Tuesday, September 11, 2007
I REMEMBER!
On this date 6 years ago I was going about my normal routine as a supervisor at the Lagoon Park Post Office in Montgomery when an employee told me a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. We rolled out a t.v. normally used for safety videos and relied on the rabbit ears to pick up a local affiliate. I remember the shock and confusion as the second plane appeared and crashed into the second tower. I remember the rest of the day--the phone calls to family--the questions about friends who were visiting New York--the feeling that life had changed forever in the United States. The conspiracy nuts are appalling to me and our short term thinking causes me great concern. Here are a few pictures to remind us all.
Monday, September 10, 2007
I NEED YOUR HELP!
I am in a delimna and really need the input of you faithful readers. Here is the problem; As most of you know, LaWanna and I are the same age (o.k., I'm 9 months older). That is not the problem--the problem is that she looks 20 years younger, like a trophy wife. This has been fun for a while but now I am growing concerned about people's impressions. I have considered different techniques to make myself appear younger but never was serious about it until seeing a recent video. In this just-released video a popular celebrity with a cult-like following had clearly colored his beard to hide the gray and, boy, does he look younger! Now I have to seriously consider following his lead. After all, he is a powerful man with a world-wide following. Who am I to say he is vain or out of touch with the latest trends. Take a look at his before and after pictures and let me know if you think this is a move I should make.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Put on the New Man
This week's U.S. News includes a thoughtful article about the obesity epidemic in the USA and especially among children. Many questions are asked and few are answered. I submit the following excerpt from Dr. Sheehan's book "Running and Being" as a thought process that might provide some answers;
" The people who think they know say that given a second chance a man will make the same mess of his life he did the first time. Playwrights and novelists over the years have never given us hope that reliving our lives would have any different result the second time around. Our scientists and psychologists seem to agree. Even such disparate thinkers as Bucky Fuller and B.F. Skinner are together on this. ""We shouldn't try to change people," wrote Skinner. "We should change the world in which people live." It is a thought Fuller often expressed. Some, of course, take an opposing view. The people who deal in Faith, Hope, and Charity seem to think that one day is as good as another for changing your personal history. Philosophers since recorded time have recommended it. From Pindar to Emerson they have told us to become the thing we are, to fulfill our design, to choose our own reality, our own way of being a person. What they didn't tell us was how to do it, or how difficult it would be. When Paul said to put on the New Man, he reminded us of the unlimited potential of man, but the lives we lead constantly remind us of the obvious limits to this potential. Clearly the Good Life is not as accessible as the books say. And yet it is not from want of trying that we have failed. We start our new lives with almost as much frequency as Mark Twain gave up smoking (thousands of times) and with about the same success. Can tomorrow be the first day of the rest of our life? And can that life be completely different from the mess it is today? The answer, of course, has to be yes, or all those great men wouldn't have said so. But how do you go about it? The first thing to do, it seems to me, is to retrace your steps. To go back to that period of your life when you were operating as a successful human being (although you most likely weren't aware of it). To go back to those times when your soul, your self, was not what you possessed or your social standing or other people's opinion but a totality of body, mind, and spirit. And that totality interacted freely with your total environment. Somewhere past childhood that integration of self and that response to the universe began to dissolve. We came more and more to associate who we were with what we owned, to judge ourselves by other people's opinions, to make our decisions by other people's rules, to live by other people's values. Coincidentally, or maybe not so coincidentally, our physical condition began to decline. We had reached the fork in the road. We took the well-traveled path. One who took the path overgrown with weeds and rarely used was Henry David Thoreau. The world knows Thoreau as a man of intellect, a shrewd observer, a rebel against conventional values. What has not been emphasized was that he was an athlete, and a fine one. He was, of course, a great walker. This kept him in prime physical condition. "I inhabit my body, " he wrote, "with inexpressible satisfaction: both its weariness and its refreshments." It would not be too much to say that Thoreau's other activities derived their vitality from the vitality of his body. That the self that was Thoreau depended on being as physical as he could be. And that no life can be completely lived without being lived completely on a physical level. If Thoreau was right, the way to find who we are is through our bodies. The way to relive our life is to go back to the physical self we were before we lost our way. That tuned-in self that could listen with the third ear, was aware of the fourth dimension, and had a sixth sense about the forces around it. That tuned-in self that was sensitive and intuitive, and perceived what is no longer evident to our degenerating bodies. This may come as a surprise even to physical fitness leaders. Physical fitness programs have long been based on the desire to lead a long life, to forestall heart attacks, to feel better generally or to improve your figure. No one ever told us that the body determined our mental and spiritual energies. That with the new body we can put on the new person and build a new life, the life we were always designed to lead but lost with the body we enjoyed in our youth. Now, common sense will tell you that you'll never see twenty-eight again, but the facts on fitness show that almost anyone can reach levels of vigor and strength and endurance equal to most of the twenty-eight-year-olds in this country. Given the good fortune to find an athletic activity that fits him, a man can recapture his youth and a second chance to listen to what his total self held important at that time. If you think that life has passed you by, or even worse, that you are living someone else's life, you still can prove the expert's wrong. Tomorrow can be the first day of the rest of your life. All you have to do is to follow Thoreau. Inhabit your body with delight, with inexpressible satisfaction; both its weariness and its refreshments. And you can do it if you'll just go back to that fork in the road."
George Sheehan, M.D.
" The people who think they know say that given a second chance a man will make the same mess of his life he did the first time. Playwrights and novelists over the years have never given us hope that reliving our lives would have any different result the second time around. Our scientists and psychologists seem to agree. Even such disparate thinkers as Bucky Fuller and B.F. Skinner are together on this. ""We shouldn't try to change people," wrote Skinner. "We should change the world in which people live." It is a thought Fuller often expressed. Some, of course, take an opposing view. The people who deal in Faith, Hope, and Charity seem to think that one day is as good as another for changing your personal history. Philosophers since recorded time have recommended it. From Pindar to Emerson they have told us to become the thing we are, to fulfill our design, to choose our own reality, our own way of being a person. What they didn't tell us was how to do it, or how difficult it would be. When Paul said to put on the New Man, he reminded us of the unlimited potential of man, but the lives we lead constantly remind us of the obvious limits to this potential. Clearly the Good Life is not as accessible as the books say. And yet it is not from want of trying that we have failed. We start our new lives with almost as much frequency as Mark Twain gave up smoking (thousands of times) and with about the same success. Can tomorrow be the first day of the rest of our life? And can that life be completely different from the mess it is today? The answer, of course, has to be yes, or all those great men wouldn't have said so. But how do you go about it? The first thing to do, it seems to me, is to retrace your steps. To go back to that period of your life when you were operating as a successful human being (although you most likely weren't aware of it). To go back to those times when your soul, your self, was not what you possessed or your social standing or other people's opinion but a totality of body, mind, and spirit. And that totality interacted freely with your total environment. Somewhere past childhood that integration of self and that response to the universe began to dissolve. We came more and more to associate who we were with what we owned, to judge ourselves by other people's opinions, to make our decisions by other people's rules, to live by other people's values. Coincidentally, or maybe not so coincidentally, our physical condition began to decline. We had reached the fork in the road. We took the well-traveled path. One who took the path overgrown with weeds and rarely used was Henry David Thoreau. The world knows Thoreau as a man of intellect, a shrewd observer, a rebel against conventional values. What has not been emphasized was that he was an athlete, and a fine one. He was, of course, a great walker. This kept him in prime physical condition. "I inhabit my body, " he wrote, "with inexpressible satisfaction: both its weariness and its refreshments." It would not be too much to say that Thoreau's other activities derived their vitality from the vitality of his body. That the self that was Thoreau depended on being as physical as he could be. And that no life can be completely lived without being lived completely on a physical level. If Thoreau was right, the way to find who we are is through our bodies. The way to relive our life is to go back to the physical self we were before we lost our way. That tuned-in self that could listen with the third ear, was aware of the fourth dimension, and had a sixth sense about the forces around it. That tuned-in self that was sensitive and intuitive, and perceived what is no longer evident to our degenerating bodies. This may come as a surprise even to physical fitness leaders. Physical fitness programs have long been based on the desire to lead a long life, to forestall heart attacks, to feel better generally or to improve your figure. No one ever told us that the body determined our mental and spiritual energies. That with the new body we can put on the new person and build a new life, the life we were always designed to lead but lost with the body we enjoyed in our youth. Now, common sense will tell you that you'll never see twenty-eight again, but the facts on fitness show that almost anyone can reach levels of vigor and strength and endurance equal to most of the twenty-eight-year-olds in this country. Given the good fortune to find an athletic activity that fits him, a man can recapture his youth and a second chance to listen to what his total self held important at that time. If you think that life has passed you by, or even worse, that you are living someone else's life, you still can prove the expert's wrong. Tomorrow can be the first day of the rest of your life. All you have to do is to follow Thoreau. Inhabit your body with delight, with inexpressible satisfaction; both its weariness and its refreshments. And you can do it if you'll just go back to that fork in the road."
George Sheehan, M.D.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Can You Use a Little Mercy Now?
I was alerted to this youtube video by a college friend (Thanks Bonnie!) and found it to be well worth the time. In fact, I listened to it several times. I had not heard of Mary Gauthier before but I like the blues sound. However, it is the message of the lyrics that grab you--even if the tempo is slower than you normally appreciate. Her song is set to pictures of the aftermath of Katrina in New Orleans. There are racial insinuations and political decisions that I do not appreciate nor condone, but the message of the song is powerful; every single one of us can use a little mercy now.
http://www.http://www.youtube.com:80/watch?v=TC_EGcswWaw
http://www.http://www.youtube.com:80/watch?v=TC_EGcswWaw
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Encouraging Update!
This just in; as I plundered around several web sites tonight (Sunday) I happened to check on the Trail of Legends site and discovered the results and photos from the Riverfest 5K race in Wetumpka a couple of weeks ago. Imagine my surprise when I saw these results;
Male 50-54
247 25.19 Grant, James 50 Montgomery, AL
250 28.36 Wishum, Roxy 53 Montgomery, AL
264 33.05 Rice, Neil 54 Prattville, AL
243 33.16 Wiggins, Kenneth 50 Wetumpka, AL
254 34.59 Hines, Brent 50 Wetumpka, AL
That's right, I thought I did not do so well but, in fact, finished second in my age group. Where's my trophy? I also found this;
I feel a little better.
Quote of the week
I found this on another blog as part of a much longer quote. As an amateur photographer, I immediately appreciated the thought.
"A photographer is always in a state of preparing himself for a given moment… we have only an instant in which to think and act." -Arnold Newman
After you think about it a while, perhaps whatever role we play in life causes us to be always in a state of preparing for a given moment. That is why I grow increasingly impatient with the time-wasters in my life. T.V. comes to mind.
"A photographer is always in a state of preparing himself for a given moment… we have only an instant in which to think and act." -Arnold Newman
After you think about it a while, perhaps whatever role we play in life causes us to be always in a state of preparing for a given moment. That is why I grow increasingly impatient with the time-wasters in my life. T.V. comes to mind.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
If at first you don't succeed, tri, tri again!
You are probably tired of checking my blog only to find those canned pictures of other folks competing in a triathlon. Sure, they all look like real athletes and seem very serious about competing. But if you want to see serious determination, check this out;
You see, someone as naturally fast as I am has to really concentrate to stay under the posted speed limit of 15 mph. One of the competitors said after the race that those signs did not apply to us, but with the recent "taking back the streets" campaign, I wasn't taking any chances! And just in case anybody thought I was kidding about riding my mountain bike in a triathlon, here is the proof;
This shot was taken about 5 minutes later and, as you can see, I have moved 20 or 30 yards closer to the cameraman. There is no telling how fast I was going. The official timer did say they were timing me with a calender. One guy said he had to line me up with a telephone pole to see if I were moving.
And for all of you who think I may not have finished before dark, here is a picture of the TRI-umphant crossing of the finish line.
The reason the finish line looks like a doormat is that sensors are underneath that pad that read the computer chip in the strap on my right ankle. This enables them to track each time you enter and leave the transition area. And they had computer print-outs posted at the end of the race showing names and times by age group. Actually, it was posted while some were still on the course. Later, I will post a more serious, philosophical perspective on competing in such an event. But, for now, have a good laugh. Yes, I know I look funny. No, I don't have any pictures of me drowning--I mean swimming. Yes, there were a few people still behind me at the finish--very few.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Medical School
You know the old joke; "What do you call the guy who finishes last in his class at med school?" "Doctor." So, what do you call the guy who finishes near the back of the pack in a triathlon? A triathlete! Of course, when I was young enough (and foolish enough) to think I might become competitive in triathlons, athletes would call people who treated a sprint triathlon like an endurance event "triathloids". After a hiatus of about a quarter century, I have entered and completed another triathlon. My part wasn't pretty but I got the medal and the t-shirt. I didn't do badly with the watermelon and cookies either. Here are a few pictures;
I have no idea who this young lady is, but her picture is included to represent that the gender ratio in the Georgia Veterans Park Triathlon was about 60% male and 40% female. I was a little surprised by the number of female triathletes.
Can you find me in this picture? Of course not! First of all, by the time I got out of the lake, there was no chance I would be riding with this many cyclists. Secondly, none of these pictures are from my triathlon. Since I do not have any (yet), I harvested these from the "net".
This could be me. Well, I am not that lean and I don't have a $3000 bike. In fact, I don't even have a road bike. That's right, I competed (?) on a mountain bike. It was a little like taking the Clampett's old truck to the Daytona 500. But still, I had a red shirt and black shorts. That might be me.
This might be my brother, Keith. Except he has never been to Australia. I sent Keith this picture to make him feel better. Keith and Josh (the associate minister) bought triathlon shorts for the race (like biking shorts) and family gave them so much grief that they almost did not wear them. Once you see all the crazy outfits, the self-conscious feelings fade quickly. At least they did not make the mistake this guy did and order the women's outfit.
The serious report is that the Georgia Veteran's Park Triathlon is an extremely organized event and was lots of fun. Yes, I did actually do as poorly in the swim as I anticipated. Once I survived that ordeal, the bike and run portions were fun. Keith did really, really, well. I am very proud of him. Josh also beat me but was a little gun-shy because of a bike crash during training a couple of weeks ago. If you are thinking about completing a triathlon some day, this would be a great first event. There were a good many first-timers in this race. I would like to add, as tactfully as I know how, that there were men and women of every shape, size, and age in this race. Please take this word of wisdom with you; never, never size up a competitor before a race based on age, size, or shape and conclude "I know I can beat that person." The odds are good that you can not.
Stay tuned for reports on these upcoming events;
Labor Day 1-miler Downtown Montgomery
9/29 5-K at AUM
10/28 Attack on Swayback mountain bike race (I have the bike for this one)
12/8 5-K in Wetumpka
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Run for your life!
Because SO MANY readers of my blog have asked for it (thanks, Laura), here is a report on my participation in the Riverfest 5K race in beautiful downtown Wetumpka last Saturday. First, let me say that on August 1 the official high temp in Wetumpka was 95 and 8/2-8/5 it was either 98 or 99. From 8/6 until today it has been over 100 and is predicted to surpass 100 through this week. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday the high in Wetumpka was 105 each day. This information should not be ignored as you read this because it CAN NOT be ignored if you work (and/or play) outdoors. Last week was a 6-day workweek for me, including the Saturday of the race. I had planned to run the race and go to work late since Saturday is normally a short workday for me. My plan was to use this race as a barometer to determine if I had any chance to survive a triathlon near Americus, Georgia on the following Saturday (8/18) with my brother. The results are in; 1] I have little chance of survival 2] I signed up for the triathlon Sunday afternoon.
The race was fun, all things considered. The organization was less than ideal but much better than it could have been. The start time for the race was 7 a.m. or 7:30 a.m., depending on which source you were depending on. This poses some problem since showing up 30 minutes late for the start of a race that should be over in less than 30 could be both confusing and disheartening. I made the only wise decision--to show up prepared to run at 7 and not be surprised if it began at 7:30. That is exactly what happened. Well, not exactly. As it turned out, the "organizers" were not quite organized at 7:30 so the hour I had already been there and the two jogs from my truck to the starting line area were not enough. We needed to stand in the blistering sun a little longer. We started some time around 7:45. It is always fascinating to me to watch people at events such as this. O.K., it is fascinating to me to watch people almost anywhere, but especially when they are about to "perform". These events draw a wide assortment of people. All the characters are always there. The names change, but the characters are represented. There are true athletes; those who take it very seriously and train hard. They are not the first ones you notice and often it surprises you which ones they really are. Then there are pseudo-serious athletes; these folks have expensive, new apparel and gear. They drive sporty cars and have stickers displaying allegiance to various sports. And there is a variety of individuals that prompt you to want to ask "Are you REALLY running in this race?" Not just the ones that are old and heavy, like me, but they have complex waist-belts with multiple water-bottle holders or hydration backpacks and ipods and heart monitors and wires everywhere. Really? For a 5K? You know that is 3.1 miles? Do you really think you will need to refuel several times in the next half-hour? Will you really have time to listen to Mozart or Rick and Bubba? Do you really want a lot of distraction while you jostle with 150 other people running through traffic for 3.1 miles? You DO realize this is NOT a marathon, right? My favorite for this particular race was the lady who showed up late. By late, I mean later than the actual posted start-time (the second one, not the first). She screeched into the drive near the registration table, hopped out of her car (leaving it in the drive), and ran to get her race number. All eyes were on her as she explained to the lady at the table that she got "horribly lost". Really? In Wetumpka? With the registration table in front of city hall on MAIN STREET? Then you think the thing to do is drive through the crowd that has been standing here for an hour so you can park 7 feet from the start line? Here is what caught my attention about this lady; as late as she was and as rude as she was (because of the emergency of being late), you could not help to notice that her make-up was flawless. That's right folks--bright red lipstick, foundation, blush, mascara--she was ready to rumble. Perhaps she was applying make-up while driving, which may explain getting "hopelessly lost" in Wetumpka. Eventually, we did get underway and I was flying. Man, I was running near the front of the pack and it did not seem that hard. As many races as I have run over the years, I should have recognized that I was starting too fast for my level of conditioning. But I could not help myself--I was unleashed and could not be held back. Until about half-way. Then something began to hold me back--a lot. What is that? Gravity? The weight of years? The weight of Snickers bars? The wet blanket of Alabama humidity (did I mention that we ran next and twice crossed the Coosa River)?
My second complaint about organization/planning is (and I hate to complain because I really appreciate the race--but when you fork out $20 for a race, you expect these things to be done) the miles were not marked. With no indication of the one, two, or three mile mark you not only do not know how to judge your level of exhaustion but also can not compute your pace. This is a major flaw and should not be tolerated by a race director. Otherwise, I may have won. Well, at least I could look back on the race and figure how many miles I had remaining when the real runner won. Seriously, the late start and lack of mile markers did not affect me too much since the best I hoped for was to run at the middle of the pack. But serious (and semi-serious) competitors need that information.
I saw Matt Dixon at the race which was a little weird since I had watched him perform in "Little Shop of Horrors" at the Faulkner dinner theater Friday night (just hours before). Matt did well--improving on his time from a couple of weeks ago by about two minutes and beating me by about that margin. Man, that hurts. Don't count on it again, Matt. I am not having it. Matt is also training for a triathlon--only he is actually training. I am sure he will do MUCH better in his than I will do in mine. Good luck, Matt. I am proud of you.
One more shortcoming of the race was that there was no visible clock at the finish line and nobody calling out times. Again, this is just not acceptable--not even to the back-of-the-pack runners. A registration and accompanying fees should assure these basics or you are just paying $20 to go for a run. Kudos, however, for the great fruit table at the finish line.
I had fun and am glad I did it. It had been a long time since I participated in an organized (?) event like this, so it was fun to get back into it. Also, a GIANT THANK YOU to my wonderful wife who got up early on Saturday, drove to Wetumpka, and stood in the heat just to cheer for ME! That means that although my time was over 28 minutes and lots of folks finished ahead of me, I was a WINNER! It is great to have fans. Thanks, also to co-workers who tolerated my schedule so I could go out and play. Next week I will post about the Georgia Veterans Triathlon. I continue to train even as I am writing this by finishing off a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. I am so ready! I hope it is 110 degrees Saturday.
The race was fun, all things considered. The organization was less than ideal but much better than it could have been. The start time for the race was 7 a.m. or 7:30 a.m., depending on which source you were depending on. This poses some problem since showing up 30 minutes late for the start of a race that should be over in less than 30 could be both confusing and disheartening. I made the only wise decision--to show up prepared to run at 7 and not be surprised if it began at 7:30. That is exactly what happened. Well, not exactly. As it turned out, the "organizers" were not quite organized at 7:30 so the hour I had already been there and the two jogs from my truck to the starting line area were not enough. We needed to stand in the blistering sun a little longer. We started some time around 7:45. It is always fascinating to me to watch people at events such as this. O.K., it is fascinating to me to watch people almost anywhere, but especially when they are about to "perform". These events draw a wide assortment of people. All the characters are always there. The names change, but the characters are represented. There are true athletes; those who take it very seriously and train hard. They are not the first ones you notice and often it surprises you which ones they really are. Then there are pseudo-serious athletes; these folks have expensive, new apparel and gear. They drive sporty cars and have stickers displaying allegiance to various sports. And there is a variety of individuals that prompt you to want to ask "Are you REALLY running in this race?" Not just the ones that are old and heavy, like me, but they have complex waist-belts with multiple water-bottle holders or hydration backpacks and ipods and heart monitors and wires everywhere. Really? For a 5K? You know that is 3.1 miles? Do you really think you will need to refuel several times in the next half-hour? Will you really have time to listen to Mozart or Rick and Bubba? Do you really want a lot of distraction while you jostle with 150 other people running through traffic for 3.1 miles? You DO realize this is NOT a marathon, right? My favorite for this particular race was the lady who showed up late. By late, I mean later than the actual posted start-time (the second one, not the first). She screeched into the drive near the registration table, hopped out of her car (leaving it in the drive), and ran to get her race number. All eyes were on her as she explained to the lady at the table that she got "horribly lost". Really? In Wetumpka? With the registration table in front of city hall on MAIN STREET? Then you think the thing to do is drive through the crowd that has been standing here for an hour so you can park 7 feet from the start line? Here is what caught my attention about this lady; as late as she was and as rude as she was (because of the emergency of being late), you could not help to notice that her make-up was flawless. That's right folks--bright red lipstick, foundation, blush, mascara--she was ready to rumble. Perhaps she was applying make-up while driving, which may explain getting "hopelessly lost" in Wetumpka. Eventually, we did get underway and I was flying. Man, I was running near the front of the pack and it did not seem that hard. As many races as I have run over the years, I should have recognized that I was starting too fast for my level of conditioning. But I could not help myself--I was unleashed and could not be held back. Until about half-way. Then something began to hold me back--a lot. What is that? Gravity? The weight of years? The weight of Snickers bars? The wet blanket of Alabama humidity (did I mention that we ran next and twice crossed the Coosa River)?
My second complaint about organization/planning is (and I hate to complain because I really appreciate the race--but when you fork out $20 for a race, you expect these things to be done) the miles were not marked. With no indication of the one, two, or three mile mark you not only do not know how to judge your level of exhaustion but also can not compute your pace. This is a major flaw and should not be tolerated by a race director. Otherwise, I may have won. Well, at least I could look back on the race and figure how many miles I had remaining when the real runner won. Seriously, the late start and lack of mile markers did not affect me too much since the best I hoped for was to run at the middle of the pack. But serious (and semi-serious) competitors need that information.
I saw Matt Dixon at the race which was a little weird since I had watched him perform in "Little Shop of Horrors" at the Faulkner dinner theater Friday night (just hours before). Matt did well--improving on his time from a couple of weeks ago by about two minutes and beating me by about that margin. Man, that hurts. Don't count on it again, Matt. I am not having it. Matt is also training for a triathlon--only he is actually training. I am sure he will do MUCH better in his than I will do in mine. Good luck, Matt. I am proud of you.
One more shortcoming of the race was that there was no visible clock at the finish line and nobody calling out times. Again, this is just not acceptable--not even to the back-of-the-pack runners. A registration and accompanying fees should assure these basics or you are just paying $20 to go for a run. Kudos, however, for the great fruit table at the finish line.
I had fun and am glad I did it. It had been a long time since I participated in an organized (?) event like this, so it was fun to get back into it. Also, a GIANT THANK YOU to my wonderful wife who got up early on Saturday, drove to Wetumpka, and stood in the heat just to cheer for ME! That means that although my time was over 28 minutes and lots of folks finished ahead of me, I was a WINNER! It is great to have fans. Thanks, also to co-workers who tolerated my schedule so I could go out and play. Next week I will post about the Georgia Veterans Triathlon. I continue to train even as I am writing this by finishing off a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. I am so ready! I hope it is 110 degrees Saturday.
How hot is it?
I am not saying that two weeks of temps over 100 degrees every day is too hot, but just today I have heard 4 different trees attempting to whistle a dog over.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Why do you race?
People sometimes ask me this question. I rarely feel that they want to allow me the time to adequately answer. When I haven't raced for a long time and return to it in the middle of a 100 degree heat wave, I sometimes ask myself the same question. My favorite running philosopher, Dr. George Sheehan explains it better than I can. Here is one of his essays;
"What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without."
I first came upon the aging process in a race. I felt no sense of advancing years in my day-to-day activity. My work week was unchanged: I wrote, I traveled, I lectured. Some people marveled at my energy and endurance. It was my weekend race that finally told me I was no longer young. The changes that come with age are subtle-but not to a runner. My 10-K time measures me quite accurately. Any change in performance dictated by age is precisely recorded in minutes or seconds on the digital clock at the finish line. "Crumbling is not an instant's Act," wrote Emily Dickinson. And the physician in me knows that almost 90 percent of my liver has to be damaged before its impairment is apparent. The body has enormous reserves to call upon. But in the race, I call on all my reserves. I am operating at full throttle. The least diminution in function becomes evident. The race, therefore, is the litmus test for aging. Long before anything else goes, race times signal the approach of the last stage of life. A look at my weekly race results will tell you bluntly that I am no longer middle-aged. I am now a full-fledged citizen of the country of the aged. Three years ago when this happened, I refused to believe it. Running had been my fountain of youth. For years I thought it was inexhaustible, like the never-empty cup of coffee some restaurants offer. After I began running in my 40's, I quickly became 32 years old and stayed that way. Decades came and went, and I was still in my prime. When my 10-K times slowed down and I began to run personal worsts instead of personal bests, I took stock. It was not age, I told myself. I had been 32 years old for the previous 20 years and did not intend to get older. All I needed was more training, some hills and speedwork, and I would be back to my best. I took up arms against age. I increased my training and within a single Thanksgiving holiday ran four races. Each race I ran a little faster than the previous one, but never near the times I had registered the year before. And I was no longer in the top third of the field-now, I was well back in the second half of the pack. How did I feel about all this? Terrible. And don't remind me that most people my age have run up the white flag. Do not tell me I can still outrun the average person twenty years younger than me. Do not point out that age has compensations that will more than pay for the lost few minutes in the race. I am rebuilding my life on those thoughts. But first, help me bury the runner I once was, and then we can talk about what the future holds. Apparently, it still holds plenty. My initial depression has receded. I realize now that there are more things at stake than setting a personal best in a road race. I can even answer truthfully (and this is the most difficult part) when someone asks me, "What was your time, Doc?" My times continue to get slower and slower. And, therefore, the "me" that I am is different. But the me that I am has developed insights and wisdom that I did not have before. What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without. The race, however slow my times, remains an ever-changing learning experience. Whenever I race, I learn something new about myself and those who race with me. I will never be 32 years-old again, but it no longer matters, because I've learned that winning doesn't matter, it's running that counts. And when I push to the limit, I am a boy again-an untried youth listening to the wisdom of my body.
Copyright © The George Sheehan Trust
I think I will stick with it a while.
"What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without."
I first came upon the aging process in a race. I felt no sense of advancing years in my day-to-day activity. My work week was unchanged: I wrote, I traveled, I lectured. Some people marveled at my energy and endurance. It was my weekend race that finally told me I was no longer young. The changes that come with age are subtle-but not to a runner. My 10-K time measures me quite accurately. Any change in performance dictated by age is precisely recorded in minutes or seconds on the digital clock at the finish line. "Crumbling is not an instant's Act," wrote Emily Dickinson. And the physician in me knows that almost 90 percent of my liver has to be damaged before its impairment is apparent. The body has enormous reserves to call upon. But in the race, I call on all my reserves. I am operating at full throttle. The least diminution in function becomes evident. The race, therefore, is the litmus test for aging. Long before anything else goes, race times signal the approach of the last stage of life. A look at my weekly race results will tell you bluntly that I am no longer middle-aged. I am now a full-fledged citizen of the country of the aged. Three years ago when this happened, I refused to believe it. Running had been my fountain of youth. For years I thought it was inexhaustible, like the never-empty cup of coffee some restaurants offer. After I began running in my 40's, I quickly became 32 years old and stayed that way. Decades came and went, and I was still in my prime. When my 10-K times slowed down and I began to run personal worsts instead of personal bests, I took stock. It was not age, I told myself. I had been 32 years old for the previous 20 years and did not intend to get older. All I needed was more training, some hills and speedwork, and I would be back to my best. I took up arms against age. I increased my training and within a single Thanksgiving holiday ran four races. Each race I ran a little faster than the previous one, but never near the times I had registered the year before. And I was no longer in the top third of the field-now, I was well back in the second half of the pack. How did I feel about all this? Terrible. And don't remind me that most people my age have run up the white flag. Do not tell me I can still outrun the average person twenty years younger than me. Do not point out that age has compensations that will more than pay for the lost few minutes in the race. I am rebuilding my life on those thoughts. But first, help me bury the runner I once was, and then we can talk about what the future holds. Apparently, it still holds plenty. My initial depression has receded. I realize now that there are more things at stake than setting a personal best in a road race. I can even answer truthfully (and this is the most difficult part) when someone asks me, "What was your time, Doc?" My times continue to get slower and slower. And, therefore, the "me" that I am is different. But the me that I am has developed insights and wisdom that I did not have before. What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without. The race, however slow my times, remains an ever-changing learning experience. Whenever I race, I learn something new about myself and those who race with me. I will never be 32 years-old again, but it no longer matters, because I've learned that winning doesn't matter, it's running that counts. And when I push to the limit, I am a boy again-an untried youth listening to the wisdom of my body.
Copyright © The George Sheehan Trust
I think I will stick with it a while.
Friday, August 10, 2007
HOLA
Utilice por favor el carril que da vuelta.
This post is only for the employees of Caffco and Southern Homes and Gardens on Hwy. 231. The sentence in Spanish says "Please use the turning lane." There are 7 lanes on Hwy. 231 in front of your workplace. The middle lane was designed by intelligent engineers to allow you a safe place to decelerate and stop while waiting for an opening to turn across 3 lanes of oncoming traffic. Do not be afraid of the turning lane. It is there to help you. DO BE AFRAID of coming to a complete stop in the far left lane (read fast lane) every morning during rush hour. We are all trying to watch out for you until you can secure a driver's license and perhaps even some liability insurance. You have been so brave to sneak across the border and come all the way to Alabama in an Astro van with 17 relatives. You show no fear of violating numerous traffic laws. Please do not be afraid of the turning lane.
Gracias. Tenga un buen dia.
This post is only for the employees of Caffco and Southern Homes and Gardens on Hwy. 231. The sentence in Spanish says "Please use the turning lane." There are 7 lanes on Hwy. 231 in front of your workplace. The middle lane was designed by intelligent engineers to allow you a safe place to decelerate and stop while waiting for an opening to turn across 3 lanes of oncoming traffic. Do not be afraid of the turning lane. It is there to help you. DO BE AFRAID of coming to a complete stop in the far left lane (read fast lane) every morning during rush hour. We are all trying to watch out for you until you can secure a driver's license and perhaps even some liability insurance. You have been so brave to sneak across the border and come all the way to Alabama in an Astro van with 17 relatives. You show no fear of violating numerous traffic laws. Please do not be afraid of the turning lane.
Gracias. Tenga un buen dia.
Crabby Old Man
The following is a poem sent to me by a friend. It was written by a man in a geriatric ward of a small hospital in Tampa, Florida. I am sorry I do not know his name to give credit. After he died the nurses cleaning his room discovered this poem and it has circulated via e-mail since then. It is worth a read.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? .....What do you see?
What are you thinking..when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, ..not very wise,Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice.....'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice .the things that you do.
And forever is losing .............. A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not...........lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ... The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ....as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .......who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen ..........with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. .......a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty .........my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows......that I promised to keep
At Twenty-Five, now ......... I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ..... And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty ........ My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other ........ With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons ....have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me........to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ....... Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children ........ My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me .......... My wife is now dead.
I look at the future .........I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing ......young of their own.
And I think of the years...... And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age .....look like a fool
The body, it crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass ...... A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .....my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys.............. I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living.............life over again.
I think of the years ....all too few.....gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ..open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see..ME!!
I will add just three comments;
1] Life is short (James 4:14)
2] Make fun of young people, not old people--you have already been where the young are and will someday be where the old are!
3] Take time to consider that the person in front of you is a combination of traits, strengths, weaknesses, and experiences that adds up to more than what you first see.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? .....What do you see?
What are you thinking..when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, ..not very wise,Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice.....'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice .the things that you do.
And forever is losing .............. A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not...........lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ... The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ....as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .......who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen ..........with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. .......a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty .........my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows......that I promised to keep
At Twenty-Five, now ......... I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ..... And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty ........ My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other ........ With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons ....have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me........to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ....... Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children ........ My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me .......... My wife is now dead.
I look at the future .........I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing ......young of their own.
And I think of the years...... And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age .....look like a fool
The body, it crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass ...... A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .....my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys.............. I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living.............life over again.
I think of the years ....all too few.....gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ..open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see..ME!!
I will add just three comments;
1] Life is short (James 4:14)
2] Make fun of young people, not old people--you have already been where the young are and will someday be where the old are!
3] Take time to consider that the person in front of you is a combination of traits, strengths, weaknesses, and experiences that adds up to more than what you first see.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
No Excuses!
Lord, forgive me when I complain about my busy schedule and help me remember this picture of the president of the United States making time in his schedule to run with wounded veterans. Forgive me when I complain about aches and pains or allow fear of doing badly prevent me from doing what I need to do. Help me to remember this picture of one veteran with one leg and the other with no legs bravely making the effort to run with the president. Thank you for two legs and two feet that amazingly work the way you created legs and feet to work for Adam so long ago. Thank you for the opportunity to choose how I spend my time. Thank you for reminders such as this of how blessed I am and how much is possible with your help.Amen.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Penny for your thoughts
The inner dialogue I had while running this afternoon prompted me to pose this question in hopes that several readers will ponder it and share some thoughts.
Which do you think best serves the curious mind, a telescope or a microscope?
I will let it sit a couple of days to see what response I get, then I will share my thoughts. Obviously, there is no right or wrong answer. I would just like to read some different perspectives.
Which do you think best serves the curious mind, a telescope or a microscope?
I will let it sit a couple of days to see what response I get, then I will share my thoughts. Obviously, there is no right or wrong answer. I would just like to read some different perspectives.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Take Another Look!
This is a quick post as a follow-up to one I wrote recently about the Stockdale Paradox. The idea is that we must hold to an unshakable faith that whatever we are going through can not only be survived, but can serve to make us better in some way. At the same time we hold this posivitive long-term view, we must be willing to face the brutal facts of our current situation. Either of these perspectives without the other can be catastrophic. All of this is somewhat philosophical so when I read two examples in yesterday's Montgomery Advertiser of a failure to grasp this principle, I began to feel that I had to express my thoughts.
The first example is a tragic local story of an estranged husband shooting to death his 3 young children, driving to his mother-in-law's house where his wife was staying, going into the house and shooting himself to death. Much has been said and written locally about this terrible event. I want to focus on one statement made by Brenda Robinson, the surviving wife and mother. Among many other things, she said of her deceased husband "He was actually a pretty good man." Well, I beg to differ. I could debate for hours why this is not true, but my point here is that this lady, God bless her in her grief, chose to overlook some serious defects in her husbands character. I could speculate why and probably come close, but let's just leave it at this fact. He showed signs of serious abuse. He came from a background of abuse. He needed help. If he refused help, she needed protection. If she refused protection, the children needed protection.
The second example from the same paper is much less tragic, and seems on the surface very funny. The headline read "Five Hundred Pound Man Rescued from River". Apparently, this 500 pound man was floating down a shallow river on an inner tube which hit a rock, not surprisingly, and burst, not surprisingly. I will skip the details about the hours and dollars spent to rescue this man and the obvious questions about why he could not just walk out of the river. For the purpose of this post, consider the comment made by his mother; "He is really in pretty good shape." What? How can that be? Folks, we need to face the brutal facts. And we need to tell each other the truth.
The first example is a tragic local story of an estranged husband shooting to death his 3 young children, driving to his mother-in-law's house where his wife was staying, going into the house and shooting himself to death. Much has been said and written locally about this terrible event. I want to focus on one statement made by Brenda Robinson, the surviving wife and mother. Among many other things, she said of her deceased husband "He was actually a pretty good man." Well, I beg to differ. I could debate for hours why this is not true, but my point here is that this lady, God bless her in her grief, chose to overlook some serious defects in her husbands character. I could speculate why and probably come close, but let's just leave it at this fact. He showed signs of serious abuse. He came from a background of abuse. He needed help. If he refused help, she needed protection. If she refused protection, the children needed protection.
The second example from the same paper is much less tragic, and seems on the surface very funny. The headline read "Five Hundred Pound Man Rescued from River". Apparently, this 500 pound man was floating down a shallow river on an inner tube which hit a rock, not surprisingly, and burst, not surprisingly. I will skip the details about the hours and dollars spent to rescue this man and the obvious questions about why he could not just walk out of the river. For the purpose of this post, consider the comment made by his mother; "He is really in pretty good shape." What? How can that be? Folks, we need to face the brutal facts. And we need to tell each other the truth.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Your Country Depends on YOU!
Here is how it works;
At the bottom of the post is the word "Comments". Click on that. A page will pop up. If you do not have a blog, just comment as "anonymous", but you need to leave your name in the section with your comment. That is it. Don't send money. You do not have to agree nor patronize. Just let me know you were here. It really means a lot. Thanks. Do not let the terrorists win!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
"Why are you home early?"
Within an hour of my return to Montgomery, I was asked this question for the first time. I expect to hear it many times by the end of the week. The answer is both complex and simple. The simple version is that one member of our hiking party had medical problems that made it impossible to continue. His toes had blisters the second day and were bleeding the third day and a more personal condition had developed and was bleeding as well. These things happen and many other possible injuries and equipment failures can bring a hike to a sudden end. For those who have never hiked an extensive section of the Appalachian Trail, it is difficult to comprehend the difficulty of the footing on rocky trails that are either going up or down at a steep angle most of the time. It is very, very different from walking 15 miles on your local park walking track. Also, you can't just stop by the CVS for bandages or drugs. You have to decide before you leave which of those you will carry with you and how much weight you are willing to add to your pack in order to be prepared.
The more complex answer involves the interpersonal skills and struggles required to plan, organize, and implement such a hike. The communication required demands absolute honesty with yourself and the others in the party about physical condition, equipment, goals, desires, and flexibility (of attitude). In our case, we had a plan that could work but would be very, very challenging. What most people do not understand is that the process is not over for us. We will rehash and analyze the hike for some time. And future hikes will depend to some extent on how honest and direct we are with each other during this process. As I have been thinking about our hike, the following quote by Theodore Roosevelt came to mind. I think it applies well to our effort. Can you see applications in your life?
"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is not effort without error and shortcoming; who does actually try to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.
Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat."
The more complex answer involves the interpersonal skills and struggles required to plan, organize, and implement such a hike. The communication required demands absolute honesty with yourself and the others in the party about physical condition, equipment, goals, desires, and flexibility (of attitude). In our case, we had a plan that could work but would be very, very challenging. What most people do not understand is that the process is not over for us. We will rehash and analyze the hike for some time. And future hikes will depend to some extent on how honest and direct we are with each other during this process. As I have been thinking about our hike, the following quote by Theodore Roosevelt came to mind. I think it applies well to our effort. Can you see applications in your life?
"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is not effort without error and shortcoming; who does actually try to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.
Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat."
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Appalachian Trail Adventures
Here are more pictures from the Appalachian Trail. I will post some details of the trip later, but wanted to share some of the pictures right away. Bring your sense of awe and your sense of humor. It will help enjoy the pics if you engage all your senses in imagining yourself hiking 85 miles of mountain trails with your house, bed, stove, food, clothes, and everything you need to survive a week on your back. Don't ask "why" at this time. Just imagine you are doing it and enjoy the pics. 
Please remember these are taken with a disposable camera. I decided not to carry my 35 mm this time because it is bulky and the hike is hard on the camera.
People always say "the picture doesn't do it justice". That is certainly true of these landscape pics. Here you get some sense of the mountains rolling into the distance to what seems like infinity. It really gives a person a sense of the enormity of the universe. I saw a group of men drive up to the Walasi outfitter store, walk over to the scenic view and one said to the group "Did you know such a view existed an hour and a half from home?" Then they climbed into their VERY racy sports cars and roared off. That is not the same as hiking up a 6000 foot mountain, finding a rocky outcropping, and stopping to enjoy the breeze rising from the valley while you try to take in the view.
Here is another shot of Joel taking care of business. My ex-friend, Joel. Sorry, brother, it is just funny.
Here is Joel with his brother Jeff. What a duo!
Yes, one is standing perfectly still and straight like you are SUPPOSED to even though he cares nothing for pictures and doesn't want a lot of attention. The other is monkeying around, pretending to throw a knife at his brother's back like you are NOT SUPPOSED to, because he loves attention and can't get enough. Below, is Jeff eating raw bear meat off his pocket knife.
We hiked a long way!
Please remember these are taken with a disposable camera. I decided not to carry my 35 mm this time because it is bulky and the hike is hard on the camera.
People always say "the picture doesn't do it justice". That is certainly true of these landscape pics. Here you get some sense of the mountains rolling into the distance to what seems like infinity. It really gives a person a sense of the enormity of the universe. I saw a group of men drive up to the Walasi outfitter store, walk over to the scenic view and one said to the group "Did you know such a view existed an hour and a half from home?" Then they climbed into their VERY racy sports cars and roared off. That is not the same as hiking up a 6000 foot mountain, finding a rocky outcropping, and stopping to enjoy the breeze rising from the valley while you try to take in the view.
We walk past many, many interesting rock formations and trees growing where there seems to be no soil. If I had the camera capacity and anybody would be willing to share them, I could take a thousand pictures of the character of the various mountains.
Although we hiked later in the summer than usual and Georgia has had drought conditions much like Alabama, there were many flowers and various colors of Rhododendron in bloom.
Here is my good friend Joel, taking care of some business via cell phone even in this remote wilderness. Joel is a hard-working man and a great asset to his company and his family.
Here is Joel with his brother Jeff. What a duo!
If a photo can capture the difference in personality of two brothers, this may be it;
Yes, one is standing perfectly still and straight like you are SUPPOSED to even though he cares nothing for pictures and doesn't want a lot of attention. The other is monkeying around, pretending to throw a knife at his brother's back like you are NOT SUPPOSED to, because he loves attention and can't get enough. Below, is Jeff eating raw bear meat off his pocket knife.Remember the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel all night? That is about how long Jeff wrestled with rigging the rainfly from his tent to serve as both pack cover and rain coat. He won about the time it quit raining.
We hiked a long way!And finally this one;
It is not a top-quality photo of the men nor of the mountains. But it is a photo of a top-quality friendship. Over time Joel has become a true friend. His brother, Jeff, asked me on the hike how Joel and I became friends--what we had in common to begin with. My answer was that Joel had not only a willingness, but an eagerness to discuss spiritual matters at a deep philosophical level and at a very personal level. Joel has a directness that puts some people off and intimidates some. But that quality makes him a valuable accountability partner. And he allows me to be very direct and personal with him as well. What I share in confidence, I know stays with him. He can count on the same from me. He invites me to step on his toes much more than he steps on mine. And he tolerated my pace on this hike although he worked very hard to be in shape and was able to sustain a faster pace. Largely because of his leadership we held devotionals each day of the hike and were able to show the love of God to a few other folks even in these remote areas. That is the kind of friend I need. Thanks, Joel. I will hike with you anytime.
It's a small world after all....
So, I was hiking down the Appalachian Trail, minding my own business, enjoying the flora and fauna.....and guess who I ran into? Really, try to guess. No, not Elvis. It was Charlie Sheen and Woody Harrelson! I am not making this up! Why don't you believe me? Here is proof;
Well, I only had a disposable camera so here is more proof;
As it turns out, neither Woody nor Charlie are as mean and tough as they look in these photos.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Hikengruven
"Over the hills and through the woods to nobody's house we go!" This is a quick post to serve notice that I will leave Montgomery tomorrow to again hike the Georgia portion of the Appalachian Trail. It looks like after a year of drought, we will have rain most days while we are hiking. My compadres on this trip will be Joel Plake and his brother Jeff. I have hiked with Joel a little but will be getting to know Jeff on this trip. It will be fun to explore the psyche of brothers for a week. It is amazing how quickly the masks of societal behavior disappear when you are sweating profusely all day, don't have access to a shower for a week, dig your own toilet, and carry your house, food, kitchen appliances, wardrobe, and groceries on your back. Exhaustion also breeds honesty. Honesty sometimes hurts feelings. But at the end, the adventure has allowed you to come to know another person at a level that many who call themselves life-long friends never realize. I love that part of backpacking. The men I have hiked with over the years can say anything in the world to me now without fearing that I may be offended. I am not embarrassed to give a bear hug to Dennis Fonville even if he looks like a mafia hit man. Jim Naylor is just "Natum" to me and sarcasm is the order of the day. Joe McClary (with whom I have shared both hiking and kayaking adventures) has shared deep feelings about future plans and spiritual growth because we have a connection most never experience. And my brother, Keith, who started it all with a ridiculous, hair-brained idea of hiking the very section we are hiking for the second time this week, is like--a brother to me. Keith had the vision and made the plans for the first trip when we did not know what we were doing. I was scared to death. The night before we hit the trail, we sat in the floor of a rented cabin with a raging storm outside--including terrible lightning (I had not thought about lightning while camping until then)--and sorted through at least 3000 pounds of equipment and food trying to decide what we really needed to carry for 7 days. Now, I just throw some stuff in a backpack and start walking. When I return, I will share some lessons I have learned from backpacking. Whether there will be pictures is undecided even now.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
"To Do" Lists
Do you use "To Do" lists? Most busy, successful people do. Management gurus endorse it. Does utilizing a "to do" list help you to be organized and get more done? Does it help you prioritize the events of your day? An idea from the book "Good to Great" that is connected to "to do" list is a "stop doing" list. Have you ever heard of a "stop doing" list? In the context of this particular book, the idea is for companies to "stop doing" things that are not related to their core competencies so that they can focus energy and resources on those things they do best or could be the best in the world at. On a personal level, the idea of a "stop doing" list seems to relate to Hebrews 12:1--"let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us." The idea that not only sin, but also good works can become a weight that prevents me from running the race I am supposed to be running reminds me that I need a daily "stop doing" list as much as a "to do" list. Agree or disagree?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Are you an optimist?
You have probably been asked on a job application or during an interview some variation of the question "Do you consider yourself an optimist?" "Why?"
Consider this excerpt from Jim Collins' book, "Good to Great" about a conversation he had with Admiral Jim Stockdale. Stockdale survived 8 years as a POW in Vietnam and wrote a book, "In Love and War" about his ordeal and the lessons learned. He and his wife wrote alternating chapters to share each perspective. Collins read Stockdale's book to prepare for their meeting and conversation. His thoughts;
"As I moved through the book, I found myself getting depressed. It just seemed so bleak—the uncertainty of his fate, the brutality of his captors, and so forth. And then, it dawned on me: “Here I am sitting in my warm and comfortable office, looking out over the beautiful Stanford campus on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I’m getting depressed reading this, and I know the end of the story! I know that he gets out, reunites with his family, becomes a national hero, and gets to spend the later years of his life studying philosophy on this same beautiful campus. If it feels depressing for me, how on earth did he deal with it when he was actually there and did not know the end of the story?”
“I never lost faith in the end of the story,” he said, when I asked him. “I never doubted not only that I would get out, but also that I would prevail in the end and turn the experience into the defining event of my life, which, in retrospect, I would not trade.”
* * *
I didn’t say anything for many minutes, and we continued the slow walk toward the faculty club, Stockdale limping and arc-swinging his stiff leg that had never fully recovered from repeated torture. Finally, after about a hundred meters of silence, I asked, “Who didn’t make it out?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “The optimists.”
“The optimists? I don’t understand,” I said, now completely confused, given what he’d said a hundred meters earlier.
“The optimists. Oh, they were the ones who said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ And Christmas would come, and Christmas would go. Then they’d say,‘We’re going to be out by Easter.’ And Easter would come, and Easter would go. And then Thanksgiving, and then it would be Christmas again. And they died of a broken heart.”
Another long pause, and more walking. Then he turned to me and said, “This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”
From this conversation, Collins coined the term "Stockdale Paradox". Its meaning is the last statement above, maintaining confidence in a positive outcome eventually (maybe years) but refusing to pretend everything is currently as it should be.
Agree or disagree?
Consider this excerpt from Jim Collins' book, "Good to Great" about a conversation he had with Admiral Jim Stockdale. Stockdale survived 8 years as a POW in Vietnam and wrote a book, "In Love and War" about his ordeal and the lessons learned. He and his wife wrote alternating chapters to share each perspective. Collins read Stockdale's book to prepare for their meeting and conversation. His thoughts;
"As I moved through the book, I found myself getting depressed. It just seemed so bleak—the uncertainty of his fate, the brutality of his captors, and so forth. And then, it dawned on me: “Here I am sitting in my warm and comfortable office, looking out over the beautiful Stanford campus on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I’m getting depressed reading this, and I know the end of the story! I know that he gets out, reunites with his family, becomes a national hero, and gets to spend the later years of his life studying philosophy on this same beautiful campus. If it feels depressing for me, how on earth did he deal with it when he was actually there and did not know the end of the story?”
“I never lost faith in the end of the story,” he said, when I asked him. “I never doubted not only that I would get out, but also that I would prevail in the end and turn the experience into the defining event of my life, which, in retrospect, I would not trade.”
* * *
I didn’t say anything for many minutes, and we continued the slow walk toward the faculty club, Stockdale limping and arc-swinging his stiff leg that had never fully recovered from repeated torture. Finally, after about a hundred meters of silence, I asked, “Who didn’t make it out?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “The optimists.”
“The optimists? I don’t understand,” I said, now completely confused, given what he’d said a hundred meters earlier.
“The optimists. Oh, they were the ones who said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ And Christmas would come, and Christmas would go. Then they’d say,‘We’re going to be out by Easter.’ And Easter would come, and Easter would go. And then Thanksgiving, and then it would be Christmas again. And they died of a broken heart.”
Another long pause, and more walking. Then he turned to me and said, “This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”
From this conversation, Collins coined the term "Stockdale Paradox". Its meaning is the last statement above, maintaining confidence in a positive outcome eventually (maybe years) but refusing to pretend everything is currently as it should be.
Agree or disagree?
Monday, June 25, 2007
Amish Country/Amish Ways
My friend and co-worker, Wanda just returned from a two week vacation with her family. They took their travel trailer north to many interesting places, aiming mostly at the Michigan International Speedway for the NASCAR races. Part of their time was spent in the Amish area of Pennsylvania. Today she brought a few pictures from vacation to share. All of them were good, but one really grabbed my attention. There is so much I would like to say about the picture, but let's do this; you add your best caption and see how entertaining that can be.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!
Life is good! My beautiful wife has already made Father's Day great. Thanks, honey, for cooking a great breakfast, for the shirts, and for getting the kids and their spouses together for lunch. Especially, thank you for the MISSISSIPPI MUD CAKE with ice cream and chocolate syrup. I may have to upgrade my plans for an evening at Krystal for our anniversary Friday! Thanks, Laura, for nominating me for the "delightful dads" contest and rounding up some votes. Spiro also looked good in that competition. I don't think that was a picture from this year. Thanks, Baron and Laura for the "Rick and Bubba" best-of CD's (sorry about ruining the book idea). Thanks, Helen, for the gift card for Red Robin. Thanks, Mark and Lindsay, for the Mountain Hardwear hiking shorts. I am truly blessed beyond what I deserve. On a motivational note, here is a quote I read recently that is a good principle for dads to pass on to kids;
"Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time." Thomas Edison
Thank you, Thomas, for hanging in there. I am enjoying the lights. I am going to try to remember what you said and do better at trying one more time.
"Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time." Thomas Edison
Thank you, Thomas, for hanging in there. I am enjoying the lights. I am going to try to remember what you said and do better at trying one more time.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Man's Search for Meaning
Thanks to Michelle for lending me her copy of Viktor Frankl's book "Man's Search for Meaning". It is an interesting read. Victor Frankl was a prisoner in the German concentration camps during World War II. Every member of his family, except his sister perished in these camps. He was stripped of all posessions, including the manuscript of a book he was writing. During this experience, which he describes in the first half of his book, he discovered the thought process that led to what he calls logotherapy. Dr. Frankl describes in vivid detail the suffering he experienced and witnessed. One thought he had early was how he clung to the image of his wife. He did not even know if she were still alive, and in fact she was not. He explains learning that love goes far beyond the physical person of the beloved and finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases somehow to be of importance. He still had vivid mental conversations with her that helped sustain him. Dr. Frankl tells of a time he was asked "Can you tell me in one sentence, what is the difference between logotherapy and psychoanalysis?" He answered, "Yes, but can you first tell me in one sentence the essence of psychoanalysis?" The answer was, "During psychoanalysis, the patient must lie down on a couch and tell you things which sometimes are disagreeable to tell." Dr. Frankl's retort was "Now, in logotherapy the patient may remain sitting erect but he must hear things which are sometimes very disagreeable to hear." His reply was meant facetiously, but he also realized that compared to psychoanalysis, logotherapy is less retrospective and less introspective. "Logotherapy focuses rather on the future, that is to say, on the meanings to be fulfilled by the patient in his future."
Few people will read to the end if I continue a full summary of the book. Frankl suggests that suffering can be a blessing in the long run and he condenses his approach to mentoring people to this one statement; "Live as if you were living for the second time and had acted as wrongly the first time as you are about to act now." What do you think of that statement? Please think about it and leave a comment.
Few people will read to the end if I continue a full summary of the book. Frankl suggests that suffering can be a blessing in the long run and he condenses his approach to mentoring people to this one statement; "Live as if you were living for the second time and had acted as wrongly the first time as you are about to act now." What do you think of that statement? Please think about it and leave a comment.
Mountains or Beaches?
Where do you prefer to vacation? Do you like the sun and crowds at the beach or the cool shade and solitude of the mountains? Both can be nice and I have enjoyed trips to the beach. But my preference is usually for the place with the fewest people per square mile. Theme parks and tourist towns are interesting--once. Don't get me wrong-- I love people and socializing. I just do not care to be around thousands of strangers who have left manners and civility at home. So, I prefer the mountains as a place to return year after year. I am very thankful that every member of three generations of my family gather at Vogel State Park each summer for a week (more or less) to relax and catch up on "who we are becoming". Friends have asked me what we did for a week. It is difficult to explain. Lots of time is spent just sitting on the deck of the cabin sipping coffee and sharing life events or comparing opinions on current events. I said that I would not eat as much this time, but I did--Laura's blog has proof of the peanut butter and cornbread snack. For the first time, I did not take a single picture. My 35 milimeter camera seems so old fashioned when so many of the family is snapping with digitals and uploading to the two laptops that made the trip. It is pretty cool that they can upload and share with a zip drive so that all the pictures are instantly on both laptops. I used to be so proud to have 2 or 3 rolls developed one hour after returning home! I appreciate the technology and the instant gratification. More than that, I appreciate the chance to slow down and appreciate God's creation--even the early morning crows. I am also thankful for Baron and Lindsay who married into our family and use vacation time to join our pedestrian pace. They are young and energetic and would probably like to go more and do more, as would Helen, Laura, and Mark. These two pictures were nabbed from my brother's facebook where he chose to show the world my lack of grace and abundance of body mass. I share them to show 1) that you can make fun wherever you are, 2) old people do not have to sit on the porch all the time, 3) it is o.k. to allow people to laugh at you. I could probably explain away the unflattering parts of the ski picture, but the climbing picture just looks like an old, overweight monkey. Is that a honky-tonk bedonka-donk? Thanks, Keith. Your shutter timing is impeccable.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Monster Pig
As tempting as it is, I really try to avoid posting comments on sensational stories. These stories pop up almost daily and spread through "news" outlets like flash fires. One story that really gained momentum quickly was of the 11-year-old boy who killed a "monster pig" with a pistol. This pig was said to weigh 1051 pounds and be over 9 feet long, making it larger than the "hogzilla" killed near my hometown in southwest Georgia. This young boy gained notoriety so quickly (mostly due to a quickly constructed website-- www.monsterpig.com) and he was invited to be part of the upcoming movie about the hogzilla killed in Georgia. Well, if that is not confusing enough, toss in lots of skeptics about the authenticity of pictures on the website and lots of REALLY hateful e-mail directed at this kid and lots of praise and accolades for the same kid. My first comment when I saw the pictures was "Somebody has been feeding that hog, because you can't grow jowls like that rooting around in the woods." As it turns out, the pig was raised on a farm and sold to the hunting preserve not long before this father and son booked a guided hunt. You get the picture. Speaking of pictures, here is the pig. If you are violently against hunting or have never seen animals in between grazing and blackened, then stop here and save yourself some strong emotions. It is not a pretty picture for several reasons.
Here are my personal observations;
1] That is a big hog!
2] That is a cool gun. When I was 11, I had a Daisy BB gun. That is a $1500 heavy duty Colt pistol with a rifled barrel.
3] In response to the unbelievably hateful emails sent to this boy I say, lots of people are very confused about whether man is here to serve animals or to have dominion over them.
4] Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. Pride led to poor behavior by most of the people involved in this story, including the lady from the farm that sold the pig to the hunting preserve.
5] The many people who would write to attack an 11 year old kid and wish he were shot, condemn him to hell, hope he gets some disease from the pork, and throw in lots of profanity for flavor cause me great concern for the direction of our country. That they would use the opportunity to 1) condemn all Christians, 2) ridicule all southerners, 3) repeatedly use the word "redneck" as if it is something worse than all the profane words they know, 4) manage to include the "fact" that the president is committing terrorist acts DAILY, and last but not least, 5) communicate in such an arrogant, condescending manner while demonstrating the grammar and spelling of a third grader--is at the same time both hilarious and terrifying!
6] When you hear the term "feral" pig it is not a type of pig. Feral just means wild. Any animal can be called feral. Once this pig was sold from the farm and began living in the woods, he became a "feral" pig. Obviously, there is some matter of degree--he would have been "wilder" in a year or two.
7] This dad made some decisions that I would not have. But he earned my respect, not for spending lots of money on a guided hunt with premium weapons and not for grabbing the spotlight for his son, but most of all for getting up early in the morning and driving his son to the home of the folks who claimed to have raised the pig and confronting them to learn the truth. This caused the supplier of the pig to soften their attacks considerably. The truth was told without exaggeration BECAUSE this dad looked into the eyes of the couple who were being critical of his kid and asked direct questions. At the end of the day the two men demonstrated respect for each other.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Rain, Sleet, Snow, Nor Gloom of Night
First of all, I never signed a contract saying I would work in rain, sleet, and snow. But I have. Actually, I probably enjoy it more than most. I came across a newspaper clipping today that reminded me of a particularly difficult day nearly a quarter century ago. Many who read this post would have been in diapers the day this ocurred. The date was Thursday, January 20, 1983. If you can read the date on the clipping, you will see it is Friday's paper and the picture was taken before sunrise that morning.
I know you can't read the print. Basically, there was an ice storm Thursday. It rained most of the day and was getting colder and colder. By mid-afternoon everything was freezing. All the trees had ice and limbs were beginning to break off. After dark it became much worse. A power pole with THREE transformers (probably not a good idea) fell on two mail jeeps and crushed one pretty well. The jeep on the right in this picture was the one I drove and it was crushed on the driver's side (right) so that the roof was resting on the seat. The clocks stopped in the Post Office when the pole fell indicating that it was less than an hour after I had parked it and left for the day. We DID deliver mail on Friday, but not much arrived from Birmingham because they were iced in worse than we were. Trees and power lines were down everywhere. It is amazing how much we take for granted. I parked near that power pole day after day without any thought of it falling on the vehicle before that day. Also, this occasion is one reminder that older folks have seen many cycles in weather patterns similar to recent years. But in those days, such events were mostly local news. There were no 24 hour news channels competing to have the latest from everywhere. Don't be fooled by proponents of global warming and buying carbon credits to soothe your guilt for destroying the planet. The storms have always been with us and we "do not know from whence the wind blows".
I know you can't read the print. Basically, there was an ice storm Thursday. It rained most of the day and was getting colder and colder. By mid-afternoon everything was freezing. All the trees had ice and limbs were beginning to break off. After dark it became much worse. A power pole with THREE transformers (probably not a good idea) fell on two mail jeeps and crushed one pretty well. The jeep on the right in this picture was the one I drove and it was crushed on the driver's side (right) so that the roof was resting on the seat. The clocks stopped in the Post Office when the pole fell indicating that it was less than an hour after I had parked it and left for the day. We DID deliver mail on Friday, but not much arrived from Birmingham because they were iced in worse than we were. Trees and power lines were down everywhere. It is amazing how much we take for granted. I parked near that power pole day after day without any thought of it falling on the vehicle before that day. Also, this occasion is one reminder that older folks have seen many cycles in weather patterns similar to recent years. But in those days, such events were mostly local news. There were no 24 hour news channels competing to have the latest from everywhere. Don't be fooled by proponents of global warming and buying carbon credits to soothe your guilt for destroying the planet. The storms have always been with us and we "do not know from whence the wind blows".
Thursday, May 24, 2007
THE RACE
I noticed this morning that I have 99 blog posts archived. So, I wanted to make number 100 special. I have just read this poem and was moved to tears by it. There is so much I would like to say about the meaning but the poem is long so I will just leave my comments to this brief introduction. If there is somewhere you have to be in two minutes, just wait and come back later. You will need a few minutes to process the meaning for your life.
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THE RACE
by DEE GROBERG
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"QUIT! GIVE UP YOU'RE BEATEN!"
THEY SHOUT AT ME AND PLEAD.
"THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH AGAINST YOU NOW.
THIS TIME YOU CAN'T SUCCEED."
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AND AS I START TO HANG MY HEAD
IN FRONT OF FAILURE'S FACE,
MY DOWNWARD FALL IS BROKEN BY
THE MEMORY OF A RACE.
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AND HOPE REFILLS MY WEAKENED WILL
AS I RECALL THAT SCENE;
FOR JUST THE THOUGHT OF THAT SHORT RACE
REJUVENATES MY BEING.
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A CHILDREN'S RACE--YOUNG BOYS, YOUNG MEN--
HOW I REMEMBER WELL.
EXCITEMENT, SURE! BUT ALSO FEAR;
IT WASN'T HARD TO TELL.
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THEY ALL LINED UP SO FULL OF HOPE;
EACH THOUGHT TO WIN THAT RACE.
OR TIE FOR FIRST, OR IF NOT THAT,
AT LEAST TAKE SECOND PLACE.
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AND FATHERS WATCHED FROM OFF THE SIDE
EACH CHEERING FOR HIS SON.
AND EACH BOY HOPED TO SHOW HIS DAD
THAT HE WOULD BE THE ONE.
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THE WHISTLE BLEW AND OFF THEY WENT,
YOUNG HEARTS AND HOPES AFIRE.
TO WIN AND BE THE HERO THERE
WAS EACH YOUNG BOY'S DESIRE.
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AND ONE BOY IN PARTICULAR,
WHOSE DAD WAS IN THE CROWD,
WAS RUNNING NEAR THE LEAD AND THOUGHT:
"MY DAD WILL BE SO PROUD!"
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BUT AS THEY SPED DOWN THE FIELD
ACROSS A SHALLOW DIP,
THE LITTLE BOY WHO THOUGHT TO WIN
LOST HIS STEP AND SLIPPED.
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TRYING HARD TO CATCH HIMSELF,
HIS HANDS FLEW OUT TO BRACE,
BUT MID THE LAUGHTER OF THE CROWD
HE FELL FLAT ON HIS FACE.
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SO DOWN HE FELL AND WITH HIM HOPE
HE COULDN'T WIN IT NOW--
EMBARRASSED, SAD, HE ONLY WISHED
TO DISAPPER SOMEHOW.
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BUT AS HE FELL HIS DAD STOOD UP,
AND SHOWED HIS ANXIOUS FACE,
WHICH TO THE BOY SO CLEARLY SAID,
"GET UP AND WIN THE RACE."
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HE QUICKLY ROSE, NO DAMAGE DONE,
BEHIND A BIT, THAT'S ALL--
AND RAN WITH ALL HIS MIND AND MIGHT
TO MAKE UP FOR HIS FALL.
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SO ANXIOUS TO RESTORE HIMSELF
TO CATCH UP AND TO WIN--
HIS MIND WENT FASTER THAN HIS LEGS;
HE SLIPPED AND FELL AGAIN!
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HE WISHED THEN HE HAD QUIT BEFORE,
WITH ONLY ONE DISGRACE.
"I'M HOPELESS AS A RUNNER NOW;
I SHOULDN'T TRY TO RACE."
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BUT IN THE LAUGHING CROWD HE SEARCHED
AND FOUND HIS FATHER'S FACE;
THAT STEADY LOOK WHICH SAID AGAIN:
"GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!"
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SO UP HE JUMPED TO TRY AGAIN
TEN YARDS BEHIND THE LAST--
"IF I'M TO GAIN THOSE YARDS," HE THOUGHT,
"I'VE GOT TO MOVE REAL FAST."
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EXERTING EVERYTHING HE HAD
HE REGAINED EIGHT OR TEN,
BUT TRYING SO HARD TO CATCH THE LEAD
HE SLIPPED AND FELL AGAIN!
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DEFEAT! HE LAY THERE SILENTLY
A TEAR DROPPED FROM HIS EYE--
"THERE'S NO SENSE RUNNING ANYMORE;
THREE STRIKES: I'M OUT! WHY TRY!"
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THE WILL TO RISE HAD DISAPPEARED;
ALL HOPE HAD FLED AWAY;
SO FAR BEHIND, SO ERROR PRONE;
A LOSER ALL THE WAY.
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"I'VE LOST, SO WHAT'S THE USE," HE THOUGHT.
"I'LL LIVE WITH MY DISGRACE."
BUT THEN HE THOUGHT ABOUT HIS DAD
WHO SOON HE'D HAVE TO FACE.
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"GET UP," AN ECHO SOUNDED LOW.
"GET UP AND TAKE YOUR PLACE;
YOU WERE NOT MEANT FOR FAILURE HERE.
GET UP AND WIN THE RACE."
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"WITH BORROWED WILL GET UP," IT SAID,
"YOU HAVEN'T LOST AT ALL.
FOR WINNING IS NO MORE THAN THIS:
TO RISE EACH TIME YOU FALL."
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SO UP HE ROSE TO RUN ONCE MORE,
AND WITH A NEW COMMIT
HE RESOLVED THAT WIN OR LOSE
AT LEAST HE WOULDN'T QUIT.
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SO FAR BEHIND THE OTHERS NOW,
THE MOST HE'D EVER BEEN--
STILL HE GAVE IT ALL HE HAD
AND RAN AS THOUGH TO WIN.
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THREE TIMES HE'D FALLEN, STUMBLING;
THREE TIMES HE ROSE AGAIN;
TOO FAR BEHIND TO HOPE TO WIN
HE STILL RAN TO THE END.
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THEY CHEERED THE WINNING RUNNER,
AS HE CROSSED THE LINE FIRST PLACE.
HEAD HIGH, AND PROUD, AND HAPPY;
NO FALLING, NO DISGRACE.
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BUT WHEN THE FALLEN YOUNGSTER
CROSSED THE LINE LAST PLACE,
THE CROWD GAVE HIM THE GREATER CHEER,
FOR FINISHING THE RACE.
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AND EVEN THOUGH HE CAME IN LAST,
WITH HEAD BOWED LOW, UNPROUD,
YOU WOULD HAVE THOUGHT HE'D WON THE RACE
TO LISTEN TO THE CROWD.
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AND TO HIS DAD HE SADLY SAID,
"I DIDN'T DO TOO WELL."
"TO ME, YOU WON," HIS FATHER SAID.
"YOU ROSE EACH TIME YOU FELL."
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AND NOW WHEN THINGS SEEM DARK AND HARD
AND DIFFICULT TO FACE,
THE MEMORY OF THAT LITTLE BOY
HELPS ME IN MY RACE.
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FOR ALL OF LIFE IS LIKE THAT RACE,
WITH UPS AND DOWNS AND ALL.
AND ALL YOU HAVE TO DO TO WIN,
IS RISE EACH TIME YOU FALL.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Style
How do you define style? Webster offers several definitions, including; "overall excellence, skill, or grace in performance, manner, or appearance". I like that definition. However, I recently discovered another definition of style that I like better. I can show you better than I can tell you;
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Now that is STYLE! Three of my girls at the recent Vaughn Park ladies tea personify excellence and grace.
Growing Old is not for Sissies!
I am determined to push my body to exercise and, as Dr. George Sheehan said, "be the animal I was meant to be". My philosophy is that doing that for a lifetime requires finding ways to make it enjoyable. In keeping with that philosophy, I recently purchased a mountian bicycle. To be precise, the insurance company representing the crazy woman who turned left across three lanes and bashed my truck bought me a bike. That is another post. This one is about stretching my wings and soaring to new heights on my sturdy mountain bike. I will try to share pictures occasionally. Here are the first two;
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Man, that was a cool day on the Coosa! Thanks to LaWanna for climbing that other mountain to take the pictures.
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Man, that was a cool day on the Coosa! Thanks to LaWanna for climbing that other mountain to take the pictures.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Dilbert continued
In keeping with the theme of the post "Ode to Baron" (see below) I am following up with the view from my office. Securing a corner office or an office with a view has long been considered an indication of increased standing in the company. To some, the office-location-status is more important than salary or workload. In a way, I am one of those. But not like most folks. Here are some views from my office that I enjoy every day at work. If I have to explain why this view at a lower salary trumps a computer screen and no windows at a higher salary, then I probably am not a sufficient word-smith to convey to you the difference measured in stress level, blood-pressure, and the ability to literaly whistle while you work.
As you can see, this was taken from inside the mailtruck. Here are more;
And one more;
There are more, but you get the idea. Yes, I could be making more money. Yes, the USPS needs me in a higher postion. Yes, I wear a blue collar now instead of a dress shirt and tie. No, I do not get called "Sir" nearly as often. If you don't get it, stop by the Coosa River one afternoon and I will share half my apple while we talk about it. Maybe when you leave, you will understand. But not everybody does.
Ode to Baron
This is today's Dilbert cartoon strip but I call it "Ode to Baron". That's all I have to say about that.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Big Yellow Taxi
Big Yellow Taxi is one of my favorite songs. It has a catchy melody and a chorus that is thought-provoking, simple and a truism. It also uses those elements to pull you in--to convince you that "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone" by lamenting the paving of paradise, putting all the trees in a tree museum, and the killing of birds and bees with DDT and then WHAM! Just when you are sure the title of the song must be either "They paved paradise and put up a parking lot" or "Don't it always seem to go, you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone" the tempo slows and in a whisper he says "Late last night I heard the scream door slam. A big yellow taxi took my girl away." Wow! That is what the song is really about. Now that he has suffered such a great loss, he sees the pattern of failing to appreciate blessings in other areas as well.
Here is my variation of that song; I will tell you the principle first then tell you the humorous story that reminded me of it.
Principle;
We all have a tendency to cover up problems instead of doing the hard digging required to actually fix the problem. We do this even though we know the problem will only get worse if we ignore it.
Funny story;
In the latest incarnation of my career I walk up to the door of a 150-year-old house in Wetumpka most days. The couple that lives here are probably in their 70's. There is a semi-circular dirt drive in front of the house. At the edge of this drive, I noticed a few months ago there was a wet spot. This seemed odd since it had not rained in some time. For the next several days I noticed it was still wet. I walked over and pressed on the edge of the wet area with my foot and water seeped up in the middle. That can't be good. A quick survey offered the likely explanation; there was a water meter directly across the drive. These folks have a water leak underground. There is also a sweet gum tree nearby that I would guess is about 120 years old that was struck by lightning a few months ago. I don't know if the lightning strike caused the rupture, but it is possible. Here is the funny part. A couple of days later there was a couple of shovel-fuls of dirt on top of the wet spot. In a few more days the water had soaked through that dirt. Then there was more dirt. Then the water soaked through again. This process has gone on and on. Now there is a large mound of dirt at the edge of the drive and the grass around the mound is growing like crazy. Since we haven't had rain in 40 days and 40 nights, the rest of the grass is dry and parched. Not this spot. Green and lush. In fact the grass and clover growing there is the only thing nearby that is as tall as the mound of wet dirt. I never see this gentleman but can hardly believe that he can't realize that there is a broken pipe underground and no matter how much dirt he piles on, the water will still continue to leak.
It seems silly, or to be honest it seems foolish. But how many times have I done the same?
"Don't it always seem to go, you cover the symptoms instead of digging for the real problem?" Until the screen door slams. I love that song.
Here is my variation of that song; I will tell you the principle first then tell you the humorous story that reminded me of it.
Principle;
We all have a tendency to cover up problems instead of doing the hard digging required to actually fix the problem. We do this even though we know the problem will only get worse if we ignore it.
Funny story;
In the latest incarnation of my career I walk up to the door of a 150-year-old house in Wetumpka most days. The couple that lives here are probably in their 70's. There is a semi-circular dirt drive in front of the house. At the edge of this drive, I noticed a few months ago there was a wet spot. This seemed odd since it had not rained in some time. For the next several days I noticed it was still wet. I walked over and pressed on the edge of the wet area with my foot and water seeped up in the middle. That can't be good. A quick survey offered the likely explanation; there was a water meter directly across the drive. These folks have a water leak underground. There is also a sweet gum tree nearby that I would guess is about 120 years old that was struck by lightning a few months ago. I don't know if the lightning strike caused the rupture, but it is possible. Here is the funny part. A couple of days later there was a couple of shovel-fuls of dirt on top of the wet spot. In a few more days the water had soaked through that dirt. Then there was more dirt. Then the water soaked through again. This process has gone on and on. Now there is a large mound of dirt at the edge of the drive and the grass around the mound is growing like crazy. Since we haven't had rain in 40 days and 40 nights, the rest of the grass is dry and parched. Not this spot. Green and lush. In fact the grass and clover growing there is the only thing nearby that is as tall as the mound of wet dirt. I never see this gentleman but can hardly believe that he can't realize that there is a broken pipe underground and no matter how much dirt he piles on, the water will still continue to leak.
It seems silly, or to be honest it seems foolish. But how many times have I done the same?
"Don't it always seem to go, you cover the symptoms instead of digging for the real problem?" Until the screen door slams. I love that song.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
TIGER ATTACK!!!
It was the kind of environment that cause all my senses to remain on full alert. There were strange creatures everywhere and my eyes constantly shifted left and right. I kept LaWanna always just to my left and within reach. Even with my constant watchfulness, she saw it before I did. Her screams caused my heightened senses to send instant messages to all my muscles to coil for the pending attack. I could not believe it when her screams evolved into the word T-I-G-E-R!!! Could it be true? I still did not see the menacing creature! Then suddenly there were the piercing eyes, the huge paws, the fiendishly camouflaged stripes. It really was a tiger! I know it is difficult to believe. Fortunately, there was someone nearby with a camera and here is the proof.
O.K., it was a young tiger. And the jungle was downtown Montgomery during Jubilee weekend. But you have to admit that there are some wild creatures downtown during Jubilee--some who only come to town on that weekend--and perhaps during the fair. Maybe I will write later about the resemblance to Sodom-francisco. But this post is about the tiger. Yes, it is true that LaWanna's screams were not screams of terror but of delight. "I've always wanted to pet a tiger" she said like a kid in a candy store. "And you shall" says I. So I pulled a few strings and not only were we allowed to pet the tiger, but the caretakers also felt that we looked so good with the tiger that they insisted on taking our pictures. Young people, let this be a lesson to you; be nice to enough people....and give enough people $15 and you can have anything you want in life. You may be wondering "LaWanna, why are you holding the poor tiger so high under her armpits?" Well, LaWanna can explain to you, as an expert tiger handler, with minutes or at least seconds of training, that you hold them that way instead of cuddling them as you would be inclined so that they will not claw your eyes out. The very pregnant handler would actually hold the little cub with one hand under one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Actually, it was more like a gallon of milk--you know with the little milk-filled handle, only she used a leg and shoulder like the handle. She explained that this most resembles the way the mother carries the cubs. And while it looked a little rough, sure enough the cub just went limp when picked up that way and did not squirm or attempt to break free. The bands were fun at Jubilee, my tickets were free, and we saw several friends we haven't seen in a while. But what we will probably remember most was the few minutes spent with "our own" little tiger. A good time was had by all.
O.K., it was a young tiger. And the jungle was downtown Montgomery during Jubilee weekend. But you have to admit that there are some wild creatures downtown during Jubilee--some who only come to town on that weekend--and perhaps during the fair. Maybe I will write later about the resemblance to Sodom-francisco. But this post is about the tiger. Yes, it is true that LaWanna's screams were not screams of terror but of delight. "I've always wanted to pet a tiger" she said like a kid in a candy store. "And you shall" says I. So I pulled a few strings and not only were we allowed to pet the tiger, but the caretakers also felt that we looked so good with the tiger that they insisted on taking our pictures. Young people, let this be a lesson to you; be nice to enough people....and give enough people $15 and you can have anything you want in life. You may be wondering "LaWanna, why are you holding the poor tiger so high under her armpits?" Well, LaWanna can explain to you, as an expert tiger handler, with minutes or at least seconds of training, that you hold them that way instead of cuddling them as you would be inclined so that they will not claw your eyes out. The very pregnant handler would actually hold the little cub with one hand under one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Actually, it was more like a gallon of milk--you know with the little milk-filled handle, only she used a leg and shoulder like the handle. She explained that this most resembles the way the mother carries the cubs. And while it looked a little rough, sure enough the cub just went limp when picked up that way and did not squirm or attempt to break free. The bands were fun at Jubilee, my tickets were free, and we saw several friends we haven't seen in a while. But what we will probably remember most was the few minutes spent with "our own" little tiger. A good time was had by all.
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