Watch Your Language

Carole and I are fascinated with language and word use. When other couples talk about finances, vacations, or work with each other, we delve into the finer points of grammar, gerunds, and diagramming. We can kill a couple of hours on the road this way...and if for no other reason, she and I were meant for each other.

I pride myself on using the correct word form in any verbal or written circumstance. My mom drilled proper usage into me and fortunately, language fascinated me to the point that I made spectacular grades in any class where it was even remotely part of the curriculum. But I confess there is a word I use dozens of times a day that isn't even a real word. I'm not even sure how to spell it. I think it's "dudn't".

"Dudn't" is the natural contraction of "didn't" and "doesn't" and therefore covers both the present and past tenses. Some linguists feel it is mainly a Texas phenomon. Maybe the most commonly used sentence in Texas is, "It dudn't make no sense." Also helping in the use of "dudn't" are the acceptable words of "couldn't" and "wouldn't". Somehow to our feeble linguistic mind, "dudn't" should be the third word there in a natural trio.

Try as I might, and I have been trying hard, I can't eliminate "dudn't" from my speech patterns. I have this awful sense of foreboding that someday I'll suddenly be in the presence of the Queen of England, who then will ask me about the war with Iraq, prompting me to respond, "It dudn't make no sense". Actually, I wouldn't use the double negative there, but I'm sure the use of "dudn't" might cause the queenie to throw her tiara at my unclean lips.

Anyway, I'll keep working on it. And you be sure and stayed tuned for my next blog. Keeping with the language theme, I'm going to expose the single most common (and irritating) misuse of grammar in America today. It's positively scandalous. Just ask Carole.

Why I Like to Fly

See above photo. (be sure to click on it)

Those who don't like baseball...

...have never felt the crunch of their cleats on concrete.

...have never smelled green outfield grass.

...have never felt the sensation of hitting a ball so hard you don't feel it.

...have never experienced the joy of just playing catch.

...have never gotten excited over a home-team rally.

...have never known the feeling of an RBI hit.

...have never understood the purity of infield chatter.

...have never rejoiced at the start of spring training.

...have never appreciated the feel of a baseball uniform.

...have never known the comfort of a broken-in glove.

They're Among Us

What I thought was an urban legend was proven otherwise today. I was dutifully sitting at the back table in a large conference room at Dallas County Schools headquarters getting recertified to drive a school bus. Sitting to my right were two other bus drivers, one of whom I recognized as being the lady whom I had discovered last year could not read. She drives at my lot and I had to read some extremely simple instructions to her from some paperwork we had to complete.

Immediately next to me was a stranger, a gentleman about my age. I engaged him in conversation. He wanted to talk about fishing and I told him I didn't fish, but I asked him to tell me about fishing. He told me he was from Arkansas and that fishin' was real good up there now. Unfortunately, however, it was soon evident that he was a few lures shy of a tacklebox. But I enjoyed sharing stories with him and we were getting along nicely.

The fun began late in the session when the instructor passed out some simple forms for us to fill out. I thought they were self-explanatory, but the instructor had a dry-erase board up front and she drew an example of the form on the board. She added several horizontal lines. On the first line she wrote "Your Name" and then "07/30/2007" and finally "3SWB", the number of the conference room. She told us to be sure and use the name on our drivers' license.

I jotted down "Timothy Paul Perkins", "07/30/2007", "3SWB". Then I glanced over at my neighbor's paper. He had written (ready?),"Your Name", followed by the other two items. Not believing what I was seeing, I blinked hard and sure 'nuff, that's what he had written. Then he leaned back in his seat. I got to watch as the aforementioned lady, obviously not wanting to anything wrong, carefully, slowly, deliberately, wrote "Your Name" on her paper.

I couldn't bear to see them be embarrassed by anyone who would look at their forms. I gently told the gentleman to cross out "Your Name" and write, uh, "Your Name" in its place. Eventually, the lady also made the correction.

They are truly among us.

But we're all God's children. I hope that a miniscule bit aid helped them a bit. I really do.

Drudgery

We all have to do stuff we don't wanna do. Since I retired from teaching, there is far less of that in my life now and for that, I'm immensely grateful.

Monday, I have to get up early in order to drive to the far side of Dallas for bus driver recertification training. Has to be done every three years and this will be the 9th time I've sat through 8 hours of old safety films and first-aid tips. At this time in my illustrious yellowhound career, I feel I could teach the class. I'll handle the boredom as best I can and try to remember that every school day, I've got the most precious cargo one can have. That I've got young children whose parents trust me with delivering them safely.

I'll get paid $50 for my time.

35 and Counting

It was a sultry Thursday night in 1972 on this date. I believe the temp hit 100. We started the wedding at 8:00 so the auditorium would be dark enough for pictures. It was a Thursday night because the Cowboys were playing the College All-Stars on Friday night and we didn't want an all-female turnout for our big ceremony.

Mercy, it's been a great 35 years. It always helps when you out-marry yourself and I certainly did. Now we have 3 grown kids and 4.5 grandkids. It's such an endorsement of God and faith and prayer that we sit here tonight perfectly content. Through every trial (and there've been some, of course), God got us through it. There were times when we thought life had tossed us an insurmountable hurdle, only to have God pull us through it and provide an answer.

The product of our union is family...and nothing brings us more joy these days than our kids and g'kids. They dominate our conversations, and not just because we've covered every other subject worth discussing in these 35 years. Our three children love God and serve Him with diligence. And that brings us deep, deep contentment. We've not had to face the discouragement of unfaithful children that many couples our age have faced. Not that we were brilliant parents, but because of them and their commitment to the Lord.

Our kids do give Carole and me a tough time every year because we rarely celebrate anniversaries in exuburant style. I think last year we went to the Cheesecake Factory and then (hold your breath), I took my bride to Love Field where I took a few airplane photos. This year, we've moved back our "celebration" one day to Saturday because Carole has been sick with horrible sinuses. She got an allergy shot yesterday and should be good to go tomorrow. Current plan is to go to Jefferson, Texas on a day trip and enjoy the small town atmosphere. Yeah, I know. We're weird. Have been for 35 years now.

Airport Security

The infamous 9/11 attacks had horrid results; loss of lives, devastation to the airline industry, and shaking our sense of national comfort. But about the only tangible trickle-down effect on me (other than having to work harder for photos) occurs in the security check at airports.

Here was the procedure I went through on my recent trip to Tampa. (Not that I'm unique...I'm just trying to make a point.) I've got a couple of dozen folks behind me when I reach the conveyor belt. I take off my shoes and put them in a bucket. I take off my belt, keys, key-clip, and phone and put them in a tray. I remove my laptop from my carry-on suitcase and put it in a tray. I also remove the toiletries (all under 3 oz. per the law) which are in a 1 quart baggie and place them in a tray. I put the suitcase on the conveyor. I put my camera bag on the conveyor.

Sound simple? It ain't, because the early trays get ahead of you and start to mix with the stuff of the people just ahead of you. It is impossible to do so many acts smoothly, and yet you're trying to hurry because of the folks behind you. Getting flustered is easy. The TSA personnel are nice enough, usually, but they seem to expect everyone to be an old pro at the routine, and some people don't fly enough to have the routine down pat.

And this is if all goes well. What if there is something suspicious in your bag? Or your back? I've had the metal rods in my back set off the metal detector. On my first trip after 9/11, the titanium knee brace I wear set it off. I had to step behind a screen and drop my drawers to prove I wasn't a first sergeant in the Taliban. There I was...no shoes, no slacks, no belt, no dignity anymore...being checked out by a Middle Eastern TSA agent. Wow.

I believe the solution lies with the dogs of America. I would much rather be sniffed in dark places by a smiling bloodhound that is trained to detect dangerous contraband. That pooch should be able to ascertain my political leanings in 10 seconds, given the nature of their nostrils.

I'm serious. Let's start the movement!

Good news about Peter

I hope you've read the previous blog about young Peter. It's now late Monday evening and he is still in surgery. However, the major work is done and a plastic surgeon is closing him up (a one-hour-plus job). But the news so far is great! His vitals are good and they don't even expect him to go to ICU tonight.

Pray, pray, pray for this wonderful, brave young man. Also for his parents, who must be exhausted, but relieved.

Ewing's Sarcoma

Aren't disease names scary? Usually when you hear one for the first time, you know two things - it was named after the scientist who discovered it and...it is bad news.

There is a boy in the Austin area who has Ewing's Sarcoma. He's facing a 13-hour surgery next week. I just today found out about his fight with this particular form of cancer. He's a super kid from a marvelous family. I beg you to commit to pray for him and his family from now until he is pronounced absolutely well.

His story is here and is worthy of your time. God is omnipotent and will heal him!

Phillipians 2:3

I sometimes fall into a trap of trying to earn my salvation (mistake #1) by looking for grandiose things to accomplish for God (mistake #2). The truth is that we will have a constant, never-ending supply of opportunities as long as other people show up in our daily walk. So unless I become a hermit, I will be given scores of chances to "consider others" better than I. And it really takes very little effort to do something nice, say something nice, or go the extra mile.

I came across this story today...I hope it's true because it illustrates someone who carried out this great commission. Enjoy:

Listen to these words of a taxicab driver: Because I drive the night shift, my cab often becomes a moving confessional. Passengers climb in, sit behind me in total anonymity, & tell me about their lives. I encounter people whose lives amaze me, ennoble me, make me laugh & sometimes weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

Responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town, I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town.When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, then drive away.But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door & knocked."Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress & a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos & glassware."Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she asked. I took the bag & then turned to assist her. She took my arm & we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It’s nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated". "Oh, you’re such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It’s not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don’t mind," she said. "I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice." I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don’t have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don’t have very long." I quietly reached over & shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she & her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner & would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I’m tired. Let’s go now."We drove in silence to the address she had given me. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous & intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.I opened the trunk & took the small suitcase to the door.

The woman was already seated in a wheelchair."How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded.Almost without thinking, I bent & gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

Afraid of Heaven?

I've heard that some folks actually don't look forward to heaven. Reasons? They tend to think that an eternity of doing anything would get old rather quickly. Kind of like overdosing on apple pie here on this side of eternity.

I think we need to give God some credit here. (Funny statement, eh?) I prefer to believe that God has got that boredom problem solved. Sometimes we need reminding that nothing is too hard for God. He has fashioned an existence that will be eternal bliss. That's it. Case closed.

I enjoy reading about near-death experiences. Of course, many doubt their validity...and whether they indeed give us a glimpse of heaven remains to be seen. But I do find it fascinating that many "return" to this life after having experienced, albeit for just a moment, a profound peace, a joy beyond measure. If these NDE's do pull back heaven's curtain a bit, then it seems that God really has covered this base.

So much of our journey is yet to be lived. I don't know much about heaven, such as what "state" we'll be in or how we'll relate to our current spouse given that there will be no marriage there. But I'm exceedingly anxious to be there and to see what He has in store for me. Even if it takes forever.

The Top Five Days of my Life*

*With tongue planted firmly in cheek.

1. The day cable TV arrived at our house, sometime in the 80's. For some reason, Dallas was slow to get on the bandwagon and we were chained to a handful of OTA (over-the-air) channels. I had heard about ESPN but never experienced it. Then cable arrived at 5126 Breakwood and a new day dawned. I simply revelled in the luxury of watching a William & Mary/Weber St. basketball game or the 10 PM Sports Center. Nowadays, I have hundreds of channels and I've weaned myself from sports addiction. But trust me, it was huge when it happened.

2. The day I discovered a.net. I had always loved aviation and now I could look at pictures of planes to my heart's content. Little did I know that I'd ever post pix there.

3. The day I discovered that people would pay to have to their yards mowed. There was a guy who lived half a block down from us in the 70's. He and his wife had no kids and both were well-compensated at their jobs. He drove a Porsche and they had the only swimming pool in the neighborhood. Don asked me one day if I'd be interested in mowing his yard for twenty bucks. Sure! Little did I know that this would unofficially start an underground landscaping company loosely known as "Perkins and Sons", and would provide a stream of income for two decades, helping us put our kids in Dallas Christian.

4. April 26, 1976, the day I walked out of the National Guard armory on Northwest Hwy in Dallas for the final time. I had given our country six tough years of my life; it always seemed that my "Guard weekends" were on the best weather weekends of the month. And I never really enjoyed the Army. They begged me on that Sunday to re-up and give 'em 14 more years. Not a chance.

5. The day I dunked a basketball. I've been severely afflicted with white man's disease since birth. It was truly embarrassing going through life being 6'4" and unable to dunk. But one day in 1968, Terry Hawkins and I had just finished a tennis match at ACU when we wandered through old Bennett Gym on the way to our cars. I grabbed a basketball, dribbled toward the goal and leapt with all the albino genes I could muster...and cleanly dunked the ball. What was great about this was that I had a witness.

Of course, none of these compare to the REAL important days. Maybe that's another blog.

Quick Trip

I've returned home from spending 30 hours in Tampa, the humidity capital of the world. It must be a natural reaction of tourists to go places and exclaim, "How do folks live here?". I found that I could not stay dry when I left the gelid confines of the rental car. So anytime I wanted to eat indoors at a restaurant, I needed a shower first.

It also impacted my photo-taking. Yesterday morning, I arrived at my "spot" atop the airport parking garage and was immediately blessed with a great photo-op. I quickly got out my camera, attached the lens, stepped out into the damp air...only to have the lens to fog over upon contact with the outside air. Since you can't wipe a lens off with your shirt or a paper towel or somesuch, I was reduced to holding it over an opening in the hood of the car, where hot air was escaping with enough force to act like a blow-dryer. It took about 3 minutes but it worked. Of course, the shot I had wanted to take was long since history by that time.

Ironically, Tampa and the rest of Florida is in a drought. That, to me, is as puzzling as a lack of snow in Siberia. But as I awaited the flight home yesterday, a Dallas-like monsoon hit the area, causing perfect strangers in the airport to be embraced by giddy Floridians. Guess I brought them a taste of home.

Anyway, the reason I went there was to capitalize on the extraordinary photography conditions. It's hard to beat a silver plane on a deep-green background.

Saturday musings...

1. Can you believe the rain? Ironically, Carole and I went to see "Evan Almighty" yesterday (OK, you know I'm anti-Hollywood; but this one is clean and non-violent). You probably know that it's about congressman who builds an ark, ala Noah. In the movie, just as he began construction on his ark, we heard thunder and intense rain outside the theater.

2. How did we live without the internet? The weather has forced me indoors for extended periods of time. I pretty much have killed the time by surfing. Twelve years ago, how would I have handled the confinement? Read? Probably. But I much prefer the laptop alternative.

3. Last year, Carole and I went to Tampa so she could visit with a friend. While they were doing their thing, I hung out at the Tampa airport and found it to be a photographer's paradise. Nice, tall parking garage to give me the effect of looking down on the aircraft instead of up. Excellent deep green background of trees with the blue water of Tampa Bay in the distance. Absolutely no hassle from the authorities. So this year, I'm going alone for a photography-intensive 24-hours. I'll be leaving early Thursday morning and returning Friday evening. For some reason, Carole did not want to tag along for this thrill-a-minute excursion.

Step by Step

One of the highlights of the past week was a surprise. Our two-year, 364 week old grand-daughter, Maddie, wanted to sing for us. We were expecting a normal, typical Sunday school song...something like "The wise man built his house upon the rock" or similar. Instead, she trotted out her version of the church song, "Step by Step".

She was dead-on with the melody. The lyrics sounded like this: "Step by step you weed me, and I will folwo you all of my days".

It was one of those magical moments that help define grandparenthood.

Here she is in the non-singing mode:

The Inn on FM552

Some unusual circumstances have flung open our doors to family members lately. Son-in-law Michael has been putting in hardwood floors at their house (during his vacation, no less) and he and Brooke have moved in with us. Ordinarily, such a home improvement task wouldn't necessitate a move, but Michael discovered asbestos under some tile and naturally didn't want his pregnant wife around. And he ended up having to wear a filtering mask while he worked.

The job is finished, but they will stay for several days more because Brooke's pregnancy has resulted in her getting nauseous when certain odors are in the air. After church today, they went by their house and discovered that the new floor smell was bothersome to her nose and stomach, so they'll continue to hang here while the odor settles.

Normally when an adult child moves back in with parents, something bad has happened; a financial problem, a relationship problem, or perhaps ill health. This move had no negative factors and therefore has brought us great fun and joy. Carole and Brooke have chatted about pregnancy no end, totally exhausting the subject - then starting over. Such conversation pretty much exiled me to the front yard, where I got a lot of weeding done.

But it's been fun just getting to share memories again with Brooke and Mike, almost like families do at holiday time, without the holiday stress.

We've also been keeping our two-year-old twin nephews at various times this past week as the twins' parents prepare for a move to Kansas City. And, we had grand-daughters Maddie and Macie for 24 hours late in the week.

Busy? Yes. Harried? Surely. Loving it? Of course!!

Erosion - You Hardly Notice It

If you have read this blog very long, you know that I'm anti-Hollywood. I think we Christians have our moral judgment base eroded when we subject ourselves to filth on a continual basis.

With this in mind, I found the following op-ed piece fascinating:

http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/opinion/columnists/rdreher/stories/DN-dreher_29edi.ART.State.Edition1.42f9108.html

Snobbery

I frequently shop at Wal-Mart, something that snobs would chuckle at. I mean, after all, anyone who cares about status and appearances wouldn't be caught dead there. But as for me, baby, I like to save money and I will not worry about my image.

Not so fast. I'm not the saint I appear to be. Because even among Wal-Mart shoppers, there is class distinction.

The specific WM I go to when vittles get low is the "Neighborhood" Wal-Mart here in Rockwall. It is planted squarely in an area called "The Shores", a very nice, upscale neighborhood bordering Lake Ray Hubbard. I don't live in The Shores (the "The" must be capitalized!), but this particular store is closer than any other. The store's clientele are well-scrubbed, well-educated, and smell good. It's not unusual to see men wearing suits there, buying dog food for their pure-bred Austrian yorkies. The women tend to be thirty-ish, often attired in workout gear, they smell VERY good.

I thought about this today when I had to go into a Wal-Mart that was a bit down the snobbery scale from The Shores. The clientele here was considerably different - a real melting pot. They were of all races and ages. A lot of them had the words "hard life" etched all over their faces. The attire ranged from suitable at best to severely indecent at worst.

And lo and behold, I found myself feeling so very superior.

Is this the by-product of a culture that puts so much emphasis on appearance and being "with it"? Did I think I was the only person in the store that God had entrusted with a soul? Exactly how can one justify such arrogance? (Pssst - he can't.) There is only one thing I can hang onto from today's experience that gives me any hope. At least the Holy Spirit grabbed my stuffed shirt with both hands and shook a little sense in me. Since leaving that store today, I have thought about all that Jesus had to say about arrogance and, to put it in today's vernacular, a "sense of entitlement". It's almost as though He were preoccupied with our view of self compared with others.

I better jettison this holier-than-y'all attitude and beg for opportunities to serve those less fortunate than I. And beg for forgiveness, too.

Ugh..as in "I feel bad"

Yesterday was tough. Found out early on that we will require a new water heater installed. And due to its location in the attic, it'll cost a bunch extra. I was delayed getting to task #1 of the day, mowing the front yard, and it was 10:30 when I started. By then, there was a ghastly mixture of heat and humidity going on and it took an hour to finish the job.

Task #2 was to begin work with Carole on a home improvement project - installing a chair rail in our den and painting the wall below it. There was a lot of going in and out and lot of heavy lifting (a borrowed power miter saw). But we got a lot done.

The first indication something was wrong was during the night when a tough backache insued. I couldn't find a position that afforded any relief. So I was awake from 3:50 on. When Carole awoke I told her I was a no-go for church. After she got up, I finally dozed off.

Later in the morning, I managed to get up. The back still hurt and I felt wasted, like somebody had pulled the plug on my energy and will-to-live.

Just another indication that the good ole days (when my sons and I would do 17 yards a day) are permanently over.

Sunrise Reflections

One of the great revelations I've had in photography is something that should have been obvious from the beginning: it's all about light. I've wasted hundreds of hours at airports taking shots between noon and 5 PM. You can take a lot of okay, average pictures in the middle of the day, but the killershots come early or late...if it's a sunny day.

I got up at 3:55 yesterday morning in order to get to Love Field by sunrise. I was hoping for optimum conditions: enough clouds to diffuse the light but not enough to create dreariness. It worked out beautifully. There were opaque clouds for the sunrise shots and clear skies for the "morning" shots.

I had a blast. I was all alone, perched on the top level of the parking garage at Love, sitting in a lawn chair and waiting for the next flight. When I got there, it was still totally dark. I saw the gradual arrival of pink-orange skies in the east. I watched the big city shake off slumber and come alive. I must admit that it did not escape my attention that while I was playing with my grownup toys, hundreds of thousands of citizens around me were slogging off to work. I immediately thanked God for the moment.

Hope you like the shots. Be sure to click on them for an enlarged version...these small ones lack a lot of important detail.

Summer's Here and the Time is Right

What oldies song gets you going the most? I'm not interested in anything recent. I don't think anything decent and catchy has been written or recorded since 1975. (That's a scary thought: good music is not being written now! What on earth kind of garbage will my grandkids be exposed to?) Anyway, the song that never fails to get my foot tapping is hinted at in the blog's title: Dancing in the Streets.

Now there is nothing overwhelmingly intellectual about this choice. Not much of a heavy, life-changing message in the lyrics. Just a contagious beat that has always lifted my spirits. Here are few others that are high on my list:

1. Twelfth of Never (Johnny Mathis)

2. The Two of Us (Edye Gormet and Steve Lawrence)

3. Cracklin' Rose (Neil Diamond)

4. She's a Woman (The Beatles)

5. Devoted to You (Everly Bros.)

OK, chime in with yours.

Etc.

We have received in excess of 6" of rain in the last five days. Today is Thursday, but my yard needed mowing last Saturday. I couldn't get out there and do it because the grass was either wet or under water. This morning I could take it no more. It was starting to look like some sort of experimental project, trying to determine which kind of grass grows the highest.

I was able to mow most of the front yard. The rest of it is still pretty much under water. We sit on 1.7 acres, and the front yard is just a small section of what I have to mow. I will have to wait for peripheral areas to dry before I hit it with my lawn tractor.

We had been praying for rain, yea even heavy rain. The Lord provided.

Great weekend coming. We will get to see ALL of our grandkids. Brett and Jenny are coming up from San Antonio for a Ft. Worth wedding and we'll keep Zach and Ethan for them through Sunday.

10 Things You May Not Have Known About Me

Taking a cue from Lynn Leeming, I'll scour my brain for stumpers.

1. My parents came real close to naming me "Kenneth". Had they done so, Carole would not have married me, given her hatred of the name.

2. I got caught cheating on a test in the sixth grade. My good buddy (smarter than I) was helping me along. I wrote him a note that said, "I'm going to deliberately miss the last two questions so our scores will be different." Well, he stupidly left the note on the floor and Mrs. Manning found it. The next day, she called my buddy and me out into the hall. Her first question to me was (remember, this was 1959), "Tim, do you go to church?" You couldn't have cut me to the quick more with any other question.

3. As a kid, I was hiking along White Rock Creek when I picked up a broken bottle. It sliced my right palm open just under the middle finger. Since no one had told me about first aid, I rubbed dirt in the cut to stanch the blood flow. Not the brightest of moves. The palm got infected (surprise) and my family doctor said we got real close to amputating the middle finger.

4. I had only two dates in high school. So painfully shy. I was so self-conscious about my skinniness.

5. I did not sleep in an air-conditioned bedroom (other than in a motel) until 1970.

6. I've played golf twice in my life. Combined score? 284.

7. In college, I was deeply in love with Claudine Longet, wife of Andy Williams. Uh, she later murdered her boyfriend after leaving Andy. That has not changed my feelings for her in the least. Just kiddin'.

8. When in my 20's, I was into marathoning. I would get up at 4:15 some mornings and run completely around White Rock Lake. Saw a lot of weird stuff, including a guy standing next to the jogging trail...dressed in a tux with a top hat and a cane. He looked like Mr. Peanut on the Planters' jar.

9. The hardest thing for me to overcome during my 36 years of teaching was my nerves. I constantly got nervous before the first bell rang, repeatedly wondering if I were good enough to teach. This went on even through my final year. The nights before opening days of the school year were the worst. I would lie awake and wonder if it were possible to change professions at a moment's notice.

10. During the rock 'n roll years of the '50's, I enjoyed all the hits. But I also got into my father's music; Guy Lombardo, Sammy Kaye, Tommy Dorsey. I don't think anything I did brought Dad more pleasure than the time we spent listening to those old LP's on the record player.

End of (School) Year Reflections

This day last year, I walked out of my school for the final time. Other than a quick visit to the office, I haven't returned. The ectasy I was experiencing was almost beyond belief.

This year, I'm still ending a school year, but only in the role of a school bus driver. I always have an element of fear about the very last bus ride with middle schoolers on board. It's a real tenderbox. You don't know if they're gonna plan something crazy or if they're so glad to be rid of school that they go home meekly.

One thing that has helped is that over the past 15 years or so, Hood Middle School has dismissed at 10:30 on the last day. Since some 13 year-olds don't even wake up by that time, it's a real asset. There's not a lot of time to let some plan hatch into something ugly. Yesterday, there wasn't even the hint of trouble. Several of the guys (I carry only males on my bus) even shook my hand as they stepped off the bus. Now that was shocking!

Plans for the summer: work on the yard, take a couple of airport photography trips, and get some rest. My yard has been a disaster ever since I decided to go organic about five years ago. What had been a pretty good carpet of bermuda degraded to a pretty good patch of weeds. Much as I didn't want to, I'm using chemicals again to regain control.

It's raining! Got 3/4" yesterday and over an inch today. When it's this warm and this wet, keeping up with the grass growth becomes a full-time job.

Enjoy Memorial Day. Don't forget why we celebrate it.

Movies and TV

People think I'm weird - for a number of reasons. I don't eat tomatoes, lettuce, squash, or Mexican food. If given a free night, I'd rather sit at home in a quiet room with my wife than go out to eat or mingle with friends. But part of my alleged weirdness has to do with my attitudes about the big screen and the smaller one.

I am convinced that Hollywood is evil. And, it has suckered in a lot of Christians. Think about the things church folks say when recommending a movie that has "questionable" parts: "It only has a little bit of nudity and it fits the plot"; "It's really violent, but it'll have you screaming for more"; and "Of course the language is rough, but it's not anything you don't hear in the office everyday". See how Satan has eroded values?

Answer this: suppose you had friends over for an evening at your house and suddenly a couple begins stripping off their clothes in front of everyone as a precursor to lovemaking. Wouldn't your sensibilities be offended to the max? Suppose one of your guests began cavalierly speaking in the most "sailorly" way, using the crudest language available. Wouldn't you usher the offender to the door and say, "Not in my house!"?

You see the obvious parallelism I'm suggesting. I'm amazed at our younger generation of preachers and how they frequently reference movies in their sermons. Sometimes, they'll even talk about the great truths presented by a certain flick. And the flick isn't "G" rated. It's PG or worse. And somewhere Satan is laughing.

Even more insidious is the fare being offered on television. Steamy shower scenes, simulated sex scenes, and gutter language are the norm, from what I understand. I stick to science stuff and sports and documentaries and choose not sample the junk. The reason it's more insidious is because small kids are pulverized by this filth on a daily basis - no need to purchase a ticket, you see.

I don't want to come off as spiritually superior. But I'm so convinced I'm right about this that I'll take that chance.

We wouldn't walk a tightrope over a chasm because of the danger to our bodies. Why would we then risk our souls over stuff like this?

What's Been Goin' On

Since blog readers (and I am one) are fascinated by how others live, here's a boring glimpse at what's gone on in my life this week.

Tuesday: Went to the orthopedic to get results of MRI on right knee, the knee I injured trying to tap-dance on the top of a misplaced edger. No scope necessary since no cartilege was torn, but the miniscus has a severe contusion. Should heal within six weeks of the injury. The edger is doing fine.

Tuesday evening: Carole and I had been going full-bore for many days in a row and it finally caught up to us. Too many hours doing yard work, too many hours getting ready for the Mothers' Day gathering at our house, too many hours taking care of our grand-daughters...and we hit the sack at 8 PM. Now there have been times we've retired early only to lay awake and finally doze off at our usual 10:30 or so. But we both immediately went to sleep and stayed konked out until the alarm went off at 6 Wednesday morning. Told you we were tired.

Wednesday: Carole's Aunt Betty had died on Monday in Mt. Pleasant. She was 90 and passed peacefully in her sleep. She was an amazing woman. She and her late husband had raised two sons; one a medical doctor who is chief of staff at his hospital, and the other the mayor of Mt. Pleasant for the past 18 years. In fact, he had been re-elected on Saturday. We drove there Wednesday morning for Betty's funeral, a service that featured few tears since she was a marvelous Christian who had lived such a full life.

Today: Such a gorgeous day. Unseasonably cool, radiant sunshine, little wind. Maybe our 2 year-old grand-daughter, Maddie, wanted to enjoy the weather because she asked to be put in her stroller and taken for a walk. So, Maddie, her stuffed dog, and her favorite doll got to ride as I pushed them for about a 30-minute stroll down the country road adjacent to our house. (This time last year, I was trying to keep middle-schoolers interested in Texas government...this is MUCH more fun.) Maddie wanted to look for "cows, horses, pigs, and penguins". Well, we saw none of those but did see sheep. Once, I stopped and let her just listen to nature...birds were chirping and frogs were making frog noises...I hope she learns to love the outdoors and God's amazing creation. I think the four of us had a blast even though no penguins crossed our path.

Full Circle

It's been a wonderful, albeit exhausting Mothers' Day. Carole and I are barely standing...I, because I did too much yard work this week...and Carole, because she somehow cleaned house, cooked a big meal, and kept our grand-daughters for over 24 hours straight Friday AM through Saturday AM.

But we loved the time spent together with our moms...and our kids...and their kids. I certainly don't verbalize this while it's happening, but I sure get reflective on occasions like this. My mother-in-law is 88; my mom is 85. They are widows now. They were teenagers during the Depression. They've witnessed Hitler and Stalin and Mussolini. But in the same room are children who weren't even alive for 9-11. And there sits Brooke with one on the way.

One day, if God allows time to go on, those kids will sit around a room and talk about how wonderful their moms were and what a legacy they left. And how wonderful it is that they've gone on to their reward...and what a reward it is.

I would get downright melancholy just thinking about the cycle of life with those whose company we enjoyed today were it not for one thing...God never intended for this earth to be our permanent dwelling place. It is full of trouble, worry, and imperfection. When we all gather together in our REAL home, there won't be anything remotely melancholy about it. It'll be unrestrained joy, incredible glory, and total praise-giving to our King.

What an unimaginable feast of happiness awaits us!

Explaining Probabilities

The National Weather Service has been toying with us this week, throwing out percentages and probabilities that the next flash flood will hit your back yard. Because of this, I have deemed it time to repeat a blog entry from last year that explains, for instance, exactly what a "40%" chance of rain is. Here we go:

Let's break down the numbers and what to really expect. Remember now, this is groundbreaking stuff. I could have kept this kind of breakthrough material under wraps. But I'm first and foremost a public servant. Even though I could sell these secrets for many millions, I choose to stay humble and not mercenary.

10% chance: Rarely used and seen only in forecasts put out on the NWS's website. It indicates a total lack of confidence in rain chances and is used when a few cumulus clouds will interrupt a clear sky. Furthermore, I contend it shall not ever rain with a 10% chance.

20% chance: This is a cover-your-bases percent used by the NWS that unnecessarily gives hope to the masses. It should be discarded and never used. It mainly is used in August when the NWS knows that out of the 7500 cumulus clouds, two are going to produce rain. So they string along the public much like a 2 AM infomercial.

30% chance: I consider a 30% chance really half that. The NWS nerds use it when some over-estimated factor has grabbed their imagination...usually in the summer as they bow to public pressure to DO SOMETHING!

40% chance: This is a good percentage. It rains 62% of the time when there's a 40% chance. There is no explanation for this other than NWS incompetence.

50% chance: Not so good. Part of the problem is with the fact that "5" is an odd number. Odd numbers are not good. September 11, 2001 is really a combination of three odd numbers...9,11, and 2001. Crazy Chrissy Columbus "discovered" America in 1492, an even number. I was born on 10-12-48, three even numbers. I've made my point. My studies show that with a 50% chance, actual chances are really 31.3%, an odd number.

60% chance: Prepare for a good, soaking rain. My data says it'll rain 82.24% of the time.

70% chance: The public gets all excited with such a high number. They cancel picnics and outdoor weddings. They storm the hardware stores (so to speak) for rain gauges. Surprisingly, this is one guess that the NWS scores on. Personally, I think it's just God taking care of people less smart than I.

80% chance: Bingo! This is the one you pray for. It's an even number. And my research shows it's a sure thing. Not an 80% thing, a SURE thing. Need proof? I went through microfilm libraries around the world and discovered (amazingly) that there was an 80% chance of rain for these well-known events:a. the Johnstown floodb. Noah's flood (an unprecedented 40 straight days and nights of 80% chances)c. Katrina

90% chance: This is a little creepy. It is rarely used and the great unwashed public (get it?) hardly knows what to make of it. They wonder, "If it's almost a certainty, what is it lacking?" Doubt clouds (get it?) their minds and gives way to unabashed hand-wringing (get it?). And with good reason. This odd number percentage has produced rain exactly 47.313% of the time since statistics have been kept. (Statistics have been kept since Joseph interpreted Pharaoh's dreams and Potiphar was given the first annual Troy Dungan award).

100% chance: Amazingly, this is the 2nd biggest fraud ever perpetrated on the American public. An Oak Ridge Boys tour is number one. This percentage is the kiss of death. It never rains when the NWS is suckered into this "sure thing". There are no sure things, except an 80% chance of rain, or Richard Sterban showing us his chest hair (singular).

Babies Having Babies

No, this isn't a treatise on morality. Rather, it concerns OUR baby, our 3rd of three kids and only daughter, Brooke. She is pregnant! The parents to-be are ecstatic. So are we. A lot of parents consider their last child to be the "baby". Brooke has been a joy to us all of her life. She's the finest Christian I know. Even though she's gorgeous (looks like Carole) and could've found a mate with no problem, she stubbornly held out until the perfect Christian was brought into her life - Michael.

So this is special. Should be born about a week before Christmas. Brooke will be blessed by the advice and experience Carole will provide. Right now, their phone calls are mainly about morning sickness - which seems to be an all-day affair with Brooke.

Please pray for her and Michael and the new child - that He will protect them from all harm and that the baby will be healthy. Given the spirituality of the parents, he/she will be a blessed baby from the beginning.

Random Thoughts

Phooey. In an act of unprecedented clumsiness the other night, I stumbled over my edger on the driveway pad. Ended up on the grassy slope next to the pad, landing hard on my bad shoulder. It somehow survived intact, but my right foot got caught under the silly edger and I torqued the knee badly. I felt tearing. And this is my "good" knee.

I made an appointment the next day with my orthopedic, but when the knee improved somewhat last weekend, I cancelled it. But now it's pounding again. I'm going to try and make it to the end of school and anticipate that it'll need to be scoped. All I know is that with two bad knees, I'm very old man-ish. Hurts to walk, really hurts to do stairs.

I have yet to watch a single second of the Mavs-Warriors series. The games start too late plus I don't want to commit emotionally to the Mavs until they get to the next series. I've been watching Ranger games instead, hoping they'll win something - an activity that has less chance for success than finding the Northwest Passage.

If you happen by a Borders store or maybe Barnes and Noble and have six or seven bucks available, go to the magazine section and look for Airports of the World magazine. The current issue used 15 of my photos in an article on Southwest Airlines and their dominance of Love Field. I will probably never get this lucky again or ever get a paycheck this big for my hobby.

Thanks for reading. Three and a half weeks until summer!

No blog ideas, so just feast your eyes...

To-Do List

Do you have a list of things you'd like to do before you die? I do. I even remember the first item I ever had on my mental list - to see Vermont in the autumn. At the time (early '80's), it seemed a longshot at best...we had 3 very young kids and couldn't afford to fly to New England. But then I won a trip for 2 anywhere American Airlines flew. And we went. And I fulfilled wish #1.

I haven't been so fortunate with current list items. Many have been there for years. But, I will never give up hope. Here's what I want to do before y'all kick dirt onto my casket:

1. Touch the Stanley Cup.

2. Fly in the Corcorde. This one will be tough since they've taken the sleek bird out of service permanently. But you never know...

3. Take pictures of airplanes in Amsterdam. There's an airport there named "Schiphol". I think they pronounce it "ski-pole". There are more great spots to shoot planes there than at any airport in the world. And they are serviced by airlines from all the major continents...except Antarctica, I guess. So the variety is good.

4. I want to watch my grandkids play sports competitively. Hard to explain why but I anticipate this as much as I anticipated my own kids playing.

5. I have all sorts of people I'd like to see accept Christ as their saviour and turn their lives around. Guess I should have put this at number one.

6. I'd like to go somewhere far away from the bright lights of cities and view the billions of stars in the night sky. I've been stuck in urban areas for too long. I can barely remember what the twinkly-carpeted sky looked like when I had a chance to see it from my grandparents' back yard in Wills Point, TX. I must've been 5 or 6 and it made an incredible impression on me.

I'd love to see what's on your list so feel free tell the world.

The Dream Has Died

It's sheer folly, of course, this dream I've fostered for most of my life. Even though my athletic career has been in shambles for decades, I've often held out the slightest hope that I could still develop a pitch - some variation of the knuckle ball, perhaps - that even a 58 year-old could throw and get major league hitters out. It would be a great story, better even than that West Texas coach who made the majors only after his high school team encouraged him to give it a try.

This ridiculous fantasy was obliterated forever today when I got the results of the MRI on my right shoulder. I have degenerative arthritis and a frayed rotator cuff. Forget throwing a baseball 60 ft., 6 inches...I'll have trouble lobbing a tennis ball to my grandkids.

Wait! My left arm's still good! There's hope yet!

MRI - As in Manic Ridiculous Insanity

As a guy who's been pretty chummy with pain over the past two decades, I tend to categorize pain events. Just can't help it. If I'm sitting next to a stranger and need to engage that person in conversation, I'll ask 'em what time in their life they hurt the most. Here's a peek at my list:

In 2nd place, I put the day at Baylor Hospital when the docs wanted a different look at an achey left hip. They took some kind of scan while I was contorted like a pretzel. My left leg was torqued like a ratchet wrench and then they tied me up in that position. The scan took at least 45 minutes and by the end of it I had gritted my teeth down to nubs.

At #1 is the herniated disk episode in 1997. As I writhed on the ER gurney at Lake Pointe Hospital, Brett jotted down two pages of cuss words he said I said. I was coherent and lucid and remember no such depravity. I remember hoping that one ought to be able to die from too much pain as easily as from too much cold or heat or radiation.

Today I was sentenced to an MRI at a place in Rowlett that boasted an "open MRI". I've had several MRI's and they are quite claustrophobic. I thought that an open MRI would have me lying on a table in the middle of a bare room. Turned out to be almost the prototypical tube. It had some openings on the sides of the tube, enough I guess to allow them claim "open-ness".

The scenario looked harmless. The tech put a padded thing under my right elbow and then secured my forearm to my waist. This put the rotator cuff in the proper position to be scanned. In a sense, I looked like I'll look in my casket. Unfortunately, though, this put the shoulder in just the position that caused me the most pain. An hour later, it was over. The tech said he had to retake some shots because I had flinched a couple of times.

After a lot of consideration, I'll put today's episode up there with the Baylor pretzel one. I'm not interested in having any more contenders anytime soon.

This is a test...this is only a test...

Ladies and gentlemen. I'm thinking that interest in this particular blog has reached an all-time low. To test the validity of this astounding theory, I'd ask that if you're reading this, take the time to post a reply of some sort. You can say, "I'm here" or you can write a treatise.

If the only folks who drop by are my wife, kids, and Heather, then I'll be tempted to shut down the operation. The blogging flame has started to flicker a bit. But if, however, there is a groundswell of response, I'll continue tossing out great aviation photography and not-so-great mental musings. I thank you for your time.

Update on the Cuff

Today I got a cortisone shot into the shoulder. The doc said I should see improvement in 24-48 hours.

Getting an MRI on Friday to see if the cuff is indeed torn and how badly it is torn.

The eyes are still crossed.

Off the Cuff

For the second time in my life, I'm saddled with a rotator cuff injury. I wish i could tell you it was the result of throwing filthy sliders in my major league career. But that would be a lie. The first time, 20 years ago, it was caused by trying to throw a football over my house while standing in the alley. This time, perhaps prophetically, it's from lying awkwardly in the floor for hours while looking at old pictures with my grand-daughter.

It feels like a nail has been driven deep into the arm socket. The pain radiates every direction, even down toward the elbow. Ordinary activities, such as putting on a shirt or drying my back after a shower, are now exercises in torture. I can't sleep on my right side anymore. Since I can't sleep on my back due to a spinal fusion, I'm left with sleeping on my left side, the side where I've had two hip surgeries. This starts getting old around midnight. One night I ended up in the recliner...good for naps but not so hot for six hours.

I don't need this. I'm already a chronic pain patient and this stuff is making me cross-eyed.

I'm gonna see if I can get a cortisone shot. I'm also trying shoulder-strengthening exercises and ice.

I will keep you posted on this world-shaking development.

New P.R.

As you may know, in order to keep from growing stale in my retirement, I have continued to drive a school bus. I may have sworn off teaching, but I haven't gotten the yellow paint out of my system.

I get $18 per hour. I get two trips a week. I opt for one weeknight and a long one on Saturday, if possible. For yesterday, I had signed up for a "private" trip, one that didn't involve schools or school kids. The job was to take 9 teens from a Duncanville church to Reunion Arena, where a youth rally ("Acquire the Fire") was occurring.

The time frame I expected was 7:30 AM to 9 PM. The reality was 7:30 AM to 11:10 PM. I've never been on a longer field trip. To kill the time, I took my camera gear along and took pictures of trains (see above) and, later, the nearly-full moon (also above). The moon shot shows it slipping behind the familiar green lights of the Bank of America building.

Field trips are a trade-off. The money is OK, but I surely could use the time doing other things. The weather yesterday was incredibly nice...seems to work out that way a lot.