For a second straight week, Van Wert County survived a tornado warning this week. Sirens blared, half-dressed people ran instinctively to shelter, and all over the region there were people nibbling on fingernails or in all-out panic mode. Tornadoes scare people. I get that, especially in Van Wert County. That November day in 2002 was one of the few days I had my entire family in the basement. I even joined them there for a minute after I saw the high winds suddenly switch the direction they were pushing the trees. But for the most part, if there's a tornado watch, I go out and try to watch.
I've been caught out in many storms, but I've never actually seen a tornado. My wife would love to be a storm chaser and watch these giant funnels. Ironically the day a tornado hit our neighbor's house, our whole family was away. We saw nothing but the aftermath. The one time we had a reserved ringside seat, and we were ten miles away. Figures.
I do have a healthy respect for tornadoes. I know people who were directly involved in the F-4 that rumbled through here almost a decade ago, and suffered great loss. I watched news accounts on the Internet and on television of places like Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Ringgold, Georgia, which were blasted by twisters on Wednesday. For years I've heard the stories of chickens having their feathers stripped away, stalks of corn being driven through tree trunks, and personal items being carried hundreds of miles by the tornadic winds. The destructive power boggles the mind.
When I was a child growing up in Indiana, I had a few brushes with tornadoes, or at least the effects of tornadoes -- both physical and emotional. One storm tore through a town of a couple hundred people, ripping the roof off the gymnasium of the old school building. I still remember riding in the car past the permanently retracted roof, and further down the path of the tornado, staring at trees that were freshly bent at a 45 degree angle. Those trees continued to lean for years afterward.
I also remember the panic that overtook my aunt when I was very small. The story was always that a tornado headed at you sounded like a freight train. We were discussing that during a particularly bad storm back in the 60s. We had gathered at my grandmother's house because she had a basement and we did not. My aunt was particularly nervous that night, having heard that tornadoes sound like freight trains and hearing the mighty winds blowing outside. Suddenly, she heard that sound that made her scream, certain that destruction was seconds away. What was the sound? A freight train sound? Sort of. It was a train whistle. I remember she almost had to be pulled off the ceiling and reminded that tornadoes don't have train whistles!
People today will, at times, become unnecessarily panicked over the threat of a tornado. Some of that panic can be avoided with a little education. A little study of twisters can tell you what sorts of things to expect when a storm threatens. You should know that a tornado watch just means that the conditions could allow tornadoes to form and a warning means there is a rotating storm somewhere. Information during a storm also can reassure a person when it isn't necessary to grab Toto and run to the storm cellar with Auntie Em. With the Internet, weather radios, and even television, it is possible to find out most everything that is happening as it happens.
But perhaps the greatest education one needs is basic geography. I'm continually amused by people who cannot seem to grasp that a storm traveling east from, say, Willshire, is not endangering Grover Hill or Scott. Now I could chalk it up to people not being able to read a map or knowing which direction is east, or it could be that storm panic has set in and no amount of information can penetrate the brain until a meteorologist shows up at the front door giving the All Clear signal.
So my tornado season advice is simple: (1) Respect storms, but don't let your mind glaze over in panic, (2) Gather information from as many reliable sources as possible, (3) Learn the basic geography of places in the region, especially to the south and west, and (4) If you hear a train whistle, it's just a train.
Monday, May 09, 2011
The Thrill Is Gone
Blues singer B.B. King sang, “The Thrill Is Gone” about a relationship that took a nose dive. In the song, B.B.'s lady apparently did something wrong, and now the relationship wasn't the same as it used to be. While I can't be as brief as Mr. King with this one, I think the thrill wears off far too quickly in many things, and I'm not even talking about relationships.
It was 50 years ago yesterday that Americans first entered space. Alan Shepard climbed inside his Mercury-Redstone rocket dubbed Freedom 7 and took a 15-minute sub-orbital flight that made people in this country take notice of space flight. That is, if they hadn't noticed Yuri Gagarin become the first person in space just three weeks earlier. But in 1961 and for that entire decade, people were aware of space flight. Sometimes they were skeptical. Sometimes they were proud. But when there was a scheduled liftoff, people paid attention.
The drama continued through the Apollo missions, then the launch of the first space shuttle in 1981. Then after a while the shuttle launches became routine. We didn't gather to watch as before. On a January day in 1986, a radio announcer complained that he had to stop his show so the station could carry yet another broadcast of a space shuttle liftoff. After all, no one really listened to those anymore. He changed his tune about 73 seconds after liftoff when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, killing seven astronauts and stunning this nation and the world.
But after a couple more successful missions the disinterest was back. The thrill was gone. Even the 2003 Columbia disaster didn't keep interest in the shuttle missions. Let's face it, if we weren't down to the last two shuttle missions, the apathy over a space shuttle launch would be deafening. Even the thrill of sending human beings into space can't keep us riveted anymore. And for as long as it has been, we can't truly describe what it was like when the entire country would put life on pause while the countdown marched toward liftoff. The newness, even for those of us who remember, has worn off.
I was thinking about all this while driving around, flipping through the stations on my radio. When I stumbled across an old Beatles song, I realized that a majority of people today don't have a true appreciation for the uniqueness of the music of that Liverpool quartet. The sound was new and different -- unlike tunes that had been revolving on turntables up until that time. Today, introducing someone to the early sound of the Beatles is not that impressive because all kinds of music sounds like that now. Someone growing up in this century cannot truly appreciate what a shock it was when the opening guitar riff of The Kinks' “You Really Got Me” hit the radio or the psychedelic guitar of Jimi Hendrix's “Purple Haze” or the folk-rock guitar and nasal vocals of Bob Dylan's “Like a Rolling Stone.” It's not necessarily that the thrill is gone. Some of us still remember that thrill and realize how groundbreaking these records were. It's just that the thrill can't be brought back.
One of my favorite firsts was the first time my son laughed at something he saw. He was a fairly quiet baby, not speaking until after his first birthday. But one night as I held him on the couch with the television on, I heard him start to laugh. Not just a giggle to himself, but he was laughing at the show on TV. I turned to see what had tickled my baby's funny bone and smiled. He was watching an old Three Stooges film. I couldn't have been prouder. My son had good taste in comedy.
It's a shame that various thrills can't be bottled or framed or pickled or whatever else preserves something. First date, first job, first baby, first kiss, (you can continue that line of thinking on your own time) -- they all have their own unique place in our hearts and memories. But the feeling can't really be shared or recaptured. So I believe that we should truly enjoy those firsts that come our way. That even goes for the firsts we might rather never experience. Each new day is a gift and an experience. And maybe, just maybe, each new day will bring an ever-so-brief thrill that will help you remember all the thrills that have gone before.
It was 50 years ago yesterday that Americans first entered space. Alan Shepard climbed inside his Mercury-Redstone rocket dubbed Freedom 7 and took a 15-minute sub-orbital flight that made people in this country take notice of space flight. That is, if they hadn't noticed Yuri Gagarin become the first person in space just three weeks earlier. But in 1961 and for that entire decade, people were aware of space flight. Sometimes they were skeptical. Sometimes they were proud. But when there was a scheduled liftoff, people paid attention.
The drama continued through the Apollo missions, then the launch of the first space shuttle in 1981. Then after a while the shuttle launches became routine. We didn't gather to watch as before. On a January day in 1986, a radio announcer complained that he had to stop his show so the station could carry yet another broadcast of a space shuttle liftoff. After all, no one really listened to those anymore. He changed his tune about 73 seconds after liftoff when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, killing seven astronauts and stunning this nation and the world.
But after a couple more successful missions the disinterest was back. The thrill was gone. Even the 2003 Columbia disaster didn't keep interest in the shuttle missions. Let's face it, if we weren't down to the last two shuttle missions, the apathy over a space shuttle launch would be deafening. Even the thrill of sending human beings into space can't keep us riveted anymore. And for as long as it has been, we can't truly describe what it was like when the entire country would put life on pause while the countdown marched toward liftoff. The newness, even for those of us who remember, has worn off.
I was thinking about all this while driving around, flipping through the stations on my radio. When I stumbled across an old Beatles song, I realized that a majority of people today don't have a true appreciation for the uniqueness of the music of that Liverpool quartet. The sound was new and different -- unlike tunes that had been revolving on turntables up until that time. Today, introducing someone to the early sound of the Beatles is not that impressive because all kinds of music sounds like that now. Someone growing up in this century cannot truly appreciate what a shock it was when the opening guitar riff of The Kinks' “You Really Got Me” hit the radio or the psychedelic guitar of Jimi Hendrix's “Purple Haze” or the folk-rock guitar and nasal vocals of Bob Dylan's “Like a Rolling Stone.” It's not necessarily that the thrill is gone. Some of us still remember that thrill and realize how groundbreaking these records were. It's just that the thrill can't be brought back.
One of my favorite firsts was the first time my son laughed at something he saw. He was a fairly quiet baby, not speaking until after his first birthday. But one night as I held him on the couch with the television on, I heard him start to laugh. Not just a giggle to himself, but he was laughing at the show on TV. I turned to see what had tickled my baby's funny bone and smiled. He was watching an old Three Stooges film. I couldn't have been prouder. My son had good taste in comedy.
It's a shame that various thrills can't be bottled or framed or pickled or whatever else preserves something. First date, first job, first baby, first kiss, (you can continue that line of thinking on your own time) -- they all have their own unique place in our hearts and memories. But the feeling can't really be shared or recaptured. So I believe that we should truly enjoy those firsts that come our way. That even goes for the firsts we might rather never experience. Each new day is a gift and an experience. And maybe, just maybe, each new day will bring an ever-so-brief thrill that will help you remember all the thrills that have gone before.
Friday, April 22, 2011
History in the buff
I've always been a history buff. I've always been that way, preferring to spend time reading and studying the past over dealing with more contemporary subjects. In college, I took nearly as many history classes as I did classes in my declared minor. Frankly, history fascinated me more than marketing. But even I knew that high-paying jobs in history are mighty scarce. (Little did I realize that I naturally have an aversion to jobs that pay highly anyway!) So I took a different route, but still kept an eye on the past and what I could learn.
My eyes have especially been drawn to history over the past two weeks, as the nation remembered the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. The bombing of Fort Sumter in South Carolina was really kind of pathetic as far as battles go. The fort, located on a man-made island in the middle of the entrance to Charleston Harbor, was commanded by U.S. Major Robert Anderson, who tried his best to hold the island from Confederate forces demanding the evacuation of the garrison. The Union men were outgunned and outmanned and were severely low on supplies.
The firing by the rebels began at 4:30 a.m. on April 12, 1861. After 34 hours, Anderson agreed to surrender. The number of casualties? Zero. Nine were wounded, four of those on the Confederate side. The bloodiest part of the battle was the surrender ceremonies when a gun exploded killing two Union soldiers. The first casualties of the American Civil War came not as the result of a battle, but a ceremony.
The characters always seem larger-than-life in history. That's probably because the same-size-as-life characters didn't make the history books while the volumes are full of George Washingtons and Teddy Roosevelts and Platos and Napoleons. And since history is written by the winners, we can probably assume that for every favorable story there is likely another tale told from the opposite camp. But that's what makes history fun.
I know a man in town who will have nothing to do with the Internet or computers, claiming proudly that he lives in the past. I've told him on more than one occasion that there is more history on the Internet than he will ever dig up in person. For instance, I found a site called simply, historybuff.com where copies of historic newspapers are viewable for free. The idea is that you can see how newspapers reported the famous events of history. I pulled up a copy of the New York Herald from April 13, 1861 to read the account of the bombing of Fort Sumter. Included are a map of the Charleston area, descriptions of the fort (”a modern truncated pentagonal fort, built upon an artificial island at the mouth of Charleston Harbor, three and three-eights miles from the city of Charleston”), and copies of letters sent between Maj. Anderson of the Union and Gen. P.G.T. Beauregard of the Confederates. Fascinating stuff.
There are advantages to being a history lover nowadays. Research is fast and easy with the Internet. Books on various subjects from the past are published seemingly every day. (There may be more books written on Lincoln's assassination than Stephen King has sold in his lifetime.) And there is a group of television channels supposedly dedicated to history. I say 'supposedly' because it seems the programmers define 'history' rather broadly. The Thursday night lineup on the History Channel consisted of a show where men hunt for alligators in a swamp, a program about a taxidermy shop in Alaska, and a reality show where contestants compete to determine the best shot using various firearms and weapons. I'm sure they're all wonderful shows, but that's not history.
The writer George Santayana is credited with penning the words, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” If he's right and my memory holds up, I should be set for the rest of my life.
My eyes have especially been drawn to history over the past two weeks, as the nation remembered the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. The bombing of Fort Sumter in South Carolina was really kind of pathetic as far as battles go. The fort, located on a man-made island in the middle of the entrance to Charleston Harbor, was commanded by U.S. Major Robert Anderson, who tried his best to hold the island from Confederate forces demanding the evacuation of the garrison. The Union men were outgunned and outmanned and were severely low on supplies.
The firing by the rebels began at 4:30 a.m. on April 12, 1861. After 34 hours, Anderson agreed to surrender. The number of casualties? Zero. Nine were wounded, four of those on the Confederate side. The bloodiest part of the battle was the surrender ceremonies when a gun exploded killing two Union soldiers. The first casualties of the American Civil War came not as the result of a battle, but a ceremony.
The characters always seem larger-than-life in history. That's probably because the same-size-as-life characters didn't make the history books while the volumes are full of George Washingtons and Teddy Roosevelts and Platos and Napoleons. And since history is written by the winners, we can probably assume that for every favorable story there is likely another tale told from the opposite camp. But that's what makes history fun.
I know a man in town who will have nothing to do with the Internet or computers, claiming proudly that he lives in the past. I've told him on more than one occasion that there is more history on the Internet than he will ever dig up in person. For instance, I found a site called simply, historybuff.com where copies of historic newspapers are viewable for free. The idea is that you can see how newspapers reported the famous events of history. I pulled up a copy of the New York Herald from April 13, 1861 to read the account of the bombing of Fort Sumter. Included are a map of the Charleston area, descriptions of the fort (”a modern truncated pentagonal fort, built upon an artificial island at the mouth of Charleston Harbor, three and three-eights miles from the city of Charleston”), and copies of letters sent between Maj. Anderson of the Union and Gen. P.G.T. Beauregard of the Confederates. Fascinating stuff.
There are advantages to being a history lover nowadays. Research is fast and easy with the Internet. Books on various subjects from the past are published seemingly every day. (There may be more books written on Lincoln's assassination than Stephen King has sold in his lifetime.) And there is a group of television channels supposedly dedicated to history. I say 'supposedly' because it seems the programmers define 'history' rather broadly. The Thursday night lineup on the History Channel consisted of a show where men hunt for alligators in a swamp, a program about a taxidermy shop in Alaska, and a reality show where contestants compete to determine the best shot using various firearms and weapons. I'm sure they're all wonderful shows, but that's not history.
The writer George Santayana is credited with penning the words, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” If he's right and my memory holds up, I should be set for the rest of my life.
Friday, April 15, 2011
The April 15th holiday
It's April 15. Why am I not running around like an idiot trying to make sure my taxes are all figured, packaged, and stuffed into a postal worker's sack? Is it because I got around at the beginning of February and got the nonsense out of the way early? Sadly, no. Mostly it's because we procrastinating American taxpayers were blessed with an extra weekend to mop things up. This year (and this year only), taxes only need to be postmarked by Monday, April 18. We should probably celebrate, as that's the most mercy I've seen ever from the Internal Revenue Service.
I had to look up the reason for the delay, as nothing much seemed like a good excuse to push back the day when the I.R.S. agents all begin to salivate. It turns out that the District of Columbia is celebrating Emancipation Day today. The holiday commemorates the end of slavery and is usually observed on April 16. However as we all know, you can never correctly celebrate a holiday on a Saturday. So it's been moved to Friday, and we all get an extra weekend of trying to find more deductions. I'm assuming that the residents of D.C. are today proudly remembering the emancipation of slaves in some solemn way. I'm sure it's as classy as the way we remember the former chief executives of the country -- with a President's Day mattress sale.
Actually, I'm not in a panic because the taxes are done, thanks to a professional. I gave up long ago trying to do them for fear that I wasn't properly completing Schedule 666 or whatever needs to accompany all my W-2s, 1099s, 1040s, and Form E-I-E-I-Os that I have to stuff into those envelopes. It's just way too complicated unless you file the form with the EZ at the end of it. I think everyone seems to like it that way, and by everybody, I mean the I.R.S. and every accountant and tax service in the nation. The rest of us could stand a break from the complicated machinations of the tax code.
There are movements to replace the current system with a flat tax of say, 17 percent of all income. No deductions or exemptions. No complicated tax forms. Just three or four lines and a place for a signature. That sounds like a good idea on the surface. I'm sure there are catches I haven't thought of yet. What we sometimes forget is the tax code has become complicated because we as a nation have looked to reward certain behavior. Want to encourage charitable giving? Offer a tax deduction! Want everyone to learn the tango? Give a deduction for tango lessons. You get the idea.
Think of what a huge change that would be, though. Dismantling the current tax system would be almost like making gravity optional. Or even like celebrating holidays on Saturday -- we're talking massive change! I'm all for change, but I do want some kind of plan as to what the change is going to be. Change for change's sake is usually a stupid idea. Just when we start thinking things can't get any worse, we realize we were wrong and that we have no business trying to do the job of a psychic.
The government isn't good at change though, unless you count raising taxes. Cutting things isn't a strong point for those chaps. They can't stand to make people mad. (Something about wanting votes or some such nonsense.) Truthfully, most people are in favor of government cuts as long as the cuts have nothing to do with them. “Don't touch my pension!” or “Don't cut funds for my subsidy!” or “Don't you dare cut funding for my precious snail darters!” Some day we'll have to get over that or else we'll all have to learn the hard way. We're already $14 trillion in the hole. That's something that could stand changing.
And so, those of you who can't change the habit of waiting until the last minute to plaster a stamp on the envelope and sending Uncle Sam more money to play with, take a deep confident breath, knowing you have a couple of extra days. Happy Emancipation Day.
I had to look up the reason for the delay, as nothing much seemed like a good excuse to push back the day when the I.R.S. agents all begin to salivate. It turns out that the District of Columbia is celebrating Emancipation Day today. The holiday commemorates the end of slavery and is usually observed on April 16. However as we all know, you can never correctly celebrate a holiday on a Saturday. So it's been moved to Friday, and we all get an extra weekend of trying to find more deductions. I'm assuming that the residents of D.C. are today proudly remembering the emancipation of slaves in some solemn way. I'm sure it's as classy as the way we remember the former chief executives of the country -- with a President's Day mattress sale.
Actually, I'm not in a panic because the taxes are done, thanks to a professional. I gave up long ago trying to do them for fear that I wasn't properly completing Schedule 666 or whatever needs to accompany all my W-2s, 1099s, 1040s, and Form E-I-E-I-Os that I have to stuff into those envelopes. It's just way too complicated unless you file the form with the EZ at the end of it. I think everyone seems to like it that way, and by everybody, I mean the I.R.S. and every accountant and tax service in the nation. The rest of us could stand a break from the complicated machinations of the tax code.
There are movements to replace the current system with a flat tax of say, 17 percent of all income. No deductions or exemptions. No complicated tax forms. Just three or four lines and a place for a signature. That sounds like a good idea on the surface. I'm sure there are catches I haven't thought of yet. What we sometimes forget is the tax code has become complicated because we as a nation have looked to reward certain behavior. Want to encourage charitable giving? Offer a tax deduction! Want everyone to learn the tango? Give a deduction for tango lessons. You get the idea.
Think of what a huge change that would be, though. Dismantling the current tax system would be almost like making gravity optional. Or even like celebrating holidays on Saturday -- we're talking massive change! I'm all for change, but I do want some kind of plan as to what the change is going to be. Change for change's sake is usually a stupid idea. Just when we start thinking things can't get any worse, we realize we were wrong and that we have no business trying to do the job of a psychic.
The government isn't good at change though, unless you count raising taxes. Cutting things isn't a strong point for those chaps. They can't stand to make people mad. (Something about wanting votes or some such nonsense.) Truthfully, most people are in favor of government cuts as long as the cuts have nothing to do with them. “Don't touch my pension!” or “Don't cut funds for my subsidy!” or “Don't you dare cut funding for my precious snail darters!” Some day we'll have to get over that or else we'll all have to learn the hard way. We're already $14 trillion in the hole. That's something that could stand changing.
And so, those of you who can't change the habit of waiting until the last minute to plaster a stamp on the envelope and sending Uncle Sam more money to play with, take a deep confident breath, knowing you have a couple of extra days. Happy Emancipation Day.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Candy-coated memories
In just over two weeks, we will be celebrating Easter Sunday, or Resurrection Sunday as some call it. During these last few days before the holiday, I seem to notice, more than other times, all the candy. It's in stores, at gas stations, in vending machines... it's everywhere. The holiday just makes it more prevalent with the chocolate rabbits and jellybeans and marshmallow critters, and candy eggs of all types. And this year my wife decided to give up sweets for Lent, so we haven't seen many of the goodies sitting around the house in bright anticipation of a colored basket filled with plastic grass.
I like candy. Always have. One look at my waist size should tell you that. But candy has changed over the years. Sure, the price has changed. I remember the ten-cent candy bars suddenly costing 15 cents. Now, I really don't know if there is a standard price. I haven't spotted a 50-cent bar in a few years, that I know.
But beyond that, it seems like we've lost a lot of the old candy and it's been replaced by, well, not a whole lot. However, candy makers seem to cling to their franchise names. Let's take the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Everyone is at least familiar with the standard two-per-pack round beauties with chocolate outside and peanut butter inside. At last count these gems were also made in miniature cups, in oversized cups, with dark chocolate, with white chocolate, a version with more peanut butter, a version with more chocolate, a version with the peanut butter on the outside and chocolate inside, a cup with caramel added, a cup with marshmallow added, a cup with honey roasted peanut butter, a cup with hazelnut cream, a thicker, darker chocolate cup, and the double crunch cup with a peanut and nougat filling. That doesn't count the special crunchy cookie cup which was a layered cup with crushed cookies and peanut butter that hasn't been made in a decade, or the Elvis-inspired peanut butter and banana creme from a few years ago. Oh, and the peanut butter and banana version was available in standard, miniature, and big cup size. Of course the big cups are also available with white chocolate, with peanuts, mixed nuts, and with a nut and caramel combination. And now, they've introduced the Minis, which are smaller than miniatures and unwrapped (which is good for folks like me who hate wasting time wrapping those little suckers).
Then, you have the other candy bars that the Reese's name has gone on. Certainly you've seen the Fast Break Bar or the Peanut Butter Squares or the Nutrageous or another dozen or so that have hit the shelves. And that doesn't even count the peanut butter eggs or rabbits at this time of year!
So instead of inventing a new candy bar, a familiar name goes on the wrapper every time they stuff something new into an M & M. And in the meantime, some candy bars go missing. As a middle schooler, I remember selling candy bars at a school concession stand. The big favorite among the kids was a Marathon bar. As I recall (I was not a fan of these), it was a thin, stretched-out bar which I believe was chocolate covering some sort of shoe leather. The kids who liked it claimed it was caramel. All I know is, we sold a ton of those at a quarter a pop. And now, the Marathon bar isn't even being sold by nostalgic candy makers who specialize in old candy bars.
And why is it that many of the flavors you get in those Valentine's Day boxes of chocolates don't come in bars? Ever have a candy bar with that orange cream inside? Me either. Even the vanilla creams and maple creams are hard to find. The closest I can get is a Bun candy bar with the maple cream and peanuts. Those used to be made in Fort Wayne, but now the brand belongs to another candy company. It's also about half the size it used to be. Or I'm twice as hungry. I can't be sure.
Once, the bunny drops his bundle of chocolatey goodness on the 24th, I'll see if this year's crop of candy is as good as it used to be. And if by chance my basket contains a Chunky or a Bounty or a Sugar Daddy, I'll let you know.
I like candy. Always have. One look at my waist size should tell you that. But candy has changed over the years. Sure, the price has changed. I remember the ten-cent candy bars suddenly costing 15 cents. Now, I really don't know if there is a standard price. I haven't spotted a 50-cent bar in a few years, that I know.
But beyond that, it seems like we've lost a lot of the old candy and it's been replaced by, well, not a whole lot. However, candy makers seem to cling to their franchise names. Let's take the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Everyone is at least familiar with the standard two-per-pack round beauties with chocolate outside and peanut butter inside. At last count these gems were also made in miniature cups, in oversized cups, with dark chocolate, with white chocolate, a version with more peanut butter, a version with more chocolate, a version with the peanut butter on the outside and chocolate inside, a cup with caramel added, a cup with marshmallow added, a cup with honey roasted peanut butter, a cup with hazelnut cream, a thicker, darker chocolate cup, and the double crunch cup with a peanut and nougat filling. That doesn't count the special crunchy cookie cup which was a layered cup with crushed cookies and peanut butter that hasn't been made in a decade, or the Elvis-inspired peanut butter and banana creme from a few years ago. Oh, and the peanut butter and banana version was available in standard, miniature, and big cup size. Of course the big cups are also available with white chocolate, with peanuts, mixed nuts, and with a nut and caramel combination. And now, they've introduced the Minis, which are smaller than miniatures and unwrapped (which is good for folks like me who hate wasting time wrapping those little suckers).
Then, you have the other candy bars that the Reese's name has gone on. Certainly you've seen the Fast Break Bar or the Peanut Butter Squares or the Nutrageous or another dozen or so that have hit the shelves. And that doesn't even count the peanut butter eggs or rabbits at this time of year!
So instead of inventing a new candy bar, a familiar name goes on the wrapper every time they stuff something new into an M & M. And in the meantime, some candy bars go missing. As a middle schooler, I remember selling candy bars at a school concession stand. The big favorite among the kids was a Marathon bar. As I recall (I was not a fan of these), it was a thin, stretched-out bar which I believe was chocolate covering some sort of shoe leather. The kids who liked it claimed it was caramel. All I know is, we sold a ton of those at a quarter a pop. And now, the Marathon bar isn't even being sold by nostalgic candy makers who specialize in old candy bars.
And why is it that many of the flavors you get in those Valentine's Day boxes of chocolates don't come in bars? Ever have a candy bar with that orange cream inside? Me either. Even the vanilla creams and maple creams are hard to find. The closest I can get is a Bun candy bar with the maple cream and peanuts. Those used to be made in Fort Wayne, but now the brand belongs to another candy company. It's also about half the size it used to be. Or I'm twice as hungry. I can't be sure.
Once, the bunny drops his bundle of chocolatey goodness on the 24th, I'll see if this year's crop of candy is as good as it used to be. And if by chance my basket contains a Chunky or a Bounty or a Sugar Daddy, I'll let you know.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Wrecked trains and opera
Believe me, I ain't highbrow. I am truly closer to Dr. Pepper and Velveeta than I am to wine and cheese. So news from the world of opera regularly escapes my notice. But imagine my surprise when I read the review of the newest opera to grace the stage in merry old England. The subject matter was not new -- a rags-to-riches tale that ends in tragedy. The main character was definitely new in opera circles. Anna Nicole Smith.
You remember her, right? The rather, um, buxom woman who married millionaire J. Howard Marshall who was a mere 62 years older that Smith. Besides her physical attributes and the marriage to the 89-year-old Marshall, Smith is best remembered from her reality show where she usually appeared mentally altered by some unknown substance or substances. The suspicions about her drug use were more or less confirmed when Smith died of a drug overdose in 1999.
Anyway, some opera writer who is always in the market for a little controversy (and a little publicity) has Anna Nicole - the Opera running in London, and the initial reviews were actually mostly good. After all, operas don't have happy endings, do they? (I'm really asking. I don't have season tickets to the Met.) So a tragic star with a tragic end makes for a good story, opera-wise. Of course, when the subject of your opera is a former Playboy Playmate of the Year (so I'm told), then the presentation itself may just steam up a pair of opera glasses. But controversy sells tickets, and opera's creator seems to be a man who enjoys money.
And what a surprise to me that this guy is not only capitalizing on the trainwreck that was Anna Nicole Smith, but he also was a co-creator of an opera in the early 1990s about former Cincinnati mayor and talk show host, Jerry Springer! No word on whether or not members of the upper crust in the theater began chanting, "Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry!' during the libretto.
With this trend already setting the opera world on it's collective ear, I think the high class crowd may be ready for my idea -- Charlie Sheen - the Opera. Picture the 'Two and a Half Men' co-star setting his views on curing oneself from alcoholism and his need to stop pretending he isn't a total rock star all to music. Not just any music, my friends. Opera. Imagine the operatic version of Sheen and his two female co-leads running amok through scene after scene of parties, strippers and car chases. (I'm not exactly sure how to stage the chase scenes just yet.) Imagine the delight of the audience as the many rants that have been a part of nearly every television interview show over the past two weeks are turned to melodic interpretations of classical themes. (Either that or have him sing 'Smoke on the Water.' Be patient with me. I'm still developing this idea.)
But as the creator of an opera about Charlie Sheen, the problem comes at the end. How does the story end? Where am I going to find a fat lady in Sheen's life to do some singing? And does the trainwreck that is Charlie Sheen end in total disaster or in redemption? I guess I'll have to keep my television on and find out.
You remember her, right? The rather, um, buxom woman who married millionaire J. Howard Marshall who was a mere 62 years older that Smith. Besides her physical attributes and the marriage to the 89-year-old Marshall, Smith is best remembered from her reality show where she usually appeared mentally altered by some unknown substance or substances. The suspicions about her drug use were more or less confirmed when Smith died of a drug overdose in 1999.
Anyway, some opera writer who is always in the market for a little controversy (and a little publicity) has Anna Nicole - the Opera running in London, and the initial reviews were actually mostly good. After all, operas don't have happy endings, do they? (I'm really asking. I don't have season tickets to the Met.) So a tragic star with a tragic end makes for a good story, opera-wise. Of course, when the subject of your opera is a former Playboy Playmate of the Year (so I'm told), then the presentation itself may just steam up a pair of opera glasses. But controversy sells tickets, and opera's creator seems to be a man who enjoys money.
And what a surprise to me that this guy is not only capitalizing on the trainwreck that was Anna Nicole Smith, but he also was a co-creator of an opera in the early 1990s about former Cincinnati mayor and talk show host, Jerry Springer! No word on whether or not members of the upper crust in the theater began chanting, "Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry!' during the libretto.
With this trend already setting the opera world on it's collective ear, I think the high class crowd may be ready for my idea -- Charlie Sheen - the Opera. Picture the 'Two and a Half Men' co-star setting his views on curing oneself from alcoholism and his need to stop pretending he isn't a total rock star all to music. Not just any music, my friends. Opera. Imagine the operatic version of Sheen and his two female co-leads running amok through scene after scene of parties, strippers and car chases. (I'm not exactly sure how to stage the chase scenes just yet.) Imagine the delight of the audience as the many rants that have been a part of nearly every television interview show over the past two weeks are turned to melodic interpretations of classical themes. (Either that or have him sing 'Smoke on the Water.' Be patient with me. I'm still developing this idea.)
But as the creator of an opera about Charlie Sheen, the problem comes at the end. How does the story end? Where am I going to find a fat lady in Sheen's life to do some singing? And does the trainwreck that is Charlie Sheen end in total disaster or in redemption? I guess I'll have to keep my television on and find out.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Any questions?
In the mid-1960s, a 24-year-old leader of the Free Speech Movement named Jack Weinberg uttered the famous phrase, "Don't trust anyone over 30!" The quote became a theme for the decade among those young adults who suspected that the powers-that-be were manipulating things in order to keep their power. Weinberg later admitted that he didn't really believe that sentiment, but that he was trying to get rid of a reporter who was asking him questions. The point for many of his generation -- the hippies, mostly -- was to avoid blind acceptance of whatever was being taught. "Question authority," is attributed to Weinberg's fellow radical Timothy Leary, but the lesson was the same -- don't just accept what people tell you, even if those people are important.
Over the past couple of weeks, I've seen plenty of images that have disturbed me. The protests in far-off places like Egypt, Libya, and even Wisconsin have displayed some of the worst human behavior. Mob rule isn't pretty, no matter how you slice it. And when people get in an unruly group, well let's just say they don't usually end up on their best behavior. Mostly, they simply accept what has been told to them and behave like those around them.
I watched a video of a woman yelling at someone she perceives to be a Tea Party member, calling him -- get this -- uneducated and "emoral." Now I'm hardly uneducated. I have a Master's for crying out loud, but I've never heard of the word "emoral" nor would I think about calling someone that when I don't know them at all. I've seen video of journalists who were attacked because they are Americans and America is the reason the world isn't perfect. I've listened to people complain that all union members are thugs. Now none of these people would fit into the 'genius' category, obviously. But could they really be that stupid? My theory: They merely accept what they hear.
If I were some kind of tyrant or an organization leader or anyone with a shred of power, I'll admit it would be tempting to require blind allegiance from my followers. That way I wouldn't have to put up with those who don't trust me because I'm over 30 or those who want to question me because I have authority. It's easy when no one challenges you.
But as a follower, shouldn't I at least be keeping an eye on those who are supposedly in charge of me? I realize that is probably tough at most jobs or at school, but whatever happened to checking to see if what someone says is actually true? Those of us who spend a great deal of time on the Internet realize that some sources simply cannot be trusted. And, when it comes down to it, even those we claim to trust may not be all that trustworthy. Yet I've been given false information by people who didn't bother to verify what they heard (or often misheard). If a speaker on the radio declares something as fact, why shouldn't I question him? If some television preacher states that something is true, why should I believe him without verifying what he says? If my doctor diagnoses me with something serious, shouldn't I seek out a second opinion?
The sad fact is that no one bothers to verify or even question assertions because it takes actual work to do so. Too many of us are too lazy or too busy to seek out the real truth. It's easier to accept what the television talking head or the preacher or the union leader or the lady down the street says. So the mistruths and outright lies flourish right beside real truth. We'll trust anyone whether they are over 30 or not. And the result is too often name-calling, violence, hatred, and foolishness. If this trend continues, and people continue to accept and act upon whatever somebody told them to be true, I fear for this country. I guess that makes me an old hippie.
Over the past couple of weeks, I've seen plenty of images that have disturbed me. The protests in far-off places like Egypt, Libya, and even Wisconsin have displayed some of the worst human behavior. Mob rule isn't pretty, no matter how you slice it. And when people get in an unruly group, well let's just say they don't usually end up on their best behavior. Mostly, they simply accept what has been told to them and behave like those around them.
I watched a video of a woman yelling at someone she perceives to be a Tea Party member, calling him -- get this -- uneducated and "emoral." Now I'm hardly uneducated. I have a Master's for crying out loud, but I've never heard of the word "emoral" nor would I think about calling someone that when I don't know them at all. I've seen video of journalists who were attacked because they are Americans and America is the reason the world isn't perfect. I've listened to people complain that all union members are thugs. Now none of these people would fit into the 'genius' category, obviously. But could they really be that stupid? My theory: They merely accept what they hear.
If I were some kind of tyrant or an organization leader or anyone with a shred of power, I'll admit it would be tempting to require blind allegiance from my followers. That way I wouldn't have to put up with those who don't trust me because I'm over 30 or those who want to question me because I have authority. It's easy when no one challenges you.
But as a follower, shouldn't I at least be keeping an eye on those who are supposedly in charge of me? I realize that is probably tough at most jobs or at school, but whatever happened to checking to see if what someone says is actually true? Those of us who spend a great deal of time on the Internet realize that some sources simply cannot be trusted. And, when it comes down to it, even those we claim to trust may not be all that trustworthy. Yet I've been given false information by people who didn't bother to verify what they heard (or often misheard). If a speaker on the radio declares something as fact, why shouldn't I question him? If some television preacher states that something is true, why should I believe him without verifying what he says? If my doctor diagnoses me with something serious, shouldn't I seek out a second opinion?
The sad fact is that no one bothers to verify or even question assertions because it takes actual work to do so. Too many of us are too lazy or too busy to seek out the real truth. It's easier to accept what the television talking head or the preacher or the union leader or the lady down the street says. So the mistruths and outright lies flourish right beside real truth. We'll trust anyone whether they are over 30 or not. And the result is too often name-calling, violence, hatred, and foolishness. If this trend continues, and people continue to accept and act upon whatever somebody told them to be true, I fear for this country. I guess that makes me an old hippie.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Grammy Report: Music Lives!
I've always loved music. Not only was it the noise in the background in all my memories of my high school and college years, it was a point of common ground among friends.
“Isn't that new K.C. & the Sunshine Band song horrible?”
“Yeah, almost as bad as 'Funkytown' or whatever it's called!”
“Right on!” (or whatever silly expression we used back then.)
I can still remember certain points in my life just by hearing a specific song. That's probably true for a lot of people. For me, it's a little more intense since I spent ten years of my life playing songs on various radio stations across the country. I've heard a lot of songs so often that I can no longer stand even the opening guitar riff. That's rock, pop, country, and the dreaded oldies -- it spans many formats. As a result, I gave up much of my musical interests due to overexposure and a lack of new music that really interested me.
Over the past few years, I have regained my interest, and now consider myself somewhat fluent in current music even though my friends and I don't sit around and talk about how horrible the latest Katy Perry song is. I actively seek out new music these days, aided by the advanced technology of satellite radio and the Internet. So, as I sat down to watch last weekend's Grammy Awards, I didn't have to keep asking my children why Eminem wasn't red with a big M on his chest or why Usher was on stage instead of showing people to their seats. I knew the cast of characters, and I knew most of the music. For the most part the show kept me entertained, at least as much as an awards show can entertain.
I did notice that there is still a kind of reverence shown to some of the, um... more EXPERIENCED musicians. The show began with a tribute to the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, and later Mick Jagger paid tribute to the King of Rock 'N Soul, Solomon Burke. Ironically Jagger, who wore what could best be described as “skinny jeans” to perform, was only three years younger than the recently-deceased Burke. Make whatever you want out of that.
The biggest disappointment for me was another antique, the incomparable Bob Dylan, who sang with a voice that was really incomparable. All I can gather is that years of singing through his nose has left Dylan without a singing voice, and what could have been an incredible musical performance turned into an unbearable performance. I guess we're all getting older.
Oh, and there was an obvious plea for attention by a popular singer who arrived at the theater in a translucent egg carried by shirtless men in gold lame shorts only to emerge on stage to debut her new single. I'm sure she would appreciate me mentioning her name since she went to that much trouble to draw attention to herself. Oh well.
But I've seen the proof that music is still alive and well. I've seen the Internet buzz generated by Grammy performances by great performers like Mumford & Sons, Esperanza Spalding and Florence and the Machine. Sure, music has grown and changed in the past few decades, but I still love it. Music has power over feelings and emotions. Nothing can turn my day around like just the right song. And nothing can turn my stomach faster than the wrong song. Power is power. Right on.
“Isn't that new K.C. & the Sunshine Band song horrible?”
“Yeah, almost as bad as 'Funkytown' or whatever it's called!”
“Right on!” (or whatever silly expression we used back then.)
I can still remember certain points in my life just by hearing a specific song. That's probably true for a lot of people. For me, it's a little more intense since I spent ten years of my life playing songs on various radio stations across the country. I've heard a lot of songs so often that I can no longer stand even the opening guitar riff. That's rock, pop, country, and the dreaded oldies -- it spans many formats. As a result, I gave up much of my musical interests due to overexposure and a lack of new music that really interested me.
Over the past few years, I have regained my interest, and now consider myself somewhat fluent in current music even though my friends and I don't sit around and talk about how horrible the latest Katy Perry song is. I actively seek out new music these days, aided by the advanced technology of satellite radio and the Internet. So, as I sat down to watch last weekend's Grammy Awards, I didn't have to keep asking my children why Eminem wasn't red with a big M on his chest or why Usher was on stage instead of showing people to their seats. I knew the cast of characters, and I knew most of the music. For the most part the show kept me entertained, at least as much as an awards show can entertain.
I did notice that there is still a kind of reverence shown to some of the, um... more EXPERIENCED musicians. The show began with a tribute to the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, and later Mick Jagger paid tribute to the King of Rock 'N Soul, Solomon Burke. Ironically Jagger, who wore what could best be described as “skinny jeans” to perform, was only three years younger than the recently-deceased Burke. Make whatever you want out of that.
The biggest disappointment for me was another antique, the incomparable Bob Dylan, who sang with a voice that was really incomparable. All I can gather is that years of singing through his nose has left Dylan without a singing voice, and what could have been an incredible musical performance turned into an unbearable performance. I guess we're all getting older.
Oh, and there was an obvious plea for attention by a popular singer who arrived at the theater in a translucent egg carried by shirtless men in gold lame shorts only to emerge on stage to debut her new single. I'm sure she would appreciate me mentioning her name since she went to that much trouble to draw attention to herself. Oh well.
But I've seen the proof that music is still alive and well. I've seen the Internet buzz generated by Grammy performances by great performers like Mumford & Sons, Esperanza Spalding and Florence and the Machine. Sure, music has grown and changed in the past few decades, but I still love it. Music has power over feelings and emotions. Nothing can turn my day around like just the right song. And nothing can turn my stomach faster than the wrong song. Power is power. Right on.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Pick a superpower, any superpower
Most every person in my generation remembers tying a towel to our shoulders or safety-pinning a small blanket there and running at breakneck speed with arms outstretched pretending to be a superhero. Actually, that's probably any generation, so don't try to deny that you had Superman pajamas or some other such outfit. Superheroes are characters with superhuman powers. That's the key. Very few children want to be a superhero because of the high-fashion, skin-tight outfit. We wanted the super powers. Many of us still do.
I stumbled across a survey from Marist Poll which asked people what superpower they would like to have. The choices were: flying, time travel, invisibility, teleporting, and mind-reading. So, which one would you like? I'll give you a moment to process through all these.
It turns out that there was a tie for the most-desired super power. The results showed 28 percent wanted the ability to read minds and 28 percent wanted to be able to travel through time. Flying scored 16 percent of the respondents, teleportation got 11 percent, and invisibility came in at 10 percent.
There were also 8 percent who said they were 'unsure' about the whole matter. I worry about some of the people who choose 'unsure' on a poll that is so obviously not based in reality. Come on, folks! Play along! I promise you won't be stuck as invisible for the rest of your life! I remember seeing the results of one of those telephone polls once. People voted by phone and each call cost 50 cents. The question was something like, “Do you think O.J. Simpson is guilty?” and sure enough, five percent of the people voted that they didn't know. Think about that a second. Those folks paid 50 cents a call to share the fact that they didn't have a clear cut opinion! Maybe if you don't have an opinion, you shouldn't participate in the poll -- especially if it costs you half a dollar.
Anyway, I find it a little surprising that the old Superman standby of flying only appealed to 16 percent. Maybe there are many people afraid of heights (not that I can imagine a superhero that can't rescue anyone for fear of falling). Another 11 percent chose teleportation instead, since after all, it takes a lot less time, and you don't have to worry about being dressed for the weather. Can you imagine how cold it would have been flying around this week in some spandex jumpsuit? Snapping your fingers to get there sounds much more appealing in this type of weather.
The invisibility thing surprised me too. I thought it would be more popular. I guess the point of being invisible is to be able to sneak up on people or watch them without being discovered. Of course, if you're invisible you also have to learn how to be very, very quiet or else the jig is up. The other disadvantage to invisibility is that unless you have an invisible spandex jumper (which are probably available online somewhere if you look hard enough), you have to be naked to be invisible. Then we're back to being out on a cold February day again. Being frostbitten would probably take the fun out of being invisible, but that's just a guess on my part.
Of the two winners in the poll, time travel should be popular because how many times have we said something like, “I wish I knew then what I know now.”? With time travel you can! Plus you can go back in time and see the important historical happenings. My own worry would be that I would do something that would cause a 'Back to the Future” type wrinkle in time and louse up my own birth or something. Can a person be time-clumsy? If so, I'm doomed.
Reading minds is really the safe answer. We get to find out what we're not supposed to know, and no one is the wiser. It's like looking at the answers in the back of the book or being in on an inside joke. That, and we'd get to call people liars and they wouldn't know how we figured it out.
As for me, I guess reading minds would be my choice, although there were plenty of super powers left out of the survey. What about super strength like Superman or the Incredible Hulk? Or maybe super speed like the Flash? Or the ability to talk to sea life like Aquaman? Wait. Scratch that last one. I don't really need to chat with my fish dinner. How about the ability to heal almost instantly like Wolverine? Shoot, at this point I'd settle for the super ability to do my own taxes. Now, THAT'S a power I could use!
I stumbled across a survey from Marist Poll which asked people what superpower they would like to have. The choices were: flying, time travel, invisibility, teleporting, and mind-reading. So, which one would you like? I'll give you a moment to process through all these.
It turns out that there was a tie for the most-desired super power. The results showed 28 percent wanted the ability to read minds and 28 percent wanted to be able to travel through time. Flying scored 16 percent of the respondents, teleportation got 11 percent, and invisibility came in at 10 percent.
There were also 8 percent who said they were 'unsure' about the whole matter. I worry about some of the people who choose 'unsure' on a poll that is so obviously not based in reality. Come on, folks! Play along! I promise you won't be stuck as invisible for the rest of your life! I remember seeing the results of one of those telephone polls once. People voted by phone and each call cost 50 cents. The question was something like, “Do you think O.J. Simpson is guilty?” and sure enough, five percent of the people voted that they didn't know. Think about that a second. Those folks paid 50 cents a call to share the fact that they didn't have a clear cut opinion! Maybe if you don't have an opinion, you shouldn't participate in the poll -- especially if it costs you half a dollar.
Anyway, I find it a little surprising that the old Superman standby of flying only appealed to 16 percent. Maybe there are many people afraid of heights (not that I can imagine a superhero that can't rescue anyone for fear of falling). Another 11 percent chose teleportation instead, since after all, it takes a lot less time, and you don't have to worry about being dressed for the weather. Can you imagine how cold it would have been flying around this week in some spandex jumpsuit? Snapping your fingers to get there sounds much more appealing in this type of weather.
The invisibility thing surprised me too. I thought it would be more popular. I guess the point of being invisible is to be able to sneak up on people or watch them without being discovered. Of course, if you're invisible you also have to learn how to be very, very quiet or else the jig is up. The other disadvantage to invisibility is that unless you have an invisible spandex jumper (which are probably available online somewhere if you look hard enough), you have to be naked to be invisible. Then we're back to being out on a cold February day again. Being frostbitten would probably take the fun out of being invisible, but that's just a guess on my part.
Of the two winners in the poll, time travel should be popular because how many times have we said something like, “I wish I knew then what I know now.”? With time travel you can! Plus you can go back in time and see the important historical happenings. My own worry would be that I would do something that would cause a 'Back to the Future” type wrinkle in time and louse up my own birth or something. Can a person be time-clumsy? If so, I'm doomed.
Reading minds is really the safe answer. We get to find out what we're not supposed to know, and no one is the wiser. It's like looking at the answers in the back of the book or being in on an inside joke. That, and we'd get to call people liars and they wouldn't know how we figured it out.
As for me, I guess reading minds would be my choice, although there were plenty of super powers left out of the survey. What about super strength like Superman or the Incredible Hulk? Or maybe super speed like the Flash? Or the ability to talk to sea life like Aquaman? Wait. Scratch that last one. I don't really need to chat with my fish dinner. How about the ability to heal almost instantly like Wolverine? Shoot, at this point I'd settle for the super ability to do my own taxes. Now, THAT'S a power I could use!
Friday, January 21, 2011
Name withheld by request
It's a jungle out there.
When I say that, I mean what seemingly everyone else in the media has said: There is a lack of civility among many in this country. Granted, it may not be as blatant as in past centuries, but name-calling seems to be old hat for commentators, politicians, and others who generally have a camera or a microphone in front of their faces.
I love a good debate, and I've always lived by the maxim that if one side stoops to insults, that side has lost. After all, insults are usually what fly when you've run out of important things to say. But it seems many people don't abide with that maxim. Perhaps it's because they've run out of important things to say themselves.
Mostly folks like to point fingers at who is causing the level of discourse to take a nose dive. Some blame talk radio. Some blame selected politicians. Some blame television commentators or even entire networks. I think I have the real culprit in mind. The Internet.
Please understand that the world wide web is not responsible for things resembling hate-speech. It's the speaker's fault and the speaker's responsibility to tone down the rhetoric. But the anonymity offered by the Internet takes away the inhibition of many who might behave if everyone knew his or her identity. It's like lobbing grenades while traveling incognito.
Back where I grew up, the local newspaper did not require those who wrote letters to the editor to sign them. That way, person A could write about the terrible service they received at the local gas station and not have to worry about having the clerk let the air out of her tires on her next visit. Or person B could scream and whine about his neighbor's trashy lawn and not need to hire a guard to keep the litter off his property. The signature for those letters would be “Name Withheld By Request.” As a reader, if you read the editorial page to see some juicy letters, you skipped the ones with names at the bottom and went straight to those from Name Withheld By Request.” Those anonymous letters were always full of a mixture of anger, guile, hatred, and likely a little too much alcohol. But they were written because “nobody will ever know who wrote it anyway.”
I'm glad we don't print those letters here at The Times Bulletin. We still get them, mind you, but they are filed inside a large green plastic bag. Usually they aren't even read. If you aren't adult enough to put your name on your opinion, I guess that opinion isn't worth anyone's time.
I've spend a lot of time on the Internet over the past dozen years or so, on forums, chat rooms, blogs and the like. What could be a legitimate, healthy face-to-face debate often becomes more heated and vengeful when the participants are hiding behind Internet screen names or handle. Think about it: If I am “Ed Gebert” there are expectations for civil behavior since people can track me down, but if I am “ihateeveryone238” no one expects anything from me. I am a character, a persona, a mysterious identity.
And trust me, those hiding behind screen names usually are the ones dragging down civility in online conversations. Not everyone with screen names is doing that, but if the debate is in the mud, chances are it's shutupanddie66 who started it.
But I can't blame everything on Internet anonymity. I knew a guy online who was always an obstinate jerk whenever he took part in a discussion. One day I met him in person, and he turned out to be the exact same in real life. There's something to be said for consistency, I suppose.
But for all the talk of being civil, there are always going to be arguments. I heard a fellow today complain that people at a local coffee shop were up in arms about the latest go-round of whether to allow beer to be sold on city property. He seemed to be shocked that people were upset with one another about the whole affair. Meanwhile, I was thinking to myself that this certain coffee shop has seen plenty of arguments over coffee in the years since 1922. A former professor of mine told me he learned about many of life's weightier questions while listening to the patrons at a bar in Willshire.
But do we have to be so nasty about it? Do the people who disagree with me have to be such idiotic, brainwashed low-lifes?
Whoops. I guess I lost that one.
When I say that, I mean what seemingly everyone else in the media has said: There is a lack of civility among many in this country. Granted, it may not be as blatant as in past centuries, but name-calling seems to be old hat for commentators, politicians, and others who generally have a camera or a microphone in front of their faces.
I love a good debate, and I've always lived by the maxim that if one side stoops to insults, that side has lost. After all, insults are usually what fly when you've run out of important things to say. But it seems many people don't abide with that maxim. Perhaps it's because they've run out of important things to say themselves.
Mostly folks like to point fingers at who is causing the level of discourse to take a nose dive. Some blame talk radio. Some blame selected politicians. Some blame television commentators or even entire networks. I think I have the real culprit in mind. The Internet.
Please understand that the world wide web is not responsible for things resembling hate-speech. It's the speaker's fault and the speaker's responsibility to tone down the rhetoric. But the anonymity offered by the Internet takes away the inhibition of many who might behave if everyone knew his or her identity. It's like lobbing grenades while traveling incognito.
Back where I grew up, the local newspaper did not require those who wrote letters to the editor to sign them. That way, person A could write about the terrible service they received at the local gas station and not have to worry about having the clerk let the air out of her tires on her next visit. Or person B could scream and whine about his neighbor's trashy lawn and not need to hire a guard to keep the litter off his property. The signature for those letters would be “Name Withheld By Request.” As a reader, if you read the editorial page to see some juicy letters, you skipped the ones with names at the bottom and went straight to those from Name Withheld By Request.” Those anonymous letters were always full of a mixture of anger, guile, hatred, and likely a little too much alcohol. But they were written because “nobody will ever know who wrote it anyway.”
I'm glad we don't print those letters here at The Times Bulletin. We still get them, mind you, but they are filed inside a large green plastic bag. Usually they aren't even read. If you aren't adult enough to put your name on your opinion, I guess that opinion isn't worth anyone's time.
I've spend a lot of time on the Internet over the past dozen years or so, on forums, chat rooms, blogs and the like. What could be a legitimate, healthy face-to-face debate often becomes more heated and vengeful when the participants are hiding behind Internet screen names or handle. Think about it: If I am “Ed Gebert” there are expectations for civil behavior since people can track me down, but if I am “ihateeveryone238” no one expects anything from me. I am a character, a persona, a mysterious identity.
And trust me, those hiding behind screen names usually are the ones dragging down civility in online conversations. Not everyone with screen names is doing that, but if the debate is in the mud, chances are it's shutupanddie66 who started it.
But I can't blame everything on Internet anonymity. I knew a guy online who was always an obstinate jerk whenever he took part in a discussion. One day I met him in person, and he turned out to be the exact same in real life. There's something to be said for consistency, I suppose.
But for all the talk of being civil, there are always going to be arguments. I heard a fellow today complain that people at a local coffee shop were up in arms about the latest go-round of whether to allow beer to be sold on city property. He seemed to be shocked that people were upset with one another about the whole affair. Meanwhile, I was thinking to myself that this certain coffee shop has seen plenty of arguments over coffee in the years since 1922. A former professor of mine told me he learned about many of life's weightier questions while listening to the patrons at a bar in Willshire.
But do we have to be so nasty about it? Do the people who disagree with me have to be such idiotic, brainwashed low-lifes?
Whoops. I guess I lost that one.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Watching the gas station signs
Is there anything more watched than the price of gasoline? With each bump in the price for a gallon of the stuff, whining and wailing starts to reach deafening levels. With each drop in cost, cars start to burn rubber to get to the pumps to fill up before the cycle begins again. Of course it helps that stations light up signs with giant numerals to tell us how much we can expect to pay. If other businesses had to advertise in this way, we'd all be complaining about the price of milk or lawn mowers or teeth cleaning.
Within the past two weeks, we've watched unleaded clear the $3 a gallon barrier here in Van Wert County. It's the first time since 2008 we've seen that price. Back then, though, we were relieved at $3 a gallon since we had narrowly avoided $4 a gallon weeks earlier. I've been amused at the reports in the media of people reconsidering their travel plans because the price of gas has gone up. Somehow, the increase of gas prices from $2.99 to $3.19 doesn't seem to alarm me.
Thinking about this, my car gets around 20 mpg. So a 20 cent per gallon rise in the cost of gas equals about a penny a mile more. That makes a trip to Columbus and back of approximately 200 miles now cost around two dollars more. Now, who in their right mind would cancel a fun trip (or a trip to visit family who may or may not be fun) because it costs an extra two bucks? Yet I've read and listened to people say that now with $3 a gallon gas, they'll change their driving habits and not take long trips! If you are indeed strapped for cash (and probably wouldn't be making a fun trip to Columbus in the first place), that's one thing. But it costs $2 for a soft drink at most restaurants these days! Do you think I'm changing for two dollars? I don't think so.
I've often said that the more times a person tells a story about how little something used to cost, the older they truly are. But I'm going to risk that maxim to tell you this story of my childhood:
At that time in the late 1960s, gasoline was selling at every service station (that's automotive service, not just selling doughnuts and potato chips) for 29.9 cents per gallon. I'm pausing here so everyone can collective say, “Wow, he really IS old!”
Anyway, I was riding in the backseat with my chin resting on the front seat one day when my dad pulled into a service station. He looked at the pumps and shouted, “34.9? I'll NEVER pay that for gas!”
Ironically, he was probably right since the price of gas started rising soon afterward, and he never did get to pay just 34.9 again.
Now I realize that was a different era. Hey, my first car didn't get miles per gallon. It was more like gallons per mile. But we all knew where we needed to drive, and if there was going to be any scrimping and saving, it wasn't going to be on driving.
I've also heard so-called “experts” say that gas will be $3.75 by spring and over $5 by 2012. Those people may be right, or they may not. Inflation alone means we'll probably hit that benchmark someday. But the truth is, I'm not sure I even know how to drive less anymore. I can't take the bus. I can't take the train. I can't really car pool since much of my work time has me going to one destination or another -- alone. But if those giant lighted numerals clear $5.00, I'll have to find a solution, won't I?
I just hope I won't go driving out of a station, declaring that I'll never pay that price for gas. I'm afraid I may be right.
Within the past two weeks, we've watched unleaded clear the $3 a gallon barrier here in Van Wert County. It's the first time since 2008 we've seen that price. Back then, though, we were relieved at $3 a gallon since we had narrowly avoided $4 a gallon weeks earlier. I've been amused at the reports in the media of people reconsidering their travel plans because the price of gas has gone up. Somehow, the increase of gas prices from $2.99 to $3.19 doesn't seem to alarm me.
Thinking about this, my car gets around 20 mpg. So a 20 cent per gallon rise in the cost of gas equals about a penny a mile more. That makes a trip to Columbus and back of approximately 200 miles now cost around two dollars more. Now, who in their right mind would cancel a fun trip (or a trip to visit family who may or may not be fun) because it costs an extra two bucks? Yet I've read and listened to people say that now with $3 a gallon gas, they'll change their driving habits and not take long trips! If you are indeed strapped for cash (and probably wouldn't be making a fun trip to Columbus in the first place), that's one thing. But it costs $2 for a soft drink at most restaurants these days! Do you think I'm changing for two dollars? I don't think so.
I've often said that the more times a person tells a story about how little something used to cost, the older they truly are. But I'm going to risk that maxim to tell you this story of my childhood:
At that time in the late 1960s, gasoline was selling at every service station (that's automotive service, not just selling doughnuts and potato chips) for 29.9 cents per gallon. I'm pausing here so everyone can collective say, “Wow, he really IS old!”
Anyway, I was riding in the backseat with my chin resting on the front seat one day when my dad pulled into a service station. He looked at the pumps and shouted, “34.9? I'll NEVER pay that for gas!”
Ironically, he was probably right since the price of gas started rising soon afterward, and he never did get to pay just 34.9 again.
Now I realize that was a different era. Hey, my first car didn't get miles per gallon. It was more like gallons per mile. But we all knew where we needed to drive, and if there was going to be any scrimping and saving, it wasn't going to be on driving.
I've also heard so-called “experts” say that gas will be $3.75 by spring and over $5 by 2012. Those people may be right, or they may not. Inflation alone means we'll probably hit that benchmark someday. But the truth is, I'm not sure I even know how to drive less anymore. I can't take the bus. I can't take the train. I can't really car pool since much of my work time has me going to one destination or another -- alone. But if those giant lighted numerals clear $5.00, I'll have to find a solution, won't I?
I just hope I won't go driving out of a station, declaring that I'll never pay that price for gas. I'm afraid I may be right.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
What's this guy doing anyway?
A few years ago, this blog was full of updated thoughts about life, faith, and dealing with them both. Then... silence. Nothing. For the better part of three years, there was basically nothing of any consequence posted here. Now, there have been a couple of odd posts that seem a little different? What gives?
It's nothing to be alarmed about. Life continues to get in the way of some things. I'm not sunning myself on a gorgeous beach today. I'm not running a marathon. I'm not touring the southland in a traveling minstrel show. I'm sitting at home by the fire, avoiding the cold outside. It's a rare time of relaxation for me.
But I'm back here, hoping again to be able to share some thoughts and revelations -- perhaps as much for me as for anyone who happens to read. Almost half a decade ago, I took a job with a local newspaper as a reporter. I get to use my writing skills, but unfortunately, they are usually used to describe school board meetings, grand openings and criminal court proceedings.
Moreover, sometime after that, my ability to minister to people well was severely hampered by the need to be ministered to. It's a long story, but let's just call it a case of writer's block.
Lately I've been able to write a weekly column for the newspaper, and I've been posting a few here. Don't look for a lot of applied spiritual truth in those. Maybe you'll have to do the application yourself.
But I'm at the point where God is filling me up again, giving me ideas and thoughts that are going to have to come out on a page. The trick may be finding time to put them all together. But when they do, they'll be here. So I won't be posting 5-6 times a week, but I'm hoping that when I do it'll be worth a read for you. I know it will be worthwhile for me.
It's nothing to be alarmed about. Life continues to get in the way of some things. I'm not sunning myself on a gorgeous beach today. I'm not running a marathon. I'm not touring the southland in a traveling minstrel show. I'm sitting at home by the fire, avoiding the cold outside. It's a rare time of relaxation for me.
But I'm back here, hoping again to be able to share some thoughts and revelations -- perhaps as much for me as for anyone who happens to read. Almost half a decade ago, I took a job with a local newspaper as a reporter. I get to use my writing skills, but unfortunately, they are usually used to describe school board meetings, grand openings and criminal court proceedings.
Moreover, sometime after that, my ability to minister to people well was severely hampered by the need to be ministered to. It's a long story, but let's just call it a case of writer's block.
Lately I've been able to write a weekly column for the newspaper, and I've been posting a few here. Don't look for a lot of applied spiritual truth in those. Maybe you'll have to do the application yourself.
But I'm at the point where God is filling me up again, giving me ideas and thoughts that are going to have to come out on a page. The trick may be finding time to put them all together. But when they do, they'll be here. So I won't be posting 5-6 times a week, but I'm hoping that when I do it'll be worth a read for you. I know it will be worthwhile for me.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Palin Highlights Human Differences
Perhaps you've read the headline above and think you know what this column is about. You're probably wrong.
Sure, Sarah Palin's name has been all over the media for the past week because of all the accusations made against her. But I'd much rather leave that to our editorialist to take on. Somebody in the office once declared that there is nobody in America who either doesn't love Palin or hate Palin. I proved that statement wrong. As with most everyone, I disagree with some of her opinions and actions, and I agree with others. She's just a human being, like everyone else you run into.
For me, that was never more obvious than the night last week when my wife and I watched back-to-back episodes of "Sarah Palin's Alaska" on one of those satellite channels. (I can't tell them apart. I watch something on Animal Planet the other night that didn't have a single animal in it. No wonder I'm confused!)
The Alaska series has finished its run now, but it featured eight one-hour episodes plus a "greatest clips" compilation assembled for those who just don't have eight hours to kill. In it, Palin is more travel guide than public figure, taking viewers on an exploratory trip of America's Last Frontier. And that frontier is a beautiful place. Majestic mountains, crystal-clear waters, and acres of trees, with very few people standing in the way.
The series is a reality show of sorts. The stars are Todd and Sarah Palin and all the kids, the grandchild, various other relatives and friends, and other assorted Alaskan folk, and I'm sure some people didn't even think about watching the show because the Palins are front and center. But as I watched, I picked up on something. The Alaskan culture depicted on the series is at once both very familiar and incredibly foreign to me. I don't know much about salmon fishing, logging or dog mushing, but the blue-collar work ethic I understand. Still, as I sat with my wife and watched, I was as much entertained by the Alaskan lifestyle as I was looking at the bears play in the river.
One of the episodes featured a visit by Kate Gosselin, of (John and) "Kate Plus Eight" fame. The nine of them were coming to go camping and fishing for a weekend with the Palins. However, it turned out to be a real (excuse the expression) fish-out-of-water situation. Gosselin was no more prepared for Alaska than Beverly Hills was prepared for Jed Clampett and his kin. She whined about the rain, the cold, the bugs, the surroundings, the food, and most anything else she could think of. As her eight kids ran around having the time of their collective lives, Mama Gosselin looked for her first opportunity to get out of the Alaskan wilderness.
It was apparent just how few people from outside Alaska would be comfortable there. It's different. They stand around and cut up a catch of fish in one part of the show, including Palin's daughter Willow who is spending her 16th birthday in "fish camp." It's not exactly the Sweet Sixteen party many girls dream of. I mean, who lives like that in the year 2011? But as I marveled at the Alaskan way of life, I was reminded that the Midwestern way of life is just as mysterious and unknown to many others. East coast and west coast dwellers often refer to this part of the world as "flyover country" as if there was nothing of importance in Ohio, Indiana, or countless other states in between New York and Los Angeles. They have no knowledge of corn fields, of counties with only 30,000 residents, or of cities where murders are rare instead of a daily occurrence. And many don't want any knowledge of those things either. We are like a documentary on rural Midwestern life that nobody wants to watch.
Maybe we're too quick to dismiss things -- cultures, people, ideas -- that are different than ourselves. Perhaps we find ourselves judging others as harshly as they judge us. While I'm not booking a six-month Alaskan camping vacation, or planning to turn in my keyboard for a salmon boat in Alaska's Bristol Bay, I'm pretty sure I have no business looking down my nose at those who live in that environment. And no matter what you think of Sarah Palin's politics, you should be able to see that the state she formerly governed is not a backward culture. It's just a different culture. As much as I hate being judged for the area I live, I have to be sure I'm not doing the same thing. I may not want to live in a big-city high-rise or in a tent in sub-zero weather, but I won't be talking down those who do. And just maybe the same thing should apply to people who have different opinions, different levels of education, different income tax brackets, different musical tastes, and different personal habits. We're just human beings, after all.
Sure, Sarah Palin's name has been all over the media for the past week because of all the accusations made against her. But I'd much rather leave that to our editorialist to take on. Somebody in the office once declared that there is nobody in America who either doesn't love Palin or hate Palin. I proved that statement wrong. As with most everyone, I disagree with some of her opinions and actions, and I agree with others. She's just a human being, like everyone else you run into.
For me, that was never more obvious than the night last week when my wife and I watched back-to-back episodes of "Sarah Palin's Alaska" on one of those satellite channels. (I can't tell them apart. I watch something on Animal Planet the other night that didn't have a single animal in it. No wonder I'm confused!)
The Alaska series has finished its run now, but it featured eight one-hour episodes plus a "greatest clips" compilation assembled for those who just don't have eight hours to kill. In it, Palin is more travel guide than public figure, taking viewers on an exploratory trip of America's Last Frontier. And that frontier is a beautiful place. Majestic mountains, crystal-clear waters, and acres of trees, with very few people standing in the way.
The series is a reality show of sorts. The stars are Todd and Sarah Palin and all the kids, the grandchild, various other relatives and friends, and other assorted Alaskan folk, and I'm sure some people didn't even think about watching the show because the Palins are front and center. But as I watched, I picked up on something. The Alaskan culture depicted on the series is at once both very familiar and incredibly foreign to me. I don't know much about salmon fishing, logging or dog mushing, but the blue-collar work ethic I understand. Still, as I sat with my wife and watched, I was as much entertained by the Alaskan lifestyle as I was looking at the bears play in the river.
One of the episodes featured a visit by Kate Gosselin, of (John and) "Kate Plus Eight" fame. The nine of them were coming to go camping and fishing for a weekend with the Palins. However, it turned out to be a real (excuse the expression) fish-out-of-water situation. Gosselin was no more prepared for Alaska than Beverly Hills was prepared for Jed Clampett and his kin. She whined about the rain, the cold, the bugs, the surroundings, the food, and most anything else she could think of. As her eight kids ran around having the time of their collective lives, Mama Gosselin looked for her first opportunity to get out of the Alaskan wilderness.
It was apparent just how few people from outside Alaska would be comfortable there. It's different. They stand around and cut up a catch of fish in one part of the show, including Palin's daughter Willow who is spending her 16th birthday in "fish camp." It's not exactly the Sweet Sixteen party many girls dream of. I mean, who lives like that in the year 2011? But as I marveled at the Alaskan way of life, I was reminded that the Midwestern way of life is just as mysterious and unknown to many others. East coast and west coast dwellers often refer to this part of the world as "flyover country" as if there was nothing of importance in Ohio, Indiana, or countless other states in between New York and Los Angeles. They have no knowledge of corn fields, of counties with only 30,000 residents, or of cities where murders are rare instead of a daily occurrence. And many don't want any knowledge of those things either. We are like a documentary on rural Midwestern life that nobody wants to watch.
Maybe we're too quick to dismiss things -- cultures, people, ideas -- that are different than ourselves. Perhaps we find ourselves judging others as harshly as they judge us. While I'm not booking a six-month Alaskan camping vacation, or planning to turn in my keyboard for a salmon boat in Alaska's Bristol Bay, I'm pretty sure I have no business looking down my nose at those who live in that environment. And no matter what you think of Sarah Palin's politics, you should be able to see that the state she formerly governed is not a backward culture. It's just a different culture. As much as I hate being judged for the area I live, I have to be sure I'm not doing the same thing. I may not want to live in a big-city high-rise or in a tent in sub-zero weather, but I won't be talking down those who do. And just maybe the same thing should apply to people who have different opinions, different levels of education, different income tax brackets, different musical tastes, and different personal habits. We're just human beings, after all.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Of Buggywhips and Typewriters
Surfing across the Internet this week, I encountered a handful of articles about obsolete products. Actually the products are not obsolete yet, but probably soon will be. One simply listed items that babies born in 2011 will never know. Usually I skip these types of articles since I feel old enough already, thank you. But this time I read through, each author coincidentally coming up with the same dozen or so products.
I'm not always on the cutting edge of technology. In fact, most times I struggle to keep up with the latest trends. Twice in my life I have found myself decades ahead of all you common folk.
The first time, I was just a youngster with a record player. Alright, it was a turntable for those of us serious about our music. But a new medium was arising that was threatening to eliminate the vinyl 45s and LPs. It was the 8-track tape. I resisted, watching as my friends jumped to tapes. You see, I had my eye on something newer, more accessible, and with more uses. I jumped straight to cassettes. I jumped so soon, there were no pre-recorded cassettes in the stores. I was forced to join... the Columbia Record and Tape Club to get my music. Sometimes behind ahead of the curve has its cost.
The other time was the fax machine. Let's face it, the only time a fax machine was really needed was to transmit a signature. There was no way I was buying a hulking machine just for that. In my lifetime, I have sent maybe two faxes. And someone else did the faxing. I just stood back and shook my head.
But what about the current products that will soon go the way of the buggywhip? What do the experts have pegged for extinction? Encyclopedias are one item. Wikipedia and all sorts of Internet reference pages can easily take the place of the 26-volume Encyclopedia Brittanica. That's sad. My uncle sold encyclopedias for years and years. It was his ultimate reference. Now instead of finding the right volume, it's about five to ten seconds of keyboard work and the answer is there.
The same goes for phone books and yellow pages, at least according to these experts. Now, I can still find a phone number faster with the white pages, but usually it takes me a few minutes just to find the book.
Also on the list is the network evening news. I had to check last night just to see if this was still on. I watched about five minutes of the CBS version which once made Walter Cronkite a national treasure. Last night it looked more like a promo for the network's morning lineup. Seriously, do people with more than three channels still watch the network news?
Other things newborns will never get to remember include paper road maps (or the thrill of trying to re-fold one properly), movie rental stores, cameras that use film, and home land-line telephones.
These kids won't understand about calling long distance since few people today have to pay more to talk to someone far away. They won't wear watches, since the time will be prominent on whatever the latest electronic device is. They won't comprehend travel agents since there are many dot coms to book all your travel needs. They will never catch onto the manual typewriter, where you have to reach up to return the carriage every time the bell rings.
Indeed, the very thing you are holding -- a newspaper -- will be different than the physical paper we have grown up with. While some papers, along with books, magazines, and catalogs, will still exist on a limited basis, many will do their reading from a screen, without the need for a paperboy or a trip to the mailbox.
Yes, times are changing. Life in the mid-21st Century will go on without dial-up Internet service, VHS tapes, and Kodachrome film. While that may be a blow to my personal memory banks, it is sure to be a boon to culture in general. And when my grandkids come scurrying up to my chair, asking for me to tell them about the olden days when we had telephones connected with wires and recording devices with long reels of brown tape, I can scoot back in my chair and regale them with tales of the Good Ol' Days. And just like I did when my grandmother told me about having to hitch up the wagon to go to town, they'll sit and listen, thanking their creator they don't have to live in such prehistoric times.
I'm not always on the cutting edge of technology. In fact, most times I struggle to keep up with the latest trends. Twice in my life I have found myself decades ahead of all you common folk.
The first time, I was just a youngster with a record player. Alright, it was a turntable for those of us serious about our music. But a new medium was arising that was threatening to eliminate the vinyl 45s and LPs. It was the 8-track tape. I resisted, watching as my friends jumped to tapes. You see, I had my eye on something newer, more accessible, and with more uses. I jumped straight to cassettes. I jumped so soon, there were no pre-recorded cassettes in the stores. I was forced to join... the Columbia Record and Tape Club to get my music. Sometimes behind ahead of the curve has its cost.
The other time was the fax machine. Let's face it, the only time a fax machine was really needed was to transmit a signature. There was no way I was buying a hulking machine just for that. In my lifetime, I have sent maybe two faxes. And someone else did the faxing. I just stood back and shook my head.
But what about the current products that will soon go the way of the buggywhip? What do the experts have pegged for extinction? Encyclopedias are one item. Wikipedia and all sorts of Internet reference pages can easily take the place of the 26-volume Encyclopedia Brittanica. That's sad. My uncle sold encyclopedias for years and years. It was his ultimate reference. Now instead of finding the right volume, it's about five to ten seconds of keyboard work and the answer is there.
The same goes for phone books and yellow pages, at least according to these experts. Now, I can still find a phone number faster with the white pages, but usually it takes me a few minutes just to find the book.
Also on the list is the network evening news. I had to check last night just to see if this was still on. I watched about five minutes of the CBS version which once made Walter Cronkite a national treasure. Last night it looked more like a promo for the network's morning lineup. Seriously, do people with more than three channels still watch the network news?
Other things newborns will never get to remember include paper road maps (or the thrill of trying to re-fold one properly), movie rental stores, cameras that use film, and home land-line telephones.
These kids won't understand about calling long distance since few people today have to pay more to talk to someone far away. They won't wear watches, since the time will be prominent on whatever the latest electronic device is. They won't comprehend travel agents since there are many dot coms to book all your travel needs. They will never catch onto the manual typewriter, where you have to reach up to return the carriage every time the bell rings.
Indeed, the very thing you are holding -- a newspaper -- will be different than the physical paper we have grown up with. While some papers, along with books, magazines, and catalogs, will still exist on a limited basis, many will do their reading from a screen, without the need for a paperboy or a trip to the mailbox.
Yes, times are changing. Life in the mid-21st Century will go on without dial-up Internet service, VHS tapes, and Kodachrome film. While that may be a blow to my personal memory banks, it is sure to be a boon to culture in general. And when my grandkids come scurrying up to my chair, asking for me to tell them about the olden days when we had telephones connected with wires and recording devices with long reels of brown tape, I can scoot back in my chair and regale them with tales of the Good Ol' Days. And just like I did when my grandmother told me about having to hitch up the wagon to go to town, they'll sit and listen, thanking their creator they don't have to live in such prehistoric times.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Slow Fade...
Be careful little eyes what you see
It's the second glance that ties your hands as darkness pulls the strings
Be careful little feet where you go
For it's the little feet behind you that are sure to follow
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade
Be careful little ears what you hear
When flattery leads to compromise, the end is always near
Be careful little lips what you say
For empty words and promises lead broken hearts astray
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
Daddies never crumble in a day
Families never crumble in a day
Oh be careful little eyes what see
Oh be careful little eyes what you see
For the Father up above is looking down in love
Oh be careful little eyes what you see
It's the second glance that ties your hands as darkness pulls the strings
Be careful little feet where you go
For it's the little feet behind you that are sure to follow
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade
Be careful little ears what you hear
When flattery leads to compromise, the end is always near
Be careful little lips what you say
For empty words and promises lead broken hearts astray
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
Daddies never crumble in a day
Families never crumble in a day
Oh be careful little eyes what see
Oh be careful little eyes what you see
For the Father up above is looking down in love
Oh be careful little eyes what you see
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Cardioectomy
During the ten years I spent working for various radio stations, I saw these scene numerous times. After all, radio stations try to bribe people to listen. They offer money, prizes, and all sorts of excitement just ot keep people listening or to get them to show up at a radio station event. Often those events brought out some real gems.
I had been at this new car dealership for about an hour and a half with free hot dogs, drinks and balloons for the kids. The guy at the grill had gone through all the hot dogs on hand and since the appearance was almost over, he didn't go out to get any more. Then a man walked up to me at the radio station van. He wasn't shabbily dressed or anything, but he smelled like he hadn't bathed in a few days.
The man said, "I wanted to get a couple of hot dogs."
"Sorry, but we're all out," I explained.
"But you said on the radio that if I came down here you'd have free hot dogs, and I want mine!" he countered.
"Um, if you listened, you know I said 'while supplies last' when I was talking about the hot dogs. We had a whole bunch during the last hour and a half, but now we're all out. Sorry about that."
It was at point the man started shouting at me about me telling him lies and him wanted what I promised him. Eventually he stormed off.
That scene happened for a hot dog, for a t-shirt, and for an album or cassette (it's been a few years ago). I was yelled at for giving someone the wrong size free t-shirt, for giving away a tape the person already had. Some people really appreciated the free gifts. Others felt cheated by receiving something for free.
I realized back then that being given something for free didn't mean a person would appreciate the effort. It would be easy even for me to complain about a free gift. I've received birthday and Christmas gifts that I didn't like, maybe because it was the wrong color or it just didn't suit me. I probably wasn't very appreciative that someone gave something to me as a present.
I was having a discussion last week about this very phenomenon. Do most people appreciate a gift received? What about a benefit received from a church or a service organization? What about from the government?
Our church typically collects money in a fund and then gives it to people we know are in need, whether they are part of our congregation or not. There are plenty of stories of people needing $300 desperately, then our check for exactly that amount is enclosed in a card. God works miracles through us, and the recipient understands that and is truly grateful. From my understanding of Scripture, that's one of the things a church is supposed to do.
While debating whether or not a government should be giving things away, I tried to play things out in my mind. I've got to admit, I've rarely seen any appreciation for a government check. I've seen plenty of people angry when the check was a day late, though. It seems like a "regular gift" can quickly deteriorate into an expected right.
In my area there are many people out of work. Around one in ten people in this county are jobless, many recently losing positions due to plant closings or other issues. While not every displaced worker does this, a large majority of them plan to remain on unemployment as long as possible. They are not even considering looking for another job until the unemployment checks have all but dried up.
"I've got 18 months of benefits coming? I'll look for work in about 18 months... not before."
They do not appreciate the benefits. They consider them something they deserve. Some of those folks are simply getting what they paid in... for a while. But they want to get paid for doing nothing. Again, not everyone, but more than I would have thought.
I know farmers who own ground they do not farm. The government pays them not to use that land in some sort of federal program. They get paid for doing nothing, much like a welfare payment. Is that right? Does it fit with a Christian worldview?
My observations lead me to believe that this isn't how Christ would have us operate. The New Testament tells us that every person who is able should work. The church takes care of the widows and orphans. I think there is an important distinction there. When the church (or for that matter a private, secular social agency) provides, there is more appreciation from the recipient. Their heart is in it. When the checks come from a faceless entity, it's too easy to feel entitled to them rather than thankful for them.
But I'm not simply griping about people who get free benefits. Some of those government benefits come from me. Now I realistically don't feel any too wonderful about giving that money when I don't have a choice in the matter. The Lord loves a cheerful giver, right? And I have no problem giving. But when it is simply taken from me, my heart isn't in it.
With all that, I wonder if the current way our government does things is more like giving us all a cardioectomy -- taking our hearts out of the whole process. I don't want my gift taken forcibly and the recipient feels like it's not a gift, but an entitlement. No heart.
I want those who need taken care of to be taken care of. But by the same token I don't want them like the guy demanding a free hot dog or the guy complaining that his t-shirt is too big. Maybe that's foolish on my part. But I do know that I want my heart to be in every gift and sacrifice I make for someone else. Anything else is simply going through the motions.
Thoughts?
I had been at this new car dealership for about an hour and a half with free hot dogs, drinks and balloons for the kids. The guy at the grill had gone through all the hot dogs on hand and since the appearance was almost over, he didn't go out to get any more. Then a man walked up to me at the radio station van. He wasn't shabbily dressed or anything, but he smelled like he hadn't bathed in a few days.
The man said, "I wanted to get a couple of hot dogs."
"Sorry, but we're all out," I explained.
"But you said on the radio that if I came down here you'd have free hot dogs, and I want mine!" he countered.
"Um, if you listened, you know I said 'while supplies last' when I was talking about the hot dogs. We had a whole bunch during the last hour and a half, but now we're all out. Sorry about that."
It was at point the man started shouting at me about me telling him lies and him wanted what I promised him. Eventually he stormed off.
That scene happened for a hot dog, for a t-shirt, and for an album or cassette (it's been a few years ago). I was yelled at for giving someone the wrong size free t-shirt, for giving away a tape the person already had. Some people really appreciated the free gifts. Others felt cheated by receiving something for free.
I realized back then that being given something for free didn't mean a person would appreciate the effort. It would be easy even for me to complain about a free gift. I've received birthday and Christmas gifts that I didn't like, maybe because it was the wrong color or it just didn't suit me. I probably wasn't very appreciative that someone gave something to me as a present.
I was having a discussion last week about this very phenomenon. Do most people appreciate a gift received? What about a benefit received from a church or a service organization? What about from the government?
Our church typically collects money in a fund and then gives it to people we know are in need, whether they are part of our congregation or not. There are plenty of stories of people needing $300 desperately, then our check for exactly that amount is enclosed in a card. God works miracles through us, and the recipient understands that and is truly grateful. From my understanding of Scripture, that's one of the things a church is supposed to do.
While debating whether or not a government should be giving things away, I tried to play things out in my mind. I've got to admit, I've rarely seen any appreciation for a government check. I've seen plenty of people angry when the check was a day late, though. It seems like a "regular gift" can quickly deteriorate into an expected right.
In my area there are many people out of work. Around one in ten people in this county are jobless, many recently losing positions due to plant closings or other issues. While not every displaced worker does this, a large majority of them plan to remain on unemployment as long as possible. They are not even considering looking for another job until the unemployment checks have all but dried up.
"I've got 18 months of benefits coming? I'll look for work in about 18 months... not before."
They do not appreciate the benefits. They consider them something they deserve. Some of those folks are simply getting what they paid in... for a while. But they want to get paid for doing nothing. Again, not everyone, but more than I would have thought.
I know farmers who own ground they do not farm. The government pays them not to use that land in some sort of federal program. They get paid for doing nothing, much like a welfare payment. Is that right? Does it fit with a Christian worldview?
My observations lead me to believe that this isn't how Christ would have us operate. The New Testament tells us that every person who is able should work. The church takes care of the widows and orphans. I think there is an important distinction there. When the church (or for that matter a private, secular social agency) provides, there is more appreciation from the recipient. Their heart is in it. When the checks come from a faceless entity, it's too easy to feel entitled to them rather than thankful for them.
But I'm not simply griping about people who get free benefits. Some of those government benefits come from me. Now I realistically don't feel any too wonderful about giving that money when I don't have a choice in the matter. The Lord loves a cheerful giver, right? And I have no problem giving. But when it is simply taken from me, my heart isn't in it.
With all that, I wonder if the current way our government does things is more like giving us all a cardioectomy -- taking our hearts out of the whole process. I don't want my gift taken forcibly and the recipient feels like it's not a gift, but an entitlement. No heart.
I want those who need taken care of to be taken care of. But by the same token I don't want them like the guy demanding a free hot dog or the guy complaining that his t-shirt is too big. Maybe that's foolish on my part. But I do know that I want my heart to be in every gift and sacrifice I make for someone else. Anything else is simply going through the motions.
Thoughts?
Friday, October 24, 2008
Yo hablo Inglés
I do remember 1977. Not every bit of it, of course. But I have my selective memory retention intact. The Late 70’s Memory File was reopened this morning when I heard my two teenage sons speaking Spanish. The younger boy was hurriedly running through various Spanish words and phrases in preparation for what I can only assume was a test of some sort in Spanish class. My older son, who completed two years of Spanish, was busy peppering his brother with more foreign terms, probably only serving to confuse the whole situation. Mixed in with the dialogue was the giggling of my first-grade daughter who just thought the boys sounded pretty silly.
With this odd mix of United Nations and slumber party running through my ears, I thought back to 1977. I was a freshman in high school taking Spanish I under the tutelage of Mrs. Kaye-Smith. We had the technologically-superior classroom, with trays of headphones that descended from the ceiling at the press of a button so we could learn our second language with the help of a state-of-the-art reel-to-reel tape recording.
I thought back to what I learned during those sessions. I learned basic words and phrases. I learned to conjugate verbs. And I learned how to create feedback in a pair of headphones.
I began to think to myself that I really should learn a second language. Spanish would be the most obvious choice since I already had a head start — a year of Spanish! Maybe I could pick up one of those “Muzzy” videos or a set of CDs for the car or even some computer software. My heart started to pick up the pace as I realized that I could certainly build on that year of headphone-enriched language skills. All it would take to be fluent in Spanish would be taking the time to study and memorize and learn and practice and…
Then I remembered 2008. “I don’t have time to do all that!” I reminded myself. “It’s all I can do to find time to mow the lawn and buy gas before the price changes.”
Sadly, that’s the way yet another brilliant inspiration ended. There in the driver’s seat of my car, my future as a bilingual quickly died. I could probably pull it off but it would mean dedication, sacrifice, and well, work. The ability to speak Spanish just isn’t a big enough reward for me to use up my spare time to achieve the goal.
It didn’t stop there. Oh, no. Once my mind starts filing through the memory banks, it apparently can’t stop. I was reminded of many other goals, promises, vows, and New Year’s resolutions that had suffered the same fate as my mastery of the Spanish language. Whatever happened to the closet I was going to build? What about starting that online business? And what happened to the whole exercise every day and get myself in shape promise?
I know most people have encountered the same experience. You set that goal of walking or running a mile every day, and the first five days go incredibly well. Then on Day Six it’s raining pretty hard and the decision has to be made. The real decision happens on Day Seven after missing a day and wondering if it’s all worth starting again.
I know people who set goals and try to stick to them. Read the Bible every day. Take self-defense classes. Stop smoking. Learn Spanish. Some people succeed. My dad gave up smoking cold turkey, an accomplishment I attribute mostly to his stubborn streak.
Many of the rest of us fall flat after some initial success. I think it comes down to, as one of my old coaches used to say, “How bad you want it.” If I see the goal as important enough, I’ll buckle down, make the sacrifice, put in the effort, and eventually succeed. If I am not convinced that achieving the goal is that big of a deal, I might as well wear a t-shirt that reads, “Quitter” across the front.
Others don't even try, not out of an inability to do something, but either a fear of failing or an overwhelming laziness. I have talked to many, many people about their need to read the Bible. I am convinced that it is the major way God communicates His truth to us. Yet far too many Christians refuse to make it a habit.
"I don't read very well."
"I don't like to read."
"I don't have time to read."
"I fall asleep when I read."
I've heard 'em all. But no matter the excuse, no matter the reasoning behind the failure to crack open the Good Book, it comes down to the question of how badly we want to do it. And, truth be told, far too many Christians don't see a real value in reading and studying Scripture. If we did believe it was important and we would get something out of it, WE WOULD ALL BE DOING IT!
As I drove this morning with the echoes of conjugated Spanish verbs still ringing in my ears, I understood that my mastery of Spanish will never go much beyond a Mexican restaurant menu. I don't value that skill enough to pull away from my fears or my limitations or my laziness. What we value, we will try to accomplish. And with God's strength, we can accomplish anything. Even reading, studying, and finding joy in a centuries-old Book.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Crying at Wal-Mart
My daughter loves to have slumber parties. Being a six-year-old girl, it kind of goes with the territory I realize, but this really seems to be exciting for her. These attempts at sleepovers haven't always gone well. We have had to call the parents of a none-too-happy girl to come pick up their crying and homesick daughter on a couple of occasions. But usually everything goes smoothly.
Earlier this spring my daughter wanted to have the mother of all slumber parties. We eventually talked her into scaling it back to just four other girls from the original invitation list of the entire county. The girls mostly all got along well and were typical talking, giggling six-year-old girls.
The whole scene was working very well. The potential problem we had to watch for was from little Rachel. Two days before the sleepover Rachel found out that her mommy and daddy were separating and that daddy was moving out of the house. Her mother told us that Rachel had naturally been upset, but she was so looking forward to the sleepover that she was fairly certain she would be alright with all the other girls.
Everything was moving along well. My brave wife, bless her heart, decided we needed to pick up a few things. So we loaded up the truck and took the whole gaggle of giggling six-year old girls to Wal-Mart. It was a high time for the soon-to-be kindergarten graduates, let me tell you. They were involved in picking out shoes that the boys would like them to wear, and choosing entire ensembles, and basically acting like they were ten years older than they were. Six going on sixteen times five. My wife was browsing through the aisles and I was mostly trying to keep the whole herd in the same general area until the shopping stopped.
Then I heard it. I didn't see how it started, but I saw what was happening. It was little Rachel, eyes awash in tears, wailing and sobbing. My wife, her motherly instinct taking over, immediately swept Rachel up in her arms, asking, "Honey, what's wrong? What's wrong?"
The sobbing continued for a minute or two, maybe. Then finally little Rachel was able to form words. Those words sent a chill down my spine.
"I want my daddy back!"
I looked at this tiny girl, her body shaking and convulsing with tears. I looked at my wife, her eyes had started to well up. I had to turn away. The tears were running down my cheeks, one after another. With the drama being played out in front of the other girls, including my own daughter, I didn't want to break down. I wanted to be strong for them somehow. I couldn't.
I turned and walked quickly up and down the shoe aisle, rubbing my hands across my face as if to try to push the tears back into the ducts. My heart was breaking for this little girl. In the teary eyes of little Rachel, I saw my own daughter. "What would it be like for her if my wife and I separated?" I thought to myself. "Would it be my own little girl sobbing and crying her heart out at Wal-Mart?"
My daughter greeted me when I got home last night with so much love. "Oh, Daddy, I haven't seen you all day!" she told me. We had some special cuddling time on the couch. She colored me a picture. She chose me to tuck her in. She said, "I love you very much, Daddy."
I love you too, darling.
Earlier this spring my daughter wanted to have the mother of all slumber parties. We eventually talked her into scaling it back to just four other girls from the original invitation list of the entire county. The girls mostly all got along well and were typical talking, giggling six-year-old girls.
The whole scene was working very well. The potential problem we had to watch for was from little Rachel. Two days before the sleepover Rachel found out that her mommy and daddy were separating and that daddy was moving out of the house. Her mother told us that Rachel had naturally been upset, but she was so looking forward to the sleepover that she was fairly certain she would be alright with all the other girls.
Everything was moving along well. My brave wife, bless her heart, decided we needed to pick up a few things. So we loaded up the truck and took the whole gaggle of giggling six-year old girls to Wal-Mart. It was a high time for the soon-to-be kindergarten graduates, let me tell you. They were involved in picking out shoes that the boys would like them to wear, and choosing entire ensembles, and basically acting like they were ten years older than they were. Six going on sixteen times five. My wife was browsing through the aisles and I was mostly trying to keep the whole herd in the same general area until the shopping stopped.
Then I heard it. I didn't see how it started, but I saw what was happening. It was little Rachel, eyes awash in tears, wailing and sobbing. My wife, her motherly instinct taking over, immediately swept Rachel up in her arms, asking, "Honey, what's wrong? What's wrong?"
The sobbing continued for a minute or two, maybe. Then finally little Rachel was able to form words. Those words sent a chill down my spine.
"I want my daddy back!"
I looked at this tiny girl, her body shaking and convulsing with tears. I looked at my wife, her eyes had started to well up. I had to turn away. The tears were running down my cheeks, one after another. With the drama being played out in front of the other girls, including my own daughter, I didn't want to break down. I wanted to be strong for them somehow. I couldn't.
I turned and walked quickly up and down the shoe aisle, rubbing my hands across my face as if to try to push the tears back into the ducts. My heart was breaking for this little girl. In the teary eyes of little Rachel, I saw my own daughter. "What would it be like for her if my wife and I separated?" I thought to myself. "Would it be my own little girl sobbing and crying her heart out at Wal-Mart?"
My daughter greeted me when I got home last night with so much love. "Oh, Daddy, I haven't seen you all day!" she told me. We had some special cuddling time on the couch. She colored me a picture. She chose me to tuck her in. She said, "I love you very much, Daddy."
I love you too, darling.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Full Moon Fever
I'm inside tonight. It's raining. But for the past two nights it's been hard to escape the great outdoors. For me it was the call of the full moon.
Two nights ago I looked up and noticed that giant orb of reflected light. Before I went to bed around midnight, I had to go outside for a while. In the place I live there aren't a lot of artificial lights. There is a lot of farmground surrounding me, and at this time of the year the crops are all cut. The land is flat, the trees are few, and that night it was brighter than twilight from only the light of the full moon hovering overhead.
It's a odd look at midnight with the bright light of the full moon illuminating the lawn. Things are easy to detect when a normal night hides them well. Light in the darkness.
Last night was mostly cloudy. But I knew where that moon was. Clouds blew slowly across the sky, but the clouds were of different densities and didn't control every inch of the sky. From time to time I could make out the arc of the moon as it stood silently, waiting for the clouds to pass. Soon it would be covered in clouds again -- thick, purplish-black clouds that gave no hint of the light coming from behind them.
But even when the full moon was blocked, some of the thinner clouds were reflecting the light. With a bit of study, I could figure out exactly where the moon was by concentrating on where the light was brightest. Even when I couldn't see the moon, I saw light.
I am a servant of the Light. But there are plenty of times when I simply cannot see the Light. For one reason or another, He has hidden himself from me, wanting me to continue to seek and lean upon Him. But I cannot see the Light.
Yet even when the Light is hidden behind the darkest clouds, I still see light. The reflection of His light is apparent in so many places. The people around me. My family. An answered prayer. A word of encouragement. A dark night lit by a full moon.
Like last night, not even the darkest of clouds hides all of the Light. But sometimes I have to study the situation and concentrate on the Light to see the Light.
In these days when the clouds seem much more abundant than clear skies, I am so grateful that He cannot be completely hidden.
Two nights ago I looked up and noticed that giant orb of reflected light. Before I went to bed around midnight, I had to go outside for a while. In the place I live there aren't a lot of artificial lights. There is a lot of farmground surrounding me, and at this time of the year the crops are all cut. The land is flat, the trees are few, and that night it was brighter than twilight from only the light of the full moon hovering overhead.
It's a odd look at midnight with the bright light of the full moon illuminating the lawn. Things are easy to detect when a normal night hides them well. Light in the darkness.
Last night was mostly cloudy. But I knew where that moon was. Clouds blew slowly across the sky, but the clouds were of different densities and didn't control every inch of the sky. From time to time I could make out the arc of the moon as it stood silently, waiting for the clouds to pass. Soon it would be covered in clouds again -- thick, purplish-black clouds that gave no hint of the light coming from behind them.
But even when the full moon was blocked, some of the thinner clouds were reflecting the light. With a bit of study, I could figure out exactly where the moon was by concentrating on where the light was brightest. Even when I couldn't see the moon, I saw light.
I am a servant of the Light. But there are plenty of times when I simply cannot see the Light. For one reason or another, He has hidden himself from me, wanting me to continue to seek and lean upon Him. But I cannot see the Light.
Yet even when the Light is hidden behind the darkest clouds, I still see light. The reflection of His light is apparent in so many places. The people around me. My family. An answered prayer. A word of encouragement. A dark night lit by a full moon.
Like last night, not even the darkest of clouds hides all of the Light. But sometimes I have to study the situation and concentrate on the Light to see the Light.
In these days when the clouds seem much more abundant than clear skies, I am so grateful that He cannot be completely hidden.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Empty
I haven't visited here much lately. Sorry if there's anyone around still checking in on me. I plan to do better once again.
You see, the thing is, Attention Span has always been a great outlet for me to pull some thoughts together that have inspired and encouraged me. I like to use Attention Span to help fill others with what God has filled me with.
Funny thing happened to me... I hit the spiritual "empty" point. I had nothing much to give. I started a few blog posts, but didn't finish many. There just wasn't much inside.
As a pastor, that kept me from being what God wanted me to be. Preaching was difficult. My daily life was also. Life was pulling me down, and I wasn't leaning on Him as I should.
God is merciful. But I do get reminders not to start thinking I don't need to lean on Him. I'm not that strong, and I realize that.
At this point, God is beginning to fill me again. My life isn't perfect... far from it. I still have major issues to deal with at church, at work, and at home -- especially in my Christian walk. I guess maybe I had many of those issues before but didn't want to admit it.
I have been incredibly blessed. My wife is wonderful. Having her by my side means so much. There was a time I took her for granted. Not anymore.
My children are constant challenges, especially with two teenagers, but they bring me so much joy. I am really enjoying watching them mature (albeit slowly) each and every day.
My calling as a pastor is both a blessing and a curse sometimes. Often I feel like Solomon, realizing I need wisdom to care for God's people.
I have many other blessings too. We have so much. I've found friends both old and new. We have the support of family. And God is granting direction. It's still a little fuzzy, but it's coming. I'll be patient.
More than anything, God is filling me, slowly but surely.
"Lord, pull me to You. I am weak, but You are strong. Fill me and use me to Your glory. And thank You for the strength You have provided... strength that I could count on when I had no other way to stand. Thank You for being so patient with me. Amen."
You see, the thing is, Attention Span has always been a great outlet for me to pull some thoughts together that have inspired and encouraged me. I like to use Attention Span to help fill others with what God has filled me with.
Funny thing happened to me... I hit the spiritual "empty" point. I had nothing much to give. I started a few blog posts, but didn't finish many. There just wasn't much inside.
As a pastor, that kept me from being what God wanted me to be. Preaching was difficult. My daily life was also. Life was pulling me down, and I wasn't leaning on Him as I should.
God is merciful. But I do get reminders not to start thinking I don't need to lean on Him. I'm not that strong, and I realize that.
At this point, God is beginning to fill me again. My life isn't perfect... far from it. I still have major issues to deal with at church, at work, and at home -- especially in my Christian walk. I guess maybe I had many of those issues before but didn't want to admit it.
I have been incredibly blessed. My wife is wonderful. Having her by my side means so much. There was a time I took her for granted. Not anymore.
My children are constant challenges, especially with two teenagers, but they bring me so much joy. I am really enjoying watching them mature (albeit slowly) each and every day.
My calling as a pastor is both a blessing and a curse sometimes. Often I feel like Solomon, realizing I need wisdom to care for God's people.
I have many other blessings too. We have so much. I've found friends both old and new. We have the support of family. And God is granting direction. It's still a little fuzzy, but it's coming. I'll be patient.
More than anything, God is filling me, slowly but surely.
"Lord, pull me to You. I am weak, but You are strong. Fill me and use me to Your glory. And thank You for the strength You have provided... strength that I could count on when I had no other way to stand. Thank You for being so patient with me. Amen."
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