The Last Chapter

Many years ago I stopped believing in coincidences as accidental and meaningless. It is a funny line repeated over and over in the movie "Forrest Gump" that causes us to chuckle at the simple-minded Forrest when he says about many amazing events "then for no particular reason". Still, it is easy to miss that God is speaking to us when people, events, and circumstances combine to send a "multi-media message". I feel that I am experiencing that this week. First, here are some highlights; 1) my daughter is getting married tomorrow, 2) at the beginning of the week, I returned from a great Christmas visit with my mom and my brother and his family, 3) yesterday, I helped move my son and his wife into their new home, 4) Wednesday I was invited to share in the high-tech progress check of my son and daughter-in-law's baby--the one most folks refer to as "learning the gender of the baby" (it is a girl), 5) Wednesday nights I shared thoughts from my study of the Exodus story about the nature of God and what that means to me (us) 6) last night I was invited by good friends to share their home and food with other Christian friends as we said goodbye to 2009 and hello to 2010. These are just the highlights. Of one week. Of course there was more--much more--of routine--things done and things that had to be left undone.

But there is one more significant event that happened exactly in the middle of the week. It was a funeral for the father of my friend and co-worker, Debra. Debra is a counselor with a big, loving heart. When we gather in the office of Dr. Guest before sessions of the District Attorney's Pre-Trial Diversion counseling program, Debra is the most willing--no insistent, actually--to share a hug with each of us. She is perceptive and driven to help others even when they seem determined to harm themselves. I like Debra a lot, but I had never met her father. When I learned of the arrangements, I did not hesitate to make plans to attend. As the time neared, however, and some of the items on the list above were added unexpectedly I began to count hours. It was going to be really, really tight. I decided to attend the funeral because Debra means that much to me. I was blessed by my attendance much, much more than Debra was. As I entered the New Life Church of God in Christ building and realized there was a line just to get in and the sound of a powerful band was reverberating through the walls, I thought "this is going to take longer than I planned". I will not recount the entire two hours but the large, powerful choir and the energetic band were engaging, to say the least. Energy and celebration were the key words. This was truly, as billed, a "Home-going celebration". I did not know Elder Mumpfield before that day, but I felt as if I did by the time I left. There is so much I could say about the celebration and how appropriate it seems to lift a grieving family in that way, but I want to focus on one point from one speaker that spoke to me in a powerful way Wednesday and has not left me as the other events of the week unfold. That message was about the last chapter of the last book of the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Bible, written by Moses). Terry Ellison pointed out that most accept that Moses recorded all of these five books, he could not have written Deuteronomy 34 because it gives details of the death and burial of Moses. Someone else (probably Joshua) had to write it. The point he made very well was that we need to be mentoring others--like James Mumpfield did--to carry on after we are gone. The words he said were true and helpful. But I heard something else. During that celebration of this Godly man's life it occurred to me that he had, indeed, written this last chapter. I am not talking about the theology of "saved by works", I am talking about the celebration of his life, after his life, was made possible BECAUSE of his life.

When I observed hundreds of people that had given most of a day to make that event happen--seamlessly--and hundreds more who gathered for 2-3 hours to be part of it, I knew some things about the life of James Mumpfield. I was encouraged and inspired to live a life that would cause folks to gather and celebrate when the short chapter is written about my death. SO....that has been on my mind as LaWanna and I celebrate the continued growth of the 8 ounce fetus that will be our granddaughter, as we prepare to give our daughter in marriage, and as we witness our children grow in multiple ways, and as we turn a calendar to a fresh start on resolving to do better. Thank you James E. Mumpfield. Although you died in 2009, your final chapter has served to make me a better person in 2010. So, in a very real sense your final chapter is still being written.

Thoughts on Work and Culture by Hamilton Wright Mabie

As a matter of fact, in most cases, it is the community, not the
individual, which is selfish; for communities are often ruthless
destroyers of promising youth.

The gifted young preacher must clearly discern the needs of his own nature
or he will miss the one thing which he was probably sent into the world to
accomplish, the one thing which all men are sent into the world to
secure,--free and noble self-development. He must be wiser than his parish
or the community; he must recognise the peril which comes from the too
close pressure of near duties at the start. The community will
thoughtlessly rob him of the time, the quiet, and the repose necessary for
the unfolding of his spirit; it will drain him in a few years of the
energy which ought to be spread over a long period of time; and at the end
of a decade it will begin to say, under its breath, that its victim has
not fulfilled the promise of his youth. It will fail to discern that it
has blighted that promise by its own urgent demands. The young preacher
who is eager to give the community the very greatest service in his power
will protect it and himself by locking his study door and resolutely
keeping it locked.

The young artist and writer must pass through the same ordeal, and must
learn before it is too late that he who is to render the highest service
to his fellows must be most independent in his relations to them. He
cannot commit the management of his life to others without maiming or
blighting it. The community insists upon immediate activity at the expense
of ultimate service, upon present productivity at the cost of ultimate
power. The artist must learn, therefore, to bar his door against the
public until he has so matured his own strength and determined his own
methods that neither crowds nor applause nor demands can confuse or
disturb him. The great spirits who have nourished the best life of the
race have not turned to their fellows for their aims and habits of work;
they have taken counsel of that ancient oracle which speaks in every man's
soul, and to that counsel they have remained steadfastly true. There is no
clearer disclosure of divine guidance in the confusion of human aims and
counsels than the presence of a distinct faculty or gift in a man; and
when such a gift reveals itself a man must follow it, though it cost him
everything which is most dear; and he must give it the largest opportunity
of growth, though he face the criticism of the world in the endeavour.

Muscles

"Look at the biceps on that guy!" I said out loud at the table. Normally more subtle, I was taken by both the enormous size and the appearance that the man's arm might actually explode any moment. He was slicing a 15 inch diameter log--first slicing downward and then upward--with a chainsaw--and more quickly than I can slice chocolate cake. No, not in the restuarant where Baron, Laura, LaWanna and I were having lunch after church Sunday. But on one of the flat-screen TV's showing the lumberjack competition. Actually, I probably gasped more audibly when the man that was speed climbing a tree began to fall from about 80 feet up. I was attempting to keep my attention at the table and be engaged in conversation since our social butterfly daughter and her most tolerant husband are still willing to spend time with the old folks. I appreciate all our "kids" and their spouses for spending time with us and acting as if they enjoy rather than tolerate the time together. Still, I was distracted. Why? Because people who control their thoughts enough to will their bodies to go beyond what they thought possible are fascinating to me. Are the events of lumberjack competitions logical? Probably not. Does completing an Ironman competition justify the amount of time, energy, and money invested to reach a level of conditioning to make it possible? That can be, and often is, debated. When the Psalmist exclaims "I am fearfully and wonderfully made!" his observation resonates with me. DISCLAIMER; I don't understand most of how we are made. At times I begin to think that I do, but the human body is so amazing that one could spend a lifetime studying it and still be learning at the end of life on earth. And that brings me to the real point of this post. It has to do with "happenings" in Atlanta. You know, the New York City of the south. The city where our daughter will be living in TWO WEEKS. The city where we moved most of her things Saturday. In that city, there is an exhibition that I REALLY want to see. It has been around for some time now in various locations. And I have been aware of it for a couple of years. Well, it slipped up on me in Atlanta. I did not realize it was coming and it is already here. What display would possible tie all this rambling together? This;






http://www.bodiestheexhibition.com/ Yes, it is an exhibition of actual human bodies and organs displayed somewhat like that plastic skeleton that used to hang in your high school science class. They have perfected a process called "plastination" that enables them to preserve and display bodies so that the muscles can be observed as if the person were alive--only skinned. This is probably freaking some folks out about now. But I would REALLY like to see this exhibit both for the actual displays AND to watch people as the move through. Partly, I would want to keep an eye out for any Jeffry Dahmer type that may be lurking in the crowd. Do you find this weird? Would you like to see this exhibit? Do you have moral or ethical objections? Are you available to go next Monday?

New Career?

If you pay for career counseling, does it make sense to ignore the recommendations? You really can't argue with the logic. Although it disregards my education and current interests, the recommendation certainly seems to align with my career path to this point. Most readers are aware that I spent 37 years performing almost every type job available at the U.S. Postal Service, so I am very well acquainted with delivery systems. Fewer of you know of my exploits on bicycles. I do not ride as regularly as my brother, Keith, or his training partner, Josh. But still, I have managed to survive a couple of mountain bike races, a couple of adventure races, a criterium (a long time ago) and a metric century (62 miles) ride, as well as several sprint triathlons. Now, thousands of REAL cyclists will laugh at these beginner's credentials but it fits with the pattern for the new job. What is the logical next step for someone with lots of delivery and a little cycling experience? Delivering packages on a bike for UPS, of course.

I can hear you snickering. You are thinking "That is just silly. UPS is a modern company, moving at the speed of light. They would never pay somebody to deliver packages on bikes." Well, think again! I knew you would not believe me, so here are photos to back up the story;





















So, what do you think? I was really excited about the idea....at first. Then, I was a little discourage by the low pay. And then, while convincing myself of all the benefits that override the pay, it occurred to me that the poor cyclist is probably responsible for any package that is lost or stolen. So really, the greatest potential for profit would be to follow this guy and when he dismounts to walk up to a door, toss his packages in back of the truck and take off. No matter how fast he is, he can't catch an 8 cylinder with a bike pulling a trailer.

Still, it seems like a fun seasonal job. What do you think? Remember, if you don't comment--the terrorists win!

Mamma's Love

Meet Xena. She is large enough to pass as an adult cat and in some ways, she is. But she is still young and part of her is a kitten. She loves this super-soft blanket that is folded on the foot of our bed and will spread eagle on it and dig her face in to NURSE. She sucks on the blanket and spreads her paws as if she is massaging the blanket. She closes her eyes and it is as if there is nobody else around. The separation from her mother at birth will probably require therapy all her life.

Resolutions


Twas the month after Christmas,
and all through the house
Nothing would fit me,
not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibbled,
the eggnog I'd taste
At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I'd not said, "No thank you, please."
As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt---
I said to myself, as I only can
"You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!"
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
"Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

Author Unknown

EPA Is Going To The Birds!

Actually, the EPA is taking FROM the birds. But I like the title better with its double meaning. Before you tune out, thinking this is going to be a rant about the millions or billions or whatever illions we are spending on the environment, take time to at least see the photo. It seems only fair that I let you know SOME of what I know about this particular site before springing the funny photo on you. If you live in Montgomery and have for any length of time, you have, no doubt traveled Perry Hill Road and/or Harrison Road. You probably also know that there is a used car lot at the corner where these two roads intersect. And most of you know that this car lot has been there a long time. Perhaps you have shopped some of the fleet vehicles often offered for sale. I have no need for the trucks with dump bodies and hydraulic lifts, but when I see them I begin to imagine how I might use them in a tree surgeon business or some more imaginative manner. This is why window shopping is a bad idea for me. It creates an imagined need.

But this was not always a car lot. If you go back far enough, there was a time that it was a service station. Yep, probably far enough back that it offered SERVICE and not just gasoline to be pumped by the customer. But like Goober-n-them back in Mayberry, these folks never thought much about the huge metal underground tank that stored the gas for the pumps. And over time water would settle to the bottom of these tanks and cause rust which naturally led to leaks. I don't want to attempt to be scientific here for two reasons. 1) I don't want the EPA shutting down my blog, then placing me on a terrorist watch list and 2) I am pretty ignorant of the details. Apparently, there is a plume of underground pollution affecting the ground water in the area of what is now a car lot. And for years--lots of years--the EPA has been showing up like a Ghost Busters convention and walking around in strange white coveralls, drilling holes in the parking lot for test cores and running tests on this dirt that obviously is much more complex than what the forensics people do on CSI. Those guys on CSI can examine a dead body, determine what trace minerals are in the fingernails, and dig up another body from 62 years ago to perform comparative DNA tests--all in 58 minutes. The EPA has been looking at this dirt for at least 30 years. About a year of two ago they built this mysterious tank/pump/measuring/reporting apparatus behind the office of this car lot. It is all a very clinical "Area 51-looking" white. Then they erected a 6-foot fence around it so nobody can see what is there. It is all VERY mysterious. I eased by one day to read the sign on the door to area 51 and it says something about EPA re-mediation. Apparently, this system runs 24 hours per day pumping water from deep underground, cleaning it somehow and pumping it back. Again that is probably a very south-Alabama explanation because I went to the EPA website and quickly decided I did not have 6 years to sort through how this system works.

"So what?" you say. "So what?" says I. Until today. When I noticed this sign on the grass next to area 51.

That is correct, ladies and gentlemen. You, the taxpayer, are spending multiple millions to clean up this "superfund site". But IF you feed the birds and IF they poop on the Area 51 fence, you WILL be charged with clean up cost. Now, those of you who know me best know already what a sign like this communicates to me. I can read the words, but what I really hear is "Roxy, I double dog dare you to throw some bread crumbs out here and see what happens." And I was leaning toward attempting it except for two things; 1) although I am behind this huge green fence and on somebody else's parking lot, they may have a security camera and already have tapped my bank account after running my tag number and 2) what if the clean up cost include more than washing bird poop off the fence--what if they tranfer the entire gazillion dollar cost of the superfund clean up to my checking account? I have overdraft protection, but how far will that go? I know what you are thinking; "Roxy, you are a little paranoid about all this Area 51, Big Brother is watching you stuff." You think so? Then explain to me how the property owner appeared like Casper before I could take the second photo? I DID, however, take the second photo. And it gives a broader view of this property, including the fence around Area 51. This gentleman did NOT like the fact that I was photographing his sign. He asked questions. He wanted to know who I am. He did not think "K" was a funny answer. In fact, he did not seem to think anything was funny. I quickly turned the tables and asked him questions. Let's just say we did not learn much about each other. We did learn this though, he does not see the humor in his sign and he now knows that I think it is HILARIOUS! Here is the wider photo of Area 51 with the warning sign. Be advised--if you have read this far, there may be a satellite reading your tag number right now.
Honestly, do you think some bread crumbs between the parking lot and this "top secret" fence is going to lead to a diminished view here?

Messin' With Sasquatch

I have enjoyed the series of beef jerky commercials where practical jokers pull pranks on Sasquatch, only to get pounded by the beast. They remind me first of great practical jokes through the years. No, I am not telling those stories now. Secondly, they remind me of a backpacking trip a few years ago. Our group of hikers were taking in the sights from an observatory on a ridge along the Appalachian Trail. My brother called for me to bring the camera because a bear was attempting to raid a "bear-proof" garbage can. I ran to a dirt/gravel road just beyond where the creature was sighted and rounded the corner just in time to snap this photo. You may need to click on it to see it clearly.

Some of you who know me already are thinking I downloaded this from the internet or photoshopped it in some way. This is an actual photo I took with a Canon 35 mm film camera (before I discovered the wonderful world of digital). It has not been retouched or shopped in any way. I did have home-made venison jerky in my pocket, but it did not occur to me to attempt a prank. What do you think?

Sounds Good......

"We have talked this issue to death. ... The time for talk is winding down."

Great speech. The truth is, the time for talk is BEFORE voting on an unbelievably expensive bill that, even with over 1000 pages, is ambiguous on many important issues.

Metric Century--check

I survived and completed the metric century yesterday (100 kilometers=62 miles). It was a great experience that was different from anything I am accustomed to. My health was fine for the day--well, other than extreme fatigue and legs of lead later in the day. Since it was new to me and so much further than I have ever ridden, I was attentive to the stories of others who have "hit the wall" because of failure to take in enough food or fluids during the ride. I had little idea how much to eat before and during the ride so I decided to err on the side of eating too much. As a result, I spent LOTS of time at every rest stop munching on what was available and sipping Gatorade. It worked well except one problem at about 50 miles that I will tell you about. First, the odd beginning. I arrived plenty early to eat some breakfast and talk to a few riders before making last minute preparations to mount up. Those riding 100 miles were scheduled to depart at 7:30 and those riding 30, 55, and 62 miles were to leave at 8:00. Since I have never even attended, much less participated in such an event I made some assumptions that were not so accurate. I pictured a starting gun or horn with lots of cheering and clapping. Somehow, I missed the start of the 100 by being inside the church building where the event was hosted. Then I came out and calmly sat on a glider and watched folks come and go for a while because I was ready with time to spare. Enough time, it turned out, that I decided to maybe visit the men's room one last time. Upon returning from that trip at about 6 or 8 minutes til 8 I realized everybody was gone! Really. Everybody. Did I miss a trumpet or clap of thunder? As of this moment, I don't really know what happened. Apparently either their was an executive decision to leave early or the understanding is that everybody just pulls out when they get ready. Anyway, I was suddenly wandering around, not sure if I had fallen asleep and missed part of the day. So I quickly mounted up and decided I must be off (so to speak). No fanfare. Little confidence. And since this church is at an intersection, you ride out of the parking lot, ride about 50 yards and stop. At a red light. So far, not so hard. And not so exciting. In just a couple of minutes, though, I was spinning down the county road at 17 mph--just me and my Trek. Actually, another man pulled up at the light and we exchanged greetings. As I rode along, he quickly pulled up beside me and struck up a conversation. That conversation ended 36 miles later when he said "I think I will head back on this shorter route" and after an awkward, medium-speed fist bump he turned left and was gone. Alone again. Naturally. I had enjoyed the conversation with Ken and he made the miles go by faster. Really. Sure, it seemed faster because I had someone interesting to get to know (he works for Oracle as a trainer). But also, he was riding a little faster than I intended. Or was it me that was pushing the pace? I am not sure. I think we rode at his faster pace and lingered at the rest stops at my leisurely pace. I did not realize one negative effect of hanging out at the rest stops eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Gatorade would be to put me solidly in the back of the pack of metric century riders. Actually, I was very near the back from the beginning and only a few that arrived at the beginning point a few minutes after 8 started behind me. Ken and I passed a few folks every now and then as we rode along so I never gave much thought to where I was in relation to others. My goal was to ride 62 miles, not outrun anybody. I should have realized, however, that the people we were passing were riding the 30 or 55 mile route (they were together most of the way). Not only that, but the tough hills and sudden heat leading up to the rest stop at about 35 miles convinced LOTS of folks to revise plans. In fact, there were nearly a dozen folks strolling around at that rest stop for a long time. I finally realized that all of them had quit. They were waiting for a truck to transport them back to the start/finish. I saw one with a blow-out and heard on the ham radio at the rest stop that one had fallen with minor scrapes and bike damage. Many switched at this point from 100 to 62 miles or from 62 to 55. And I was tired, with only a few miles left before I had to decide whether to switch to the 55 mile route or continue on the 62 mile course. And my riding partner was peeling off to head back toward tomato sandwiches and ice cream. I decided to go on. About 5 miles later I decided that indeed, I must be off. The hills were tough and I moving slow at the top of each. Can there really be about 20 miles to go? Simple math is becoming difficult. The stretch from about 42 miles to about 50 miles is difficult to explain. Actually, it is difficult to understand. Something came over me like a mild version of the adrenaline crazed mother that picks up an overturned car to free her child. I began to ride the hills hard. I built lots of speed going downhill (28-33mph) and pedaled hard to maintain momentum as far up the next hill as possible before downshifting. I was feeling a little like a real cyclist. Until I spotted the rest stop know as "Margarita ville Rest Stop" at the top of a long hill. Vanity made desire to not be spent when I topped that hill. So I did not charge the hill. I attempted to ride a steady pace. And it climbed. And climbed. And my legs were screaming. And I realized that the wind was not really rushing past--that was my breath as I exhaled and panted. But I made it up and managed with great effort to un-clip my feet from the pedals. There, feet on the ground. I did not crash in front of all the volunteers. Then I realized what all the volunteers were gradually realizing. I was just standing there. In the road. Holding my bike. And a truck was coming. My mind very much wanted to move out of the road and into the shade but my legs were locked up. Cramps. Both legs, just above the knees and slightly inside were locked tight. I could not walk. Did I mention a truck was coming? A volunteer arrived at my side and asked if I was alright. "No. Cramps. Can't walk. Can you take my bike?" He did. Then I did my best impression of Tim Conway when he plays the old man on Carol Burnett's show and shuffles his feet without picking either one up. I shuffled about two feet to get off the road. Then a lady was at my side with a paper cup the size of a shot glass--I mean large communion cup. "Drink this, it will help." It was olive juice. Did you know that? I did not know that? In minutes, the cramps were gone. I had a few snacks, drank a concoction known as Gatorade Margarita with Gatorade and lime in a paper cup with salt around the rim. There were many offers of a ride but also assurance that I could take my time if I felt like cycling the rest of the way. There were about 12 miles left. Are you kidding? I am practically there now! So, I saddled up again after coming to the realization that I was the last metric century rider on the road and these folks were packing up. The 100 mile riders did not pass this way. The final 12 miles were not as tough as I expected and I had no more problem with leg cramps. In fact, during the last 3 or so miles I was riding at 17 or 18 mph much of the time. I had not been concerned about crashing at all until the final mile. Suddenly, I felt the need to mentally rehearse every move. I had to negotiate the intersection that was in sight of the finish without cramps or falling and certainly without pulling out in front of a car. Then the parking lot. "Excuse me. Sir, talking on the cell phone. You are walking right into me and I am exhausted." I think the words came out better, but I am not sure. Again, no fanfare. No applause. No cheering. But I had already cheered myself a mile up the road. I whooped and cheered like a little boy who had ridden a bike for the first time. I was proud of me. So, I signed in, received my t-shirt, had a tomato and bacon sandwich, and then an ice cream sandwich. In fact, they were small. So I had TWO ice cream sandwiches. I deserved it.

Two Birds

Although I should be heading to bed, I have two needs pressing on me. And the saying "kill two birds with one stone" comes to mind. By the way, remind me to tell you the story of my little brother throwing a rock at a quail and killing him when we were kids. But this is not really about killing birds. It is about (1) my failure to post on this blog for an ENTIRE MONTH and (2) how my week is unfolding and the trepidation that is waging war on my steely determination. There are several excuses for not posting in so long but the main reason is facebook. I have become addicted to facebook. So many people interact with me so quickly that when I enter the house, I can hardly wait to see what notes I have received and what witty comments have been posted. Plus, one person bragging on my photo can carry me for a couple of days. In spite of my neglect, when I receive a weekly e-mail showing how many folks have stopped by to see if there is anything new on the blog I am both flattered and embarrassed. SO....anything I post is better than all the days I posted nothing. That is number one. Number two is that I have had a tentative plan for an adventure TOMORROW morning. It has been tentative for two primary reasons. First, I am crazy to think I am prepared to accomplish my goal under the best circumstances. Second, I am not experiencing the best of circumstances. The goal is a bicycle ride. I know, that does not seem like a very big deal. But it is a long bicycle ride. In fact, it is a 100 kilometer bicycle ride. I could wait while you go ask your teenager how many miles equals 100 kilometers, but I will just tell you. It is just over 62 miles. Maybe if you say it really fast, that doesn't sound like so much. But wherever you live, think of a town a little over 60 miles away and think about getting up EARLY Saturday morning to drive there. Now think about getting up early Saturday morning, gathering gear, mixing Gatorade, loading your bike, driving 40 minutes out of town, eating some pancakes with a bunch of young athletes, and THEN riding your bike 62 miles. Now, sooner or later somebody will read this that rides 50 or 60 miles EVERY Saturday. Yes, people really do that. Those people will be riding 100 miles tomorrow. And for many of them it will be a 6 hour party. That is partly how I envisioned it also. Actually, I envisioned making the leap from a 30 mile solo ride to a 50 mile organized social ride. Then the 50 miler became a 55 miler and I decided to just add another 7 and make the metric century. It sounded reasonable at one time. It really did. Of course, when you envision yourself tackling a challenge like that, you always picture the strong, healthy version of yourself. That is not the version that has shown up this week. No, I have not had the swine flu. Nor any kind of flu. And I have not been really, really sick. Not even enough to complain about--except to LaWanna. And I hate to do that because I know a lecture about sugar consumption is coming. That, of course, depresses me and I begin to crave comfort food--like a Snickers bar. So this week has been one of....let's just say some amount of digestive distress and leave it at that. Not the kind of thing you really want to deal with approaching a huge physical challenge. I have only run once this week and have not been on my bike at all. That is frightening. And I put off registering for the ride because.I.just.was.not.sure. Well, as of 8:00 tonight I am registered at number 186 in the Jim Glassner Memorial Autumn Challenge Metric Century. Jim Glassner was a Montgomery doctor that had been active in the local cycling community until he was struck and killed by an automobile in 2001. The bike club has hosted century rides for about 30 years, but renamed it in Jim's honor after his death. It is just now 10 p.m. and I need to get some sleep and hope I guess correctly on solid and liquid fuel for the day tomorrow. If I stay healthy, it will be fun. The club does a great job with support and rest stops which is so much better than just taking off for 62 miles by yourself. That is the attraction. With others attempting the same--many for the first time--and seasoned riders cheering you on and encouraging you--really pulling for you to succeed, it is a great time to do more than you could do alone. Stay tuned. By the time you read this, I may have already posted a sad tale or, hopefully, a triumphant victory. Thanks for reading and thank you for checking in. I will try to post more in the future. Really.

How Can That Be True?

Is it possible? It just does not sound right. I had to check several sources. Apparently it is, in fact, true. Pete Seeger is 90 years old! So what, you say? Well, just because most of the readers of this blog are about one third that age you have little idea who Pete Seeger is. Maybe you have no idea who Pete Seeger is. He is know as a singer/songwriter and I appreciate him most for writing the song "Turn, Turn, Turn". Of course, that song is mostly plagiarized from Ecclesiates 3 but that is why I like it. And you know the version that was sung by the Byrds in the 60's. Seeger also wrote the hippie hit "If I had a hammer". Surprisingly, that song was actually written in the early 50's. PBS is airing a special in segments that boasts many musical giants paying tribute to Pete Seeger. It is worth checking local listings and putting on your schedule. Really? He is 90?

National Health Care

Whew! There is a lot of talk about health care. As with most topics that involve billions of dollars, various groups are pushing their agenda by getting the word out--often without much regard for the truthfulness of those words. I may add my opinions on some aspects of various proposals later. For now, I just want to present a quote from an e-mail I received today;


"President Obama made one thing clear this week in a televised press conference focused on health care reform: "There is a cost to doing nothing." What's the cost of maintaining the status quo? It's the guarantee that over the next 10 years more people will lose their health insurance while health care costs for everyone else doubles and the federal budget is consumed by the rising costs of Medicare and Medicaid."

I am skipping the debate on the "cost of doing nothing" and the manifold debates on insurance. What jumped out at me--and I posted in bold for you--is the assertion that "the federal budget will be consumed by the rising costs of Medicare and Medicaid".

If that is true, please explain to me how the solution is to place the entire population on a nationalized plan similar to what Medicare and Medicaid presently provides for the elderly?

That sounds like my cousin, Skip, from Doles, Georgia that was buying watermelons by the truck load and selling them next to the highway. He was buying melons for $2 apiece and selling them for $1.50. After a few loads, he realized he was loosing money. He finally realized he would only make a profit if he dealt in a larger volume. So he sold his truck and bought a larger truck.

Does anybody else see the similarity?

A Tale of Two Memorials

There were not thousands of police officers assigned to control the crowd and quickly handle trouble. There were no television crews, no cameras, and twitter was not overloaded during the memorial service. The service went about as expected for the quiet 93-year-old homebody that passed from this life on July 3. Her funeral service was Monday. The crowd was small and subdued. The speaker hid his feelings of inadequacy well.

The memorial held the next day in a huge, modern building was packed with media and celebrities as well as ordinary folks who won the lottery to gain a ticket for admittance. What those lucky few witnessed was great, classy, well-orchestrated entertainment. I saw some of it on one of the many channels that carried it live. Really, it was a great show and I understand the tremendous draw that the famous, wealthy, and noticeable hold for those of us who are none of those things.

Why would I care to compare these two memorials? Some of it is personal. I was the one attempting to comfort the family of the lady whose funeral was Monday. The family did not expect many to attend because Mrs. Edna had outlived most of her friends and all of her siblings. That expectation proved accurate. I feel compelled to comment on the comparison because anyone who attempts to restrain or qualify the rhetoric and near worship of Michael Jackson will probably be labeled either racist or narrow-minded for believing any of the "unproven" reports of pedophilia. Let me be clear; I have enjoyed Michael Jackson's music since I was in high school (when he first began as the cute kid with the Jackson 5). I think he was a savvy entertainer and his quirkiness contributed to his draw. He first rose above his neighbors and peers, then far outshone his siblings. Many are calling him the greatest entertainer ever to live. That can be debated--and will--but not by me. Perhaps he was. In fact, to make my point I will just concede that he is, indeed, the greatest entertainer ever. The purpose of this post is not to question his credentials as an entertainer. He was powerful and his influence was widespread. I just can't bring myself, though, to accept all that is being said now. Have you read of the family in Stockton, California that believes an image of Michael appeared on a stump in their yard the day he died?

"I was standing by that bush, and I looked up and saw that image here," Garcia told CBS.
Many people in the crowd who gathered to look at the stump on Sunday afternoon saw the resemblance, but why would Michael Jackson appear instead of a religious figure, or even any of the other celebrities who recently passed away?
"Because Michael Jackson was an icon to us," said one neighbor.
"To Stockton, Michael Jackson meant more to us than Jesus, to some people. I think they're both about even."

See? That is the part that bothers me. Not that Michael Jackson is appreciated, but that some now think he meant more than Jesus--or was about even with Him. Lest you think that is an isolated weirdo that wants to make money from a stump, check one of the many, many videos that will soon be available of the memorial service and listen to what Al Sharpton had to say. Wow! Suddenly, I realize that Michael was not really an entertainer. He was in fact a change agent. He was responsible for societal change that allowed Oprah to be on TV and Obama to be elected president. Mr. Sharpton went on to assure Michael's children that their father was not strange--what went on around him was strange, but he dealt with it. Nothing was said about the ex-wives or the children that slept with Michael. That is appropriate for his memorial service. It is NOT appropriate that average men and women in the workplace and around kitchen tables can not be honest about the life of an individual because he has celebrity status. Please understand, I don't think he should be held to a higher moral standard because he became famous. He could not help the family he was born into. He had little choice about how his early life unfolded. MJ had little chance of ever having a "normal" life. I pity him for that. My concern is that we are drawn to recast a life of indulgence and narcissism in a way that makes a pop star seem larger than life itself and above all moral standards. Have we arrived at that place--where if you are flamboyant and entertaining enough, we will overlook any bizarre and immoral behavior you choose, while overlooking the simple, Godly men and women that go about doing the best they can?

Tour de France

I am very impressed with Lance Armstrong. His story is well-known; rebounding from cancer to win the Tour de France an unprecedented 7 times, raising millions for cancer research and treatment, and now coming out or retirement to compete in the Tour de France again. Yesterday, he moved from 10th place to 3rd by using his experience to evaluate the riders and conditions before making a strong decision that scored a huge psychological victory. It is interesting to note that even while Lance creates discussion of whether he is the greatest rider on the tour, his team, Astana, has not even decided if he is the best rider on the team. There are three weeks of racing left and probably lots of drama as well. For now, I am sharing a photo from last year's Tour de France that really is worth 1000 words. Remember, many of the daily stages are well over 100 miles meaning that riders are on the bikes for hours. Have you ever thought about how professional cyclists riding hard for 5 or 6 hours in bike shorts deal with the need to........relieve themselves? Well, it is just a fact of life that must be dealt with. Here, in one photo, that question is answered for you. Relax, it is PG-13 rated. The photo answers some questions but creates others. All things considered, I find lots of humor in this photo.

The Declaration of Independence Simplified

We are about to do something drastic and rare in human history. This document sets forth our justification to the world.
The Laws of Nature created by Nature's God give any people the right to undo political ties binding them to another nation, and to take their own separate place among earthly powers as full equals. This is the case because the Creator made every person equal, and gave certain permanent rights to them all. These include the rights to live, to be free, and to pursue happiness. All this is so obviously true that it needs no proof.
The reason for government is to make these rights secure. The only rightful power a government has is power that the people give it. Because government exists to preserve the peoples' rights, if a government begins to destroy those rights the people may change that government, or they may do away with it altogether and form a new government designed to make them safe and happy.
People generally realize that they ought not to change old governments without good reason. In fact, most people put up with bad governments longer than they should. But when a government finally starts turning its people into slaves, the people must throw out that government and form a new one to do what governments are intended to do.
We have now reached that point with the King of England, who insists on turning us into his slaves. As evidence supporting this charge, the world can consider the following facts. [The Declaration then details 27 specific things that the British King is doing or is refusing to do which demonstrate his true intent.]
With all this in mind, we ask the world's Supreme Judge to weigh our motives. And now, by the authority of the colonists whom we have been chosen to represent, we officially declare ourselves separate from all connections with the British government and free from the authority of the British King. Instead, from this moment, we declare that these united Colonies are free and independent States, with all powers proper to such States.
We firmly rely on Divine Providence to protect us in making this Declaration. Together as one man, in its support we stake everything we own, our treasured reputations, and our very lives.


Reproduced from gracEmail, copyright 2009 by Edward Fudge and used by permission.

Fire Safety

Unemployment is up. House values are down. There is a lot of uncertainty. Most of us have considered cutting back on unnecessary expenses. That is understandable and may be wise in some areas. But please, please do not cut back on the tools needed to ensure the safety of your family. You may be thinking that expensive fire alarms are just not in your budget. But there is a solution that will allow you to protect those you love and not destroy your budget. If you need step-by-step instructions, please e-mail me. But I suspect this picture will be sufficient.

Training and such as....

I wonder if Ms. South Carolina can find that on a map?

Goodbye to you

This song was written by a friend of my daughter's fiance' and I thought it was good enough to share. I will let it speak for itself.

Happy Camper?

In a couple of days I will be a happy camper in the mountains of north Georgia (although not literally camping). Today I am not a happy camper. Really I don't get frustrated very often. But today I have spent the entire day at the local Goodyear franchise and feel like I need to tell on somebody! I went prepared to be a while, having the oil changed and tires balanced in preparation of traveling in a few days. I have had a "bump" in my tires for a few weeks that needed attention. Since I bought the road hazard and lifetime balancing, I should have already taken care of it, but hate the waiting. It was getting pretty bad now and needed attention before hitting the highway. There was a plan; drop the truck off with an explanation about the anti-theft system (Please write this down--you can't start the truck without it), walk over to Eastdale Mall while the tires were balanced (and look, an oil change is $19.99), eat at the food court, walk in the air-conditioned mall a while, sit in a comfy chair and read, walk back to the Goodyear store, and drive home happy. Few dollars, road ready, and a casual day. First, I was "sold up" to the $34.95 "high mileage" oil change, so there is that nagging feeling of donating extra. Then (skipping forward FOUR HOURS!) I am standing in the store after debating with the manager, calling Goodyear customer service, getting a lukewarm concession, then having my logic insulted again. Here is the deal--without pages of details. The bump-wobble was not a tire-balance problem, it was a tire separating. The plies inside the tire were separating and bunching up. To be fair, I have had the tires almost 5 years. I drive the truck about 10k miles per year so they had just under 50K miles on them, which is not bad. HOWEVER, all the tires except this one still had about half the tread on them. They were far from worn out--on the outside. This is when my jaw dropped. The manager of the store said "Tires are just not made to last five years." He was not talking about tread wear. He was referring to those frightening videos you have seen about "old" tires being sold as new only to separate and blow out. So he used scare tactics to sell me a new set of tires. Get this though; these tires were manufactured in 2003! I bought them in 2004. So he is saying if your grandmother drives 20 miles per month, in five years she needs a new set of tires because they deteriorate that quickly. I could not believe it. The customer service folks offered a slight discount on new tires. When I asked him if there would be a problem with keeping the damaged tire, he said "No, I have to send that to the factory for them to inspect." What? If they all wear out in 5 years, why do they need to look at this one? Here is where I found my assertiveness; after deciding to replace only the damaged tire, he began adding up the extras which included $3 for "tire disposal". I don't think so. I suggested he just sit in in a corner and at the rate of decay, it would be gone by Christmas. Then I suggested he put it in the bed of the truck and mount my spare on the front. Now I am waiting again while my two new front tires are being mounted at Sam's Wholesale Club. Did I save any money by refusing to do business with Goodyear? No. In fact, it will cost me a little more at Sam's but I will not give them the satisfaction of being just another brainless customer who thinks he has no choice. When they go the way of Chrysler and General Motors I will drive by and honk the horn. That should be enough, but there is more. Remember that $34.95 deluxe oil change I agreed to? $49.95! Yep, turns out they had no idea my truck held 6 1/2 quarts of oil--plus, of course, the oil disposal fee and multiple taxes.



So....I know many of you will read this and say "I just wish for once I could get five years out of a set of tires." But see, I get mine balanced. I check and inflate them regularly. I drive gently (most of the time). And I don't drive that many miles because we have three vehicles. I guess the good news is, you can go ahead and spin the tires all you want! The tread is not what you should worry about wearing out first anymore. No need to inflate them