the surgical waiting room where he found her on the phone, crying. Whatever he thought was immediately manifested, and he had sudden idea that he wanted to go home to Florida, and bingo, he was there. While there, he saw all the mail which had been taken in by the housekeeper, strewn all over the dining room table. He accurately described all of the letters, bills, junk mail, and the magazines. He was able to describe the housesitter's girlfriend in detail, a person he and wife did not even know existed prior to this incident. All he described was confirmed, of course.

And, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of similar stories where the "dead" person "returns" and is able to recount details which were impossible for him to know. That recurring element gives enormous validity to near-death experiences, and therein creates the conflict for the Christian I mentioned. If some of what these people report is accurate and, in fact, impossibly accurate, but then other elements of their stories don't jive with Biblical teaching, we have a conundrum. Of course, I will and must choose what God has said about the "narrow way". God has also told us that He wishes all could be saved, but that most will reject Him.

Dr. Rommel states that 9-15% of the NDE's are LTP, by the way. She interviewed over 300 "experiencers" for the book, the vast majority of which had never told anyone about their particular NDE before. I'm only about 40 pages in, so I better promise to post again after I've completed the book. Feel free to comment on this fascinating subject if you wish.

Ker-splat!

2009-10-02T21:50:00.003-05:00

Since I'm adamantly anti-Obama and since I feel he's extremely dangerous to our country, and since I want everything he endorses to fail miserably, it brought me great joy to see that his and Michelle's backing of Chicago for the Summer Olympics utterly go down in flames today.

The Drudge Report said it best with their headline: "The Ego Has Landed!"

Hang on for a power surge...

2009-09-26T15:33:00.005-05:00

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us...Eph. 3:20

Is there a more mind-boggling verse in the Bible? Or a more challenging one?

What would happen to our personal and corporate lives if we took God up on this promise? When I was a middle-school teacher, a common frustration was the student who fell into sort of a comfort zone, a zone marked by minimal thinking, ambition, and activity. Once settled in to this mental pothole, it was extremely hard to pry the kid out. If one had no goals or aspirations, it was fairly easy to accept failure.

It seems Paul is telling us that we should guard against low expectations and minimalist thinking when assessing our spiritual lives. In essence, we sell God short. A friend has pancreatic cancer and our thought process becomes, "Well, I'll just pray that God gives him comfort and peace in his final days." After all, almost no one recovers from that disease. Somehow we forget that God parted the Red Sea, healed Naaman, and fed thousands with a few leftovers. Why assume there are situations too hard for God?

We frequently settle for less is assessing our spiritual potential. We become a modern-day Moses, pleading with God not to give us something to do we can't handle and hoping He will find some Aaron out there to do our spiritual heavy lifting. Paul wants us to realize how we cheat ourselves (and Him) when we don't tap into the ultimate power supply. He wants us to think big and make big plans. He wants churches that dare to make challenging decisions, based not on what they can do, but what He can do.

Let's take God for his word here and expand our vistas. There's a lost world out there, one that seems to give Satan easy victories. The challenge is to realize that we are the extension cords, if you will, of God's unimaginable power, and to flip the switch!

Assassinating the King's English

2009-09-23T11:33:00.005-05:00

The King's English is actually a book on grammar that was published in 1906 by a pair of brothers. Of course today, when one mentions "the King's English", it's usually a reference to long-ago times in England when proper use of the language was standard fare. Sadly, these kinds of references are more common now than ever before as shallow-thinking individuals wage daily war on our beautiful language.

Nowhere is this disturbing trend more evident than in names of stores and businesses, and the convenience store is particularly culpable. Around the Dallas area is a chain of 7-Eleven copycats called "Qwik-Mart". Let me ask the obvious question: does misspelling "Quick" bring in more customers? I really doubt that old Larry and Martha, driving down the thoroughfare, needing a loaf of bread, actually pick out "Qwik-Mart" over all the rest of the competition because of the cutesy way "Qwik" is spelled!

I visited Amarillo, Texas once and was immediately taken aback by a particular chain of stores named, "Toot 'N Totem". There are so many problems here, almost too many to mention. First of all, there's no consumer study that I'm aware of that points to greater consumer spending if you blatantly abbreviate "And" to the almost obscene "'N". And the use of a Northwestern American Indian icon like "totem" to substitute for "Tote Them" is a dastardly deed. The name of the stores should be, "Toot and Tote Them". On the other hand, the whole concept is lacking. The stores' business would probably grow if the place were simply named, "The Store".

This morning, I passed an apartment complex with the name of "Majic Apts". Again, was there a bean-counter in a Wall Street office who suggested to management that there would probably never be a vacancy if "magic" were spelled "majic"? I doubt it. It was no doubt some proprietor's crazy idea...thinking that "majic" added a little pizzazz to his otherwise roach-ridden apartments. So wrong!

Perhaps the most egregious treatment of the King's English is a chain of liquor stores in Dallas with the scalp-scratching name of "Bi-Lo". "Bi-Lo"!!!! Where do I begin? We all know "bi" has nothing to do with "buy", and, in fact, has other connotations that really confuse the issue. "Lo" is a wonderful word ("And lo, I am with you always, even to the ends of the earth"). But it has no use in the title of a liquor store! "Buy-Low" sends a clear, concise message, far different from the brain-scrambling, intellect-abusing "Bi-Lo".

I can only hope this country is strong enough to survive both Obama and deliberately misspelled convenience store names.

Itchin' for Vermont

2009-09-17T12:09:00.003-05:00

Three weeks from today, Carole and I will visit heaven for the 6th time. But unlike Paul, I am able to tell you about it. I first became interested in Vermont after seeing some foliage shots in a 1970's-ish coffee-table book. I decided this was something I'd have to see for myself, but with three small kiddos and all the expenses that go with a young family, I didn't see it happening.

But in 1982, I entered a contest on KRLD radio that offered two round-trip tickets anywhere American Airlines flies. I flooded the station with entries and managed to win. So, it was off to Vermont with Carole for 5 days of chasing color throughout the state. Two years later, we went again and had the thrill of having our rental car break down on the quietest of backroads in the most gorgeous valley I'd ever seen. In '88, I won another contest but this time, only one free ticket was the prize. In an act of total selflessness, I left Carole at home and went solo to the Green (should be Orange) Mountain State. Twice more in the '90's, we took in Vermont's colors, once even sneaking Brooke out of high school to drag her along. She was not a believer until she saw for herself the incredible reds, golds, and oranges that make eyeballs ache and adjectives strain.

We were going to return in October of 2001, but 9/11 happened and the fear of flying was palpable enough to ground us and our trip. A couple of trips to British Columbia in '02 and '05 allowed us to see God's majesty in a different way, but Vermont keeps whispering to our subconscious and reminding us that there's gold in them thar hills.

The last time we went, I knew nothing about photography and had a very average camera. Now, I've got at least a modicum of picture-taking experience and, thanks to Al Gore, the opportunity to share pix via the 'net and this blog. Rest assured, a few of our shots will touch down on "Jets and Life". Hope you like 'em.

Okay, call off the conspirators...

2009-09-12T16:15:00.003-05:00

First of all, kudos to Don Staib for the above picture. He's a buddy who flies for American Airlines, and he took this shot on Friday while flying the stormy skies over Texas.

Now, then. My previous blog entry focused on the folks who feel that 9/11 was an inside job and my worries that there might be some truth to their claims. Fortunately, last week I recorded a two-hour program on this topic, shown on the National Geographic Channel. Methodically, point-by-point, nearly every conspiratorial claim was intelligently debunked.

By far the most compelling point is simply this: in order for 9/11 to have been a coordinated plan fomented by the Bush-Cheney administration, thousands of "worker bees" would have had to been on board with the strategy - with each of them being counted to keep their lips sealed. It's been 8 years, and there's been nary a peep from anybody who claims to have part of the alleged conspiracy. It is simply impossible to believe that a plan so evil, so complex, so devilish, could have been carried out without someone, somewhere, yapping about their role in making those buildings fall down or in attacking the Pentagon.

A good point made by the program was that whenever our country has an incredibly major event, conspiracy theorists pop up. Pearl Harbor had them and the Kennedy assassination had them. This is no different. The good news is that Bush and Cheney are off the hook, as we all suspected. The bad guys really did pull off 9/11 and hopefully our vigilance prohibits a repeat performance.

Scared I'll believe it...

2009-09-09T19:47:00.004-05:00

I've begun reading a book that puts forth the idea that 9/11 was not the doing of Bin Laden, but rather the work of conspirators in the Bush administration. Now before you laugh, let me warn you that I, too, believe the idea is preposterous. But so did the man who wrote the book, and then the more he researched it, the more he believed.

The reason why I want to see what he says is the impressive set of credentials he brings to the table. Dr. David Ray Griffin is professor of religion and theology, emeritus, at Claremont School of Theology in California, and has written 30 books dealing with history, theology, and other subjects. On page 14, he gives a partial list of others who believe the same, and the names would knock your socks off. Included are former CIA agents, diplomats, cabinet members, and other prominent citizens. These are folks who are trained to be discerning and are experienced in separating truth from chaff. They have lent their names and leveraged their credibility to this effort to get the real truth out.

I'm digging into the first chapter, which deals with the delay in scrambling our military jets to intercept the ill-fated airliners. We all know that all over America, we have planes and pilots in absolute readiness for situations just like 9/11. They practice this stuff constantly and can be counted upon to be in the air within 5 minutes of an alert. For some reason, there was little or no scrambling of jets on that day.

There is much more to get to and I shudder to think what I'm going to find. I hope that all the theories are flawed and that I can shoot easy holes in them. But so far, the weight of research and scholarship in the book is impressive. I'll report back when finished. Meanwhile, be sure look out for black helicopters...

About Revelation 21...

2009-09-05T15:50:00.004-05:00

Seven or eight years ago, I was confident enough in my beliefs on the hereafter that I taught classes on heaven. Little did I know the massive turnaround that was coming. But I've done a lot of reading, particularly the works of Randy Alcorn, and not only do I have brand new eschatology ideas, but I'm considerably more excited about the prospects of the hereafter.

The change centers on the idea that there is no reason to think that Revelation 21 is meant to be symbolic and not literal. Heaven will be brought down (New Jerusalem) to the new earth. The new earth will be the same planet where we are now, only renewed...with everything evil, decayed, and rotten removed forever. God and Christ will rule this renewed earth and we will serve them. The reason I'm more pumped about this is the prospect of being in familiar environs that have been cleansed of the devil's influence.

There's a lot we don't know, of course. We'll have new bodies, but I don't know much more than that. Of course, we won't have marriage but I trust God to have a plan that let's us exist with our spouses in a way that will be superior to what we knew on this side of the curtain. We will serve God forever in ways that will be thrilling, rewarding, and perpetually fulfilling. Details are scarce, but that's okay. He tells us a little bit and faith fills in the rest of the picture.

One question I got a lot when I taught that class was, "What difference does it make?" I mean, should we devote a lot of time to ruminating on the hereafter? I think not only is it okay, but it should serve to motivate us and foster hope in our day-to-day lives. We all face discouragement, pain, and suffering...why not dwell on the promises of God that this is only temporary, and that glory will make today's troubles seems trivial? (see II Cor. 4:16-17).

One week in...

2009-08-29T16:47:00.003-05:00

Well, the first week of school is in the books and things went swimmingly well. I had a fairly good group of girls last year, but there were four or five who insisted upon being late, loud, and littery. Amazingly, they're all gone. Transferred or moved. I'm left with about 40 girls who are well on their ways to being model citizens. They are unfailingly polite and poised, and from what I've already seen this week, seriously dedicated to academics.

But then, after all, this school is a leadership school for young women, as it says in the very name of the school. In case you're interested, the racial composition of my riders is about 60% Black and 40% Hispanic. Here is some interesting info from the school's website:

Seniors who have attended the school beginning their freshman year are guaranteed up to $12,000 for college if they meet the requirements of the Foundation for the Education of Young Women (FEYW) Scholarship, created by Lee Posey, founder of Palm Harbor Homes. The requirements include: applying for 2 scholarships per month, applying for financial aid, taking the SAT test by October of senior year. Also, students who apply to the school after their junior year will not be taken into consideration and students who have attended the school since sophomore year are only eligible to receive 75% of the amount. The scholarship is renewable for the first 4 years of a former Rangel student’s college education.

Mr. Posey passed away last year. The students were called into the auditorium at the end of the day and informed of his death. Many were very close to him and were visibly moved as they left the building. The next day, the entire student body and staff silently walked outside the school and released red and black balloons in his honor.

Monday, a new beginning...

2009-08-23T19:54:00.005-05:00

My heart goes out to teachers everywhere tonight...since 36 times, I had to face the Sunday-night-before-the-first-Monday-of-school feelings. I hated it. I hated everything about the opening of school. I never got comfortable until I got the students (and bus riders) trained to my way of doing things. And that didn't occur until early October. Then a natural flow of the day would commence as both kids and I developed a comfort level with each other.

Now all I do is drive a school bus full of talented and gifted girls to their leadership school, and it's an absolute snap. No quivering stomach, no lesson plans, nothing to do but concentrate on driving the yellowhound safely. And that is a big item. I never forget that I've got 40-45 precious children on board, children who mean everything to their parents just as my kids do to me. So I pray about safety every day...not just about protecting my riders, but in making sure that huge hunk of iron I drive doesn't ruin anybody else's day, too.

I also hope (and pray) that I can toss a little sunshine into the path of a kid or two on days when they're down. Since I spend a lot of time with them, it's fairly easy to pick up on when they are upset, depressed, sick, or worn down by life. All of us can remember a teacher (or maybe even a bus driver) who took the time to cheer us up on a blue day and get us to smile a bit. I'm in the unique position of seeing the kids twice a day, and often they board the bus in the morning upset with something at home - or hop aboard in the afternoon after a tough school day. There is a lot I can't undo...but there is a little I can do, and I pray to be alert and wise enough to recognize opportunities and then to say precisely the right thing. It pretty much has to be a Holy Spirit operation, since I am totally unable to craft the correct words on my own.

So let's get started. I have 15,000 miles ahead of me between tomorrow and the end of the school year!

Concerning Josh Hamilton...

2009-08-15T20:44:00.002-05:00

It was a kick to the gut when I saw the news that Josh had a night of indiscretion last January. I bought his book, Beyond Belief, and was amazed at the depth of his drug-induced spiral downward. It took a grandmother's love, a wife's commitment, and the power of God to resurrect Josh and give him not only a chance to survive, but to return to the baseball field and play again.

If one lives long enough, he will inevitably discover that a Christian friend who was thought to be devout and strong has nonetheless been unfaithful to a spouse or involved in a business scandal or some other colorful downfall. It never ceases to hurt and hurt a lot. When it's Christian public figure who trangresses and gets caught, it's bothersome because you know cynics will use that opportunity to trot out the "hypocrite" label and gleefully poke fun at Christians everywhere. We yearn for those famous believers to be perfect at all times and show the world that there is a better way.

The problem, obviously, is that we all sin and we tend to sin a lot. And the Bible does very little in the way of sin classification. Little white lies are sins as are murders and mutilating innocent animals. Apparently Christ's blood is thick enough and strong enough to eradicate sins at both ends of the shock value spectrum. God was no doubt as disappointed with whatever it was that I did wrong today as he was with what went on in that Phoenix tavern with Josh. And since Josh was totally repentent, just as I am for my unpublicized sins today, the amazing purification power of grace has rendered us both pure and spotless in God's eyes. I've got to make sure that I'm just as disgusted with my transgressions as I am with Mr. Hamilton's.

Why We're Behind

2009-08-12T15:16:00.003-05:00

I just finished the book Outliers, one of the more fascinating tomes I've read. One of the chapters deals with why Asian students achieve more than American kids. Part of the reason for this is the Asian culture, one that emphasize hard work and determination. Millions of these children are raised in the rice patties and there's a saying among the rice farmers that one will be rich if one works 360 days a year and gets up before dawn. A bit different from most American households.

But there's another reason for the Asians' academic superiority - the amount of time spent in school each year. Here in the U.S., kids average about 180 school days per annum and have about 3 months off in the summer, something that dates back to when this country was mainly agrarian and children were needed in the fields. Those days are over but the tradition remains. And Americans, both young and old, would really protest losing that block of free time that we've all grown fond of.

Asian kids pretty much go to school year 'round. They average 220-260 school days a year. School is as valued a part of their culture as video games are in ours. But their success on tests is not a racial thing. In the U.S., in schools where longer school days and longer school years have been instituted, scores have shot through the roof. The students adjust to the stricter standards and develop all sorts new self-discipline. When they get home from school, they do homework, an idea that is getting increasingly farfetched in the U.S.

Now we all know that all work and no play can create a warped world for a child. We don't want to rob children of the joy and play that kids are supposed to experience. But it sure seems like American schools could split the difference and maybe knock a month and a half off the summer break. Could it happen? Very doubtful. Parents, teachers, kids, and, ahem, school bus drivers would be beyond furious. The tourist industry would scream bloody murder. And personally, even as a retired teacher who would be only marginally affected by such a change, I would grimace over giving up a few precious weeks of summer.

I guess it all comes down to how badly the country wants to succeed. And in America, the majority of folks have no problem anymore with less-than-stellar schools.

Back to work, kinda

2009-08-11T18:30:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, I report for a two-hour bus driver meeting. It's kind of like being awakened by having a bucket of cold water thrown in your face. Summer has gently pulled me into an attitude and lifestyle of near-complacency. Go to bed when I wanna, get up when I wanna, do what Carole asks me to do when I wanna :).

After the meeting, I'll still have nearly two weeks before school starts. And as I've stated before, the mental attitude of a school bus driver is much different from that of a teacher this time of year. The teacher has to get mentally ready for the stress and exhaustion that goes with the territory. You practically have to get your "game-face" on. But all I have to do is remind myself of how important it is to be safe behind the wheel. And about how precious the cargo is.

I'm just real fortunate to be doing something I enjoy doing. What a blessing!

Wrestling with the Angel

2009-08-05T22:52:00.003-05:00

Frankly, most days I struggle with two trains going in opposite directions: grace and effort. I am completely aware that Ephesians 2:8 assures us that we are saved by grace through faith. I am a baptized believer. But I can't get it out of my cranium that there is a line drawn on a sheet of paper in heaven and that my performance as a human looks like a lie-detector needle as it jerks back and forth across that line.

Why is this? Is it because of some sort of Americanized work ethic that's been drummed into me since I was 6 years old? Is it the hangover of legalistic preaching I grew up with that really did think salvation was attainable through maximum effort? And is it avoidable?

It's like I can't internalize what God is telling me. I consider all my failings and repeatedly come to the conclusion that I'm lukewarm. And we all know what happens to the lukewarm Christian. I can extricate myself from this depressing feeling by reading about grace or hearing a grace-based sermon. But sooner or later, I'm back chasing that line again. I'm like Paul, who contemplated all he left undone or unsaid and pronounced himself miserable.

The paradox of this is that when asked if I'm saved or not, I firmly answer in the affirmative. One part of my brain accepts what the shed blood of Jesus has bought for me. But as far as the day-to-day attitude I start each morning with, it's "you better start earning the gift that has been handed you."

Anybody want to chime in on this conundrum?

Updates

2009-07-31T08:58:00.006-05:00

Carole and I had a fabulous trip to Kansas. Her brother, Joe, might as well be my real brother. We agree about so much in life, we're both taller than 6'4", and we both look out for Carole. Meanwhile, Carole and her sister-in-law, Laura, might as well be sisters. Toss in their 4 year-old twin boys and it's a recipe for fun.

Speaking of recipes, Laura trotted out a peanut butter sheet cake after lunch. My taste buds went crazy. I hurried through every meal Laura served just so I could explore the riches of that cake.

Joe and I had a great Saturday. First off, we babysat the twins in the morning while Carole and Laura went shopping. The boys are great kids with enormous curiosity...one loves insects, one loves marine life. They both like to sit next to me and watch train videos on my laptop. They are prone to spontaneously popping up with "I love you, Uncle Tim" statements that me want to kidnap them.

In the afternoon, Joe and I hurried over to the downtown Kansas City airport to visit the Airline History Museum. It's not in a normal brick building, but rather resides in an old hangar, and features three aircraft that are pretty much out of the skies now. One is a Super Constellation, a four-propeller plane that TWA featured.

We toured the inside of the plane (in stiffling heat, I might add) and noticed the difference in seat comfort then as opposed to now. Here's a mannequin occupying a seat in coach...notice that seats were a little wider back then:

From there, Joe and I went to the Rangers/Royals game. The Royals are terrible, one of the worst teams I've ever seen. But that means nothing, because they drubbed Texas badly. Joe left the stadium happy while I dragged my feet a bit.

All in all, a lovely trip. We enjoy these folks so much that a trip for next summer is already in the works. This time, Carole and I plan to drive rather than fly...and we plan to join the Robertsons for a 2-3 trip to see Mt. Rushmore. I've always wanted to see that place, particularly since I'm sure there are Americans who want to etch Obama's mug into that mountain before much longer. Uh, over my dead body.

Off to Overland Park

2009-07-23T15:28:00.004-05:00

It's nice to have a diversion in the middle of the summer. Carole and I will fly to Kansas City tomorrow for a weekend stay with her brother, Joe, and his family.

So for 3 days, I won't be moving water hoses, mowing grass, or pulling weeds. That is, unless Joe makes me work for my keep. He and I will also go to the Rangers/Royals game on Saturday night, an occasion that could produce fireworks since Joe has Benedict Arnold'ed and become a Royals fan. How could he? Hopefully after the Rangers skewer KC, he'll repent.

All-American

2009-07-18T22:08:00.014-05:00

I guess I've "shot" more AA aircraft than any other. They are very conducive to photography - simple lines and a whole lot of silver. Nobody asked, but of the thousands of American Airlines photos I've taken, here are my favorite 10:

Okay, I cheated. One of them was an American Eagle, but hey, it's a close cousin of the others.

Where to plop down...

2009-07-13T16:31:00.004-05:00

I'm an ardent believer in naps. I'm always thrilled when I see doctors endorse them as part of a healthy lifestyle. I've blogged before about I've perfected the fine art of sleeping on my school bus (not while driving, of course). But there is always a debate that occurs when the topic of naps pops up. Where to plop down?

There are two camps: one side that returns to the piece of furniture designed for sleep, the bed, and the other group that would never slip under the covers for a nap but instead always seeks out a couch or a recliner. Group 1 always brings up the comfort factor and the familiarity factor - once in the bed, your body automatically knows what to do and sleep comes naturally. Group 2 sez that is the best way to ruin a nap...for by making your body comfortable, you open yourself up for a 2-hour nap, a guaranteed ticket for waking up miserable and ruining the prospects for good sleep that particular night.

I've tried it both ways...if it's in the 20's outside and if it's a dark, cloudy Sunday afternoon, the bed is way more seductive than the couch. But generally, I fall into Group 2 and curl up on the couch. There I'm assured that something will go bang or the phone will ring, or UPS will throw a box against the door and the nap has no chance of getting out of control and going 2 hours. I've found that I can nod off to sleep on the couch with the TV on and even with a grandchild in the room, something that would be unthinkable if occurring at bedtime.

I'm sure there's more to say about this conundrum, like how 45 minutes is the magic nap duration, but my eyes are growing heavy...

Can't Beat Sundays

2009-07-12T16:44:00.002-05:00

I think we Christians were created to praise our Creator. God must have wanted to kick back and listen to his followers lift Him up with joyous, cathartic singing and praying.

Carole and I are blessed to be able to attend Highland Oaks Church of Christ in Dallas. If you ever are in our area on a Sunday, you must come see (and hear) it for yourself.

We've always had excellent preaching and I don't want to minimize in any way the influence these guys have had on my life. But it's the singing that moves me and leaves a bounce in my step for the next seven days. I also don't want dismiss the real reason we're there every Sunday...to remember our Savior's sacrifice. That's what gives the motivation to live for Him for that next week. But communion, due to the anguish Christ suffered on the cross, is more of meditative and reflective experience where one pulls inward. But I love the chance to have an outlet for all the joy I have as a follower of Him.

And I double-dog-dare you to keep your right foot still while singing "Blessed Be the Name".

Greatness

2009-07-07T22:43:00.002-05:00

The world is so messed up. I didn't catch any of the M. Jackson stuff today and didn't want to. It seems that if one can sing well enough or dance well enough or throw a football through a tire 30 yards away, we dismiss whatever nefarious garbage is on their resume.

Steve McNair is rather dead today. By all accounts, he had been a good family man and a charitable fellow. But he decided somewhere along the way that doing what was right was getting boring and tiresome, and he ventured into a relationship and failed to count the cost ahead of time. Think he'd like a do-over if given another chance?

Jesus said it very simply. "I am the way." Satan is so adept at tossing out alternative ways that entice us. We must commit every morning before our feet hit the floor to follow "the way" and not be persuaded to check for tempting detours. If we follow the tracks left by Savior, we might miss the adulation that Messrs. McNair and Jackson have garnered but we will have the satisfaction of hearing the most heart-melting words that will ever be spoken: "Well done, good and faithful servant!"

My Favorite Spot

2009-07-04T21:43:00.002-05:00

Earlier this week, I built a small, wooden platform whose purpose was to assist my 90 year-old mom-in-law in the process of stepping up into our new pickup. We had done a dry run just after getting the truck to see if it were possible for her to comfortably step in and have a seat. Well, she needed another inch or two to pull this off, hence, I built the platform. Then, I tossed it into the back of the truck and pretty much forgot about it.

Then on Friday afternoon, at long last, I grabbed my camera gear and headed to DFW Airport for some photography. I had been out there just once in the past 9 months or so...mainly because of the necessity of dealing with Mom and then the selling of her house. In times past, I would drive out there twice a week to feed my passion for aviation photography. So I eagerly headed west and upon arrival at the airport, immediately went to my favorite spot to "shoot" planes.

This is a perfectly legal place located at the end of a public road. There's a concrete platform I stand on that covers a sewer of some kind. When I'm perched there using my 6'4" height, there's just enough visual clearance over the barbed-wire to get a clean look at landing aircraft on runway 17L. But when I arrived yesterday, I found that the authorities had installed razor-wire around the barbed-wire at the top of the perimeter fence. This added about six inches to the height of the fence and meant that my shots there would now feature fuzzy wire at the bottom of each picture.

What to do. I found a small concrete block and tried standing on it, but it wobbled and I tossed it aside. Meanwhile, my scanner crackled with the sound of air traffic control clearing an American Airlines flight to land on 17L. Suddenly I remembered Nana, and the platform in the bed of the truck. I immediately limped off to retrieve it...uh, I don't run much anymore. I returned to my spot, set up the platform, and stepped up. Bingo! Just the right amount of clearance to shoot these birds from a favorable angle. The AA plane touched down (from St. Louis), turned off the runway, and taxiied right toward me. It was a 757, which is to many the most photogenic aircraft this side of the Concorde.

I squeezed the shutter and got the shot you see above. And I couldn't have done it without Nana's help. And I can't believe you've read this much of one man's boring blog.

Keys to Living

2009-06-30T11:04:00.003-05:00

I apologize for anyone tuning in to get info on how find meaning in their life. This is about the other kind of keys.

My problem is where/how to stash my keys on my person when I'm out and about. I really envy women (and strange guys) who carry a purse and therefore have a receptacle for their keys. Of course, sometimes Carole's keys get lost in her purse, mingling down in there with all the mints, makeup, and tire-changing equipment.

Part of my problem is that I can't stand to have anything in my front pockets. I have peripheral neuropathy in my legs and the slightest bit of strange pressure can send me through the roof. I remember pulling over the school bus one day just to get a quarter from my pocket; the relief was way more than 25 cents worth.

I can almost tolerate one key in my pocket. But if that's a car key, what about the house key and the other vehicle keys? I've dealt with this in the past by merely wearing a small hook over my belt and clipping a ring full of keys onto it. But I think that looks so gauche, so grade-school custodian-ish. You remember him, too, eh? When you're in the 3rd grade, you practically worshipped him because he could open anything. And he knew exactly which of his 143 keys went to what.

Also contributing to the gravity of this situation is the size of today's vehicle keys. My 1971 Cutlass had two flat, short keys...easy to deal with. Today's vehicle keys are Swiss Army knives. Not only can you start your car, you disable a nuclear weapon with them.

So if you're reading this and you're a guy, first of all, get a life. Secondly, tell me how you do your keys...what works for you. I won't leave the house until I get a viable solution.

One in Jesus

2009-06-29T08:02:00.004-05:00

Here is a great website, full of thought-provoking discussion:

http://oneinjesus.info/

The man behind the thoughts is Jay Guin, an Alabama lawyer and a Church of Christ elder.

After you've clicked on the link, scroll down a bit to see a fascinating treatise on "ministers guilty of sexual sin".

"Why I Don't Own a TV and Rarely Go to Movies"

2009-06-26T20:29:00.003-05:00

No, not me. This guy: http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/TasteAndSee/ByDate/2009/4023_Why_I_Dont_Have_a_Television_and_Rarely_Go_to_Movies/

But I happen to endorse nearly everything he writes.

And we did get the truck. No more negotiating for a few years now.

So, I'll try again tomorrow...

2009-06-25T23:43:00.002-05:00

It's extremely late on Thursday evening. I have found a couple more extremely attractive Honda Ridgelines via the 'net, one at John Eagle Honda, the other at Park Place Lexus. Either would look good in my garage. All I need is some cooperation on their part to lower their asking price a bit. Sigh...more negotiating upcoming.

How Low Can You Go?

2009-06-24T11:05:00.003-05:00

Of all the varied life experiences that come my way, I would rank negotiating with a car salesman right there with back surgery and weed-eating on a hot day (something I just did, btw). Of course, this is just about the only legitimate American arena where the fine art of give-and-take is still viable. I really like the idea of CarMax, where every car's price is posted and non-negotiable.

It seems that every six years or so, I'm sequestered in a tiny office trying to buy a vehicle from a salesman who smiles too much and is way too friendly. I emerge from these discussions feeling absolutely dirty, as though I had spent the evening in a tavern filled with drunks and lifelong Ranger fans. The core of the seediness is the premise on which the car dealer negotiates: "I'm giving you our final offer. We simply cannot go any lower. After all, we have to make a little profit, you know." The truth is that they CAN go lower and WILL go lower if you stare them down and try to make your face look like a bulldog's.

The other problem with buying a new or slightly used pre-owned car...stop right here. Whoever thought up "pre-owned" is forever enshrined in the Auto Dealer Hall of Fame, a lovely structure just across the street from the Funeral Directors Hall of Fame, a place with a bust of the person who came up with "pre-deceased" and acted like it was a real word. Anyway, my other problem with the buying process is simply the amount of money that it requires. How many vehicles have I bought that cost more than my first house? Seven? I keep thinking about how I live in the world's richest nation and how I get caught up in vehicle envy sometimes and how I should really just worry about getting something cheap that gets me to work and back.

Carole and I spent 2 hours at a local Honda dealer last night. Went in to buy a used Ridgeline pickup that their website showed as being in their inventory. Got there and found out it had been sold, probably days ago. The salesman said that it sometimes takes a week to update their website...hmmmm. So we test-drove another Ridgeline which was a great vehicle, but I wanted black or silver and this one was "Tafetta White" or somesuch. We decided to just check and see how much a new 2009 model would cost, and that led to the inevitable "what would it take to get you to buy a new one tonight" game, the one which makes me feel like I'd rather be weed-eating.

I almost bought one, but decided to sleep on it. I woke up this morning thinking that the dealership had been reasonable and that I would accept their lowest offer. But when I called them, turns out Carole and I had misinterpreted their final offer and that indeed, they wanted a couple thousand more and so...I declined. I hung up feeling glad the process was over. I can go about my normal routine today and not feel so pre-deceased.

My Dad

2009-06-21T16:05:00.004-05:00

Poor guy, he was part of that 40's-50's mentality which convinced men that honor as a father was achieved by putting food on the plates. The more you worked, indeed the harder you worked, the better you fit the mold of the ideal father. So my dad slugged away, pouring himself into his job at the post office, working nights and holidays because that meant more take-home pay.

All that work robbed me and my siblings of a lot of his time. So when we did get time with him, real quality alone-with-Dad time, it was rich. I have two favorite recollections in this vein. One is of playing catch with him. The other is rather weird: I was a Warner Bros. cartoon addict. Occasionally, Dad would plop down with a 30-minute set of 3 Roadrunner cartoons about to commence. He would laugh so hard that tears came to his eyes, and it somehow meant a lot to me that we shared an affinity for something so worthless.

He had integrity oozing from his pores. He was friends with everyone. He had old girlfriends stashed in multiple states and would even drop in on them unexpectedly during our family car trips, something my mom wasn't too keen on. And he buried in our collective noggins the notion to always do the right thing. Always.

I can't wait to see him again.

Well, shoot

2009-06-20T14:55:00.002-05:00

It's a lovely Saturday, one that I had planned to spend on the lawn tractor, mowing down the surrounding fields. But alas, I've been levelled by a bug of some sort. I go from the recliner to the bed to the recliner to the bed...

This better be the 24-hour variety or I'll be one unhappy father on my day.

As seen on Oprah

2009-06-18T20:42:00.004-05:00

I awoke from my usual afternoon nap on the couch today (ain't summer great?) in time to catch some of today's Oprah show. Now I know a lot of stuff on there is forgettable, but there was merit to the presentation today. It was a close look at what this economic situation is doing to middle-class families in these tough times.

I did not know that there are tent "cities" popping up outside some of our larger urban areas. The denizens of these tents aren't the typical homeless...they are folks who used to have good jobs and good benefits. There were college degrees on their walls. Now, they are jobless and homeless and the roof over their heads is made of canvas.

Also profiled was a company that goes to clean out houses that have been foreclosed on and vacated by the people who lived there. Many of these folks had literally left everything behind...big-screens, furniture, family pictures, birth certificates, etc. And the reason for that apparently is that when they left, they didn't know where they were going and didn't have the means to move these items anyway. And the mind-boggling part was where this company took all this stuff - to the landfill. All of the usual charitable collection places had taken all they could take.

Finally, Oprah focused on another economy-driven phenomenon: strangers moving in with strangers. A couple who is out of work but has a big house opens it up to a lady and her teenage daughter who need a place to stay and can pay some rent. In this particular situation, everyone was extremely happy with the arrangement, so much so that the homeowners are looking to rent out more of their rooms.

Carole and I immediately began talking about how blessed we are to be in good shape right now. And I am feeling a strong urge to do two things; give more to those in need, and save instead of spend. Not surprisingly, these are two concepts that my wonderful, sainted parents practiced non-stop. Since both of them had lived through the Depression, there was absolutely no urge toward materialism in either of them. As I've mentioned before, when we cleaned out Mom's house, I found that she had still been using cooking utensils that I remember as being in bad shape in the '50's!

So anyway, thanks Oprah for enlightening us today. Sure beats having some guy tell me how to do window treatments.

Strangely silent...

2009-06-15T17:21:00.003-05:00

The flawed reasoning and outright naivete of Obama has been readily apparent in many ways lately. Here's the latest bungle. There is big trouble in Iran as the people who want something else besides an Ahmadinejad regime are taking to the streets...and the violence is escalating. These are folks who want real freedom and a chance for better relations with the U.S. and they want it now. Normally, a U.S. president would be very vocal in defending folks desperate for freedom, but there has been nary a word from Obama. I love what Gary Bauer (Campaign for Working Families of America) had to say today:

"The explanation for their silence is simple – and disgusting. The Obama Administration has spent the last 5 months reaching out to Ahmadinejad. The president publicly stated that he is not interested in regime change in Tehran and promised a policy toward Iran based on “mutual respect.” The thirst for freedom in Iran is a complication for an administration that has already committed itself to appeasing the tyrants in the current Iranian regime. As a result the United States’ moral authority has been absent during the Iranian election and the protests that have followed. Surely even this administration will eventually become embarrassed as they fail to find any words to defend the only people in Iran with whom we may have “shared values.” At a bare minimum we should immediately increase radio and satellite broadcasts into Iran and use whatever internet tools we have to reach its people."

2012 just can't get here quickly enough.

Moore 2010

2009-06-14T16:37:00.004-05:00

Judge Roy Moore is back in the news. He is running for governor in Alabama, the election being in 2010. Of course, this is the brilliant jurist who, as Chief Justice of the Alabama Supreme Court, led an unsuccessful attempt to keep a Ten Commandments monument in the state courthouse in 2003. Later that year, he was removed as Chief Justice by the Alabama Court of the Judiciary.

His likely opponent in 2010 is a guy who ardently supports Obama.

I've been reading Moore's autobiography, So Help Me God. It's a fascinating look at a man who came from being dirt-poor to go through West Point, on to Vietnam, and then back to Alabama to begin his life as a lawyer and judge. Throughout all of his life, Moore has stood for God with unmatched determination, eloquently defending the role of the Almighty in the founding of our country. His nemesis, of course, is the ACLU, an organization which wants God excluded from society as we know it. Even though it meant losing all he had worked for, Judge Moore never buckled in his defense of the importance of God in the formation of our government.

This guy has a chance to be a voice of reason and clarity if elected. If he wins in a landslide, the media will be forced to pay attention and a message will have been sent to those who seek to bludgeon Christianity out of existence. A sweeping victory would also, perhaps, give leverage to Moore as a candidate for president in 2012. I'm still in the dreaming stage here, but can you imagine an election with more disparity in character and philosophy than Obama and Judge Moore? It would be delicious stuff, and an opportunity to try and undo the incredible mess that our current president is making.

If you are a good conservative who is tired of the direction being taken by the forces of evil in our nation, and have a few bucks lying around just waiting for a positive use, you might want to contribute to the Moore campaign. Here's the link you need: https://www.moore2010.com/contribute

One more thing: his birth certificate shows him to be an American citizen.

Wired

2009-06-11T22:51:00.003-05:00

I'm getting braces. No, not for my knees. For those pearly whites. My wife, a grad of Baylor Dental School, has informed me that my crooked ways will lead to problems later on. Of course, there's not too much "later on" left, but I've started the process and met with an orthodontist.

I've got a narrow palate and the requisite number of teeth. They fought for territorial rights as they came in; the strong locked into position, the weak were forced to move. Someday, I'll confront my ancestors in heaven and sort this out...somebody has to have been responsible for the genetics that left me with this problem.

It is really weird to be sitting there in the dental chair at the orthodonist's. All along the walls are Polaroids of his patients and none of them are old enough to drive. I'm almost too old to be behind the wheel. I glanced at my chart as Dr. Miller was jotting down notes and in large letters he had written "ADULT" above my name. What an anomaly I must be. I haven't the courage to ask him if I'm his oldest patient. He must be wondering if the wires should be there to straighten the teeth or merely hold them in.

Anyway the wires come on in about 12 days. Should have the job completed in 12-15 months. At which time I'll immediately adopt a toothy grin.

Time's Person of the Year

2009-06-07T19:21:00.003-05:00

It's a tad early to be speculating about Time magazine's "Person of the Year" for 2009, but I've already been culling through possible candidates. I don't think Obama will get it; he got it last year and, much as they'd probably like to, I don't think Time will go back-to-back with the guy. As I thought about it, the more I decided there is a dearth of world-changing folks right now. Of course, Time gives this award to the "man, woman, couple, group, idea, place, or machine that for better or for worse has done the most to influence the events of the year."

It seems a bit silly to name a machine or a place "Person of the Year", but after all, Time is a magazine run by liberals and they don't think clearly anyway. So after spending all of two minutes thinking about this, I'd like to suggest Capt. Chesley Sullenberger. It was just a few months ago that Sully and his co-pilot dropped their wounded plane into the Hudson River with the greatest of ease, and a hero was born. We are somewhat starved for heroes these days, what with the ease that the media can find skeletons in anybody's closet. War heroes? Even though there are literally hundreds of men and women who do heroic acts every day, the nature of combat today is a deterrent to producing a hero the likes of Audie Murphy. Sports heroes? Please. Too many scandals and too many millionaires.

It's a shame we can't publicize and honor real heroes like the men and women who are missionaries (religious variety) and missionaries (medical variety). They practically do their craft in a vacuum and most wouldn't want public praise anyway. There are also thousands who give their lives in selfless service to others, but who live in anonymity.

So let's go ahead and present the award to Sully. We like our heroes to be calm, cool, and steady, and he certainly fit that mold on that cold day in New York. We also prefer that they put others first, and we all know that he was the last one off the ship that day. It helps if they attempt to defer the attention to others, and Sully ceaselessly brings up his crew when a speaker mentions only him. This country knows a hero when it sees one, and we justifiably found one in this guy. I don't know if he's resumed flying again, but what a thrill it must be for the passengers to find out that their plane is being piloted by Captain Sullenberger.

Clocking out

2009-06-03T21:30:00.003-05:00

Today I turned in my lovely Yellowhound and finished another year of school bus driving. In fact, it was my 25th year of doing this. Strange as it may be, last year was my 25th as well. I was informed in March that they had miscalculated my tenure and had mistakenly given me an extra year along the way. What's crazy about this is that I was presented a watch to honor my 25th year last June and guess what...I got another watch today to honor my 25th year.

It's been quite a year. Until this year, my route always stayed in the neighborhoods and didn't venture out onto the freeways. Of course, most years I simply picked up kids who were going to the school where I taught. But this year, I had a new route that took me to far parts of southwest Dallas, loading up with girls going to Rangel, DISD's all-girl school. I drove 84 miles every day, with 90% of the driving on interstate highways during rush hour. As of today, I had accumulated over 15,000 miles of driving this school year. And, the best thing is that every mile was a safe one. I never can forget that I'm carrying around somebody else's dearly-loved kids. I do a lot of praying about this responsibility.

By far the craziest day occurred in April. I had made my first pickup and was approaching a red light at Loop 12 and Marvin D. Love Fwy. We could see an ambulance up ahead and knew something was going on. I stopped at the light and saw that there had been a chain-reaction accident involving 5 or 6 cars. That's bad but that wasn't the story. On a little, grassy traffic island to our right was a guy who was either "mental" or high on something. He was a bull of a fellow, about 6 ft. and 230 lbs. He was wearing only trousers...and seemed to want to attack the folks who had been involved in this accident. Wisely, they were all in there cars, locked up, and staring wide-eyed at this wild man.

Keeping a lid on this volatile situation was an even larger guy, probably 6'5", 260 lbs. He was a mountain of a fellow and all involved were certainly glad he was there, except for, of course, the bull-man. Here is where the story gets extremely bizarre. Somehow, the larger brute had tied a thick, yellow rope around the ankle of the smaller guy. And every time the crazy man charged toward the autos, the bigger man would jerk the rope, sending the bull-man face-down onto the grass. The smaller fella would angrily get to his feet and go after the bigger man, but to no avail. He simply couldn't out-muscle the guy. Then he'd charge the cars again and again have his left foot jerked up in the air and again he would pancake on the ground. The ambulance was parked by the little island and the paramedics were leaning against the vehicle, wanting nothing to do with either of these men. I'm sure they had requested police back-up. Of course, everyone watching, from the paramedics to the folks in their cars to kids on my bus, had all kinds of questions. Who were these guys? Were they involved in the accident? What was the problem with the, uh, crazy guy? And for pete's sake, how did he come to have a large yellow rope around his ankle? Had the bigger man put it there as sort of a leash to control the smaller guy?Unfortunately...very unfortunately, the light turned green. The final act in the drama seen by my stunned-speechless students was the mental-man charging the bus with both hands raised in the air. He got about three steps headed our way when he was summarily flipped again. I...did...not...want...to...drive...off!! Pulling away from this scene was going to leave more unanswered questions than the end of an "All My Children" episode. But I had no choice. I rolled away, much to the consternation of the girls.

We pass that intersection every morning, and often, one of the kids will start talking about the day we saw a guy on a leash try to attack folks. It was both funny and a bit scary, and definitely sad. One can only hope that the poor guy is getting some help, regardless of what his problem was. Maybe some day soon, I can tell you about the morning (years ago) when the momma of one of my male riders drove off with him draped across the hood of the car. What a great job this is!

I shutter at these!

2009-05-31T21:03:00.016-05:00

It's been awhile since I've tossed amazing aviation shots your way, so let's see what the best photographers are producing these days. Now you must promise to click on each photo in order to see the detail, okay? Let's start with the one above...one I shot. It's not an amazing shot, but the subject is interesting. Southwest Airlines likes to do theme planes, and one of the latest of these celebrates Tinker Bell and pixie dust. Now to the really good stuff.

You already knew this, but never go dallying around in front of a jet engine. The amount of suction these bad boys produce is incredible. In this shot, moisture on the runway is being pulled up into the engine in an astounding tornado-like vortex. Hey, you agreed to click on these photos! Do it!

It was God who said, "Let there be light". And soon thereafter, photographers said, "The best of us will maximize light!" Here's a Russian Airbus landing directly into the sun. And the sun exposes incredible detail.

Everybody likes sunsets, especially when you get purples and oranges:

Often, in the mornings, the air contains enough humidity that takeoffs and landings produce contrails, just like the ones you see six miles up trailing aircraft. Often, the wingtips produce wispy, delicate ones - like this slinky trail of circles tagging along behind an MD-11.

The Blue Angel pilots are the best in the business. Their performances walk the fine line between mind-boggling expertise and tragic failure every few seconds. Here are a couple of F-18's that seem to have merged. It's something called a "dirty mirror pass", for reasons that escape me. I just know I'd be looking out the cockpit window, too.

There is a photographer in Amsterdam who routinely produces miracles. He is Tim de Groot and this is but one of his amazing shots. Here he catches jet engine exhaust lit up by the sun, such that it appears to be an engine fire. Tim's pretty good, one of the world's best...and he's still in his teens.

Again, success in aviation photography is in proportion to how one uses light. Many of the most stunning shots capture usual light along with some other remarkable feature, such as weird clouds. Here's the final photo, one that does this perfectly:

Grammar

2009-05-29T18:20:00.008-05:00

I had an interesting discussion with the 6th grade girls who sat behind me on the bus this morning. Today was an exam day and they were studying up for a language arts test. They know I am former teacher and pretty soon they were peppering me with grammar questions. "What's the only part of speech that has a comparative and superlative?" "Can you explain a gerund?" I was doing great and kinda got into the "I'm smarter than you" role, sighing a bit before each answer. Then Jocelyn Ortiz asked, "Mr. Perkins, what's a variable dependent clause?" I slipped a tad lower in the driver's seat and told her I really needed to concentrate on driving safely.

Funny, it was grammar that convinced Carole and me that we were meant to be. One romantic night during the summer of '68, one of us brought up a love for the antiquated practice of diagramming sentences. Quickly, the other chimed in, "You, too?" At that point, nothing else mattered. We looked longingly into the eyes of each other and mentally diagrammed, "I do".

I don't think diagramming is taught much these days. That's a shame because it teaches a way to understand word usage that works 99% of the time. It has gone the way of respect for teachers, phonics, and getting your report card signed by a parent. Oh, you didn't know about that? DISD doesn't require that a student return a signed report card to the school. You can drop it in a gutter on the way home and tell momma you lost it, but it had all A's on it, momma.

Can you diagram, "That's stupid!"?

Customer Service

2009-05-25T17:58:00.003-05:00

It was a leisurely Memorial day morning and in an almost random move, I decided to recheck details of an October trip to Vermont that Carole and I are taking. Good thing I did.

I pulled up the American Airlines reservation and the first anomaly that my eyes picked up was our arrival time at Hartford. Then I saw a blue box above the reservation that said, "Please note the change in your reservation." What should have been 3:30 PM ETA or so now showed 12:55 AM on the following day. It quickly hit me that good ole AA had arbitrarily moved us from an afternoon flight to an evening flight. Probably had something to do with making money or staying afloat or somesuch. Wouldn't it have been good customer service to at least inform me via email of such a change? It's like, "we're gonna destroy your plans and furthermore, we won't alert you."

Then I saw a note saying that I needed to call AA, and a 1-800 number was provided. I called. The first sentence I heard was in English, then it shifted to something that sounded very Asian, perhaps Chinese. Thinking I had misdialed, I tried the number again. The results were the same. I stayed with the recording for a long time to make sure that it didn't suddenly revert to English. No luck. So in desperation, I called the American Advantage program directly.

Bingo. I got a human. I told her my situation and we looked for another flight. I should stop here and explain something. Carole and I always have flown in the cabin section...for obvious socio-economic reasons. But I've accumulated a goodly portion of miles on my AAdvantage account now and I want to make this trip something a little special, so we're going first-class, baby. Up front where the bluebloods sit and discuss what art they have hanging in their summer cottages. Well, the lady informed me that on all the other flights to Hartford had only single seats in first-class available for AAdvantage members.

Well, by now you are bored so I'll simply say that I had to change our destination to Boston in order to get an acceptable travel time and our first-class seats. One hotel reservation had to be cancelled and another one made. So I guess we're victims of the tough economic times that impact airlines as hard as any business. AA will make more money selling those previously reserved seats to well-heeled corporate execs. I just wish they'd communicate with the consumers a bit better.

Going outdoors with Macie

2009-05-20T22:00:00.013-05:00

The incredibly beautiful weather today afforded Carole and me the rare chance to get Macie outdoors. Macie is our 2 year-old grand-daughter and is prone to stuffiness if presented with cold weather or wind. But today was as ideal as it can get, so we armed ourselves with a camera, adjusted a ballcap to fit her head, and headed outside.

The first thing on the agenda was some tricycle time on the driveway pad. Macie is totally oblivious as to how silly/cute she looks.

Then, we moved to the front porch. Like all good Republicans, we fly our flag 24/7...and suddenly, I thought this would be a good teaching opportunity. So we explained to Macie the word "salute" and showed her how.

Then, things really got interesting when I noticed that a neighbor of ours had moved some of his cattle to a close-by field. Well, we know all 2 year-olds can mimic a cow's "moooo" but that few ever see one up close, so we walked over to the cows.

What we had before us was a bovine harem. About nine cows and one angry-looking bull.

Macie was enthralled. A whole lot of pointing with a whole lot of questions. She also found out not to touch a barbed-wire fence. But the harem began to move away slowly, not knowing what to make of the gabby humans. Carole lingered for a few more livestock shots while Macie and I headed back to the porch. She snapped a wonderful shot of us, a happy grandfather with a cute grandkid.

The funny thing is, I almost went to the airport today to have some photography time. At the last minute, I decided to come home because days with any of our grandkids are so precious, so fleeting...they must be seized. Seems like I made the right choice.

Green, green grass of home

2009-05-19T20:15:00.005-05:00

These wonderful, every-fifth-day May rains have filled the reservoirs and provided a nice supply of moisture for our yards to tap into this summer. That's the good news. The bad news is that everything is growing Amazon-like and that means I need to be outside nearly every evening mowing, cutting, and trimming lest our neighbors get angry.

The problem is that my mind still assumes I'm in my 30's. That was 3 decades and five surgeries ago, however. The boys and I used to knock out 14 yards in a single Saturday and laugh and joke the whole time. Now, the joke is on me.

We live on 1.7 acres. Before we even bought the land, I remember Carole asking, "Are you sure you can take care of all that landscaping?" What was I supposed to say, "No, I'm not man enough, dear."? Now, when the temperature is 98 and the field next to our house needs to be knocked out, I struggle with whether I should: (1) just let it turn into a preserve of sorts and sell tickets, or (2) call one of my kids, or (3) teach Carole how to drive a John Deere lawn tractor. But since I'm only 60 and real men don't quit when they're "just" 60, I straggle out there and fantasize about a postage stamp lawn.

Mayfest

2009-05-12T20:21:00.003-05:00

I looked at the calendar today and we are nearly halfway through May. Wasn't it winter a few moments ago? Does time stomp on the accelerator when one is as old as I?

Today, I was in the office of Thomas R. Conner, DDS., and Dr. Tom told me a story. His church had honored their high school seniors last Sunday, and the gentleman who spoke to them said:

"Let me tell you seniors something. I returned home from my senior prom at 2 A.M. When I woke up, I was 55 years old."

So true. And if time truly zooms by this quickly, our motto, our creed, our mantra should be carpe diem. With no guarantees about tomorrow and with opportunities to do good popping up all around us every day, and with time running hard in the inside lane, we had better carpe our diems.

The Company Line

2009-05-08T22:48:00.003-05:00

Today I called TXU Energy to discontinue electric service to Mom's house. One of the problems I have with "customer service" these days is the totally transparent, overly friendly, read-from-the-script attitude from the human at the other end of the line. Of course, just getting a breathing, living organism to talk to you is something of journey.

Anyway, after 3 or 4 minutes of talking to a machine that refused to understand my words, I got a live fellow to talk to me. Here is exactly how the conversation went down:

"Good afternoon, how may I assist you today?"

"Yessir, my mother passed away in December and now we've sold her house and are ready to discontinue the electricity."

"I apologize for your inconvience, sir. And I can take care of this for you."

Yep, Mom's passing did mean that I had to miss work a couple of days. The funeral was during a time I normally take a nap, you see. I didn't really say that, but I was so shocked that I didn't say anything. This guy was so intent on regurgitating the company line at all costs that he glossed over my mother's death.

Advice to customer service supervisors: Just put friendly, caring people on the phones. Don't give them any lines to say. Don't tell the caller that "you are one of our valued customers." And please, prohibit this line at the end of the conversation: "Are there any other ways I can be of assistance to you today?" Caring is one thing. Artificial caring is an affront to the caller and as easily recognized as wart on your nose.

Mom's House is Sold

2009-05-06T20:22:00.002-05:00

We have sold Mom's house and the closing is tomorrow. Words can't express how thrilled we are. The past four months or so have been filled with hard work, tough decisions, inevitable surprises, and hasslin' lawyers. The lawyer reference has to do with a title company which wanted to circumvent my brother's authority as executor of Mom's will. That got solved today as my cell phone bill probably shot past $200 for the month.

It will be the first house for the young couple who've bought it. I know very little about them other than the fact that the guy is a teacher. Hmmmm.....I remember when Carole and I settled into our 57 sq. ft. house after the wedding. There was no room to throw a pity party.

We all wish that the buyers will enjoy the house to the extent that our family did. That may be a tall order.

Bittersweet

2009-04-29T19:51:00.003-05:00

Well, the good news is that it appears we've sold Mom's house. The bad news is that it appears we've sold Mom's house. I did not spend that much time in the house...barely a year and a half after coming home from the Army in 1970. But for my younger two siblings, the house represents a significant chunk of their childhood.

Yesterday, the irony of selling the house was brought home to me (so to speak). I was waiting for a sub-contractor to arrive and look at some small repairs that will need to be done very soon. I had eaten lunch and this guy wasn't due by until nearly 2 PM. Since the house is bereft of furniture, and since I value naps more than my AARP card, there was little to keep me from stretching out on the living room carpet and grasping a few zzzz's. But as I lay there, the memories from the past 39 years began to seep into my brain - specifically, the family stuff that had occurred in that very room.

The room shares space with a dining room, in fact my feet were in the dining room while my head was clearly in the living room. Every year, there would be at least two magnificent meals served there - Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mom would spend hours whupping up home cooking at its finest; then when we all sat down to eat, she would either serve us continually or hold the ever-present grandbaby in her lap. She would grab a bite here and there, but her joy was always service.

The room was also Ground Zero for opening Christmas presents after the aforementioned meal. Who will ever forget my parents' aluminum tree with the color wheel...the one they used even into the 21st century? Or the night Brett, Blake, Drew, and Casey ALL got remote-controlled emergency-response vehicles? It sounded like Ground Zero! I also remember it as the place where Mom and I had long talks about her failing health, what that meant for the family, and about her longing to be with Dad again.

And all these memories came flooding through my consciousness as I pondered whether I should ease into a nap. I could have easily succombed to all of it and cried my eyes out. But these were all happy memories, unblemished by sadness or permanent good-byes. And after a few minutes, I drifted off to sleep.

Hoping America Can Hang On

2009-04-27T20:54:00.003-05:00

Sadly, Obama is worse than we all feared. Fred Thompson has called him "arrogant, naive, and inept". That pretty well sums it up.

So he allows his appointee to label vets, pro-lifers, and folks who believe in end-time prophecy as domestic terrorists. This coming from someone who is reluctant to use the term "terrorist" for Taliban and al-Queda types.

And what is scarier is that his approval rate is hanging in there at 60% or so. Maybe this is what we get for watering-down our educational system for the past few decades...a generation of non-thinkers who make up their minds based upon whether someone is attractive.

I'm praying that the nation survives the next 3 years and 265 days or so. By then, even the silly people should have seen enough.

The day I made the paper

2009-04-21T11:55:00.005-05:00

Little did I know when I awoke that March morning in 1968 that the events of that day would result in a front-page story in the Abilene Reporter-News entitled, "Yes, Upside-down Driving Can Get Expensive". It was the ides of March so I shoulda known. I was going to get one more morning class at ACU out of the way, pick up Carole, and head home for spring break.

I had some free time since we weren't going to leave until mid-afternoon. So I decided to take care of something that had been bugging me for several weeks. The dashboard lights were out on my '62 Chevy Bel-Air and I thought I'd replace them. I enlisted the help of my roommate, Terry, and we got started. My car was in the dorm parking lot. Now getting to dash lights can be problematic. The way I did it was to hang my legs over the top of the front seat and lower my head down until it rested on the brake pedal.

I swapped out good lights for bad and pulled out the light switch. Terry told me that the dash lights still weren't working. That's when good ole Terry uttered some fateful words, "Why don't we start the car and see if that helps?" So I took my right hand and pushed back on the clutch pedal, and then reached up and started the engine with my left hand. When I let up on the clutch, my right shoulder pushed the accelerator to the floor. Unfortunately, I had not put the car in neutral before we started this comedy routine. The car was in low gear.

The vehicle took flight. The car was parked angled-in to a median. Across the median were other cars parked parallel to the median. Poor Terry hung on for dear life, because he had been standing next to the open right door, with one foot on the car frame and the other on the ground. With acrid smoke filling the air from the rubber burning off my rear tires, my sweet little Chevy roared over the median and started the process of plowing into a VW Bug parked on the other side of the median. All this time, I'm upside down, knowing something terribly wrong is happening. I pressed the back of my head on the brake pedal and pushed down as hard as I could. Eventually, the eternity of those five seconds was over. I backed up my car over the median and returned it to its original location. Terry and I literally picked up the Bug (hey, we both had a lot of adrenalin pumping) and put it back next to the median. It was badly smashed on the driver's side.

I left a note in the windshield telling the owner how to find me. I figured I didn't have enough space on the note to explain how it had all happened. Later that day, I had to tell Mom and Dad the whole story. Dad was not pleased. A month or so later, my journalism teacher overheard me telling the story of the flying Chevy to a friend and asked for permission to write an article about it. Since his 2nd job was as a reporter for the Abilene paper, it was no surprise when the story appeared a couple of days later. And the headline was indeed, "Yes, Upside-down Driving Can Get Expensive." And it seems like he won some sort of award in a contest for feature stories in Texas.

Amazingly, Carole was sympathetic that day and, to her everlasting credit, married me four years later. The VW got repaired, paid for by the befuddled insurance company. The color returned to Terry's face about 3 weeks later.

Times Have Changed

2009-04-15T11:51:00.003-05:00

This morning I was cruising on I-20 with my usual load of students. The girls immediately behind me were enthralled by the carpet of bluebonnets alongside the road and were wondering about bluebonnet seeds. I started to speak up and tell them that the seeds were about the size of BB's and just about as hard. But I held up when I realized that kids today probably don't know much about BB's. Sure was different in the '50's when I was a Culver Street urchin.

I think every household was home to at least one BB gun back then. Of course, there was no government watchdog to bark loudly about all the inherent dangers to having this weapon around the house. In retrospect, these things shouldn't have been allowed in the hands of anyone under 21, but back then Moms everywhere would just say, "Be careful...that thing could put somebody's eye out."

This was so typical of the laissez faire attitude of parents back then. Crime was almost non-existent. And kiddoes getting hurt with frightful Christmas toys was extremely common and to be expected. Parents just patched you up and sent you out the back door for more fun and deathly games. "Billy, grab that Daisy BB gun and see if you can shoot this can off my head!"

Another example of how carefree times were occurred during my summers on Culver Street. We lived 2 blocks from the railroad tracks, and I spent hours there nearly every day except Sunday. Again, in retrospect, this was crazy to the max. I chatted up winos and hobos on a daily basis. I would crouch in the trestle over Samuell Blvd. as a fast freight blew past at over 60 mph...just inches from my fairly empty head. There was another trestle a mile away that crossed another track, with a drop of about 70 feet to the rails below. One day, my older brother decided we would cross the trestle by walking on the rails. This particular trestle didn't have the steel sides to it. It was just bare track. Charlie went first and made it. I couldn't afford to be cowardly or indecisive in his presence, of course, so I started out. I remember vividly concentrating only on the rails, but I could easily see the track way down below using my peripheral vision. I guess God had plans for me and I somehow made it.

If there's any good to come from my parents' transition to heaven (other than the obvious), it's that they never knew about the winos or the hobos or the trestle trek. Here's what scares me, though. What haven't our 3 kids told us about??

It Ain't about the Easter Bunny

2009-04-12T19:50:00.003-05:00

He is risen.

Satan loses.

Doubt is erased.

Hope becomes reality.

His hands are healed.

Sin's reign becomes temporary.

He punches our ticket.

The pearly gates swing open.

Free at last!

How I Met My Queen

2009-04-08T20:30:00.004-05:00

Well, not much in the way of bloggie ideas tonight, so I might as well tell you how I met the love of my life.

I shared a sophomore English class at ACU with a Dallas girl named Carolyn Bullard. We had become acquainted because she was in my freshman English class the previous year. So, in October of 1967, I'm walking through the ACU post office and there stands Carolyn with this beautiful, tall girl. I don't remember much other than I immediately sized her up as uncatchable, meaning "not in a thousand years would someone that pretty go out with me".

But there were underlying issues. Carolyn and Carole had gone to Dallas Christian together. Carolyn had been valdectorian and Carole had missed being salutatorian by 22/100's of a point. They were good friends. And, they would be needing rides back to Big D and I had a car. But there's more to the story.

Carole's grandmother had been one of my Sunday School teachers during my primary years. She liked me and had a world of respect for my parents. She must've been praying that God and circumstances would bring us together. Also, Carole and I have determined that we had crossed paths before that fateful day in the P.O. It turns out that she had come to a couple of VBS's at my church...and, of course, we were the same age. Could we have sat next to our future spouse in that room and not known it? One of the first things I want to do in heaven is go to the video library and check out "Tim Perkins, The Early Years", and see the tape of us in the same class. Did I notice her? Did she pester me, in sort of a harbinger of things to come? (Just kiddin', dear.)

God moves in mysterious ways and I love it.

The Worship Leader

2009-04-04T20:49:00.003-05:00

Here's a quote from someone named Patrick Mead:

If you are going to hire a second minister, make it a worship minister, NOT a youth minister. Youth ministers are wonderful and useful, but they should be your fourth hire, not your second. The first can be either a great preacher/pastor or a great worship leader. Whichever one you hire first, hire the other one second. Your third hire should be a children’s minister. THEN you hire a youth minister. It is amazing to me how few congregations know that. By hiring in the wrong order, you strangle your growth potential and increase the odds that some will leave by the back door. A lot of the glue of a church centers around the worship experience. It is one area that should never be economized, placed on the back burner, or ignored. That said, the best worship in the world won’t help anyone if you don’t move it out of the building and into the lives of the people. A good worship minister will find creative ways to do that.

I could not agree more. There's an old line heard frequently in church buildings that "you only get out of church what you put into it." That's one of those platitudes that seems like everyone would accept, but inherently has flaws. I think our Sunday worship is an oasis where thirsty Christians come to be filled. If the worship leader is gifted and enthusiastic, he can almost single-handedly empower the masses to take on the devil for another 7 days. Such is the power of Christian music handled correctly.

Of course, the converse is true. If Chad Higgins of Highland Oaks is out sick and they ask me to take his place, everyone will leave the church totally defeated and probably 45 minutes early.

Terry Rush, the brilliant minister from Tulsa, responded to the above quote by saying he felt the children's minister was the most important hire, followed by the worship leader, the youth minister, and then the preaching minister. He said his reason for making the preacher #4 was because there are so many good ones.

Makes for interesting conversation, eh?

Miss Longet

2009-03-29T22:07:00.005-05:00

It was she who affirmed in my subconscious that I wanted to someday marry a tall, beautiful brunette. Claudine Longet burst into my world in 1968, along about the middle of my stay at Abilene Christian. She was married to Andy Williams and frequently appeared on his extremely popular weekly variety show. The more I saw her, the more obsessed I was with her. Never mind that her singing voice was a joke...if you duct-taped a moose's jaw then strangled the animal, you'd pretty much would have Claudine's voice down pat. Never mind that she was married. I was around twenty years old and at that age, thinking clearly about the opposite sex didn't come easily.

I had all her albums. The songs were fantastic, until, that is, she opened her mouth. But I was willing to forgive her for her voice. My male friends were all too aware of my borderline-stalking of this lady. One day, I finished sixth out of a 100 or so in a two-mile cross-country intramural race...during final 100 yards, I was aided by the fact that my buddies brought a portable tape recorder and played my favorite Claudine hit at high volume. I'm sure the guys I beat out that day are still wondering where that moose was near the finish line.

Another time, in the dormitory, I was awakened at midnight by the soft, mellow moose calls of Mrs. Andy Williams. Naturally I got up, and like Abilene's own pied-piper, I followed the music down the hall until I found the source...a friend was playing Claudine's greatest hits, none of which, by the way, have made it to platinum yet. I listened awhile, and directly returned to bed. Once there, I was almost asleep when I felt a cold wetness touch my thigh. It was very quick, like maybe for a second, then it was over. I dismissed it and hurriedly returned to sleep, hoping to dream about Claudine. Then it happened again. An unmistakeable cold, clammy touch on my leg. I slid my hand down to where the touching seemed to be, felt a foreign object, and grabbed it. It was a frog...a frog which had been planted surreptitiously in the bed during the time I had been lured away by Ms. Longet (pronouced "lawn-zhay'" or something close). I flipped on the light with my dry hand, saw what I was holding, and screamed. I had never even touched a reptile before, let alone a stone-cold toad. My buddies were outside the room, rolling on the floor, unable to speak they were laughing so hard. Wouldn't have happened were it not for Claudine's magnetic power over me.

Sadly, the beautiful native Parisian, Ms. Longet, left Andy for a wonderfully gifted skier named Spider Sabich. And happily, I left Claudine for a wonderfully lithe, beautiful brunette named Carole. You probably know the rest of the story. Claudine, uh, shot and killed Spider because, uh, judge, the gun went off. The jury believed it and acquitted her. She married her lawyer and they still live in Aspen. Supposedly she rarely shows her face, something of a national tragedy akin to the Johnstown flood.

So, it all worked out. I could not have asked for a better, more beautiful, more spiritual mate than Carole. Plus, I've forgiven Claudine for mishandling the gun. Accidents happen, you know. My fantasy world with her was worth all the trouble it brought, frog and all.

Down is Up (again)

2009-03-28T10:09:00.004-05:00

I've got this feeling that won't go away. It's a gnawing, ominous feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. It's analagous to watching a car on an icy road that has lost traction, pinwheeling as it heads for the inevitable crash with the innocent parked car. Of course, I'm speaking of what's going on in our nation under the "leadership" of Obama.

I think if I hear the word "trillion" again in regards to government spending, I'll self-destruct. It would seem that even Democrats who voted for this guy must hear a small, still voice in the back of their consciousness whispering warnings about foolhardy economic practices. How can a government, a government which in the old days had to justify every nickel spent, suddenly pass out blank checks ("just fill in any amount, sir!") and act like all is well?

Suppose you had a child in college who went crazy with a credit card. Would the proper punishment be to cover the ill-advised purchases, quadruple the credit line, and say, "No harm. Now go to the mall and charge to your heart's content!"?

But maybe of more concern than these financial foibles is the sinking sensation that we have a president who is clueless with regards to morality, judgment, and common sense. The details will have to wait for another blog-day, but they aren't pretty. Many were sounding the warning when the campaign was happening last fall. Many thought that Americans were being swept up by style instead of substance (which isn't surprising given the godlessness of society these days).

I sense we, as a country, are at a crossroads. We can put our collective feet down and demand an immediate end to this mind-boggling mess, or we can quietly and submissively be shoved along with the masses toward a world that has nothing in common with the America we once knew. The question is: Can enough of us be finally moved to jettison our lethargy and make our voices heard? It may involve risk and it may involve saying good-bye to a life of privacy and anonymity. But it's beginning to look like we no longer have a choice.

Amazing

2009-03-24T19:10:00.003-05:00

The 6th-graders who sit behind me on the bus have no memory of 9/11.

Missing the Point

2009-03-22T16:12:00.003-05:00

Larry James spoke at Highland Oaks this morning. I always hate/love to hear Larry...he's got such a brilliant mind and such a rabid commitment to Jesus, but he always convicts me of the need to help society's disenfranchised people, and I don't often jump in line to help 'em.

Let's be honest here. There are reasons that when we go out to eat, we eat at Cotton Patch in Rockwall and not the McDonalds near Fair Park in South Dallas. There was a reason we left a paid-for house in Dallas and moved to almost-crime-free Rockwall, starting from scratch with a new mortgage. Associating with people on the fringe of society is something I try to avoid for the most part. It's dangerous, they can take advantage of you, and they don't smell so good.

But if Jesus had been born in Balch Springs instead of Bethlehem, and if the year of birth had been 1979 instead of 0, I think He would be seeking out these folks on a daily basis, perhaps living amongst them. And His disciples would be clocking in every day at Central Dallas Ministry, the amazing brainchild of Larry James. And, given those circumstances, would anything change in the way I live life?

I pretty much content myself with trying to help those in my circle of family and friends. I do randomly slip some cash to guys in South Dallas that I see on my school bus route, but that's a once-a-month thing. I guess what I'm saying is that I wish I were doing more for the down-and-out, that I realize of whom much has been given, much is required. Have I got the guts to do that?

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!

2009-03-18T15:36:00.008-05:00

My sons and I are back from Surprise, Arizona, home of the Texas Rangers' spring training. With the exception of a personal airline ticket faux pas, the trip far exceeded our loftiest expections. The three of us want to do it again now that we know the ropes, but that will mean saving for a rainy day, a weather feature that rarely occurs in Arizona. Here are the highlights of the trip:

On Monday afternoon, the players were taking the afternoon off, so we ended up at an Arizona State Park at the foothills on the western outskirts of Phoenix. Once in the park, somehow we concluded that we should follow the suggestion on the park map and hike a mile uphill to a waterfall - on a trail that was "without barriers". I guess the boys figured it would be hilarious to see their daddy get most of the way there and then have to quit. But I perservered and had no trouble making it to the waterfall.

The problem was that there was no waterfall once we arrived at the end of the trail. Just a trickle. In retrospect, we probably should have expected this since, after all, we were in a desert. We saw cool stuff, however, including bizarrely-shaped cacti and a ominous-looking lizard sunning on a rock.

One of the goals of our trip was to make contact with Josh Hamilton, the already legendary Ranger outfielder who is as well known for his Christian witness as he is his athletic prowess. A little over three years ago, Josh was a crack-head, hanging around tattoo parlors and mobile homes belonging to folks he didn't even know. But his grandmother took him in and pushed him to turn his life over to Christ. Josh did what Granny said and now he is as effective an evangelist as anyone in Christiandom and perhaps the most coveted player in the American League.

Hamilton will sign autographs for as long as his schedule permits. We saw him do this for over 75 minutes on Sunday, standing in the sun with an equipment bag slung over one shoulder. I talked to a lucky fan yesterday who had gotten Josh's signature and found out that Hamilton not only signs his name, he writes down a favorite scripture. It goes without saying that there might not be another athlete in America who doing stuff like that in these days of anti-Christian leanings in our country.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to meet the guy. I could have tried to force my way through the crowds, but that would have meant being rude and stepping on little 8 year-olds.

The time with my sons was great. We laughed, we shared memories, we got serious, and we laughed some more. It was an enormous family kind of a thing. And that's another thing I noticed about spring training. Everywhere, there were families who had made the spring break pilgrimage to, as a family, see and interact with the baseball team. I saw numerous dads with their young sons having the time of their lives as they got closer to their athletic heroes than they ever will again. The important thing ain't the sports part, it's the father-son part.

So we guys vowed to "Surprise" each other again sometime. Maybe not next year, but for sure not too distant in the future.

So harried...

2009-03-13T20:43:00.003-05:00

On Monday morning this week, I arose at 5 and went to the laptop to check the weather forecast. But the silly thing wouldn't connect to the 'net. I tried all the tricks. Nada. The whole week has been a merry-go-round with AT&T, with modems sent to replace an allegedly bad one and even a visit from one of their techs. Now, five days later, we still can't connect and further tech visits are pending.

We've been coping with this dastardly attack on our leisure time by, uh, "stealing" an unsecured signal from a house down the way. The signal is the very epitome of intermittent and this leads to head-rattling frustration. Carole and I don't cope well without our lifeline to the world. And since I leave for Arizona in a little over 24 hours, this is a bad time. I need to nail down things and I can't do it with a willy-nilly signal.

I'm also trying to avoid catching a cold, something that's proving very tough with this crazy weather. Because of my schedule the past two days, I've been out in this mess a lot. Last evening, my throat started cratering and I quickly ran to CVS and got some AirBorne (sp), a concoction designed to ward off evil germs. I quickly took a dose, then another around 3 AM. The stuff seems to work, as I didn't get worse today and actually improved a bit. I can't afford to get sick and ruin this upcoming trip.

But life is good, particularly the life of a sinner saved by grace through faith. I'll hopefully check in again from the curiously named Surprise, Arizona...with a report of how unmerciful my sons are being to me in my old age.