11:00 PM, Monday, December 31st, 2012

It is 11:00 on the last night of the year 2012. As so many do on this day, I sit reflecting on the year past, and think about the coming year.

2012 brought stories of sadness, and anger. Jerry Sandusky showed us that even in the halls of schools, those who are chosen to guide and protect students are capable of horrible atrocities. There was the fall of General David Petraeus, showing that even heroes are capable of falling. And, of course, there were the 20 innocent children gunned down in their classrooms.

It seems every year, news stories grow colder and bleaker. More pain, more death, and more suffering. It's easy to feel little hope for the future.

Being a Christian, I read the Bible, and I know that the end will come one day. I can't imagine it will be too many more years (or months), before God decides He has had enough. And in spite of things I look forward to living and experiencing, I'm ready.

Yet, I'm called to be light and salt to the world around me. How can I be light when there is so much darkness? How can I possibly help people find hope when despair seems to fill each day?

In my quiet time, I pray for guidance and words. As my wife could attest, I'm not a very good communicator. This is evidenced by the fact that I average one blog posting about every four months. But I want to be able to communicate hope to those around me, especially when they are suffering. That's where I find some of my comfort.

When I feel down about what might be happening in my life, I look around, and realize there are so many people who have it so much worse than I do. When I complain about having a bad day at work, I look around and realize there are a lot of people who only wish they had a job to go to. And there are those who don't have the health to get out of bed, much less keep a job. In doing this, I find a perspective that brings me hope.

So to be uplifting, I should tell you about all of the wonderful things the New Year can bring. New, exciting changes in science or medicine. Maybe the economy will turn around this year. But we can't control much of that, so let's look at what we can control.

Every new year, we make resolutions that we have every intention of keeping. What is on your list? Maybe you will stick with your resolution to eat healthier this year. Maybe you will exercise five times a week the way you have tried to in the past few years. Maybe it's the year you choose to go back to school to finish a degree. Whatever your resolution, you make them for one reason. To try to make this year better than previous years.

So will this year be better? That depends on you. Not so much whether or not you make, or keep, your resolutions. That can in its own way, make you feel better about yourself. But when you are surrounded by news stories, will you feel discouraged, or will you be able to find peace?

It isn't like there is going to be a drastic change in the events that unfold around us. There will still be favorite people who we have put up on a pedestal who let us down. There will always be news stories about senseless killings of innocent people. Most nightly news will NOT be uplifting, happy stories. And if we rely on news stations to help us find peace, or even happiness, we will forever be unsettled.

What I hear when news stories tell us about the disasters, or horrible acts of people, are also stories of everyday heroes. The teacher who hid her students, saving many of their lives. Among the worst people, there are also the best people. In putting others ahead of themselves, they bring a ray of hope in the darkness of horrible acts.

I've often said that at the end of my life, if there are a handful of people who can truly say that their lives are better because of me, then my life has been worthwhile. Yet I realize there has been a lot of time I've spent worrying about what is going on in my life...to me. In 2013, I hope to truly live more for others, and less for myself. When I put others ahead of myself, I find peace. And when I'm suffering, the quickest way to feel better is to do something for someone else. Counterintuitive, I know.

But when we open our eyes to others, we learn that there are people all around who are hurting. When we spend all of our time looking down at our own feet, wondering how we will make it through whatever mess we are facing, we miss a great opportunity. When we help others, we help ourselves.

May each of us find more time in 2013. More time to spend in prayer. More time to read and study the Bible. Time to say thank you to a police officer; a firefighter; a soldier; a sailor. Time to help a neighbor rake his leaves. Time to just listen to those around us when they need to talk. Time to make our little corner of the world a little bit brighter for those around us.

God bless you in 2013.

 

Christmas?

As I sit here at lunch on December 18, 2012, I realize another Christmas is upon us. How can that even be possible? As I get older, the years fly faster. As I begin to think of the presents I’ve bought, and how I’m going to wrap them, I know I’ll soon need to start thinking about next year’s Christmas.


Each year, it seems harder to get into the Christmas spirit. As a kid, as soon as Halloween was over, I was in Sears, and whatever other catalogs we had, looking for the toys I wanted. My typical wish list had items like: Lego Fire Station, Toys-By-Roy catalog, page 13, Item E1. On the catalogs that we got in the mail, I might even clip out the item’s picture (just in case they couldn’t follow my explicit instructions). I didn’t want anyone being embarrassed if they accidentally bought me the wrong color of something.

But I digress.

I’m obviously busier as a working adult than I was as a child, so there is less time to sit and think about Christmas. And I realize that is why the years fly by more than they ever have. But even listening to the radio, and all of the Christmas music, I still find it hard to feel “Christmassy”.

Maybe if it wasn’t still in the 60’s and 70’s during the day, it would actually feel more like Christmas. Two weekends ago, we had Christmas on the Boulevard at my church. We had several indoor and outdoor scenes set up, where people would walk through and experience the Christmas story. People in costumes played the characters, as narrators told the story. Two live camels completed our live nativity. As I stood outside on Saturday evening, which was actually a few degrees cooler than Friday, I was sweating and swatting at mosquitos. December 9th…mosquitos.

And then there’s the horrible tragedy in Newton, Connecticut. It’s hard to feel “Christmassy” when thinking about so many beautiful, innocent children, taken in such a terrible way. And how on Earth could Adam Lanza, or any human being, ever reach a point where they were capable of doing such things?

And in my time of prayer, and asking God to comfort the families, I begin to think of what Christmas is all about.

“…but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8 (ESV)

If was for that exact reason that we even have Christmas. We were separated from God because of our sin. There is no way for us to ever reach heaven on our own. Only God could bridge the gap. It took His Son coming to Earth, and living His live to be an atonement for us. Without His sacrifice, we would be forever separated from God. Did Christ come to die for you? Yes. Did He come to die for me? Yes. Did He come to die for Adam Lanza?

Yes. Even for Adam Lanza.

In my mind, I look at people like him, and say he doesn’t deserve Christ. Then I have to realize that I don’t deserve Him either. That is the entire point. God’s grace. Unmerited favor. If we deserved it, we could no longer call it grace. Do I understand the grace that would shed His blood for such a person as Adam Lanza? No more than I understand the grace that shed His blood for me.

When I truly stop and think about what Christ did for me…it is a little easier to feel “Christmassy”.

God bless the hurting families in Connecticut. Surround them with your love and help them heal. Bless those who are suffering around the world, each and every day. Help us as your children to stand in the gap for them, to show your love to them, even when they don’t want to see or feel it. And help us as your children to model Jesus to a lost and dying world. May more eyes be opened this year to see Christmas for what it is truly all about.

November 7th, 2012

 

The elections are over.  Happy or sad; pleased or disappointed; it is done.

One thing I'm tickled about is the fact that (for a while, anyway), we won't be subjected to so many political ads.  Thankfully, I live in Texas, which is not a swing state, so we don't get as many as someone in Ohio might.  Still, it will be great to not have to mute the television every third commercial.  Now I can get back to being irritated at so many mattress and car-dealer commercials again.

As a Christian, I am called to a certain life.  There are things God asks, expects, and even commands  me to do.  Some are easy.  Some are much more difficult. 

I am to do my part by voting for the candidates I feel will best lead our nation in the way I think God wants it to go.  I've done my part.  Ultimately, it is all (as is everything else), in God's hands.  NOTHING happens that He doesn't cause, or at least allow. 

I am commanded to honor and respect the office, no matter who sits in the seat. 

1 Peter 2:13-17 says, "Submit yourselves for the Lord's sake to every human authority, or to governors, who are sent by him to punish those who do wrong and to commend those who do right.  For it is God's will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish people.  Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God's slaves.  Show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, honor the emperor."
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Whether or not the election went the way we hoped it would; thank you, LORD that we live in a country where we are still free to vote.

Even when it seems like our country is falling all around us; thank you, LORD that you have given us greater freedom and prosperity than most countries will ever know.

Even though it seems we turn further from you with each passing year; thank you, LORD that you still hear your children when we cry out to you.

Forgive us, Father, for being complacent and apathetic.  May your people rise up again, and firmly stand.  May we live each day the way you have called us to live.

May we truly demonstrate 2 Chronicles 7:14.

Thank you, LORD, for LORD you are.

Navy It Is!

 

Just because I have a blog doesn't mean I keep up with it much.  I know I've needed to update it for some time now.  Looking through it this morning, I saw my last blog was about the Air Force. 

My son, Chase, has signed on with the Navy, and will be going in to the Nuclear Engineering Program.  (Can you hear my head swelling?)

It's not pride in me.  Far from it.  Considering where he has been, and what he has gone through, he has exceeded all expectations (from me, anyway). 

He was trying to get into the Air Force, and was told he couldn't even sign up until December because of a speeding ticket.  I thought that was a little strange, especially coming from the Air Force.  Don't they like speed?  Then one day a couple of months ago, he just texted, "What about the Navy?"

Soon, he had talked to a couple of recruiters, and he was on his way.  A couple of weeks ago, he took the ASVAB, and scored a 96.  (There goes my head again.)  He wanted to be a Corpseman, but was told they had no idea when an opening would come for that.  Looking around, he decided to go into Nuclear Engineering.

He has signed his contract, and been sworn in.  His potential ship-date is August 2nd.  He is currently considering signing up for the Roll In program.  Basically, if someone who was supposed to ship sooner isn't able to go, he can fill their spot.  The downside to that is, they can call him and ship him out with almost no notice. 

He's come a long way from who he was in high school.  I would love to tell you I was instrumental in bringing that out.  But I know God ultimately gets the glory, and the rest goes to Chase.  I talked to him about my regretting NOT going military when I was his age.  But all of the decisions, and all of the actions have been entirely him. 

Way to go, son.  I've always been proud of you.  And I've always tried to be respectful of you.  My pride, admiration and respect have been multiplied.

Air Force?

When I was 19, I went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado. My grandfather had retired from an Army career as a Colonel. My uncle was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army. And I swelled with pride knowing the service they had given to our country.

I had considered Army, but after spending time in the Civil Air Patrol, the Air Force was the legitimate next step. After visiting the campus, and hearing recruiters talk about the wonderful perks I could expect after joining, I thought I was ready.

One signature. All I had to do was sign my name, and I would have become an Airman. I'm not really sure why I didn't sign it. I don't think I was scared of anything. I'm sure the thought of four years seemed like an eternity at the time.

Now, at 46, I could have spent 20 years in the service, and retired with full benefits. I could have entered the public world, and worked the last 8 years earning a living that would have supplemented my military retirement. After 20 years working in the civilian world, I could have two retirements.

NOT joining the military has been the greatest regret of my life.

Now my son is 19, and has said he is interested in the Air Force.

I haven't been 100% convinced that he seriously wants to join, but he says he is.

I have talked to him about how much I wish I had joined, and what a difference it could have made in my life. He is just like me at that age, and I have tried to express the difference it could make in his life. He could have all of the confidence, leadership and discipline that neither of us have. College assistance, job security, and awesome training all handed to him.

I was talking to someone about it last week. He will have to work somewhere. Either get a job making $10 an hour, at a place you don't like, and hope you can find another job when that one ends. Spend the rest of your life hoping to stay employed so you can pay your bills.

Choose a career in the Air Force, and you will always have a job, making decent money, unbelievable benefits, and retire early enough to enjoy life. Work as a civilian after retiring, and live very comfortably for the rest of your life. Or spend six years to get training, and college assistance, plus the discipline, leadership and confidence to get out and make something of your life.

I can only hope Chase truly sees what an opportunity this is for him. If God stepped in front of me, and offered me the chance to change just ONE thing about my life, I would grab that opportunity and never let go.

The Wedding

So July 20th, 2012, my daughter and her fiancé were wed at Ashton Gardens in Corinth, TX.

It was a beautiful ceremony, and the ceremony and reception seemed to go without a hitch. Getting there, however, was not quite as smooth.

There were the usual preparations, such as getting favors put together. My wife and I put together 150 small favors for guests. My wife ordered koozies with Brad and Sasha's names and the date on them, and 900 little stickers that she put on the bottom of 900 Hershey's Kisses. Five or six of those went into little bride and groom boxes that slid down into the koozies. These were put around the table for guests at the reception. It was quite a bit of work for her, but they turned out very well.

Dawn bought a dress for the wedding, and one for the rehearsal, and I bought a suit for the wedding. Two pairs of shoes for each of us, and we were ready to go.

Dawn's parents flew in on Wednesday, and the time officially began to fly. The rehearsal was Thursday at the chapel in Corinth, with dinner afterward in Carrollton. With the exception of a couple of people having trouble finding the restaurant, everything went well for the rehearsal and dinner.

Friday was a blur. We had planned to leave North Richland Hills at around two in order to get to Corinth by 3:30 or 4:00. The fact that EVERY highway in the Dallas/Fort Worth area is currently under construction doesn't help trying to get anywhere without some issues.

But we made it up there, and checked into the Best Western so we could begin to get ready. The wedding wasn't until 9:30. I know...that was my initial reaction as well. Dawn went to Sasha's room to get her makeup done. Pleased I didn't have to worry about such things, I got to just relax in the room for a little while.

Dawn came back down, and we sat around for a few minutes before she decided she wanted to go down to the lounge. I decided to get dressed and would join them after a few minutes. We would have an hour or so before we needed to leave, so I began to get dressed. Dress shirt? Check. Slacks? Check. Suit jacket? Check. Shoes? Shoes?

WHERE ARE MY SHOES?!?!?

I pride myself on being pretty thorough. I normally walk through the house (or hotel) wherever I am to make sure I have everything, and that nothing is being left behind. I pack twice as much as I will need just in case. I remember taking the shoes out of the box, instead of putting the entire box in my overnight bag. I just knew they had to be there somewhere. After a quick search, I knew I was sunk.

How could this possibly have happened? I don't forget things. Dawn had been stressed because she was going to get her hair done, and her hairdresser was running late. Since we weren't having the wedding at our church (10 minutes away), but in Corinth, over an hour away, this presented a problem. So she decided to forgo the hair so she could get her makeup done. I was trying to help her deal with the stress she was under, and honestly didn't think I was stressed at all. I was obviously wrong.

And since we were over an hour from home, getting my shoes was out of the question. Thankfully, there was a mall right across the street. And Macy's was the store closest to the entrance I would be flying...I mean driving into. I bought my two pair of shoes at Macy's and really liked them. I would just buy another of the same ones, and it would be fine.

Except they didn't have the same shoe in brown. So I found one I didn't like as well, and it was almost twice as much. But with time running out, this was an emergency. I bought the shoes, and flew back to the hotel. Twenty minutes later, I was downstairs with everyone else. I got to relax for almost ten minutes before we needed to leave.

The rest of the evening flew by, with the reception going until 2:00 AM. Brad and Sasha were catching a 6:30 flight to their honeymoon, and we decided to leave at 3:30 to get them there in plenty of time. Back at the hotel a little after 5:00, we tried to wind down a little so we could catch a couple of hours of sleep before getting up to pack.

All in all, it was a wonderful wedding. And after all is said and done, I'm a father-in-law, and Dawn is a mother-in-law.

Putting together a slideshow presentation for the reception, I was putting together pictures of Sasha through her life. I met Dawn when Sasha was 10. I can't believe the time has flown the way it has. So to all of the fathers out there with young daughters, I say, "Hang on." Cherish every moment you have. Before you know it, your little girl will be getting married, and you'll be knee-deep in preparations, and the craziness of a wedding.

Just make sure you pack your shoes.

Memories

Lake Powell

I remember summers with my dad and brother, visiting Lake Powell on the Arizona/Utah border. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

If you've never been there, or seen pictures, it's a little like the Grand Canyon, half-filled with water. Etched in my memories are the unbelievable hues of red rock, in cliffs rising hundreds of feet from the deep blue water.

Our first visit there was with my grandparents for an evening dinner cruise. It was enough to make us want more.

So the following year, we went for three days and nights, renting a houseboat (which is the way to do it). Actually, if you have the money, it would help to also have a smaller boat to go ahead to scout for good beaches to dock the boat overnight. Cruising the lake in the day, anchoring in the evenings in a canyon, and just enjoying all the beauty Lake Powell has to offer, remains my favorite vacations of all time.

I was sixteen on the first trip, and Dad took us there for Stuart's graduation present. It was awesome. But it was our second trip, for my graduation present that I remember the most.

My brother has always been an inspiration to me. Without him, I would have been fat and lazy, and never wanted to do anything. In fact, I probably would have just enjoyed the lake from the deck of our boat. Instead, Stuart "dragged me along" on some adventures. On a couple of occasions we went hiking up the sandstone hills in one of the canyons we overnighted in.

On one of the hikes, as we began the climb, we found a brand new, unopened package of nylon rope. Obviously someone had dropped it, so we left it there, thinking someone might come back looking for it. I'm not sure how high we had climbed, but Stu (being the more adventurous one), went into an area I wasn't sure I wanted to try. I saw him climb over a steep area, and just sat, enjoying the view. Maybe two hundred feet below us, our houseboat looked like a toy. I'm sure dad was inside, enjoying some peace and quiet, which would be lost a little later. But more on that in a bit.

After a few minutes, Stuart called me, telling me he thought he was stuck. Not much I could do about it from where I was. If he had gotten stuck, there was no way I could have helped him out. He said below him was a 150 drop, and ahead of him was more than a 90 degree slope, with no way to climb. Somehow, he had made his way into a little bowl of sorts, and couldn't get out.

Thank you, God, for leaving a brand new package of rope for us to use. I climbed back down, found the rope, and headed back up. It's a miracle of sorts that I found him, also. The hills were red sandstone, and very little difference between one spot and the next. I marked nothing on the way down, and my ability to find my way around wasn't the keenest in the world. But I managed to get close enough for us to yell to each other as a way of finding out where he was, and where I needed to be.

I found a spot above him, and found a little alcove where I could tie the rope around my waist, and wedge myself in as an anchor. Tossing the other end of the rope blindly down the hill, it came close enough for him to grab. After a few moments of minor rope burn, he had climbed his way out, and we were ready to head back to the houseboat for dinner. Without the miracle rope, there's no telling what would have happened.

"Wow...what a coincidence."

I think not.

On our way back down to the boat, we discovered what had been a minor nuisance was now a major issue. A huge yacht came down the channel, causing quite a large wake. Our cute little houseboat, which we had anchored to rock, was being slammed against the rocks with the waves. From what had to be close to 100 feet up, we could hear dad yelling inside the houseboat.

I've never tried to fix a spaghetti dinner on a storm in the high seas, but that's what it must have felt like to Dad. By the time we got there, most of it was cleaned up, and the steam coming off his angry forehead was beginning to subside. (Hence the suggestion of having another boat along to scout for better overnight areas).

The next night, Stu suggested we (he and I, not Dad), sleep up on the top of the houseboat. What an awesome idea! So we grabbed our sleeping bags, and went up top at dusk. We were 200 feet or so below the top of one of the cliffs, and at one point, Stuart thought he saw something. He always had excellent eyesight, and I knew I didn't, but after a few times of, "Right there," I thought I saw something, too.

"Maybe it's a mountain lion," he offered.

Okay, because that's not going to make me worry at all. Unfounded? Maybe. But it was enough for me to think about an hungry cougar, deciding we were an easy meal. And here we both were, lying on top of the houseboat, with nothing between us and the angry cat but our sleeping bags.

After a few more minutes, something swooped by Stu's head. It was getting fairly dark, but we knew it had to be birds, coming for the bugs that were flying around. But it was coming within a foot or so. We wrapped ourselves in our bags, with just our faces sticking out so we could talk to each other.  Soon there were two of the small birds..then three..four...

As I peeked out from my sleeping bag, I caught the silhouette of one in the moonlight, and discovered they weren't birds at all. So I calmly informed my brother of my discovery.

"THOSE ARE BATS!!"

We decided it might be a better idea if we slept inside for the night.

I was always thankful for Stuart's leadership and protection. As long as he was with me, I felt safe. I knew he would protect me. So in his wonderful, protective leadership, he looked at me.

"You first."

So I reasoned that bats use their echolocation to avoid running into obstacles. It made sense that if I just jumped up, and made a bunch of racket, they wouldn't bother me. So that's exactly what I did.

I'm not sure if you heard it or not, but I'm guessing campers in canyons miles away heard what happened next.

I jumped up, and began waving my arms, making as much movement and noise as I possibly could. Stu did likewise.

From inside the houseboat, Dad, whose nerves had already been tested that evening, gave a war cry that no doubt sent shivers down the remains of Attila’s spine.

"SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!"

We calmly replied, "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY BATS!!"

I'm not sure how he answered, but I'm don't think he quite understand the gravity of the situation. Then again, we weren't thinking of what it might sound like to have two teenage boys jumping on the aluminum ceiling right above where you're trying to sleep.

I've never been kicked out of a lake before, but I would bet if there were park officials around, we would have been escorted off the premises.

That's the last time I've been there. I would love to have a "for old time's sake" trip with Dad and Stu, but I'm not sure Dad's up for it again. I always said I would go back with my son. I've often told my wife I want to take her there so she can appreciate it. But maybe it's just that...memories to look back on.

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon in person, I was actually disappointed. I had heard so much about it, I don't think there is any way it could have lived up to the expectation.

If I never see it again, Powell will forever live with me, and remind me of wonderful times, set in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, spent with two people who could never be replaced. Thank you, Nana and Daddad, for introducing us to Lake Powell. Thank you, Dad for putting up so much money to give us memories that will never die. Thank you, Stuart, for helping make the memories extra special.

Father's Day 2012

So this is Father's Day weekend.

And once again, this year finds me without a card to send to my dad. Not because I don't love him or appreciate all he did for me through the years. June is one of our busiest months at work, and I'm just not good at thinking of those kinds of things. Thank you to my wife who normally remembers things like that for me. But with our daughter getting married in July, things have been hectic in her mind as well.

Sorry, Dad. I'll call you on Sunday...if I remember. :-)

So I've been thinking about my dad a lot more in the recent years than I used to. He's had the short end of the stick most of my life. His birthday is December 16th (or maybe the 17th). And before you roll your eyes at me, (if I remember the facts correctly), he was born on the 17th, but chooses the 16th...or vice-versa. But as it was always two weeks before Christmas, his birthday has never really been celebrated. Since he now lives in Sanderson (9 hours away), we only see him two, maybe three times a year. So his birthday gets "celebrated" at Christmas.

I remember a lot of things from growing up with Dad. Being 46 now, I know he always had a lot of things going on. But I remember asking him to throw the ball with me in the backyard. There were probably times when he told me no, but I don't remember any.

I remember when the first Star Wars came out, he took my brother and I to the movies to see it. I was 11 at the time. The theater was sold out, so he let me sit in his lap. I've never been a big person, but I can't imagine it was comfortable for him.

I remember playing with matches in the laundry room with a girl named Sloan. Dad caught us, and picked me up with one hand, while swatting my bottom with the other. I was (maybe) five at the time? It was a valuable lesson. Never play with matches in the laundry room.

I remember countless air shows he took me too. Granted, that was as much for him as it was for us, but it was always fun.

I remember the old Southwest Airport that used to sit on the land at 360 and 183 in Arlington. It's now American Airlines headquarters, and warehouses. He used to take us there occasionally. There was a B-36 sitting out there that we got to climb in. It was a blast. It has since been moved to the Southwest Aerospace Museum, which isn't there anymore, and who knows where from there.

I remember several trips to Pate Museum of Transportation. You can read about that in another of my blogs. It's closed now, which is really sad. Again, that was as much for him as it was for us, but there's no way he had as much fun as my brother and I. Several tanks you could climb in, a hangar full of old cars and planes, and several sitting out on the grounds outside. It was great.

I remember collecting aluminum cans for money. Dad would take us out to the country (what is now South Arlington), and we would sit on the fenders as Dad drove us down country roads. We hopped off to grab cans and hopped back on. GASP!! I heard you..."How incredibly dangerous!" I know...and we didn't wear seatbelts back then. And we rode our bikes without helmets. Dad has always loved to drive, so I'm sure it was a peaceful afternoon for him. That in itself was something of a rarity, so he probably enjoyed it. Again, no way he enjoyed it as much as we did. After a few times of collecting cans, he would take us to turn in our trash bags full to get maybe $17 dollars for our several hours of "hard work". Kids, make a note of that.

I remember him taking us to Chuck-E-Cheese for lunch or dinner. I seriously doubt he enjoyed any of that. It wasn't as noisy as it is now, but still not much of a place I think he would enjoy. But he never complained.

I remember a lesson he taught me without really even trying. He went to Safeway (a grocery store for those of you who weren't around back then...), and bought a few things. He got back home, and discovered he had a potato in his coat pocket. WAY back in those days, the potato probably wasn't more than $.25 or so. And it's not like they were ever going to miss it. But he drove all the way back up there to pay for it. I couldn't have been that old, and I vaguely remember asking why he was going to go back up there. "Because I didn't pay for it, and it would be wrong." I still remember that vividly.

I remember vacations during the summer. Stuart, Dad and I would take two weeks to drive all over the west. We spent some time visiting relatives, but most of the time, it was just the three of us. National Parks, monuments, and Lake Powell a few times. Some of the best memories I ever had were from those trips. I know he enjoyed them. But I also think about the hassles of motel reservations, restaurants, gas stations, blah, blah, blah.

There were times Dad got mad at me (lighting matches in the laundry room...). There were times he spanked me so hard, I thought I'd never sit again. But in all the years, of all my shenanigans, and all the lessons he had to teach me, I NEVER worried that he didn't love me.

Stuart came up with the grand idea of making a clubhouse in the backyard when we were teenagers. It was going to be awesome. We would dig a hole, ten feet by ten feet, and four feet deep. We would make bricks from the mud and grass we dug up, and make walls around the top with that. It was a great plan, except that I grew tired of digging when I realized we weren't going to be able to finish it in a weekend. Stu eventually gave up trying to get me to do my part, and we were left with a ten foot by ten foot, two to three foot deep natural swimming pool (a.k.a. mud puddle) in the middle of the back yard. I'm sure Dad didn't appreciate it much, but I don't remember him complaining about that, either.

That's another lesson he taught me that I never really felt I was learning. Not a lot really bothers me. I get aggravated and frustrated by things. But overall, I tend to just accept that it's all going to work out somehow.

As I grow older, I realize I'm a lot more like my dad than I ever thought I would be. And the older I get, the more I realize, I could have turned out a lot worse.

So thank you, Dad. Thank you for the time you spent, letting me hurl my out of control fastball at you when you probably would rather have stayed in the air conditioning, watching television.

Thank you for the lessons you taught me.

Thank you for the countless hours spent driving us around so we could earn a little money to blow on baseball cards and candy bars.

Thank you for the wonderful vacations when you probably had counted the cost, and wondered how you were going to do it.

Thank you for teaching me that there really aren't a lot of things worth getting bent out of shape for.

Thank you for always being there; for loving us; for helping us through some pretty tough times.

Thank you for being Dad.

I love you.

Flashlights and Reality

Where do people on TV and in movies get their flashlights?  (And why are people on television, but in the movies?  Nevermind; that's another rant for another day.)

I've been using flashlights since somewhere around 1970.  I'm guessing I've used hundreds of different types, and NEVER used one like they have.  Mine always had the main beam that lit up a spot, but the rest of the room was also illuminated fairly well. 

The first time I noticed the difference was on scary movies.  They turn a flashlight on in a dark room, and the only thing you can see is the one-foot circle where the main beam hits.  Really?  Why can't I ever find a flashlight that works that way?  I think it could be useful in some situations, like...

No...can't think of a single one. 

And why, when they're looking for a serial killer, do only the two main characters enter the building?  I'm sorry, but if I'm on the trail of a person who is armed and dangerous, there will also be some of the fifty police officers outside the scene that are going in with me. 

And when they enter the building, why are they using flashlights anyway?  We now have really great things to aid us in nighttime vision.  They're called light switches.  They are usually on the wall, just inside the door.  You hit the switch, and it turns on some lights so you can see without using your messed up flashlights. 

I used to love the CSI shows.  But I've quit watching them because they were always too far fetched.  On a crime scene, they are trying to find clues.  After a few moments, someone notices something.  It is a single human hair...in the carpet.....all the way across the room.  Really?

There is a meme that highlights the ridiculousness of that here:  http://www.moronail.net/img/2010_see_if_you_can_enhance_that_license_plate

Maybe I'm just getting more cynical in my old(er) age.  But if you are going to try to make fiction believable, at least try to make it believable. 

These are the things my brain chooses to occupy its time with.

Mattress Squirm

My daughter and her fiancé bid on a house, and soon, she will be taking her mattress. So a replacement is in order. It was President's Day weekend, and several places were having mattress sales, including Mattress Firm. We found a decent queen mattress at for $400 at the Mattress Firm in North Richland Hills. Since it was for the guest bedroom, it was comfortable enough.

They didn't have it in stock, so I made arrangements to pick it up. I went Monday morning. The same salesman helped me, and told me to pull around back and he would load it up for me. After pulling around the back, I saw he was having trouble locating the mattress. It's a decent-sized store certainly, but it's not like it's the size of a Wal-Mart. How can it be that difficult to find a queen-sized mattress in a mattress store?

Because it's not there, that's why.

He looked it up, and found it had come in. He walked around again, looking for it.

"Someone must have bought it," he said.

Seriously?

Most of the times we've been searching for mattresses, there are a few with "SOLD" signs on them. That indicates to me (and others, I assume), that someone has already paid for that particular mattress, and, as a result, it is no longer for sale.

I understand mistakes happen, and if they were busy, they may have forgotten to put a sold sign on it.

Okay.

So he informs me that they will deliver for free.

Excellent.

"We can deliver it tonight between 6 and 9," he says.

We were going out for dinner for my birthday that evening, so he arranges for it to be delivered the next morning between 9 and 12.

So I get to sit on the couch on my birthday, waiting for a delivery. Not that I had much planned for today. I had done my chores the day before so I could just relax on my birthday.

Am I relaxing? Not much. Granted, there isn't a lot of physical activity going on. But for some reason, I get stressed when I spend $400, and have nothing to show for it. And, while they have my cell phone, I have had no phone call to let me know why they are late, when they are coming, or if they are coming at all.

So I called them.

"What?  They haven't been there yet?  Let me call you back as soon as I find out what is going on."

So twenty minutes later, he calls back, telling me something happened, and that he should be there within the hour.  Great.

Two hours later, I call back.

"What?  They haven't been there yet?  Let me call you back as soon as I find out what is going on."

Deja vu....

Again, I understand issues, and the fact that sometimes, things happen.  But surely I'm not the only one who has them happen.  It seems like it happens a lot, and if this kind of thing happened to more people, stores would not be able to stay in business.  So maybe it IS just me.

After a while, he calls back, telling me he has no idea what happened, how sorry he is, and that he will do whatever he can do to make it up to me.  He'll even through in a free mattress pad. 

Wow.  My time is worth a mattress pad?

After three calls to corporate headquarters, complaining about what happened, they cancelled the sale (after also offering me a free frame or mattress pad).

$400 is a LOT of money to me. I would like to think it's worth something to a company to keep its customers happy.

Then I have to remember one of my first posts about customer service, and how it's virtually non-existent now.

I guess I would never make it in business. Maybe it's just not possible to provide good customer service, and still make money.

What a shame.

My First 5k

When people ask me what I did Saturday morning, it seems natural to say I ran a 5k. 

It's not entirely untrue, but to say I ran 5k doesn't indicate what actually happened. 

"I jogged/walked/crawled/laid face down/curled up in a fetal position in the street crying like a little baby in the Hot Chocolate 5k in Dallas." 

Yeah, that takes too long, and garners strange looks. 

It was the second 5k I had signed up for, but the first I actually competed in.

There I go again.  Did I really compete? 

I guess that depends on your definition of competition.  I guess I competed against myself.  I really only had two goals for the race:

1. To NOT finish last
2. To at least be upright when I crossed the finish line

I didn't finish last.  Granted, I had to push over the little old lady with the walker to finish ahead of her, but I wasn't last. 

And I was upright when I crossed the finish line.  I was dizzy and hallucinating, but I was upright.

I got out of bed in North Richland Hills  in time to be in Fair Park for the 7:30 AM start.  It is February, but most of the week, it had been 70 degrees.  Saturday morning, it was 29 degrees, with a wind chill of 11 to 15 degrees.  Who decides to have a race that early on a Saturday morning, anyway?  Those early hours are for runners who are competing in marathons.  Everyone knows they're just crazy anyway. 

So we approached the starting point with a few thousand other people, and began the "race".  I wasn't alone.  My wife was with me, and our daughter and her friend met us there.  As soon as the race started, our daughter and her friend left us behind.  Three blocks in, my wife left me behind.  I'm not really sure why.  It seemed perfectly natural to be crying.  I had already been jogging for close to a minute.  Apparently no one else wanted to talk to the crying 45-year old, either.  That's okay.  Even if I had been able to talk, it wouldn't have been much of a conversation.

Them: "Morning, how you doing?"
Me: "Ahwhoog.  Umgblug..."

I had read several forum postings about how to prep for a race.  What to eat the days leading up, how much water to drink, what to eat or not eat on the morning of the race, etc.  I thought I knew what to expect.  I had even looked up this route online.  But as I rounded a corner, my heart stopped. Less than a quarter of a mile ahead was something no one had warned me about. 

There, ahead of me, were hundreds of people running the up-side of a bridge.  Seriously?  Who planned this route?  There are hundreds of roads in Dallas...surely there could have been a route planned that didn't involve hills.  I'll be 46-years old in two weeks.  I should have been sleeping in, and enjoying a nice morning of bacon and pancakes. I should have been watching television in bed in my robe.  But there I was, "running" early in the morning on a Saturday, in frigid temperatures, and there are hills?  What was I thinking?

I jogged some, and even ran a little.  I walked most of it.  42 minutes and 25 seconds after starting, I was crossing the finish line. 

Not impressive by any means to anyone.  But as I crossed the finish line, I only had enough oxygen to muster one thought:

"I actually did it."