If you are under the age of 40 you probably don't know who this is. He was a cartoon character who was constantly bumbling into situations because he could not see very well. In fact the character always looked like his eyes were closed . As life swirled around him he seemed to make his way while all sorts of chaos erupted around him. But he plodded on with a charming and cheerful salute to all around him.
This past week while in transit from Dallas to Grand Rapids MI via Charlotte. I came to panic stricken realization while on the last leg of this journey I had lost my glasses. These are not reading glasses. I take them off to read. I have 20/20 within a 10' radius, but get out beyond that the world loses its sharp edges, and the further out you go it gets worse and worse. Oh I can see cars..or at least I think they are cars; and buildings; and mountains apparently do not have tops, they just stretch to the galaxy. Usually there is a rep to cart me around, but this entire trip I was driving. To complicate matters I was only going to be in Grand Rapids for a day then shift over to Boston, where again I would be driving.
So how do you fix this? Hmmm. The grocery store glasses are all reading glasses. Optometrists work in terms of weeks, not hours. I was stuck.
The next 4 days of driving was maddening. Street signs were the worst. If I squinted really hard I could just make out the sign from about 20' away...at 8 mph. Thankfully the chick on the IPhone GPS was more accurate than normal and I was able to creep my way around and not cause any pileups..that I know of. The lady who was to join me to attend the meeting with the customer was quite funny. She is Korean and very polite. When she landed in Boston we gathered our things, took the shuttle to the car rental building, loaded everything and struck out for Braintree MA, about 30 miles away.
As we rode along, this was the conversation:
Me: "Want to hear something really exciting?"
Her: "Yes, Of course!"
Me: "I lost my glasses on Monday and really can't see very well."
Her (very hesitantly and after a very long pause): "Would you like me to drive?"
Me: "Of course not! Just keep a close eye out that side of the car. You're seat belted, right?"
It seemed very funny to me. Koreans are not known for their sense of humor.
She went back to Dallas the next day and seemed really relieved to be going home. I had another day, then a 6AM flight back out.
3:30 AM, dark, raining, no glasses. And the GPS chick is not a cheerful early riser. Drove like a 90 year old in a Studebaker all the way to the airport. Exit to airport was blocked, so had to circle. I believe I achieved an almost 100% success rate of getting my fellow motorists to honk at me. They are so friendly in Boston. I just waved like royalty in a parade!
Wearing my old glasses until new ones can be purchased. Prescription had expired which meant I had to get an exam. My dad was an optometrist, so I know all the reasons for all the tests which did not prevent the good doctor from explaining them anyway. Taking a certain amount of abuse from the ladies in the office due to the look of the old glasses. I just keep waving!
This is probably a preview of my later years. Driving slow, can't see. If things keep going this way, though, I probably won't be able to hear them honk either. Anyway, the investment in some really cool and hip glasses is probably money well spent.
Godspeed, the old scripture came to mind, "Without vision the people perish" Well not this time.
Don
Friday, April 17, 2015
Monday, April 6, 2015
Weightless
There are times in our lives when the world turns so completely from the axis we are used to that it casts us into another dimension. We are running along in our lives thinking that we know the answers, we know the journey we have chosen, we know what to expect. Then, in a blinding awful moment we are jettisoned into another orbit, another reality.
What makes this so disconcerting is that most, if not all, that we think we know is spun in a different direction and is of no use to us. So we find ourselves naked and alone, scared and unsure, and without the tools with which we had become so familiar. This does not keep us from trying to find a use for those tools, to find something of value from our past. Do you remember Navin (played by Steve Martin) in The Jerk? As he is leaving his home for good, being expelled from his family, he rambles on as he wanders through the house:
"And that's the only thing I need is *this*. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray... And this paddle game. - The ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need... And this remote control. - The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need... And these matches. - The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control, and the paddle ball... And this lamp. - The ashtray, this paddle game, and the remote control, and the lamp, and that's all *I* need. And that's *all* I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one... I need this. - The paddle game and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches for sure. Well what are you looking at? What do you think I'm some kind of a jerk or something! - And this. That's all I need. "
When we are suddenly catapulted from the life we clung to into this new dimension, we grasp for the things that helped define the old life. And none of those things are helpful or even meaningful in the new life.
Some of you about now are saying, "What in the world is he talking about?" But if you have been jettisoned, with or without your permission from the life you thought you were building you don't have to ask. And it could be anything. You could have been shot from the cannon of your career soaring over the three rings and screaming at the knowledge that someone didn't stretch the net. It could be that far too soon the body has begun to wear down, to stop functioning as it should, instead of parts not working so well, entire systems are shutting down. Maybe she/he came home and piled all your stuff in the front yard, changed the locks, and moved the money and you never even had a moment to state your case. It could be any number of events, but the fact is that you are now alone and scared and without emotional or physical or spiritual tools to handle this sudden and cataclysmic moment. Perhaps this was self-inflicted, where all you could think of was that you had to get out, you had to step into the abyss without a parachute of any sort.
Fear breeds anger. It is easy to think that the universe and the One who made it have decided to turn your existence into some sort of sorry, cosmic joke. The brunt of divine laughter and derision. So it is natural to be angry, to be willing to blame, to assume abandonment.
But I read an interesting quote the other day that has been swimming around in the grey matter for over a week:
"The world for which you have been so carefully prepared is being taken from you, by the grace of God." The emphasis is mine. The attributed author is Walter Brueggemann, a Hebrew Bible Scholar.
I will let your grey matter struggle with this a little. I could apply faith, restoration ideas, hope, etc. But this quote comes with so much personal baggage that it probably means something completely different to you than it does to me. It just depends on where the exit burns are inflicted.
But the essence is that the One you follow has other plans than the ones you built. And try as we might to grasp the lamp or the matches or whatever, they will be useless in the new dimension. Grace and pain can never be separated. I feel an entirely different writing for that statement.
Godspeed, so carefully prepared, so completely lost, so redeemed by the grace. Still trying to fully grasp the idea.
Don
What makes this so disconcerting is that most, if not all, that we think we know is spun in a different direction and is of no use to us. So we find ourselves naked and alone, scared and unsure, and without the tools with which we had become so familiar. This does not keep us from trying to find a use for those tools, to find something of value from our past. Do you remember Navin (played by Steve Martin) in The Jerk? As he is leaving his home for good, being expelled from his family, he rambles on as he wanders through the house:
"And that's the only thing I need is *this*. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray... And this paddle game. - The ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need... And this remote control. - The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need... And these matches. - The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control, and the paddle ball... And this lamp. - The ashtray, this paddle game, and the remote control, and the lamp, and that's all *I* need. And that's *all* I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one... I need this. - The paddle game and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches for sure. Well what are you looking at? What do you think I'm some kind of a jerk or something! - And this. That's all I need. "
When we are suddenly catapulted from the life we clung to into this new dimension, we grasp for the things that helped define the old life. And none of those things are helpful or even meaningful in the new life.
Some of you about now are saying, "What in the world is he talking about?" But if you have been jettisoned, with or without your permission from the life you thought you were building you don't have to ask. And it could be anything. You could have been shot from the cannon of your career soaring over the three rings and screaming at the knowledge that someone didn't stretch the net. It could be that far too soon the body has begun to wear down, to stop functioning as it should, instead of parts not working so well, entire systems are shutting down. Maybe she/he came home and piled all your stuff in the front yard, changed the locks, and moved the money and you never even had a moment to state your case. It could be any number of events, but the fact is that you are now alone and scared and without emotional or physical or spiritual tools to handle this sudden and cataclysmic moment. Perhaps this was self-inflicted, where all you could think of was that you had to get out, you had to step into the abyss without a parachute of any sort.
Fear breeds anger. It is easy to think that the universe and the One who made it have decided to turn your existence into some sort of sorry, cosmic joke. The brunt of divine laughter and derision. So it is natural to be angry, to be willing to blame, to assume abandonment.
But I read an interesting quote the other day that has been swimming around in the grey matter for over a week:
"The world for which you have been so carefully prepared is being taken from you, by the grace of God." The emphasis is mine. The attributed author is Walter Brueggemann, a Hebrew Bible Scholar.
I will let your grey matter struggle with this a little. I could apply faith, restoration ideas, hope, etc. But this quote comes with so much personal baggage that it probably means something completely different to you than it does to me. It just depends on where the exit burns are inflicted.
But the essence is that the One you follow has other plans than the ones you built. And try as we might to grasp the lamp or the matches or whatever, they will be useless in the new dimension. Grace and pain can never be separated. I feel an entirely different writing for that statement.
Godspeed, so carefully prepared, so completely lost, so redeemed by the grace. Still trying to fully grasp the idea.
Don
Monday, March 30, 2015
Reading and Writing
The three "r"s. This always confused me a little because it is really the "r", "w", and "a". of course you can switch the letters around to get a couple acronyms that might not convey the most positive message, raw, or war. However, both might best describe my time in the public school scene. That is not a time that I look back and reminisce over. I do remember fondly the non-school portion of my life then.
This spot has been a little neglected over the past several months. Ideas would come to me and soon be forgotten. Stories that make a showing in my mind get lost in the clutter of life and soon jettisoned. There are several drafts sitting on the site that will probably never be published. I wrote them then realized they were atrocious both in style and content.
The reasons can be numerous for stopping the blog posts. First and foremost after 300 or so it is quite possible I have run out of things to say. My bride and my kids will probably argue the point. Along with this point is the suspicion that not only does my writing have little value, but you out there in the big world have better things to do than read about my brain lint. This wouldn't surprise me at all.
There is also the chance that this phase in my life has taken a different turn. I wonder what has happened to me that the words no longer flow. 99% of the time I write a post at one sitting, running it through spell check (a nod to my bride) and try to make sure my fingers posted all the words my brain asked them to. It is not uncommon that production doesn't do what upper management asks, so I go over it once and make sure there are no incomplete sentences or thoughts not correctly stated.
But the primary reason I tend to run out of things to write about is because I have stopped reading. Ever since I was a little kid on a farm in west Texas I have found the world through books and stories. Words mean a lot to me. Numbers, not so much (sorry Sarah). The words of fiction writers took me to magical places, later the words of actual people, celebrities some, heroes and cons, saints and scoundrels all opened places in my head and in my soul for inspection. Reading gave me chance to try out ideas and philosophies that made me think differently, pushed my head in another direction, stretched my ability to absorb. Reading set me free. Then I began to write.
Writing has pushed the boundaries even further. Even as I type these words I have no idea how this little moment will end. But it will have pushed me to another place I have never been before. There are two kinds of people in this world, pioneers and settlers. Pioneers strike out and find new places and new horizons. Settlers come later and tame the very horizon that the pioneer first embraced. And in taming the horizon push the pioneers further out because the horizon has been irrevocably changed. However, as romantic as that sounds, pioneers also tend to take a lot arrows and in some cases (me for instance) can become skeptical of the entire notion. If we can regret the future, the greatest regret I can think of is to cross the final horizon into the great uncounting and not be able to write about it. This is a frustration for me because I should have plenty of time to write unless there is an agenda I am not aware of, which is entirely possible.
So I have started reading again. And reading stuff that matters. I blitzed through Learning to Walk in the Darkness by Barbara Brown Taylor, which opened me up to accepting the darker portions of my own journey. (Stick with me over the next several posts, you will probably get to endure some that reading) Biographies have always been a favorite, and it is hard not to like a really well crafted fictional story. I wish I had that sort of creativity. But I am learning to live with my jealousy.
With the reading I am finding my sense of humor has come back, my perspective has poked its head out a bit, and life seems to have a better flavor.
Godspeed to those who read, even this little shot every once in a while. I appreciate your patience and rely on your kind words.
Don
This spot has been a little neglected over the past several months. Ideas would come to me and soon be forgotten. Stories that make a showing in my mind get lost in the clutter of life and soon jettisoned. There are several drafts sitting on the site that will probably never be published. I wrote them then realized they were atrocious both in style and content.
The reasons can be numerous for stopping the blog posts. First and foremost after 300 or so it is quite possible I have run out of things to say. My bride and my kids will probably argue the point. Along with this point is the suspicion that not only does my writing have little value, but you out there in the big world have better things to do than read about my brain lint. This wouldn't surprise me at all.
There is also the chance that this phase in my life has taken a different turn. I wonder what has happened to me that the words no longer flow. 99% of the time I write a post at one sitting, running it through spell check (a nod to my bride) and try to make sure my fingers posted all the words my brain asked them to. It is not uncommon that production doesn't do what upper management asks, so I go over it once and make sure there are no incomplete sentences or thoughts not correctly stated.
But the primary reason I tend to run out of things to write about is because I have stopped reading. Ever since I was a little kid on a farm in west Texas I have found the world through books and stories. Words mean a lot to me. Numbers, not so much (sorry Sarah). The words of fiction writers took me to magical places, later the words of actual people, celebrities some, heroes and cons, saints and scoundrels all opened places in my head and in my soul for inspection. Reading gave me chance to try out ideas and philosophies that made me think differently, pushed my head in another direction, stretched my ability to absorb. Reading set me free. Then I began to write.
Writing has pushed the boundaries even further. Even as I type these words I have no idea how this little moment will end. But it will have pushed me to another place I have never been before. There are two kinds of people in this world, pioneers and settlers. Pioneers strike out and find new places and new horizons. Settlers come later and tame the very horizon that the pioneer first embraced. And in taming the horizon push the pioneers further out because the horizon has been irrevocably changed. However, as romantic as that sounds, pioneers also tend to take a lot arrows and in some cases (me for instance) can become skeptical of the entire notion. If we can regret the future, the greatest regret I can think of is to cross the final horizon into the great uncounting and not be able to write about it. This is a frustration for me because I should have plenty of time to write unless there is an agenda I am not aware of, which is entirely possible.
So I have started reading again. And reading stuff that matters. I blitzed through Learning to Walk in the Darkness by Barbara Brown Taylor, which opened me up to accepting the darker portions of my own journey. (Stick with me over the next several posts, you will probably get to endure some that reading) Biographies have always been a favorite, and it is hard not to like a really well crafted fictional story. I wish I had that sort of creativity. But I am learning to live with my jealousy.
With the reading I am finding my sense of humor has come back, my perspective has poked its head out a bit, and life seems to have a better flavor.
Godspeed to those who read, even this little shot every once in a while. I appreciate your patience and rely on your kind words.
Don
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Just Get Me Home
It is a normal trip to Reno for a trade show. Trade shows are typically a little boring anyway and I was getting a lot of planning done, along with observing other salesmen in their booths. Just a typical day. Went to dinner at a new place and it was pleasant, but not extraordinary. Did hear a funny conversation at the table next to mine between a young couple that I thought were marrieds, but turned out they were fairly new in the relationship, but he had progressed further than she. Anyway, it was with great restraint that I didn't interject (particularly for his part, he was headed for a very rude awakening) But we all live and learn in our own ways. By the way, I always take a table and never eat at the bar, One simple reason, if you eat at the bar it seems to be an invitation for everyone to talk to you. After a long day of talking to people I don't know I did not want to continue with more people I did not know. Besides the weird ones all sit at the bar. So I grab a table and just eavesdrop on the folks around me. Anyway, I seem to have wandered off topic.
So while eating dinner I had the first faint little hints of an Afib episode. I am a veteran of these. Three episodes bad enough to send me to the ER, and numerous little ones that keep me guessing. Woke up the next morning to work out and realized my old buddy, Afib was still with me. Heart rate about 100, not bad but uncomfortable. For the uninformed Afib is the top part of the heart keeping the big bottom part primed to squirt blood all over the body. When the top part stutters, the bottom chambers just keep working harder and harder to no avail. The immediate symptom is shortness of breath because the blood is not carrying the oxygen very effiecntly. So you pant to get enough air.
It either gets worse or it goes back into rythym and all is good.
I texted my bride just after waking up and told her what was happening and that it was mild. Then as I was walking to the car to find a Starbucks, it kicked back in. I felt fine. So I texted her again and said no problem, all was good. When she answered she said, " Oh good. You better have a plan in place."
Hmm, a plan. The extent of my planning is to hope it doesn't happen. Sort of the ostrich approach. Of course there are ERs in nearly every place I go. So my real plan is to panic and call the EMTs.
But then I wondered what I needed to do if this really took an ugly turn and I stepped into the great uncounting while on the road.
I have developed two lists. The first is a list of places that my bride can just leave me. Seattle, Charlotte, in fact nearly anywhere in north or south Carolina. Boston is nice, but cold (I know, some of you are thinking I may need the cold to offset the heat I may find on the other side, but I don't think it works that way). Scottsdale and Phoenix are just as good, but the opposite problem of heat. Texas is the best, but the purpose here is if I am somewhere else.
The second list is longer, DO NOT LEAVE ME IN Los Angeles. It is NOT filled with Angels, it is crowded and ugly and my least favorite place. Keep me out of Chicago and upper Midwest..they talk funny. If I am in Colorado it is just a noncontiguous Texas county, there are more Texans there than in El Paso. Speaking of which, not El Paso, or Clovis NM.
But if at all possible get me home. As in where all my crowd is located. I don't want to travel the heavens to watch my kids grow old or my grandkids grow up. I'm also hoping to be close enough that my bride can join me at some point and I don't want her to have to travel beyond the single step we will all take.
Home for me is where the ones who love me outnumber the ones who don't know me. The ones who love me will be my final resting place.
So my plan is to make the final step at home, but if not I will find my way there.
Godspeed, home is the resting place we all long for.
PS to my bride, if the plane falls out of the sky, sue 'em.
Don
So while eating dinner I had the first faint little hints of an Afib episode. I am a veteran of these. Three episodes bad enough to send me to the ER, and numerous little ones that keep me guessing. Woke up the next morning to work out and realized my old buddy, Afib was still with me. Heart rate about 100, not bad but uncomfortable. For the uninformed Afib is the top part of the heart keeping the big bottom part primed to squirt blood all over the body. When the top part stutters, the bottom chambers just keep working harder and harder to no avail. The immediate symptom is shortness of breath because the blood is not carrying the oxygen very effiecntly. So you pant to get enough air.
It either gets worse or it goes back into rythym and all is good.
I texted my bride just after waking up and told her what was happening and that it was mild. Then as I was walking to the car to find a Starbucks, it kicked back in. I felt fine. So I texted her again and said no problem, all was good. When she answered she said, " Oh good. You better have a plan in place."
Hmm, a plan. The extent of my planning is to hope it doesn't happen. Sort of the ostrich approach. Of course there are ERs in nearly every place I go. So my real plan is to panic and call the EMTs.
But then I wondered what I needed to do if this really took an ugly turn and I stepped into the great uncounting while on the road.
I have developed two lists. The first is a list of places that my bride can just leave me. Seattle, Charlotte, in fact nearly anywhere in north or south Carolina. Boston is nice, but cold (I know, some of you are thinking I may need the cold to offset the heat I may find on the other side, but I don't think it works that way). Scottsdale and Phoenix are just as good, but the opposite problem of heat. Texas is the best, but the purpose here is if I am somewhere else.
The second list is longer, DO NOT LEAVE ME IN Los Angeles. It is NOT filled with Angels, it is crowded and ugly and my least favorite place. Keep me out of Chicago and upper Midwest..they talk funny. If I am in Colorado it is just a noncontiguous Texas county, there are more Texans there than in El Paso. Speaking of which, not El Paso, or Clovis NM.
But if at all possible get me home. As in where all my crowd is located. I don't want to travel the heavens to watch my kids grow old or my grandkids grow up. I'm also hoping to be close enough that my bride can join me at some point and I don't want her to have to travel beyond the single step we will all take.
Home for me is where the ones who love me outnumber the ones who don't know me. The ones who love me will be my final resting place.
So my plan is to make the final step at home, but if not I will find my way there.
Godspeed, home is the resting place we all long for.
PS to my bride, if the plane falls out of the sky, sue 'em.
Don
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
The Pickup Truck
Before Thanksgiving I finally talked my dad into selling me his '92 Chevrolet Silverado. He hadn't driven 50 miles in the last year or so. It was sitting in his driveway, the tires settling ever lower, sort of waiting to be taken out of retirement.
Dad and I spent a day or so engaged in inverted haggling. I was wanting to pay more than he was wanting to sell it to me for. In fact, his first offer was to give it to me, but I thought there were too many kids/grandkids/great-grandkids who probably deserved or might want it. So we haggled and pushed and ended up right where my masters level conflict resolution certification said we would. The exact halfway point between my first offer and his first offer.
I checked the oil and coolant, made sure the tires were up, finalized the signals with my bride who would be flying escort in her Acadia, and set out to drive it from Abilene to Red Oak.
The first thing I noticed was that the steering wheel had a lot of play in it. By a lot I mean the thing was in a permanent quarter turn when the truck was traveling straight. Because of the play in the steering the truck tended to sort of wander all over the road. A gust of wind, a semi booming by, a bend in the highway and I found myself herding that truck from one side of the lane to the other. The brakes were a little squishy too, but I figured the truck would protect me if we couldn't avoid a collision.
As I took inventory of the accessories in the truck I found that it had an AM/FM radio, a huge hump in the floorboard which no clutter organizer would fit, and a cassette player. Well that is interesting, other than sermon tapes, I'm not sure I even own any cassette tapes. Eight tracks, yes, cassettes no. That entire fad came during my early family/kids years and I did not have money for that nonsense. Eight tracks were here to stay. And the over lying aspect of the interior of the truck was a thin pervasive coat of fine red dust. I was bringing part of the farm home with me.
We hurdled along at highway speeds with me testing all the knobs and buttons. The AC would work but if I put the fan on high, it sounded like the dashboard was being dismantled from the inside. The Freon was low so the air was not really cool. I did find out later that the heater doesn't work all that well either, but I have lots of coats and sweaters. After a pretty good upper body workout, we arrived home safe and sound and the farm truck sits proudly in my driveway. My plans are to fix it up as time and money permit. I am not in a big hurry. It is street legal after a couple of failed attempts at an inspection. New tie rods fixed most of the wandering around and there is a paint job in the future and some work on the interior. The old girl drives like a dream and I love the sound and feel when I tool around on weekends getting my errands done.
As I drive it around town and run errands I wonder why it feels so good. I think it is because it reminds me of the man I admire most in this world, my dad. They are sort of alike, this old truck and my dad. They share a simplicity of life. There is not one single cup holder in the truck, no knobs or buttons that no one can figure out. You want the radio on, push the radio button. You want the heater on, push the button that says heater. Simple, strong, easy to be with. My dad is the same way. He does not demand or create a great deal of angst in those around him. His approach to life is quite simple, be nice, be kind, help out where you can, enjoy the world around you. He does not carry with him a lot of baggage that people have to deal with. Of course his memory now at 93 is a bit like the steering on the truck, it wanders a bit. And we have to remember that he is not going to understand or appreciate the newfangled junk in our lives. But he is strong in his faith in God and in his family. He is a joy to be around and I love to visit with him. Even though we spend a lot of time visiting about the same things over and over.
So the truck purchase was a sentimental one. OK, that's fine that I fall into that category. I have never promised that I had more than my share of logic. But this old truck, and my memories of my dad are sentimental possessions that I cherish. It is a part of who I am, and who I wish I was.
Godspeed to those who have something from someone who means so much to them. Sentimentality is worth every moment.
Don
Dad and I spent a day or so engaged in inverted haggling. I was wanting to pay more than he was wanting to sell it to me for. In fact, his first offer was to give it to me, but I thought there were too many kids/grandkids/great-grandkids who probably deserved or might want it. So we haggled and pushed and ended up right where my masters level conflict resolution certification said we would. The exact halfway point between my first offer and his first offer.
I checked the oil and coolant, made sure the tires were up, finalized the signals with my bride who would be flying escort in her Acadia, and set out to drive it from Abilene to Red Oak.
The first thing I noticed was that the steering wheel had a lot of play in it. By a lot I mean the thing was in a permanent quarter turn when the truck was traveling straight. Because of the play in the steering the truck tended to sort of wander all over the road. A gust of wind, a semi booming by, a bend in the highway and I found myself herding that truck from one side of the lane to the other. The brakes were a little squishy too, but I figured the truck would protect me if we couldn't avoid a collision.
As I took inventory of the accessories in the truck I found that it had an AM/FM radio, a huge hump in the floorboard which no clutter organizer would fit, and a cassette player. Well that is interesting, other than sermon tapes, I'm not sure I even own any cassette tapes. Eight tracks, yes, cassettes no. That entire fad came during my early family/kids years and I did not have money for that nonsense. Eight tracks were here to stay. And the over lying aspect of the interior of the truck was a thin pervasive coat of fine red dust. I was bringing part of the farm home with me.
We hurdled along at highway speeds with me testing all the knobs and buttons. The AC would work but if I put the fan on high, it sounded like the dashboard was being dismantled from the inside. The Freon was low so the air was not really cool. I did find out later that the heater doesn't work all that well either, but I have lots of coats and sweaters. After a pretty good upper body workout, we arrived home safe and sound and the farm truck sits proudly in my driveway. My plans are to fix it up as time and money permit. I am not in a big hurry. It is street legal after a couple of failed attempts at an inspection. New tie rods fixed most of the wandering around and there is a paint job in the future and some work on the interior. The old girl drives like a dream and I love the sound and feel when I tool around on weekends getting my errands done.
As I drive it around town and run errands I wonder why it feels so good. I think it is because it reminds me of the man I admire most in this world, my dad. They are sort of alike, this old truck and my dad. They share a simplicity of life. There is not one single cup holder in the truck, no knobs or buttons that no one can figure out. You want the radio on, push the radio button. You want the heater on, push the button that says heater. Simple, strong, easy to be with. My dad is the same way. He does not demand or create a great deal of angst in those around him. His approach to life is quite simple, be nice, be kind, help out where you can, enjoy the world around you. He does not carry with him a lot of baggage that people have to deal with. Of course his memory now at 93 is a bit like the steering on the truck, it wanders a bit. And we have to remember that he is not going to understand or appreciate the newfangled junk in our lives. But he is strong in his faith in God and in his family. He is a joy to be around and I love to visit with him. Even though we spend a lot of time visiting about the same things over and over.
So the truck purchase was a sentimental one. OK, that's fine that I fall into that category. I have never promised that I had more than my share of logic. But this old truck, and my memories of my dad are sentimental possessions that I cherish. It is a part of who I am, and who I wish I was.
Godspeed to those who have something from someone who means so much to them. Sentimentality is worth every moment.
Don
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Interstellar
New movie, skipping off the edges of physics, space travel, family dynamics, and cinema. Actors are passable, the obvious manipulation does its job, the special effects keep getting better and better. The movie even gets to bend all reality and craft an improbable happy ending. There are a few things wrong with the premise of the movie. For instance, the protagonist is the "only" guy in the entire world who can do this. My experience in life is that for any given job or mission or duty there are hundreds, if not thousands, of people who can do as well or better. The observation in my field of work is that salesmen can hold out for about 15 minutes because we know that there are thousands standing behind us in line who could do just as well and will do it cheaper. Another thing wrong with the movie is the very heart wrenching discovery that the "mother/wife" has died and he is raising the kids on his own. Not wishing to spoil anything, a really no-nonsense wife in this movie would have been a huge help and the movie would have been about 15 minutes long.
"I'm going to space to find a wormhole and save mankind and I'll be gone for decades"
" I don't think so, Buzz. Get back out there and get to work."
End of movie.
But the movie made me think. Not about the trajectory of mankind. Nor did it make me think of all the theories surrounding space travel, time-folding, worm holes, quantum physics or any of that other stuff I like to view as black magic (like iPhone set ups, math, or female logic). But it made me think about what influence I have on the lives of my kids and grandkids. What imprint is there? The movie speaks to the "ghost" of the parent following the child through their years after the parent is gone. There was a line in the movie to effect that parents are there to create memories for their children. This seems so superficial to me. Memories for what? to be sad? to be angry? to be filled with bittersweet remorse? Are we as parents really just to serve as an apparition that only provides a context of history? Like a cosmic book marker?
It is my hope that I was able to provide something a little more substantial than a nice little picture book in their heads. The world is struggling with bigger issues than this. It has always been my hope that I have taught the benefits of being truthful even when truth is not valued , being courageous when the loss could be devastating, being faithful when it seemed worthless, being honest when no one else can be. I would hope that somewhere along the line when one of my kids or grandkids is facing a moment that will define who they are they can draw on my words, my example, my values and make the choice that will allow them to be the people of integrity I had always wanted to be..and wanted them to be. God, I pray every day that my mission here has been more meaningful than creating happy moments for my children. We yearn for significance. But we settle for a memory?
Godspeed to the parents who are able to cast a bigger vision, a deeper significance than the Hollywood version. The only thing of value we can leave is the ability to pass along the words of meaning; truth, justice, honor, mercy, compassion, sacrifice and of course love. The greatest of these is love.
Don
"I'm going to space to find a wormhole and save mankind and I'll be gone for decades"
" I don't think so, Buzz. Get back out there and get to work."
End of movie.
But the movie made me think. Not about the trajectory of mankind. Nor did it make me think of all the theories surrounding space travel, time-folding, worm holes, quantum physics or any of that other stuff I like to view as black magic (like iPhone set ups, math, or female logic). But it made me think about what influence I have on the lives of my kids and grandkids. What imprint is there? The movie speaks to the "ghost" of the parent following the child through their years after the parent is gone. There was a line in the movie to effect that parents are there to create memories for their children. This seems so superficial to me. Memories for what? to be sad? to be angry? to be filled with bittersweet remorse? Are we as parents really just to serve as an apparition that only provides a context of history? Like a cosmic book marker?
It is my hope that I was able to provide something a little more substantial than a nice little picture book in their heads. The world is struggling with bigger issues than this. It has always been my hope that I have taught the benefits of being truthful even when truth is not valued , being courageous when the loss could be devastating, being faithful when it seemed worthless, being honest when no one else can be. I would hope that somewhere along the line when one of my kids or grandkids is facing a moment that will define who they are they can draw on my words, my example, my values and make the choice that will allow them to be the people of integrity I had always wanted to be..and wanted them to be. God, I pray every day that my mission here has been more meaningful than creating happy moments for my children. We yearn for significance. But we settle for a memory?
Godspeed to the parents who are able to cast a bigger vision, a deeper significance than the Hollywood version. The only thing of value we can leave is the ability to pass along the words of meaning; truth, justice, honor, mercy, compassion, sacrifice and of course love. The greatest of these is love.
Don
Monday, October 27, 2014
Travel Interruptus
Earlier this month my bride and I celebrated our 39th anniversary. The actual day fell on a weekend, but it was a weekend in which I was going to have to travel to a trade show in Charleston, SC. I thought it would be nice to make the trip a few days early and spend some valuable time for our anniversary and as a since departed friend of mine once said, "Treat her like a girlfriend instead of a wife." In the intervening years I have decided to take the more positive aspects of that statement instead of all the implications it might have. So I booked us some flights from DFW to Charleston (not that many) on Thursday and my bride would return Sunday while I stayed for the trade show. Pretty good plan, but on the shifting sands of air travel.
Thursday, midday a storm rolled through the Dallas/Ft Worth area, knocking down trees, knocking out power, dumping significant rain on all the streets between our house and the airport. But we powered through and made it in plenty of time to check our bags, get a little dinner, get ready for the anniversary trip. Check in went fine, flights were being delayed and some cancelled, but ours was fine. A nice meal at TGI Fridays in the airport, nothing special, but nice. Got to our gate. Flight showed on time. We were called to board and we settled in ready for the adventure to begin. And it began with the flight attendant telling us the flight had been cancelled. Well that's odd, everyone was boarded, the pilots were in their seats, we had passengers, there was no mechanical problems. Cancelled. Get off the plane.
Okay, this happens, but not usually when everyone has boarded. So they sent us to another gate to get "rebooked" the line was about a multitude long. Again, no problem. I have my handy-dandy iPhone where I can call Executive Platinum desk for immediate help. Except this time they said to leave my number and they would call me back when they reach my place in line. Okay, now the blood pressure is building a little. But 28 minutes later I get an email. Congratulations! We have rebooked you on a flight that leaves at 10PM to Hartford CT, with a 2 hour layover, then a flight to Charlotte NC landing at 6:30AM, then a 4 hour layover, and finally to Charleston SC at 11:30AM, THE NEXT DAY! This is exactly what I had in mind for a 39th Anniversary trip. Two minutes later Exec Platinum desk called and we started looking at options. I told her about the text and she pulled it up and said, "Did you book this?" I said (politely) that no one would book that. She agreed it was awful.
After several options we decided to fly into the Columbia SC the next morning and drive over from there. By the way, Hampton Inn in Mt Pleasant SC held our room and refunded my points. I asked the lady if we could still get a King-NS, she assured me she would (and did) take care of us.
So now we are trying to retrieve our bags. The baggage claim lady was getting overwhelmed. She tossed an 800 number at me which also had a 24 minute wait before they told me they could only help if my bags were late, not missing. I and my bride (constantly reminding me to stay calm) trudged back over the baggage lady who now was dealing with the line of multitudes previously at the rebooking desk. When I was close enough to hear her spiel, I heard the 800 number speech. I raised my hand and in a loud (but polite) voice said, "That 800 number wont help with this problem" I think she took a couple of years off my life with her stare. My statement seemed to make the crowd a tad restless.
When it was my turn, she "Now what is YOUR problem" a tad snarky. I took a deep breath and explained the entire situation.
She said, "The bags will be delivered to your final destination."
I said, "Which one? Charleston or Columbia?"
She said, "Oh"
Finally I got to her. She didn't know. Now she made efforts to fix our problem and while not much help, she made honest effort to help and not clear people problems off her desk.
The short story is we spent the night at the Embassy Suites close to the airport, caught a really early flight to Columbia, picked up our bags in Charleston (which had made the trip to Hartford, Charlotte, and ultimately to Charleston; they looked tired) We also ended up with a lovely weekend touring Ft Sumter, shopping some antique places, having some excellent "low country" cooking (82 Queen, by the way in downtown Charleston is excellent) and treating each other like lovers instead of old marrieds. And my blood pressure dropped to normal ranges by about midday Saturday.
I am thinking a road trip for the 40th.
Godspeed to all you long time lovers, its the journey not the destination, right?
Don
Thursday, midday a storm rolled through the Dallas/Ft Worth area, knocking down trees, knocking out power, dumping significant rain on all the streets between our house and the airport. But we powered through and made it in plenty of time to check our bags, get a little dinner, get ready for the anniversary trip. Check in went fine, flights were being delayed and some cancelled, but ours was fine. A nice meal at TGI Fridays in the airport, nothing special, but nice. Got to our gate. Flight showed on time. We were called to board and we settled in ready for the adventure to begin. And it began with the flight attendant telling us the flight had been cancelled. Well that's odd, everyone was boarded, the pilots were in their seats, we had passengers, there was no mechanical problems. Cancelled. Get off the plane.
Okay, this happens, but not usually when everyone has boarded. So they sent us to another gate to get "rebooked" the line was about a multitude long. Again, no problem. I have my handy-dandy iPhone where I can call Executive Platinum desk for immediate help. Except this time they said to leave my number and they would call me back when they reach my place in line. Okay, now the blood pressure is building a little. But 28 minutes later I get an email. Congratulations! We have rebooked you on a flight that leaves at 10PM to Hartford CT, with a 2 hour layover, then a flight to Charlotte NC landing at 6:30AM, then a 4 hour layover, and finally to Charleston SC at 11:30AM, THE NEXT DAY! This is exactly what I had in mind for a 39th Anniversary trip. Two minutes later Exec Platinum desk called and we started looking at options. I told her about the text and she pulled it up and said, "Did you book this?" I said (politely) that no one would book that. She agreed it was awful.
After several options we decided to fly into the Columbia SC the next morning and drive over from there. By the way, Hampton Inn in Mt Pleasant SC held our room and refunded my points. I asked the lady if we could still get a King-NS, she assured me she would (and did) take care of us.
So now we are trying to retrieve our bags. The baggage claim lady was getting overwhelmed. She tossed an 800 number at me which also had a 24 minute wait before they told me they could only help if my bags were late, not missing. I and my bride (constantly reminding me to stay calm) trudged back over the baggage lady who now was dealing with the line of multitudes previously at the rebooking desk. When I was close enough to hear her spiel, I heard the 800 number speech. I raised my hand and in a loud (but polite) voice said, "That 800 number wont help with this problem" I think she took a couple of years off my life with her stare. My statement seemed to make the crowd a tad restless.
When it was my turn, she "Now what is YOUR problem" a tad snarky. I took a deep breath and explained the entire situation.
She said, "The bags will be delivered to your final destination."
I said, "Which one? Charleston or Columbia?"
She said, "Oh"
Finally I got to her. She didn't know. Now she made efforts to fix our problem and while not much help, she made honest effort to help and not clear people problems off her desk.
The short story is we spent the night at the Embassy Suites close to the airport, caught a really early flight to Columbia, picked up our bags in Charleston (which had made the trip to Hartford, Charlotte, and ultimately to Charleston; they looked tired) We also ended up with a lovely weekend touring Ft Sumter, shopping some antique places, having some excellent "low country" cooking (82 Queen, by the way in downtown Charleston is excellent) and treating each other like lovers instead of old marrieds. And my blood pressure dropped to normal ranges by about midday Saturday.
I am thinking a road trip for the 40th.
Godspeed to all you long time lovers, its the journey not the destination, right?
Don
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