CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS. . .

With thanks to Mr. Jack Swift, of the Mountain City, Tennessee "Tomahawk" newspaper, I would like to share this amazing understanding of Christmas. . .

Another year is almost gone and as I write this column Christmas is just a few days away. As I thought about what I would write about this week, I decided to just reflect on Christmas and what it means to me. This one will be my 70th Christmas and as I look back at Christmases past I remember the great times that we had as a family when I was young. I couldn’t wait till that day arrived. Perhaps I didn’t thoroughly understand the real meaning of Christmas then, but I knew that it was a time of giving as well as receiving.
Christmas was about the only time I received any toys but they were always welcome. Clothes and such were much less important in my young mind. Of all the toys I received, one stands out. It was a metal dump truck and since there was a dirt bank near our house, I put it to plenty of use.

While I enjoyed receiving gifts, even as a youngster I also enjoyed giving. I always tried to save enough money to give a gift to my mother and father and brother. As I grew older, I gradually became aware of the much deeper meaning of the Christmas season. Being raised to attend church, I had many opportunities to hear the minister preach about the birth of Christ and the Christian’s hope because of it.

While Christ’s birth came up in sermons periodically during the year, it was at Christmas that it was really emphasized. I was called upon to take part in a few Christmas plays at church over the years and I remember playing the old shoe cobbler one year. I believe his name was Nicholas. Anyway according to the play the old cobbler was told in a vision that Jesus Christ would pay him a visit before the night was past. If I remember right, as the play continued, three visitors who were in need interrupted him at different times and each time he would fulfill that need. Whether it was to give warmth by the roaring fire in his fireplace or to provide food, he gave of what he had. He was disappointed because at the end of the day Christ hadn’t visited his shop, or so he thought.

As the play ended, Nicholas found that each time he had been kind and considerate to each of his needy visitors, he had been ministering to Jesus. Jesus had been to his humble cobbler’s shop in the form of the three needy people. Of course it was only a Christmas play, but it pointed out that being kind and considerate to others is a prerequisite to knowing Jesus.

So, Christmas is not only a time of receiving but also of giving. Christians believe that the gift of Jesus, God’s only begotten Son, is the greatest gift of all.

Since becoming an adult, I have developed a much broader understanding of what the birth of Christ means to me. There is a song with a phrase that goes something like this: “Without Him I would be nothing.” I challenge my readers to see beyond the commercialism that has enveloped the Christmas season, and concentrate on the real meaning of Christmas.

Christmas was a joyous time of the year when I was young. It is no less a joyous time in my senior years. My wife and I enjoy receiving Christmas cards from our friends as well as the smiles and greetings we get as we travel about Johnson County. We also enjoy sending Christmas cards and giving gifts at Christmas time. We thank you for reading my column and may each of you have a glorious and joyful Christmas

“It would be a terrific innovation if you could get your mind to stretch a little further than the next wisecrack." Katherine Hepburn

Sage advice worth pondering. . .

"Stop the mindless wishing that things would be different. Rather than wasting time and emotional energy in explaining why we don't have what we want, we can start to pursue other ways to get it." Author: Greg Anderson

*** A 'hat tip' and an 'amen' to my sister, Judy, for this inspiration. ***

COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS. . . .

A new baby is on the way in our family. What a supreme joy and a reason for celebration! Any moment now, this precious little girl will expand our family and enlarge our hearts!!! What a wonderful reason to be happy.

Your prayers for her health and for Valerie, Heath, and Duncan are appreciated and welcomed!

Love you all, as always.

There's no place. . . .

Yet again. . . . .

Remember, every ending is a beginning . . .
"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world,
the master calls a butterfly."
~ Richard Bach

Good advice. . . . . .

Slip Don't Fall

One of the most important things to know on your journey to success is that you will occasionally slip up. It's how you respond to these slip ups that will determine if and when you achieve your goals.

Even the most disciplined, motivated people in the world have days when they don't take action and don't follow through. The difference between those who succeed and those who fail is that successful people slip but they don't fall.

Let me explain…

Here's a graph that shows how successful people progress towards achieving a goal:

As you can see from this graph, successful people DO slip up, but they always recover quickly. Compare this with the graph of people who fail:

Instead of recovering after a slip up, an unsuccessful person allows a slip to become a Fall.

When you slip up, you always have two options:

Option 1: You can start thinking negative thoughts and criticizing yourself by saying things like, "I don't have any will power" or "I'm just hopeless - I never follow through".

This is the approach of those who fail. Self criticism leads them into a downward spiral that inevitably ends in failure.

OR

Option 2: You can accept that you slipped up and simply say:

"OK, I slipped, but I will not fall!"

When you take this approach, you quickly overcome your slip up and get back on track towards achieving your goals.

So today, I'd like to encourage you to change your approach to dealing with slip ups. Instead of criticizing yourself, just accept the situation and make the decision that even when you slip, you will get back on track quickly and will not allow a slip to become a fall.

A mother's love is instinctual, unconditional, and forever.
- unknown

According to Doyle. . . . . .

"Don't be afraid to go out on a limb, 'cause that's where the fruit is."-- Doyle Brunson

Not an Endorsement, but I'm Just Sayin'. . . . .

Perhaps the best campaign statement I've heard yet, from any of the candidates:

"People don't need a president who looks down on them," she said. "They need a president who stands up for them." Hillary Clinton, 04-11-08

Heart tug and lessons to learn. . . .

What choice would you make?

What would you do? You make the choice. Don’t look for a punch line, there isn’t one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fund raising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: ‘When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?’

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. ‘I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.’

Then he told the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, ‘Do you think they’ll let me play?’ Shay’s father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay’s father approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could pla y. The boy looked around for guidance and said, ‘We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.’

Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. His Father watched with a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father’s joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again.. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat.Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher

The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, ‘Shay, run to first! Run to first!’ Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second, run to second!’ Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball … the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head.. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, ‘Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay’

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, ‘Run to third! Shay, run to third!’

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, ‘Shay, run home! Run home!’ Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.

‘That day’, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, ‘the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world’.

Shay didn’t make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.

If you’re thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you’re probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren’t the ‘appropriate’ ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the ‘natural order of things’ So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it’s least fortunate amongst them.

You now have two choices:
1. Forget this post
2. Forward this post

May your day, be a Shay Day.

Sublime to Ridiculous. . . . .

Noticed a 'twitter' comment on my nephew's blog (wabisabi), and thought I'd check out the article he was commenting on. It appeared in today's Chicago Sun Times. How anyone can conclude that the Sun Times is 'using' the story to create or promote further racial overtones in the current election cycle is beyond me. It appears that the Obama campaign may have over reacted and caused this to rise to the level of a newsworthy item. We are truly going from the sublime to the ridiculous and it hurts my soul to see it happening, because good people are being damaged, innocent remarks are being given ugly prominence, and we are losing sight of the big picture of where this country needs to go for our collective future.

As a white woman who was raised in completely integrated schools, etc. during the 50's and 60's, perhaps I see the charge of 'racism' a little differently. Sometimes, a 'monkey' is just a 'monkey' and has nothing to do with the color of one's skin. In fact, I called my own youngest daughter a monkey for years, 'cause she used to love to climb on people, places, and things. Was that racist -- subconscious, perhaps -- or merely a humorous reference to an animal's characteristics? If we say that someone is trying to 'ape' the gestures of another person, is that racist? I am getting soooo confused. And worried. And I feel sorry for the lady who is now in this nasty spotlight.

Perhaps the situation could have been handled better. . .particularly in light of Sen. Obama's recent eloquence on the issue of race and it's impact on our society. Perhaps his campaign officials could have contacted both parties to the dispute and arranged for the Senator to speak with them (by phone or in person, with or without press, etc.) to heal the wound, correct any misunderstanding, and unite these neighbors. By asking that she resign, Sen. Obama has -- whether intentionally or not -- painted this woman as a racist. What an unfortunate mantle for her to be burdened with, if her remark was indeed harmless. What an unfortunate missed opportunity for the Senator to have acted upon the beliefs he so recently spoke about.

What a world. We should do better.

BY ABDON M. PALLASCH Political Reporter/apallasch@suntimes.com

Moving to nip in the bud some potential bad press, White House hopeful Barack Obama's campaign persuaded a delegate to step down after she was ticketed for calling her neighbor's African-American children "monkeys."

Linda Ramirez-Sliwinski, a Carpentersville village trustee, was elected as an Obama delegate to the Democratic National Convention. She sports an Obama sign in her front yard.

» Click to enlarge image

Linda Ramirez-Sliwinski (left) admitted she used the word "monkeys," but said she did not intend racism. Barack Obama's campaign has persuaded the delegate to step down.
(File/AP)

On Saturday, two neighbor children were playing in the tree next-door to her house.

Ramirez-Sliwinski "came outside and told the children to quit playing in the tree like monkeys. The tree was not on Ramirez-Sliwinski's property," Carpentersville Police Commander Michael Kilbourne said.

Ramirez-Sliwinski admitted she used the word "monkeys," but said she did not intend racism. She said she was only trying to protect them from falling out of the tree.

"Linda Ramirez-Sliwinski said she saw the kids playing in the tree and didn't want them falling out of the tree and getting hurt. She said she calls her own grandchildren 'monkeys,' " Kilbourne said. The mother of one of the children did not see it that way, noting she and Ramirez-Sliwinski have clashed before.

"She felt it was racist because of the fact the children were African-American," Kilbourne said.

Told of the incident Monday by the Sun-Times, Obama's campaign called Ramirez-Sliwinski and persuaded her to step aside as a delegate because the campaign felt her remarks were "divisive and unacceptable."

"Given the incident, she is stepping down as a delegate and will be replaced," said campaign spokesman Ben Labolt.

Ramirez-Sliwinski did not return messages seeking comment Monday. She told the Daily Herald she meant no racism with her comment but that "after this incident, I will not run again" for trustee.

The only Hispanic on the board, Ramirez-Sliwinski has been a strong voice for Carpentersville's 40 percent Hispanic population. She and Village President Bill Sarto opposed an English-only proposition and an ordinance to crack down on illegal immigrants.

Opposition leader Judy Sigwalt said, "We are elected officials. We are in a position where people look to us for leadership and professionalism. We have to be diplomatic at all times."

"Frankly, I don't see a law that was broken here," Sarto said. "I think this entire thing has been blown out of proportion. She's a good neighor. She went over to caution the children to be careful not to fall out of a tree.

She has never indicated to me any prejudice whatsoever. We have a trustee who has been convicted on four counts of domestic battery and refuses to resign from the board. He beat his wife with a baseball bat. This seems far less egregious to me."

Ramirez-Sliwinski's $75 ticket was for "disorderly conduct," which Kilbourne defined as, "when a person does something that alarms or disturbs another.

A Message for the Donutbuzz Crowd. . . . .

THOUGHTS ON THE BATTLE OF VANILLA vs. PEANUT BUTTER CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM. . . . . . .

A complaint was received by the Pontiac Division of General Motors:

"This is the second time I have written you, and I don't blame you for not answering me, because I kind of sounded crazy, but it is a fact that we have a tradition in our family of ice cream for dessert after dinner each night. But the kind of ice cream varies so, every night, after we've eaten, the whole family votes on which kind of ice cream we should have and I drive down to the store to get it. It's also a fact that I recently purchased a new Pontiac and since then my trips to the store have created a problem.

You see, every time I buy vanilla ice cream, when I start back from the store my car won't start. If I get any other kind of ice cream, the car starts just fine. I want you to know I'm serious about this question, no matter how silly it sounds: 'What is there about a Pontiac that makes it not start when I get vanilla ice cream, and easy to start whenever I get any other kind?'"

The Pontiac President was understandably skeptical about the letter, but sent an engineer to check it out anyway. The latter was surprised to be greeted by a successful, obviously well educated man in a fine neighborhood. He had arranged to meet the man just after dinner time, so the two hopped into the car and drove to the ice cream store. It was vanilla ice cream that night and, sure enough, after they came back to the car, it wouldn't start.

The engineer returned for three more nights. The first night, the man got peanut butter chocolate ice cream. The car started. The second night, he got strawberry. The car started. The third night he ordered vanilla ice cream. The car failed to start.

Now the engineer, being a logical man, refused to believe that this man's car was allergic to vanilla ice cream. He arranged, therefore, to continue his visits for as long as it took to solve the problem. And toward this end he began to take notes: he jotted down all sorts of data, time of day, type of gas used, time to drive back and forth, etc. In a short time, he had a clue: the man took less time to buy vanilla ice cream than any other flavor. Why? The answer was in the layout of the store.

Vanilla ice cream, being the most popular flavor, was in a separate case at the front of the store for quick pickup. All the other flavors were kept in the back of the store at a different counter where it took considerably longer to find the flavor and get checked out.
Now the question for the engineer was why the car wouldn't start when it took less time. Once time became the problem -- not the vanilla ice cream -- the engineer quickly came up with the answer: vapor lock. It was happening every night, but the extra time taken to get the other flavors allowed the engine to cool down sufficiently to start. When the man got vanilla ice cream, the engine was still too hot for the vapor lock to dissipate.

Moral of the story: even insane looking problems are sometimes real.
(A better moral: peanut butter chocolate ice cream cures vapor lock!)

Happy April Fool's Day. . . . . .

What the hic is going on?. . . . . .

Just for everyone's information, the folklore 'fixes' detailed herein do NOT work!!

Good. . .hiccup. . .night all!

Good night, sweet Duncan. . . . .

It's late at night and I can't sleep, so I keep myself happy by thinking of you, my precious little grandson! I hope that you are all snuggled down in your bed with Mr. Teddy Bear in your arms, having happy dreams about your Mommy, Daddy, and that special little sister who's on her way to join your family!!

If I were there, I would sing you a chorus of "Ten Dirty Little Fingers" and kiss your forehead.

I love you, Duncan!

Fear and Wondering at the Crack of Dawn. . . .

Don't be afraid that your life will end; be afraid that it will never begin.

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken -- probably more than once -- and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love.

So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt, because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Enough Already!!!

If the Democratic candidates don't put a stop to the infighting, it'll be a smooth ride to the white house for McCain! These schoolyard antics are hurting everyone!

Obama backer sorry for 'blue dress' comment

The war of words between surrogates for the Democratic presidential hopefuls descends further into the muck.

The campaigns sniped at each other over the weekend after retired Air Force General Merrill A. McPeak, an adviser to Barack Obama, accused former President Bill Clinton of McCarthyism for, in McPeak's view, questioning Obama's patriotism. Hillary Clinton's campaign said her husband's remarks to veterans in North Carolina had been misconstrued.

Today, another Obama supporter, former Iowa Democratic Party chairman Gordon Fischer, complained that Bill Clinton was hurting the Democratic Party and leaving "a stain on his legacy much worse, much deeper, than the one on Monica's blue dress." That, of course, is a blunt reference to the former president's affair with intern Monica Lewinsky that led to impeachment hearings.

Fischer has already apologized for that comment, which he posted on his own blog, Iowa True Blue. Calling it "stupid" and "tasteless and gratuitous," Fischer said, "It was unnecessary and wrong."

But the Clinton camp is not letting bygones be bygones, calling it the most personal attack yet in the increasingly bitter nomination fight.

The Icky Eye Revisited. . . . .

Just a quick update on the mysterious icky eye problem. . . .

The lump (engorged gland) continues to grow larger in diameter, but softer in texture, so this is apparently a good sign. . . .or so I am told. The antibiotic clouds my vision even worse than the swelling and watering, but that's to be expected.

Hopefully, I'll be able to wear my glasses again soon and get back to a more 'normal' routine. Until then, I'll keep peering at life through the squint of my one good eye and hope for the best!!!!

Here's looking at you, kid!!

Happy Easter One and All. . . . .

Chocolate Rabbit

I got a chocolate rabbit
For an Easter treat,
A great big chocolate rabbit
Good enough to eat.

So I ate his ears on Sunday,
His nose I finished Monday.
Tuesday I nibbled on his feet.
I ate his tail on Wednesday
Thursday I kept on,
By Friday he was going,
Saturday he was gone.

Oh, I loved my chocolate rabbit
From the moment that he came,
And if I get another one,
I'll love him just the same

My Reaction to A MySpace Declaration . . . .

The Grass is Getting Greener! . . . . .

Spring is just about here! Thank goodness for longer days and milder temperatures and the new bloom of life all around us!!!

Click on the link below. You will get a black page. Click your mouse anywhere (& everywhere) on the page & see what happens! Better yet, click & drag your mouse over the black page... Enjoy!!

http://www.procreo.jp/labo/flower_garden.swf

Good News Through My One Good Eye. . . . .

It's been a l-o-n-g day, but a productive one. Though I am still fighting the infection in my left eye, which seems to have also invaded my sinus cavity (ugh!), I was able to read a happy e-mail, telling me that I've had one of my stories accepted by Reader's Digest!! Hooray! Evidently, it won't be published until sometime in the fall, but I will post the issue information as soon as I know. (It's not a whole lot of money, but enough to make a dent in some needs, and it certainly gives me confidence to keep on keepin' on!)

Other good news: Dancing With The Stars returned to tv tonight. Didn't get to see the whole show, but I'm excited that it's back. Love watching the progress everyone makes and it's just a good, entertaining way to spend an hour or so! Was pleasantly surprised to see how well the men did tonight.

Hopefully, more good news will start flowing. . . . .and I'll be able to see it coming!!

Happy St. Patrick's Day to all. . . . .

The Eye of the Beholder. . . .

What a week this has been! Among other things, I managed to get a small piece of glass (or other sharp foreign object) lodged in my left eye, resulting in a small puncture and/or scratch. Got the offending object out and rinsed my eye well, so I really believed that there would be no more complication. Ha! Couldn't have been more wrong!

Evidently, a raging infection has taken hold and turned my otherwise average looking eye into something that resembles Jabba The Hut, from "Star Wars"! My best guess is that I may have picked up a staph infection in the ER, last week, or one of the many house animals here may have given me a little transfer infection of some kind. Either way, it ain't pretty!

My first clue that something was amiss came at about 4:00 a.m., when I went to the restroom and realized that all I was seeing out of my left eye was my left cheek! Hmmmm. In the glare of the bathroom light, I looked in the mirror to find an ugly, red, swollen eye socket and horrifically bloodshot eyeball staring back at me. Ewww and ouch!

At this point, I am rinsing the offending eye with boric acid solution once an hour and keeping a cold compress on it (for the only comfort I can get), and it continues to grow! Guess it will be another unscheduled doctor visit on Monday, if things don't dramatically improve. . . . ugh!

Meanwhile, here's looking at you. . . .from my one good eye!

Tribute to a great man. . . . .

Twenty-two years ago today, our family lost it's guidepost; it's role model; it's captain. Twenty-two years ago today, my father passed from this life into his eternal rest. And I still miss him, every single day. I'm certain that we all do.

My earliest memories of my father center around our visits to his parents (Nana and Alfred), who lived in the Parkchester Apartments, in New York city. My dad would take me for walks around the neighborhood and show me where my grandfather once had his livery stables and to the newsstand/tobacco shop, where we would get the papers and penny candy! Those were formative times that 'introduced' me to the man who would so influence the rest of my life.

After he left the air force (then, the army air corps), he and my mom spent a few precious civilian years in New York and New Jersey, adding both my older sister and myself to the family. Then, the government came calling again, needing his special talents on some secret level, and we all moved to Arlington, Virginia, as dad began yet a new career, at the Pentagon. It being the height of the cold war, the nature of his work was something he could never discuss with us, but we knew that he traveled to faraway places, like Germany and France, and I was intrigued! (He even brought back authentic French bikini bathing suits for my mom, my sister, and I, and we were 'scandalous' as we sunbathed in our own backyard!!)

I remember the hours dad would spend, making sure that every branch of our Christmas trees were perfectly symmetrical -- and to mom's liking! He would even cut whole branches off one side and drill a hole to re-insert a branch in another side, skillfully filling an 'unsightly' bare spot. He was a patient man. And a perfectionist!

I remember, too, the many stories my father would tell us. . . .often about some famous people he knew! He was college buddies with none other than Kirk Douglas (and even gets a nod in the actor's autobiography "The Ragman's Son"), at St. Lawrence University. He bowled with the fabulous Bette Davis, while she was on a USO tour, in England. And Winston Churchill's daughter, Sarah, had a mad crush on him during his WWII tour of duty outside of London! What a fun and full like my father had!

He was a man of passionate commitments, too, and taught us all that
dignity was far more important than any bank account or new car. He was a life-long Mason, and was understandably proud of his association
with that group.
Things I remember most about my father: His love of 'Dagwood' style sandwiches (sardines, tomato, onion, and mustard with orange marmalade on top!) and the fun he had sharing them with unsuspecting grandchildren! The go-kart he bought for my brother, which we all learned to 'drive' with. . . .and learned how to steer out of a skid with! Bowling! From the time when we were just little kids, until just before his death, my dad loved to bowl. (One of the best laughs I ever had was when he somehow didn't get his fingers out of the ball and he followed it, head-first, right down the lane. . . .pocket change flying all the way down to the pins!!) His guiding words (by Abe Lincoln): "I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet." Having the courage to start a new business, while raising a family with four kids, from a basement hobby to a respected manufacturing corporation known as RAM Industries. He and my mother (and, occasionally, the kids and/or grandkids) taking off on adventures in his huge Pace Arrow motor home!




Things I miss most about my father: His hugs. His stern expectations, tempered by his strong confidence in himself, his loving wife, his rag-tag kids, his beloved grandchildren, and the world in general. Hearing his voice calling me 'kiddo'. Everything.

Twenty-two years ago today, my father passed from this life. In the twenty-two years ever since, he has never left my heart.

Thoughts. . . .

Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.

-- Oscar Wilde

Ever have one of those days. . . . . .????

Good night, Dawn. . . .

It's been 32 days since I last heard your voice. . . .and much, much longer since your laughter filled my heart with joy. It's been many, many weeks since I last saw your blue eyes look towards mine. . . . .and much, much longer since those eyes sparkled with a shared happiness or memory.

I play your voice back, on my cell phone, just so I can hear you say "I love you, Mom" one more time.

I miss my friend.

[Note to those who assume to know it all: No 'anonymous' comments will be allowed on this blog, hereafter. Thank you.]

Perceptions. . . .

Things aren't always as they seem. . . . .sometimes up is down and front is back. It's up to us to decide which way our path is headed.

Special day. . . .

Sending the very best birthday wishes out to the very best son-in-law a woman could ask for!! Hope your day -- and the year ahead -- is full of happiness, love, success, and contentment. You are loved!!

Keeping fit. . . .

Local Mystery. . . . . .Solved??

Way, way back in 1968, I made my first trip from Washington, D.C. to Erwin, Tennessee, to view the beautiful valley my parents had chosen for relocating their business. On that very first trip, I couldn't help but notice a beautiful, large, stately home -- right on what was then the main highway heading north and south, 11E/19W -- which was completely boarded up. In such a lovely neighborhood (across the street from the university president's home, in fact), it seemed quite out of place and odd. The grounds were meticulously groomed, yet the house was sealed like a tomb!

For the 40 years since, that house has remained the same. . . .boarded up yet obviously cared for. In all these decades of passing the house (sometimes 4 times a day), I have never once seen anyone on the property, either mowing the lawn or otherwise showing signs of life. For the 40 years since, I have asked countless people what the story was behind this apparently abandoned jewel, but got little in the way of answers. I would only be told that "it used to be a hospital."

Finally, I seem to have stumbled upon some answers to this mystery. Chilling though this account may be, it is the first -- and only -- history I have ever been able to find. Read it, and decide for yourself. . . . .

Swingle Hospital was the first hospital in Johnson City. The hospital is located near Science Hill High School and Heritage Manor. It is said that back in the 1920's, Dr. Swingle performed simple surgeries in this privately owned estate. Dr. Swingle was a sloppy surgeon and all of his patients would die on the operating table. If you slowly walk up the front walkway, between the row of hedges, leading to the main entrance you can hear the voices of the insane doctor and his staff, and if you walk around to the back of the house you can hear the screams of the dead patients, who are buried in the backyard. You cannot get in to the old hospital due to boarded windows and doors. If you decide to visit the hospital, park on the street next to it and walk over, but stay away from the road. If caught on Swingle property, you can be charged with breaking and entering. Be careful, cops watch that place very heavily.

Update: My daughter, Dawn, has located a much more detailed -- and far less 'dramatic' -- story about the old Swingle house. It even appears to have a direct connection to a very good friend of my brother. . . .! Read it, and see more photos at the following website. Fascinating!! www.hauntmastersclub.com/places/washington_county_jc_swingle.

Sleep deprivation. . . .revisited

What is it about the nights that make them so very long and restless? It can't be the accommodations. . . .'cause I have a beautiful, comfortable, warm canopy bed at my disposal.

It can't be the environment. . . .'cause I am in a warm home, with compassionate people to surround me.

It can't be for lack of activity or busy waking hours. . . .'cause I am keeping busy with all the tasks at hand, from morning until late evening.

Yet. . . .as the clock ticks past midnight and beyond, my mind starts to race and I cannot sleep. All the what-if's and if-only's creep into my head. I worry about people who I care about but no longer see. I pace around, trying to figure out solutions to problems my children are facing, or that the world is confronted with, or that simply invade my psyche and will not give me peace!

How do you turn off your brain, for just a few blissful hours? How do you shut off your heart from aching? How do you sleep. . . . . .????

Teamwork. . . . .

A salesman is driving on a two-lane country road in a rainstorm and gets stuck in a ditch. He asks a nearby farmer for help.

The farmer hitches up Elmo, his blind mule, to the salesman's car and hollers, "Pull Sam, pull!" Nothing happens.

He again yells, "Pull Bessie, pull!" Still nothing.

"Pull Jackson, pull!" Still nothing.

Finally he hollers, "Pull Elmo, pull!" and Elmo pulls the car right out of the ditch.

The driver is confused and says, "I don't understand. Why did you have to call out all those names?"

"Look, if he didn't think he had any help, he wouldn't even try!"

WONDERFUL NEWS!

Just thought I would take a moment to update those who may want to know. . . . .our family will be growing again very soon!!! Valerie, Heath, and my absolutely adorable grandson, Duncan, will be welcoming a sweet baby girl, due around June 6th!!

Though this revelation came as quite a surprise to one and all, it is a remarkable blessing that we are all sooooooo excited over! In spite of all the troubles life may bring our way, and all the bumps in the road we have to hurdle, babies are truly God's way of telling us that the world is a wonderful place, and there is always room for another miracle to love!!! Congratulations to Mom, Dad, and Big Brother!!

The Name Game and Other Foolishness. . . .

From the outset, let me state clearly that I have no political agenda with this blog. It's just my format for getting "random rants" out of my head and occasionally sharing a smile or a thought. In the upcoming presidential election, I have no idea who I will cast my vote for. . . . whether Hillary 'Can-She-Win-It' Clinton, John 'McNasty' McCain, Barak 'Oprah's-Latest-Project' Obama, or someone else altogether. This 2008 campaign gets curiouser and curiouser every day.

In recent days, it seems that Obama's middle name (Hussein) has become a political issue, both for him, for his opponents, and for the media. Why? Presumably, it is a name he has been proud of for his entire life. It is the name his parents gave him. Is it something to be ashamed of or afraid of now, because he/they/someone perceive it as a liability, given our country's fascination with all-things-Muslim and the simmering war in Iraq? Some pundits have even equated the use of Obama's middle name as being on a par with using the infamous n-word. [For the record, that is a word I abhor, on a par with the vulgar f-word!]

All in all, I kind of like the following take on this whole non-issue. . . .

The real problem is that if the right wants to start a whispering campaign about the name Hussein, Obama is only helping them. By cutting short the discussion, Obama is banishing his name to the voters' subconscious, where the dark opposites of hope - bigotry and fear - can turn the word over and over again in their minds until November. The same day that Cunningham was dropping H-bombs on Cincinnati, Obama was at the Democratic debate in Cleveland, hastily accepting Hillary Clinton's assertion that she didn't order the leak of a picture of Obama wearing a turban in Kenya. "I think that's something we can set aside," he said.

It was a missed opportunity. He could have explained that he has nothing to hide. Explained why there's nothing wrong with him dressing in ceremonial clothes on official visits - like batik Bill in Indonesia in 1994 or headscarf Hillary in Eritrea in 1997. Maybe even explained why his middle name is Hussein - what his heritage means, and what it doesn't mean. In short, to reintroduce himself to those general election voters who are just starting to pay closer attention.

No matter what his advisers say, Obama wins nothing by shying away from his differences. After all, Obama is the candidate of change. He should take a cue from McCain's courage on Iraq. Say what you will about McCain, but he knows he's the war candidate. And though may have regretted saying it out loud, McCain clearly accepts that if voters don't buy his vision for the war, he'll lose. It's not too much risk for Obama to stake his campaign on voters' ability to rationally understand the difference between a Hawaii-born Christian and Saddam Hussein, the butcher of Baghdad. (View the entire article on Time.com)

Letting go. . . . .

Several years ago, when money was tight and transportation lacking, I considered buying a much older car with 'only' a hundred thousand miles on it and a body that looked fairly new. I reasoned that with all the money I would save on a new car payment, I would still be ahead, even if I had to make a few repairs. All I knew is that I could afford it, so I sprang for it.

Before long, friends and acquaintances who had any mechanical expertise at all had their heads permanently housed underneath the hood of my 'bargain'. The hoses sprang leaks like they'd had an encounter with Al Capone over a spaghetti dinner in Little Italy! The heat went out. The transmission had a mind of it's own. And the air conditioning had long-sense died, leaving us to rely upon the 4/55 system of keeping cool during the oppressive dog days of summer. (i.e. 4 windows open at 55 miles per hour.) Ultimately, the car simply stopped one day, right smack in the middle of a crowded parking lot.

Calling upon one more friend, in the hopes of finding a mechanical miracle cure, I tried to keep faith in the little blue four-door that we'd even spray painted with a fresh coat of shine ourselves! Sadly, the prognosis was not good and I accepted the inevitable. The car had turned out to be a good deal. . . . . . a good deal of trouble and expense! I sold it for 'junk parts' and earned all of $200.00, but I learned some lessons from that old clunker, too.

At one time or another, most of us have possessions that turn into 'money-pits'. We dole the money out, hoping against hope that one more repair will do the trick. Too often, we find ourselves singing "Nearer My God To Thee" while sinking on the Titanic of runaway costs when what we should do is simply let go.

Other things can be like that old car that we just need to stop trying to revive. The time may come with a project, possession, or even a relationship, when we just need to let go. Perhaps God will resurrect it later, or give us something better, but if we don't want to find ourselves in the poor house -- or the nut house -- we might be better off to leave the decision to Him.

The time has come for me to let go. It is harder than I ever imagined anything could be, but if letting go will bring peace and resolution where there has been chaos and strife, then I'm willing to trust God's plan for me. It's a little scary, but I think it might just be exhilarating as well.

Beginning. . . . again

Just settled in at my new 'home' and ready to take a long, deep breath and start. . . . again. No drama from family or well-meaning friends. No she said/she said. No judgments or misunderstandings. Just one day at a time. On my own.

When it's all said and done. . . .settled and resolved. . . .then, maybe, people will become part of my life again. Maybe.

Here I go. . . . .!!!

Don't forget to find joy in the little things. . . .they may turn out to be the big things. ("Thanks" to Shirley Lane)

YOU CAN'T TELL WHICH WAY THE TRAIN WAS GOING JUST BY LOOKING AT THE TRACKS.