Third Time's A Charm

   I like to sing.  Unfortunately, I was heavily influenced by parody songs thanks to listening to Dr. Demento when I was young as well as listening to and watching "Weird Al" Yankovic videos.  As a result, I tend to make up words to songs, even though I know the lyrics.

   When I sing with the choir, I've usually had the song drilled into me that I automatically sing the correct words, although I keep the music in front of me in case I'm tempted to goof up.  Choir practice has many times been disrupted by my giggling fits due to me substituting words for what we should be singing.  They haven't kicked me out, although I guess practices would be shorter if I behaved myself.

   A few weeks ago I read, on the Internet where everything is true, that BC Clark, an Oklahoma City jewelry store, was going to be filming people singing their famous (at least to those who grow up in parts of Oklahoma that receives TV and radio broadcasts from OKC) jingle at Penn Square Mall the day after Thanksgiving this year.  Since I was going to be visiting my dad in Edmond, I decided to take the kids to the mall and sing on Friday.

   We got to the mall without mishap, but trying to find a place to park was horrible. I'm not a Black Friday shopper and I thought that if the parking lot was crowded people would go somewhere else and come back when the parking thinned out.  Nope. There were people parking at the ends of rows, making up their own parking places and making it almost impossible for anything bigger than a Mini-Cooper to get by.  And there were people who decided to jump the curbs and park on the hilly, grassy areas between the parking lot and the street.  And, of course, there were people who lurked about, stalking shoppers walking out to their cars, then planting themselves in the middle of the lane while impatiently waiting for the shoppers to load up and leave.

   I got lucky, as I usually do, by remaining patient. We found a spot that opened up just as we turned down the aisle, and we weren't too far from an entrance into the mall.  It probably took us twenty minutes to find the spot, but we were good to go.

   Once inside the mall, it took about fifteen minutes to find where we needed to be.  Ten minutes of wandering and five minutes more after my kids said, "Hey, Dad, why don't we look at a map of the mall?"

   We got to our destination, signed the release, and waited for our turn to sing.  We knew the song by heart, so we didn't even ask for a run-through.

   The cameras were pointed at us, we were given the signal, and we began to sing a capella.

   As I mentioned at the start of this, part of my misspent youth included listening to song parodies, and I've developed a case of what I've explained to the kids as "Musical Tourette Syndrome."  I know the right words, and I often mean to sing the right words, but I just start singing the wrong words.
  
   Anyway, we were making it through the song all right until we hit the last line and instead of singing "...BC Clark's Anniversary Sale!" I sang "...GC Clark's Anniversary Sale!"

   The kids started laughing.

   The director said, "Let's do another take."

   I said, "Oh dear, did I say 'GC Clark?"

   The director nodded while my kids were trying to supress giggles.

   So we began Take Two. The song is not intended to be sung as rounds, like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," but the three of us began at three different times, with me singing something completely different.

   "Oops!"

   More giggles.

   "Okay, I'll count you in," said the director.

   And the third time was a charm.

   I don't know if they'll use our correct version for the TV spot this year, but we sure had fun doing it.  

...I wonder if they've ever considered putting together blooper reels?

Whatcha Doin?

   “What did you do today?” was a question my mom asked a lot when I was a kid.

   “Nothing,” was my most frequent reply.

   When I ask my kids the question, and they give me the “Nothing” answer, I follow it up with my reply which goes something like:

   “Nothing?  Really?  Do you know how hard it is to do nothing all day?  There are so many things to do, you probably spent a good deal of energy avoiding doing them just so you could do nothing.”

   I learned, or rather taught myself, that doing nothing is not all that easy.  Even if I slept all day, at least it was something - and would be quite an accomplishment because I’m a daylight person.  If it’s light outside, I’m probably active.

   Reflecting on what I've done all day, although my mom doesn't ask me any more, is really a good brain exercise.  I have a pretty good memory, and I like to keep it in shape.  It comes in handy sometimes - like earlier this week when a good buddy from grade school asked if anybody had some good memories of the summer our 6th grade baseball team went from years of a “Charlie Brown” team to finally making it to the city championship.
  
   I did have a memory to share - a vivid one - of a certain game that ended after four innings.  It was more than just a rain out, it was a baseball-sized hail, lightning-flashing, frog-strangler of a rain out   I can still remember being pelted by hail (fortunately, I got hit by the dime-sized hail and not the bigger stuff, although something of a decent size nearly knocked my ball cap down over my eyes).

   I have lots of memories that I like to share, some of which I include on this blog page.  Some of the stories have been repeated around the table when getting together with family.  I've included some of them in past, and I’ll probably write down more.  There are some family favorites (or maybe it’s my ability to tell the tale) that get repeated often - like the time I thought I was going to have to dig to China, and the various DIY projects with my dad and sister that managed to somehow go awry, injuries that could have been worse, etc.

   But one of the keys to recalling these memories is to occasionally sit back and reflect on what happened.  And to recall the feelings, the colors, the sounds, the smells, the tastes, and anything else of those events.

   So if you see me sometime and it looks like I’m doing nothing, there’s a good chance that my mind is whirling through events - of the day, or possibly of the past.  I’m always up to something - or so I've been told. 

   Can’t argue with that.

There Will Be Blood

   Just a couple of days until I donate some blood to the Oklahoma Blood Institute (OBI).  I took an extra few weeks between donations so I could be in this Fall's Bedlam Blood Drive between OSU and OU. 

   It doesn't take long to give blood.  Plus, there will be Hideaway pizza, other snacky things, t-shirts, and I believe a chance to win tickets to this years OSU-OU Bedlam Football game down in Norman.

   If you live in or around Stillwater, come to Gallagher-Iba Arena or Kerr-Drummond and give up some blood.  You might save a life.  And your blood gets replaced pretty quickly, so why not just do it?

Just My Imagination

   When I was a kid, I used to love to lie down on the floor under the Christmas tree and look up through the branches and watch all the lights and the reflections in the ornaments, imagining they were all distant stars and planets, each celebrating Christmas.  Occasionally, my dog would join me and, although I’m not sure he was thinking of stars and planets, we would both gaze upward, captivated by the whole scene.

   One Christmas, when I was probably nine or ten, I got the coolest flashlight.  It wasn’t like a regular flashlight - a skinny tube with a light at one end and a switch on the side.  No, this one was round, like a cookie about three inches in diameter, and about a quarter of an inch thick - probably just barely enough to get AAA batteries inside.  The light was on the side and the on/off button, as I recall, was on the top (or bottom, depending how you looked at it).  It had a sci-fi look and feel to it.  I loved it.

   I would sneak out of my room before anybody was up and prowl around the house, drawn to the living room where the Christmas tree stood in its piney-scented splendor.  I’d plug the lights in and once again let my imagination take me away to other worlds with other kids and their other-Christmas celebrations.

   That year, though, we stopped getting the newspaper.  Missing the house once in a great while was no big deal.  My dad would call down to the newspaper and somebody would drop by with a paper, apologizing for the inconvenience.  But this happened several days in a row.

   Finally, the paperboy came by to collect and asked if we were okay.  My dad was puzzled, and the kid said he thought we’d been burglarized and had been too scared to deliver the paper because he thought the burglar saw him and would come after him.

   Putting two and two together, my parents figured out that the “burglar” was me, creeping about the dark house with my cool new flashlight.  I guess once or twice I must have shined that light out the windows and right into the paperboy’s face.

   I guess I wasn’t the only kid with a good imagination that year.

Vlad the Impaler - A Ruthless Chair

   I've been in pain for the past week.  Excruciating pain at times.
   It started when I got home on a Wednesday night. I like to draw, and I have a Bamboo tablet that I use when the creative urge hits me and I feel like digital doodling.  
   Unfortunately, I've misplaced my stylus and my mouse, ergonomically, isn't very fun after about 15 minutes or so. I was searching in the semi-darkness of the living room for my stylus and the perfect storm of gravity, tile floor, sorted laundry (at least my kids sorted the laundry, although they should have put it in baskets instead of piles on the floor), and a chair conspired to injure me.
   The chair in question is one that was formerly a wooden school desk/chair combo with the desk part removed.  The post where the desk top attaches sticks up and has two wood screws sticking out should I ever get around to making another desk top.

Vlad in timeout

   As fate would have it, I slipped on a pile of laundry and fell right on top of that post which, at the time, felt like it was forcing its way through my ribs into my lungs.  I crumpled to the floor, holding the right side of my chest and hoping that I hadn't really punctured anything.
   And in the midst of the pain, as my vision seemed to waver, and capable only of short breaths, a strange thought crept into my mind - I got worried that I might have ripped one of my favorite shirts.  Broken bones will heal, but a favorite shirt would never look the same.
   So there I was, writhing in pain, yet trying not to laugh at the silliness of the thought, and I knew that I'd survive.  It was several minutes before I could breath close to normally, and the pain felt like I'd been kicked by a horse (and I have been kicked by a horse before - but not in the chest).
   I'm not sure if I broke anything, but I sure as heck bruised some ribs.  Also, the force of the near-impalement knocked something out of whack in my back because my right side is still swollen there, too.  Unfortunately, the budget this month didn't have anything left for a trip to the ER, or even a doctor's visit the next day, so I've been coping with acetaminophen and naproxen sodium and trying to rest when I can.
   It's been just over a week and it still hurts to take deep breaths.  Coughing and sneezing are really bad for me because either act feels like I'm getting punched in the still-tender ribcage.  Laughing hurts as well, but not as much.  That's good, because I love to laugh.
   We've named the chair "Vlad the Impaler."
   And my shirt?  It survived with no rips.  Yay!

I Should Be a Genius!

If we learn from our mistakes, I should be a genius by now!

It's Good for You!

Random Doodle - Cartoonguy

What a Week...And It's Only Thursday!

  Air bag blew on the bus to Tulsa Monday.  
  Here we were, nearing Sand Springs heading toward downtown Tulsa, when the bus made a weird sound.  After that, every time we went over the slightest bump (and around Tulsa there are plenty of slight and not-so-slight bumps) we bounced wildly in our seats.  Then when we reached our destination, the door wouldn't open automatically.  Our driver had to shove it open so we could disembark.  He said something about the bag popping.
  That night, coming home, one of the passengers was telling the driver of the homeward-bound bus (OSU has several BOBs (Big Orange Bus) in its fleet) how the air bag had popped, making for an interesting ride.  Kinda like an extended fair ride, if you ask me.
  I got home shortly before midnight and after grabbing a bite getting ready for bed, I fell asleep about a minute after my head hit the pillow.  Now that I think about it, I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow.  I slept like a log.
  Unfortunately, neither my wife nor daughter slept like logs.  Apparently, around 3AM, somebody decided tapping on the bedroom windows was an appropriate thing to do.
  Okay, we live near the campus, and there are some people of questionable moral fiber who hang around the apartment complex, so it's not too surprising that somebody might have been in a less than lucid state.  But apparently they were persistent.  And then they tried to come in through our back door, which was thankfully was locked (but we really need a deadbolt, because the door lock is flimsy).  Whoever it was gave up and went away.  I think that if it happens again, 911 will be getting a call.
  Tuesday morning, not believing buses had air bags, I did a bit of research.  Buses do have air bags for their air ride suspension, since shock absorbers aren't up to the task for such heavy vehicles, especially ones that carry passengers.
  When I got home Tuesday evening, the Internet was down.  Okay, this one was on me.  I needed to pay the bill, but two unexpected ER visits last week and an equally unplanned visit to the pharmacy for meds, one of which (the way my luck goes) wasn't covered by my insurance, blew away any hope of getting the cable/phone/internet bill paid before the end of the month.  It also has ruled out any trips to the store unless we run out of toilet paper.  
  Yes, ideally I should be able to plan for unexpected emergencies, but these things keep happening faster than I can earn enough money to create a buffer of any kind.  And since I dumped my credit cards several years ago, it's even tougher because I have nothing to fall back on (but I don't miss paying those ridiculous interest rates!).
  Wednesday (yesterday) started off okay.  I managed to find a parking place relatively close to the bus terminal, or the MTT as they like to call it.  Sure, I arrived two hours early, but this year parking at OSU has gone from ridiculous to whatever is beyond ridiculous.  The good thing is, I could log in at the MTT and get some work done, which I couldn't do at home because of no service.
  When I got to OSU-Tulsa, things were pretty good for the first half hour in my tiny shared office, but then the Internet started going up and down on me.  At first I thought it was my laptop, which is over three years old now, had finally started showing its age.  But the desktop in the office did the same thing.  And when I got to class, my students said they had been having trouble all day and that the IT folks were going nuts because they couldn't (yet) find and fix the problem.
  Class last night was shortened because it's hard to teach and demo databases when you can't connect to a database.  You can only use PowerPoint slides for so long and say, "...And then...magic happens!" and show what would have happened had we been able to actually do it.
  And now it's Thursday, and here I sit at the MTT.  I don't have a bus to catch today.  I just wanted to get online, because I needed to send a message to my youngest's music teacher that we might could pay part of a fee this week and the rest after payday.  I'm sure she'll be okay with that.  He has a really good singing voice and, even though his voice deepened over the summer, he doesn't have a squeaky come-and-go voice that boys get between 12 and 16.
  It's been a good day so far.

A Look Back to 9/11

  My youngest child just interviewed me for a class project.  The topic was about where I was and what I was doing on 9/11/2001.  He was 20 months old then and has no recollection of how much America was changed that day.
  Normally, my blog posts have some humor.  But I think this one will be about my memories of that tragic day.
  We were living in Cincinnati at the time, and I was working as a subcontractor to the DOE Superfund site at Fernald, a former uranium processing plant during the Cold War.  I worked in the Records Management department, in a warehouse about 20 or so miles from the actual site, and I was part of a team that tracked the active records of the various projects going on at the plant during the cleanup.  We also house the historical records from when the plant was in active production.  The warehouse had thousands of boxes of documents, and walking through that warehouse with the racks of boxes extending way up overhead, would sometimes remind me of the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" where the Ark of the Covenant was being wheeled though a gigantic warehouse to be archived.
  Anyway, on September 11, 2001 I was at work, listening to the radio as I entered information into a database regarding documents, what file folder they were in, and what box contained the file folder.  The "Bob and Tom Show" was on with their usual comedic takes on what was happening, sprinkled with funny songs and frequent guests to the show.  After one break, though, they came on and reported that someone had informed them that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City.  They seemed skeptical until they saw a TV report with the tower smoking on the upper floors.
  I went to one of the managers and told him what I'd just heard and asked if we could get the TV on in the large conference room and see if it was true.  He and I went in and we were just tuning in when we saw a plane hit the tower.
  "Oh my gosh! Someone caught it on TV,"  I said.  Then I realized there were two towers smoking and we'd just witnessed the second jet live.  Unlike the movies, where things like this happen in slow motion, with exciting music and flaming explosions, the jet just flew into one side of the building at (I guess) a couple hundred miles per hour and windows burst on the opposite side as smoke and debris billowed out.
  I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.  Dozens of people, at least, had just died probably instantly.  And this being the second tower hit, I knew it was not a horrific coincidence.  The warehouse did not have good television reception, so everyone with a radio tuned in to whatever was going on.
  My wife had chosen to home school the kids that year, and the homeschool group had planned a trip to a bookstore for storytime and other activities, so they had no idea what was going on.  I called the bookstore and asked them to tell my family to just watch kid videos when they got home and to not watch TV.  At this point reports were coming in of the other planes down, all air traffic being diverted, and descriptions of people jumping out of windows at the World Trade Center.
  Since no group had claimed responsibility for what had happened, the uncertainty and anxiety levels were running high.  Fernald still had areas with radioactive material and radioactive waste, so the plant was at a higher stage of alert with non-essential personnel being sent home.  At the Records Center, even though we were safe from the nasty stuff, we were allowed to leave early as well.
  That night, with my family close, we watched as many Disney videos as we could until the kids dropped off to sleep.  Then we turned on the TV and watched the latest updates on the tragic events.  The stars were unusually bright that night because the usual smog above Cincinnati was gone.  Not very many people were driving around and there was no air traffic and everything was eerily quiet.
  I remember being in various stages of shock for several days, but eventually things got back to as near to normal as they seemed they would get.  I applied for and was accepted to grad school, so I moved back to Oklahoma in November 2001 and began classwork at OSU in January 2002.
  My youngest child, now 12, has no memory of what was going on on 9/11/2001.  I'm glad he asked to interview me for his World Studies project.  It brought back some vivid memories, and I thought I'd share them on this blog.
  
  

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night - For Real!

As a kid I went through a phase, as most boys did, when I wanted to learn about pirates.  Yes, they were rogues and scoundrels, and often downright nasty villians, but there were old black-and-white movies starring Errol Flynn and other swashbuckling actors that made some of the pirates likable.
I remember a Disney movie called "Blackbeard's Ghost," starring (I believe) Peter Ustinov as a somewhat bumbling ghost of Captain Blackbeard.  Before the movie came out (yeah, I'm that old), I found a book in the school library entitled "Blackbeard's Ghost," and I checked it out to find out more about Blackbeard and perhaps get a hint as to what to expect when the movie came out.

The book was NOT a Disney book, as I soon found out.

One night, as thunder rumbled outside from an early spring thunderstorm, I lay in bed and started reading the book.  The first part was like a mini history of Edward Teach and his last days as the British navy chased him down.  

Blackbeard was NOT a nice person in real life.  He certainly did not try to endear himself to children, or to anyone else for that matter.  He was hard as nails and quite terrifying, seemingly not to notice injuries for the bloodlust that drove him to do his dirty deeds.

He died a gruesome death (and by this point I knew none of this would probably be in the movie), and I felt really uneasy as I turned out my reading light.  I had stayed up too late as it was because I couldn't put the book down, and the storm outside made things even more spooky.  I was maybe 9 or 10 at the time and not fond of "ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night."

I lay in bed, watching the shadows of the tree branches as they grasped, clawlike, with each flash of lightning.  Blackbeard had died long long ago, and in the Carolinas nonetheless.  There was no way his ghost could have known a boy in Oklahoma City was thinking about him.  There was no way his ghost would travel that distance to frighten a kid on a stormy night.

But then...

"Psst," came a sound out of the darkness.

I froze.  Of all the nights to decide to sleep on the top bunk of my bed, I had to pick a spooky one.

"Psst!" came the sound again.

"H...hello?" I squeaked.

"Psssssst!"

Fear lending nearly superhuman abilities to me, I swear I flew from my top bunk and through my door into the hall out outside the door to my parents' bedroom.

"Mo-o-o-o-mmm!!!  Daaaaddddd!!!  Blackbeard is after me!!!" I yelled, pounding on their door.

They came out to calm me down.

"He's in my room!  I was reading about him and he showed up and he's after me!"  

And, as parents so often do when pirate ghosts are after their children, they calmly turned my light on and looked in my room.  I was hiding behind them, and wierdly comforted by the fact that Blackbeard would have to go through them to get to me.  Until I realized a ghost could just pass though them and get me.  I was doomed.

"Pssst," came the sound again.

"Here he is," my dad said, way too calm for me.

I looked around my dad and saw, not a fierce ghostly pirate, but my dog who had fallen asleep and was snoring as he was undoubtedly dreaming of things other than pirates.  He had a tendency to sleep more deeply the stormier the weather.

Silly dog!

Silly me! 

A Pane in the Glass

Nothing slows a person down like breaking a bone, and breaking more than one should slow a person down even more.  Kinda like a message to ease back a bit.


Apparently, I didn't get the memo when I was a kid.  In the second grade, near the end of the school year, I broke both of my wrists.  That was an adventure in itself, and I won't go into details here.  The tale should be somewhere on the Internet, perhaps in this blog.


Anyway, suffice it to say that I was miserable for a few days, with both arms in casts.  I really didn't like the slings, but two were more comfortable that the single sling that held both arms in front of me and put me off balance when I walked, especially up stairs.


For awhile, the slings were necessary evils, because much to my chagrin, going without the slings would mean that gravity (that tricky beastie that got me into my predicament) would pull my arms down and as blood rushed to my hands, it would throb near the breaks and cause all kinds of nasty pain.  


The first day I could manage without slings was wonderful.  I had a bit more freedom of movement, the pain in my wrists was lessening, and I could actually accidentally bump my casts against things without recoiling in agony.


After a few days, though, I really really REALLY wanted more freedom.  I couldn't bring my thumb and fingers together to hold a pencil (I loved to draw), although I could manage a fork and a spoon with care.


But what I really wanted to do was play baseball.  It was my favorite game and at that period in history, it was America's Pastime.  Trying to get a glove on over my cast was out of the question.  Throwing a ball was more like throwing a shot put.  And as for batting...


I had a plan.  I wasn't supposed to be playing ball and of course the glove and throwing thing made it pretty obvious that the doctor and my mom were going to have their way.  On the other hand, I found that it I carefully banged the palm side of my cast against the concrete steps to the front porch, I could get to a point where my fingers could close and my thumb could become opposable again.


I could hold a stick and swing at pebbles that I talked my friends into tossing toward me.  Then, as the cast got looser (okay, "brokener" would be more accurate, if that were a word), I managed to carefully hold a bat.  I could swing it as long as I didn't try to roll my wrists (the mere thought of doing that still has me wincing in sympathy pain decades later- it was that bad).


The stage was set.  Backyard baseball was on.  My mom naturally assumed I was just hanging out with the kids in the neighborhood because she knew the glove and throwing thing weren't gonna happen, and that trying to swing a bat was even more far-fetched.
Things were going well for awhile.  I could tap the ball even if I couldn't play in the field.  I was more like a pinch hitter than anything else, and it worked great until one fateful day.


We were in my back yard, and I came up to the plate.  I must have eaten my Wheaties that morning (I probably really had - it was my favorite cereal), because one pitch was right in my wheelhouse and I swung and connected.  The ball rocketed past everybody, through the open garage door, and with a mighty crash, through a pane in the glass window in the back of the garage.


Everybody scattered.  Pretty standard procedure for kids when a window got broken.  I stuck around, partly because I was so proud that I crushed that ball and partly because, well, I had nowhere to run because it happened at my house.


My mom came outside, probably because of the lack of noise more than anything else.  Parents seemed to get nervous when kids stopped making noise in my neighborhood.


"What happened?" she asked.


"We were, uh, playing baseball and the window in the garage broke," I said.  An honest answer, despite the lack of details.


"Who broke the window?" she asked.


"The baseball broke the window," I responded, squirming a little. "We were all out here when it happened."


Apparently, that was not quite the answer she was looking for.


"WHO," she began, "hit or threw the ball that went into the garage and broke the window?"


My mom knew that I hated to rat out my friends, and she knew that I knew that lying was not a viable option (my dad would be home and had a way of getting to the bottom of things), I was in a real pickle.  She probably figured that telling the truth would win out over loyalty to my friends.  What she wasn't ready for was me actually telling the truth.


"I did it," I said.


"You don't need to cover for your friends," she coaxed. "It wasn't Wesley, was it?"


Wesley was a bit of a bully.  I couldn't blame him for being a bully.  He had four sisters and no brothers so we all felt sorry for him.


"Honest, Mom," I said. "I did it."


She decided that I needed to cool off a bit in my room until my dad got home.  What she didn't know was that my story wasn't going to change.  It really was my fault.


That evening, when my dad got home, he asked how the window got broken.  I knew better than to blame the baseball and went straight to the truth.


"I did it, Dad," I said.


"How in the world...?" he began.  But then he stopped.  He was a kid once, and even at my tender age of 8, I already knew of some of his own misadventures.


I showed him my cast, where I had managed to make my hands useful, and explained that I managed to hold onto the bat and smacked the ball that broke the window.


He managed to hide a smile from my mom, and asked me what I planned to do about the broken window.


I offered to pay for it out of my allowance, of course.


That weekend, I not only got to pay for a new pane of glass, but I got a lesson on how to measure the frame, to fit the new piece of glass into place, and to use putty and a putty knife because if I could hold onto a bat I could certainly hold onto a putty knife.

Happy Birthday, America!

Happy Independence Day!  


Freedom.  


Enjoy it.


Use it but don't abuse it.

Just Listen

Listen.  Right now, just listen to what is going on around you.


What do you hear?


For many, the initial response is, "Nothing."  And while that may be true at times, I'll bet most of the time there is something happening quietly, or not so quietly.
  
So what do you really hear when you stop and listen?
  
This is what I am hearing:
  
Being summer (July 3rd) and hot, I hear the central air unit kicking on to help cool the house down.  I hear the outside part of the unit as well, because I'm sitting at a table near the back door and the unit is right outside.
  
I also hear a fan circulating the air in the living room.  It tends to be a bit warmer because we have electronics in there which naturally heat the air merely by being on.
  
I can hear the motor inside the refrigerator, and occasionally the motor of the ice maker as it works to fill the ice container in the freezer. For that matter, I can hear the water running up the tubing for the ice maker.
  
More faintly, I hear the motor of the upright freezer in the pantry off the kitchen.
  
I also hear voices.  My children are talking to each other.  Water is running in the bathroom as someone washes their hands.  Coughing.
  
The rattle of a medicine bottle.  Migraines are not fun, from what I understand.  I'm blessed that I don't suffer from migraines, but my wife and children aren't so lucky.  Perhaps the water I heard running was to fill a glass with water in order to take the medicine.
  
Footsteps.  Bare feet on the tile floor.
  
As I listen more closely, I hear the soft whoosh of the ceiling fans that are on in the house.
  
I can hear my own breathing when I pay attention, and the clicking of the keys as I type.
  
Outside, a cicada starts its song which fades away, only to be answered from farther away by another cicada in another tree.
  
I also hear the attic fan.  This house has two attic fans, which kick on and off depending on how hot the attic gets.  They are a blessing, because this house is able to maintain a reasonable temperature even on a hot day like today.
  
A neighbor has just fired up a lawn mower.
  
All in all, it's a pretty quiet afternoon.  But there are plenty of things to hear when I take the time to just listen.
  
What do you hear when you take the time to listen?

Summer Musings

The sun was setting on yet another hot summer day.  Venus, as usual, was the first “star” to show up as the sky gradually transitioned into twilight.  As the sky gradually darkened, the other stars came slowly into view.  The moon this night had already been up, looking like a bowl tipped on its side and it, too, got brighter as the gloom deepened.  Fireflies blinked on and off as they danced on the warm evening breeze that stirred leaves ever so slightly.

   

Soon, crickets began chirping a peaceful symphony.  Not to be outdone, tree frogs began their nightly chorus, and in the distance came the bass tones of bullfrogs.  The evening songs of the birds gradually faded out, as if the birds themselves were getting sleepy and were being lulled to sleep by the frogs and crickets.

   

I sat outside on an old blanket and took this all in.  The breeze, the sounds, the smells of summer teamed up to relax my troubled mind.  I had too many things bouncing around in my head, too many worries and concerns, way too much stress.  I needed a peaceful evening like this to soothe me.

   

People who know me, see me as a “people person,” which is what I’ve learned to become over the years.  But people who really know me, know that deep down inside I’m a shy person, struggling with myriad insecurities and preferring to find solitude whenever I can, even if for a brief moment.

   

That particular night, though, I managed to sneak away from my concerns and responsibilities and to find a soft, quiet piece of ground on the outskirts of town where I could just be. 

   

Fortunately, before I left home, I’d remembered to grab a small pillow.  Laying back on the blanket, the pillow under my head, I looked up and watched the sky grow darker and the stars and planets grow brighter.  More stars appeared, and soon I could see the Milky Way faintly glowing as it streamed across the heavens and I marveled at its beauty and the thought came to me that those stars were so far away that my ancestors’ ancestors’ ancestors probably saw almost exactly what I was seeing thousands of years ago.

   

At that moment came the realization I was hoping to find.  My ancient ancestors probably had many of the concerns that troubled me.  Most likely not the same concerns, but similar ones – Was I doing the right things in my life?  What kind of future was before me?  What could I do to make my life and the lives of my loved ones better?  Have my past mistakes doomed me to a dismal future, or could I learn to overcome my shortfalls and create a future brighter than I could possibly imagine at this point?

  

And as I gazed up, I realized that I’m the product of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of generations of uncertainty, of glorious victories, of agonizing failures.  I was alive and enjoying the cosmic view that all those before me enjoyed on darkened nights.

  

I think I should do this more often, I thought.

  

“I WILL do this more often!” I said aloud.  And as if to punctuate my statement, a shooting star zipped across my field of vision.

   

Wow.

Dear Internets

As we all know by now, Facebook is a publicly traded entity. That means anyone can infringe on your right to privacy once you post to this site. Of course, anything you throw out on the Internet is fair game as well. And since everything you read on the Internet is true, your posts are one of the millions (perhaps billions?) of last bastions for truth and justice in this world. It is recommended that you and other members post a similar notice as this, or you may copy and paste this version. If you do not post such a statement once, then you are probably not a smart@ss like me.


PRIVACY NOTICE: Warning - any person and/or institution and/or Agent and/or Agency of any governmental structure and/or non-governmental structure including but not limited to the United States Federal Government, the NFL, Major League Baseball, the NBA, the NCAA, AA, AAA, AARP, iCarly, or LMFAO also using or monitoring/using this website or any of its associated websites, you do NOT have my permission to utilize any of my profile information nor any of the content contained herein including, but not limited to my photos, and/or the comments made about my photos or any other "picture" art posted on my profile - unless you pay me. If you see me around town, just hand over a bucket of cash and all is good.


You are hereby notified that you are strictly prohibited from disclosing, copying, distributing, disseminating, or taking any other action against me with regard to this profile and the contents herein. The foregoing prohibitions also apply to your employee, agent, therapist, minister, accountant, lawyer, employer, doctor, personal chef, dog walker, local/state/federal representative, the Pope, student or any personnel under your direction or control.


The contents of this profile really aren't private nor legally privileged and confidential information, and the violation of my personal privacy is punishable by law, as if I could afford to sue eferybody who picks on me. UCC 867 5309 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED WITHOUT A THOUGHT TO THE CONSEQUENCES

For the Birds

   I almost had a pet mockingbird today.
   There is something about me that seems to attract animals. I'm not sure why, but I've always had the knack to befriend creatures of all types - fish, birds, horses, dogs, cats, a wolf, snakes, a squirrel, and the list goes on.
   When I decided to become Catholic, I chose St. Francis of Assisi as my patron saint. I'd seen the movie "Brother Sun, Sister Moon" some years before, and I thought that even though I wasn't as flamboyant and bold as the young Giovanni Francesco di Bernardone (who became Francis of Assisi), I admired how he rebelled against his parents and was able to find spirituality in the simplest things of nature.
   Okay, so I wasn't really all that rebellious, but something about that movie stuck with me. Also, most of my Catholic friends that I met when I was in 7th and 8th grade (I was in public school thru 6th grade, but went to Catholic school for junior high) went to St. Francis of Assisi Church in Oklahoma City. It's an old church (by Oklahoma City standards) and amazing-looking on the inside, especially to the Protestant kid I used to be. My church was "modern." Lots of brass and glass and chrome. Very sterile-looking, as if only spotlessly clean people were allowed in, and only on Sunday mornings.
   I was a Senior in high school when I decided to become Catholic. I went to all the Confirmation classes, examined my conscience to see if this was really what I wanted (one of the few times I've actaully been serious in my life), and finally decided I was ready to complete my conversion. I didn't have to choose a patron saint, although nearly all folks do when they are confirmed. I wavered a bit, because I had considered "John" - my adult sponsor (and former coach) was named John, and his son (Johnny) was a good friend of mine. But the name "Francis" kept popping back into my head.
   I chose Francis of Assisi. I became Catholic. I read more about St. Francis and his connection with nature. On October 4, St. Francis's feast day, many churches (Catholic and Protestant) honor him with a Blessing of the Animals, because Francis believed that all creatures were stewards of God's creation.  
   I think he was right. I have been blessed with the ability to nurture relationships with animals. I've had many pets in my life - cats, dogs, fish, and birds - and I've been able to bond with them, sometimes to the point where they prefer my company over others. I'm always a bit reluctant when someone in my family wants to have their own pet. So far, each acquisition has ended up being my pet (or I've become thier human, whichever way that works). 
   Today, as I sat in the car with my youngest, waiting for the school bus to arrive, a mockingbird flew right up to my open window, fluttered there briefly with its wings patting my arm and shoulder, and then flew off again.
   I like mockingbirds. Maybe I'm due for another new pet. 
   I hope the cat doesn't mind.

It Figures

When you have a long document with several figures, you can create a Table of Figures to get to each one quickly. In Word 2010, it’s easy to create a Table of Figures, and this guide will show you how to do just that.

First, of course, you need some figures.

They can be photos:

Figure 1. Rainbow outside my house

They can be illustrations:

Figure 2. Revenues are moving up.

They can be charts:

Figure 3. Meaningful data to somebody

Just about anything you may need to illustrate a point.  Got the picture?

Figure 4. Happy face with a camera

The next step is to identify the figures.  To do that, make sure the figures, pictures, charts, etc. have captions.  When you insert the figure, you can right-click on it and from the context menu, select Insert Caption...

Figure 5. Context menu after right-clicking picture

After that, you can give your figure a caption and do other things with it as well.

Figure 6. This pops up after you choose "Insert Caption..."

Finally, after your figures all have captions, you can create a Table of Figures.  Go to where you want the table in the document, such as after the Table of Contents. Then go to the References tab, and in the Captions group you’ll find Insert Table of Figures, which you can click and the following window will pop up, giving you many choices.

Figure 7. It's easy to create a Table of Figures

The default will probably be okay most of the time, but as you use this more often, you’ll find things that will more suit your own style. Enjoy!

Figure 8. Have fun, and don't worry about getting messy as you practice!