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!