It has been a long standing disagreement in my family whether Christmas gifts should be opened on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. This has given rise to emotions and near contention which are unusual for us. Respecting the fact that there are many reasons for doing things both ways, I will make the case for Christmas Eve then, in all fairness, the case for Christmas morning. After that, you decide.
Note: These have been adjusted to reflect a variety of tastes and beliefs. Not all will apply to all families or individuals.
The Case for Christmas Eve:
1. You don't have to wait any longer.
2. You sleep better not anticipating what may or may not be received for Christmas. If your spouse is really upset, the swelling should go down by Christmas morning.
3. You sleep better as you know whether your gifts have or have not been well received.
4. Christmas present opening will not interfere with church services. If one is a Catholic and opens on Christmas Eve, you should be finished well before midnight mass.
5. You won't have small children bouncing on your tummy at 5 AM Christmas morning asking you to get up to open presents.
6. If you have anything electronic that needs over night charging, it will be ready on Christmas morning.
7. If any one is mad at you over what you gave or didn't give them, they should be calmed down by Christmas morning (see #2).
8. If you are returning a gift, you will have all night and all the next day to plot your strategy and develop excuses.
9. There will be no arguments over whether you open presents or eat breakfast first.
10. You don't have to watch the lousy bowl game they put on on Christmas Eve.
11, You can watch one of the great movies ever made, "A Christmas Story," without interruption all day on Christmas Day.
12. You can listen to Christmas music for one last day in 11 months instead of opening presents.
13. (Male only) You have time to watch all those John Wayne war movies you recorded on Veterans Day.
14. (Redneck only) You can go shooting with the AK-47 your wife gave you.
15. (Male only) You have time to go four wheeling with your new Jeep Rubicon, 4in. lift kit, Warn winch, Mickey Thompson tires, CB Radio, iPod dock, etc.
16. Presents which are unwrapped are much less likely to be taken by burglars who may break in overnight.
The reasons for opening presents on Christmas morning:
1. You've been wimped into submission by the rest of your family who have no respect for logical thinking (see 1-16 above) nor give deference to the elderly.
2. IT DOESN'T MATTER! I just love being with them!!! Merry Christmas to all!
Note: Unlike most posts, this has not been edited by my wife. I think you can figure it out.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Merry Christmas
If we missed you, this is the latest on us and our family:
Merry Christmas
You may have noticed that you may not have received a Christmas letter from us last year. For those who haven’t heard, I will recount our activities of the last year and a half.
For some time, Brenda has suffered from acute, chronic scoliosis. It was bad enough that she lost 3 1/2 inches in height and she was told that her heart and lung function was being compromised. We went to Barrow’s Neurological Center in Phoenix for what was called a complex spinal fusion. Brenda had two surgeries in one week, the second on September, 2, 2010. We were warned about possible complications of the surgery. Brenda had all the complications mentioned except one. She escaped death, just barely. For the three days after the surgery, I thought she was gone. For a week, she was kept alive by 14 I.V. drips. Fifteen months later, the result is that Brenda is in constant pain and has been wheelchair bound with occasional sojourns in a specialized walker. She has moved ahead like a trooper, but, as we have discovered, pain and depression are constant companions.
We still look on the bright side of life (much of the time). We enjoy the small things that we often over looked. I am still trying to get Brenda to slow down. She is not, however, proven by the fact that she fell and broke her hip on October 25th of this year. She was trying a pirouette while reaching into the refrigerator and didn’t finish. It has put a halt to her attempts at ballet. After yet another surgery, she is healing well.
I have honed my homemaking skills, which were sadly lacking. I have learned that laundry piles up, the dishes are never done, they just keep coming back and dust is the protective covering for everything we own. Fortunately, I’ve never minded scrubbing toilets. I have felt my age this year. Helping Brenda has been exhausting at times, but is a joy. If you ever want to grow close as a couple, having one needing extra help will do it. I’ve gone from counseling, to being a Bishop, to being Brenda’s caregiver. Each has been fulfilling in its own way, but I take more joy from helping Brenda than anything else I’ve done. Like I tell her, she’s taken care of the kids and me for many years.
In May, our daughter, Karen, separated from her husband. Karen and her daughter, four year old Grace, have moved in with us. They have been a great blessing to us. One night, we were reading from the “Book of Mormon” (the actual book, not the musical) and Grace said, “I want to read.” She took the book, realized she couldn’t read and then, gazing at the words said, “Moroni went into the desert, they had a fight, then they played baseball.” She is fun.
Jen and Brian are cruising along, literally. The took their family on a trip back East last summer. They had such a good time, they’ll go back this summer and finish up on what they missed.
Rod, Steph and the kids are likewise doing very well. They have moved from Holbrook back to Mesa. It is good to have them close. Steph is working with students in small groups at their kids school and Rod has just accepted a job as a policy advisor for the Arizona State Senate.
In the last year and a half, we have been supported, sustained and inspired by our Heavenly Father. This has come in the form of spiritual comfort and help manifest to a large degree by the assistance of family and friends. Our children and grandchildren have done so much so often that it would be impossible to single out a single event as more significant than another. My sister, Margo, has been an angel with two visits and constant concern. Brenda’s brother, Ken, has made many visits and elicited much sympathy on our behalf. The recent visit by Brenda’s sister, Jan, gave us both a lift. Hearing Jan read to Brenda while Brenda was in pain put a tear in my eye. In November, I was able to visit Margo and while in California saw Wayne and Dennis Johnson, Jim and Bea Alexander and Randy and Susan Steele. The visit a few days later of my high school friend, Evonne Bridenstine Bolton, and her Arizona family, was warm and wonderful.
Traditionally, in our minds, we have a picture of winged angels coming from heaven to minister to us. In reality, the angels God sends are our children, grandchildren, sisters, brother and friends. Thanks to all and even to those who have just prayed or sent good thoughts in our direction.
May you find joy in your lives, hopefully not by breaking hips or anything else, and have a great 2012.
Rocky & Brenda
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Stardust
Every so often, I start thing about the bests in this world. What was the best book I've ever read, the best movie, the best meal, etc., etc.? When it comes to the best song ever written, there is no contest.
lyrics by Mitchell Parish. It is perfection. I never hear this song without being touched by it.
shortly after Dad died, I got in my car to drive away. I was wondering how Dad was and if he was alright in whatever the next life brought to him. I turned on the radio and "Stardust," by Nat King Cole started just as I switched the radio button to on. After listening, I had the message: Dad was just fine. "Stardust" has been around for a long time. It was written in 1927. The Nat King Cole version, a triumph not only of music but also of arrangement, was a 1950's endeavor. It has never been equalled. If you are purely a fan of rock and roll or acid rock, you probably won't like it. But if you are like me, a romantic at heart with love of things quiet, smooth and a little sad, you'll love "Stardust." The lyrics don't make a lot of sense, but that's the point. One who has just lost love (haven't we all?) doesn't make a lot of sense either. It is the mood the song communicates that matters. And what a mood! You can hear the Nat King Cole version on You Tube. Just type in "Stardust" and Nat King Cole. You'll find several visuals to go with it. You can listen to Frank Sinatra's or Hoagy Carmichael's versions, but genius is in the Nat King Cole version. I include the lyrics below, but you haven't heard "Stardust" until you hear Mr. Cole sing it! Stardust And now the purple dusk of twilight time Steals across the meadows of my heart High up in the sky the little stars climb Always reminding me that we're apart You wander down the lane and far away Leaving me a song that will not die Love is now the stardust of yesterday The music of the years gone by Sometimes I wonder why I spend The lonely night dreaming of a song The melody haunts my reverie And I am once again with you When our love was new And each kiss an inspiration But that was long ago Now my consolation Is in the stardust of a song Beside a garden wall When stars are bright You are in my arms The nightingale tells his fairy tale A paradise where roses bloom Though I dream in vain In my heart it will remain My stardust melody The memory of loves refrain. |
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The Thingy (a work of total fiction :)
As we were leaving the house this afternoon, I told my wife, "I need to fix the thingy by the door." She protested, "What (pause) 'thingy?'" I told her that I needed to fix the bump where she goes out the door so it is not hard on her back when she drives over it with her scooter (please remember she is not walking yet). She informed me that the use of the word "thingy" was not terribly descriptive. I told her if she had considered the context in which I spoke, she logically could have figured out what I meant and there would be no need for further explanation on my part. She gave me examples of several "contexts" I might have intended. She made sense. She's very bright. She always makes sense.
To interrupt the flow of this story, there are two types of successful marriages. The first is the complimentary type. In my experience, these are quite rare. A complimentary couple will say, "We see the world exactly the same way" or "We never disagree." These always seemed to be ideal, heavenly marriages. Think what it would be like to have a spouse say, "Let's eat out tonight," and the other say, "That's exactly what I was thinking!" The husband says, "We need a new yellow truck with a 583 hemi, dual quads, five wheel drive, compound axle, extra long bed, raised, McIntosh custom sound with a gun rack." She says, "That sounds great." She says "We need to remodel the kitchen and take out a 4th mortgage on the house," and he says, "It's about time." "While we're at it," she says, "Let's go to Bora-Bora for our 20th anniversary." He tells her he always wanted to go to Bora-Bora.
The second type of marriage is the non-complimentary, contrasting or typical marriage*. In this marriage, the couples vie for supremacy, respecting each other, but seeing the world very differently.
These marriages make the world go around. It is hard to imagine any growth in a complimentary marriage and they tend to carry a lot of debt. In the contrasting marriage, couples grow, learn to see another person's point of view and perfect the art of compromise. The contrasting marriage is harder, but pays more dividends.
Other types of marriages also exist: capitulation, nonaggression pacts, shuttle diplomacy, mutually assured destruction and nuclear war, to name just a few. For our purposes, it is not necessary to explore these.
Now, to finish the story, after some discussion, which approached a border skirmish, when my wife finally understood the context in which I was speaking, she said, "Oh, I thought you meant that little do-dad that keeps the door open."
*See "The War Between the Men and the Women" by James Thurber
To interrupt the flow of this story, there are two types of successful marriages. The first is the complimentary type. In my experience, these are quite rare. A complimentary couple will say, "We see the world exactly the same way" or "We never disagree." These always seemed to be ideal, heavenly marriages. Think what it would be like to have a spouse say, "Let's eat out tonight," and the other say, "That's exactly what I was thinking!" The husband says, "We need a new yellow truck with a 583 hemi, dual quads, five wheel drive, compound axle, extra long bed, raised, McIntosh custom sound with a gun rack." She says, "That sounds great." She says "We need to remodel the kitchen and take out a 4th mortgage on the house," and he says, "It's about time." "While we're at it," she says, "Let's go to Bora-Bora for our 20th anniversary." He tells her he always wanted to go to Bora-Bora.
The second type of marriage is the non-complimentary, contrasting or typical marriage*. In this marriage, the couples vie for supremacy, respecting each other, but seeing the world very differently.
These marriages make the world go around. It is hard to imagine any growth in a complimentary marriage and they tend to carry a lot of debt. In the contrasting marriage, couples grow, learn to see another person's point of view and perfect the art of compromise. The contrasting marriage is harder, but pays more dividends.
Other types of marriages also exist: capitulation, nonaggression pacts, shuttle diplomacy, mutually assured destruction and nuclear war, to name just a few. For our purposes, it is not necessary to explore these.
Now, to finish the story, after some discussion, which approached a border skirmish, when my wife finally understood the context in which I was speaking, she said, "Oh, I thought you meant that little do-dad that keeps the door open."
*See "The War Between the Men and the Women" by James Thurber
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Book Review: The Good Old Boys by Elmer Kelton
"The Good Old Boys" is about Hewey Calloway, a drifting cowboy and his horse Biscuit. Elmer Kelton has the type nailed down. Responsibility and good judgement are not Hewey's strong suits, but honesty and sincerity are.
Hewey, who doesn't carry a gun because it might lead to violence, wanders back to his brother's hard scrabble ranch in West Texas after being gone for two years. During that time, no one in the family knew where Hewey was, if he was dead or alive. When Hewey arrives, they are relieved to see him, but not particularly glad. Things go down hill and up hill from there. As Hewey's misadventures unfold, the reader meets Snort Yarnell, Boy Rasmussen and a host of other characters. Readers attracted to "characters" will meet some of fiction's best. I grew up around many characters and have always loved the humanity of the most reprobate of individuals. Each person has a certain dignity although it can hard to find.
Hewey eventually meets Spring Renfro, the local school marm. Sparks fly between them and carry the better part of the plot until the end of the book. The only unrealistic aspect of the book may be what Spring sees in Hewey, but then I don't know what most women see in most men. We are a pitiful lot.
There is a humor that exists among cowboys. "The Good Old Boys" is full of this cowboy humor. It also touches the heart. For all of his weakness, Hewey is a good man. He is reminiscent of Augustus McRae from "Lonesome Dove," or a Steinbeck character from "Cannery Row." "The Good Old Boys" belongs with those books and perhaps exceeds them. It is one of the best works of fiction to come out of the 20th century. Elmer Kelton has written "When the Cowboys Quit," and "The Time It Never Rained." They are excellent books. Kelton has narrow following now, but will one day be recognized as one of the fine writers of his time.
Hewey, who doesn't carry a gun because it might lead to violence, wanders back to his brother's hard scrabble ranch in West Texas after being gone for two years. During that time, no one in the family knew where Hewey was, if he was dead or alive. When Hewey arrives, they are relieved to see him, but not particularly glad. Things go down hill and up hill from there. As Hewey's misadventures unfold, the reader meets Snort Yarnell, Boy Rasmussen and a host of other characters. Readers attracted to "characters" will meet some of fiction's best. I grew up around many characters and have always loved the humanity of the most reprobate of individuals. Each person has a certain dignity although it can hard to find.
Hewey eventually meets Spring Renfro, the local school marm. Sparks fly between them and carry the better part of the plot until the end of the book. The only unrealistic aspect of the book may be what Spring sees in Hewey, but then I don't know what most women see in most men. We are a pitiful lot.
There is a humor that exists among cowboys. "The Good Old Boys" is full of this cowboy humor. It also touches the heart. For all of his weakness, Hewey is a good man. He is reminiscent of Augustus McRae from "Lonesome Dove," or a Steinbeck character from "Cannery Row." "The Good Old Boys" belongs with those books and perhaps exceeds them. It is one of the best works of fiction to come out of the 20th century. Elmer Kelton has written "When the Cowboys Quit," and "The Time It Never Rained." They are excellent books. Kelton has narrow following now, but will one day be recognized as one of the fine writers of his time.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
A book review: "Why Evolution is True."
Occasionally, I indulge myself in reviewing a book on Amazon. I suppose it is just a creative outlet as is a blog. Some of this will be repetitive to readers of this blog. The review follows.
I am a truth seeker. I do not care if evolutionary theory is "true" or not, although I do believe a supreme being's hand was behind the creation of the world. More on that later. A book titled "Why Evolution is True" seems like an evangelistic tract for the religion of evolution. That's what this book is. It does a decent job of being a primer on evolution, but the author went too far as he offered evolutionary science as proof that creationism has no basis in fact. His science was not the greatest either: "...so they must have..." (p.8), "...making the entirely reasonable assumption..." (p.10), "...probably descended from..." (p. 11), "Our intuition is to say..." (p. 34), "...they could be evolutionary cousins..." (p. 36). The terminology of the preceding comments comments (I could have provided more.) are in the realm of hypothesis, not proof as the author states. It is subtle persuasion he uses that is not necessarily backed up by scientific fact. I was disappointed by this aspect of the book, although I learned a number of things, hence three stars instead of one. I was fascinated by his explanation of the fossil record and extinction, just to mention two.
Some years ago, I saw a PBS nature special set in South America. Somewhere off in a jungle, the Amazon as I recall, a moth with a proboscis that unfolded to 12 inches sucked life giving nectar from a plant that had a narrow 11 1/2 inch stem. The only way the unusual moth could survive was to drink the nectar from the unusual plant. The narrator mentioned this illustrated evolutionary adaption. Can someone tell me how the moth grew the mouth to reach the nectar without dying first? If the plant started out with so long a stem, how did the moth know how to adapt without dying first? If the moth always had the long snout, why did the plant need to evolve and what told it to do so? Using Coyne's entirely unscientific term, to me, it is an "entirely reasonable assumption" that both the moth and the plant with the nectar were created that way.
Years ago, I visited with a doctor who became a believer when he was working on a cadaver in med school. He found that the human eye had a tendon attached with a pulley which allowed the eyeball to move in the socket. He was amazed, but it was as he saw that where the tendon crossed the pulley, there was a lubricating gland that kept the tendon and the pulley from wearing out. His conclusion was that there was a designer who would place that gland there to lubricate the tendon and the pulley. There is nothing in Coyne's book that addresses type of an issue.
Obvious every doctor or scientist who has seen this has not come to the same conclusion. My two examples are not scientific, but do make one wonder (which is the genesis [pardon the term] of science). Could it just have evolved that way? Was it created? Rather than stating scientific thought as end all, or religious dogma as the end all, I think there is much more for us to learn. Humility in the face of the wonders of the world should be in order, not rigid dogma (scientific or religious) I do not believe the world and everything in it was created in six days, but I do not believe that science has all answers either. If it did, science would cease to be science. A brilliant theologian once said, "Science that excludes religion is poor science. Religion that excludes science is poor religion."
I am a truth seeker. I do not care if evolutionary theory is "true" or not, although I do believe a supreme being's hand was behind the creation of the world. More on that later. A book titled "Why Evolution is True" seems like an evangelistic tract for the religion of evolution. That's what this book is. It does a decent job of being a primer on evolution, but the author went too far as he offered evolutionary science as proof that creationism has no basis in fact. His science was not the greatest either: "...so they must have..." (p.8), "...making the entirely reasonable assumption..." (p.10), "...probably descended from..." (p. 11), "Our intuition is to say..." (p. 34), "...they could be evolutionary cousins..." (p. 36). The terminology of the preceding comments comments (I could have provided more.) are in the realm of hypothesis, not proof as the author states. It is subtle persuasion he uses that is not necessarily backed up by scientific fact. I was disappointed by this aspect of the book, although I learned a number of things, hence three stars instead of one. I was fascinated by his explanation of the fossil record and extinction, just to mention two.
Some years ago, I saw a PBS nature special set in South America. Somewhere off in a jungle, the Amazon as I recall, a moth with a proboscis that unfolded to 12 inches sucked life giving nectar from a plant that had a narrow 11 1/2 inch stem. The only way the unusual moth could survive was to drink the nectar from the unusual plant. The narrator mentioned this illustrated evolutionary adaption. Can someone tell me how the moth grew the mouth to reach the nectar without dying first? If the plant started out with so long a stem, how did the moth know how to adapt without dying first? If the moth always had the long snout, why did the plant need to evolve and what told it to do so? Using Coyne's entirely unscientific term, to me, it is an "entirely reasonable assumption" that both the moth and the plant with the nectar were created that way.
Years ago, I visited with a doctor who became a believer when he was working on a cadaver in med school. He found that the human eye had a tendon attached with a pulley which allowed the eyeball to move in the socket. He was amazed, but it was as he saw that where the tendon crossed the pulley, there was a lubricating gland that kept the tendon and the pulley from wearing out. His conclusion was that there was a designer who would place that gland there to lubricate the tendon and the pulley. There is nothing in Coyne's book that addresses type of an issue.
Obvious every doctor or scientist who has seen this has not come to the same conclusion. My two examples are not scientific, but do make one wonder (which is the genesis [pardon the term] of science). Could it just have evolved that way? Was it created? Rather than stating scientific thought as end all, or religious dogma as the end all, I think there is much more for us to learn. Humility in the face of the wonders of the world should be in order, not rigid dogma (scientific or religious) I do not believe the world and everything in it was created in six days, but I do not believe that science has all answers either. If it did, science would cease to be science. A brilliant theologian once said, "Science that excludes religion is poor science. Religion that excludes science is poor religion."
Monday, September 5, 2011
Wayne
Last night, I called Wayne, the best of family friends. Wayne is 89, just as sharp as he can be, but is lamenting the fact that all of his friends have died. As he said, "No one is left who calls me kid!"
Wayne has always been one of my favorite people. He was an insurance salesman, so had great people skills. He should have run for office. He is accepting of everyone he meets and always looks on the positive. I have never heard him criticize anyone. He is from Ord, Nebraska. I looked it up on a map and Ord is close to nothing, except a river. I don't know whatever or whoever else came out of Ord, but it sure produced a great man in Wayne.
Aside from being able to sell insect spray to cockroaches, Wayne could round up cattle at the family ranch, fix most things with bailing wire and chewing gum and play the piano like a pro, although he never had a lesson. If there was a problem, Wayne could take care of it. He raised three great kids and I always thought it would have been wonderful to have Wayne as a dad. He could correct a problem with firmness, but you always knew he was on your side.
Perhaps Wayne's greatest talent was his choice in women. Wayne's wonderful wife, Dorothy, was very different than Wayne, but like him, she had a huge heart and loved everyone. She was positive and you just knew she cared about you. Wayne and Dorothy were one of my Dad's greatest supports after my Mom left him. More than once, I saw Wayne tell a story or a joke, Dorothy would roll her eyes a bit, but loved every second of it. Dorothy passed away a year and a half ago, leaving an unfillable hole in Wayne's heart.
At 89, Wayne will see his Dorothy again one of these first years. He'll join again with those who'll call him kid. He'll visit with my Mom and Dad. In the meantime, if you are ever a little down, want to have a laugh or hear a great story or just feel a little better about life and the people in it, just call Wayne. He's up to it!
Wayne has always been one of my favorite people. He was an insurance salesman, so had great people skills. He should have run for office. He is accepting of everyone he meets and always looks on the positive. I have never heard him criticize anyone. He is from Ord, Nebraska. I looked it up on a map and Ord is close to nothing, except a river. I don't know whatever or whoever else came out of Ord, but it sure produced a great man in Wayne.
Aside from being able to sell insect spray to cockroaches, Wayne could round up cattle at the family ranch, fix most things with bailing wire and chewing gum and play the piano like a pro, although he never had a lesson. If there was a problem, Wayne could take care of it. He raised three great kids and I always thought it would have been wonderful to have Wayne as a dad. He could correct a problem with firmness, but you always knew he was on your side.
Perhaps Wayne's greatest talent was his choice in women. Wayne's wonderful wife, Dorothy, was very different than Wayne, but like him, she had a huge heart and loved everyone. She was positive and you just knew she cared about you. Wayne and Dorothy were one of my Dad's greatest supports after my Mom left him. More than once, I saw Wayne tell a story or a joke, Dorothy would roll her eyes a bit, but loved every second of it. Dorothy passed away a year and a half ago, leaving an unfillable hole in Wayne's heart.
At 89, Wayne will see his Dorothy again one of these first years. He'll join again with those who'll call him kid. He'll visit with my Mom and Dad. In the meantime, if you are ever a little down, want to have a laugh or hear a great story or just feel a little better about life and the people in it, just call Wayne. He's up to it!
Intimacy
It seems that our society has lost its sense of intimacy. Not physical intimacy, there seems to be plenty of that, but the emotional intimacy that exists between family members and friends. The other night, Brenda and I had what used to be called a heart to heart conversation. We talked about our future, our problems and our blessings. We made some goals and tossed some goals aside.
We have come to the realization that given Brenda's pain and physical limitations, we will not be traveling together any more. My traveling will be limited because she is a habit with me and I don't want to be away from her very long. It is the form of intimacy called love. I wanted to go to London and Paris while I am able, but what would be the joy of going without Brenda. If it's a contest between London, Paris and Brenda, Brenda wins every time! Of course, there is this matter of money too.
We've had a good time together. We both like to travel and have had our most enjoyable times seeing things we never thought we would see. We've been to all but eight states together and have set foot in most large cities in the country. We've walked Red Square in Moscow, the Summer Palace in St. Petersburg, the Vatican in Rome and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We've strolled the beaches of Hawaii and climbed on a glacier in Alaska. We've even been to Moscow, Idaho. We have nothing to complain about.
Intimacy is discussing the future with a child. Having tears with your husband or wife. The death of a loved one. Dinner with good friends. It is open, honest communication. Intimacy is rewarding, but not usually easy.
Intimacy is not going to a football game, watching TV, sitting in a movie or visiting the state fair, although these can be great, fun, bonding events events. Intimacy can be a discussion of the football game afterwards, talking about why I liked the movie or what ride was the best at the fair.
I used to sit with my Mom and we'd watch the sunset. We'd poor our hearts out to each other. It wasn't always pleasant, but it was always personal. She could trust me to keep her secrets and I could even talk about girls I liked. She was my friend and confidant all the time I was at home. She was my security as I grew up. It was an intimate relationship.
One of the problem we face in our society, is a lack of intimacy between parent and child. Children need the one on one conversations with parents that solves problems, eliminates insecurity and builds self-confidence. We are so busy running here and there, keeping out children involved in various activities, that we often do not take those moments of communication that are so needed. It takes time, can be a pain, but bears great dividends. Intimacy touches the heart of another human being.
We have come to the realization that given Brenda's pain and physical limitations, we will not be traveling together any more. My traveling will be limited because she is a habit with me and I don't want to be away from her very long. It is the form of intimacy called love. I wanted to go to London and Paris while I am able, but what would be the joy of going without Brenda. If it's a contest between London, Paris and Brenda, Brenda wins every time! Of course, there is this matter of money too.
We've had a good time together. We both like to travel and have had our most enjoyable times seeing things we never thought we would see. We've been to all but eight states together and have set foot in most large cities in the country. We've walked Red Square in Moscow, the Summer Palace in St. Petersburg, the Vatican in Rome and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We've strolled the beaches of Hawaii and climbed on a glacier in Alaska. We've even been to Moscow, Idaho. We have nothing to complain about.
Intimacy is discussing the future with a child. Having tears with your husband or wife. The death of a loved one. Dinner with good friends. It is open, honest communication. Intimacy is rewarding, but not usually easy.
Intimacy is not going to a football game, watching TV, sitting in a movie or visiting the state fair, although these can be great, fun, bonding events events. Intimacy can be a discussion of the football game afterwards, talking about why I liked the movie or what ride was the best at the fair.
I used to sit with my Mom and we'd watch the sunset. We'd poor our hearts out to each other. It wasn't always pleasant, but it was always personal. She could trust me to keep her secrets and I could even talk about girls I liked. She was my friend and confidant all the time I was at home. She was my security as I grew up. It was an intimate relationship.
One of the problem we face in our society, is a lack of intimacy between parent and child. Children need the one on one conversations with parents that solves problems, eliminates insecurity and builds self-confidence. We are so busy running here and there, keeping out children involved in various activities, that we often do not take those moments of communication that are so needed. It takes time, can be a pain, but bears great dividends. Intimacy touches the heart of another human being.
First Things First
Twelve years ago, I received a call from my stepmother, Maurine. She asked me to attend a business meeting with her then invited me to go to dinner. I had a church meeting scheduled for that night, so I had a decision to make as to whether I'd go to the meeting or join Maurine. An obligation versus spending time with a loved one. I've always felt family should come first, so I missed the meeting to be with Maurine. It was one of the best decisions I've ever made. Five days later, Maurine died in a violent plane crash. I've been to many meetings since. I don't remember what was accomplished in most of them. Maybe we changed some lives and helped some people. I'm not anti-meeting, but my life was forever touched by that time with Maurine that night.
Some time ago, a new convert to the Church came to our bishop with a problem. I happened to overhear the conversation. The young man said that he knew he made a commitment to attend Church meetings on Sunday, but that his parents had a camping trip planned for the coming weekend. For him to miss it would cause difficulty with his family. The bishop wisely asked the young man, "What's more important than family?" Sometimes we must set family needs aside, but as a general rule, it is usually best error for the family.
Those who are dear to us should be our priority. Typically, they will not die if we don't see them, but I was certainly impressed by the drama of my decision to spend time with Maurine on that night. She was most important to me. I had my priorities straight. Whenever a loved one passes on, there is a certain level of guilt. Maurine's death was no exception, but a lot of guilt was eliminated as a result of our time together. But the important aspect is that Maurine and I felt a bond that night. She knew I loved her and I knew she loved me. That was significant the last night I spent with her and remains so these twelve years later.
Some time ago, a new convert to the Church came to our bishop with a problem. I happened to overhear the conversation. The young man said that he knew he made a commitment to attend Church meetings on Sunday, but that his parents had a camping trip planned for the coming weekend. For him to miss it would cause difficulty with his family. The bishop wisely asked the young man, "What's more important than family?" Sometimes we must set family needs aside, but as a general rule, it is usually best error for the family.
Those who are dear to us should be our priority. Typically, they will not die if we don't see them, but I was certainly impressed by the drama of my decision to spend time with Maurine on that night. She was most important to me. I had my priorities straight. Whenever a loved one passes on, there is a certain level of guilt. Maurine's death was no exception, but a lot of guilt was eliminated as a result of our time together. But the important aspect is that Maurine and I felt a bond that night. She knew I loved her and I knew she loved me. That was significant the last night I spent with her and remains so these twelve years later.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Readin' n' Writin'
In the third grade, I selected a book from the school library called "Mickey Mouse Sees the USA." It was illustrated. I struggled through this literary epic, it was the first book I remember reading myself. My Mom had read "Horton the Elephant," still a memorable favorite, to me, but the Mickey Mouse book was my own achievement. I remember being very proud.
In the sixth grade, every one was reading the "Black Stallion" series. I was no exception. I refused to read "Black Beauty" because it was written by a woman. The girls loved it, but none of the boys would read it. I devoured the Hardy Boys and a number of other books.
Early in high school, I read "Of Mice and Men," my first venture into serious literature with no happy ending. I was taken by George and Lenny with their tragic lives lacking advantages I had. This began a literary "moody period" which would last into my college years. My children would claim that it lasted through their college years, but that is another story. I enjoyed Hemingway, more Steinbeck and a smattering of westerns. As a senior in high school, I tried some Shakespeare, but found a play was harder to read.
The point is, I read. Maybe even more so, my parents read. I remember a variety of books by their night stands and a full book case at home. Some of their books now sit in my bookshelf. Strangely, my parents never went to the library. If they wanted to read something, they bought it. My first real job was in a bookstore in Modesto, California. I was 13 and paid $1.00 per hour. It was magical, except for trying to make change.
The combination of my primal employment and my parents buying or borrowing books led me to believe that to read was to buy. I did check out books in high school, but after that I bought exclusively. Checking a book out of the library is like having an acquaintance. Buying a book is like having a friend to visit whenever you'd like and it is easier to quote favorite authors. My purchases now fill a room and are spilling over into other rooms. My wife gently suggests that it may be time to donate some books to a cause. Which of my "friends" do I want to give up? The question is enhanced by the fact that in my older years I have developed a tendency to forget which books I own and occasionally purchase duplicates. When I discover my error, I quickly pass the duplicate onto one of my children or gift it to someone outside the household.
I was a sophomore in high school when I was assigned to write a short story. I concocted it, separate it into three parts (I, II, III), made the plot complex and included a surprise ending. It was a page and a half hand written. My Mom thought it was a high school masterpiece. I was sure it would win a prize of some sort. My English teacher was confused by the three parts (I, II, III) and I received a C+ for my efforts. It was a typical grade for me. Someone once said C students rule the world. I have not found that to be true.
I fell in love with writing. Dad had been a newspaper reporter after he graduated from high school and good writing was considered an art form in our family. Secretly, I think being a reporter was Dad's favorite job. Dad was very good at what he did and loved, when traveling, to compose and send postcards which would humor and amuse his friends. He wrote several short stories when he was in high school. The most famous of these was "The Red Rose Method" in which a letter writer shares his efforts to woo a beautiful young lady with red roses. It doesn't work. He is spurned. Throughout the story, he discusses his efforts with the girl next door, seeking her advice, and, in the end, sends one last letter stating that he is tying the knot with the girl next door. It was a fun piece and I'm sure, if Dad had tried, it could have been published.
I've never been published and never hope to be. The world of blogs gives anyone who enjoys writing, and I do, an opportunity to express themselves. Anyone who would like may read. At the last look, I had five followers. No crowds have come clamoring for more. I kind of like it that way. Those who read don't expect much and get what they have paid for. I get tactile keyboard therapy and that is good. If I come across a copy of the "The Red Rose Method," I will post it here, but I think it has been lost to the dusty deterioration of the bottom of saome box. Dad should have put it on papyrus!
For those of you wondering about 'rithmetic, we don't go there. I'm still trying to balance a checkbook.
In the sixth grade, every one was reading the "Black Stallion" series. I was no exception. I refused to read "Black Beauty" because it was written by a woman. The girls loved it, but none of the boys would read it. I devoured the Hardy Boys and a number of other books.
Early in high school, I read "Of Mice and Men," my first venture into serious literature with no happy ending. I was taken by George and Lenny with their tragic lives lacking advantages I had. This began a literary "moody period" which would last into my college years. My children would claim that it lasted through their college years, but that is another story. I enjoyed Hemingway, more Steinbeck and a smattering of westerns. As a senior in high school, I tried some Shakespeare, but found a play was harder to read.
The point is, I read. Maybe even more so, my parents read. I remember a variety of books by their night stands and a full book case at home. Some of their books now sit in my bookshelf. Strangely, my parents never went to the library. If they wanted to read something, they bought it. My first real job was in a bookstore in Modesto, California. I was 13 and paid $1.00 per hour. It was magical, except for trying to make change.
The combination of my primal employment and my parents buying or borrowing books led me to believe that to read was to buy. I did check out books in high school, but after that I bought exclusively. Checking a book out of the library is like having an acquaintance. Buying a book is like having a friend to visit whenever you'd like and it is easier to quote favorite authors. My purchases now fill a room and are spilling over into other rooms. My wife gently suggests that it may be time to donate some books to a cause. Which of my "friends" do I want to give up? The question is enhanced by the fact that in my older years I have developed a tendency to forget which books I own and occasionally purchase duplicates. When I discover my error, I quickly pass the duplicate onto one of my children or gift it to someone outside the household.
I was a sophomore in high school when I was assigned to write a short story. I concocted it, separate it into three parts (I, II, III), made the plot complex and included a surprise ending. It was a page and a half hand written. My Mom thought it was a high school masterpiece. I was sure it would win a prize of some sort. My English teacher was confused by the three parts (I, II, III) and I received a C+ for my efforts. It was a typical grade for me. Someone once said C students rule the world. I have not found that to be true.
I fell in love with writing. Dad had been a newspaper reporter after he graduated from high school and good writing was considered an art form in our family. Secretly, I think being a reporter was Dad's favorite job. Dad was very good at what he did and loved, when traveling, to compose and send postcards which would humor and amuse his friends. He wrote several short stories when he was in high school. The most famous of these was "The Red Rose Method" in which a letter writer shares his efforts to woo a beautiful young lady with red roses. It doesn't work. He is spurned. Throughout the story, he discusses his efforts with the girl next door, seeking her advice, and, in the end, sends one last letter stating that he is tying the knot with the girl next door. It was a fun piece and I'm sure, if Dad had tried, it could have been published.
I've never been published and never hope to be. The world of blogs gives anyone who enjoys writing, and I do, an opportunity to express themselves. Anyone who would like may read. At the last look, I had five followers. No crowds have come clamoring for more. I kind of like it that way. Those who read don't expect much and get what they have paid for. I get tactile keyboard therapy and that is good. If I come across a copy of the "The Red Rose Method," I will post it here, but I think it has been lost to the dusty deterioration of the bottom of saome box. Dad should have put it on papyrus!
For those of you wondering about 'rithmetic, we don't go there. I'm still trying to balance a checkbook.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A book review: Pride and Prejudice
Just a little over a hundred years ago, Mark Twain made the following comment about Jane Austen. The first reference is to another author. Twain was aware of gender differences. "To me his prose is unreadable -- like Jane Austin's [sic]. No there is a difference. I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death."
- Letter to W. D. Howells, 18 January 1909
Mark Twain was a cynic. I am not a cynic. I do not have such strong feelings about Jane Austen's works, although "Pride and Prejudice" is the only book of hers that I have read or will ever read. I read "Pride and Prejudice" because I have a wonderful and lovely daughter-in-law who's opinion I trust. She loves Jane Austen's books and has read each a number of times. I just had to see what it was all about, so I decided upon "Pride and Prejudice," which is supposed to be Austen's best.
Now, finally to the review. I thought it would have been better if Austen had included some fist fights and several explosions. For any who think that I may not have finished the review, this is the end.
- Letter to W. D. Howells, 18 January 1909
Mark Twain was a cynic. I am not a cynic. I do not have such strong feelings about Jane Austen's works, although "Pride and Prejudice" is the only book of hers that I have read or will ever read. I read "Pride and Prejudice" because I have a wonderful and lovely daughter-in-law who's opinion I trust. She loves Jane Austen's books and has read each a number of times. I just had to see what it was all about, so I decided upon "Pride and Prejudice," which is supposed to be Austen's best.
Now, finally to the review. I thought it would have been better if Austen had included some fist fights and several explosions. For any who think that I may not have finished the review, this is the end.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thunder and Lightening
In Gilbert, as I write, we are having a beautiful summer thunderstorm. It amazes me what a storm does to clean the air, cool things down and give one a fresh outlook. Summers in Arizona are notoriously hot and bland. Day after day, it is sun and heat, sun and heat. Occasionally, monsoon season brings a storm, but most often the storm teases a location and veers off in a different direction. More often, the Phoenix heat island, a combination of cars, cement and whirring air conditioners, evaporates a storm before it can bring relief to even a suburb.
When it does come, the storm brings refreshment and entertainment. Storms are so rare that they always headline the local news. China could drop into the sea, but the dust, thunder and lightening would be the local headline: "...and our second story tonight, China just dropped into the sea. Now back to the storm coverage."
In fairness, summer storms in Arizona come from a mixture of hot air and cold air so they are usually violent. Where the cold air comes from I don't know, but it must come from very high up. They say hot air rises so go figure. Maybe the rising hot air and the cold air just trade places. I think the hot air from Arizona summers would be enough to heat the dark side of the moon, but scientists say I'm wrong.
At any rate, the storm is still going on. It put me in the mood to write. Now I feel better for two reasons.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
A Movie Star
Count me as an old cynic, this doesn't matter, but it bugs me. Recently, Elizabeth Taylor died, may she rest in peace. She was a movie star and she made a lot of headlines in her life. I don't know much about her, so I don't really know if she was a good person or not so good. But I maintain that an accomplished actress she wasn't. She was simply a movie star.
I challenge any readers of this blog to list any great and wonderful Elizabeth Taylor movies.
"A Place in the Sun" is a classic, but I don't like it. She looked good in it.
"National Velvet" was a good children's movie, but not great.
"Taming of the Shrew" was very good, but not a classic.
The rest of Taylor's movies were downers. Very depressing films. I challenge anyone who reads this blog to make comment on a really great Elizabeth Taylor movie. Except for the ones I've mentioned, they don't exist. Elizabeth Taylor was carried along by multiple marriages and a great publicist.
I'll be waiting. No responses mean that either you agree with me or no one reads the blog!
I challenge any readers of this blog to list any great and wonderful Elizabeth Taylor movies.
"A Place in the Sun" is a classic, but I don't like it. She looked good in it.
"National Velvet" was a good children's movie, but not great.
"Taming of the Shrew" was very good, but not a classic.
The rest of Taylor's movies were downers. Very depressing films. I challenge anyone who reads this blog to make comment on a really great Elizabeth Taylor movie. Except for the ones I've mentioned, they don't exist. Elizabeth Taylor was carried along by multiple marriages and a great publicist.
I'll be waiting. No responses mean that either you agree with me or no one reads the blog!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Unbroken
Starting today, I will add some book reviews and later, movie reviews to this blog. I will start with "Unbroken," by Laura Hillenbrand. As you may have noticed, it is at the top of the best seller lists. "Unbroken" is the story of Louis Zamperini who lived several lives. He was a delinquent young man, Olympic runner, World War II captive and hero, as well as a husband and father. I could add several more lives, but that would take away from the book.
As the book progresses, one is certain that Louie will die or be killed at any moment, but the title isn't Unbroken for no reason. Louie is still with us and well into his 90's! Louie's story is amazing and inspiring. I read it while my wife, Brenda, was recovering from partial paralysis (she's still recovering) and Louie's story gave both of us tremendous hope.
I like reading books about people under unusual stress. It is interesting to see how various challenges are handled and gives insight and courage for the difficulties I face. Having read a number of biographies and non-fiction books, I have acquired some wisdom on facing tragedy and disappointment. Louie perhaps faced the greatest challenges I have ever read about. The question arises, what sustains one individual while others crumble into failure or death? A list might be in order, but the most common characteristic I've noticed is the ability to keep one's emotions under control. Survivors are not smarter or more resourceful than those who do not survive, but they do have a certain perspective. Sometimes they are just lucky, but the ability to stay cool is a commonality.
We all react emotionally to pressure situations, but how far those emotions take us is a key. Of course, if one is on the top of the World Trade Center on 9/11 or deep inside of the battleship Arizona on December 7, 1941, one is going down. We do not hear the stories of those who die in the rubble, we only hear the stories of the survivors, so yes, part of surviving is luck, but there are still qualities that push certain individuals who are on the edge to survive.
A little over a year ago, I read a book about the Battan Death March. Most of the men were in the same situation. Some survived, some didn't. Why? It is an eternal question that is mostly unanswerable. I'm glad Louie survived. His story is great, heart breaking and gruesome. How those from any war return home to any sense of normalcy is amazing. I'm glad Louie did. Read his story.
As the book progresses, one is certain that Louie will die or be killed at any moment, but the title isn't Unbroken for no reason. Louie is still with us and well into his 90's! Louie's story is amazing and inspiring. I read it while my wife, Brenda, was recovering from partial paralysis (she's still recovering) and Louie's story gave both of us tremendous hope.
I like reading books about people under unusual stress. It is interesting to see how various challenges are handled and gives insight and courage for the difficulties I face. Having read a number of biographies and non-fiction books, I have acquired some wisdom on facing tragedy and disappointment. Louie perhaps faced the greatest challenges I have ever read about. The question arises, what sustains one individual while others crumble into failure or death? A list might be in order, but the most common characteristic I've noticed is the ability to keep one's emotions under control. Survivors are not smarter or more resourceful than those who do not survive, but they do have a certain perspective. Sometimes they are just lucky, but the ability to stay cool is a commonality.
We all react emotionally to pressure situations, but how far those emotions take us is a key. Of course, if one is on the top of the World Trade Center on 9/11 or deep inside of the battleship Arizona on December 7, 1941, one is going down. We do not hear the stories of those who die in the rubble, we only hear the stories of the survivors, so yes, part of surviving is luck, but there are still qualities that push certain individuals who are on the edge to survive.
A little over a year ago, I read a book about the Battan Death March. Most of the men were in the same situation. Some survived, some didn't. Why? It is an eternal question that is mostly unanswerable. I'm glad Louie survived. His story is great, heart breaking and gruesome. How those from any war return home to any sense of normalcy is amazing. I'm glad Louie did. Read his story.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Between the 40 Yard Lines
I have a new blog! My political views are so diverse that I offend practically every one sooner or later. I have established a new blog for my political views at http://betweenthe40yardlines.blogspot.com/
The title of the blog comes from the fact that 40% of Americans are politically moderate, however, those on the extreme right or the extreme left control the two political parties. In doing so and in the refusal of the political parties to compromise, our country is going down the drain. I have been a Republican (mostly) and a Democrat (briefly), but now I don't like anyone very much (politically), so I'm an independent and feel very much at home.
I hope you enjoy reading the new blog. Feel free to leave a comment.
The title of the blog comes from the fact that 40% of Americans are politically moderate, however, those on the extreme right or the extreme left control the two political parties. In doing so and in the refusal of the political parties to compromise, our country is going down the drain. I have been a Republican (mostly) and a Democrat (briefly), but now I don't like anyone very much (politically), so I'm an independent and feel very much at home.
I hope you enjoy reading the new blog. Feel free to leave a comment.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Men or Boys
Women are smarter than men. A great proportion of men are not men at all, but boys. They have never grown up. It seems a number of women, attractive, intelligent women, have been abandoned by "men." Arnold Schwarzenegger would lead the pack. He is no man. He is just an emotional boy pretending to be a man and he has a lot of company.
What separates a man from a boy?
A man takes responsibility for his own behavior. He can hold a job and improve himself to move ahead in that job. He is on time, respectful to his superiors and gives a little extra. When he is on company time, he give his best and does not fudge on his time. He knows how to work hard and be loyal.
He knows that 2+2=4. In other words, he can handle money. He doesn't cheat or steal, he knows how to live within his means. The attractions of possessions does not cause him to deny basics for his family.
A man knows how control his testosterone. A real man, will resist the temptation of what might look like the green grass on the other side of the fence. He doesn't fool around, only boys do that. If married, a real man will honor his commitment to his wife. He is willing to tell his wife that he is tempted by someone else, be open about it and take the consequences. He doesn't keep secrets from his wife. He recognizes that marriage is a continuing series of fallings in and out of love with one's spouse. He understands that the attractions of the day will not equal the rewards of a faithful relationship now and in future years.
He is honest. He is not afraid to be open and honest with his spouse and children. That does not mean he needs to reveal every fleeting thought that passes through his mind. He will cover the basics and be emotionally forthright.
A man will not try to dominate or overly assert himself in his relationships. He communicates and listens. He respects family members especially when conflicts arise, which they will. His ego is not so fragile that he cannot admit a mistake or be willing to do something differently for a change.
A man realizes those with whom he lives have needs that may require the sacrifice of his own desires from time to time. He is willing to give his spouse and children time and space to be who they are, not who he wants them to be. A true man will not force his will.
As women look for the characteristics of true men and not accept boys as they are, more boys will will want to grow to be men.
What separates a man from a boy?
A man takes responsibility for his own behavior. He can hold a job and improve himself to move ahead in that job. He is on time, respectful to his superiors and gives a little extra. When he is on company time, he give his best and does not fudge on his time. He knows how to work hard and be loyal.
He knows that 2+2=4. In other words, he can handle money. He doesn't cheat or steal, he knows how to live within his means. The attractions of possessions does not cause him to deny basics for his family.
A man knows how control his testosterone. A real man, will resist the temptation of what might look like the green grass on the other side of the fence. He doesn't fool around, only boys do that. If married, a real man will honor his commitment to his wife. He is willing to tell his wife that he is tempted by someone else, be open about it and take the consequences. He doesn't keep secrets from his wife. He recognizes that marriage is a continuing series of fallings in and out of love with one's spouse. He understands that the attractions of the day will not equal the rewards of a faithful relationship now and in future years.
He is honest. He is not afraid to be open and honest with his spouse and children. That does not mean he needs to reveal every fleeting thought that passes through his mind. He will cover the basics and be emotionally forthright.
A man will not try to dominate or overly assert himself in his relationships. He communicates and listens. He respects family members especially when conflicts arise, which they will. His ego is not so fragile that he cannot admit a mistake or be willing to do something differently for a change.
A man realizes those with whom he lives have needs that may require the sacrifice of his own desires from time to time. He is willing to give his spouse and children time and space to be who they are, not who he wants them to be. A true man will not force his will.
As women look for the characteristics of true men and not accept boys as they are, more boys will will want to grow to be men.
Payson Friends
In the last 10 days, I have had the opportunity to renew friendships with some of the people in Payson I am closest to (I hear now that it is alright to end a sentence in a preposition, but "to" is not a preposition, it is an infinitive, I think. Can you tell I received a C in English grammar? But I digress.). I have thought much in the last few days what it is about my friends in Payson that draws me to them. I love many who do not live in Payson, so no offense, but this is a tribute to those who do.
I like Paysonites because they are without pretense. What you see is what you get. The cowboys and cowgirls are not of the drugstore variety, they punch cows, ride, rope and wrangle. While living in Payson, I bought a cowboy hat and a couple of cowboy shirts, but was embarrassed to wear them because I am not the genuine article, like many of my Payson friends.
People in Payson tend to be doers rather than observers. The hunt for their own food, plant their own gardens, often to the benefit of elk and javalina. They are very independent. Some of them don't even need a grocery store.
The community of Payson is very generous and giving. The town sponsored food drives for the needy. While many may grouse about why the needy are needy, Payson just gives of food and money to make sure everyone is taken care of (Now there is a preposition!).
People in Payson have a sense of humor. After all, they let me live there and didn't laugh too hard the few times I did wear my cowboy hat, boots and shirts.
Just for the record, there are a couple thing I don't like about Payson people. The first is the funny little beards some of the men wear. Don't like 'em (The beards, like the guys.). The second is the guys who drive Dodge Ram trucks who think that gives them the right to follow 37 3/4 inches behind my Prius while going 75 mph. I've noticed Ford and GM truck drivers do not have the need to follow close behind a Prius. I think the Ram drivers take that icon on their hoods too literally. I'm sure one of these days I'll have to brake while being followed by a Ram driver and suddenly he'll be beside me having a nice visit with Brenda and I.
For any who have not visited Payson, take a jaunt up there. Spend a day or two. The local economy needs you! Stop in a Mackey's, the Beeline Cafe (ask for Linda to wait on you) or La Sierra. You'll enjoy the locals. You won't find better people any where! None of their women wear funny beards, so you are still in good hands.
I like Paysonites because they are without pretense. What you see is what you get. The cowboys and cowgirls are not of the drugstore variety, they punch cows, ride, rope and wrangle. While living in Payson, I bought a cowboy hat and a couple of cowboy shirts, but was embarrassed to wear them because I am not the genuine article, like many of my Payson friends.
People in Payson tend to be doers rather than observers. The hunt for their own food, plant their own gardens, often to the benefit of elk and javalina. They are very independent. Some of them don't even need a grocery store.
The community of Payson is very generous and giving. The town sponsored food drives for the needy. While many may grouse about why the needy are needy, Payson just gives of food and money to make sure everyone is taken care of (Now there is a preposition!).
People in Payson have a sense of humor. After all, they let me live there and didn't laugh too hard the few times I did wear my cowboy hat, boots and shirts.
Just for the record, there are a couple thing I don't like about Payson people. The first is the funny little beards some of the men wear. Don't like 'em (The beards, like the guys.). The second is the guys who drive Dodge Ram trucks who think that gives them the right to follow 37 3/4 inches behind my Prius while going 75 mph. I've noticed Ford and GM truck drivers do not have the need to follow close behind a Prius. I think the Ram drivers take that icon on their hoods too literally. I'm sure one of these days I'll have to brake while being followed by a Ram driver and suddenly he'll be beside me having a nice visit with Brenda and I.
For any who have not visited Payson, take a jaunt up there. Spend a day or two. The local economy needs you! Stop in a Mackey's, the Beeline Cafe (ask for Linda to wait on you) or La Sierra. You'll enjoy the locals. You won't find better people any where! None of their women wear funny beards, so you are still in good hands.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Steve
Three days before I wrote the blog on "Death" below, unknown to me, my high school and college friend, Steve Nish passed away of cancer. Rest easy Steve.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Death
How's that for a cheery topic? I'll do you one better. All of us will die someday. People do not die in order. Have you ever thought about how you will die or when? In my 68th year, for some unknown reason, those thoughts have been on my mind more and more. Also, the semi-humorous statement, "If I had known I was going to live so long, I'd have taken better care of myself" is not so semi-humorous any more, but has the ring of truth.
I don't know how long I'm going to live. I'd guess somewhere between four and 13 years. I really don't want to go too far into my 80's. Not much good happens after 80. On the bright side, I know a couple who are both 92 (my Dad's age if he were alive, but he died 14 years ago), and they do most of the things I do, except sleep more. They claim not to remember as much as they used to, but that is actually another commonality.
I am not afraid to die, but I am afraid of how I will die. Will it hurt? Probably. Getting into and going out of this life are not easy. The middle part can be rather painful too. It would be kind of nice to have something that takes me quick, but not too quick. I'd like to say good-by to my wife, children and grandchildren. A few friends too. Maybe I'd be good enough to take a farewell tour. I just read that singer Glen Campbell has Alzheimer's and is doing a farewell tour. That sounds like fun. I wouldn't even need to sing. Maybe I could still go to London.
Lingering just bit bit would give one a chance to make apologies to those you feel guilty about offending. Maybe I could find Dorine, the girl dow the street who I mooned when I was young, stupid and didn't know any better. I could apologize. Dad never said, "Don't moon the girl down the street." Of course, I am assuming she was offended.
Maybe I could apologize to my wife for all the stupid times I started an argument or said something stupid when I was old enough to know better. A friend was talking about marriage the other day and said (get ready for profound), "It's okay to be wrong, even when you are right." In other words, in the marriage relationship, one does not have to win every argument (or discussion as we call them at our house). So what does that have to do with death? If you try to win every argument, er, discussion, with your spouse, death could be instantaneous!
Well, I hope to be around for awhile. I hope when I die, that I go to a good place. When people narrowly escape death, they often say, "It's is better than the alternative." I'm not so sure. I've never heard that anyone came back and complained about the other side. Mark Twain said sarcastically, "Heaven for climate, Hell for company." I actually think most of us are pretty good and will have climate and company. I grew up with an adult friend of the family who was a drug addict and did all kinds of awful things. But he was kind, listened to me a lot when I need a listener. He went through hell in life, but did some redeeming things too. If I do go to Heaven, I hope he's there. I just hope it's not too soon, and, when my time comes, I hope it doesn't hurt too bad.
I don't know how long I'm going to live. I'd guess somewhere between four and 13 years. I really don't want to go too far into my 80's. Not much good happens after 80. On the bright side, I know a couple who are both 92 (my Dad's age if he were alive, but he died 14 years ago), and they do most of the things I do, except sleep more. They claim not to remember as much as they used to, but that is actually another commonality.
I am not afraid to die, but I am afraid of how I will die. Will it hurt? Probably. Getting into and going out of this life are not easy. The middle part can be rather painful too. It would be kind of nice to have something that takes me quick, but not too quick. I'd like to say good-by to my wife, children and grandchildren. A few friends too. Maybe I'd be good enough to take a farewell tour. I just read that singer Glen Campbell has Alzheimer's and is doing a farewell tour. That sounds like fun. I wouldn't even need to sing. Maybe I could still go to London.
Lingering just bit bit would give one a chance to make apologies to those you feel guilty about offending. Maybe I could find Dorine, the girl dow the street who I mooned when I was young, stupid and didn't know any better. I could apologize. Dad never said, "Don't moon the girl down the street." Of course, I am assuming she was offended.
Maybe I could apologize to my wife for all the stupid times I started an argument or said something stupid when I was old enough to know better. A friend was talking about marriage the other day and said (get ready for profound), "It's okay to be wrong, even when you are right." In other words, in the marriage relationship, one does not have to win every argument (or discussion as we call them at our house). So what does that have to do with death? If you try to win every argument, er, discussion, with your spouse, death could be instantaneous!
Well, I hope to be around for awhile. I hope when I die, that I go to a good place. When people narrowly escape death, they often say, "It's is better than the alternative." I'm not so sure. I've never heard that anyone came back and complained about the other side. Mark Twain said sarcastically, "Heaven for climate, Hell for company." I actually think most of us are pretty good and will have climate and company. I grew up with an adult friend of the family who was a drug addict and did all kinds of awful things. But he was kind, listened to me a lot when I need a listener. He went through hell in life, but did some redeeming things too. If I do go to Heaven, I hope he's there. I just hope it's not too soon, and, when my time comes, I hope it doesn't hurt too bad.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Dad
My Dad died in 1997, but, of course, I still remember him and things he taught me. Much of who I am is a result of his ideals. Here are a few. I may add more as my memory kicks in.
"Be honest."
"You can never have too many friends."
"Treat everyone with respect."
"If you get in a fight, hit the other guy first in the nose and the fight will be over."
"The person you may dislike today may be able to help you tomorrow."
"Respect women and treat them well."
"Never take advantage of a woman."
"Don't try to make the last dollar. Leave that for some other guy."
"When you work, make sure you are worth what they pay you."
The last one is my favorite:
"Brenda is a very attractive woman."
Although I never hit anyone in the nose (in one case I was bleeding too much to hit back!), Dad's philosophy guided my life. If all sons had a dad like mine the world would be a much better place!
Thanks Dad!
"Be honest."
"You can never have too many friends."
"Treat everyone with respect."
"If you get in a fight, hit the other guy first in the nose and the fight will be over."
"The person you may dislike today may be able to help you tomorrow."
"Respect women and treat them well."
"Never take advantage of a woman."
"Don't try to make the last dollar. Leave that for some other guy."
"When you work, make sure you are worth what they pay you."
The last one is my favorite:
"Brenda is a very attractive woman."
Although I never hit anyone in the nose (in one case I was bleeding too much to hit back!), Dad's philosophy guided my life. If all sons had a dad like mine the world would be a much better place!
Thanks Dad!
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
The Book of Mormon musical
I have hesitated to make any comment about Broadway's Book of Mormon musical which will probably win a Tony in a few days. As a fan of Broadway musicals, this is one I won't be seeing. From what I have read, The Book of Mormon musical parodies the adventures of two Mormon missionaries in Africa. For the record, I am including a comment from Michael Otterson, a Church spokesperson, about what Mormons have really been doing in Africa in the last few years. For those who believe this is just another way of spreading the word for Mormons, this work has often been done in cooperation with Catholic Social Services and Islamic Relief Services. At the end, is a brief comment on the show by a Jewish reviewer. I will let these comments speak for themselves.
I quote:
I quote:
Somewhere I read that the show’s creators spent seven years writing and producing “The Book of Mormon” musical. As I reflected on all that time spent parodying this particular target, I also wondered what was really going on with Mormons in Africa during those same seven years.
So I checked.
•The World Health Organization estimates that 884 million people worldwide don’t have access to clean water. This is a huge problem in Africa, not only because of water-borne diseases but because kids who spend hours each day walking to and from the nearest well to fill old gasoline cans with water cannot attend school. According to church records, in the past seven years, more than four million Africans in 17 countries have gained access to clean drinking water through Mormon humanitarian efforts to sink or rehabilitate boreholes.
•More than 34,000 physically handicapped African kids now have wheelchairs through the same Mormon-sponsored humanitarian program. To see a legless child whose knuckles have become calloused through walking on his hands lifted into a wheelchair may be the best way to fully understand the liberation this brings.
•Millions of children, meanwhile, have now been vaccinated against killer diseases like measles as the church has sponsored or assisted with projects in 22 African countries.
•More than 126,000 Africans have had their sight restored or improved through Mormon partnership with African eye care professionals in providing training, equipment and supplies.
•Another 52,000 Africans have been trained to help newborns who otherwise would never take a first breath. Training in neonatal resuscitation has also been a big project for Mormons in Africa.
•Then, of course, there is the tragedy of AIDS. A couple of weeks ago I attended a dinner where the Utah AIDS Foundation honored James O. Mason, former United States Assistant Secretary of Health. When he was working for the Center for Disease Control in 1984, a project to research the epidemiology and treatment of AIDS was established at the Hospital Mama Yempo in Kinshasha, Zaire. After visiting the hospital and examining the children and adults with AIDS, Mason described the death rate and the associated infections from AIDS as “horrific.” Mason, a Mormon, knows quite a bit about AIDS and a great deal about Africa.
•None of this includes responses to multiple disasters, like the flooding in Niger, where the Church provided clothing, quits and hygiene items to 20,000 people in six inundated regions of the country.
Of course, parody isn’t reality, and it’s the very distortion that makes it appealing and often funny. The danger is not when people laugh but when they take it seriously – if they leave a theater believing that Mormons really do live in some kind of a surreal world of self-deception and illusion.
A couple of weeks ago a review about the musical appeared at the New York Times from a Jewish writer who simply listed himself as Levi. “As someone of Jewish faith,” he began, “I take personal offense at this show….I cannot believe that New York, MY New York, where I was born and raised, would ever do such a thing. Shame on you, New York Times, shame on Broadway, and shame on all of us who stand idly by and do nothing while the faith of others is mocked. Religious and cultural Jews need not support such bigotry.”
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Richard
My friend Richard just lost his wife after 61 years of marriage. Richard is a unique fellow because it seems he has broken just about every bone in his body at one time or another. He hobbles around has best he can. For the last 30 years or more, he has taken care of his wife, Colleen, who had severe diabetes. She should have had her foot amputated many, many years ago, but refused to let the doctors do it. I think she wanted to be a whole, complete person. She probably should have died many years ago also, but was determined to live. With total commitment, Richard helped her every day, wrapping her foot and taking care of other needs. They found joy in the small things and did the best they could to find happiness given their condition.
In the mean time, Richard did the best he could to offer service to others, even helping neighbors move. If someone needed something and Richard could do it, he was there. For a number of years, he called me on my birthday and sang "Happy Birthday." The quality wasn't operatic, but there was no doubt about the kindness and sincerity behind the message.
Richard and Colleen always seemed happy. Anyone who met them would be greeted with a smile and a firm handshake. The difficulties of their lives did not show in their countenance. They were always glad to see and be seen. The goal was to make the day better for any they encountered.
Those who have been married 1, 5, 10, 20 or even 40 years cannot understand the devotion and depth of love that comes after 60 years. Richard misses Colleen in a way most of the rest of us can't comprehend. But he has this belief that in the future they will be together forever. If anyone could be, it will be Richard and Coleen. And he won't have to bandage her foot.
In the mean time, Richard did the best he could to offer service to others, even helping neighbors move. If someone needed something and Richard could do it, he was there. For a number of years, he called me on my birthday and sang "Happy Birthday." The quality wasn't operatic, but there was no doubt about the kindness and sincerity behind the message.
Richard and Colleen always seemed happy. Anyone who met them would be greeted with a smile and a firm handshake. The difficulties of their lives did not show in their countenance. They were always glad to see and be seen. The goal was to make the day better for any they encountered.
Those who have been married 1, 5, 10, 20 or even 40 years cannot understand the devotion and depth of love that comes after 60 years. Richard misses Colleen in a way most of the rest of us can't comprehend. But he has this belief that in the future they will be together forever. If anyone could be, it will be Richard and Coleen. And he won't have to bandage her foot.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Rapture Ruptured
As the rapture predicted for last Saturday did not come off, my silly mind wonders how many people "taken up" in the Joplin tornado thought the rapture was just 24 hours late. I don't mean to treat a tragedy lightly. Sunday's tornadoes were one of the great disasters in the history of our country. My thoughts, prayers and a Red Cross donation are all directed towards Joplin. My Grandfather Ross was born not far from Joplin and I have always had a soft spot for the city although I've never been there.
I have thought in the last few days that I am grateful that we do not have big time tornadoes in Arizona. Every state in the continental United States has had a tornado. As a kid, I remember seeing one about a thousand feet up above our house in Northern California. Technically, I am led to understand that it is not a tornado unless it touches the ground, but that one sure impressed me. I saw another tornado, a real one, in Shreveport, Louisiana. It just looked like a very dark cloud that reached the ground. A few years later, high in the mountains of Utah, I saw the results of one that twisted mature pine trees in every direction and left quite a swath. Again, I was impressed.
I've been lucky where natural disasters come. Aside from the aforementioned tornadoes, just one small earthquake, a few hailstorms, some big snows, pneumonia and that's about it. I sit, watch the Joplinites on the TV and wonder how I'd react if my home and everything in it was gone. I'm not sure. I'm grateful that hasn't happened and hope it never does, to me or to you. Hang in there Joplin.
Blessings.
I have thought in the last few days that I am grateful that we do not have big time tornadoes in Arizona. Every state in the continental United States has had a tornado. As a kid, I remember seeing one about a thousand feet up above our house in Northern California. Technically, I am led to understand that it is not a tornado unless it touches the ground, but that one sure impressed me. I saw another tornado, a real one, in Shreveport, Louisiana. It just looked like a very dark cloud that reached the ground. A few years later, high in the mountains of Utah, I saw the results of one that twisted mature pine trees in every direction and left quite a swath. Again, I was impressed.
I've been lucky where natural disasters come. Aside from the aforementioned tornadoes, just one small earthquake, a few hailstorms, some big snows, pneumonia and that's about it. I sit, watch the Joplinites on the TV and wonder how I'd react if my home and everything in it was gone. I'm not sure. I'm grateful that hasn't happened and hope it never does, to me or to you. Hang in there Joplin.
Blessings.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Many Hands Help
This post is an apology for the last post, sort of. I fear that some may think it is my view that only religious organizations serve well. That is not true. Even in a small town like Payson, Arizona, many service clubs and other organizations were very active. The Red Cross did some great work. Habitat for Humanity was amazing. The Rim Country Search and Rescue helped save lives. There were many more. Many volunteers for these and other organizations, people who would never darken the door of a church, gave freely of their time and effort. In larger communities there are many volunteer organizations that make a big difference in many lives. I would not want to diminish the efforts of these wonderful individuals. I especially appreciate the elderly gentleman, a volunteer, who brought me a newspaper every morning when I was in the hospital recently.
I will remain critical of those who do nothing for any one, but still criticize churches and other volunteer organizations. Churches and synagogs may be full of hypocrites, but there are plenty of hypocrites on the outside too.
Blessings, especially to hypocrites!
I will remain critical of those who do nothing for any one, but still criticize churches and other volunteer organizations. Churches and synagogs may be full of hypocrites, but there are plenty of hypocrites on the outside too.
Blessings, especially to hypocrites!
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Disorganized Religion
Many times, I’ve heard the statement, “I just can’t deal with organized religion,” or “I find God in the mountains (desert, ocean, river, etc.)” or “I worship God in my own way.” Having once embraced this philosophy myself, it is hard to be critical of these sentiments. The church, in whichever variety one chooses, is an organization of people, hypocrites, if you will, who are often either sanctimonious or uncommitted. People come to church for many reasons, some even to worship.
When I left the Baptist Church at age 13, I felt cajoled, judged and not ready to do what was wanted of me. This is not to criticize the Baptists, those things can happen in any church, synagogue or temple. The Baptists were sincere in their desire to make a better person out of me and they did in many ways. Many times, as I sit in the church of my choice, living the lifestyle of my choice, I recognize the mountains do have a certain pull.
In Payson, Arizona, in the last couple of years, I witnessed the true value of organized religion. Two entities in town, the Community Presbyterian Church and St. Vincent De Paul, were trying to feed a needy community. Other churches, including my own, would deal with individuals and families case by case, but the two I previously mentioned were carrying a burden for the community. Of course, the needy could get assistance and food stamps from the state, but the working poor and those waiting to qualify for state aide needed help.
The churches of Payson were asked by the mayor to mount a food drive. We were challenged to collect a lot of food and a substantial amount of money. Since the Presbyterians and St. Vincent’s had a structure in place, they were the recipients and distributors of what was donated. Goals were set and collections were made throughout town and donations received. Most churches in Payson participated and sent representatives to an executive committee. It seemed like every one pitched in. The drive was a success and Payson feed its own. The collective clergy who will never agree on doctrine united in this great cause.
Later, in Payson, a similar group was brought together to help find shelter for high school homeless forest kids (living in tents) and others playing couch roulette. Clergy and school district leaders came together to solve a serious community problem.
The point? While working on both of these committees, I did not find any “mountain worshipers” or atheists in attendance. Those who wanted to serve and help community needs were exclusively churchgoers. While I may have sympathy with the sentiments of individual worship in nature, it is people who are willing to stand for something who get things done. Is our individualism just that or is it a selfish masquerade tainted by the desire not to be committed? I cannot answer that question for other people, but it is fair to pose the question.
Militant atheists may rage on about how religion has brought about death, torture and war like no other entity. They conveniently omit the Hitlers and Stalins of history. While they rail on about such things, selfless individuals in churches, synagogues and temples throughout the world are getting thing done!
Being a member of a congregation is a commitment. It requires us to look beyond ourselves. It has to tolerate hypocrisy, because none are perfect. It requires patience. It puts us with a group of people we might not otherwise associate with. But as many have said, the church isn’t a country club for the saved, it’s a hospital for the sick and needy. Who among us is not sick and needy in some sense? You may be the most needy of all, maybe as much as me. The best way to help the community, church and thereby ourselves is to serve. It heals.
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Best Ever Movies
As I am in my third week of pneumonia and bronchitis, my mind does funny things. A couple of days ago, I made a list of the best movies I've seen during my life. There are about 100. Be warned that I think that older movies are better than 99% of what comes out these days. If any one is familiar with all of these movies, I'd like to hear from you. We have a kinship. If some decide to watch some of these, please don't neglect the silents on the list. They are amazing and often copied. If you think "Star Wars" was an original effort, watch "The Searchers." Lucas says it was a major influence on "Star Wars." The theme of a young man trying to find his way as he searches for his sister is powerful in both.
My list is roughly in order of preference although that could change when I get well! If you haven't seen many of these, try the top one or two from each category. You are in for a treat.
Blessings!
My list is roughly in order of preference although that could change when I get well! If you haven't seen many of these, try the top one or two from each category. You are in for a treat.
Blessings!
Movies
The very best:
Lawrence of Arabia
How Green Was My Valley
The Third Man
The Bridge on the River Kwai
To Kill a Mockingbird
Red River
A Man for All Seasons
Casablanca
Ben Hur
The Ten Commandments
Westerns:
Red River
The Searchers
High Noon
My Darlin' Clementine
Stagecoach
Will Penney
The Stalking Moon
The Westerner
Winchester 73
Shane
True Grit (John Wayne)
Lonesome Dove
Action/adventure:
Gunga Din
The Guns of Navarone
North by Northwest
The African Queen
The Sea Hawk
Master and Commander
Captain Horatio Hornblower (Gregory Peck)
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Indiana Jones
Comedy:
A Night at the Opera
The Gold Rush (silent)
Bringing Up Baby
The Odd Couple
The General (silent)
Mr. Roberts
Some Like It Hot
Napoleon Dynamite
Romance:
Casablanca
The Quiet Man
Dr. Zhivago
The Shop Around the Corner
Roman Holiday
Ninotchka
An Affair to Remember
Love in the Afternoon
Sleepless in Seattle
Musicals:
Fiddler on the Roof
My Fair Lady
The Sound of Music
Oklahoma
South Pacific
Carousel
Yankee Doodle Dandy
Oliver
Mary Poppins
Phantom of the Opera
An American in Paris
Singing in the Rain
War:
Wings (silent)
Pork Chop Hill
The Winds of War
Battleground
Gettysburg
The Great Escape
Drama:
A Man for All Seasons
Double Indemnity
The Maltese Falcon
Key Largo
The Grand Illusion
The Elephant Man
The Apartment
The Days of Wine and Roses
Laura
Bad Day at Black Rock
Science Fiction:
2001
Star Wars
Them!
Animated:
Snow White
Fantasia
Pinoccio
Bambi
Up
Cars
Toy Story 1&2
Pixar Shorts
Actors/actresses:
Cary Grant
Gregory Peck
Audrey Hepburn
Kathryn Hepburn
James Stewart
Ingrid Bergman
Peter O'Toole
Humphrey Bogart
William Powell
Greer Garson
Walter Brennan
Harrison Ford
Best Movie Music:
The Sea Hawk
Red River
Lawrence of Arabia
Dr. Zhivago
How Green Was My Valley
The Alamo
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Mushrooms (or the gag reflex strikes again)!
The other day, our daughter, Jennifer, brought us some homemade pizza. She's a great cook and, as I am under the weather with bronchitis, the pizza was welcome and has kept her Mom and I going for several days. Jen is a great daughter, but she has one defect. She likes mushrooms, really likes mushrooms. I was not a perfect parent after all. She sprinkled the shrooms generously upon the pizza we received and covertly covered them with cheese. The first mushroom I ate started out well. I was chewing along and had the thought, "I wonder what this is that I'm eating?" When it occurred to me that it was a devilish mushroom, I swallowed hard without a gag. A day later, a big one got me and the gag kicked in. It reminded me of the time when I was six years old and my parents slipped me buttermilk by mistake and I spewed it our all over the dinner table. With no practice, I soaked everyone's full dinner plate. My parents were not pleased with my gag buttermilk reflex. I still have the scars.
I would rather eat okra than either mushrooms or buttermilk. That is not a compliment to okra.
Note: avoid the next two paragraphs if you are squeamish.
I defy anyone to find any virtue in mushrooms (One advantage of being in the desert is that mushrooms don't grow here. They have to be imported. Why do people go to the trouble?) Mushrooms grow in the forest. They are fungus-the same entity that grows between the toes of would be athletes. I anticipate that left untreated long enough, an athlete's foot infection would eventually turn into gourmet's delight.
I will also note that a cooked mushroom looks a lot like snot. I don't like that word (particularly when I have bronchitis). It may taste like snot too, but I've never knowingly cooked snot, so that will remain a mystery.
Note: the squeamish may want to avoid the next paragraph too.
All this started back in the deep recessed of my memory. I was about four, my sister, Margo, about two. Our mother had made the error of feeding us both mushrooms for lunch, then took us immediately to the Bank of America in downtown San Diego, California. Knowing Mom, I assume she was making a withdrawal, not a deposit. Back in the 1940's you dressed up to go to the bank. Banks were large, sophisticated temples of finance. High ceilings and polished marble floors were the norm. There were Sunday clothes and bank clothes. Bank clothes may have out done Sunday clothes. To get to the point, as we were in the middle of the polished marble floor of the Bank of America downtown San Diego, California, dressed to the nines, Margo, with impeccable timing, let go of all her mushrooms all over the polished marble floor. Kind of creates a visual, doesn't it? The incident became family folklore. Margo was given a free pass, being labeled as by Mom as "allergic to mushrooms." I, who did not throw up, but suffered from Post-Tramatic Visual Mushroom Barf Disease, was not given a free pass (I quote, "Shut up and eat your mushrooms. You didn't throw up on the Bank of America's floor, you're not allergic."). If there had been such a label at that time as there is now, I still don't think Mom would have bought into my PTVMBD.
Note: the squeamish may begin again.
To any one who wants to eat the slimy fungus, go ahead. Just remember it is not animal, mineral or vegetable. It is fungus. If you are a fungus eater, please post a warning at your kitchen table. If you are not:
PTVMBDers UNITE!!!!!!
Confession: Jen, in her defense, warned me about the mushrooms!
I would rather eat okra than either mushrooms or buttermilk. That is not a compliment to okra.
Note: avoid the next two paragraphs if you are squeamish.
I defy anyone to find any virtue in mushrooms (One advantage of being in the desert is that mushrooms don't grow here. They have to be imported. Why do people go to the trouble?) Mushrooms grow in the forest. They are fungus-the same entity that grows between the toes of would be athletes. I anticipate that left untreated long enough, an athlete's foot infection would eventually turn into gourmet's delight.
I will also note that a cooked mushroom looks a lot like snot. I don't like that word (particularly when I have bronchitis). It may taste like snot too, but I've never knowingly cooked snot, so that will remain a mystery.
Note: the squeamish may want to avoid the next paragraph too.
All this started back in the deep recessed of my memory. I was about four, my sister, Margo, about two. Our mother had made the error of feeding us both mushrooms for lunch, then took us immediately to the Bank of America in downtown San Diego, California. Knowing Mom, I assume she was making a withdrawal, not a deposit. Back in the 1940's you dressed up to go to the bank. Banks were large, sophisticated temples of finance. High ceilings and polished marble floors were the norm. There were Sunday clothes and bank clothes. Bank clothes may have out done Sunday clothes. To get to the point, as we were in the middle of the polished marble floor of the Bank of America downtown San Diego, California, dressed to the nines, Margo, with impeccable timing, let go of all her mushrooms all over the polished marble floor. Kind of creates a visual, doesn't it? The incident became family folklore. Margo was given a free pass, being labeled as by Mom as "allergic to mushrooms." I, who did not throw up, but suffered from Post-Tramatic Visual Mushroom Barf Disease, was not given a free pass (I quote, "Shut up and eat your mushrooms. You didn't throw up on the Bank of America's floor, you're not allergic."). If there had been such a label at that time as there is now, I still don't think Mom would have bought into my PTVMBD.
Note: the squeamish may begin again.
To any one who wants to eat the slimy fungus, go ahead. Just remember it is not animal, mineral or vegetable. It is fungus. If you are a fungus eater, please post a warning at your kitchen table. If you are not:
PTVMBDers UNITE!!!!!!
Confession: Jen, in her defense, warned me about the mushrooms!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
I am, indeed back in the desert!
It is 96 degrees outside and going higher. It is a reminder that I am, yes, back in the desert. When we moved in February, it was too cold to plant a garden, now it is too hot. Gazing out my window, I see the sun shining, the tree rusting in the breeze and can almost believe it is habitable outside, yet I know that is not the gentle breeze I see, but a scorching, parching breath from that furnace outside that will in a few moments time mummify anything that is not metal, cement or underground. It's a good thing we have a basement, although I don't know that I want to spend all summer down there.
We have moved to the desert from Payson where a day like today is as bad as it gets. The nights are cool and the mornings a delight. The people are friendly and don't expect much from you. Aside from a batch of angry retirees and few meth addicts, Payson is just about perfect. Okay, I did have to shovel quite a bit of snow in December and January. Contrary to what my doctor thinks, I did get some exercise in the six months.
We moved here to be closer to our children. Well, not so much our children as our grandchildren. We never asked if they wanted to be closer to us. We have made a startling discovery: the grandchildren are busy. They have lives. Their lives have developed form and function... without us. The traditions we gleefully wanted to establish upon moving here have long ago been set... without us. The pitter-patter of little feet have given away to iPods, ball games and soon to be dates and driver's licenses. But we raised them to be independent and be themselves. There is joy in that.
I'm debating whether I want to sleep in the basement starting in a few weeks. I suppose that would make me a true desert rat. I don't see too many kangaroo rats (our most common variety) out and about in the summer. Those little guys have small brains, but they are not stupid. Not as stupid as I was to move back to the desert.
Oh, here's a phone call. Strawberry shortcake? The grandchildren will be there? Sure, we'll be right over!
We have moved to the desert from Payson where a day like today is as bad as it gets. The nights are cool and the mornings a delight. The people are friendly and don't expect much from you. Aside from a batch of angry retirees and few meth addicts, Payson is just about perfect. Okay, I did have to shovel quite a bit of snow in December and January. Contrary to what my doctor thinks, I did get some exercise in the six months.
We moved here to be closer to our children. Well, not so much our children as our grandchildren. We never asked if they wanted to be closer to us. We have made a startling discovery: the grandchildren are busy. They have lives. Their lives have developed form and function... without us. The traditions we gleefully wanted to establish upon moving here have long ago been set... without us. The pitter-patter of little feet have given away to iPods, ball games and soon to be dates and driver's licenses. But we raised them to be independent and be themselves. There is joy in that.
I'm debating whether I want to sleep in the basement starting in a few weeks. I suppose that would make me a true desert rat. I don't see too many kangaroo rats (our most common variety) out and about in the summer. Those little guys have small brains, but they are not stupid. Not as stupid as I was to move back to the desert.
Oh, here's a phone call. Strawberry shortcake? The grandchildren will be there? Sure, we'll be right over!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Science vs. Religion
Some years ago, I saw a PBS documentary regarding a moth in South America. The moth had a 12 inch snout that could reach the bottom of a 12 inch flower and retrieve life sustaining nectar. The narrator stated that the moth had evolved to be able to obtain the nectar. The question entered my mind as to how the moth survived while its snout was just three inches long during the time it was evolving to 12 inches. Did the moth and the flower evolve together? If so, why did they need to evolve? Couldn't life have been just as good for both if flower and snout had stayed at three inches or 5/8 of an inch or 18 inches? I do not know the answers to these questions and I doubt any evolutionist does either. All the evolutionist knows is that the snout and the flower evolved.
To me, it makes a lot more sense to believe that the moth and the flower were created that way. I have nor argument with science. Questions perhaps, but no argument. After all the computer and keyboard on which I currently type are the creation of scientists. Of course they didn't evolve, they were created.
Years ago, I had a visit with a believing doctor. I was a young Mormon missionary doing what we call tracting (going door to door) in Shreveport, Louisiana. It was rainy and cold that day. The good doctor was a Methodist. He told us that he didn't want to hear what we had to say, but that he would tell us a story about his conversion from atheist to believer. It was an awful day and we were happy to come in where it was warm. The doctor stated that while in medical school, he was working on a cadaver, probing around the eye. He found that a certain muscle ran from the eye, around a kind of pulley and was attached inside the head. This arrangement allowed the eye to move from side to side. This amazed him, but it was when he found that where the muscle ran through the pulley, there was a lubricating gland which made sure that things didn't wear out. It struck him at that moment that the human body had a design. There was a source beyond happenstance that had created the body. The doctor finished his story and turned us back out into the elements.
So did that muscle, pulley, gland system evolve? I have to agree with the doctor that there was an intelligent creation beyond the power of evolution that created the system and hundred of thousands others that keep each of us going every moment.
On the other hand, I know people who say, "The Bible says it, I believe it, end of story." So starting at the beginning, was the world created in seven days? I don't think so. The word "day" in Hebrew refers to a period of time. If there is a God, could he or she have created the world in seven days and made it look like a longer time? I suppose, but what would God's motivation have been to do so? Would it have been to show a superior intellect? No need there. Would it have been to tease us? I don't think God has a sarcastic sense of humor. And to complicate the issue, in Genesis, God says, "Let us go down..." Evidently God had company? That's heresy for most believers, but the Bible says it.
May I bring this to a grand conclusion? We do not know. We were not there at the creation. If there is a creator and designer of this world, and I agree with the doctor mentioned above that there is, we have not been told the processes that were used in the creation of this world. Evolution may have been one of the processes. We do not know enough about religion or science to make a good judgement. What we are supposed to do is get along, love our neighbors (that's good science and religion), treat everyone well, learn as much as we can and don't freak out about things we don't understand.
Blessings.
To me, it makes a lot more sense to believe that the moth and the flower were created that way. I have nor argument with science. Questions perhaps, but no argument. After all the computer and keyboard on which I currently type are the creation of scientists. Of course they didn't evolve, they were created.
Years ago, I had a visit with a believing doctor. I was a young Mormon missionary doing what we call tracting (going door to door) in Shreveport, Louisiana. It was rainy and cold that day. The good doctor was a Methodist. He told us that he didn't want to hear what we had to say, but that he would tell us a story about his conversion from atheist to believer. It was an awful day and we were happy to come in where it was warm. The doctor stated that while in medical school, he was working on a cadaver, probing around the eye. He found that a certain muscle ran from the eye, around a kind of pulley and was attached inside the head. This arrangement allowed the eye to move from side to side. This amazed him, but it was when he found that where the muscle ran through the pulley, there was a lubricating gland which made sure that things didn't wear out. It struck him at that moment that the human body had a design. There was a source beyond happenstance that had created the body. The doctor finished his story and turned us back out into the elements.
So did that muscle, pulley, gland system evolve? I have to agree with the doctor that there was an intelligent creation beyond the power of evolution that created the system and hundred of thousands others that keep each of us going every moment.
On the other hand, I know people who say, "The Bible says it, I believe it, end of story." So starting at the beginning, was the world created in seven days? I don't think so. The word "day" in Hebrew refers to a period of time. If there is a God, could he or she have created the world in seven days and made it look like a longer time? I suppose, but what would God's motivation have been to do so? Would it have been to show a superior intellect? No need there. Would it have been to tease us? I don't think God has a sarcastic sense of humor. And to complicate the issue, in Genesis, God says, "Let us go down..." Evidently God had company? That's heresy for most believers, but the Bible says it.
May I bring this to a grand conclusion? We do not know. We were not there at the creation. If there is a creator and designer of this world, and I agree with the doctor mentioned above that there is, we have not been told the processes that were used in the creation of this world. Evolution may have been one of the processes. We do not know enough about religion or science to make a good judgement. What we are supposed to do is get along, love our neighbors (that's good science and religion), treat everyone well, learn as much as we can and don't freak out about things we don't understand.
Blessings.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
My problem with Glenn Beck
Glenn Beck is probably a good guy. I likely agree with much of what he says. It is the way he says it that bothers me. My problem with him harkens back to my days teaching civics. We spent a lot of time teaching propaganda techniques which are as follows:
- Name Calling
- Glittering Generalities
- Transfer
- Testimonial
- Plain Folks
- Card Stacking
- Band Wagon
I will not take time to define each of these. One may do so with a simple Internet search. Propaganda techniques are used to distort or cover the truth. I just wish Glenn Beck had been broadcasting when I was teaching propaganda techniques. He would have made my job much easier, but at the time, network news and the newspapers did a more than adequate job.
A couple of years ago, Beck came out with an exceptional claim, "Obama is a racist." Later he apologized, but the message had come through loud and clear. This is the most egregious example, but Beck listeners note that Beck uses name calling frequently. It is a common tactic in politics. The use of name calling does not make it right. In a civil society, name calling ought to be left in the dust.
Beck is often heard to say, "We all know..." or "You know..." then the distortion. We don't all know any thing. We certainly don't all agree on anything. Beck has brought out the band wagon.
Note also, that Beck uses a lot of clips taken out of context repeated very quickly. The average person does not have time to process what is being said. It is easy, especially if one generally agrees with Beck's political philosophy, to just accept what has been tossed out as truth.
Another Beck trick is to rapidly change the subject. He will make a statement, go on to something else quickly so the mind does not have time to process the previous statement.
I challenge readers of this blog to spend time with Beck (not too much) or another radio talking head and contribute what you find that may fit the profile above. It is not just the conservatives who engage in such things, although they seem to have a corner on the market right now. Air America, before it went broke, was just as guilty. Walter Cronkite, highly respected, used to end the CBS evening news with "That's the way it is." Not! That broadcast was the way it is according to Cronkite and the brain trust at CBS. They could and did twist it however they wanted. Their broadcast was always filtered and colored through their biases.
I believe, in a free society, that there should be access to rational, objective reporting. Unfortunately, such a concept has all but disappeared in our society. Most of us gather information about the world from two or three sources. It is important to recognize the slant of these sources, recognize them for what they are and form our own opinions.
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