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.

Questions on Baptism

There are days I don't know what to think about baptism. You would assume that since I'm into my 58th year of attending Church of Christ services, that my understanding of all aspects of baptism would be reinforced with rebar and encased in concrete. And some days it is.

To my simple mind, when the New Testament is examined as a whole, baptism is essential to salvation. You know the scriptures I could quote...they are as much a part of my upbringing as the belt my Mom used for frontier justice. You are also familiar with the urgency of baptism mentioned in the Acts conversions.

But there are days that the solid structure of my baptism beliefs show hairline cracks. Here's why:

1. What to do about all the "he that believes shall be saved" scriptures that omit mentioning baptism.

2. What to do about the thousands and thousands of extraordinary believers who live lives of incredible faith, devotion, and service...people with whom I don't want MY life compared...who haven't been baptized and obviously are comfortable with their decision.

3. What to do with grace and baptism: to wit, if God's grace is sufficient to forgive my sins of commission and omission, isn't it just as capable of forgiving someone's theological mistake, assuming neglecting baptism falls into that category?

I will say this. One thing that drives me nuts, that sometimes makes me think that I must be missing something, is why there are those thousands of believers who have somehow decided that baptism (for whatever reason) isn't for them. I mean, if there were a one in a million chance that baptism was essential for salvation, wouldn't you hightail it to the nearest baptistry? I have never understood the "hangup" so many folks have about something so easy to do.

I know we aren't the final arbitors of a person's eternal destiny. And I guess I can't make a final and sure ruling in this matter. I just wish it were as simple as it was to me when I, as a 9 year-old, stepped into the chilly waters one Sunday night and was born again.

The Green, Green Grass of Home...Ugh

I am whupped.

The recent rain has caused an explosion of green growth around our place. I wish I could tell you that it was all grass. Sadly, it's mostly weeds.

About five years ago, I bought into Howard Garrett's "natural way". I went sans chemicals on my property; instead of herbicides, insecticides, and Ferti-Lome, I scattered Texas green sand, lava granules, and cow manure. It may have been good for the environment, but it was sad mistake for my extensive yard.

Bermuda gave way to dallis grass and dandelions. All of the cure-alls ole Howard recommended didn't work a bit. Then the drought hit, water restrictions were enforced, and what had been a nice spread of green became a scruffy and eroded spread of brown.

I'm devoting my spring and fall to restoring things. It takes time and effort. And I'm not getting any younger, you know. But as for now, gimme them chemicals, baby. I intend to bury Mr. Garrett under lush expanses of thick, green sod.

This is killing me...

No, not my torn rotator cuff, although that has me pondering my will to live. I had always wondered what a gunshot felt like...now I know. But I want to discuss a torment of a different kind: the abuse of our language. What I am about to reveal is driving me nuts, tearing away at my mental equilibrium.

Yes, folks, it's corporate America and their fondness of deliberate misspellings in their business names. Example: Kwik-Kar. I ask you, why not Quick-Car? How about Kwik-Kopy? Did they think that this cutesy-wootsey substitution of letters would result in a deluge of customers? DID THEY?? Kudos to the companies that don't cave in to this dreadful pattern. How stupid would it look if it were Barnz & Nobull?

You know something's up when "In" becomes "Inn", "forever" becomes "4ever", "be" becomes "bee", "easy" becomes "EZ" and so on.

The most egregious sin I've seen was not a deliberate misspelling but sheer ignorance. A Dodge dealership opened on I-30 and called itself, "Chaperral Dodge". Their sign had the mistake, all their letterheads had it wrong, also all their advertising. When contacted, they said they found out too late about the misspelling and couldn't afford to redo everything.

As I wonder how all this got started, I'm tempted to think it began with The Beatles.

By the way, I'm ashamed of you for not knowing it was really supposed to be "Chaparral".

Aging...

I had the rest of my life planned out when I was in my late 20's. At the time, I was heavily into fitness - running 50 miles a week and even a marathon. The mindset was that I would continue to run forever...forever being fit, forever being healthy.

But then one day while running around White Rock Lake twice, I felt a pain in my left knee. Little did I know that the spiral downward had started. The resulting discomfort ruined my marathoning career and limited me to occasional three-mile runs. But still, I was fit.

Then the left hip started acting up. Two exploratory surgeries later, the docs concluded that they were clueless. Nothing jumped out as a source of the pain.

Then the biggee happened. A herniated disk sent fragments into some nerves that ran to my left knee, pretty much permanently crippling me. It's impossible for me to run, and one-mile walks have to be followed by a week off. The great dreams of my 20's have disintegrated into so much shredded cartilege.

Now, even though I taught 7th graders for 36 years, my mental faculties seem to be intact. Note: some close relatives will dispute this. But I've spent so much time lately with my mom and my mother-in-law that I know the inevitable will happen. The memory will begin to fail, the normal things of life will start to be confusing, and I will repeat myself without ever knowing it.

My mom is about as sharp intellectually as they come. Now, in her 85th year, the easy things are becoming tedious and baffling to her. It's painful to watch this happening. And I'm sure she never thought that she would ever turn the wrong way down a one-way street in a familiar neighborhood (like she did last week).

To me, this is way scarier than losing my ability to run. I don't want my wife and kids to see me deteriorate mentally (even more than now). I'm begging for Jesus to arrive on the scene prior to this happening.

I'm so glad, however, that God has a plan for my future that's even better than the one I had in my twenties. I'm very anxious to check out the living arrangements in my mansion built on high. I feel for the non-believers who think we die and that's it. What a tragedy. What a motivation for me to spread the good news of Jesus and the heaven that awaits those who love Him!

Elusive Excellence

Sometimes, excellence is the product of preparation mixed with luck. Since my hobby is aviation photography, I strive constantly to get the perfect shot. It's an ongoing process. Just in the past few months, I've learned that an aircraft photographs better if the sun is directly at your back, not just behind you in any sort of angle.

Every time I pack the gear and head out to shoot, I desperately want the perfect shot. Of the thousands and thousands of times I've pressed the button on my camera, I think I've gotten maybe two or three pictures that I'm totally pleased with. It's the thrill of the hunt, I guess.

I bring all this up because of the above photograph. This amazing shot shows the northern lights and the Big Dipper. What a great confluence of wonderful stuff for the photographer!

I can only hope I'm ready when my own confluence occurs.

On Being Cognizant of Wells

Tim Spivey preached a brilliant message this morning on the meeting of Jesus and the woman at the well. I'm probably like most folks...I need to be reminded every now and then of the importance of sharing the good news of Jesus with others. So often I live like this world is my home, my final destination point. I get too wrapped up in laying my roots down here. And I forget that my task on this earth isn't to become as acclimated as I can on this planet.

When I catch myself doing that, I've been lured by Satan into a complacent, materialistic mindset. Had Christ been so like-minded, He would have asked the lady for water, then moved on. Or, He would have never even spoken to her, a Samaritan.

Every week, perhaps every day, there's a woman at the well in my life...thirsty for living water. Do I avoid the well because I'm not comfortable with a modern-day Samaritan? Do I avoid speaking because I'm unsure of what to say? Do I not value the message enough to share it?

I'm praying for eyes that will see the opportunities this week. And for words from the Holy Spirit that will open up communication with those who don't know the joy I know. And for a greater appreciation for what has been done for me by the man at the well that day.

Random Thoughts

1. Why do some jeans have a button fly? I've got a pair of jeans (actually just one...we shouldn't call them a "pair") which are comfortable to the max. I love 'em. Except when nature calls. It is a situation that fairly yells for a zipper. I'm wondering if the button fly was invented by a guy who, uh, got caught in his zipper. Hey, it just hit me that the word "zipper" is onomatopoetic. Cool.

2. How in the name of Gerber can anyone hold a newborn and not believe in God is beyond me. I'm the proud grandpa of two-week-old Macie. I love holding her and studying her as she sleeps. There is such perfection in the tiny fingers, the immaculate eyebrows, and her fuzz-topped scalp. Does an atheist hold such a miracle in his arms and think, "Wow, we've come a long way since those amoeba got together!"?

3. What do northerners do for dry skin? If my hands are cracking and bleeding with the mild winters we have here, what happens near the 45th parallel? Every kind of gloves I've tried that really keep my hands warm on icy mornings also serves to dry up the skin.

4. When did Texas quit giving prospective drivers a behind-the-wheel test in addition to the written test? Can this explain the incredible lowering of driver IQ that is so obvious? It's getting to where I now expect a left turn from a driver signalling right. One of the weirder things I'm confronting on my thrilling school bus forays is this: I'll be tooling down, say, Buckner Blvd. at 35 mph and the driver in front of me will suddenly come to a stop. There is no stop sign or red light involved in this equation, no intersection, no left turn lane. She (or occasionally "he") just stops for no apparent reason, causing me to try and stop my 16-ton vehicle in short space. Then, by the time the smoke from my rear duals has cleared, the aforementioned car will resume its journey to wherever stupid folks go.

If you'd like to solve any of the above mysteries, feel free to chime in.

Mom Returns!

Is there any place better than home? After a 12-day stay in the hospital, Mom returned home yesterday. Amazingly, she is about where she was when all this started. But she is 85 and various skills are diminishing. Her memory is getting spotty and that frustrates her no end. She realizes that she should not be driving, and I am now her permanent chaffeur.

This is such a conflicting time. I really don't know why old people suffer. They certainly don't need the discipline that pain teaches us young folk. There are no life lessons that still need to be learned, eh? All of us who are blessed enough to count ourselves as Mom's children just want her pain-free, safe, and happy in her final years.

Questions

Wow, whatta tough 10 days it has been. Throughout my mom's stay in the hospital, I've been battered with problematic questions. Questions that burdened me down, but fortunately were answered by God along the way. Many still remain, however.

Here's a short list of posers I've had:

1. Is Mom going to live?
2. If she lives, what shape will she be in?
3. How do we handle the questions dealing with medicines that address her problems but carry
immense side effects?
4. If Mom lives, where does she go after being discharged from the hospital?
5. If she goes to Christian Care Center, what level of care does she need?
6. If she goes home, what level of care does she need?
7. If she needs home health-care, do I go through an agency or use ladies recommended to me?
8. What questions should I ask these ladies?
9. How much would these ladies be needed?
10. What medical equipment will Mom require at home?
11. Will her doctor go along with our plea to withdraw some of the meds?

One by one, God has sent answers to the above questions. Usually, I didn't have to wait long for a clear-cut answer. How do non-Christians manage without this extraordinary blessing? We are super-blessed in that my mom has spent her adult life putting away for such a time as this.

Stayed tuned for updates. She could come home tomorrow or Tuesday.

A Major Situation

Been a long time since I added an entry. Part of the problem has been the condition of my mom. A week ago, she became very weak and shaky. A subsequent visit to the doctor revealed atrial defibrillation, so she was admitted to Baylor Hospital. More tests revealed slight pneumonia and congestive heart failure.

It was a tough couple of days as the doctors tried to find proper medications that corrected the problems without massive nausea. But she has improved yesterday and today. She is sitting up some and taking short walks with a cane. She will probably be discharged early next week. We are trying to decide whether her destination will be home or a nursing home. Tough situation. We covet your prayers.

Top 5 Songs of All Time

See if you don't agree with these selections. I'll count down from 5 in order to let the suspense build.

5. "We All Live in a Yellow Submarine" by the Beatles. When I was in basic training in 1970, we went on long marches. In order to make the time seem somewhat less than interminable, we sang certain songs that seemed to go well with the activity. As some of you know, when one marches, one puts his left foot down with the established beat. This classic Beatles hit was perfect for marching.

4. "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" or whatever the actual name of that song is. It is impossible to hear that ditty and not get the Christmas spirit.

3. "TheEggplant That Ate Chicago". Never heard it? Go here and enjoy Dr. West's Medicine Show and Junk Band's classic hit. Quit laughing. I'm serious.

2. "Then Came the Morning". Bill Gaither's stirring work that illustrates why the resurrection is history's most important event.

1. "Do You Want to Dance?" by Bobby Freeman tops my personal chart. This masterpiece came out in the 50's, I believe, and caused me great angst since my legalistic urges were flaming at the time and dancing was considered the unpardonable sin.

There you have it. I'm sure this group of 5 has never been in a group of 5 before. Feel free to chime in with yours, but I don't expect anyone can top these.

"24"

I watched "24" for the first time last evening. That may cause you to wonder where I've been lately. Well, I don't watch network TV. I watch science documentaries or live sports. To me, network television means having to watch gratuitous sex and violence, sprinkled heavily with profanity. I'd rather watch caterpillars morph into butterflies, thank you.

But back to the show. The acting was superb, the special effects riveting, and the storyline was gripping. I wasn't a big fan of the torture scene. But my biggest problem is with the concept of showing stateside terroristic operations.

I know the bad guys already know how to blow up a mall or a subway or a transit bus. I know all that. But I think the show is harmful on two counts: by actually portraying such terroristic acts, I think, it makes such acts more appealing to those who may be planning them but haven't consummated them. They may think, "Wow, this is doable. It is disruptive!"

Secondly, I don't like what such scenes may do to the impressionable minds of teenagers. It goes without saying that teens who do violent things most often credit the idea to some program or movie they saw. They are so easily led down the wrong path. I submit such portrayals may plant the seed.

I saw this morning where a spokesman for the Bush Administration said, "It crossed the line of civic responsibility and commerce."

I agree.