“I like change better when everything stays the same!” So says, I believe, Archie Bunker in an episode of All In The Family. I and many others can certainly relate to Archie as he struggled to catch up with the times, while desperately wishing to maintain some semblance of tradition and what he would consider normalcy in his life.
“Fiddler On The Roof” has tradition as a main theme. Churches are steeped in tradition, as is government, the educational system, the military, and many other organizations. Tradition even rises to the stature of law or rule in the minds of many, even though nothing of that particular tradition was ever codified.
We attended a Kansas University football game yesterday. It’s not the first time I’ve been to a KU game, and KU isn’t the only college game I’ve attended. I’m not so much of a sports nut, though, as I am a student of people. I like to watch, as many do, the traditions that accompany a sporting event on a university campus. The release of the falcon at Air Force Academy games, the appearance of the KU band out of the stadium entrances, and many other traditions you can think of which are attached to such events are as much a part of the experience as the game itself.
I was thinking yesterday as I watched some of the tradition play out for the millionth time how even in this day when we have instant access to virtually anything via smart phones and the Internet, some things just don’t change. And if someone were to try to change some tradition at a college sporting event, I dare say the earth itself would move to swallow up the one trying to make that change.
Much as we like to think we’re progressive and open, there is a gene within us that longs for the familiar and the traditional. There is a longing within us for the time-honored and customary. There are some venues into which innovation, novelty, and improvement just aren’t invited.
And that’s OK.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Hope
I had a few minutes of free time this afternoon after calling a couple of Bingo games at work. I sat and visited with a lady from our church who is also a short term resident at our place. As we were visiting about this and that, an older lady who also is a resident sat down at the piano and started playing.
She was playing in (how shall I say) an evangelical protestant style similar to what one might hear in a Baptist church. And she was doing very well for her age (90 years or more old). She had lost her husband, a retired preacher, just 10 or so days ago. He had suffered with dementia for several years. They both moved here when they got just too frail to remain at home.
The first song she played was “Because He Lives”, written by Bill and Gloria Gaither. If you don't know the words to the song, you should. “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know He holds the future; and life is worth the living just because He lives.”
I have to admit that I teared up a bit while she was playing that song. She's not always “with it” herself at 100%, but today at least, she knew, apparently, where her hope lay.
I saw a quiet strength and witness in this woman today that I've not seen before in her. I don't think I'll soon forget the evangelical musical recital I heard today.
She was playing in (how shall I say) an evangelical protestant style similar to what one might hear in a Baptist church. And she was doing very well for her age (90 years or more old). She had lost her husband, a retired preacher, just 10 or so days ago. He had suffered with dementia for several years. They both moved here when they got just too frail to remain at home.
The first song she played was “Because He Lives”, written by Bill and Gloria Gaither. If you don't know the words to the song, you should. “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know He holds the future; and life is worth the living just because He lives.”
I have to admit that I teared up a bit while she was playing that song. She's not always “with it” herself at 100%, but today at least, she knew, apparently, where her hope lay.
I saw a quiet strength and witness in this woman today that I've not seen before in her. I don't think I'll soon forget the evangelical musical recital I heard today.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Do It Again??
I was perusing a couple of blogs down here on my computer. The TV was on, and someone was singing. One of the lyrics caught my ear. It was, “I love life; I’d do it again.” I stopped perusing blogs and thought about that line. No, I would not say that. I don’t want to live life again. I like where I am at this time in this place, and look forward not only to the future here, but eternity.
I’m tired. I’ve worked for almost 45 years, earning money for myself and for my family. I’m ready to do something else. No, I’m not ready to give up and die. I have too many plans…too much on the hook…too much in mind to ever spend a lot of time in my easy chair. The kids are raised, we’re enjoying the grandkids, and we have more than enough of the basics of food, clothing, and shelter.
We have been, and are being blessed beyond compare. Why, in heaven’s name, would I want to go back and do it all again?
I’m tired. I’ve worked for almost 45 years, earning money for myself and for my family. I’m ready to do something else. No, I’m not ready to give up and die. I have too many plans…too much on the hook…too much in mind to ever spend a lot of time in my easy chair. The kids are raised, we’re enjoying the grandkids, and we have more than enough of the basics of food, clothing, and shelter.
We have been, and are being blessed beyond compare. Why, in heaven’s name, would I want to go back and do it all again?
Louis
Once a month or so, I take time off and visit a woman. We have a continuing professional relationship and understanding. I give her money, and she provides a service. I’ve been doing this ever since we moved to Wichita several years ago. When I first started seeing her, we lived not far from where we meet; but since we’ve moved to the west side, it’s much farther to drive, yet I still make the trip. She makes me look good and feel better. I’m at ease when with her, and enjoy the time we spend together.
Oh, I just read the above paragraph and might want to explain a little further. She’s my barber. No, she’s not a beautician, but rather is a barber. She has a shop over in the Riverside area, and does a good job keeping my mop tamed and in place.
I first started going there when we lived nearby. When I went into the shop the first time, I just presumed a man would be there, but was surprised to the point that I even asked her if she was a barber or beautician. You see, I’ve gone to beauticians, both male and female, but just prefer a barber. There IS a difference.
And I don’t know why I make the 20 or so minute drive to this same shop now that we live on the west side. There are barbers out here, most of whom are probably very good at what they do. But about once a month I make the drive, wait a few minutes (or if it was like today, just got in the chair right away), and a few minutes later, my head feels cooler, lighter, and looks better. Sometimes I combine the trip with a visit to the Riverside Café or Indian Hills Ace, but most of the time I just get my hair cut.
Usually, on the way there or back, or both ways, I will take the more scenic roads. I try to avoid the interstates and bypasses in favor of 13th street, Waco, Douglas, 2nd street, Bitting, or one of the other ways to get from here to there and back again. Sometimes I’ll stop and visit with Sis, or maybe stop at the coffee store for some more fresh-ground joe, but usually I just go and come back. The barber charges ten dollars, of which I figure she gets to keep four or five after paying taxes, rent, and other expenses. That’s reasonable, and in fact is rather inexpensive nowadays.
This morning, I was reminded while I sat in the chair, of the barber in my hometown. Louis is long gone from this earth, but stays with me in my thoughts as I reminisce in my mind of times long ago and never to be again. When I was a child, his shop was usually filled with men laughing and carrying on, and smoke so thick it was hard to see the other wall. That smell of cigarette smoke, hair tonic, shaving cream, and old men still is fresh in my mind. The comic books were usually pretty fresh, and there was even an Esquire to sneak a peek at if I was lucky.
He’d put a board on the chair and sit me on it (at least until I could manage the chair without it). He’d adjust the chair up or down as needed and begin with the electric razor around my ears. It usually took about 20 minutes for a cut, usually because he stopped to talk to others who were there, mostly to pass the time.
After most of the cut was finished, he’d lather up my sideburns and the back of my neck with hot lather, whether I was a boy or later on after adulthood. He’d sharpen his straight razor on the leather strop on the side of his chair each and every time he’d use it. If he got to talking with someone while sharpening the razor, he might be there sharpening for a long time. The razor never pulled or tugged, however. Then he’d use the hot towel to remove the excess cream and we’d finish with the hair vacuum combined with a soft bristle brush.
He had a set routine and never varied from it, even in his later years. Those years saw the removal of cigarettes from the shop, and there weren't as many loafers, but the comics were still fresh, along with the Esquire magazines. He wasn’t quite as neat in later years, either, but I wouldn’t have gone to anyone else, nor would I have taken the boys anywhere else as long as he cut hair.
The final straw was the piece of Double-Bubble bubble gum. I got a piece whether a child or an adult…didn’t matter. It seemed the gum piece got a little smaller after adulthood, but that’s OK. A lot of things seemed to get smaller along with the gum.
Barber shops aren’t like that much anymore. There’s never any cigarette smoke, and not a lot of loafers spend the day in the shop. There’s no bubble gum, and although my barber has a razor and strop and was trained in using them, she doesn’t, and says she hasn’t for years. But I’d still rather go to the barber shop than a beauty shop any day. And at times, some experience there takes me back, however briefly, to the shop on East Main where Louis would always be ready with a comic book, a razor, and a piece of bubble gum.
Oh, I just read the above paragraph and might want to explain a little further. She’s my barber. No, she’s not a beautician, but rather is a barber. She has a shop over in the Riverside area, and does a good job keeping my mop tamed and in place.
I first started going there when we lived nearby. When I went into the shop the first time, I just presumed a man would be there, but was surprised to the point that I even asked her if she was a barber or beautician. You see, I’ve gone to beauticians, both male and female, but just prefer a barber. There IS a difference.
And I don’t know why I make the 20 or so minute drive to this same shop now that we live on the west side. There are barbers out here, most of whom are probably very good at what they do. But about once a month I make the drive, wait a few minutes (or if it was like today, just got in the chair right away), and a few minutes later, my head feels cooler, lighter, and looks better. Sometimes I combine the trip with a visit to the Riverside Café or Indian Hills Ace, but most of the time I just get my hair cut.
Usually, on the way there or back, or both ways, I will take the more scenic roads. I try to avoid the interstates and bypasses in favor of 13th street, Waco, Douglas, 2nd street, Bitting, or one of the other ways to get from here to there and back again. Sometimes I’ll stop and visit with Sis, or maybe stop at the coffee store for some more fresh-ground joe, but usually I just go and come back. The barber charges ten dollars, of which I figure she gets to keep four or five after paying taxes, rent, and other expenses. That’s reasonable, and in fact is rather inexpensive nowadays.
This morning, I was reminded while I sat in the chair, of the barber in my hometown. Louis is long gone from this earth, but stays with me in my thoughts as I reminisce in my mind of times long ago and never to be again. When I was a child, his shop was usually filled with men laughing and carrying on, and smoke so thick it was hard to see the other wall. That smell of cigarette smoke, hair tonic, shaving cream, and old men still is fresh in my mind. The comic books were usually pretty fresh, and there was even an Esquire to sneak a peek at if I was lucky.
He’d put a board on the chair and sit me on it (at least until I could manage the chair without it). He’d adjust the chair up or down as needed and begin with the electric razor around my ears. It usually took about 20 minutes for a cut, usually because he stopped to talk to others who were there, mostly to pass the time.
After most of the cut was finished, he’d lather up my sideburns and the back of my neck with hot lather, whether I was a boy or later on after adulthood. He’d sharpen his straight razor on the leather strop on the side of his chair each and every time he’d use it. If he got to talking with someone while sharpening the razor, he might be there sharpening for a long time. The razor never pulled or tugged, however. Then he’d use the hot towel to remove the excess cream and we’d finish with the hair vacuum combined with a soft bristle brush.
He had a set routine and never varied from it, even in his later years. Those years saw the removal of cigarettes from the shop, and there weren't as many loafers, but the comics were still fresh, along with the Esquire magazines. He wasn’t quite as neat in later years, either, but I wouldn’t have gone to anyone else, nor would I have taken the boys anywhere else as long as he cut hair.
The final straw was the piece of Double-Bubble bubble gum. I got a piece whether a child or an adult…didn’t matter. It seemed the gum piece got a little smaller after adulthood, but that’s OK. A lot of things seemed to get smaller along with the gum.
Barber shops aren’t like that much anymore. There’s never any cigarette smoke, and not a lot of loafers spend the day in the shop. There’s no bubble gum, and although my barber has a razor and strop and was trained in using them, she doesn’t, and says she hasn’t for years. But I’d still rather go to the barber shop than a beauty shop any day. And at times, some experience there takes me back, however briefly, to the shop on East Main where Louis would always be ready with a comic book, a razor, and a piece of bubble gum.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Worlds
It’s been a little trying for me the last few days. A cold has taken hold, and although it isn’t a bad one, it tends to make me feel less than good. I’m not complaining, however. I know there are many fighting cancer, intractable pain, disability, etc. which makes my cold seem like a walk in the park. I am blessed to be as healthy as I am and to have access to medications that ameliorate some chronic conditions I have. I can move, think, work, and enjoy life.
I was working in a flower bed yesterday, pulling weeds and old, dead plants out of the bed. As I worked on my hands and knees clearing out the “brush”, I noticed that there was a whole ‘nuther world down there on the ground that I think people very seldom see. There were worms, spiders, roly bugs, snails, ants, and other assorted life forms who were becoming very perturbed at my disrupting their habitat. I’m sure some of them died because of what I did, and others made their way to the heavier brush of the asparagus plants toward the back of the bed.
We actually live in and among many worlds like this. There are several worlds in water, for example. Cave worlds, deep sea worlds, coral worlds, and pond worlds are but a few. On land, we notice the world in the tops of trees, on trunks of trees and plants, under the ground, in caves, under rocks, and other places. All are as different as night is from day. And all in their own ways are beautiful manifestations of God’s creative ability.
Each of us also lives in a world at least partly of our own making. We don’t have total control of our world, but we can and do interfere with the natural order of our world and make it better, worse, or just different by the decisions we make and the things we say and do. Of course, the trick is to make our worlds better for ourselves without causing grief and expense to someone else. And then many times we end up falling into the stupid pit and make things more miserable for ourselves just by what we say or do (or don’t say or don’t do).
Next time you happen to intersect with another world, think about the one you live in for yourself. What can you do to make it better for both you and those you know and love?
I was working in a flower bed yesterday, pulling weeds and old, dead plants out of the bed. As I worked on my hands and knees clearing out the “brush”, I noticed that there was a whole ‘nuther world down there on the ground that I think people very seldom see. There were worms, spiders, roly bugs, snails, ants, and other assorted life forms who were becoming very perturbed at my disrupting their habitat. I’m sure some of them died because of what I did, and others made their way to the heavier brush of the asparagus plants toward the back of the bed.
We actually live in and among many worlds like this. There are several worlds in water, for example. Cave worlds, deep sea worlds, coral worlds, and pond worlds are but a few. On land, we notice the world in the tops of trees, on trunks of trees and plants, under the ground, in caves, under rocks, and other places. All are as different as night is from day. And all in their own ways are beautiful manifestations of God’s creative ability.
Each of us also lives in a world at least partly of our own making. We don’t have total control of our world, but we can and do interfere with the natural order of our world and make it better, worse, or just different by the decisions we make and the things we say and do. Of course, the trick is to make our worlds better for ourselves without causing grief and expense to someone else. And then many times we end up falling into the stupid pit and make things more miserable for ourselves just by what we say or do (or don’t say or don’t do).
Next time you happen to intersect with another world, think about the one you live in for yourself. What can you do to make it better for both you and those you know and love?
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Enjoying the Hour
I’ve been home most of the day, and got a little restless toward evening. So, about 7 o-clock I hopped (figuratively, I’m sure) into the pickup and took a drive in the country. I went down to 55th street south, then west far enough to go into Kingman County (barely), then north a little and back to Wichita via 31st street south.
There are some things I noticed that I will include here in no particular order. First, it’s dry. The roads raised a lot of dust in the rearview mirror, and one did not want to follow someone else very closely. Farmers are stripping their fields, in preparation for the windy conditions to come tomorrow and Monday. Stripping a field keeps the topsoil from blowing nearly as badly as it would if it were smooth and not worked.
Corn has been harvested, but wheat has not been planted to any great extent. Sometimes farmers will plant wheat in August in order to have good pasture, etc. I suspect that following the next rain, assuming it comes in a week or two, a lot of wheat will be planted very quickly.
Several farmers have spread lime and fertilizer on their fields already. Some have the lime in a pile, but haven’t spread it yet. Farm work never ends.
Just before sundown, as I drove into the small valleys where the creeks and draws were, I noticed a cooling of the air. I had the window open, the radio and air conditioner off, and was enjoying the outdoors. There was, I would say, upwards of an 8 to 10 degree change from the normal height into the “bottoms”. The wind was still, allowing the cooler air to settle in those low areas.
One lone deer was in a bean field. I was a little disappointed I didn’t see more. I did see a few quail run across the road. Haven’t seen them in quite a while.
The railroad runs to Garden Plain. I had thought that line was abandoned long ago when the bridge washed out over Cowskin Creek at Kellogg and Maize in Wichita. However, the portion of that line from Garden Plain to Kingman is in service, albeit on an as-needed basis, it looks like. Probably mostly in the spring and fall harvests. The line terminates about 500 feet east of the section line road on the east side of Garden Plain. That would be one line I’d love to ride some day. The scenery would be great, I would think, as it cuts through sections of land, crosses rivers and streams, and is far from well-traveled roads.
It’s a different world out there. People you don’t know wave in that typical rural fashion. In case you don’t know what that is, you put your hand on top of the steering wheel, and when someone passes you, you either raise your hand a bit, or your first finger to acknowledge them. Everyone has a signature wave. If you are a true rural resident, you can many times tell who it is just by their wave. You’re an “unfriendly” or a “foreigner” if you don’t wave.
There are a lot of people who have built a lot of really nice homes on acreage out there. There are older farmsteads, but they seem to be declining in numbers, and groups of developments are there, sometimes several miles from the city. One thing that is also true, however, is that the developments are not far from a paved road.
I enjoyed the hour I spent in Western Sedgwick County.
There are some things I noticed that I will include here in no particular order. First, it’s dry. The roads raised a lot of dust in the rearview mirror, and one did not want to follow someone else very closely. Farmers are stripping their fields, in preparation for the windy conditions to come tomorrow and Monday. Stripping a field keeps the topsoil from blowing nearly as badly as it would if it were smooth and not worked.
Corn has been harvested, but wheat has not been planted to any great extent. Sometimes farmers will plant wheat in August in order to have good pasture, etc. I suspect that following the next rain, assuming it comes in a week or two, a lot of wheat will be planted very quickly.
Several farmers have spread lime and fertilizer on their fields already. Some have the lime in a pile, but haven’t spread it yet. Farm work never ends.
Just before sundown, as I drove into the small valleys where the creeks and draws were, I noticed a cooling of the air. I had the window open, the radio and air conditioner off, and was enjoying the outdoors. There was, I would say, upwards of an 8 to 10 degree change from the normal height into the “bottoms”. The wind was still, allowing the cooler air to settle in those low areas.
One lone deer was in a bean field. I was a little disappointed I didn’t see more. I did see a few quail run across the road. Haven’t seen them in quite a while.
The railroad runs to Garden Plain. I had thought that line was abandoned long ago when the bridge washed out over Cowskin Creek at Kellogg and Maize in Wichita. However, the portion of that line from Garden Plain to Kingman is in service, albeit on an as-needed basis, it looks like. Probably mostly in the spring and fall harvests. The line terminates about 500 feet east of the section line road on the east side of Garden Plain. That would be one line I’d love to ride some day. The scenery would be great, I would think, as it cuts through sections of land, crosses rivers and streams, and is far from well-traveled roads.
It’s a different world out there. People you don’t know wave in that typical rural fashion. In case you don’t know what that is, you put your hand on top of the steering wheel, and when someone passes you, you either raise your hand a bit, or your first finger to acknowledge them. Everyone has a signature wave. If you are a true rural resident, you can many times tell who it is just by their wave. You’re an “unfriendly” or a “foreigner” if you don’t wave.
There are a lot of people who have built a lot of really nice homes on acreage out there. There are older farmsteads, but they seem to be declining in numbers, and groups of developments are there, sometimes several miles from the city. One thing that is also true, however, is that the developments are not far from a paved road.
I enjoyed the hour I spent in Western Sedgwick County.
The Long Weekend
This is kind of an unusual weekend for me. The wife is in central Kansas working with her siblings regarding their recently-deceased Dad’s estate. She left yesterday and plans to be there through Monday sometime. So the house (and all the housework) is mine.
I’ve started already, in the basement spare bedroom. It’s been neglected for awhile and needs a good cleaning. I need to put clean sheets on the bed and generally spiff it up. From there, I don’t know. I think I need to start some laundry and multi-task while I’m downstairs, but don’t have the energy to do that right now. I’m starting a trash pile in the middle of the basement floor, and hope I don’t throw away anything that we (read that “the wife”) think we need to keep.
The TV is on. Although the games don’t start for awhile, it is good company right now as I sip coffee, type this, and think about all we’ve neglected in this house the past month. Maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to get 30% or so done of all that I’ve in mind to do.
It promises to be a nice day outside, although the breeze will be obvious today, and it promises to become downright windy tomorrow and Monday. I should also work outdoors, but wish to leave that for a cool weekend Saturday when I won’t perspire so much and when it will feel good to exert in that way.
So we’ll see how much gets done this long weekend. Hopefully, I can make some inroads as well as have a somewhat relaxing weekend. Happy Labor Day.
I’ve started already, in the basement spare bedroom. It’s been neglected for awhile and needs a good cleaning. I need to put clean sheets on the bed and generally spiff it up. From there, I don’t know. I think I need to start some laundry and multi-task while I’m downstairs, but don’t have the energy to do that right now. I’m starting a trash pile in the middle of the basement floor, and hope I don’t throw away anything that we (read that “the wife”) think we need to keep.
The TV is on. Although the games don’t start for awhile, it is good company right now as I sip coffee, type this, and think about all we’ve neglected in this house the past month. Maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to get 30% or so done of all that I’ve in mind to do.
It promises to be a nice day outside, although the breeze will be obvious today, and it promises to become downright windy tomorrow and Monday. I should also work outdoors, but wish to leave that for a cool weekend Saturday when I won’t perspire so much and when it will feel good to exert in that way.
So we’ll see how much gets done this long weekend. Hopefully, I can make some inroads as well as have a somewhat relaxing weekend. Happy Labor Day.
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