Obama scares me...

Yes, he does. I'll vote for McCain, but not because I like him that much. It's more a case of the lesser of two evils.

Obama, according to those who measure stuff like this, is the most liberal of all the senators. He is pro-abortion, and that alone is enough to keep me from pulling his lever...oh, sorry...forgot we don't use voting machines anymore. Like most Democrats, he sees the government as the cure for any problem. That means, if elected, he would ask Congress to throw heaps of money to anyone in need as though money cures everything.

His religious views bother me. About a year ago, I saw him on Oprah and came away almost comfortable with his endorsement of Christianity. But since then, we have had the revelations concerning his church in Chicago. And recently, he said that there were many ways to God and that all should be prepared to jettison critical spiritual beliefs in an effort to have national religious solidarity. Whoa. I might be willing to concede that Lazarus hopped from the grave rather than walked, but not much more. Obama's vision is downright scary.

I am also wary of his lack of experience. He's almost come from nowhere to being sudden star, and he's already exposed a lack of understanding in key areas (to wit, sitting down for chit-chat with Iran's crazy guy and worrying about the treatment of Gitmo's terrorists). Would his advisors be just as green as he in foreign relations? Would he just trust his judgment with no regard for the past? I think McCain is all over him in the experience category.

And finally, there is the matter of selecting Supreme Court justices. There could be two chances in the next 4-8 years to inject the Court with liberal-thinking, constitution-ignoring replacements who could have a devastating impact on the freedoms we have left. It is crucial to have a pro-life president to make those choices.

If you disagree with every word I've written, I still love you.

Mars? Are we sure?

I just finished watching an amazing set of programs on NASA's early days through the Shuttle programs. What we accomplished as a nation was truly extraordinary. As a kid watching the early astronauts blasting off while I sat in the school auditorium, the fascination was truly there. And as a kid who didn't understand things like cost and risk, I whole-heartedly endorsed anything NASA tried.

Now, NASA's focus has shifted from the moon all the way out to Mars, a cold, red, sandy place as inhospitable as Parkland's ER waiting room. We've already plunked down some expensive unmanned machinery on the surface of Mars, and just last week, one of these gizmos found ice just beneath the sandy surface. The ice might as well have been Pez dispensers given the way the scientists exploded with glee. This milestone only feeds the dream of one day putting human footprints in the red sand.

Is it time, perhaps, to finally show some restraint in the realm of space travel? Of course, those involved in pushing the envelope say that man's curiosity must always be kow-towed to. And that man's drive to explore the unknown will always have merit. But for the life of me, I can't see the benefit of making the red planet just another way-stop on our way to "progress". I've been to West Texas and I know we're not short of red sand. Of course, the scientists are falling all over themselves proclaiming that Mars will unlock the Gordian knot of the origin of life. Mercy. Deliver me.

I pity the poor astronauts selected for the initial trip. It takes a whopping nine months to get there. And you thought it was boring to drive to Abilene. How long will it take before the pilot has to roll up a magazine and pop the guys in the back seat who are making faces at each other?

So let's be satisfied with our historic trips to the moon and shut down NASA. Certainly, the Martians would want it that way.

Learning something new every day...

Today I was looking at a tutorial video on how and why sonic booms happen. At the end of it, the commentator said, "By the way, the sound you hear when a bullwhip is cracked is the tip end breaking the sound barrier." Well, that was a nugget of info I didn't know. I researched it and sho' 'nuff, it's true.

Earlier today, I had been reading Revelation 7; starting around verse 12, you have this:

"Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen. 13 Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?" 14 I said to him, "Sir, you are the one that knows." Then he said to me, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
15 For this reason they are before the throne of God,
and worship him day and night within his temple,
and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them.
16 They will hunger no more, and thirst no more;
the sun will not strike them,
nor any scorching heat;
17 for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of the water of life,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."

I see at least three church songs that have their origin here. What a nugget that is! Probably due the incredible power those verses have.

Meanwhile, we keep learning.

Left-wing Patriot

In conjunction with the blog entry below, I thought I'd share this picture. Three year-old Maddie saw what folks were doing during the national anthem, and did her best to replicate their actions. It was too cute not to post.

Legal Gouging

Last night, I took advantage of some free tickets and went to a Texas Ranger game. With me were Blake, Jaime, and Maddie. I go to an average of one game a year and there's a reason. I just can't handle the prices of the peripheral stuff. I guess this is how the owners are able to fund the exorbitant contracts of their players. They reach deeply into the wallets of the fans.

Let's assume a family of four takes an outing to the Ballpark. Let's assume their tickets are $20 apiece, a fairly typical ticket price. Let's also assume that one of them has a disability, as I do, and can park in a handicapped spot. Showing their sympathy for your situation in life, the organization will charge you $12 for parking in your close-by spot.

Of course, one doesn't go to the game without eating the sumptuous fare of ballpark food. Here are a couple of representative prices: large cup of soda, $4.75. Bowl of ice cream, $5.50. Beer? $6.25. (Uh, have no fear, I didn't indulge.) I didn't even glance at what a burger might cost. I could go into detail about how you can get a two-liter bottle of soda for less than a buck or how a half-gallon of Blue Bell can be had for less than $5 at your local Wal-Mart. I can almost picture Ranger owner Tom Hicks looking through a one-way mirror and yelling, "Gotcha", after each transaction.

So, let's tally up the damages. $80 for tickets, $12 for parking, $60 (or so) for food, and little Johnny wants a Ranger tee shirt, maybe an extra $20. Oh, don't forget the cost of gas for driving to the mid-cities for the game, probably another $20 there. My math says that's $192 right there. And that may be conservative. Based on what I saw around me, many families were exceeding the $60 food allowance.

Stuff like this strains my sensibilities. I can't relate to the shortstop who makes $4 million/year and I can't begin to understand 16 oz. of coke at $4.75. Better to stay home, manage my money well, and enjoy the ambience of my den and the Ranger game on TV. So there, Mr. Hicks. Gotcha!

Dad's Day

I've had the wonderful words from my kids today. Naturally, they all say the usual things. But what I want them to know is that this day would be meaningless were they not such superlative children of God. I've had, I suppose, a modicum of influence in their lives. But still, the burden of making good choices, of being good and pure and honorable, has been with them all these years. And they have come through with flying colors.

I want to make sure before this day is over that I communicate with my Father in heaven, and tell Him how good he's been to me.

Tom, Terrific

As much as I love "boy toys", I always feel a tinge of guilt when purchasing another one because often, it's hard to put the transaction in the "need" category. It's usually a solid score in the "fun" column. But I bought a TomTom GPS unit last weekend after borrowing one from Blake and being blown away by its handiness.

You see, I'm driving a one-week summer-school bus route this week. And all the stops are in Oak Cliff. I know Oak Cliff streets about as well as I know downtown Damascus, and I didn't want to be driving around Monday morning with one eye on the road and one eye on a Mapsco. The bus boss allowed me to take a dry run last Friday and that's when I used Blake's TomTom for the first time. It was miraculous and stunningly accurate. So I returned his to him and got my own.

It has made this week extraordinarily easy. I have five middle schools to go to, the streets are narrow, and often the street signs are hidden by trees. Not a problem. But I find myself almost talking back to the pleasant female voice which gives me the turn instructions. "Turn left at the light," she says. "And if I don't?" I wonder aloud. I sense her rolling her eyes. "And watch your tone of voice," I add. Meanwhile, I miss the turn.

But the brainpower of this little device is incredible. It knows the speed limits of the interstates and monitors whether I've remained legal. It knows the forks in the road and whether I should bear left or bear right. The only way I've found to beat it is to swing into a curved driveway in front of a school and do a u-ey. I can hear that lady thinking, "How did he do a u-turn in a school bus?"

So, add the GPS unit to the list of things I don't understand. It's right up there with the internet, the DVR, and Ranger baseball.

Behold, the humble baby stroller

Ah, baby strollers. Conjures up mental images of sweet-smelling babies dressed in lace, ribbon, and bows, being pushed slowly enough to let the general public see just how precious they are. How could someone see a stroller in the attic and not wax nostalgic about those wonderful bygone days when little Mary had rosy cheeks and blond curls and Daddy was so proud to roll her through the mall.

But I've seen a whole 'nuther use for the lovely stroller recently. I wouldn't know about this had I not been driving my school bus through poverty areas of Dallas. Here's the story: On Haskell Avenue in South Dallas, there is a metal recovery company that pays cash for cans. There is a surprisingly large number of homeless or almost homeless men in that area whose only income (apparently) comes from selling aluminum cans to this company. These guys go through the dumpsters behind the beer joints on Samuell Blvd. looking for cans. They are very visible on Tuesdays and Fridays because those are trash pickup days and people roll their trash receptacles out to the curb...and those are searched by these desperate men for more empty soda and beer cans.

The men have honed their skills in this primitive seek-and-find game to the point that they can fill up several 30-gallon bags with cans. But when you don't own a vehicle to stuff multiple bags of cans into, your daily survival routine becomes problematic. Some turn to grocery carts, stolen from the very few grocery stores in the neighborhood. But the police are onto this practice. Plus, the stores hire folks to scour the area, looking for abandoned and stolen carts. So the alternative vehicle has become the somewhat lowly baby stroller. It is the cargo hauler of choice for this segment of our society. And the bigger, the better. I have seen as many as five full bags of cans perched perilously on the stroller as it is pushed down bumpy side roads. And these tattered, dirty men all end up rolling toward the reclamation plant on Haskell.

If you turn your brain off, the sight is comical. But I can't do that - which is surprising because I try to find humor in nearly every situation. The irony overwhelms me. A desperate man pushing a stroller around, loaded down with a few dollars of aluminum cans, when 40, 50 years ago...maybe he was pushed down the sidewalk in a similar vehicle by a proud mom or dad...who had no idea that this baby would end up pushing a stroller for an entirely different reason...

And most people in the Metroplex are blissfully unaware that stuff like this goes on. Once, on impulse, I ran over to one of these men and handed him a twenty. Embarrassed by this for some reason, I quickly ran back to my bus. Once there, I looked back at him...and he was standing totally still, staring my way, holding the bill in his hand. No words, no jumping up and down, nothing except eyes locked on me as though I were Lot's wife.

I'm really glad God lets me see stuff like this.

Using that direct line to God

I mentioned in a previous blog that I spent much of my childhood hiking the railroad track that was two blocks from my home. It was certainly a different time back then...the idea that my mom, a caring and loving mother, allowed her little boy to be gone for hours, hanging out in a dangerous environment, almost portrays her as being disinterested in my well-being. But the decade of the '50's was a time of tranquil trust - there were few overt threats to little kids who played outdoors and left the house for hours at a time. Of course, Mom had no idea how close I was getting to trains as they passed by, even crouching in the sides of trestles, two feet away from roaring locomotives. Or that I engaged hobos in conversation on a daily basis, a fascinating activity for anyone, but particularly for a nine year-old.

One hot afternoon, my older brother, Charlie, had joined me for a long hike that took us way south toward an area where we seldom went. We finally reached a point where we badly needed to turn around and did so. A mere minute later, a scraggly white dog appeared from the tall grass and angrily accosted us. We did the smart thing and simply acted like the pooch weren't there...and calmly kept walking north on the tracks. But this doggie hadn't read the manual and he (she?) bit my skinny little leg just above the ankle. Having accomplished the mission, the dog scurried back into the grass.

Unfortunately, there was a huge rabies scare going on in Dallas at the time. Kids were being bitten by unvaccinated animals and facing the spector of getting the dreaded dozen or shots directly into the stomach with long, silver needles, just to avoid dying from rabies. The tension in the city was palpable as both daily newspapers and all three television stations were intent on getting the word out about unvaccinated dogs and what might happen if one got you.

Charlie and I arrive back at the house around 4. Dad has just arrived home from his post office job. He and Mom took one look at the puncture wounds on my leg and immediately understood the significance. A young boy has been bitten by a dog in a remote area, and the dog has run off. So what do you do? I'm sure they started silently praying. Dad said there was nothing to do but find the dog or its owner, both daunting tasks if not impossible.

The closest houses to the tracks and the site where the doggy had bitten me were in "colored town", an area where white folks didn't go. The magic boundary was Haskell Ave., and black people didn't venture north of that line and whites never, ever had any business south of the line. But my parents were desperate, and I, not understanding the significance of what was going on, hopped in the car with Dad and Charlie and headed south of Haskell. Charlie took a guess as to the street closest to the area where the "attack" occurred. It was a dead-end street and Dad drove to the last house on the block.

I remember Dad saying something like, "Well, let's get started", and he sounded tired and beaten. So here were these white folks on a desperate mission, and I guess we were going to knock on doors until midnight, trying to find an elusive dog owner in an area where whites didn't go. A black lady answered the door and Dad asked if she had a white dog that had been loose that afternoon. She amazingly, improbably, impossibly said, "Yes, I do." She disappeared for a moment and returned holding the perpetrator, who bared its teeth when it saw me. Well, one miracle down, one to go. The answer to the next question would determine whether I'd be incredibly happy and thankful the next few days or lying in a hospital awaiting the next painful rabies shot. "Has the dog had its shots?" "Oh, yes!" Dad thanked her profusely, and we hurried to the car and back home to tell Mom.

There were hundreds of houses we could have started with. But God directed Charlie to the right street and showed Dad which house to go to. At my tender age, the spiritual significance of what had just happened sailed right past me. It was only later in my life that the enormity of that day hit me. And only after I was a parent could I imagine what Mom and Dad experienced.

Likeness

Here is a conversation I heard just behind me on the bus trip home today:

"Like, how did you do on that algebra test?"
"Well, there should have been, like, a formula to explain that formula."
"I know! I was, like, 'Where was this in the review?' I'm like, 'That's unfair!'"

"I was like the same way. I, like, wanted to croak!"

These two intelligent young ladies did not speak a single sentence without saying "like" at least once. I love language and language usage. Once I got over my horror of the conversation, I tried to figure out how this "likeness" came to be. It certainly wasn't the first time my ears had thusly been assaulted. There was a species that lived in my house who talked that way (daughterius brookus).

I'm not having much luck figuring it out. Apparently, the Valley girls on the west coast started it. I wanted to turn around to these girls and say, "Why not just say 'I wanted to croak?' instead of 'I, like, wanted to croak.'" But since I'm over 40 years older than they, it would be an exercise in futility. They don't know I'm a closet linguist. They think I'm, like, just a bus driver.

Summertime, and the living is....maddening

Every year about this time, I remember why I love autumn. And it dawns on me how long it'll be before I say, "Kind of a chill in the air this morning, love."

I don't like having to take extra showers each day. I don't enjoy the feel of sweaty legs under my denim jeans. I hate having to park my school bus under a tree to get it cool enough for the a/c to do any good.

I wonder how I made it as a kid. As a ten year-old, I spent every day except Sunday hiking down the railroad track near our house. Didn't wear a hat or bring water with me. The heat reflected off the stone ballast next to the rails, so in effect, you were nailed twice by the rays. Yet I don't remember any problems with the heat. (I just remember getting dangerously close to the trains...day after day after day.)

The sad thing is that summer is not exclusive to June, July, and August. Let's face it...it will be November before we smell good again.

A Tasty Blast from the Past

How many of you out there remember these?

These were 6 and a half ounce wake-up calls. I so wish Coke still made them. The Coke of today bears little resemblance to these babies. Today's weak representation is a watered-down, sorry imitation of the real thing. Taking a swig of this mighty midget set off taste bud alarms throughout the entirety of your mouth. Swallowing two gulps back-to-back was almost impossible. The power of this stuff was awesome.

I don't know whether extra caffeine was stashed in these little liquid grenades. I suspect that was one factor in its jolt. During the first years of my teaching career, once I had signed in at the office, I headed straight to the Coke machine. Seems like the cost was either 15 or 20 cents. But I did not miss a day. I had to have the rush before I began the day. Often on weekends when I skipped my habit, I'd get a pounding headache...a sure sign that I was addicted to the stuff.

Another interesting thing about the bottles. On the bottom of each bottle was the imprint of what city that bottle had been "born". I used to line up my empties on the chalk tray, sorted by the section of the U.S. from which they had come. Man, I miss these babies.

Anyone else (near my age, of course) want to share memories of the baby Coke?

No more FT's!

I took a group of elementary choral students to Sandy Lake Park today. I think it was my 60th field trip of the year. As I threaded the yellow-hound through LBJ/holiday/Friday traffic this afternoon, I couldn't wait to get 'em safely home and wrap up a safe year of doing trips.

Field trips are where the money is...I earn my hourly wage from the time I leave to travel to the school until I bring my bus back to the lot. Last year, one of the trips lasted 16+ hours. So I'm on the clock even as I read novels, take naps, and ponder life...while waiting on the kiddoes to wrap up whatever trip they're on.

Sadly, however, for most of my co-workers, this is their only job. The newbies start off at $13/hour, so there's no wonder that getting field trips is critical to their budgets. Of course, I have my teacher retirement to draw on. They don't. Our bus lot was rocked with a scandal about a decade ago when it was discovered that trips were being awarded based upon money "under the table". It got real ugly.

But for me and a few of my fellow retired educators, it's pretty much an ideal job. One of the guys is a PhD. So when a bus pulls up in Dallas to board some students, your driver could be uneducated or extremely educated. Of course, how ideal the job is depends greatly on your, uh, clientele. Please don't ever give me Skyline High School students. They send a lot of drivers to snoop out other professions.

BTW, I had to do my best McIver impression today. The rear a/c quit this afternoon, and with a heat index over 100, this was serious. I borrowed a penny, and not because I was broke. I used the penny to open up a panel that exposed all the bus' electrical wiring. I fiddled around with the wires connected with the a/c switch and got it working again. Of course, McIver would have gotten the bus to fly somehow.

Easing Toward Sunset

These are not easy times as my mom advances through her 80's. Physically, she's frail, weighing less than 90 lbs. Mentally, every day brings more confusion to her daily routine, as brain cells no longer work as they once did. Mom has trouble doing the normal stuff of life now. She knows it, too, and it's driving her nuts - adding stress to the situation.

I'm pretty much her caretaker now. Two of my siblings live hours away. My sister teaches school in the area and will give me some help this summer. It's weird. Mom used to never call me. But as soon as we sold her car early this year, she has called me daily, often several times a day. I help her with bill-paying and grocery shopping.

Mom is troubled by the fact that she needs such assistance. She's always been fiercely independent and a real can-do person. When I leave her after a visit these days, she apologizes until I finally have to cut her off. She probably never thought she's ever need to lean on others. (I know I feel that way...pretty foolish of me).

I can't say I enjoy the "inconvience" this has caused me. But when I consider the mountain of love, care, and attention she has given me the last 59 years, I realize I'll never be able to run enough errands to tilt the balances my direction. What a blessing that she and Dad had four kids, with two of them close enough to be of help to her! I shudder to think where she'd be without us right now.

So I thank God that I'm able to "return the favor" as it were. Couldn't happen to a finer lady.

Clutter

Seems like I'm always on I-30...and one thing that bothers me greatly is the amount of visual pollution on either side of the highway. Are billboards really necessary? They are so embedded in our collective conciousness that we scarcely notice them; it's like we've always wanted them there, like we prefer clutter to neatness. We really do live in an attractive area - wouldn't it be nice if we could see it?

It doesn't have to be this way. Forty years ago, Vermont banned billboards. Also large signs of any kind. Want to put in a Holiday Inn? All that will be allowed you in the way of signage is a narrow, horizontal sign about four feet off the ground. The result is stunning. Folks travelling through the state are presented with incredible vistas, totally free of peeling, obtrusive billboards. The trees and rivers of Vermont can be seen in all God's intended glory.

So I think we need to make this mandatory in the other 49 states. Admittedly, this may not be such a swell idea in Oklahoma...where billboards may actually protect the eyes from uninspiring topography. But if we can imagine world peace or even whirled peas, we can imagine applying Visine to our countryside.

I put in a new garden today...

But mainly I just want you to click on the amazing picture just above. Nice. Real nice.

Oh, yeah. The garden looks great and I'm real sore. I'll wait until June to show you a shot of it. Needs time to flourish, ya' know.

New Digs

Ever been around folk who won't shut up about something in which you have no interest? Pretty tough to take, eh? Well, I'm guilty of this heinous crime. I will harrass people with my history of driving tired, old school buses until they're yellow in the face. The only person who understands me is my brother-in-law, Joe. Joe spent one year of his retirement driving for Rockwall ISD and enjoyed it so much that he wanted to drive his route over the Christmas holidays, simply because he loved the feeling of driving the bus.

Well, after 25 years of driving worn-out, old, raggedy, embarrassing yellowhounds, I will be cruising the highways and streets with a 2008 IC 300. With the exception of the black hood, it looks like the above bus. It has way too many amenities for me to mention here - besides, you've already quit reading by this point.

For the first time in my life, I'm wishing for summer to fly by.

I'm a sick man.

Cleaning out the sludge

Blame it on my dad. We Perkins men have high cholesterol. We're locked into it by our fiendish DNA. Back when I ran 60 miles a week training for a marathon, I still registered in the mid-200's on the cholesterol scale. A couple of years ago, I was just over 300, all the while watching my diet reasonably well.

My internist put me on Lipitor. The next checkup I was down to 168 or so. But then the checkup after that had me inching toward 200. So a 2nd drug, Zetia, was added to the protocol. After six months, I returned to the doc this week to find out how things were going. It was with a little nervousness, too. I knew in my heart of hearts (what does that mean?) that my sweet tooth (silly phrase, eh?) had gotten the best of me lately. Too many candy bars and desserts had forced their way into my diet. I had been powerless to stop their assault.

I had been fumbling for excuses in my mental prep for the visit with Dr. Dimmitt. "Gee, doc. Think of all the holidays we've had since I saw you in October: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Arbor Day." Or, "At my age, shouldn't I be making concessions to cravings?" So imagine my amazement when he announced that my cholesterol level was a cool 140! I know Dimmitt must have been inwardly impressed with my discipline even though he suppressed his admiration. Even the HDL and LDL numbers were spectacular.

Pass the pie, please.

I Peel for You

First of all, be sure to click on the above image. Amazing!

Stupidity has its consequences. Otherwise, we wouldn't be able to differentiate between what's dumb and what's not. I'm currently paying the price for not slathering sunblock on my face at Saturday's airshow. My beautiful mug is peeling like a leper.

When I vigorously rub the sides of my face, I temporarily create white-out conditions around me. I have to stand and clear my lap like a one year-old eating crackers. Now I know what Oklahoma was like in the Dust Bowl days. I was sitting in my bus this afternoon, minding my own business, when a large cornflake-lookin' piece of dead tissue drifted past my face. It was intensely embarrassing.

All of this could have been avoided had I heeded the advice I preached to my kids everytime they went outside. I did wear a cap, but it did little good other than to protect my bald spot. Being 59 years old, I'm not too fond of looking in the mirror anymore anyway, but now it is doubly painful.

Isn't it ingenious how your body lets you know when you've mistreated it?

Road Trip Report

Steve and I had a great time, but the trip tripped out when Steve tripped. We had just been allowed into the area where you can check out the aircraft that will later be flying in the airshow. And stupid me, I set my camera bag down in the general vicinity of where we were standing, and proceeded to take a shot of one of the planes. Steve stepped back to get out of my way and fell backwards over my bag onto the concrete tarmac.

He fell hard and I knew it had to hurt badly. Several nearby airmen rushed up to help him to his feet and true to Steve's incredible nature, he immediately inquired about whether my equipment was damaged. Well, my stuff was okay, but he had banged his hip on the unforgiving surface. Like a true warrior, he shrugged off help and limped around with me for the next hour as we continued to tour the aircraft.

He hung in there the rest of the day; in fact, his pedometer indicated that he had managed to walk over 3 miles before we climbed back in the car to leave. The next 3 hours were spent in wonderful conversation and time flew by as quickly as the wildflowers along the roadside.

Steve felt pretty bad Sunday and I continued to worry that there might be a fracture somewhere, but I'm happy to report (and he is too) that he felt much better today, and put in a full day of errand running.

Crazy guy, he still wants to go to another airshow first chance we get.

Road Trip

On Friday, good buddy Steve Leaming and I will head for lovely (?) Abilene, Texas with the purpose of attending an airshow on Saturday. Since I don't fish, hunt, or play golf, this is as close as I come to "a weekend with the guys".

It's good that Steve will be riding shotgun. He's a fascinating conversationalist and quick with a pun. In fact, he will start punning about something and keep the puns flying until I yell, "Stop, enough, I can't take it anymore!!" Also, I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that Steve, brilliant as he is, is an humble servant of God and continually treats others with incredible Christian love.

The weather in Abilene will be ideal. Sunny with a high around 72. I've been to two airshows in the last 3 years. One featured 40 mph winds and the other one almost killed me when I got dehydrated in extreme heat. I'm ready for normal weather conditions. Naturally, Steve and I are pumped up about getting up close and personal with military aircraft.

Interestingly, after nearly 40 years of constant trips to Abilene for various reasons (college, National Guard, basketball tournaments, etc.), I'll see the town for the first time in six years. Last time was in '02 for Brooke's graduation.

What's on my mind...

It's a mellow spring afternoon here in Rockwall and these are the things I'm thinking about...

1. Going to a retirement party for my good friend Steve Leaming tonight. He's one week into his retirement from the City of Dallas. He had a wonderful little party given to him on his last day there and all the folks talked about how they cherished his friendship. There's a good chance that he and I will spend next weekend together at an airshow in Abilene. He's great to have along because he can identify any aircraft that's ever lifted off a runway. He's also the nicest person I know.

2. Tomorrow is missions Sunday at our church. The typical response to a "missions Sunday" is a yawn. Boring reports from faraway places. However, the older I've become, the more I've appreciated the work done by men and women in extraordinarily difficult locales. I also am fully cognizant that to find a mission field, all I have to do is step out my front door. But I get a rush when I hear how many new brothers and sisters in the Lord I'm getting from places I've never heard of.

3. Did yard work for three hours this morning. It is probably the healthiest activity I have. It is rigorous exercise for an increasingly aging body. Mowing, edging, weedeating, and weeding work all the body parts, and I'm sittin' here very sore. But he who sits, dies.

4. I'm watching the NFL draft. Which brings me to what Jerry Jones is doing to the Cowboys. What in the name of Michael Irvin is he thinking with this Pacman Jones interest? Doesn't character and integrity factor into anything anymore? For those of you who don't know, Pacman has had double-digit run-ins with the law and has been arrested six times. He frequents strip-clubs and coming to Dallas is something he'll love since we have 54 of those type establishments within the city limits.

5. You should see the poor girls who board my bus every school day. What they have to carry is truly amazing. Everyone carries a laptop and all the other necessities. Yesterday, a girl was toting two musical instruments, a music stand, a laptop, a backpack, and a purse. It's an a two-minute process just to load up and get off the bus. Another girl was dragging a cello back and forth every day last week. But this does show you the type of passengers I now get to transport these days. Ah, life is good.

From out of the blue...

This morning had been hectic. Perhaps I should pause here immediately and say that, compared to ordinary workers in America, I don't have anything to complain about. My little part-time retirement job is about as cushy as it gets. So with that out of the way...I had to gas up the bus this morning, always a challenge in that diesel fuel is messy and I wear gloves to keep it at a distance. Plus, I had to load a cooler and a large first-aid kit onto my bus.

Then after my usual morning run, I had to somehow get from Fair Park to a school near Jupiter and McCree in less than 30 minutes. When I got to LBJ, well, it was LBJ: totally parking lot-ish. I diverted immediately, then called Brett in San Antonio for alternate directions, since he's real good at that. I arrived at the school with 2 minutes to spare. The bus was quickly saturated with kindergarten kiddoes who were amped up for a trip to the country. Our destination was the DISD Environmental Education facility, buried deep in the hinterlands of Seagoville.

I noted that my shoulders and neck were tensed and tired as I drove the 35-minute trip. I had now been driving 3 hours. We got there safely and I finally was able to pull the bus into a remote parking lot. This environmental center is perfect to teach city kids about nature. It is miles away from anything and is surrounded by trees, flora, and fauna. (I never met those girls.) There is no noise to speak of. It's one cool place.

So I finally got to turn off the engine, and for a moment just sat there and relaxed. Then, the neatest thing happened. A bluebird alit on one of my two fisheye mirrors mounted in front of the bus. She was gorgeous, sporting a color of blue that would be hard to replicate at Sherwin-Williams. Then she started hovering in front of the mirror, apparently watching herself and enjoying what she saw. Then she flew 4 feet to the left and alit on the other mirror, then began to hover and watch her reflection on this side. Back and forth, back and forth. I was blessed with about a five-minute show. It was absolutely mesmerizing.

When she finally left for her next engagement, I noticed that stress and tension were gone. Thanks, God!

Hypotheticals

1. Would you rather be enormously wealthy or fabulously good-looking?

2. Would you rather be 22 years-old and have a job you love or be 59 years-old and be retired?

3. Would you rather be able to sing gloriously or be able to speak eloquently in front of any group?

4. Would you rather live on a remote hillside in Vermont or a beachside home on Waikiki Beach?

5. Would you rather be able to be fluent in a convenient language like Spanish or be fluent in an exotic language like Russian?

I hate hypotheticals. I apologize for doing this, but it was time for another blog entry.

7th Heaven...17th Heaven?

I spend a lot of time reading books about heaven. One might ask why I "waste" so much time on something that is totally in God's hands. Well, I figure the more I know about heaven, the greater incentive I'll have to go there.

But the problem is the Bible's incredible near-silence on the matter. Jesus barely broached the subject. He spoke way more about hell. And I have all the usual questions I want answered: Will heaven be in heaven or on a re-created earth? Will we know each other? Where are the dead in Christ currently? And dozens more.

The situation I'm currently up against is a book on the hereafter by noted Church of Christ scholar, F. LaGard Smith. He is absolutely brilliant. I had just finished books by Randy Alcorn and Max Lucado on heaven - and I had decided that (1) the dead in Christ are in Paradise, a step below heaven, and (2) heaven would be here on a renewed, regenerated earth, with the New Jerusalem as its centerpiece - a massive, literal city. But LaGard steps into this lovely picture and kicks down the easel. He makes a convincing case that the dead in Christ are "asleep" (N.T. terminology) and will arise when Christ comes again. He also shoots down the earth as the locale for the New Jerusalem. He says heaven will be in such a different dimension so totally beyond our grasp that it precludes accurate description. And that the earth will be totally destroyed, down to the last atom, forever.

Of course, whichever side is right, it's going to be beyond belief. I just wish the New Testament came with pictures.

Listening to the Wind

I'm really ambivalent about this time of year. The in-between seasons of fall and spring offer so much of God's handiwork that is pleasing to the eye. Spring, as we all know, is an awakening. Buds bloom, leaves appear, and atrophied muscles twitch to life after a winter of neglect.

I love to flip the Lang calendar from March to April. But what I almost expect to see instead of blooming flowers is an angry, writhing funnel ripping houses off their foundations. It's true that tornadoes can come any month of the year, but we all know that prime-time for these nasty things is April, May, and June.

One of the more unforgettable days of my life was April 2, 1957. On that day, the deadliest twister in Dallas history carved a path from Singleton Blvd. to Love Field. I had finished throwing my paper route that day and was home watching "My Little Margie" on TV when they interrupted programming to alert us to the tornado. My Mom and I went to the far end of our back yard, looked west, and saw it. Mom was great. Her motherly instincts kicked in as she announced, "It's gonna hit our house!" Fortunately, we were miles away, but since a 9 year-old believes his momma, I was petrified for the rest of the day.

One day later, a local TV station put together a two-hour recap of the tornado. Much of the show was ground-breaking, since rarely if ever had cameramen gotten as close to the funnel as they had the day before. Much of the footage was shown in slow motion, and my impressionable brain was treated to cars flying, roofs sailing, and debris slicing through habitats. I had a bad nightmare that night, the first of hundreds of immensely terrifying tornado nightmares that have persisted to this day. I don't need to join a storm-chasing team to see these midwestern monsters - I just pillow my head and close my eyes for the night.

It's weird. When we lived in Dallas, I was rarely concerned about taking a direct hit from a tornado. Must have been the unfounded assumption that there was added protection from all the houses that surrounded us. Now that we live in the country and have open spaces around us, I suddenly feel more vulnerable...as though the chance of a direct hit has suddenly escalated. Of course, this is silly...we were just as likely to be sliced and diced there as we are here...but the perception remains.

So, I hope I never have to take one of my grandchildren to the back fence, point to the sky, and repeat my mom's words. But I do hope the end result will be the same.

Under Siege

Here's an undate from Camp Under-the-Weather.

Little 1 yr. old grand-daughter Macie had diarrhea on Wednesday and Thursday and was not interested in taking fluids so she had a trip to the ER yesterday for an IV. She is better and slept OK last night.

Macie's dad, Blake, was supposed to drive a big Dallas Christian bus to Abilene yesterday, but he caught the bug too, and spent yesterday morning barfing instead of driving. He is better today and is in charge of Macie at their home.

Poor Carole had dealt with Macie's problems all day Wednesday, then could not sleep during all the storms Wednesday night. So she sleepily took care of Macie through noon yesterday. Well, at midnight last night, she caught the bug and spent the night chunking her cookies. I cancelled out driving the bus this morning to take care of Maddie (she's still healthy, thank goodness) and Carole.

I'm feeling good - the antibiotics and iron have really helped.

Please say a quick prayer for our family. We need the sick ones to continue to improve and the healthy ones to stay that way.

Go Stars, Mavs, and Rangers! They all won last night. How rare is that? Hope they stay healthy.

Superlatives

Best invention ever: the DVR (or TiVo) depending on your provider

Best delicious treat that's good for you: (can't think of one)

Best delicious treat that's bad for you: (tie) lemonade pie and chocolate peanut-butter fudge

Best car I've ever driven: my wife's 2004 Honda Accord

Best preacher I've ever heard: this is a tough one because I've lived long enough to hear many magnificent ones, but I opt for Jimmy Allen

Best holiday: Memorial Day, because summer is not far behind...and that means a lot to anyone in the education business

Best-looking jet: MD-11

Best Bible verse: II Cor. 4:17

Best flower: vinca (only one I've had success with on a grand scale)

Best state: Vermont

Best small town in Texas: Fredericksburg

Best Kellogg cereal: Raisin Bran

Best President ever: Ronald Reagan

Best sitcom ever: The Mary Tyler Moore Show

Best summer sound: Rain on the roof

Best time of day: Sunrise

Best thing I ever did for myself other than marry Carole: Lasik

Reporting in...

The doc said my strep was back...in fact, it never went away. And that I was a bit anemic. So I've been put on a stronger antibiotic plus multivitamins with iron.

I took today off after sleeping nearly 12 hours last night. I hate missing work. I have it in my mind that somehow the job won't be done just the way I do it when I'm not there. I'll try to drive again tomorrow and keep the students from thinking I'm a malingerer.

Officially Sick of This...

Four weeks ago, amidst a 14-hour field trip, I contracted strep throat. Since then, I've made marginal, flimsy attempts to rejoin the world of the healthy, but the efforts have been half-hearted. I couldn't really pronounce myself well since I could still hear a rattling in my lungs when I coughed, something left over from associating with my wife when she had pneumonia a couple of weeks ago.

Now here I am in San Antonio, not for the Final Four, but to finally spend some time with our elder son and his family. The weather today is as close to perfection as God allows us mortals. No wind, clear skies, low humidity, and high temps in the 70's. And I sit here feeling like someone has whipped my body with an ugly stick.

I'm able to function...I'm not skipping any of today's activities (Zach's soccer game, Ethan's birthday party, and a quick photography assignment at the San Antonio airport), but it is a crime to be feeling yucky on a day such as this.

Monday, I'll again return to the doctor and see what can be done for slow healers such as I.

and 161 more to go!

I'm watching the first baseball game of the year. It matters not that the Rangers will probably blow it. What matters is that the greatest game is being played after a long winter of discontent. I won't get to see every game...come summer, I'll spend a lot of evenings pulling weeds with my trusty radio tuned to the affair.

It is the greatest game. Its pace allows conversation and verbal strategizing among friends. It was made for fathers and sons, with an occasional Brooke thrown in there. And the most amazing thing is that one simply cannot go more than two games without seeing something that you've never seen in a game before.

And, once I step through heaven's gate, I'll grab my glove and get to play catch with my dad again.

Trimmings

I've reached a bit of a crossroads in my life. You see, I have male pattern baldness. I also have male pattern ignorance, but that's for another blog. I'd love to blame someone, but my mom's dad was such a sweet soul and he and I got along famously. But the topographical chart of my hair is identical to what his was at this point in his life.

The problem is that as my hair has gotten progressively thinner, it has become less manageable. Also, I've found that silver hair (I don't have gray hair) doesn't stay where you put it like brown hair. The result is that I more and more wear a ballcap to keep from having people stare and point at me.

What I'm leaning toward is having the stylist put a quarter-inch attachment on the clippers and attack the whole head, army-style. The only thing keeping me from doing this the reaction I'll get from family members and friends. I'm not sure I can handle a lot of negative criticism on this. If they universally hated it, all I could say in return would be a feeble, "It'll grow back", while having a failed smile on my face.

But for ease and convenience, this would be worth it. No more trying to coerce cooperation from unwilling strands or worry that I'[ve reached the comb-over stage. Isn't a comb-over the most transparently sad move a man can make? Doesn't it look silly when the wind blows it upright like a row of cornstalks? I never want a comb-over!

Today, I'm going back to Kristi, a stylist who usually cuts my hair but whom I've somehow missed for the past few months. If she can do her usual magic and leave me with a decent haircut, one that leaves me a fighting chance, I'll postpone the army cut. But if this fails, I'm putting on the fatigues and going to war with all this follicle frivolity.

Absolutes

These cannot be challenged:

1. Cobbler is the ultimate dessert, unless you factor in frozen key lime pie.

2. 99% of high school coaches don't impart the kind of values that I'm interested in.

3. Lakes and rivers weren't put here for recreational purposes but for scenic appreciation.

4. I would rather fall off a tall building than be locked in a trunk for an hour.

5. Martin Luther was one brave fellow.

6. Ricky Nelson was overrated; Roy Orbison was not.

7. Brunettes. Always.

8. Getting up at 3:15 AM every day of my junior and senior years in high school for my Morning News paper route taught me more than everything I learned in college.

9. We've gone some time now without any good presidential candidates.

"Ennui"

"ennui" - "ahn-we"

That's a word I've never used in a conversation. But I may have to incorporate it very soon. It means "a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction".

Carole and I sit here on a gorgeous spring afternoon, as immobile as sphinxes, trying to recover from various ailments, each attempting to out-cough the other. I'm so desperate that I've ached for the opportunity to pull weeds. Between us, and using our laptops, we have exhausted the internet. Happened about 3:03 this afternoon.

The situation is getting comical...almost. Yesterday we got a call from Carole's mom that resulted in us taking her to the doctor. Turns out she has shingles. We were in no condition to make the trip, but taking care of our mommas is a priority.

Of course, we remain extraordinarily blessed. Neither of us has a terminal illness. We are surrounded with loving people. We each had something to do today until 3:03. Life is good, summer is coming.

And germs cannot survive the Texas heat.

Help!

Carole has been toughing it out, putting off going to the doctor until today. She had gamely kept the grand-girls last week and nursed me along, all the while feeling rocky herself. Meanwhile, I was kind of proud of my strep throat, milking it for all the sympathy and work-avoidance possible.

Well, she's seen my bid and raised me. She has pneumonia, richly garnished with a sinus infection. She got a shot, two kinds of antibiotics, and must have 3 breathing treatments a day. She's sick.

So, for the second time, we must postpone a trip to San Antonio to see the grandsons. At this rate, the next time we see them, McCain will be president.

Getting Right with God

I was privileged this evening to read a blog post by a minister named Terry Rush. His blog is entitled, "Morning Rush", and can be found here. It stuff I already knew, but boy do I need reminding about it sometimes. Enjoy.

Watch for the word righteousness in the Bible. This refers to anindividual being right with God. While there are matters of importance which God lays out before those who seek Him, getting right with Himis surely key. Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness (Mt. 6:33). Why are we called to seek His righteousness? Ours is a flop. No preacher, no faithful church attendee, no Bible reader can get themselves right with God on their own good deeds. Many try. Others believe they succeeded. But if it’s not God’s rightness, it isn’t valid. If we don't know to look for God's righteousness to be applied to ourselves, we will conclude the pursuit of God is vain for we will decide we aren't good enough. Be encouraged by II Cor. 5:21: "He made him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf that we might become the righteousness of God." There it is! The way anyone gets right with God is not based on our religious efforts but on Jesus’ bad deeds? What? Yes, one is right with God on the basis of how bad Jesus became on the cross. He became each of our sinful acts. Jesus became kitty litter on the cross to absorb everydark sin we’ve committed. He traded places with us. No one gets right with God on their own goodness. He makes us right just as he made Jesus wrong. The trade has been completed. It might encourage you to take a good look at Jesus. He died for you…that you could live for Him. What a trade! What a God! What a Savior!

Two by Two

One of the idiosynchrasies of my very old school bus is that its roof leaks during heavy rain. Probably during heavy fog, too, but I haven't had heavy fog to deal with yet. So it's truly wonderful that I had to take today off to be my lovely wife's chaperone for an extended medical appointment.

Folks, it is raining cats and dogs. Or more like lions and St. Bernards. We've had in excess of 4 inches and probably have several hours more on tap. My neighbor called and reported that water is seeping up from somewhere into his master bath. He's been there a couple of decades and this has never happened.

American Airlines has shut down its operations at DFW Airport for the remainder of the day. They had to divert flights right and left today, even sending an LAX/DFW flight to Abilene. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We regret to inform you that we're gonna have to put down in a little West Texas town, and you will be spending the evening in Abilene, a town where night life consists of parking next to the Union Pacific tracks and watching freight trains go by. Enjoy!"

I often wonder how the pioneer families survived all the conditions that hit them day after day. Today is one of those days when I'm glad I'm dry and secure in a modern home and not spinning wildly down a swollen river in a covered wagon.

I Love Mondays

It's late Sunday afternoon and I can't wait for Monday morning. The strep is almost gone and I feel like I'm about 75%. After 9 days of this stuff, feelin' good feels good. So when the alarm goes off tomorrow, I will smile.

Let's shift gears. Do you believe in UFO's. Aliens?

I almost do. I got interested in UFO's during my high school days. We had what's called a "flap" over North Texas, a time of increased UFO sightings. During those days, I had a morning paper route, and I always finished the morning by walking four city blocks and finishing up the deliveries. I can remember spending those days with my eyes skyward, hoping that I might see a saucer. No luck. But I have done enough research to convince myself that something is out there, something not of this earth. There have been too many sightings by pilots, astronauts, law enforcement types, and regular folks that cannot be explained. Carole and I have good friends who are believers because of what they witnessed one night. Were it just a couple of incidents, I'd say "no way". But there have been thousands of these episodes.

The question then becomes, what happens to my faith if an alien craft crashes into terra firma and removes all doubt that "they" are out there? My answer is...nothing. Nothing will ever rock my faith. What it would make me do is look again at scripture and see if we've missed something. However, other than Roswell (what did happen there?), we are still waiting for the first alien faux pas. And I still keep my eyes skyward.

There's a name for how I feel...

After a miserable night when it was obvious my health was regressing again, I did the prudent thing and saw a doctor this morning. Diagnosis: strep throat. Apparently there are several pretty bad strains of strep on the prowl in Texas. Bad timing as far as we are concerned; we're having to cancel a weekend trip to San Antonio to see Brett, Jenny, and the boys.

The medical folks are begging folks to habitually wash their hands to keep from getting this stuff. So take heed.

Also, click on the above picture. It was taken at DFW Airport last week by a good friend of mine. Sure shows how things can change quickly weather-wise around here.

The Power of the Name

I had made some plans for this morning. About 3 times a year, the kind folks at Love Field allow me to go up into the old control tower to enjoy an hour or so of photography angles that are special. But as I got ready this morning, I heard on the radio of a massive traffic tie-up on I-30 stretching from Jim Miller Rd. to the LBJ freeway. Since this is the only effective route to Love Field and since my schedule couldn't handle any delays, I postponed the photo op.

It wasn't long after that when I heard about the mother throwing her 6 and 8 year-old sons from the Jim Miller bridge onto the freeway below and then jumping herself.

To me, one of the most fascinating aspects of New Testament times is the amount of demon possession experienced by those folks. And when Christ or an apostle encountered a possessed person, there was high drama being played out as ultimate evil ran head-on into ultimate good. We don't talk much about demon possession now other than to perhaps casually mention that some acquaintance or relative had to "deal with their demons" at some point in their past.

But instances like today's tragedy convince me that there's a whole lot of possessin' goin' on. Of the three family members who fell two stories into the traffic this morning, there were three last names. The lady already had a long rap sheet. Neighbors say she had mental problems. Obviously, the devil had a tight grasp on her life. Occasionally in my teaching career, I encountered students and parents whose behavior was so markedly abnormal, so "out there", so dark, that I could almost hear the chilling hiss of Satan as I dealt with them.

Another fascinating aspect of Scripture to me is the emphasis on the name of God or Jesus. It is overwhelmingly apparent that the name "Jehovah God" or "Jesus Christ" has incredible significance - trillion times more power than "Ricky" or "Tom" or "Mary". It's that those all-powerful names are entities unto themselves rather than being just identifying labels. And when Christ encountered demon-possessed people, he would call out his own name to force the demon out of the individual.

This sounds crazy, but I'm dead serious. Had I been casually walking across that bridge this morning and seen the drama unfolding, I believe I would have run up to the lady screaming, "In the name of Jesus, STOP!!" From what I can gather from all the New Testament stories, Satan cannot withstand the POWER OF THE NAME! And I'm just crazy enough to think it might have worked. What do you think?

We've got it good...

It's so easy to throw a pity-party when you're sick. After all, I'm sequestered in a far-off bedroom and the isolation is killing me. Carole is having to care for Maddie and Macie today - both are sick as well. Were it not for the fever I had at 10PM last night, I'd be in there doing what I could to help. But here I sit, feeling (and probably looking) gray.

However...I read a book in its entirety Saturday while on that long field trip. It was written by Dr. Paul Lanier, a Dallas anesthesiologist who passed away recently. He had contracted ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) in 1998. Most ALS patients don't make it six years. He hung on for nearly ten.

Extra years for an ALS patient isn't necessarily good. Dr. Lanier described the pain of lying "lifeless" on his bed, unable to turn yet still feeling all the pain from sore joints. Of being totally dependent upon others, even to the point having them clean up after you, if you know what I mean. Of having every muscle totally atrophied. ALS robbed him of his voice. He wrote the book with the aid of a device where basically a cursor could be aimed at a letter with the focusing mechanism of his eyes. Meaning he "wrote" it one letter at a time.

He could no longer hug his wife and three daughters or even speak to them. And he knew that death, when it came, would be brutal. Most ALS patients die of pneumonia, which occurs because the muscles that control swallowing become weak and uncoordinated. Then when they swallow food, drink, or saliva, they aspirate (meaning that substances go down the trachea into the lungs instead of the stomach). They also get pneumonia because they can't cough or take a deep breath.

So the point of today's little essay is that most of us, especially me, have it good if not great. If Dr. Lanier withstood a decade of ALS, I better be able to handle a couple of days of inconvenience. By the way, the name of his book is A Change in the Flight Plan. He was also a private pilot and flying was one of the countless things he had to give up. Here is his obituary: <http://www.legacy.com/dallasmorningnews/Obituaries.asp?Page=LifeStory&PersonID=104727406>

Survived the trip...I think

I caught a bug of some sort during the day yesterday. Felt fine (but sleepy) during the morning hours, but awoke from a bus-nap in the early afternoon feeling very rocky. By the time we were ready to start the 1.5-hour trip home, I really was hurting. Had I been 100% safety-conscious, I would have alerted the bus lot and had them ferry two drivers and a different bus to Emory, but that sure would have been inconvenient. So I tried to tough it out.

From the time I left until I made it back to the bus lot, there was an overwhelming desire to go to sleep. Well, that would have got a lot of folks killed. I spent the 90 minutes praying for alertness. It worked and I got the students and their sponsors back to Townview.

Carole took my temperature when I got home, and it was 102.4. By bedtime, it had backed off to 101.8. Kind of sounds like the flu except I haven't been nauseous.

So now I begin my spring break week. It's off to a dashing start, eh?

Heading east...

Will be arising at 4:00 Saturday morning. Will be taking some brilliant students from Townview to Emory, TX, a little place near Lake Tawakoni. There's an academic decathalon happening there. My field trip time frame is from 6AM - 6PM.

I've driven this group several times before and they are a total joy. Very polite and studious.

The critical question is...will my bosses insist that I drive the antiquated bus#301 or will they have sympathy on me and bequeath a modern, new bus to me for just one day? The world wants to know.

Things I Really Abhor

1. Organ music.

2. Floral prints. Anywhere. Don't like them on wallpaper, linens, elderly ladies' dresses, or paintings.

3. Hominy. It's nothing but wet popcorn.

4. Misspelled words on business signs. I see two every weekday that elicit a primal scream from me: One is a burger joint on Dolphin Rd. with a sign that says "Hambugers". The other is a car repair place that has this..."Wheel Alighnment".

5. Screaming three year-olds in the grocery store. It's only taken 36 months and the parents have already ceded control to these kiddoes.

6. People who drive through the alternating red lights of a school bus. I had a student get hit by such a driver once. The impact of car on body was so violent that it knocked the young man out of his shoes. He was airborne for 50 feet. And survived with only a broken femur. Please pay attention, folks!

7. Meetings.

8. Car salesmen who utter the words, "Here's what I can do for you."

9. Body piercings, tattoos, hoop earrings, cornrows, and visible nosehair.

10. Waxed paper. All the other kids at my elementary had their sandwiches wrapped in Saran Wrap. Guess my parents' budget only allowed waxed paper. It was akin to living on the wrong side of the tracks.