Thank You, Rossini

When in the pickup going somewhere, I usually am tuned to a public radio station.  In this area, it’s KPR from the Kansas University campus.  I can also receive Radio Kansas out of Hutchinson, as they have a transmitter in the Manhattan area.  Public radio is so much better than the drivel of 100 commercial stations all vying for my ear.  Does that mean I’m getting old?
I was coming back from a “pastoral” visit today and was tuned to KPR.  They started the Overture to William Tell by Rossini.  As I listened, I saw that I would arrive home before it was over, so I pulled into a parking lot in a public park, under some shade, and listened to the rest of the overture.
I know that much guffawing, many jokes, and a lot of fun has been poked at the overture, as it is the basis for a lot of the old cartoon background music, and was the theme song of the old series, “The Lone Ranger.”  But as I listened to it…all of it…I sort of came to a different point of view.
Yes, I recall the cartoons and the TV shows (I’m not old enough for a lot of radio).  I know the Ranger was an extraordinary shot, always shooting the gun out of the bad guy’s hand, but never wounding him.  I know that he always managed to rescue Tonto as well as the people in distress (often children), and that he never wanted thanks for his work.
But I was also drawn back in my mind to a simpler time both in my life and in the life of our society; when it seems right was right and wrong was wrong; when decency and morality meant something other than as fodder for ridicule; when heroes were indeed heroes, worthy of emulation; when funny was funny, when entertainment was just that, and when times were more innocent.
I’m grateful to Rossini for his composition.

The Concrete Has Set

I am struck by the  notion that some apparently small, innocent thing can set the tone for the whole day to come, either in a positive or negative way.  Why is it that we allow such to influence so much of our time and energy?
When I went to the garage this morning to back out, I had to remember that last night, I saw a pickup and trailer parked out back behind our garage.  I had to tell myself to not just blindly back out and run into it.
The place where we live has garages that open to the back of the lot.  There is an asphalt drive back to the garages, and we are either supposed to park in the garage or out on the street.  However, a neighbor decided to park out back in front of my garage for the night.  It wouldn’t be so bad, but this seems to be a more-or-less regular occurrence now days with them.  I think they have extra people living in the townhouse, and there aren’t enough parking spaces in the garage to hold everyone.  They don’t want to park on the street because of vandalism, etc.  I can understand that.
As I left the garage this morning, I sort of dwelt on the inconvenience to myself, and mentally chided the neighbor for his seeming uncaring attitude toward civility and getting along.  However, my attitude for the day has now been set on grumpy.  I’m having a hard time getting past that, and on to the things that really matter.  No, I don’t exude a bright and perky attitude normally, but at least I can get out of this bearish funk I’m in now, can’t I?  Or is the concrete already set for the day?

A Different World

It’s tough, sometimes, to make sure that what is said is true communication and not some form of self-aggrandizement.  That kind of thing can take many and varied forms, and can creep into conversations both verbal and written, even when one tries very hard to guard against such.
When the one who hears or reads such adds into it the natural biases and experiences of his or her life, an opinion is sometimes formed that was not at all what the speaker or writer intended for the listener or reader to understand.
Once the misunderstanding gets this far, it sort of takes on a life of its own, unless both the communicator and the one communicated take measures which prevent that.  Trust, understanding, empathy, and genuine concern for the other are paramount in the quelling of the rising tide of misunderstanding and distrust.
You, the reader, may have no clue why I’ve written this today.  I know, and as I ponder recent events, I am more and more convinced that those things found in the sacred writings of Christianity having to do with human relationships are just as pertinent to life and living today as they were when they were written.  I shudder to think of a world without trust, love, forgiveness, and understanding.

Memorial Weekend

It’s been a few days since I’ve blogged, and I’ve gone a few miles in those days.  Friday, my brother and I went to the western fringes of St. Louis and picked up a motorcycle he purchased on EBay.  We loaded it into the back of my pickup and drove it back to Topeka.  From there, he drove it on to his place and left me the car he drove up here.
Over the weekend, we spent time with the in-laws in Central Kansas.  We enjoyed the annual reunion, as well as an ice cream feast that evening.  We also went to see my family in South Central Kansas and stopped at the cemetery where much of my family is buried.  And again, we enjoyed a cookout and more homemade ice cream.
Back home in Topeka, we discovered that earlier in the day it rained cats and dogs, filling the Shunga Creek and causing flooding in the city.  Normally, we don’t hear much about flooding in Topeka (except the big flood last year up north of town), but this rain evidently came hard and fast and flooded intersections, roadways, etc.
We’re expecting another inch or so tonight, and a lot of that will run off since the ground is already wet.  But that’s what happens in Eastern Kansas.  We get rain, then we get more.  Sometimes we get rather dry between rains, but it usually comes through before it gets really bad.
I’m glad to be back home.

My World

I can’t remember the last time I visited EBay on the Internet.  It’s been years.  I don’t have an account there, don’t have PayPal, have never bought anything on EBay (and seldom make purchases otherwise on the Internet), and generally stay away.  But today I went there and poked around for about 15 minutes.
What a marketplace!!  There are items with no bids, or bids of one cent, and items with starting bids of many hundreds of thousands of dollars.  Everything from phony currency (Millennium Dollars, the seller says) to vacuum cleaner bags can be bought or sold with just a few clicks of the mouse button.
I guess I’m old fashioned.  I don’t do EBay; I don’t do garage sales.  I try to stay away from farm auctions (they don’t do many of those in Topeka anyway) and don’t have much to do with sidewalk sales and other similar things.
If I want to purchase something, I find out who is selling it, go there, and buy it.  Only if no one has what I need will I consider the Internet.  This business of buying sight-unseen is just a little too over-the-top for me in most instances.
Am I really too old-fashioned?  Is it time for me to check out and let others into my space?  And what about the notion that we all have to help support the economy by circulating money as fast as we can?
Yes, I am old-fashioned, and relish in it; I have no intention of checking out just yet; and those who talk of supporting the economy are also the ones who are on the receiving end of the money circulation thing…not the giving end.  Welcome to my world, for a change.

Inspirations

I’ve been going through old photos in my spare time.  My latest project is making digital images of some slides taken by my grandmother, Anna King, many years ago.
Anna delighted in taking pictures of just about anything her rather unique mind thought was important.  Often the subject of the slide was off in the corner, or a head was cut off, or some such other problem, but that is part of the fun of viewing these Kodachromes.
One such picture is of a bear coming across the road directly toward the photographer (I presume it was Anna) at what appears to be a firm gait.  I can only imagine what that scenario was, and have to wonder how long it took her to roll up the window, get the car in gear, and get out of there.
Henry, her husband and my grandfather, was a preacher.  He was an old-time preacher, often itinerant, and often preaching for whatever offering was collected that day.  They never were wealthy, always working at something (farming, raising chickens, etc.) to make ends meet.
Yet there are slides of them at the Petrified Forest, the Pacific Ocean, Rockome, Illinois (where they lived for a period of time, in the “Amish House” as it is known today) and of course the bear slide.  For their day and time, and no more money than they ever had, they were well-traveled.  They saw a lot of this nation from the window of their train car or their automobile.  They traveled east as well as west, and expanded their knowledge and experience base by doing so.
I remain impressed with their lives and their example as Christians, both to me and countless others.  They remain an inspiration, and shall be so throughout my life.

Changing World

Is today a good blog day?  I asked myself that question just before opening up the word processor to type another blog entry.  I never answered the question, because I haven’t a clue what makes a good blog day (or a bad one).  I just opened the word processor and started typing.
That’s the way many of my blogs start.  I just type.  I’m finding out, though, in typing this, that my word processor dictionary doesn’t recognize “blog” and “blogs” as words.  So I’ve added them to the dictionary, and now I don’t see the nasty red line under those words.
The world changes quickly.  I don’t know how old my computer dictionary is, but I use XP and have one of the more modern versions of Office (Word 2002, it says in the HELP section).  It’s rather amazing to me that blogs weren’t around to any great extent before then, as ubiquitous as they are now.
Speaking of a changing world, it continues to change daily for those I help care for in our church family.  I have some praying and meditating to do in a few minutes, and want to make some contacts today with folks, as I can.  I don’t know how much those things help, and feel so inadequate at times, especially today knowing what I know about some of our church family.  I am thrilled that I have the opportunity to serve in this way.

Welcome Sunday!!

It’s been a good day for us.  Sundays usually are, and this one was no exception.  We enjoy being with friends at church and at small group (in the evening).  We make no bones about that.
I’m not sure why we feel like we have to defend going to church and meeting together with others of like mind.  There’s nothing abnormal about that.  People of like mind meet all the time.  Civic clubs, women’s clubs, PTA, the Saturday night regulars at the corner bar, the card parties…they all meet because they enjoy each other’s company, they are of like mind, and have like purpose.  They don’t have to defend themselves…why should we who are Christians and enjoy coming together toward a common purpose?
Sunday is a pickup day for me.  I get recharged and ready for the week ahead.  I’m able to rest some and refresh.  I change my schedule…do something a little different.  It’s a mini-vacation with friends in the middle of life, and it comes every seven days.
Welcome Sunday!!

Blackbirds and Bullfrogs

Yesterday, as I was in Gage Park, I walked to the pond just north of the carousel.  There’s a couple of benches on the north side of the pond, and I like to stop there for a few minutes when I go to the park.
The Gage Park train went by a couple of times while I was there.  I thought the engineer, who doubles as a sightseeing guide, had a rather bothersome voice, but the folks on the train seemed to like it.
A red-winged blackbird sat on a bare branch of a tree and practiced his many and varied calls and songs.  Evidently, he was preparing for some kind of concert, as he appeared to be rather serious about his work.
A couple walked by, hand in hand, talking about something that I assume was important to them.  I couldn’t hear the conversation well enough to make out what they were saying.
A bullfrog was chasing after the missus (or soon to be missus) through the reeds and mud of the bank of the pond.  He went a’croaking as he hopped along behind her.  She always managed, however, to stay a hop or two ahead of him.
Nothing extraordinary was going on in the park that day.  The carousel spun a few times, cars went by once in awhile, and things were, all in all, rather normal.
I got to thinking today that those things would have occurred just as they did, even if I wouldn’t have been there.  Sometimes I think we think that these things happen for our benefit, and in a way, I guess, they do.  But things also carry on whether we’re alive or dead, here or there, present or absent.
We’re not really as important in the overall scheme of things as we sometimes think we are.  Isn’t it nice to know, though, that Jesus loves me so much that He would have died for me, even though I had been the only human who had ever sinned?

A Rose Respite

I felt the need (is that a “felt need”?) to go to Gage Park again today.  I wrote about this park awhile back, and went again today because of the so-perfect weather.
My first stroll was through the rose garden.  There are more kinds of roses than anyone could count, I imagine, including many award winners as well as other hybrids, climbers, old standards, etc.
I don’t know much about roses, but I was drawn to the old-style gangly-type roses growing along the outside perimeter of the park.  The rose flowers themselves were generally smaller than the others, but their fragrance was more bold.  And to my surprise, the fragrances were not at all the same.  Some were sweet and mellow while others were more pungent.  Some smelled like a kind of perfume, but others had a smell that defied description.  All were pleasant, in their way.
It brought back memories of the white and pink bushes growing in the front of our house when I was a kid.  Those things would almost take over the area were it not for Dad’s occasional “pruning”, which consisted more of chopping the things back until they were barely recognizable.  They always grew back, however, and some are still there today.
One bush in the park had a sign that said it was introduced prior to the year 1700.  Many had introduction years in the 1800’s and early 1900’s.  Some are relatively new, but don’t really look any better, to this untrained eye, than the old ones.
This is a place worth seeing, especially this time of the year.  The buds are just opening up, and on a cool morning with a slight breeze, the experience is anything but routine.

Can You Imagine!!

I have no clue why, but most mornings when I come down the stairs (we live in a two-story town home), I feel like doing something domestic.  Of course, the first order of business is to let Susie out and retrieve the newspaper, but that usually doesn’t last very long.  I then turn on lights, open shades, and make coffee.
After that, however, it seems that the domestic side of me takes over.  This morning I emptied the dishwasher, gathered the trash, and swept and mopped the kitchen floor (OK, so I Swiffered it…what-ever!!).
Can you imagine?  Mopping the floor before coffee—before newspaper—before eating!  Now, I know it didn’t take hours of work to do the floor; maybe all of 10 minutes tops.  But still, the floor is done, it smells good in the kitchen, and the coffee stains and other assorted “thingies” on the floor are no longer there.
By the way, I also opened the screen door that goes out back onto the second-story patio and let in some of that cool, crisp May air.  I know it will grow warm today and the smells of the city on a warm day will invade, but for now, it’s just like living northeast of Oakley, Kansas in the middle of a section of land…clean, crisp, and inviting.
Have a good day.

Did I Do OK?

To blog or not to blog…that is the question.  I’m not sure I could quote with any authority any other of Shakespeare’s lines, even though I suffered through some of his literature in comp II down at OCU many years ago.
Oh, you say that really ISN’T a quote from the great one, but rather is a cheap imitation of one of the most recognized sentences in western history!  Well, I’d have to agree with you and say that my inability to quote Shakespeare remains intact.
But the question remains.  I never know if I’ll feel like saying anything until I actually put the blank screen in front of me and start typing.  What comes out may or may not be what I assumed would come out the other end when I started.
Just like this blog, I didn’t have a clue what even the first line would be until it just came out of my fingers.  Then I looked at it and wondered what I would do with it.
So did I do OK today?  Is this something worth your click in your favorites?  Did I make a difference in your day today?  (I’d better quit before the perceived importance of this blog completely obliterates its obvious triviality.)

When Will I Learn?

On one blog that I follow, Tiffany says this about a trip to a place where there were geese beside a pond (maybe in a park), “Can you remember when you as tall as a goose, as curious as a stranger in a new land, when Daddy made all the scary things not scary anymore….”  She has as part of her blog photos that were taken on the outing.  The photo beside the part about Daddy making all the scary things not scary anymore shows her husband crouching beside one of their small children, showing him a goose that was as tall as the child.  (http://www.timandtiffany.blogspot.com/)
As I read that, I stopped cold at the part about Daddy making the scary things not scary anymore and thought about the God of heaven and earth and His desire to make the things that are scary for His children (the future, death, eternity) not scary any more.
I was also immediately saddened that I am guilty of pushing God (Daddy) away from me at some of those times when He wished to crouch beside me and let me know that He was there—that I need not fear that thing that was looming in front of me.
The problem is that when I most need God, I also most want to trust in my own instincts and my own ability.  When will I learn…?

Hanging On for Dear Life!!

Last night, I was reading an email from a missionary couple that our church helps support.  They are in New Zealand, and as I read the email, I noticed that the Yahoo! smiley face next to their email address was “lit up”.  I thought it would be good to have them as “friends” on my messenger, so I added them.  Awhile later, they responded to the invitation and added me to their messenger.  We then started a brief conversation.
I used messenger with someone in New Zealand a few years ago.  My brother was there on a company trip, and signed in to chat a few times.  It amazed me then, and it amazed me last night that I could virtually instantly (there was no noticeable delay) communicate with someone literally on the other side of the world.
Now, those of you who are younger probably aren’t amazed at all by that accomplishment, having grown up with it.  You’re used to it, and it’s nothing at all for you.  However, having had electronics and communications training, I know something of what is required to bring the Yahoo! instant message from New Zealand to Topeka and back again.  I also grew up in a time when it was a major decision in the household whether to make a long distance call to a place 100 miles away or just send a letter (postage was 4 cents for first class).
You see, those calls were all placed by operators (each local community had telephone operators), and they cost over 20 cents a minute in a time when the average bread-winner made about 80 dollars a week before taxes.
By the way, this same missionary called me last weekend.  We were traveling to visit relatives.  My cell phone rang somewhere in the sand hills of Rice County.  It was Chris from New Zealand.  THAT amazed me, too…the idea that punching in (we don’t “dial” any number anymore) a few numbers enabled the global communications system to find me in the middle of sand and scrub in Kansas.  People have no clue what kind of a remarkable system is necessary in order to make that happen.
We are truly blessed.  However, I think this may be only the beginning.  Hang on!!

Contentment

This morning, I read an article in the sports section about a coach who is suffering from a degenerative heart problem and takes a lot of medication for it while waiting for a heart transplant.  The coach, a woman, says the pills she takes in the morning are her “breakfast.”  She continues her work.  She led her team to a conference championship this spring (women’s golf), and they are in the running for an NCAA championship.
“She’s happy all the time, no matter what,” said one of her players.
Even if she receives the transplant, she has only a 70% chance of being alive in five years.  Those are the statistics for women transplant recipients.
I don’t know this woman and I am not a big sports fan.  What struck me as I read the article is how many of us deal with issues such as this on a daily basis.  I have friends who are dealing with macular degeneration, chronic infection, alcoholism, anorexia/bulimia, schizophrenia, debilitating arthritis, cancer, and other chronic, serious ailments.  Some of these people are young in age and in the prime of life.
Those of us who don’t have such serious problems still deal with the more minor issues of daily living…high blood pressure, vertigo, hearing and/or vision loss, and other such things.
The remarkable thing is that those who suffer from what would seem to me to be a truly intractable problem also seem to be the most well-grounded and pragmatic.  They seem to be upbeat and have an attitude to die for (figuratively speaking).  They take each day as it comes, and place all of the cares of both today and tomorrow into the hands of a Higher Power that sustains and supports them.
Somehow, many of these people have learned what a lot of us would like to know.  “I have learned in whatever situation I am in to be content,” said the great Apostle of Jesus Christ, Paul of Tarsus.

At the Iwo Jima veteran’s reunion I attended a few days ago, they always place an empty chair at the front of the hall. They drape the chair with a POW/MIA shield. The symbolism is obvious.
This year, a contingent from the Young Marines from Hutchinson attended and presented the colors. Before the program started, one of the youngest of the Young Marines honored the POW/MIA’s by standing at attention while holding the folded shield. She stood beside an M-1 rifle, which was on display at the gathering. At first, I thought that she was kind of young to be a part of this and to know what the purpose of her standing at attention was. I then thought the better of it, knowing that it is ignorance which tends to cause us to turn inward rather than reach outward. Her going into life knowing that sacrifice is honorable will be preferable by far than the way others run into life thinking that the world owes them everything.

Heroes and Survivors

Over the weekend, we attended the 11th annual Iwo Jima reunion held each year in Sterling, Kansas.  We have a relative who is a wounded veteran of the Iwo campaign, and we have attended regularly these reunions.
Each year the host passes the microphone and asks anyone in the audience for comments.  When it comes my turn I have no clue what to say that will have anything to do with what these men (and women) went through in a period of their lives that many would probably rather forget.
This year, in my little speech, I paid respect to the wives of the men who served there.  These women have been married to their husbands for 60 years or more and have endured nightmares, emotional outbursts, chronic wounds and their after-effects, alcoholism, and other indignities.  Through it all they (as the song says) stood by their men with class and grace.
“Thank you” isn’t enough, it seems, for either the men or the women.  Yet each will tell you to a man that the heroes are six feet under.  They say that they, the living, are merely survivors.
By the way, one other thing they will tell you, to a man, is that they wouldn’t be here today were it not for the dropping of the bomb.  There is no vacillation, no hesitation.  They knew where they were headed after Iwo Jima.  And it wasn’t stateside.

A Pity Party

Listen to these words from a woman named Marilyn.  “I get up every day and talk to God, thanking him for what he has done for me.  I know that somewhere, someone has it much worse than we do.  It’s okay to put pride aside and do what you have to do to begin again.”
That is part of a little article about Marilyn and her family, who are living right now at the Topeka Rescue Mission.  The article is in the monthly Mission newsletter.  Marilyn has a husband and four kids.  She’s working in an internship in a medical clinic, hoping that when she finishes, she will have skills that an employer will pay for.
I’m going to save this issue.  Whenever I think I need a pity party for myself, I’m going to open the pages and read again the stories of Marilyn, Kelly, and others who have had to make the Rescue Mission their home for the past while.  I’m going to read about their faith, the thanksgiving that they offer to God Almighty, and the hope that is within them.
Then I’m going to be ashamed of myself and vow once again to do my best to avoid feeling sorry for myself.

I Wonder

I went to a friend’s house this evening and picked up a couple of tables to take to another friend tomorrow for a garage sale.  We loaded the tables in the back of the pickup, and as I was visiting with him in the drive, we heard tires screech, the thud of one vehicle hitting another, and more screeching.
I quickly got in the pickup and went down the block to the first intersection east of his house.  There, a smaller car was in the street, with someone getting out of it.  A van was in a yard, and someone was beside it.  They had collided in the intersection.
I identified myself as an EMT and asked if anyone was hurt.  I did a very preliminary assessment of each driver, asked if there were passengers, checked the windshields and steering assemblies of each vehicle (to determine if someone had hit her head on the glass or had possible chest trauma).  Everyone was OK.
A young man who witnessed the accident was also there, talking to 911.  As we waited for the police and started to calm down and assess damage, a woman who lived at the home where the van was in the yard came out.
The witness was no more than about 20 years old.  One driver was pushing it to be 18.  The other driver was about 35.  The woman at the home was 21 by her own admission.  Each of these people was a smoker.  Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.
I thought health education made our younger people more resistant to cigarettes.  Maybe that is true in general, but these four younger people who were by chance brought together by this accident were exceptions to that rule.
It makes me wonder just how much good health education is really doing.

A Lesson From Strawberries

I was in the store the other day doing the grocery shopping (that’s one of my jobs).  We eat a lot of fresh fruit and veggies, so I was in the produce department looking over some strawberries that were on sale.  I always scrutinize the package by turning it over and looking for deterioration.
Several of the packs had “fuzzies” growing on one or more of the berries.  This meant that the berries were older.  That probably was why they had such a good price on them.  I carefully selected a pack that didn’t have fuzzies and appeared to be in good shape.  While I was there, a couple other people quickly dashed past the display and grabbed whichever pack happened to be near.  I thought to myself that those people, by not taking time to look, may well be disappointed when they get home and see fuzzies growing on their berries.
I got home and started to prepare the berries.  To my dismay, I found several in the package that I had to toss, as they were soft and turning brown.  I couldn’t see that in the store, and only would have found it had I opened the pack and taken out all of the berries.  There were enough good ones, however, that the price was still a good one and I think we did OK on that end.
The point is that I felt like I somehow did better and was a better shopper than those who grabbed the first box they saw.  In reality, I ended up no better than they.  Pride goes before a fall.  This was a relatively innocent reminder to me that I need to be a little less full of myself and clothe myself with a little more humility.

Update

I checked this morning and found out that Vernie passed from this world on Monday, May 1.

Vernie

I want to tell you a story.  This blog, too, will be longer than normal.  If you don’t wish to read it, I will understand.  I would ask my sister to bear with me and read through it, however.  She knows who I am talking of in this piece.
I went, as you know if you read earlier blogs, to Western Kansas last weekend.  Goodland was the destination, to be exact.  I left on Friday morning and got back late Saturday evening.
Friday about noon I made it to Hays.  I stopped in at the local Wal Mart to see my son, who works there.  We had a nice visit for a few minutes, I stretched my legs, then went to the best place in Kansas for hamburgers…Vernie’s Hamburger House.
My wife and I have been to Vernie’s many times.  I remember when I moved to Hays in the late 1960’s that Vernie was frying burgers at 27th and Vine.  He called it the Mecca Hamburger House.  Later on, he moved his place to its present location at about 17th and Vine on the west side of the street.
I took her there in the early years when neither of us had money.  We left Hays in the mid 1970’s, but always tried to stop in when we came through town.  Sometimes, we’d time our trip so we’d have an excuse to stop.  I’d imagine that since we left Hays, we’ve been to Vernie’s maybe 30 times.  We’ve been there more often the last few years, as our son has lived there for the last 5 or so years.  But all in all, only about 30 times have we graced his place in those years.
The place isn’t really unusual.  They sell burgers, slaw, fries, chili in winter, fried pies, shakes, etc.  But the burgers just seem to have that flavor that stays the same year in and year out.  The slaw is made from the same recipe, I think, that they used years ago and the chili is some of the better chili you’ll ever get at a restaurant.
Vernie is always, it seems, there.  Businesses where the owner is present and active just seem to give better service and better goods.  The wait staff is friendly and well-trained.  Vernie himself will often be seen stirring chili, manning the register, or bussing tables.
A few years ago, living in Western Kansas, I was asked to write a periodic column for the Hays Daily News chronicling life in a small Western Kansas community.  I thoroughly enjoyed doing that.  One of my articles was about small business and small business owners.  I remarked in the column that those folks are “the backbone of the business community today as they fry burgers, carry out the trash, order supplies, meet and greet customers, write out payroll, and the thousand and one other things they do every hour, every day.”
One of the small business owners I talked about was Vernie.  Of him, I said, “I don't believe for a minute that (the man I also mentioned who ran a pizza place) will make his fortune selling pizza, nor do I believe that Vernie has become a multi-millionaire because of his hamburgers.  I don't even think that these guys make a very good living at what they do much of the time.  I do believe, though, that they love what they do and are dedicated to the success of their stores.  All too many owners and managers are absentee, and they manage through six dollar-an-hour novices that have no clue what to do or how to do it.  Those managers and owners certainly aren't available on Saturday night, and wouldn't be caught dead making pizza crust, bussing tables, stirring chili, or ladling sauce.
Vernie saw the column and committed my picture (they printed my mug shot with each column) to memory.  Next time I came into the place, Vernie collared me at the cash register, told me he liked the column, appreciated my mentioning him, and bought my lunch as well as that of the person I had with me (not my wife…but a business associate…yes, my wife knows all about it).
In later visits, he would try to visit with me if he had time, and once remarked, knowing that I was in health care, that he had prostate cancer.  He said they were treating it and he thought they were making good progress.
Now back to the present.  I went in to Vernie’s, ordered my burger and slaw, and sat down.  The waitress brought it to me (they don’t call numbers—they watch and see where you sit, then remember that and bring your order to you—how novel and how refreshing!!) and I started to eat it.
One of the waitresses came to my table as I was working on my meal.  She said that the cook (she said her name, but I didn’t get what it was) asked her to come out and tell me something.  She asked me if I knew that Vernie had prostate cancer.  I said I did, and she told me that Vernie was very ill and wasn’t expected to live more than a week or two.  He was in hospice care and was comfortable and well-cared for.
She said that the cook (whom I think is a family member) didn’t want to come out and tell me herself for fear that she wouldn’t be able to get through the story without a breakdown.  The young waitress herself had difficulty getting through it.  I visited with her a minute or two, told her how much I appreciated her telling me, and she left.
I sat there dumfounded.
Here I am, a once-in-a-while customer being afforded the privilege of knowing about Vernie from someone I did not know, never met, and have never talked to (the cook).  I marveled all that day and the next about what I had experienced.
I say all of that to say this:  I realize now more than ever before that I am never truly anonymous.  Something I said, something I did, or something I wrote stuck with this woman who was cooking burgers and I was privileged to receive a special message from her via the waitress.
I am humbled and awed by the power of what we say and do, even from several years and countless hamburgers ago.  It was a sad day indeed knowing that I would never again see Vernie at the chili pot or visiting with his customers.  But his restaurant, and the staff and family that obviously love him, are testimony to the life of a man who, quite simply, found his niche in life and made the most of it.
The eloquent simplicity of his life is an understated testimony to the greatness of the human spirit God put into each one of us, and the decency, graciousness, and dignity that Vernie imparted to a sometimes cold-blooded and cruel place.  Rest well, my friend.    

I said something to someone over the weekend about putting a photo of my toes on the site. Although it’s a bit fuzzy (try to take a picture of a part of your own anatomy some day…it isn’t as easy as you might think), it gives you the idea.

Back Home

The trip to Western Kansas was uneventful, and I enjoyed the 24 or so hours I spent there.  I stopped to see a couple of friends in Oakley, and enjoyed the day at Goodland with others that I’ve known, as well as some new friends I just met that day.
It is good to have relationships like that, where one can know that even though miles and time separate people, there is a bond there that transcends those barriers.  Such are the friends in Western Kansas I saw Saturday.  I know that today, as they go about their work, they too have good feelings and rejoice at the opportunity they had to renew friendship with me.  That makes me feel special, loved, and accepted.
I’ll tell a couple of things about the trip in future blogs, but for now will just tell you that I’m home, have mostly recovered from the drive, and am trying to plan out my day and my week.
The Union Pacific 844 “Big Boy” steam engine and its consist will be in Topeka around noon today.  I plan to go to the Great Overland Station and watch it come in and leave.  At 907,980 pounds and 114 feet long, with a water capacity of over 25,000 gallons and fuel capacity of over 6,000 gallons, it is the largest active steamer that I know of.  It’s wheels are 6 feet, 8 inches high and its steam cylinders are over 2 feet in diameter with a 32 inch stroke.  It burns #5 fuel oil, by the way, not coal.
It’s on a publicity tour of the Union Pacific system, and is coming in Eastbound from Denver, by way of Sharon Springs, Oakley, Hays, Salina, and Manhattan.  It will turn around here at a wye track just outside of Topeka, and go back Westbound toward the southwest through Herington, Hutchinson, Pratt, and Liberal (the old Rock Island Kansas City to Tucumcari line).
Happy steaming, folks!!

Sustenance

It’s a cloudy, rainy, thundery morning today.  Last night was cool and clear, but sometime, overnight, the clouds rolled in and the rain started in earnest about 30 minutes ago.  They say (whoever “they” is) that we will have rain most of the weekend, and can see up to three inches or more.  Good.  We need it.
I will be leaving in about an hour for Western Kansas.  I am taking part in a one-day meeting at Goodland.  It is a church-type meeting (I’m a minister…remember?) called “The Power of the Word”.
I’ll be with friends I haven’t seen for a year or so and will be able to spend the day in God’s country, at 3,500 feet elevation, on the wide-open prairie.  Even though I love living in Topeka, I also like to go “out west” sometimes and get back into what I perceive as a more human reality than the asphalt, noise, and rush of the city.
Yes, there are some asphalt, noise, and city-type things in Western Kansas.  But it doesn’t take a genius to look around and see a whole different way of life…one that depends more on the land, the clouds, and one’s neighbor.  There’s a recognition by those who live in that area that although they are an independent lot, they also have an utter dependence on things that they know they can’t control.  And most of the folks there have a reverence for the Higher Power that sustains them.

One of Life's Lessons

Yesterday, I was helping set up folding tables for a lady in our church who was having a garage sale.  The tables were old and rather heavy.  As I was trying to get one table upright, it slipped and the edge of the table came down on my right big toe and the toe next to it.
It has been years since I experienced pain that exquisite.  I managed to hold my tongue, complete the job, and go about the rest of my day.  I recall thinking that I’m not feeling any blood sloshing around in my shoe, and I can move my toes, so things probably are OK.
Last night I took off my shoes.  There was a blood spot on my sock, and both toes were about the color of purple plums.  This morning, they are sore but I can walk without much of a limp if I try.  I wonder if I’m going to lose a couple of toenails.
Toes aren’t much in this world today…until something happens to awaken a person to their existence.  I’m reminded of the analogy that St. Paul gave regarding the church being like a body.  Some parts are more “honorable”, he says, but all parts are necessary and must work together or the body suffers.  I think I’ve come to a new appreciation of that analogy in the last 24 hours, and the lesson probably will continue for awhile.

The Unlocked Door

I’ll tell you now that this blog will be longer than normal.  Hopefully, you will stay with me through the entirety of it.
We took a quick trip to our hometown in rural Kansas a few days ago.  We had some business to attend to, and thought it best to do it in person as we had papers to sign, etc..  My sister wanted to go with us, so we picked her up in the Wichita area and made the trip.
After we got our business done, we decided to go to a rural church and cemetery in the area where we thought there might be some relatives.  Our other sister is the family genealogist and thought someone might be there.  She wanted any information that might have been on the stone.
This particular cemetery was next to a church we had visited when we were young (back in the 1950’s).  It was part of the denomination we were members of then, but went to another church in the area.  Sometimes, though, we went to this church for special meetings and such.  We hadn’t been there in some time, and for my sis, it was an even longer time.  The church and cemetery were in the “middle of nowhere”, so to speak.  Farm land and pasture surrounded the building.  There were no homes or highways in the area.  While we were there, no vehicles traveled the dirt road in front of the building, to my knowledge.
The building was surrounded by ancient elms, some over 4 feet in diameter.  They were ancient fifty years ago when we were kids, and are even more so now.  A recent ice storm caused damage, I think, but the church folks had the trees trimmed, and they are once again becoming the shade trees that we remembered from years ago.
It looked like the church had re-planted a row of cedars out back.  Several years ago, I think they had grubbed out the old cedars, which had become unsightly and didn’t look good due to years of ice, wind, and weather.  The building had a new roof and newer glass doors on the front.  The cemetery stones were upright and set properly, and the cemetery was mowed.  The property was well-cared for.
The tradition of this church has been that the building be unlocked at all times.  True to that, when I pulled on the front door, it swung open.  Inside, it was cool and even more quiet than out doors.  The building smelled exactly as we remembered from 40 or more years ago when we would go there for special meetings, or “revivals”.  Our youth group would also go there at the invitation of their youth group, at times, for “fellowship”.
I don’t remember much about the revivals, except that they many times were in the summer, and there was no air conditioning at that time.  The ushers did the best they could by opening the windows, but that only brought in the hot air and dust from outside.  And, of course, the place was usually packed, with folding chairs set up in the back and in the aisles.
The speakers also seemed to drone on forever, and for a 10 year old boy to hold still all during that time seemed an impossible task.  I often thought that the grown-ups were doing this deliberately to us kids for some perverted reason, and couldn’t wait until services were finally over and we could all go outside and run off the accumulated energy in a game of tag or hide-and-seek while the adults visited.
We looked at the names on the “mailboxes” in the front entrance.  We recognized many of the names and commented on some.  We also looked over the guestbook and commented on some of the folks who had visited in the last couple of years.  Sis sat on one of the benches and commented on the continuing lack of padding.  I didn’t tell her that we have enough natural padding nowadays to make up for any lack of foam on the seats.
We saw hymnbooks that we had known from long years ago.  The old black hymnal and the accompanying Life Songs #2, both with shaped notes, brought back a flood of memories.  We looked at the collection plates, the same ones we remembered from long ago, and noticed that they were given in memory of someone back in the mid-1950’s.
We went over to the cemetery and not only looked for possible relatives, we also reminisced about people who were there whom we had known.  The cemetery is not large by modern standards, and we were able to walk the whole thing in about 20 minutes.
All too quickly, it was time to go.  I went back to the building and rang the bell that is on a stand to the side of the entrance.  I do not know the story of the bell and will, some day, think to ask someone who does to tell me.
We are no longer members of this denomination, but cherish the ties we have, not only with those folks who have headstones in the cemetery, but also the people who are represented by the names on the foyer mailboxes and in the guestbook.  And I am grateful that they have an “unlocked door” policy, which allowed us to go inside to recall a simpler and in some ways better and more innocent time.  It is good to know that the wonderful people of that church can still live many aspects of that time in their daily lives.  The unlocked door is testimony to that.

Moaning and Groaning

I haven’t blogged in awhile.  My sister is getting on me for not writing anything.  She must not have much to do, because Scotty is just now commenting on a blog I’d written on April 4.  Sis, you need to be in a “family” way.  That’ll give you something to do.
It’s getting ready to rain here, something that all of Kansas really needs right now.  The spring has been pleasant, but dry.  When we went to Southern Kansas a few days ago, the lawns and pastures looked like they normally do in the latter part of July.  The rural roads were dusty and dry.  It’s not good in Central and Southern Kansas, and although it’s better here in Topeka, we still could use some soaking rain.
It’s funny how we moan and groan when the rain seems to never stop, and we also moan and groan when it DOES stop for longer than we think it should.  It’s as if the Almighty takes His cues on when to bring the refreshing water based on our moaning and groaning.
I think there’s something there that’s amiss.  We need to understand that He would send the rain if not a human being one occupied this planet.  And He would stop the rain just as easily, even though not a homo sapiens breathed air.  Kind of brings home the point that what we have to say about it doesn’t matter much.  Maybe we should direct our energies toward something that will do some good.

Take the Time

I took some time out of my day yesterday to go to Gage Park here in Topeka.  The park is old and has quite a history.  It is the home of the Topeka Zoo, a working carousel, a miniature train ride, and many other attractions.  It is well-attended and used by a wide representation of the people of the city.
I went to an area where there was a pond and sat under a tree on one of the benches.  The train came by, about half filled with kids, moms, young people, and older riders.  A lone goose wandered somewhat aimlessly, it appeared, around the pond.  The carousel was busy and people were having fun.  Robins and other assorted birds went about the business of raising families and claiming territory.
This is a good time of the year to do something like that.  It’s not too hot, nor too cold.  There are enough people to make the experience interesting (if you like to watch people), but not so many as to create the idea of crowding.
It’s also a good time to think.  We all need more time to do that.  We spend far too much time being busy and not nearly enough time allowing ourselves to process what we’ve taken into our minds.  Today, take a little time to just sit quietly…on the porch, in your living room…in a park.  Just think.  No music, no IPod, no TV.  Just you and your thoughts.

A Good Reminder

I took a brief trip to York, Nebraska Sunday afternoon, spent the night there, and came back home yesterday.  The purpose of the trip was to interview a young man attending the college there so see if he would be a good candidate for our summer intern slot we have open at our church.
While there, I spent the night with some friends in their older, two-story home.  Monday morning, after getting up, doing the bathroom routine, and taking a cup of coffee from the kitchen, I stepped onto the front porch in their quiet neighborhood.  It was cloudy and cool, and there was little traffic in that part of town.  A couple of robins were singing, and one of the ever-present trains was rumbling through town several blocks to the north.
About that time, a couple houses down the block and on the other side of the street, the front door opened.  A man stepped out, went over on his porch and picked up an American flag.  He unfurled it and placed it into the standard on the side of his porch.  He looked at it for just a second, then turned and saw me.
He looked for a couple of seconds, and I looked for just a few seconds, mostly unconcerned about the man.  After all, I didn’t live here…I was just visiting.  I happened to glance his way again, and he waved at me.  Immediately feeling a little guilty, I waved back at him and he went back inside.
In just a little over a year living in Topeka, I’ve forgotten what it is like to live in a small town where people make contact with others every day, just like that man did to me.  He most likely knew that I was a visitor.  The different vehicle was in the driveway, and he probably keeps pretty good tabs on his neighborhood.  But he waved anyway.
Whoever he was, I’m glad he waved.  He made me to recall that we aren’t islands.  We don’t live alone.

Are We the Victims (Part II)?

In the last blog, I talked about what might happen if we could overnight become energy independent.  What a rosy scenario it was.  What a different scenario from the reality that is ours now.
We knew in 1973 (remember the first oil embargo) that we needed energy independence from the Arabs, the South Americans and the Africans.  We knew it would only get worse.  Yet 33 years later, when we long ago could have been mostly independent of foreign oil, we are more dependent than ever before.  What happened?
Our government fiddled while our society burned.  If those who made the policy decisions, implemented the policy decisions, and financed the policy decisions would have done their jobs, we would be largely independent of foreign oil by now.
Think of those who served as Legislators, Presidents, and other government officials during the 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s.  It was their job to look ahead, see this train wreck coming, and change the switch so we had a clear track.  That didn’t happen.
And it was our job to hold those people accountable.  It was our job to see that they were faithful.  It was our job to see that they did the right thing.  That didn’t happen, either.
We really have to point our fingers right back at ourselves.  Our greed, care-free attitude, and desire for the next dollar have all but bankrupted us.  The “live for today” philosophy has come back to haunt us.  Our young men and women are dying in a war brought on by 40 years of indifference and greed.  And we’ve no one to blame but ourselves.

Are We the Victims?

I was watching some kind of all-news channel this morning.  Someone who, it was said, was an expert on energy, petroleum, the economy, etc, was on the show telling about how the price of gasoline will reach $3.00 per gallon by summer, and stay there for awhile.
He then said that we actually spend about $6.00 a gallon for our fuel when we consider the massive amount of money we spend to appease the countries that have the oil, protect with our military the oil supplies we tap, and pay for the balance of trade deficit.
I’m not at all surprised by that statement and suspect it is mostly true.  The cost may or may not be $6.00 a gallon, but we spend a considerable amount of money per barrel of oil beyond the actual cost of that barrel.
Think of what life would be like if we could tomorrow tell Saudi Arabia, Iran, Venezuela, Nigeria and others that we no longer will purchase ANY oil from them.  Instead, we in North America (U.S., Canada, and Mexico) will be self-sufficient.  Think of the political ramifications of such a statement.  Think of the improvement to our economy that would happen overnight as we realize that the dollars we send overseas will instead be spent here at home.  Think of the massive military stand-down we could have and how many of our beloved troops could come home and spend their military careers on U.S. soil.
Think of the overnight improvement in our balance of trade.  We could tell China what they could do with their surplus of trade.  We could invigorate our domestic economy like never before.  Over 200 billion dollars annually would suddenly become available to domestic enterprises as we spent our money on energy at home instead of shipping those dollars by the boatload to the Arab sheiks.
In the next blog, I’ll tell you a sad, sad story of incompetence, greed, and failure.  And Americans are the victims.  Stay tuned.

I Could Learn

I just finished sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor upstairs.  You see, by choice I’m the house husband of this home.  My wife’s time is much more productive financially if she is able to do a good job at her work, so I do the cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, etc.  That relieves her of the duty to do these things in the evening and on weekends, and enables her to rest and refresh.
I was thinking as I was sweeping about how long it had been since I last wielded a broom and mop on the floor.  Far too long, I fear, because there were all kinds of stains and other unmentionables scattered on the tile.
I then thought about my own mother and her work at home when I was young.  There were six of us children, along with a husband and a too-small house (about 1,400 square feet).  The house, as you might imagine, got a heck of a workout every day.  The kitchen saw most of the action, because we never went out to eat or called out for pizza.  The meals were three a day, plus snacks, every day of every month.
Mom once talked a little to me (and I think some other of my siblings) later on in her years, about her lot in life and the fact that she never was a professional woman in the workforce (except for a short stint as a dishwasher for a local restaurant).  She remarked, as part of the conversation, that she swept the kitchen floor every day.  I can’t remember if she said she mopped it every day or not.
She was happy and content with her role as wife and mother.  She often sang as she swept the floor or mixed cake batter.  She enjoyed time spent in the garden raising produce for us to eat.  I am reminded of what Paul said long ago, “I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.”  I could learn a lesson, here.    

On Our Own

It’s been a couple of days since I’ve blogged.  As you know from my last post, my computer went into the shop for repairs.  It came back, has been re-loaded, and seems to be in good shape.  I’m still finding things that I need to adjust on it to get it the way I want it, but so far, so good.
Wouldn’t it be nice if life was like that?  I mean, wouldn’t it be nice if the slate could be wiped clean and we could start over with a “new install”?  The old baggage, memories, emotional garbage, and rot of a past life could be swept away with the touch of a button, so to speak.  We could start afresh, renewed, with new registry files and clean store rooms.
Of course, there would be down sides, too.  The experiences, trials, and lessons of life lived would also be done away.  We’d be naïve babies in a grown-up world.  We wouldn’t have a clue how to deal with this person or handle that situation.  We’d quickly foul up the registry files and pollute the storage areas with dirt that wouldn’t have to have been, had we maintained the benefits of the past.
Life is what it is.  We can change parts of it, but we have to deal with the rest.  We can do that on our own, or we can get help from something or someone greater than ourselves.  Life is too important for us to foul it up by dealing with it on our own.

Don't Look Back

Today, I upset my whole life. You see, my computer is going into the shop to have its hard drive wiped and everything re-installed. There are some corrupt and missing files in the operating system, and we've tried about everything to fix it except for this. It still isn't working properly, so we'll do the ultimate...the wipe.
I hate it when this happens. Even though some things don't work right, I'm comfortable with the old machine the way it is. I know it's for the better, but there's a certain (unfounded) apprehension that even what is now working won't work any more. It's like having to get rid of an old pickup that loses parts as it trundles down the road, or throwing away an old screwdriver that's been with me for the last 35 years.
But, I'll not look back. I've made up my mind. I'm going to a minister's meeting in Manhattan today, and while I'm away, the nice computer man will play with my hard drive. Hopefully, all of the necessary files will be properly installed, and my pain and suffering in getting the PC going again will be minimal this evening and tomorrow.

Great Entertainment

I watched the night come to Topeka a few minutes ago, out back on the patio. No different was it than any other night, necessarily. Nevertheless, I this night, even though it was cool, decided to see what happens when night falls. I was thoroughly entertained by the show.
Across the creek, five young men noisily finished the Frisbee golf game they had started some time before. A young woman hurriedly walked two dogs along the trail. Others in the park and at the softball diamond seemed gradually to melt away as night approached.
A wood duck squeezed through a hole into a nest inside a large branch, then popped out and went in again. A mallard flew hell-bent, about 20 feet above the Shunga Creek, following the channel upstream.
A squirrel purposefully climbed to a nest in a branch fork about 30 feet above ground, looked down into the nest a few seconds, then settled in. Another squirrel across the creek channel, safely inside his hollow tree trunk, poked his head out the hole and watched the nightfall along with me.
I heard starlings arguing about who would sit on what branch in their tree-motel. The cardinal sang one last verse of his conquest song for this territory. A mourning dove in the distance repeated his well-known call. A black-capped chickadee poked at dessert in a bird feeder, and a robin off in the distance was scolding at something, real or imagined.
Did I tell you I was thoroughly entertained by the show? Try it yourself, sometime. It’s better than ANY television production.

Spit Out the Bones

I just read a front page story that talked about the release of a translation of the Gospel of Judas. The writer (an Associated Press drone) waxed eloquent about the notion that this writing would change how Christians view their religion. It would change how they think about Judas Iscariot, because in this writing Judas is portrayed as a special friend and confidante of Jesus, and only turned him over to the authorities because Jesus wanted him to do so.
I don’t usually like to rain on anyone’s parade, but this gospel is just one of a long list of writings that came out of that era (about 150 to 400 AD) which purport to tell this or that aspect of the story of God’s redemptive plan. So far, over 100 of these writings have surfaced, among them the Epistles of Pontius Pilate and the Gospel of the Egyptians.
Many believe that these writings are the “lost writings of the Bible”. Not true. These writings, for the most part, have never been recognized by Christians as being a part of the Bible. While many of them may shed some light on the life and times in which they were written, and many tell stories that are true and reliable, they never were placed into the Canon of Holy Scripture.
Modern versions of these writings might include books by Billy Graham, biographies of the Popes, and pop fantasy books like The DaVinci Codes. No one is suggesting (with the possible exception of Pope Deification and DaVinci Code fanatics) that these books are God-breathed. Some are good literature…others are trash. The same with the early writings.
Take a look at them, chew on them, spit out the bones, and go on. But whatever you do, don’t spout off at the mouth about some ancient writing changing the face of Christianity unless you’ve done some homework. Further, don’t call anything a book of the Bible unless you have at least a working knowledge of how those writings came to be part of the Christian Canon, and why others were excluded.

It’s been a day or so since I’ve blogged. Nothing special has happened, and I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve not felt good these last few days, but nothing I can put my hands on (so to speak). I’ve just not felt well, and feel like I’ve been fighting something, but never coming down with it.
Have you felt that way? I’m sure you have. We all have had times when we didn’t feel 100%, but couldn’t quite figure out why. It can go on for a day or two, or it can last for weeks at a time. What do you do when you get in one of those times?
I dwell entirely too much on what is wrong with me and not enough on what is right. I know that if I work on something that occupies my brain, I don’t feel as bad as if I sit and think about all of the things that don’t feel normal. I wonder if a lot of it is a mental thing.
They say that your attitude and mental working can (and does) affect how you feel and respond physically. I don’t disagree, but wonder how some people seem to be able to block out continuing, chronic pain, weariness, and fatigue and just continue on.
Maybe that’s something I need to learn. I’m sure there isn’t a 1-2-3 sure cure. Rather, there is an examination of the soul and a determination to overcome that’s at (or close to) the center of any answer to the problem.
Physical well-being is a nice thing. But I suspect that emotional and mental wellness trump the relatively fleeting benefits of physical wellness in so many ways. The calm assurance of knowing everything will be OK, even when our physical world is falling apart, is a gift to be cherished and embraced.

I decided, when we came to Topeka, that I would get a debit card, but wouldn’t use it any great extent. Rather, I would pay cash for much of what I would buy. And for awhile, that worked out according to plan. The debit card stayed in my wallet, and the cash left it.
But something has happened over the course of the last several months. Increasingly, cash is harder to spend than debit cards. My debit card is getting a real workout these days. “The devil,” you say. Yes, it is impossible to buy gasoline in Topeka with cash without pre-paying. That means that you have to find an empty pump, go to the cashier and give him/her/it a couple of twenties, and go back out and pump your gas. Then you traipse back into the cashier and settle up with him/her/it. After that, you go back out to your car and try to squeeze out of the lot, because 22 other cars are waiting for a slot at the pumps.
Other businesses are just as untrusting as the gas stations. They scrutinize each twenty dollar bill, especially the new ones. It’s almost impossible to pass a fifty or a C-note nowadays. They mark something on them that is supposed to tell them if the bill is counterfeit or not. You more often than not receive back ratty and torn ones and fives in change. Counting coins is a new experience for some checkers. Usually, you receive your change in a lump…not counted out, not checked for accuracy.
So, the debit card is winning out, at least here in Topeka. It’s fast, convenient, and always has the correct change. It’s almost universally accepted, takes up little space, and signifies that one is at least somewhat modern in thought and action.
I don’t like debit cards. They enable the tracking of my purchasing habits, provide too much of a paper trail, and are just one more thing for which I have to remember a PIN. They encourage non-relational transactions, destroy what little is left of mutual trust between business and consumer, and continue to preside over the degrading of humans into PIN-carriers.
Welcome to post-modernism.

Walkers and Runners

This Sunday afternoon, after the requisite nap on the couch, I spent some time on the back patio watching the people in the park across the creek. I’ve mentioned the park in prior posts, so you have a good idea what it’s like.
This time I noticed how people walk on the trail that hugs the creek. Some walk as if they have a to-do list, and have to check “walking” off of their list. They walk with purpose and little extraneous action. Others walk along slowly, stopping here and there to look at a squirrel, something in the brush, or just take in the view. Still others walk in a way that suggests they are having kind of a hard time even getting down the path. There’s a limp or an effort to their walk that tells me that all may not be well with their bodies. Yet others stroll with another person, holding hands or having a conversation as they walk.
Sometimes people run down the trail. They are usually dressed in appropriate attire and are running with a purpose. They are invariably well-proportioned. Yet others, mostly children, run for a short distance, then stop and look back. They yell at Mom, Dad, or whoever has taken them there and maybe play some kind of game with them. Joy is their primary emotion.
One of these days I’m going to do a personality profile on the walkers. I’d like to know if their personalities match their walking style. Are the purpose walkers the type A personalities…driven to succeed? Are they the 70-hour-a-week workers?
Are the walkers that have a hard time getting down the path determined just to finish the course, so to speak? The ones who take their time…do they stop and smell the roses of life at other times, too?
What kind of walker would you be? What kind of walker do you want to be? Me? I think I'm in the smell-the-roses category at my stage of life. I've many more years behind me than I have ahead of me. I want to enjoy what I have left to the fullest, by the grace of my Creator.

The Perfect Day

Today is just about the perfect spring day. The temperature is perfect (72 degrees), the wind is perfect (5 to 10 miles an hour out of the south), the sky is perfect (a few wispy clouds in an otherwise blue universe), and the lack of having to do anything right away is perfect.
The wildlife out back along the creek is enjoying the day as well. Squirrels chase each other up and down branches and jump from tree to tree, thoroughly enjoying life. A flicker pecks at an ever-widening hole in a dead tree on the other creek bank. A brown creeper alights on a branch, spirals up the branch to the top, then flies to another and starts over. A ground rat on the creek bank pokes his head above ground and hurries to the place where a neighbor throws corn for the critters. He gobbles a few bites, then hurries back to his den.
People in the park on the other side of the creek are playing Frisbee golf, cycling, loafing, and walking. One or two walk slowly enough to enjoy the scenery and animals. Once in a while a couple walk, holding hands.
I’ve told you about the wildlife and park before. Those things are, as you might guess, an important part of my day. There’s a reason for that. You see, it’s easy to see all of this right now, because the tree leaves aren’t out yet, obscuring the view. When later spring comes and the trees leaf out, much of the view will be gone. So I enjoy it while I can, and drink in the wonder of it all. For it won’t be long until it’s too hot, too steamy, and too obscured to really enjoy the sights.

Complaints

Today started out in a not-so-good way.  I have problems, from time to time, with vertigo.  I’ve had the condition for years, and once in a while it pops up out of its hiding place and torments me for a few hours.
Today wasn’t a bad case, as I never paid homage to the porcelain god in the bathroom.  But my head feels like it’s about twice its normal size, I have ringing in the ears, and I have the feeling that if I move too quickly, my head will fall off (wondering what that would feel like).
I think I’m on the downhill side this time, but had to wonder why I worry about it at all when I checked my email this morning.  I had a post from a woman here in Topeka who was diagnosed with breast cancer just a few weeks ago, has already had surgery, and is on a chemo track.  She’s forty three years old.
After talking some about her treatment and her life, she says the following:  “So here is the plan...I smile every day...especially at the notes I get...I take along a good book or friends and other inspirational encouragement and reading material ... keep up the faith and I continue to have a strong will.”
What do I have to complain about?

Discombobulation

It’s a little early for me to be sitting in front of the PC.  It’s a little after 7am, and I am just not used to doing this at this hour.  I know, some of you early-risers have done half of a day’s work by this time, but the rest of us have our ruts, and we sort of like them.
I get up earlier than usual on Wednesdays, because I have a Bible study (yes, a real Bible study) with a church member and the preacher at 6:30am on Wednesdays in the member’s basement.  This appears to be a good time for him, and it works out for us, too.  However, he called this morning while I was in the shower and said he was ill and wouldn’t be able to do the study.
So now, I’m about an hour or so ahead of schedule.  Normally, I reach the PC by about 8am or so, but find myself here today earlier than “normal.”  What was that I said about ruts?  That we like them?
In reality, I think we are in love with our ruts, and it becomes even more of a love fest as we age.  I don’t know what the appeal is of a standardized way of doing things, but the attraction just seems to get stronger the farther we travel down the road of life and living.
So today, I’ll be discombobulated all day long.  I’ll want to retire to the comfort of the bed at about 9:30 this evening instead of the usual 10:30 to 11pm.  I’ll want to eat lunch at 10am.  Things won’t be normal at all.  I’ll always be thinking that I’m doing something forbidden somehow, and that the day is just running away with itself into chaos and waste.
I think I might in fact enjoy this day after all.

Looking For Something?

I seem to write better in the morning than in the afternoon or evening.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s the caffeine that’s swimming in the Air Force mug on my desk.  Maybe my brain is more rested now (whatever that means).  On the other hand, it just could be that I am more of a morning person than I think.
It also helps when people acknowledge what I’ve written.  I just received an email from Kathy, who was encouraging regarding my recent post “Taste and See.”  I don’t write for the feedback, but appreciate it nevertheless.  I know that people read my writing even though they don’t always comment on the blog site.
Today looks like it will be a relatively busy one for me, if I can get myself in gear.  Yesterday was kind of a lost cause, as I wasn’t in a perky mood and thought I was doing good just to have something prepared for the church prayer team, which met at our home last night.
The meeting was a good thing, because I think there were some others who were kind of in a downer mood, too, and we all left the meeting in better spirits.  There’s something about genuine and heartfelt group prayer that puts things back into perspective and gives new hope.
Group prayer (and God) may not be your thing, but if you’re looking for something and haven’t found it yet, consider carefully.  You may just find the answers you’ve been seeking in Someone who has been loving you all this time.

Taste and See

This evening was one of those “almost perfect” evenings that we sometimes have in the spring or fall.  The only thing that would have made it better would have been a few degrees warmer temperature.  However, the wind was calm, the sky was clear with just a few floaters in it, people were in the park across the creek playing Frisbee golf, walking, cycling, or whatever, and birds, squirrels, ducks, and other animals were scurrying about preparing for the night to come.
I got myself a cup of leftover morning coffee, heated it in the micro, and sat out on our second floor patio taking it all in.  A hot air balloon floated lazily overhead just a few hundred feet up, and was making about a mile every 10 minutes.  I could hear the voices of the people in the gondola, and of course, the noise of the flame as it cycled on and off.
I had my binoculars and bird book, saw a few birds, and heard a few more.  Mostly, the juncos and cardinals had charge of the trees and brush out back, with one or two robins flying across the back yard at times.  We aren’t bothered much by sparrows and starlings, although they do stop at times.
I am truly grateful for evenings like this one.  They come all too infrequently, and I think few people enjoy them.  They are, rather, in the house in front of the boob tube, hurrying to finish this or that chore, or going somewhere in a hurry.  I do those things, too, but more and more enjoy taking a few minutes to “taste and see that the Lord is good.”

Short Trip

We came home a few hours ago from a short trip to southern Missouri.  We headed to the Branson area and spent a couple nights at a resort on Indian Point (on past where you normally turn off to park at Silver Dollar City) with my brother and sister from Wichita and their families.  We’ve stayed at the resort before, and we feel comfortable there.
Although it was cold, we had a good time playing cards, eating, talking, shopping, eating, walking, resting, eating, and show-seeing (Shoji Tabuchi).  Did I mention eating?
By the way, Shoji is worth seeing.  Yes, he’s a country violinist, but only about a fourth of his show was country.  There was patriotic, gospel, classical, oldies rock, show tunes, and other genre scattered throughout, with amazing and glittering production numbers.  The theater itself is a showpiece…more than just a building.  You about have to see it to appreciate it.
In any event, it is always good to go to things like that and see the relatives.  It’s also always good to turn in to the drive and park in the garage.  I may write about some things that happened in the last 48 hours or so…or I may not.  We’ll just see how it goes.

The Small Things

It isn't always easy to remember to write in my blog. I think, although I have yet to look, that it has been several days since I last wrote. Since that time, we've had what seems to be days and days of cloudiness, drizzle, and the threat (although it never materialized) of a foot of snow.
This is the seventh day that it has been cloudy. It's the first day since Saturday that we've not had some kind of drizzle or moisture. And the snow threat that had been talked about since a week ago Sunday resulted in about ¾ inch of moisture, with about an inch of snow rather than the foot of snow everyone was talking about.
Yes, I know that some people got a foot or more. But we didn't. That's more to my liking anyway. Snow just keeps things cold, is a pain to drive in, and makes for a slushy mess for days on end. Besides, our dog is afraid she'll get lost in the snow, and insists I make a bare place for her to do her business outside. I guess that's OK, but it is always a little embarrassing when I have to explain why I started shoveling a place in the yard, only to stop after 10 feet or so.
At least she's not at the stage in life, even though she's almost 15, where we have to let her out every hour. I should be thankful for the small things.

Thanks In Advance

This evening, I am just kind of waiting.  We’ve been expecting some kind of rain/snow/sleet/ice event since about last Monday, and it’s been cloudy since yesterday morning.  But we have yet to see the rain/snow/sleet/ice, and it seems it gets sort of pushed back every 12 hours or so into the NEXT 12 hour period.
They say (who is “they”, anyway) that 30 or so miles to the north and west of us, the folks can expect a foot of snow by Tuesday morning.  But they are rather ambivalent about us here in Topeka.
I do hope we get rain, but I am less enthused about snow/ice/sleet.  However, if it is to be, then so be it.  It will eventually do good for us, whether it comes as liquid, solid, or flakes.
Sometimes I think we’d be better off if we didn’t have weather forecasts, and just went with the flow.  Of course, that would lead to hearing about a tornado when we actually heard one…a little late, don’t you think…and being in the way of hurricanes, etc.  So that might not be so good after all.
On the other hand, I can handle TV weather people better if they don’t make every rain or snow event seem like it’s going to be the end of civilization as we know it.  The human race has endured bad weather for eons, and can withstand it now without becoming extinct.  Give us just a little break from the hype, huh guys?  Thanks.

Tax Whining

I need to get busy.  With my taxes, that is.  We’ve gathered all of the information.  Now I need to put it into a spreadsheet and send it off to our tax preparer.  I am dreading this tax year, as I believe we will owe a lot of money.  No, we didn’t plan it that way…it just worked out that way.
So, with papers in hand, sitting down at the PC, I will trundle my way through the maze of contributions, rental expenses, taxes paid, capital gains, the selling of real estate, and other such things, and figure out what to send to the tax man.
I know, I should appreciate the fact that I live in this great nation, and I do appreciate it.  And I wouldn’t mind paying taxes so much if it seemed like a fair system.  However, it seems the system is becoming more skewed all the time.  The same seems to be true with our system of property taxes and our sales taxes in Kansas.  There are so many exemptions, tax rates, etc., that it’s difficult to justify why I should always be the one who ponies up tax payments that have no calculated reductions, credits, or other perks given to other classes of people, for whatever reason.
I know.  Someone will tell me that I am whining about nothing.  Yes, I admit that I am whining, but this is my blog, and I can whine if I choose to do so.  I choose to do so.  Whine.  Whine.  Whine.  Whine.

Welcome Wednesday!

I am up early today, at least for me.  Normally, I set my alarm for 7am and get to work at about 8:30.  Today, Chris and I are meeting with a church member at 6:30am for Bible study.  We’ve been doing that for several weeks now, and plan to continue as long as we can.
We meet in the man’s basement in order not to disturb the rest of the family as they prepare for their day.  We meet for an hour, and usually are somewhat reluctant to close out the session.  We know we must, however, because he has to get to work himself.
There’s something about seeing the day from a perspective that one normally does not get that makes it special.  Just like being out at 2am, one’s senses are attuned more keenly to the sights and sounds of the morning.  It’s almost like one is transported somehow to a different world…one with many of the same features as the familiar, but a different ambiance, flavor, and aroma.
Of course, sometimes it’s not nearly as poetic as all of that.  Sometimes, it’s just a drag to be out at otherworldly hours, because it’s much more comfortable in bed with eyes fixed on the inside of one’s eyelids, gazing at ethereal delights of the mind in dreamland.
Welcome Wednesday!!

Good People

Today is a kind of a downer for me. We all have days when it seems that things are just going too quickly, and issues continue to rear their heads despite our best efforts to keep them down.
Ministers are many times caught in the trap of working with other people's issues and problems while sometimes neglecting the ones that are closest to home. We really do care and grieve and weep and rejoice with others...sometimes to the point that we have nothing left for ourselves and our families.
I am at the church now, preparing for a prayer session with Chris, my co-worker here in Topeka. We will pray for others and their needs...from marriage issues to cancer to knowing God better. Hopefully, at least one of us will remember to pray for Chris and me as well...for our needs, issues, and relationship with God.
We have a hard time turning off the needs of the flock and spending some time with ourselves and our loved ones. But we have to understand that we are ALL ministers. It's not just my job to weep, mourn, rejoice, and care. That's something we all can and should be doing.
I need to let go and let others fill the void. There are good people in my flock that are ready, willing, and able to provide the shoulder, utter the prayers, and care for the necessities of others. I am thankful for them, and praise my Maker that they are here for me as well as others in the flock.

Contemplation

I’m listening to the Bible in a year.  Max McLean, the well-known artist, reads each chapter.  If you’re interested, you can download each day’s reading at http://www.answersingenesis.org/answersmedia/audiobible/  You don’t have to start in January.  You can start now if you like.
In any event, I am at the place in the Old Testament book of Joshua where Israel crosses over into the Promised Land and destroys the civilizations that are living there.  I was struck again by the utter destruction and extreme bloodshed that occurred at that time.  Israel was under orders to kill everything that breathed…man, woman, child, and in many cases, animals.  I take those events to be true as written, and believe that the God of the universe ordained the destruction.  I leave our sense of outrage, fairness, and “how can a loving God do that?” for another discussion at another time.
I tried to imagine myself as a part of the army that was to “ethnic cleanse” the land of Canaan.  I tried to imagine myself with a sword in my hand, ready to strike a helpless woman dead.  I wondered what it would have been like to kill children, animals, women, girls, and “all that breathed.”  I wondered what it would be like to spend a day doing that, then going back to my tent, to my own wife and children.  Then I tried to multiply that by months of the same.  I couldn’t go there.  It was beyond my comprehension.
I am contemplating what I heard today.  I have no answers, only more questions.  In all my years of knowing what is in that part of the Bible, I have never been touched by this as I was today.  And I’m not sure I want to be touched in this way again.

Moving Day

Why is it that people hold on to stuff that is of no use to anyone, least of all them?  I know that’s not a good way to start a writing, but I’m really confused, I guess.  Let me back up a little.
I helped a lady pack and load stuff into a U-Haul truck today.  The truck was a small one, and she had more stuff than what would fit into a large one.  She had stuff everywhere…closets, garage, utility, cabinets, on the floor…everywhere.  And most of it wasn’t boxed up or even sorted.
So we sorted/packed and carried to the truck.  John stayed in the truck and squeezed every available cubic inch out of the truck box.  We got most of the stuff loaded, but there was a lot left when I had to leave.
That is why I am asking the question.  I know I do the same thing.  We cut down on a lot of our stuff when we moved about 5 years ago, and we cut down again last year when we moved here.  We still have more stuff than I care to move the next time, so we’ll probably cut down some more.  And I have a 1951 Minneapolis Moline “U” tractor that is still at the home place.  I have no clue what I’m going to do with that.
Whatever happened to those college days when we could move with a pickup load or two?  What happens as we become adults that prompts us to hoard?  I dunno.  And if you have a clue, I’m all ears.

Thank You, God

Today has been a slow day so far.  I’ve not felt well today, and am not “percolating” as well as I normally do.  However, it’s time to get some things done, and my head hurts less than it did a couple of hours ago, so in a few minutes, I’ll be taking care of some business.
I know that I really don’t have bad aches and pains.  I know that others have far greater problems than I.  Cancer and cancer treatment comes to the top of my mind just now as I think of people that I know and have known who spend weeks and months feeling lousy.  Some recover; some don’t.  Today I will visit a friend who, I just found out, has breast cancer, has had surgery, and is commencing treatment.
My problems with sinus, headaches, and dizziness pale in comparison with the suffering of others at this minute.  I have no right to gripe, complain, or pout.
Thank you, God, for this day.  Thank you for my daily bread.  Thank you for a warm place to stay, clothes on my back, and people who love me.  Thank you for the opportunity I have to demonstrate your love in some way this day.

Taking Stock

The last week or so, the days have been noticeably warmer in the Topeka area.  It’s obvious that things are awakening out there.  Though it’s a bit early for leaves, flowers, and mosquitoes, it’s not too early for birds.
Letting Susie out in the morning is sometimes a real treat.  Across the street in the sycamore tree will be a robin making his presence known.  To my left over by the creek, a cardinal, with equal gusto, will be staking his claim to the territory.  Out back, high in an elm or oak, a crow will be making noises that let others know he thinks he’s hot stuff.
Sometimes they sing together, making for a sort of natural chorus.  And if one goes out early enough in the morning, the noise of the traffic on neighboring through streets isn’t noticeable, and the birds have the stage all to themselves.
Susie, of course, has no compulsion to stop and listen to the birds.  She’s much more interested in sniffing out the scent of any dogs that may have roamed the yard during the night, chasing away any squirrels that happen to be ground-based, and relieving her bladder of the night’s accumulation of fluid.
In a way, Susie mirrors a lot of us.  We are too busy with the busy work to notice our world.  It doesn’t hurt to stop what we’re doing from time to time and take stock of what is around us.  And if we do, we often come away from that encounter with a renewed sense of peace and wellness.  That, friend, is worthwhile.

Life's Discomforts

We just came back today from a quick trip to Central Kansas.  One of my wife’s aunts passed away, and the funeral was today.  I know the drill.  It works for most any funeral done in a rural area.
Go to the church (or mortuary, but usually a church) an hour before the funeral and sit for a “reading of the flowers”.  That means that the mortician person reads the cards that come with the flower arrangements, and also reads the memorials that were sent.  The idea is that the family knows who did what and who sent what, I would suppose.  During this time, the casket is left open for a final family viewing.
We then are ushered into an area of the church reserved for family, and we wait until everyone else is seated.  That gives us time to potty, visit, smoke (outside) and generally get ready.  When everyone else is seated, the casket is closed and moved to the front.  The family is then ushered to the front and seated.
We then have the service, about 30 to 45 minutes long.  There are songs, usually solos, and remembrances; also an address given by a minister or church official.
We then are ushered out to our vehicles and go to the cemetery behind the hearse.  There is about a five minute committal service, then we stand around and visit a few minutes, then go somewhere for a dinner, usually prepared by church people.  After the dinner, we are all dismissed to our “separate places of abode”.
It may not be wild and crazy, but it works for a lot of people.  They find comfort in the familiar, even in the midst of a life-changing event.  And that may be the most comforting of all…that we can indeed find comfort in the midst of life’s discomforts.    

Bruce Beheimer and the Rain

It was raining this morning in Topeka.  Oh, nothing like the toad-stranglers we had in Western Kansas sometimes.  No, this rain was more like a drizzle, a dampening of what was out of doors overnight.  Evidence of the ongoing drizzle was made plain by the water that I heard fall off the eave during the night.
I like that sound…water dripping off a roof.  There’s something soothing and quieting about that, especially while I am in bed, warm and dry.  I think that sound takes me back to times when I was growing up.  My room was at one corner of the house where rainwater dripped off the eaves and on to a walkway below.  It was somehow soothing for me then, too, to hear that sound.  Sometimes I’d hear it early in the morning, after Mom and Dad had gotten up and before all the kids aroused.  That sound would be combined with the smell of coffee on the stove (she perked it the cowboy way…over a fire on the gas stove), the rustling of the morning paper, the noise of Bruce Beheimer on KFH radio (Wichita) giving the market report (Dad was a farmer/stockman), and the once-in-a-while talking across the table.
I kind of miss hearing Bruce’s nasally monotone, the smell of Mom’s coffee (which poured out of the pot like syrup), and the table talk.  I don’t have to miss the rain dripping off of the eave, though.  And that’s enough for me.

The Humility

I just returned from a 24 hour trip to Missouri to visit an old friend in El Dorado Springs.  I hadn’t seen Steve for several years, and sad to say, time hasn’t made him better-looking.  As for wisdom, however, the Lord has made up for His failure to supply the looks and has endowed him with not only a good life partner, a couple of great kids, and true peace and joy, but has also provided him with a wisdom that is both apparent and gracious.
I enjoyed the conversation and time together.  I was able to benefit from the grace of wisdom, and trust they too were benefited by my visit.  I have but one regret…that I didn’t have the time to introduce his daughter (7 years old) to sharps and flats on the piano.
It’s rather dry in that part of the country, and people are getting a little nervous about the spring crops.  That’s an agricultural area, and rain is always the principle topic of conversation in the coffee shops and in chance meetings with others of like mind.  Even people like Steve, whose vocation is in no way agricultural, rely on the rain for the continued stirring of the economic engine that keeps him and his family in clothes and under a roof.
Kind of makes one think that perhaps we don’t have the tiger by the tail after all in this great nation of ours.  Kind of gets one to understanding that the Good Lord still has the final say about whether we languish or prosper.  Kind of brings on the humility.

Perspectives

Well, in a couple of hours, I hope to be off to see an old friend in Missouri.  Steve and his wife Tamy used to live in our home community, and became dear friends to us.  I haven’t seen him for many years and look forward to visiting for a day or so.
My purpose in going is two-fold.  I look forward to renewing the friendship, and I have need of some pastoral counseling that I believe he can provide.  Steve is a minister, and I need to talk to someone like him.  I look forward to a fruitful discussion.
I’ve been catching up on some housework today.  Clothes are in the laundry; I’ve cleaned the bathroom, done the dishes, and scrubbed the kitchen floor.  This time I did the floor by hand with a towel.  You know, it’s almost easier just to do it that way than to get out the mop and go through all of the motions associated with it.
One also gets a different perspective on the floor itself.  I see spots where I haven’t seen them before.  I see dirty corners, chipped baseboard, and “things” adhering to cupboard doors.  It makes for a rather “interesting” experience.
It doesn’t hurt to look at things from a different perspective.  That’s why I’m visiting with Steve today and tonight.  I think he’ll show me something I have not seen before, and am only beginning to understand.  I’m ready.

Sixty Years

Tonight is last time Max Falkenstein of Kansas University athletics announces a game at Allen Fieldhouse.  He’s hanging it up after this season of KU men’s basketball.  He’s called all of the men’s games ever played at the fieldhouse.  He’s been at it for sixty (count ‘em….60) years.
His sidekick, and main play by play man, Bob Davis, is a mere youngster compared to Max.  Bob has only been on the air since about 1968, having started out in Western Kansas at the same radio station where I began my career, and at the same time.  In comparison, Bob is a mere youngster.
What is it like to spend 60 years doing anything?  Max can tell you.  I don’t know that many others have had the privilege.  We normally don’t work 60 years.  We don’t normally do ANYTHING 60 years.  Some of us are lucky enough to work 50 years, but 60?  No way.
And marriage.  What about marriage?  What about those who have been married to the same man or woman for 60 years?  I’ve been married a little over half of that, and although my marriage is happy, I can’t imagine what it would be like to be with someone for that many years.  I hope to find out, though.
Thanks, Max, for 60 great years.  And thank you, Bob Davis, for your unique calling of whatever sporting event you happen to be doing at the time…football, basketball, baseball…you’re pretty good.  I knew you wouldn’t t stay at that kilowatt daytimer very long.