Good morning Boys and Girls.

So, nice little scare this week here at tBlog, huh?

Don't think there's anything to worry about. Heck, this was nothing compared to some of outages we used to go through a few years ago on a fairly regular basis. (Reminds me of the Burt Lancaster line from the movie "Atlantic City", as he tries to impress a youngster as they walk along the boardwalk together. "You should have see the Atlantic Ocean in my day...")

So, Last night I watched a couple of hours of coverage from some of these "TEA Parties" held around the country yesterday; this after hearing about how great the one here in Grand Rapids was going to be first thing yesterday morning from one of the guys I do a little work for. He's a guy who fancies himself a "real" American, unlike, for instance - according to him - that Kenyan Muslim Socialist, President Obama. He assured me he was taking his kids and grandkids so they could be a part of history, and encouraged me to come too. (This is the start of the second American Revolution, says he.)

Whenever this guy goes into one of his predictable rants, I just smile and nod, try to keep my mouth shut and then get myself out of his office as soon as I can.

I noticed the videos from all the "TEA party" protests I saw yesterday showed that the people involved were almost all of middle aged white people, along with the kids they dragged with them, and a few teenagers who seemed entirely clueless. Over the course of the evening's coverage, I read at least a hundred protest signs - probably far more - not one of which made any sense to me. There were the expected variations on "America is a Christian country" signs - which, apart from being non-sequitors, considering the supposed purpose of these protests, were, in every case, held by people with honest-to-God bitter hateful looks on their faces. Then there were dozens of variations on the "America is becoming a Socialist country." Whatever, I thought. It's so far from true it's laughable, but the subtleties would be lost on these simpletons anyway... Oy. But, the ones that really got me were the signs comparing Obama to Hitler, of which I saw at least a dozen. My brow furrowed and I tried to stretch my mind around this particular claim, and I looked at a cardboard cutout atop a wooden pole of Adolph Hitler's body with Barrack Obama's face glued over Adolph's face, and with the trademark Hitler mustache drawn in over President Obama's upper lip. I can't remember the caption - it was too absurd to bother trying to make sense of anyway, and there were lots of variations on that theme too - (ya know, sometimes these clever people portrayed Obama as Osama bin Laden instead of Hitler.)

So, let's see. The Boston Tea party was a protest against a foreign government imposing taxes on us. We had no say. Seems reasonable. This protest was about the fact that our Government, which we elect, is supposedly not responding to our frustration with the fact we pay taxes to... us. Except, of course, these people think that THEY'RE the only "real" Americans.

Oh. Now I get it.


Be good to everyone.

Good morning Boys and Girls.

A wild weekend of Wii bowling and nada accomplished; except, of course, talking on the phone with SweetLady and enjoying AC's company; eating good meals and birdwatching here at Wildlife Ridge.

SweetLady wrote about the massacre in New York a day or so ago, and I've watched quite a few news stories on it, all centering on the "why". We are becoming numb to these shootings, it seems. That was talked about a bit earlier on the CBS Sunday morning show.

To me, it's a no-brainer. People get pissed. People get sick in the head. People that seemed "just fine" a few days ago - "He was such a quiet guy..." - can wake up tomorrow and decide that, not only is life not worth living but, that, on the way out, maybe taking out as many people as possible might be a perfectly acceptable thing.

Of course, I have no objection to "idea" of people owning guns, it's just that, for instance, had this asshole been carrying a big ol' machete instead of a bang-bang, there's just no way 13 people would be dead. Maybe a couple? Sure. But, face it, a simple office chair, or a stool, or even a decently hurled stapler can be a good defense against a guy with a blade. They're not much against a properly motivated crazy person with a gun though.

I know, I know, what if everyone in there had been armed? Then wouldn't one or more of them taken him out the minute he started unloading on all those people trying to learn the language? Maybe. In theory, perhaps. But, unless they weren't surprised by the intrusion and already had their guns out, safeties off, he'd have just picked them off as they reached for their own weapons.

No. The problem isn't, no matter what the pro-gun folks would have you believe, too FEW guns. It that there are WAY too many, that almost all of them are far too easily accessed by anyone who wants one.

Yeah, yeah. I know, (hear the whining voice) "The second amendment says..."

Well, let me tell you this. I don't fear the government (and their black helicopters) as much as I fear thousands of idiots with chips on their shoulders who've already decided their own lives aren't worth doodly-squat, AND that no one else's is either.

It's not the guns that especially scare me, it's the people who are so crazy blocking logic from their lives, that they actually believe we're a safer society with anyone who wants to be armed being allowed to be so. I'm deathly scared of people who can believe such clap-trap - and I resent being forced to live in a society where they hold sway.

How about we adopt Chris Rocks Idea? Guns? Fine. Make 'em available to anyone and everyone. Bullets? $5000.00 each.

At least that way, says Chris, when some asshole wants to pop a cap in someone else's ass, they'll have to make sure they've thought about it, AND that they're shooting the right MOFO.

Or how about gun safes that read read your biorhythms? The little display next to the palm scanner reads, "I'm sorry sir. You're a little crazy today. The safe cannot open. Try again tomorrow."

Don't even get me started on this crazy notion that civilians need to be able to own and use automatic weapons. Un-f*cking believable.


Be good to everyone. -And please, if you really need to commit suicide, how about you do it BEFORE you leave the house, packing.

Good morning Boys and Girls.

During my days, while driving along from one place to the next,  I often spend time contemplating how our world would be if some particular event in history had not occurred. It's not an original concept, but it interests me for some reason; this cosmic game of "what if".

Over the years I've read more than a few books by authors who've explored this idea of alternate historic time lines. My favorite - even though I don't remember many of the specifics (time for a reread) - was called "Job: a Comedy of Justice", by Robert Heinlein, in which the protagonist is continually tossed from changed world to changed world. One world might be a place where airplane flight was never invented, and thus large blimps with logos from recognizable airlines still rule the skies. Another might be a world where telephones never came to be, meaning ATT is a blue-chip messenger service, or even worlds where one form or another of government was never conceived... that sort of thing.

For me, this sort of projection usually involves small things; usually far more personal events; though I do wonder from time to time what might have happened, if, for instance, the slave trade had never developed in the New World, or if no one had ever decided to turn Jesus into a commodity and his teachings into a magic bullet - if no one ever decided to make a bigger deal of his birth and death than the way he lived his life. But for the most part, for me, it's little missteps I've made along the way that have altered the way I see myself or others I've associated with during my life that give me this sort of pause.

One particular event from my life that's crossed through this strange mental lense recently as I drove back from Iowa, involved a situation where I'd felt pressured to help a friend move to Nashville, Tennessee where he was about to start seminary. We were both young married guys, and each of us had one child at the time. He'd asked me for the favor months ahead of time, and I'd agreed, though reluctantly. I didnt' really feel I was in a position to be gone from my business a solid week just then, but I'd said yes nevertheless.

My wife and I along with our son decided to make it a short vacation. We'd follow the moving van down, help him unload, and then spend a day or two exploring Nashville.

As the time drew closer to make the trip, a major change took place in my fledgling business. I'd just taken on a large account, one I'd been fighting to win for over a year. I had just one employee at the time, a talented fast learner who was the brother of one of my other good friends and who, unfortunately, was as undependable as he was talented. I debated for a month or more whether to beg off from making the trip and helping with the move, but I knew my friend would consider it a slap in the face and, after all, I had given my word.

During the week leading up to the trip, my employee seemed to listen carefully and wrote down all my instructions as to how I wanted him to spend his days while I was gone. I explained how I wanted him to prioritize any business that came in, trying to help him understand how to differenciate between what needed to be done immediately, and what could be pushed back a day or so if he got too busy to handle everything. We didn't have cell phones back then, but I'd impressed on him how important it was to stay in touch with the folks who depended on me - on us, I tried to get him to understand - and I remember giving him lots of change for pay phones, and the phone numbers of all our clients.

Well, to make a long story short, he just didn't handle it very well at all, and when a couple of clients complained to him about being extremely late, he over-reacted and became rude, even walking out without doing any work on the very first work-day I was gone. For my part, I didn't call any of my clients that week, having decided to trust my employee to handle things - a horrible mistake. I did talk to my employee a time or two during the week, and he told me things were going just fine. Hah.

Upon my return, I found I'd lost two large accounts, including the new one I'd worked so hard to gain and another I'd worked at for years, but that just had a major management change, and so the new poeple hadn't had much of a history in dealing with me. It was awful. My bitterness was palpable and I fired the kid almost immediately. It wasn't his fault. I should NOT have gone on that trip - but, as I said, I'd given my word...

Of course, in retrospect, I should have broken my word; something it took me many more years to understand. There ARE times when circumstances dictate that we SHOULD break promises, especially when not breaking them can let down so many other people.

In my alternate timeline involving this scenario, of course, I didn't have to deal with a tainted reputation for a couple of years, my income wasn't impacted severely and the kid I fired went on to be a great right-hand man for me for years to come.

Is doing this sort of thing silly? -Sure. Pointless? -Of course.

Inevitable?

Uh huh.


Be good to everyone.

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Last day of March, '09. Another month, flying away, and like the witch's monkeys, it's spooky as it joins its brothers in formation.

The consensus, amongst those with whom I've had occasion to yap about the weather over the last few days, is that it's been a backwards month; that it came in like a lamb and now departs, a full grown lion.

I'm not so sure. Looks pretty nice here in West Michigan this morning. -A little cloudy, perhaps, but the sun is working it's way through and I'm trying to find a place to lay a bet on the, "no more significant snowfalls this year" side of the layout on some Clark Griswold run Internet gambling site. I may lose, but I know where my heart wants my money.

This week, as my old Jeep enters its last days of service - a front axle problem not worth fixing has popped up over the last week or so - I'm going to depend on my long honed ability to find a new old car. Don't really know what I'm looking for, but sure hope I know when I find it. Perhaps it'll jump out at me like a diamond in a pile of coal. It's about the last thing I want to deal with right now, but as Yoda might say, "your choices up with you catch." What? Sure he'd say that! -Just before he zaps off my head with his cute little light saber thingy.

Speaking of weird weapons... Sunday night as she and I sat on the couch, SweetLady's oldest, now fifteen, spent ten minutes describing and, in pantomime, demonstrating weapons he thinks ought to be available to superheros, gaming characters and, I'm pretty sure, himself. He's a funny kid. He envisions everything from your basic walking staffs transforming into magic elongated spears complete with special powers to maim and injure in indescribable ways, and small daggers that become magic whips dozens of feet long with the ability to zap one into oblivion with a simple, "crack".

His train of thought, that night anyway, I think, was born of his having been granted permission earlier in the day to demolish an old dishwasher in the back yard with a five pound maul. He'd smashed away with enthusiasm and aplomb, and not a little satisfaction, I think. He bashed it into many pieces which, happily, (since it was the goal behind the granted permission in the first place), allowed much more of it to fit into the trash container! Meanwhile, his cousin videotaped the whole shebang while providing commentary and, if I'm not mistaken - though I haven't seen it myself yet - it's probably available on youtube already.

Then, he kicked my butt video bowling. I blame the secret weapons.

Hmmm. Ya think he could use his magic powers to zap my Jeep's axle back into shape?

Be good to everyone.

Good morning Boys and Girls.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that any plans we make in our lives are subject to God's whims.

Am I blaming God? Heavens no. When I say "God's whims", I simply mean that things happen beyond our control. Since I'm one who doesn't believe we can ever know what God thinks or really wants for us, or even what or who God is, let alone how he/she/it works, I don't have any problem accepting this. Yes, I know there are those who think ancient books quasi-outline God's plans, but they never have and never will, despite the claims that these books are "God-inspired". I guess they think it's okay to believe a book inspired by God forces us to explain away that those very books indicate that slavery, misogynistic behavior, adultery and selective murder are, at times, all acceptable.

Further, people who "believe" with all their hearts what they've been taught, including those who've made a career out of fostering and furthering such beliefs in others, are forced to cherry-pick from the very books they claim have been divinely inspired. Some claim that a passage means one thing, while others claim the same passage means something else altogether, or, in some cases, has no meaning and can be largely ignored. To me, and many like me, this leads to sadly funny results.

In 1994, Mother Teresa spoke at the National Prayer breakfast. She began her remarks with these passages: "On the last day, Jesus will say to those on His right hand, "Come, enter the Kingdom. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was sick and you visited me." Then Jesus will turn to those on His left hand and say, "Depart from me because I was hungry and you did not feed me, I was thirsty and you did not give me to drink, I was sick and you did not visit me." These will ask Him, "When did we see You hungry, or thirsty or sick and did not come to Your help?" And Jesus will answer them, "Whatever you neglected to do unto one of these least of these, you neglected to do unto Me!"

To me, if there's any truth whatsoever in the Bible, how on earth can we ignore these words?

From the NIV Bible online:

Matthew 5, 38-48

³⁸"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth. ³⁹But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. ⁴⁰And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. ⁴¹If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. ⁴²Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

⁴³"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' ⁴⁴But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, ⁴⁵that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. ⁴⁶If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? ⁴⁷And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? ⁴⁸Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

......................

I know very few Christians who heed these words. They're very big on the "getting saved" thing, but that's because that silliness is easy. -Makes people feel good and allows them to stop asking the unanswerable questions. But, ask them if Jesus meant what he said here, and they'll dance around the simple directives as though they're poisonous as anthrax and more confusing than a pure white 5000 piece puzzle.

Personally, I don't know if Jesus ever said these words. Certainly there aren't any mountains in the part of Galilee where he supposedly spoke them, but, to me anyway, these are the most important ones he is ever reported to have said.

Wow, did I ever get off track from what I'd planned to write about.

No matter.

Be good to everyone.

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Received an email from Mike Potter, a friend in Baltimore who owns and runs Orion Sound Studios, inviting me to a birthday party this weekend. I've written a little about his place over the years when my son's band, or my brother's, has played there. Mike brings in some of the finest Prog musicians from around the world for intimate performances in the little theater that's the centerpiece of his complex. How he does it I have no idea, because the ticket prices for these shows have always been ridiculously low, even for internationally known acts. He's a former Michigander who proudly displays a Detroit Red Wings banner there in the theater, incongruous amid the memorabilia, photos, and posters depicting many of the musicians who've graced his stage over the years.

Happy Birthday Mike. Wish I could come.

When I leave for Des Moines, there are a few little rituals I go through to make sure things are up to snuff when I get back. I do a cursory straightening up so Good ex-roomie Dot, or AuntConi aren't too disgusted when they come out to feed Roadie while I'm gone, and I make sure the bird feeder on the deck rail is filled so Roadie has some kitty TV to watch for a few days. She likes bird shows. Then I always pull off the burner grates and trays from the stove and the shelf racks and broiler pan from my convection oven and put them into the dishwasher, along with the carafe and permanent filter from the coffee maker. About the last thing I do before walking out the door, even after giving Roadie a treat and a hug, is to turn on the dishwasher.

After having arrived home after midnight the night before last, yesterday morning, I pulled everything out of the dishwasher so I could make my morning coffee and a little breakfast. Alas, the coffee took over a half-hour to brew. Grrr.

Since I have a well here, there are minerals in my water and, as such, I get a calcium build-up in my coffee maker that must be cleaned out every couple of months using a mixture of C.L.R. and water. The water is great tasting and doesn't have any harmful chemicals in it, but last night I put the coffeemaker through its paces, running the chemical mixture through twice, and then ran the four cycles of plain water through the machine required to get rid of the poison.

Even though I follow the directions - I always do - I still worry when I drink that first cup of coffee after these cleanings. Just an hour or two ago, I sipped carefully, trying to discern any trace of a chemical taste. No. Didn't seem to. Then I started thinking, so what if there is a little C.L.R. in my Java? Wouldn't it clear out any plaque in my arteries? That might be a good thing!

What?

AuntConi and SweetLady have both been long annoyed I won't hook up the perfectly good water softener in the basement, but, as it happens, I have a perfectly good reason for my refusal. I hate the feeling of soft water on my skin after a shower. I never feel like the soap has rinsed off sufficiently, and besides, frankly, I don't want to be bothered. The only downside to hard water to me is that I have to clean my coffeemaker every couple of months. Yes, I know, supposedly clothes get cleaner in softened water, but I'm perfectly happy with the way my clothes come out of the washer. And besides, AuntConi gave me a spare coffeemaker (one she stole from a former employer - or that's my story, anyway) that sits in the cupboard for the time when I simply can't be bothered to clean mine out any more. As for SweetLady, I told her in no uncertain terms that she only gets to dictate this house's use of a water softener if and when she ever happens to live here. As a visitor, she has my permission to put up with my preferences.

Have I ever mentioned her vicious uppercut?


Be good to everyone.

Three times. She'd counted it three times - and come up with two different totals. She sighed and wrote in the figures from the last two counts, then thought better of it and made a fourth attempt. She was tired. Exactly twenty dollars off.

She added up the checks again but they matched what she'd written down. Then she went through the singles, fives, tens, twenties and even the three fifties old Mr. Simon faithfully put into the basket each and every week. There'd been no coins in the offering plate that particular Sunday.
She was expected at dinner in less than a half-hour; the invitation, a rarity, had come from that nice new couple, Tom and Ashley Gilcrest. They were so nice, and so very God-fearing.

Damn. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been off in her count. Now though, since she'd already filled out the form, what was she supposed to do? No way was she going to show any erasures or scratch outs. The mistake had to be here somewhere.

It was unusual for her to do the counting on her own, but of late, she'd had to do it more than once, and in fact, this was the second Sunday in a row. It wasn't a good idea. It had been her rule; one she'd established almost two decades ago. There should always be someone to confirm the count and to verify that no shenanigans were taking place. It may be God's house, she liked to say, but people were people, weren't they?

Unfortunately, Helen Schwartz was ill and had missed church more than half the time over the previous two months, and with Pastor on leave... Or "on sabbatical" as it was being called; she shook her head; please - how can two months in the Caribbean be called a sabbatical? Sounded like a vacation to her. Sabbatical. Hah! She almost spit the word in her mind. Sabbatical indeed. Give ME two months in Haiti, she thought. I'd get a nice tan.

Since it was exactly a twenty dollar error, she went through the twenties again - a fifth time - and finally, there it was. She found the extra bill. Two brand new twenties, their serial numbers sequential, had been stuck together.

How could she not have noticed it? And if they were stuck together now, how did she count them correctly that first time through? Great. Now she'd have to either create a new form; they were all dated when they came out of the computer, also her idea; or she'd have to alter the one she'd been using, which was, after all, by now, completely filled out - well, except for the total. She looked at her watch, then the clock on the wall. Her shoulders slumped. If she made a change on the form, it would look suspicious - or it could.

She'd certainly be suspicious if she was auditing the records and came across an altered form, that was for sure, but then, that was her job, wasn't it?
Twenty-seven minutes. She had to lock up the church, drive home, check on her father and maybe freshen up a bit, then package up the angel-food cake she'd made last night as her contribution to this afternoon's dinner, and drive to the Gilcrests'. And all in twenty-seven minutes.

She just didn't have time to deal with this now, she'd figure it out later. She couldn't think straight. Shaking her head, she pocketed the extra twenty, filled out the total on the bottom of the tally sheet and put it into the looseleaf binder. She quickly filled out a deposit ticket, tore off the carbon-less copy and stapled it to the sheet, then she tucked the binder back into its safe, closed the door and spun the dial. She put the cash, checks and the original copy of the deposit ticket into the canvas bank bag, put on her jacket, picked up her purse and the bank bag, then left the office, turning off the light and locking the door behind her.

She quickly ran around the church making sure sure the rest of the doors were locked. They were. Ralph had done his job, anyway, she thought and found herself surprised again that this strange little man hadn't screwed up. He would eventually. She knew it. She could just tell. And when that happened? -wouldn't she have fun pointing out to the elders that, had they listened to her, they'd have never hired him in the first place! It was just a matter of time. Ralph. -What kind of name was that for a Mexican, anyway? Well, she didn't trust him. She never had and she never would.

Exiting through the building's side entrance to the staff parking lot, the early afternoon sun made her squint and she blinked a few times to adjust her eyes. Her Buick beeped as she punched the remote to unlock her doors. Another button popped her trunk and she tossed in the deposit bag. She opened her door, got in and started the car. The aging red on white sign in front of her parking spot read "Reserved for Betty Margate".

Everyone else was gone. There were no cars in the staff parking lot, or, she saw as she drove around the building, any left in the general lot either. She knew this to be true, since she'd just walked the entire building, but it struck her again how she was usually the first person to arrive and always the last to leave. She exhaled and shook her head a little. Did anyone appreciate all she did for that church? Anyone? Sure she was paid, but still...

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Now John Updike.

Damn. My heroes are falling off the planet's surface faster than I can replace them, and I resent it.

Updike might just have been the quintessential American novelist during past half-century. Witty, erudite, urbane - the man was to "the great American novel" as Coca Cola is to "the great American soft-drink."

My first exposure to Updike was "Rabbit, Run", the first of his "Rabbit" books. If I remember correctly, I "borrowed" it from my Dad's Dad when I was in high school - probably without his permission; certainly without my parent's; it was racy stuff. Rabbit - Harry Angstrom, a sort of anti-hero, was a former high-school athlete of renown who faces his life; a life he feels trapped in; with a combined sense of hope and doom, as his former greatness slowly fades - first into fond memories, then, as time passes, into something worse than irrelevance.

Harry wasn't a likable guy on all counts, but personally, I grew to love him during the thirty-plus years it took Mr. Updike to chronicle his oh-so-American life and loves - and even his death and its aftermath - in the four-and-a-half books he wrote about Rabbit and the rest of the Angstroms.

Not universally loved, over the years Updike has been called plenty of names. Norman Mailer called him a lightweight. Others have called him a racist and misogynistic, but having read so much of his work over the years, I'm convinced that Updike himself didn't harbor such qualities and/or attitudes. On the other hand, he certainly gave these attributes - and worse - to some of his more memorable characters. Some folks thought he was obsessed with sex, and perhaps that's fair - maybe he was. He certainly wrote about it a lot. To me, though, he seemed to capture the way people of his generation - my parents' generation - dealt with the subject. His women characters weren't super-models, nor were his men Adonises. He wrote about people that felt real; or they did to me. Mailer was right in some respects. Updike was a lightweight, in that didn't choose big topics to write about, but instead primarily wrote about fairly normal people dealing with life as they lived it, yet he did it with such care and beauty, that even the smallest things - seemingly minor events - took on the same importance for his characters that small things take on for the rest of us. -A trivial slight in a social setting years ago - or a kindness - is remembered a decade later; and, without the rememberer seeming the least bit petty. -That's reality, isn't it?

A master of description; he was a poet who most often used prose as his chosen meter. I always felt like he loved every single one of his characters, so careful was he in his introductions to us of them. We grew to know and understand his characters so very well, in fact, that toward the end of his stories, we readers knew how they'd react to upcoming situations; how they'd be affected. He'd set up our expectations and then fulfill them perfectly. However, having said all this; there was nothing akin to a soap opera-like quality in anything of his I ever read - it felt far too real to be trivialized like that. Maybe the difference was that very aspect I talked about earlier; that past events weighed so heavily on his characters the way they can and often do with all of us.

There was a movie made of "Rabbit, Run" thirty years ago starring Bruce Dern, Jack Albertson and Carrie Snodgrass. I saw it, but I didn't like it. The most famous movie made from any of Updike's novels was "the Witches of Eastwick", which was pretty good, but wasn't all that reflective of the novel - which itself was quite a departure for him. Perhaps the reason more movies haven't been made from his novels is that, frankly, his plots aren't all that exciting - never have been. -That's okay with me. I think he did that by choice, not because of any lack of imagination

I saw online yesterday that Updike has written fifty books, meaning there are at least ten or fifteen out there I haven't gotten to yet - including a new novel from just this past year, "the Widow's of Eastwick". I'll guess it's about the same women we met in his first Eastwick novel.

I'm glad of that.


Be good to everyone.