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?
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, May 29, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
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!!
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!!
Friday, May 19, 2006
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?
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?
Thursday, May 18, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
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.)
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.)
Monday, May 15, 2006
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…?
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…?
Thursday, May 11, 2006
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!!
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.
“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.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
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.
Monday, May 08, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, May 05, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
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 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.
Monday, May 01, 2006
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!!
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!!
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