Wand’rings in the Wilderness of Ziph

The Illusion of Community II

2012-01-20T18:46:00.000-08:00

A brief update on my self-imposed research project. Comment below or here.

Thesis statement:

Although technology has created the potential for instant, worldwide exposure, and “connected” people in unprecedented ways and numbers, we are more isolated from each other than ever before.

1. The history of relationship

A. Social models of connectedness, primarily in Western culture

B. Western Culture on Steroids: American independence

C. Trivialize the important, emphasize the trivial

2. The Changing Nature of Relationship

A. The “one for all and all for one” era, 1920-1945

B. The “My Family” era, 1950-1965

C. The “Free yourself” era, 1965-1980

D. The “ME FIRST!” era, 1980-1990

E. The Expanding Community era, 1990-2000

F. The Rally Round the Good era, 2001-2003

G. The “Anybody But” era and beyond 2004-present

3. The changing Nature of Fame

A. Hollywood’s Golden Age

B. The Evolution of Self

C. Famous for being famous

D. Famous for being infamous

4. Oversharing and the elevation of the mundane

A. My dog went poop!

B. Long lost cousin Bernie

C. Crossing boundaries

D. The power of lemmings

E. The Power of Aww/vengeance of the mob

5. Kevin Bacon?!? Pfft! Who’s he?

A. Breadth equals depth

B. I am my number of “friends"

C. Do I know you?

D. SOPA/PIPA

E. Red sky morning, sailor, take warning

Conclusion

So what exactly is it I’m hoping to accomplish here? My style will be that of the typical college thesis in scope, size, and depth. But I’m not being graded, timed, or critiqued. I welcome your input, reaction, and comment. But I reserve the right to determine what arguments I find persuasive, and what I appraise to be a typed cow patty. Don’t both criticizing my style, spelling, grammar, or references. I won't be following any particular standard on citations. I’m done with the days of having to write in the third person (if you hadn’t noticed by now), and my spelling and grammar are fine. It’s my typing that sucks. I am free to write as I will, and although I will endeavor to provide a well-researched product, complete with dissenting opinions if I find them compelling, this is my paper. If you want a product of my opinion, read on. If you want yours, write yer own paper.

The Illusion of Community

2012-01-13T12:00:00.000-08:00

One hundred and fifty years ago, America suffered through one of its most defining moments. Over 650,000 men (and not a few women) died, primarily for one of two ideas: Are men (and women) indeed created equal? Or is one man, generally a wealthy landowner, able to purchase another man’s rights? Not from the deprived, mind you, but from another wealthy man?

This is not a treatise on the Civil War, though growing up in the South means that period has long been one of my favorite historical eras. The Civil War had one incidental, but transformative, effect on the nation’s population that I wish to examine here. It took formerly isolated, rural farm boys, North and South, and crammed them together in cities, army camps, on marches in knee deep mud & filth, on boats and trains, and not a few in prisoner-of-war camps, like the infamous Confederate prison “Andersonville” or the Union’s “Camp Douglas,” both overflowing with raw sewage, flies, and rotting meat, some of it still attached to its soon-to-be-former owner. The results were not dissimilar to the plagues unleashed on the unprepared immune systems of the Aztecs who encountered Cortez, or the Native American tribesmen who felt the first outward push of English, French, and Spanish colonists along the Atlantic coast. More than twice as many men died of disease than as a result of combat. Even the “city boys” that populated much of the northeastern US at that time were exposed to massive numbers of other men, crammed into bivouacs, sharing outdoor camps where even outhouses were a luxury. Such was the forced “community” of masses of young men. The ones who made it home, even if untouched by bug or ball, were nevertheless forever changed. Though most before the war had never travelled more than a hundred miles of their birthplace, Maine men died in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland. Texans died in those same states, alongside Cajuns from Nawlins. Irish Immigrants died everywhere and on both sides. The South lost one of its brightest field commanders, Major General (CSA) Patrick Ronayne Cleburne, of County Cork, Ireland, late of my hometown, Helena, Arkansas, who died in an ill-conceived assault on Yankee fortifications near Franklin, Tennessee, reportedly by a Federal ball through the heart or abdomen, his body found stripped of anything of value. These young men were no longer isolated, knowing only family and kin, or perhaps a “next-door” neighbor, who might be twenty or more miles away. Marrying a cousin was not at all unusual, as attested by my own paternal grandparents. One often had to travel 50 miles or more to find anyone past a first cousin.

Thus it came to be that as the fledgling United States reached ever further west, and population density increased, the self-reliance of the frontiersman increasingly gave way to the interconnectedness of the 20th century US. Individuals no longer provided most of their own sustenance with their own hands. As World War II came to a close, millions of servicemen came home to find a brave new world of specialization, recreation, and disposable income derived from factory jobs, finance and commerce, and service industries that just a decade or two before were virtually non-existent or available only to the wealthy. War changed, too, becoming something done by the “Army,” with little, if any, impact on the day-to-day lives of the average American. This could be described as the “Leave it to Beaver” era. You were now close enough to a neighbor to chat over the fence, men showing of their expertise in growing green grass or cooking a perfectly grilled steak, while their wives discussed hanging laundry on the line versus their newfangled “ clothes drying machine.” Your kids got in trouble hanging out with the neighborhood “Eddie Haskell,” but Ward and June knew George and Agnes personally, and if it was called for, would march you down the street to settle the matter or force an apology from their progeny. In fact, pretty much everyone on the block knew everyone else, and, at least in the South, virtually ALL the Mom’s had permission to spank you if you earned it. You tried not to get in trouble too far from home, lest you have to run the gauntlet, with Dad’s belt at the prize at the end. For the most part, kids behaved. Every neighborhood had the usual cast of characters. Everyone knew which stay-at-home mom was hitting the bottle. Everyone knew which Dad was the wheeler-dealer at the office, but who couldn’t be trusted with your garden hose. And the kids knew who the “bad” kids were. Of course, kids back then did most of the same things kids do today, but they at least knew it was wrong!

Any stockbroker, money manager, or fiduciary can tell you, over the long haul, stocks outperform bonds. At least, they did up until the early 2000s. But if you look at the actual graph, you’ll see that stocks were virtually flat, relatively speaking, from the 1920s to the early 1980s. From there through 1999, it was a magic carpet ride! The people buying houses then were getting “out of the city” and into the “Burbs,” The explosion in the housing market ran disposable income through the roof, as your house was now a guaranteed investment, one that could be periodically leveraged into cash by a “second mortgage.” At some point, the negative, burdensome word “mortgage” was replaced by the friendly, even desirable “home equity loan” or the even more flexible “home equity line of credit (HELOC)”. No need to worry, your house would always outpace the low interest rate of the HELOC, right?

But this is not about the Civil War and it’s not about investments; it’s about people, communities, and social behavior. Coinciding with the mass exodus to the Burbs, neighbors became increasingly isolated, kept protectively within their little cocoons, not knowing their neighbors, perhaps only seeing them as cars backed out of driveways in the morning. You got home, opened the garage door, and drove in, all without seeing a single adult. “Home Improvement” reflected this new superficial neighbor phenomenon in the persona of “Wilson,” a pair of disembodied eyes over a six foot privacy fence, with whom Tim has a deep mutual (but often misunderstood) trust. Yet, as close as “Tim” and “Wilson” are, Wilson never leaves the confines of his own back yard. But for a few kids running around the neighborhood, it might well be an abandoned ghost town, albeit one where someone is keeping the grass mowed. When my now-ex-wife and I lived in Arlington, Tennessee (still the best place I’ve ever lived), I knew one couple in the neighborhood by more than a first name, and that was largely because my ex was widely more outgoing than I. Most winters, I would over-seed my front yard with annual rye grass, which made it green and lush year round, rather than the normal, brown, dormant Bermuda grass. Occasionally, while I was out mowing the grass in 20 degree January weather (the downside to having a pretty yard all the time), a neighbor would stop and ask what I did to it. At least, I assume he was a neighbor. Neither of us gave the other our name. He might have been from Mars, with his spaceship parked around the corner out of sight.

As the 1990s gave way to the 2000s, the phenomena of “social media” began to transform the socialscape, and not always for the better. “MySpace” made it incredibly easy to create your own “web presence.” Although graphically inferior, and for reasons I’ve yet to figure out, Facebook soon caught and overtook MySpace as THE place to connect with friends, coworkers, acquaintances, distant relatives, and people you haven’t seen since 3rd grade 35 years ago, and open yourself to an inundation requests (and sometimes viruses) from Farmville, Cityville, Castleville, Petville, Idunnoknowville, and Idontcareville.. Twitter added the instant dimension of making a barista’s lousy coffee, or your child’s night with the croup a ticker item on HLN. I now know that several of my high school friends (what few I had) put on weight and/or took off hair just like the rest of us. And my missionary friend in Albania connected me with the pastor of a small congregation of fellow believers half a world away. I’ve talked; make that typed, more with my cousins in the past month than I’d spoken to them in person in, well, ever.

Which brings us to our thesis statement, born from our title: “A Thousand Miles Wide and an Inch Deep: The Illusion of Community in an Ultra-connected World.” Even though we are connected to long lost friends, family, and acquaintances, individuals more isolated than ever because social media creates the illusion of community without the messy part of having to actually, you know, care. We are connected with more people than ever before in our lives, but we’re connected on a level so shallow that we know almost nothing substantive about people we “talk” to almost every day.

Don’t miss the irony of my use of Facebook and a blog to announce this great endeavor. Nor is this something I’m doing for a class, seminar or anything else of note. It’s just a thought I’ve been mulling over for quite a while, perhaps a year or more. I found the basic idea compelling, and gradually noticed snippets explored by other writers.

I welcome your input, either by comment here, Facebook message, comment on my blog, or email to Steve (at) Spencersb (dot) com. If you’d like to receive updates (I have no idea how long this’ll take, I do still have a job and kids who are both far more important). If you would be interested in an electronic copy of the finished project, let me know. I also welcome resources, anecdotes, comments and opinions from you and anyone else you think would be helpful. I’m not so arrogant as to think I’m right about everything. Wait, scratch that, I DO believe I’m right about everything, at least everything I express an opinion about. Which makes sense. If I thought I was wrong, I’d change.

Greatest Band/Group of All Time

2011-12-31T13:27:00.000-08:00

Honorable Mention
The Cathedrals
For over four decades, George Younce and Glen Payne anchored one of the most well known and loved groups Gospel music has ever known.

Rush
Garnering hard rock and pop fans alike, Rush is one of the most enduring groups in Rock ‘n Roll history.

The Rolling Stones
Steven Tyler is a HUGE KeithRichards fan. As long as Richards lives, Tyler’s not the ugliest man on Earth. Mick Jagger once said he’d rather be dead than still be singing “Satisfaction” at 45. Guess what, Mick...

Journey
Along with The Eagles, Journey bridged the gap from the 70s to the 80s.

Fourth Runner-up
Alabama
The boys from Fort Payne kept country music fans singing for forty years.

Third Runner-up
Lynryd Skynyrd
Even a plane crash that killed half the band couldn’t silence them.

Second Runner-up
The Grateful Dead
Even people who don’t like them know what a “deadhead” is.

First Runner-up
Led Zepplin
Another iconic band that everyone knows and most like.

Winner, and greatest band of all time:
The Beatles
Influenced virtually ever rock band from the early-sixties on. Even the saloon in Tull.

Nominations now open for the premier category: Lead Guitar. Comment here or at Spencersb on FaceBook.

NO Rhythm Guitar Award

2011-12-24T10:01:00.000-08:00

I have made an executive decision on my "Greatest" musicians list: We will NOT award a Greatest Rhythm Guitar award. Just too few eligible nominees, there's so much overlap with lead guitar and bass, and they both have their own category. Instead, now through New Year's Eve Eve, we will nominate Greatest Group/Band. Remember: any genre, any era, "superbands" ARE eligible. Nominate by comment here, or to Spencersb on FaceBook.

I'll start the list.

The Beatles
Led Zepplin
The Grateful Dead
Journey
AC/DC
Third Day
Trans-Siberian Orchestra
Mettalica
Alabama
The Cathedrals
Styx
Lynyrd Skynyrd

Greatest Bass of All Time

2011-12-18T12:14:00.000-08:00

Third Honorable Mention
Tai Anderson

Second Honorable Mention
Joe Satriani

First Honorable Mention
Les Claypool

Third Runner-up
John Entwisle

Second Runner-up
Steve Harris

First Runner-up
Flea

Winner, and greatest Bassist of All-Time (and best with a man in a diaper playing in the background)
Bootsy Collins

Nominations now open for Rhythm Guitar.

Christmas... Firsts and Lasts

2011-12-15T18:56:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, Christmas is a Christmas of Firsts. I still recall Barbara waking me on our first Christmas morning after we were married with the news that a child who would soon be named Tim, and change our lives forever, was on the way.

Sometimes, Christmas is a Christmas of Lasts. Three years ago today, my Mother died in Memphis, just 10 days before Christmas and 14 days short of 10 years after my Dad. Although we try not to associate the deaths with a day that, by its very nature, is the ultimate non-death Holy-Day, it's still a little bittersweet at this time of year, having had to say goodbye to one so dear at a time when we expect to be renewing “hellos” with folks we may not have seen in months, sometimes years.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Christmas 2007 was my last with my Mom, all the more so by being so far away. At least in 2007, although we had moved out here in July, we visited home for a week or 10 days before Christmas. In 2008, it was only me, flying back to say goodbye just a few days before getting back home just in time to avoid another Christmas First; one without my kids, after Barbara and I separated in September.

But this year is that Christmas of Firsts: the first one in which I’ll keep an 18 year tradition alive only by phone. Every year since Tim was born, we have gathered as a family on Christmas Eve to read the Christmas Story from Luke’s Gospel, and have a glass of egg nog. Barbara will have the kids for Christmas, while I’ll be here in Salem.

Please don’t misunderstand. While my heart will ache just a little at not seeing my kiddos until the following Thursday, I’m not complaining. It’s only fair that Barbara have her Christmas with them. I’ve had them for the past two, and I’m publically grateful to her that our divorce has been relatively amicable, and that the inexcusable horror of ex-spouses using their kids as weapons against each other is totally absent in our case. We’ve always done our best to put our kids first. I’m overwhelmingly grateful that our Christmas Eve tradition will survive for another year. And that my Christmas will hardly be lonely. I’ve made dear, dear friends here that I never would have met any other way. God can truly “work all things together for good.”

So if I can give you one bit of hope, one small reason to celebrate when your heart just isn’t in it, however bright or dark your Christmas may be, whether a Christmas First, a Christmas Last, or a Christmas Both. Let it be this:

“And there were in the same country, shepherds, abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the Glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not, for behold I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be unto all people. For unto you is born this day, in the City of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you, you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel, a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest! And on Earth, peace, good will toward men.’”

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas.
Steve Spencer
Salem, Oregon
15 December 2011

Three years... three years too long.

2011-12-15T05:30:00.000-08:00

15 April 1923 - 15 December 2008
I miss you, Mom.

Greatest Piano/Keyboards of All Time

2011-12-11T12:15:00.000-08:00

This week was MUCH harder than last week's drummers. So many very talented fingers! Had to add more Honorable Mentions.

DIS-Honorable Mention
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (sort of)

Fourth Honorable Mention (and a heck of a singer)
Ronnie Milsap

Third Honorable Mention
Gordon Mote (not nominated, but it's my list :^P)

Second Honorable Mention (and a heck of a life story, right down to a tragic heart attack during a performance)
Anthony Berger

First Honorable Mention (and greatest showman)
Liberace

Fourth Runnerup (although dependent upon modern hands)
Johann Sebastian Bach

Third Runnerup (and greatest to marry a 13yo cousin)
Jerry Lee Louis

Second Runnerup
Billy Powell

First Runnerup
Roger Bennett

Greatest Piano/Keyboard of All Time
Ludwig Van Beethoven

Greatest Drummer of All Time

2011-12-04T15:20:00.000-08:00

In the coming weeks, I'll be playing a little game of "Best of All Time," in several different categories. This week, it's drummers. Honorable Mention goes to...

Rick Allen - Def Leppard (ANY one handed drummer gets HM)

DIShonorable Mention (but entertaining, nonetheless) goes to...

Unknown Dude in Shiny Gold Jacket

Second Runner-Up

Buddy Rich (Gene's not bad, either)

First Runner-up (and best died-too-young drummer)

John Bonham - Led Zepplin

The winner, and Best Drummer of All time is...

NEIL PEART - Rush

Nominations are now open for Best Piano/Keyboards. Comment here, or see my Facebook page here.

Thanksgiving blessings

2011-11-24T14:34:00.000-08:00

Many things have happened in the past four+ years since we moved as a family to Oregon. Safe to say things didn't go as planned. But I stand here today in the kitchen of a warm apartment, with more food on the stove than we can eat in two days, listening to William playing PS2, Tim watching "Mrs Doubtfire" (somehow fitting), and wondering if Elizabeth Spencer will sleep til the crack of noon. I have to go to work tomorrow, which means I have a good, stable job at a place I enjoy with people I like and respect. For all that's gone wrong, and with all due respects to Johnny Russell, there's no place on earth I'd rather be than right here.

Thank you, my heavenly Father, that all that I don't have pales in comparison to all that I do.

Three little words...I forgive you

2011-10-22T17:33:00.000-07:00

He stood there quiet, silently
Not knowing what to say
Although for many, many months
He’d dreamt of this very day.
A million thoughts ran through his head
But none would dare be spoken
Words all failed, no tongue release
More than “thanks,” a mere token
He’d been forgiven more, by far
Than aught he held begrudged
Yet to forgive so suddenly
He could not yet be budged
His mind did wander all afternoon
The dusty halls of the past
Sometimes wistful, often painful
Scars that yet did last.
He knew that he could only keep
Himself captive, bound in chains
Forgiveness looses not the sinner
But the self-righteous saint who remains
The vile cup of bitterness
Drunk to its very dregs
Will destroy only the bibber
Who, for pity, secretly begs
He hides behind his boastful strength
Not betraying what’s inside
Holding back the release of guilt
Like holding back the tide
Freedom comes not from keeping
Wounds open, without care
But from saying that he will not keep
These hurts held close, not bare
“I’m sorry,” two hard words to say
So hard to another give
But harder still, a bitter pill
To say that “I forgive.”

Dan Wheldon (1978– 2011)

2011-10-16T21:49:00.000-07:00

I'm not a real big Indy car fan, I haven't kept up with the sport since the days of Danny Sullivan and Arie Luyendyk. But the tragedy today has really got me down. Maybe it's the two young sons Dan Wheldon left behind, just 2 1/2yrs and 7 months. Or maybe the fact that Wheldon was universally liked and respected among the drivers, always smiling, always joking. Just 33 years old, winner of this year's Indy 500 but without a ride much of the season, he had just this morning signed a contract to replace Danica Patrick next season, and today was supposed to be a big opportunity for Wheldon and a lucky fan to split $5mil if he could win. Instead, the day saw one of the worst crashes in open wheel racing I can recall, and now two little kids will grow up without their Dad.

So many of the drivers said the track was too fast, the cars were too even, the racing too tight. In NASCAR, you can rub fenders, tap bumpers. But in an Indy car, that nudge launches the cars like an airplane. Into the catch fence. And in an instant a likeable, friendly, talented young man is taken away from his friends, his team, and his family.

While looking for the pic, I found this article, written just two short years ago. To all the drivers we love to watch; hug your family tonight.

Godspeed, Dan Wheldon (22 June 1978 – 16 October 2011).

Prejudice

2011-10-10T14:17:00.000-07:00

It’s been a painful road to where I am today. But it’s time I admit it. To myself, if to no one else, because most people that know me already learned this about me years ago. But there’s one thing right about what all those “hope & change” people (is this really what y’all had in mind?!?) borrowed from Ghandi: “You must be the change you hope to see.”

So today, in front of God and all my friends…

I admit it…

I’m prejudiced.

That’s right, I willfully and joyfully, with a great determination, actively discriminate.

I’m a Stupidist. I’m prejudiced against stupid people.

Most can’t help it, but I don’t care.

I don’t want them working on my truck. I don’t want them fixin my food. I don’t want them handling my money at the bank, sewing my clothes, or running my apartment complex. I don’t want them paving my roads, writing my newspapers or posting on my news sites.

I wish they’d all go back where they came from… but they’re not smart enough to find it.

And I don’t want them running my government. At any level.

But really, aren’t we ALL a little stupidist? Deep down inside, don’t we think they DESERVE whatever they get? We ALL discriminate against stupid people (except the ones that are too stupid to).

We just have different ideas about what stupid is.

You don’t listen to FoxNews. I don’t listen to MSNBC.

You think Glenn Beck is a moron. I think Bill Maher is a moron.

I don’t listen to either one of them. I’ll decide for myself who is stupid and who isn’t, thank you very much.

“Hi, my name is Steve, and I’m a Stupidist.”

“AND I’M PROUD OF IT!!!!”

A courage that few men will ever know.

2011-09-27T22:02:00.000-07:00

My regular readers, all four of you, will recall that I have been a fan of the NFL New Orleans Saints since I was old enough to understand the game. I've been through lean times, and more recently good times, culminating in Super Bowl XLIV. But few times in Saints history, even watching Tracy Porter sprint for a pick-6 with The Mighty Manning sittin on his butt in the background, could match the magic of the moment on 25 September 2006, the Saints first home game in the newly repaired Superdome, the night that the horror of a battered lifeboat riding out Katrina, became the focus of a renewed determination not to be defined by failure, but by hope. Give this youtube video time to run, I know it's a little long, but hang in there, the pregame speech is pretty good, and Gleason is interviewed (off camera) towards the end.

I been in the 'dome. I've heard it loud. I've never heard anything (outside of Porter's pick) to compare to the roar that arose from that blocked punt. I never dreamed, nor indeed at that time did Steve Gleason dream that we would be here today, me writing one of the most emotional posts I've ever written (a pathetic comparison), and him facing the awful prognosis that anyone with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) or their loved ones have had to face.

I could never do better than New Orleans Times-Picayune reporter Jeff Duncan did in this emotional, gut-wrenching, inspiring piece, found here.

Nor indeed better than the words of Gleason himself:

"In the end for me, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that we learn from this. We learn about ourselves. We learn to live the life that we love, no matter what your circumstances are, no matter what hand that you've been dealt. It's important that we learn to share our love with one another. And it's important to learn how to cure this disease."

On 25 September 2011, the 5th anniversary of Gleason's blocked punt, the Saints hosted Gleason as honorary captain, and he led the pre-game ritual: "Whodat? Whodat? Whodat say they goan beat dem Saints?"

20,000 Hits

2011-09-12T06:21:00.000-07:00

Sometime yesterday, my little blog got its 20,000th hit, and like I said at 15,000, danged if I know why. While my 20,000th hit came some time yesterday, I felt yesterday was not an appropriate time to post any more than I did; a simple tally of the names of the victims.

Most of my hits come from searches for keywords or pictures I have used, or the “next blog” link at the top of most Blogger pages. It appears to me that the more hits I get, the more often I show up as the “next blog.” I felt this might be the time for a little recap of some of the topics that have marked the 4 ½ years since I started this puppy. Follow along if you’re so inclined.

This blog was born 25 March 2007, while we lived in Arlington, Tennessee, in the only home my family has ever owned. It was born out of a desire to post my thoughts on some controversial issues. While I trust that I am not a disagreeable person, I’ve never been one to tip toe around what I believe, simply because others might disagree. One of my favorite sayings is: “There is no better time to take a stand than when you must stand alone.”
Kicking and screaming.

28 March 2007 I weighed in on a troubling issue involving my church, Bellevue Baptist Church in Cordova, TN.
Agreeing disagreeably.

29 March 2007 I commented on my son, Timothy’s, care at Shriner’s hospital in St. Louis.
Greetings from St. Louis.

30 March 2007 Tim’s stay in St. Louis was longer than we had planned.
Tim's surgeries.

One of my favorite subjects is quotes.
Quotables

Goofy headlines is a close second.
Goofy headlines.

Good Friday recalls a favorite cartoon with a deeper message.
So easy a caveman can do it.

“Justice versus Fairness” One of my most popular posts.
Justice versus Fairness.

RESPECT, how it’s earned, lost, & mishandled in our world.
Respect.

Geocaching: a favorite hobby that has since lost its luster.
Geocaching.

Our move to Oregon, a six part series
Moving to Oregon.

Two or three parts about our settling into our new home in Salem, Oregon.
Settlers in Salem

A story ostensibly by legendary Alabama football coach, Bear Bryant.
Don't cost nothin.

One of our first Geocaching events in Oregon: a CITO in Salem.
Wallace Marine Park CITO.

Our first annual Willamette River float event, hosted by my friend Kensquach.
Rollin on the river.

My knee, injured in a softball game, September 2007.
Just call me gimpy.

A few blessed praises to my savior.
Praises.

Giving thanks for peaceful life.
Thankfulness.

Our first (and so far only) trip back home to Memphis, Christmas 2007.
A Memphis Christmas.

My knee Surgery and experiences with what passes for ‘Q out here.
Mind your knees and 'Qs

Upon earning my degree at Univ. of Memphis.
Twenty-four years in the making.

Keeping an old geocache alive in the Columbia River gorge.
Old caches.

Finally logging the last Ape Cache in America, sadly now gone.
Goin APE.

Dreams that don’t come true.
Dreams die hard.

My Mom dies.
Nola Spencer Campbell 1923 - 2008.

Encouraged, even in death.
Gonna wake up dancin.

Time to breathe again.
Time marches on.

Contrasting the deaths of Michael Jackson and a REAL hero.
Ed Freeman.

Pontificating on Class Action Lawsuits.
Thanks a lot.

Mourned a loss.
Why?

A Thanksgiving project
Days of thankfulness.

Review of “The Blind Side,” still one of my most visited posts.
The Blind Side.

Speculated on the demise of civilization. Can the unthinkable really happen?
America in its twilight?

Christmas firsts and Christmas Lasts.
Christmas first and lasts.

The ghosts that we gather as we pass.
Our trailing Ghosts.

My beloved New Orleans Saints first Super Bowl.
SuperBowl XLIV.

My first 15,000 hits.
15,000.

Another batch of quotes.
Witticisms.

A fun project: My Top Ten songs of the 80s.
Top 10 songs of the 80's.

Bush? Obama? The Worst President Ever? Nonsense!
Worst? Not even close.

The death of civility.
Effin around.

I closed 2010 with my first visit to the 13th century Scottish Highlands.
Wargaming.

Moving on in The Wilderness of Ziph.
The Wilderness.

My first full length poem.
The Mountain.

An embarrassment to The Name of Christ.
"Don't look at me, I didn't tell him to say that." - God.

Rednecks.
I love me some rednecks!

Leadership.
On Leadership

My bout with a Pulmonary Embolism.
Clogging up the pipes.

Defining who I am, and who I’m not.
Southern hospitality.

A tribute to the victims of 11 September 2001.
Names of the victims of 9/11.

What will the next 5,000 hits hold? Follow along and see.

To the victims of September 11th, the day Innocence died.

2011-09-11T01:57:00.000-07:00

Fathers.
Mothers.
Grandparents.
Sons.
Daughters.
Brothers.
Sisters.
Friends.
Victims.
Heroes.

AMERICAN AIRLINES FLIGHT 11

Anna Williams Allison • David Lawrence Angell • Lynn Edwards Angell • Seima Aoyama • Barbara Jean Ares Tegui • Myra Joy Aronson • Christine Barbuto • Carolyn Mayer Beug • Kelly Ann Booms • Carol Marie Bouchard • Neilie Anne Heffernan Casey • Jeffrey Dwayne Collman • Jeffrey W. Coombs • Tara Kathleen Creamer • Thelma Cuccinello • Patrick Currivan • Brian P. Dale • David DiMeglio • Donald Americo DiTullio • Alberto Dominguez • Paige Farley-Hackel • Alexander Milan Filipov • Carol Flyzik • Paul Friedman • Karleton D.B. Fyfe • Peter Alan Gay • Linda M. George • Edmund Glazer • Lisa Reinhart Fenn Gordenstein • Andrew Peter Charles Curry Green • Peter Paul Hashem • Robert Jay Hayes • Edward (Ted) R. Hennessy • John A. Hofer • Cora Hidalgo Holland • John Nicholas Humber • Waleed Iskandar • John Charles Jenkins • Charles Edward Jones • Robin Kaplan • Barbara Keating • David Kovalcin • Judy Larocque • Natalie Janis Lasden • Daniel John Lee • Daniel C. Lewin • Sara Elizabeth Low • Susan A. MacKay • Karen A. Martin • Thomas F. McGuinness • Christopher D. Mello • Jeffrey Peter Mladenik • Antonio Jesus Montoya Valdes • Carlos Alberto Montoya • Laura Lee Morabito • Mildred Naiman • Laurie Ann Neira • Renee Lucille Newell • Kathleen Ann Nicosia • Jacqueline J. Norton • Robert Grant Norton • John Ogonowski • Betty Ann Ong • Jane M. Orth • Thomas Nicholas Pecorelli • Berinthia Berenson Perkins • Sonia Morales Puopolo • David E. Retik • Jean Destrehan Roger • Philip M. Rosenzweig • Richard Barry Ross • Jessica Leigh Sachs • Rahma Salie • Heather Lee Smith • Dianne Bullis Snyder • Douglas J. Stone • Xavier Suarez • Madeline Amy Sweeney • Michael Theodoridis • James Anthony Trentini • Mary Barbara Trentini • Pendyala Vamsikrishna • Mary Alice Wahlstrom • Kenneth E. Waldie • John Wenckus • Candace Lee Williams • Christopher Rudolph Zarba

UNITED FLIGHT 175

Alona Avraham • Garnet Edward (Ace) Bailey • Mark Lawrence Bavis • Graham Andrew Berkeley • Touri Bolourchi • Klaus Bothe • Daniel R. Brandhorst • David Reed Gamboa Brandhorst • John Brett Cahill • Christoffer Mikael Carstanjen • John (Jay) J. Corcoran • Ana Gloria Pocasangre de Barrera • Dorothy Alma DeAraujo • Robert John Fangman • Lisa Frost • Ronald Gamboa • Lynn Catherine Goodchild • Peter Morgan Goodrich • Douglas A. Gowell • Francis E. Grogan • Carl Max Hammond • Christine Lee Hanson • Peter Hanson • Gerald F. Hardacre • Eric Samadikan Hartono • James E. Hayden • Herbert W. Homer • Michael R. Horrocks • Robert Adrien Jalbert • Amy N. Jarret • Ralph Francis Kershaw • Sue Jue Kim-Hanson • Heinrich Kimmig • Amy R. King • Brian Kinney • Kathryn L. LaBorie • Robert George LeBlanc • Maclovio Lopez • Marianne MacFarlane • Alfred Gilles Padre Joseph Marchand • Louis Neil Mariani • Juliana Valentine McCourt • Ruth Magdaline McCourt • Wolfgang Peter Menzel • Shawn M. Nassaney • Marie Pappalardo • Patrick J. Quigley • Frederick Charles Rimmele • James M. Roux • Jesus Sanchez • Victor J. Saracini • Mary Kathleen Shearer • Robert Michael Shearer • Jane Louise Simpkin • Brian D. Sweeney • Michael C. Tarrou • Alicia Nicole Titus • Timothy Ray Ward • William M. Weems

THE TOWERS

A
Gordon McCannel Aamoth • Edelmiro (Ed) Abad • Maria Rose Abad • Andrew Anthony Abate • Vincent Abate • Laurence Christopher Abel • William F. Abrahamson • Richard Anthony Aceto • Alicia Acevedo Carranza • Heinrich B. Ackermann • Paul Andrew Acquaviva • Donald L. Adams • Patrick Adams • Shannon Lewis Adams • Stephen Adams • Ignatius Adanga • Christy A. Addamo • Terence E. Adderley • Sophia B. Addo • Lee Adler • Daniel Thomas Afflitto • Emmanuel Afuakwah • Alok Agarwal • Mukul Agarwala • Joseph Agnello • David Scott Agnes • Joao A.D. Aguiar • Brian G. Ahearn • Jeremiah J. Ahern • Joanne Ahladiotis • Shabbir Ahmed • Terrance Andre Aiken • Godwin Ajala • Gertrude M. Alagero • Andrew Alameno • Margaret Ann (Peggy) Jezycki Alario • Gary Albero • Jon L. Albert • Peter Craig Alderman • Jacquelyn Delaine Aldridge • Grace Alegre-Cua • David D. Alger • Boutros al-Hashim • Ernest Alikakos • Edward L. Allegretto • Eric Allen • Joseph Ryan Allen • Richard Dennis Allen • Richard Lanard Allen • Christopher Edward Allingham • Janet M. Alonso • Anthony Alvarado • Antonio Javier Alvarez • Telmo Alvear • Cesar A. Alviar • Tariq Amanullah • Angelo Amaranto • James Amato • Joseph Amatuccio • Christopher Charles Amoroso • Kazuhiro Anai • Calixto Anaya • Joseph Peter Anchundia • Kermit Charles Anderson • Yvette Anderson • John Andreacchio • Michael Rourke Andrews • Jean A. Andrucki • Siew-Nya Ang • Joseph Angelini • Joseph Angelini • Laura Angilletta • Doreen J. Angrisani • Lorraine D. Antigua • Peter Paul Apollo • Faustino Apostol • Frank Thomas Aquilino • Patrick Michael Aranyos • David Gregory Arce • Michael G. Arczynski • Louis Arena • Adam Arias • Michael J. Armstrong • Jack Charles Aron • Joshua Aron • Richard Avery Aronow • Japhet J. Aryee • Carl Asaro • Michael A. Asciak • Michael Edward Asher • Janice Ashley • Thomas J. Ashton • Manuel O. Asitimbay • Gregg Arthur Atlas • Gerald Atwood • James Audiffred • Louis Frank Aversano • Ezra Aviles • Samuel (Sandy) Ayala

B
Arlene T. Babakitis • Eustace (Rudy) Bacchus • John James Badagliacca • Jane Ellen Baeszler • Robert J. Baierwalter • Andrew J. Bailey • Brett T. Bailey • Tatyana Bakalinskaya • Michael S. Baksh • Sharon Balkcom • Michael Andrew Bane • Kathy Bantis • Gerard Jean Baptiste • Walter Baran • Gerard A. Barbara • Paul V. Barbaro • James W. Barbella • Ivan Kyrillos Fairbanks Barbosa • Victor Daniel Barbosa • Colleen Ann Barkow • David Michael Barkway • Matthew Barnes • Sheila Patricia Barnes • Evan J. Baron • Renee Barrett-Arjune • Arthur T. Barry • Diane G. Barry • Maurice Vincent Barry • Scott D. Bart • Carlton W. Bartels • Guy Barzvi • Inna Basina • Alysia Basmajian • Kenneth William Basnicki • Steven J. Bates • Paul James Battaglia • W. David Bauer • Ivhan Luis Carpio Bautista • Marlyn C. Bautista • Jasper Baxter • Michele (Du Berry) Beale • Paul F. Beatini • Jane S. Beatty • Larry I. Beck • Manette Marie Beckles • Carl John Bedigian • Michael Beekman • Maria Behr • Yelena Belilovsky • Nina Patrice Bell • Andrea Della Bella • Debbie S. Bellows • Stephen Elliot Belson • Paul Michael Benedetti • Denise Lenore Benedetto • Bryan Craig Bennett • Eric L. Bennett • Oliver Duncan Bennett • Margaret L. Benson • Dominick J. Berardi • James Patrick Berger • Steven Howard Berger • John P. Bergin • Alvin Bergsohn • Daniel D. Bergstein • Michael J. Berkeley • Donna Bernaerts-Kearns • Dave Bernard • William Bernstein • David M. Berray • David S. Berry • Joseph J. Berry • William Reed Bethke • Timothy D. Betterly • Edward F. Beyea • Paul Michael Beyer • Anil T. Bharvaney • Bella Bhukhan • Shimmy D. Biegeleisen • Peter Alexander Bielfeld • William Biggart • Brian Bilcher • Carl Vincent Bini • Gary Bird • Joshua David Birnbaum • George Bishop • Jeffrey D. Bittner • Balewa Albert Blackman • Christopher Joseph Blackwell • Susan L. Blair • Harry Blanding • Janice L. Blaney • Craig Michael Blass • Rita Blau • Richard M. Blood • Michael A. Boccardi • John Paul Bocchi • Michael L. Bocchino • Susan Mary Bochino • Bruce Douglas (Chappy) Boehm • Mary Katherine Boffa • Nicholas A. Bogdan • Darren C. Bohan • Lawrence Francis Boisseau • Vincent M. Boland • Alan Bondarenko • Andre Bonheur • Colin Arthur Bonnett • Frank Bonomo • Yvonne L. Bonomo • Sean Booker • Juan Jose Borda Leyva • Sherry Ann Bordeaux • Krystine C. Bordenabe • Martin Boryczewski • Richard E. Bosco • John Howard Boulton • Francisco Bourdier • Thomas H. Bowden • Kimberly S. Bowers • Veronique (Bonnie) Nicole Bowers • Larry Bowman • Shawn Edward Bowman • Kevin L. Bowser • Gary R. Box • Gennady Boyarsky • Pamela Boyce • Michael Boyle • Alfred Braca • Sandra Conaty Brace • Kevin H. Bracken • David Brian Brady • Alexander Braginsky • Nicholas W. Brandemarti • Michelle Renee Bratton • Patrice Braut • Lydia Estelle Bravo • Ronald Michael Breitweiser • Edward A. Brennan • Frank H. Brennan • Michael Emmett Brennan • Peter Brennan • Thomas M. Brennan • Daniel Brethel • Gary L. Bright • Jonathan Eric Briley • Mark A. Brisman • Paul Gary Bristow • Victoria Alvarez Brito • Mark Francis Broderick • Herman C. Broghammer • Keith Broomfield • Janice J. Brown • Lloyd Brown • Patrick J. Brown • Bettina Browne • Mark Bruce • Richard Bruehert • Andrew Brunn • Vincent Brunton • Ronald Paul Bucca • Brandon J. Buchanan • Greg Joseph Buck • Dennis Buckley • Nancy Bueche • Patrick Joseph Buhse • John E. Bulaga • Stephen Bunin • Matthew J. Burke • Thomas Daniel Burke • William F. Burke • Donald James Burns • Kathleen A. Burns • Keith James Burns • John Patrick Burnside • Irina Buslo • Milton Bustillo • Thomas M. Butler • Patrick Byrne • Timothy G. Byrne

C
Jesus Cabezas • Lillian Caceres • Brian Joseph Cachia • Steven Cafiero • Richard M. Caggiano • Cecile M. Caguicla • Michael John Cahill • Scott W. Cahill • Thomas J. Cahill • George Cain • Salvatore B. Calabro • Joseph Calandrillo • Philip V. Calcagno • Edward Calderon • Kenneth Marcus Caldwell • Dominick E. Calia • Felix (Bobby) Calixte • Frank Callahan • Liam Callahan • Luigi Calvi • Roko Camaj • Michael Cammarata • David Otey Campbell • Geoffrey Thomas Campbell • Jill Marie Campbell • Robert Arthur Campbell • Sandra Patricia Campbell • Juan Ortega Campos • Sean Canavan • John A. Candela • Vincent Cangelosi • Stephen J. Cangialosi • Lisa B. Cannava • Brian Cannizzaro • Michael R. Canty • Louis A. Caporicci • Jonathan N. Cappello • James Christopher Cappers • Richard M. Caproni • Jose Cardona • Dennis M Carey • Edward Carlino • Michael Scott Carlo • David G. Carlone • Rosemarie C. Carlson • Mark Stephen Carney • Joyce Ann Carpeneto • Jeremy M. Carrington • Michael T. Carroll • Peter Carroll • James J. Carson • Christopher Newton Carter • James Marcel Cartier • Vivian Casalduc • John F. Casazza • Paul Cascio • Margarito Casillas • Thomas Anthony Casoria • William Otto Caspar • Alejandro Castano • German Castillo Galicia • Arcelia Castillo • Leonard M. Castrianno • Jose Ramon Castro • Richard G. Catarelli • Christopher Sean Caton • Robert J. Caufield • Mary Teresa Caulfield • Judson Cavalier • Michael Joseph Cawley • Jason D. Cayne • Juan Armando Ceballos • Marcia G. Cecil-Carter • Jason Cefalu • Thomas J. Celic • Ana M. Centeno • Joni Cesta • Jeffrey M. Chairnoff • Swarna Chalasini • William Chalcoff • Eli Chalouh • Charles Lawrence (Chip) Chan • Mandy Chang • Mark L. Charette • Gregorio Manuel Chavez • Pedro Francisco Checo • Douglas MacMillan Cherry • Stephen Patrick Cherry • Vernon Paul Cherry • Nestor Chevalier • Swede Joseph Chevalier • Alexander H. Chiang • Dorothy J. Chiarchiaro • Luis Alfonso Chimbo • Robert Chin • Wing Wai (Eddie) Ching • Nicholas P. Chiofalo • John Chipura • Peter A. Chirchirillo • Catherine E. Chirls • Kyung (Kaccy) Cho • Abdul K. Chowdhury • Mohammed Salahuddin Chowdhury • Kirsten L. Christophe • Pamela Chu • Steven Paul Chucknick • Wai-ching Chung • Christopher Ciafardini • Alex F. Ciccone • Frances Ann Cilente • Elaine Cillo • Edna Cintron • Nestor Andre Cintron • Robert Dominick Cirri • Juan Pablo Alvarez Cisneros • Benjamin Keefe Clark • Eugene Clark • Gregory A. Clark • Mannie Leroy Clark • Thomas R. Clark • Christopher Robert Clarke • Donna Clarke • Michael Clarke • Suria R.E. Clarke • Kevin Francis Cleary • James D. Cleere • Geoffrey W. Cloud • Susan M. Clyne • Steven Coakley • Jeffrey Coale • Patricia A. Cody • Daniel Michael Coffey • Jason Matthew Coffey • Florence Cohen • Kevin Sanford Cohen • Anthony Joseph Coladonato • Mark J. Colaio • Stephen J. Colaio • Christopher M. Colasanti • Kevin Nathaniel Colbert • Michel Paris Colbert • Keith Eugene Coleman • Scott Thomas Coleman • Tarel Coleman • Liam Joseph Colhoun • Robert D. Colin • Robert J. Coll • Jean Marie Collin • John Michael Collins • Michael L. Collins • Thomas J. Collins • Joseph Collison • Patricia Malia Colodner • Linda M. Colon • Soledi Colon • Ronald Comer • Jaime Concepcion • Albert Conde • Denease Conley • Susan Clancy Conlon • Margaret Mary Conner • Cynthia L. Connolly • John E. Connolly • James Lee Connor • Jonathan (J.C.) Connors • Kevin P. Connors • Kevin Francis Conroy • Brenda E. Conway • Dennis Michael Cook • Helen D. Cook • John A. Cooper • Joseph J. Coppo • Gerard J. Coppola • Joseph Albert Corbett • Alejandro Cordero • Robert Cordice • Danny A. Correa-Gutierrez • Ruben D. Correa • James Corrigan • Carlos Cortes • Kevin M. Cosgrove • Dolores Marie Costa • Digna Alexandra Rivera Costanza • Charles Gregory Costello • Michael S. Costello • Conrod K.H. Cottoy • Martin Coughlan • John Gerard Coughlin • Timothy John Coughlin • James E. Cove • Andre Cox • Frederick John Cox • Michelle Coyle-Eulau • James Raymond Coyle • Anne M. Cramer • Christopher Seton Cramer • Denise Crant • James L. Crawford • Robert James Crawford • Joanne Mary Cregan • Lucia Crifasi • John Crisci • Daniel Hal Crisman • Dennis A. Cross • Helen Crossin-Kittle • Kevin Raymond Crotty • Thomas G. Crotty • John Crowe • Welles Remy Crowther • Robert L. Cruikshank • Francisco Cruz • John Robert Cruz • Kenneth John Cubas • Francisco C. Cubero • Richard Joseph Cudina • Neil James Cudmore • Thomas Patrick Cullen • Joan McConnell Cullinan • Joyce Cummings • Brian Thomas Cummins • Nilton Albuquerque Fernao Cunha • Michael Joseph Cunningham • Robert Curatolo • Laurence Curia • Paul Dario Curioli • Beverly Curry • Michael Curtin • Gavin Cushny

D
John D'Allara • Vincent D'Amadeo • Jack L. D'Ambrosi • Mary D'Antonio • Edward Alexander D'Atri • Michael D. D'Auria • Michael Jude D'Esposito • Manuel Da Mota • Carlos S. DaCosta • Caleb Arron Dack • Thomas A. Damaskinos • Jeannine Marie Damiani-Jones • Patrick W. Danahy • Nana Kwuku Danso • Vincent G. Danz • Dwight Donald Darcy • Elizabeth Ann Darling • Annette Andrea Dataram • Lawrence Davidson • Michael Allen Davidson • Scott Matthew Davidson • Titus Davidson • Niurka Davila • Clinton Davis • Wayne Terrial Davis • Anthony Richard Dawson • Calvin Dawson • Edward James Day • Jayceryll M. de Chavez • Emerita (Emy) De La Pena • Azucena de la Torre • Cristina de Laura • Oscar de Laura • Francis (Frank) Albert De Martini • Robert J. DeAngelis • James V. DeBlase • Paul DeCola • Jason Christopher DeFazio • Jennifer DeJesus • Monique E. DeJesus • Nereida DeJesus • Martin DeMeo • Jean C. DePalma • Michael DeRienzo • David Paul DeRubbio • Jemal Legesse DeSantis • Christian D. DeSimone • Edward DeSimone • Melanie Louise DeVere • Jerry DeVito • William T. Dean • Thomas P. Deangelis • Tara Debek • Anna Debin • Simon Dedvukaj • David A. Defeo • Manuel Del Valle • Donald A. Delapenha • Vito Joseph Deleo • Danielle Delie • Joseph A. Della Pietra • Palmina Delli Gatti • Colleen Ann Deloughery • Anthony Demas • Francis X. Deming • Carol K. Demitz • Kevin Dennis • Thomas F. Dennis • Jose Nicholas Depena • Robert J. Deraney • Andrew Desperito • Cindy Ann Deuel • Robert P. Devitt • Dennis Lawrence Devlin • Gerard Dewan • Simon Suleman Ali Kassamali Dhanani • Michael L. DiAgostino • Patricia F. DiChiaro • John DiFato • Vincent F. DiFazio • Carl DiFranco • Donald J. DiFranco • Debra Ann DiMartino • Anthony DiOnisio • George DiPasquale • Joseph DiPilato • Douglas Frank DiStefano • Michael Diaz-Piedra • Judith Belguese Diaz-Sierra • Lourdes Galletti Diaz • Matthew Diaz • Nancy Diaz • Obdulio Ruiz Diaz • Joseph Dermot Dickey • Lawrence Patrick Dickinson • Michael David Diehl • Stephen P. Dimino • William J. Dimmling • Christopher Dincuff • Jeffrey M. Dingle • Ramzi A. Doany • John J. Doherty • Melissa C. Doi • Brendan Dolan • Neil Dollard • James Joseph Domanico • Benilda Pascua Domingo • Charles (Carlos) Dominguez • Geronimo (Jerome) Mark Patrick Dominguez • Kevin W. Donnelly • Jacqueline Donovan • Stephen Dorf • Thomas Dowd • Kevin Christopher Dowdell • Mary Yolanda Dowling • Raymond M. Downey • Frank Joseph Doyle • Joseph M. Doyle • Randy Drake • Stephen Patrick Driscoll • Mirna A. Duarte • Luke A. Dudek • Christopher Michael Duffy • Gerard Duffy • Michael Joseph Duffy • Thomas W. Duffy • Antoinette Duger • Sareve Dukat • Christopher Joseph Dunne • Richard A. Dunstan • Patrick Thomas Dwyer

E
Joseph Anthony Eacobacci • John Bruce Eagleson • Robert D. Eaton • Dean P. Eberling • Margaret Ruth Echtermann • Paul Robert Eckna • Constantine (Gus) Economos • Dennis Michael Edwards • Michael Hardy Edwards • Christine Egan • Lisa Egan • Martin Egan • Michael Egan • Samantha Egan • Carole Eggert • Lisa Caren Weinstein Ehrlich • John Ernst (Jack) Eichler • Eric Adam Eisenberg • Daphne F. Elder • Michael J. Elferis • Mark J. Ellis • Valerie Silver Ellis • Albert Alfy William Elmarry • Edgar H. Emery • Doris Suk-Yuen Eng • Christopher S. Epps • Ulf Ramm Ericson • Erwin L. Erker • William J. Erwin • Sarah (Ali) Escarcega • Jose Espinal • Fanny M. Espinoza • Brigette Ann Esposito • Francis Esposito • Michael Esposito • William Esposito • Ruben Esquilin • Sadie Ette • Barbara G. Etzold • Eric Brian Evans • Robert Edward Evans • Meredith Emily June Ewart

F
Catherine K. Fagan • Patricia M. Fagan • Keith G. Fairben • William F. Fallon • William Fallon • Anthony J. Fallone • Dolores B. Fanelli • John Joseph Fanning • Kathleen (Kit) Faragher • Thomas Farino • Nancy Carole Farley • Elizabeth Ann (Betty) Farmer • Douglas Farnum • John G. Farrell • John W. Farrell • Terrence Patrick Farrell • Joseph Farrelly • Thomas P. Farrelly • Syed Abdul Fatha • Christopher Faughnan • Wendy R. Faulkner • Shannon M. Fava • Bernard D. Favuzza • Robert Fazio • Ronald C. Fazio • William Feehan • Francis J. (Frank) Feely • Garth E. Feeney • Sean B. Fegan • Lee S. Fehling • Peter Feidelberg • Alan D. Feinberg • Rosa Maria Feliciano • Edward T. Fergus • George Ferguson • Henry Fernandez • Jose Manuel Contreras Fernandez • Judy H. Fernandez • Elisa Giselle Ferraina • Anne Marie Sallerin Ferreira • Robert John Ferris • David Francis Ferrugio • Louis V. Fersini • Michael David Ferugio • Bradley James Fetchet • Jennifer Louise Fialko • Kristen Fiedel • Samuel Fields • Michael Bradley Finnegan • Timothy J. Finnerty • Michael Curtis Fiore • Stephen J. Fiorelli • Paul M. Fiori • John Fiorito • John R. Fischer • Andrew Fisher • Bennett Lawson Fisher • John Roger Fisher • Thomas J. Fisher • Lucy Fishman • Ryan D. Fitzgerald • Thomas Fitzpatrick • Richard P. Fitzsimons • Salvatore A. Fiumefreddo • Christina Donovan Flannery • Eileen Flecha • Andre G. Fletcher • Carl Flickinger • John Joseph Florio • Joseph W. Flounders • David Fodor • Michael N. Fodor • Steven Mark Fogel • Thomas Foley • David Fontana • Chih Min (Dennis) Foo • Del Rose Forbes-Cheatham • Godwin Forde • Donald A. Foreman • Christopher Hugh Forsythe • Claudia Alicia Martinez Foster • Noel J. Foster • Ana Fosteris • Robert J. Foti • Jeffrey L. Fox • Virginia Fox • Joan Francis • Pauline Francis • Virgin (Lucy) Francis • Gary J. Frank • Morton Frank • Peter Christopher Frank • Richard K. Fraser • Kevin Joseph Frawley • Clyde Frazier • Lillian I. Frederick • Andrew Fredericks • Jamitha Freemen • Brett O. Freiman • Peter L. Freund • Arlene E. Fried • Alan Wayne Friedlander • Andrew K. Friedman • Gregg J. Froehner • Peter Christian Fry • Clement Fumando • Steven Elliot Furman • Paul James Furmato

G
Fredric Gabler • Richard S. Gabrielle • James Andrew Gadiel • Pamela Gaff • Ervin Vincent Gailliard • Deanna L. Galante • Grace Galante • Anthony Edward Gallagher • Daniel James Gallagher • John Patrick Gallagher • Tomas Gallegos Linares • Cono E. Gallo • Vincenzo Gallucci • Thomas Edward Galvin • Giovanna (Genni) Gambale • Thomas Gambino • Giann F. Gamboa • Peter J. Ganci • Claude Michael Gann • Charles William Garbarini • Cesar Garcia • David Garcia • Jorge Luis Morron Garcia • Juan Garcia • Marlyn C. Garcia • Christopher Gardner • Douglas B. Gardner • Harvey J. Gardner • Jeffrey B. Gardner • Thomas A. Gardner • William Arthur Gardner • Francesco Garfi • Rocco Gargano • James M. Gartenberg • Matthew David Garvey • Bruce Gary • Boyd A. Gatton • Donald Richard Gavagan • Terence D. Gazzani • Gary Geidel • Paul Hamilton Geier • Julie M. Geis • Peter Gelinas • Steven Paul Geller • Howard G. Gelling • Peter Victor Genco • Steven Gregory Genovese • Alayne F. Gentul • Edward F. Geraghty • Suzanne Geraty • Ralph Gerhardt • Robert J. Gerlich • Denis P. Germain • Marina R. Gertsberg • Susan M. Getzendanner • James Gerard Geyer • Joseph M. Giaccone • Vincent Francis Giammona • Debra L. Gibbon • James A. Giberson • Craig Neil Gibson • Ronnie Gies • Laura A. Giglio • Andrew Clive Gilbert • Timothy Paul Gilbert • Paul Stuart Gilbey • Paul John Gill • Mark Y. Gilles • Evan H. Gillette • Ronald Gilligan • Rodney C. Gillis • Laura Gilly • John F. Ginley • Donna Marie Giordano • Jeffrey Giordano • John Giordano • Steven A. Giorgetti • Martin Giovinazzo • Jinny Lady Giraldo • Kum-Kum Girolamo • Salvatore Gitto • Cynthia Giugliano • Mon Gjonbalaj • Dianne Gladstone • Keith Alexander Glascoe • Thomas I. Glasser • Harry Glenn • Barry H. Glick • Steven Lawrence Glick • John T. Gnazzo • William (Bill) Robert Godshalk • Michael Gogliormella • Brian Fredric Goldberg • Jeffrey Grant Goldflam • Michelle Herman Goldstein • Monica Goldstein • Steven Goldstein • Andrew H. Golkin • Dennis James Gomes • Enrique Antonio Gomez • Jose Bienvenido Gomez • Manuel Gomez • Wilder Gomez • Jenine Gonzalez • Joel Guevara Gonzalez • Mauricio Gonzalez • Rosa J. Gonzalez • Calvin J. Gooding • Harry Goody • Kiran Reddy Gopu • Catherine Carmen Gorayeb • Kerene Gordon • Sebastian Gorki • Kieran Gorman • Thomas E. Gorman • Michael Edward Gould • Yugi Goya • Jon Richard Grabowski • Christopher Michael Grady • Edwin John Graf • David M. Graifman • Gilbert Granados • Elvira Granitto • Winston Arthur Grant • Christopher Stewart Gray • James Michael Gray • Linda Mair Grayling • John Michael Grazioso • Timothy Grazioso • Derrick Arthur Green • Wade Brian Green • Elaine Myra Greenberg • Gayle R. Greene • James Arthur Greenleaf • Eileen Marsha Greenstein • Elizabeth (Lisa) Martin Gregg • Denise Gregory • Donald H. Gregory • Florence M. Gregory • Pedro (David) Grehan • John M. Griffin • Tawanna Griffin • Joan D. Griffith • Warren Grifka • Ramon Grijalvo • Joseph F. Grillo • David Grimner • Kenneth Grouzalis • Joseph Grzelak • Matthew J. Grzymalski • Robert Joseph Gschaar • Liming (Michael) Gu • Jose A. Guadalupe • Yan Zhu (Cindy) Guan • Geoffrey E. Guja • Joseph Gullickson • Babita Guman • Douglas B. Gurian • Janet H. Gustafson • Philip T. Guza • Barbara Guzzardo • Peter Gyulavary

H
Gary Robert Haag • Andrea Lyn Haberman • Barbara M. Habib • Philip Haentzler • Nizam A. Hafiz • Karen Hagerty • Steven Hagis • Mary Lou Hague • David Halderman • Maile Rachel Hale • Richard Hall • Vaswald George Hall • Robert John Halligan • Vincent Gerard Halloran • James D. Halvorson • Mohammed Salman Hamdani • Felicia Hamilton • Robert Hamilton • Frederic Kim Han • Christopher James Hanley • Sean Hanley • Valerie Joan Hanna • Thomas Hannafin • Kevin James Hannaford • Michael L. Hannan • Dana Hannon • Vassilios G. Haramis • James A. Haran • Jeffrey P. Hardy • Timothy John Hargrave • Daniel Harlin • Frances Haros • Harvey L. Harrell • Stephen Gary Harrell • Aisha Harris • Stewart D. Harris • John Patrick Hart • John Clinton Hartz • Emeric J. Harvey • Thomas Theodore Haskell • Timothy Haskell • Joseph John Hasson • Leonard William Hatton • Terence S. Hatton • Michael Helmut Haub • Timothy Aaron Haviland • Donald G. Havlish • Anthony Hawkins • Nobuhiro Hayatsu • Philip Hayes • William Ward Haynes • Scott Hazelcorn • Michael K. Healey • Roberta Bernstein Heber • Charles Francis Xavier Heeran • John Heffernan • Howard Joseph Heller • JoAnn L. Heltibridle • Mark F. Hemschoot • Ronnie Lee Henderson • Janet Hendricks • Brian Hennessey • Michelle Marie Henrique • Joseph P. Henry • William Henry • John Henwood • Robert Allan Hepburn • Mary (Molly) Herencia • Lindsay Coates Herkness • Harvey Robert Hermer • Claribel Hernandez • Norberto Hernandez • Raul Hernandez • Gary Herold • Jeffrey A. Hersch • Thomas Hetzel • Brian Hickey • Ysidro Hidalgo-Tejada • Timothy Higgins • Robert D. Higley • Todd Russell Hill • Clara Victorine Hinds • Neal Hinds • Mark D. Hindy • Katsuyuki Hirai • Heather Malia Ho • Tara Yvette Hobbs • Thomas A. Hobbs • James L. Hobin • Robert Wayne Hobson • DaJuan Hodges • Ronald George Hoerner • Patrick Aloysius Hoey • Frederick J. Hoffman • Joseph Hoffman • Marcia Hoffman • Michele L. Hoffman • Stephen G. Hoffman • Judith Florence Hofmiller • Thomas Warren Hohlweck • Jonathan R. Hohmann • John Holland • Joseph Francis Holland • Elizabeth Holmes • Thomas P. Holohan • Bradley Hoorn • James P. Hopper • Montgomery McCullough Hord • Michael Horn • Matthew D. Horning • Robert L. Horohoe • Aaron Horwitz • Charles J. Houston • Uhuru G. Houston • George Howard • Michael C. Howell • Steven L. Howell • Jennifer L. Howley • Milagros Hromada • Marian Hrycak • Stephen Huczko • Kris R. Hughes • Melissa Harrington Hughes • Paul R. Hughes • Robert T. "Bobby" Hughes • Thomas F. Hughes • Timothy Robert Hughes • Susan Huie • Mychal Lamar Hulse • Kathleen (Casey) Hunt • William C. Hunt • Joseph G. Hunter • Robert Hussa • Thomas E. Hynes • Walter Hynes

I
Joseph Anthony Ianelli • Zuhtu Ibis • Jonathan Lee Ielpi • Michael Patrick Iken • Daniel Ilkanayev • Frederick Ill • Abraham Nethanel Ilowitz • Anthony P. Infante • Louis S. Inghilterra • Christopher N. Ingrassia • Paul Innella • Stephanie V. Irby • Douglas Irgang • Kristin A. Irvine-Ryan • Todd A. Isaac • Erik Hans Isbrandtsen • Taizo Ishikawa • Aram Iskenderian • John Iskyan • Kazushige Ito • Aleksandr Valeryerich Ivantsov

J
Virginia Jablonski • Brooke Alexandra Jackman • Aaron Jacobs • Ariel Louis Jacobs • Jason Kyle Jacobs • Michael Grady Jacobs • Steven A. Jacobson • Ricknauth Jaggernauth • Jake Denis Jagoda • Yudh V.S. Jain • Maria Jakubiak • Ernest James • Gricelda E. James • Mark Jardim • Mohammed Jawara • Francois Jean-Pierre • Maxima Jean-Pierre • Paul E. Jeffers • Joseph Jenkins • Alan K. Jensen • Prem N. Jerath • Farah Jeudy • Hweidar Jian • Fernando Jimenez Molina • Eliezer Jimenez • Luis Jimenez • Charles Gregory John • Nicholas John • LaShawana Johnson • Scott M. Johnson • William Johnston • Allison Horstmann Jones • Arthur Joseph Jones • Brian L. Jones • Christopher D. Jones • Donald T. Jones • Donald W. Jones • Linda Jones • Mary S. Jones • Andrew Jordan • Robert Thomas Jordan • Albert Joseph • Ingeborg Joseph • Karl Henri Joseph • Stephen Joseph • Jane Eileen Josiah • Anthony Jovic • Angel Luis Juarbe • Karen Susan Juday • Mychal Judge • Paul W. Jurgens • Thomas Edward Jurgens

K
Shashi Kiran Lakshmikantha Kadaba • Gavkharoy Mukhometovna Kamardinova • Shari Kandell • Howard Lee Kane • Jennifer Lynn Kane • Vincent D. Kane • Joon Koo Kang • Sheldon R. Kanter • Deborah H. Kaplan • Alvin Peter Kappelmann • Charles Karczewski • William A. Karnes • Douglas G. Karpiloff • Charles L. Kasper • Andrew Kates • John Katsimatides • Robert Kaulfers • Don Jerome Kauth • Hideya Kawauchi • Edward T. Keane • Richard M. Keane • Lisa Kearney-Griffin • Karol Ann Keasler • Paul Hanlon Keating • Leo Russell Keene • Joseph J. Keller • Peter Rodney Kellerman • Joseph P. Kellett • Frederick H. Kelley • James Joseph Kelly • Joseph A. Kelly • Maurice Patrick Kelly • Richard John Kelly • Thomas Michael Kelly • Thomas Richard Kelly • Thomas W. Kelly • Timothy C. Kelly • William Hill Kelly • Robert C. Kennedy • Thomas J. Kennedy • John Keohane • Ronald T. Kerwin • Howard L. Kestenbaum • Douglas D. Ketcham • Ruth E. Ketler • Boris Khalif • Sarah Khan • Taimour Firaz Khan • Rajesh Khandelwal • Bhowanie Devi Khemraj • SeiLai Khoo • Michael Kiefer • Satoshi Kikuchihara • Andrew Jay-Hoon Kim • Lawrence Don Kim • Mary Jo Kimelman • Lisa M. King-Johnson • Andrew Marshall King • Lucille T. King • Robert King • Takashi Kinoshita • Chris Michael Kirby • Howard (Barry) Kirschbaum • Glenn Davis Kirwin • Richard J. Klares • Peter A. Klein • Alan D. Kleinberg • Karen J. Klitzman • Ronald Philip Kloepfer • Andrew Knox • Thomas Patrick Knox • Yevgeny Knyazev • Rebecca Lee Koborie • Deborah Kobus • Gary Edward Koecheler • Frank J. Koestner • Ryan Kohart • Vanessa Lynn Kolpak • Irina Kolpakova • Suzanne Kondratenko • Abdoulaye Kone • Bon-seok Koo • Dorota Kopiczko • Scott Kopytko • Bojan Kostic • Danielle Kousoulis • John J. Kren • William Krukowski • Lyudmila Ksido • Shekhar Kumar • Kenneth Kumpel • Frederick Kuo • Patricia Kuras • Nauka Kushitani • Thomas Joseph Kuveikis • Victor Kwarkye • Kui Fai Kwok • Angela R. Kyte

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Andrew LaCorte • Jeanette LaFond-Menichino • David LaForge • Michael Patrick LaForte • Stephen LaMantia • Carol Ann LaPlante • Jeannine M. LaVerde • Amarnauth Lachhman • Ganesh Ladkat • James P. Ladley • Joseph A. Lafalce • Alan Lafranco • Juan Lafuente • Neil K. Lai • Vincent A. Laieta • William David Lake • Franco Lalama • Chow Kwan Lam • Amy Hope Lamonsoff • Robert T. Lane • Brendan M. Lang • Rosanne P. Lang • Vanessa Langer • Mary Lou Langley • Peter J. Langone • Thomas Langone • Michele B. Lanza • Ruth Sheila Lapin • Ingeborg Astrid Desiree Lariby • Robin Larkey • Christopher Randall Larrabee • Hamidou S. Larry • Scott Larsen • John Adam Larson • Gary E. Lasko • Nicholas C. Lassman • Paul Laszczynski • Jeffrey Latouche • Charles Laurencin • Stephen James Lauria • Maria Lavache • Denis F. Lavelle • Anna A. Laverty • Steven Lawn • Robert A. Lawrence • Nathaniel Lawson • Eugen Lazar • David Prudencio LeMagne • Jeffrey Earle LeVeen • James Patrick Leahy • Joseph Gerard Leavey • Neil Leavy • Leon Lebor • Kenneth Charles Ledee • Alan J. Lederman • Elena Ledesma • Alexis Leduc • David S. Lee • Gary H. Lee • Hyun-joon (Paul) Lee • Jong-min Lee • Juanita Lee • Kathryn Blair Lee • Linda C. Lee • Lorraine Lee • Myung-woo Lee • Richard Y.C. Lee • Stuart (Soo-Jin) Lee • Yang Der Lee • Stephen Lefkowitz • Adriana Legro • Edward J. Lehman • Eric Andrew Lehrfeld • David Ralph Leistman • Joseph A. Lenihan • John J. Lennon • John Robinson Lenoir • Jorge Luis Leon • Matthew Gerard Leonard • Michael Lepore • Charles Antoine Lesperance • John D. Levi • Alisha Caren Levin • Neil D. Levin • Robert M. Levine • Robert Levine • Shai Levinhar • Adam J. Lewis • Margaret Susan Lewis • Ye Wei Liang • Orasri Liangthanasarn • Daniel F. Libretti • Ralph M. Licciardi • Edward Lichtschein • Steven B. Lillianthal • Carlos R. Lillo • Craig Damian Lilore • Arnold A. Lim • Darya Lin • Wei Rong Lin • Nickie L. Lindo • Thomas V. Linehan • Robert Thomas Linnane • Alan Linton • Diane Theresa Lipari • Kenneth P. Lira • Francisco Alberto Liriano • Lorraine Lisi • Paul Lisson • Vincent Litto • Ming-Hao Liu • Joseph Livera • Nancy Liz • Harold Lizcano • Martin Lizzul • George A. Llanes • Elizabeth Claire Logler • Catherine Lisa Loguidice • Jerome Robert Lohez • Michael W. Lomax • Laura M. Longing • Salvatore P. Lopes • Daniel Lopez • George Lopez • Luis Lopez • Manuel L. Lopez • Joseph Lostrangio • Chet Louie • Stuart Seid Louis • Joseph Lovero • Michael W. Lowe • Garry Lozier • John Peter Lozowsky • Charles Peter Lucania • Edward (Ted) H. Luckett • Mark G. Ludvigsen • Lee Charles Ludwig • Sean Thomas Lugano • Daniel Lugo • Marie Lukas • William Lum • Michael P. Lunden • Christopher Lunder • Anthony Luparello • Gary Lutnick • Linda Luzzicone • Alexander Lygin • Farrell Peter Lynch • James Francis Lynch • Louise A. Lynch • Michael F. Lynch • Michael Francis Lynch • Michael Lynch • Richard Dennis Lynch • Robert H. Lynch • Sean Patrick Lynch • Sean Lynch • Michael J. Lyons • Monica Lyons • Patrick Lyons

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Catherine Fairfax MacRae • Robert Francis Mace • Jan Maciejewski • Richard B. Madden • Simon Maddison • Noell Maerz • Jeannieann Maffeo • Joseph Maffeo • Jay Robert Magazine • Brian Magee • Charles Wilson Magee • Joseph Maggitti • Ronald E. Magnuson • Daniel L. Maher • Thomas Anthony Mahon • William Mahoney • Joseph Maio • Takashi Makimoto • Abdu Malahi • Myrna T. Maldonado-Agosto • Debora Maldonado • Alfred R. Maler • Gregory James Malone • Edward Francis (Teddy) Maloney • Joseph E. Maloney • Gene E. Maloy • Christian Maltby • Francisco Miguel (Frank) Mancini • Joseph Mangano • Sara Elizabeth Manley • Debra M. Mannetta • Marion Victoria (vickie) Manning • Terence J. Manning • James Maounis • Joseph Ross Marchbanks • Peter Edward Mardikian • Edward Joseph Mardovich • Charles Joseph Margiotta • Kenneth Joseph Marino • Lester Vincent Marino • Vita Marino • Kevin D. Marlo • Jose J. Marrero • John Marshall • James Martello • Michael A. Marti • Peter Martin • William J. Martin • Brian E. 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Murray • Valerie Victoria Murray • Richard Todd Myhre

N
Robert B. Nagel • Takuya Nakamura • Alexander J.R. Napier • Frank Joseph Naples • John Napolitano • Catherine A. Nardella • Mario Nardone • Manika Narula • Narender Nath • Karen S. Navarro • Joseph M. Navas • Francis J. Nazario • Glenroy Neblett • Marcus R. Neblett • Jerome O. Nedd • Laurence Nedell • Luke G. Nee • Pete Negron • Ann Nicole Nelson • David William Nelson • James Nelson • Michele Ann Nelson • Peter Allen Nelson • Oscar Nesbitt • Gerard Terence Nevins • Nancy Yuen Ngo • Jody Tepedino Nichilo • Martin Niederer • Alfonse J. Niedermeyer • Frank John Niestadt • Gloria Nieves • Juan Nieves • Troy Edward Nilsen • Paul R. Nimbley • John Ballantine Niven • Curtis Terrence Noel • Daniel R. Nolan • Robert Walter Noonan • Daniela R. Notaro • Brian Novotny • Soichi Numata • Brian Felix Nunez • Jose R. Nunez • Jeffrey Nussbaum

O
Dennis O'Berg • James P. O'Brien • Michael O'Brien • Scott J. O'Brien • Timothy Michael O'Brien • Daniel O'Callaghan • Dennis J. O'Connor • Diana J. O'Connor • Keith K. O'Connor • Richard J. O'Connor • Amy O'Doherty • Marni Pont O'Doherty • James Andrew O'Grady • Thomas O'Hagan • Patrick O'Keefe • William O'Keefe • Gerald O'Leary • Matthew Timothy O'Mahoney • Seamus L. O'Neal • John P. O'Neill • Peter J. O'Neill • Sean Gordon Corbett O'Neill • Kevin O'Rourke • Patrick J. O'Shea • Robert W. O'Shea • Timothy O'Sullivan • James A. Oakley • Jefferson Ocampo • Douglas Oelschlager • Takashi Ogawa • Albert Ogletree • Philip Paul Ognibene • Joseph J. Ogren • Samuel Oitice • Gerald Michael Olcott • Christine Anne Olender • Elsy Carolina Osorio Oliva • Linda Mary Oliva • Edward K. Oliver • Leah E. Oliver • Eric T. Olsen • Jeffrey James Olsen • Maureen L. Olson • Steven John Olson • Toshihiro Onda • Michael C. Opperman • Christopher Orgielewicz • Margaret Orloske • Virginia A. Ormiston-Kenworthy • Juan Romero Orozco • Ronald Orsini • Peter K. Ortale • Alexander Ortiz • David Ortiz • Emilio (Peter) Ortiz • Pablo Ortiz • Paul Ortiz • Sonia Ortiz • Masaru Ose • James Robert Ostrowski • Jason Douglas Oswald • Michael Otten • Isidro Ottenwalder • Michael Ou • Todd Joseph Ouida • Jesus Ovalles • Peter J. Owens • Adianes Oyola

P
Angel M. Pabon • Israel Pabon • Roland Pacheco • Michael Benjamin Packer • Deepa K. Pakkala • Jeffrey Matthew Palazzo • Thomas Anthony Palazzo • Richard (Rico) Palazzolo • Orio Joseph Palmer • Frank A. Palombo • Alan N. Palumbo • Christopher M. Panatier • Dominique Pandolfo • Paul Pansini • John M. Paolillo • Edward J. Papa • Salvatore Papasso • James N. Pappageorge • Vinod K. Parakat • Vijayashanker Paramsothy • Nitin Parandkar • Hardai (Casey) Parbhu • James Wendell Parham • Debra (Debbie) Paris • George Paris • Gye-Hyong Park • Philip L. Parker • Michael A. Parkes • Robert Emmett Parks • Hasmukhrai Chuckulal Parmar • Robert Parro • Diane Marie Moore Parsons • Leobardo Lopez Pascual • Michael J. Pascuma • Jerrold H. Paskins • Horace Robert Passananti • Suzanne H. Passaro • Victor Antonio Martinez Pastrana • Avnish Ramanbhai Patel • Dipti Patel • Manish K. Patel • Steven B. Paterson • James Matthew Patrick • Manuel Patrocino • Bernard E. Patterson • Cira Marie Patti • Robert Edward Pattison • James R. Paul • Victor Paz-Gutierrez • Patrice Paz • Sharon Cristina Millan Paz • Stacey L. Peak • Richard Allen Pearlman • Durrell Pearsall • Thomas E. Pedicini • Todd D. Pelino • Michel Adrian Pelletier • Anthony Peluso • Angel Ramon Pena • Jose D. Pena • Richard Al Penny • Salvatore F. Pepe • Carl Allen Peralta • Robert David Peraza • Jon A. Perconti • Alejo Perez • Angel Perez • Angela Susan Perez • Anthony Perez • Ivan Perez • Nancy E. Perez • Joseph John Perroncino • Edward J. Perrotta • Emelda Perry • Glenn C. Perry • John William Perry • Franklin Allan Pershep • Daniel Pesce • Michael J. Pescherine • Davin Peterson • William Russel Peterson • Mark Petrocelli • Philip S. Petti • Glen Kerrin Pettit • Dominick Pezzulo • Kaleen E. Pezzuti • Kevin Pfeifer • Tu-Anh Pham • Kenneth John Phelan • Eugenia Piantieri • Ludwig John Picarro • Matthew Picerno • Joseph O. Pick • Christopher Pickford • Dennis J. Pierce • Bernard T. Pietronico • Nicholas P. Pietrunti • Theodoros Pigis • Susan Elizabeth Ancona Pinto • Joseph Piskadlo • Christopher Todd Pitman • Josh Piver • Joseph Plumitallo • John M. Pocher • William Howard Pohlmann • Laurence M. Polatsch • Thomas H. Polhemus • Steve Pollicino • Susan M. Pollio • Joshua Poptean • Giovanna Porras • Anthony Portillo • James Edward Potorti • Daphne Pouletsos • Richard Poulos • Stephen E. Poulos • Brandon Jerome Powell • Shawn Edward Powell • Tony Pratt • Gregory M. Preziose • Wanda Ivelisse Prince • Vincent Princiotta • Kevin Prior • Everett Martin (Marty) Proctor • Carrie B. Progen • David Lee Pruim • Richard Prunty • John F. Puckett • Robert D. Pugliese • Edward F. Pullis • Patricia Ann Puma • Hemanth Kumar Puttur • Edward R. Pykon

Q
Christopher Quackenbush • Lars Peter Qualben • Lincoln Quappe • Beth Ann Quigley • Michael Quilty • James Francis Quinn • Ricardo Quinn

R
Carol Rabalais • Christopher Peter A. Racaniello • Leonard Ragaglia • Eugene J. Raggio • Laura Marie Ragonese-Snik • Michael Ragusa • Peter F. Raimondi • Harry A. Raines • Ehtesham U. Raja • Valsa Raju • Edward Rall • Lukas (Luke) Rambousek • Julio Fernandez Ramirez • Maria Isabel Ramirez • Harry Ramos • Vishnoo Ramsaroop • Lorenzo Ramzey • A. Todd Rancke • Adam David Rand • Jonathan C. Randall • Srinivasa Shreyas Ranganath • Anne Rose T. Ransom • Faina Rapoport • Robert Arthur Rasmussen • Amenia Rasool • Roger Mark Rasweiler • David Alan James Rathkey • William Ralph Raub • Gerard Rauzi • Alexey Razuvaev • Gregory Reda • Sarah (Prothero) Redheffer • Michele Reed • Judith A. Reese • Donald J. Regan • Robert M. Regan • Thomas M. Regan • Christian Michael Otto Regenhard • Howard Reich • Gregg Reidy • James B. Reilly • Kevin O. Reilly • Timothy E. Reilly • Joseph Reina • Thomas Barnes Reinig • Frank B. Reisman • Joshua Scott Reiss • Karen Renda • John Armand Reo • Richard Rescorla • John Thomas Resta • Eduvigis (Eddie) Reyes • Bruce A. Reynolds • John Frederick Rhodes • Francis S. Riccardelli • Rudolph N. Riccio • AnnMarie (Davi) Riccoboni • David Rice • Eileen Mary Rice • Kenneth F. Rice • Vernon Allan Richard • Claude D. Richards • Gregory Richards • Michael Richards • Venesha O. Richards • James C. Riches • Alan Jay Richman • John M. Rigo • James Riley • Theresa (Ginger) Risco • Rose Mary Riso • Moises N. Rivas • Joseph Rivelli • Carmen A. Rivera • Isaias Rivera • Juan William Rivera • Linda Rivera • David E. Rivers • Joseph R. Riverso • Paul Rizza • John Frank Rizzo • Stephen Louis Roach • Joseph Roberto • Leo A. Roberts • Michael Edward Roberts • Michael Roberts • Donald Walter Robertson • Catherina Robinson • Jeffrey Robinson • Michell Lee Robotham • Donald Robson • Antonio Augusto Tome Rocha • Raymond J. Rocha • Laura Rockefeller • John M. Rodak • Antonio Jose Carrusca Rodrigues • David B. Rodriguez-Vargas • Anthony Rodriguez • Carlos Cortez Rodriguez • Carmen Milagros Rodriguez • Gregory E. Rodriguez • Marsha A. Rodriguez • Richard Rodriguez • Matthew Rogan • Karlie Barbara Rogers • Scott Rohner • Keith Roma • Joseph M. Romagnolo • Efrain Franco Romero • Elvin Santiago Romero • James A. Romito • Sean Rooney • Eric Thomas Ropiteau • Wendy Alice Rosario Wakeford • Aida Rosario • Angela Rosario • Mark H. Rosen • Brooke David Rosenbaum • Linda Rosenbaum • Sheryl Lynn Rosenbaum • Lloyd D. Rosenberg • Mark Louis Rosenberg • Andrew I. Rosenblum • Joshua M. Rosenblum • Joshua A. Rosenthal • Richard David Rosenthal • Daniel Rossetti • Norman Rossinow • Nicholas P. Rossomando • Michael Craig Rothberg • Donna Marie Rothenberg • Nick Rowe • Timothy A. Roy • Paul G. Ruback • Ronald J. Ruben • Joanne Rubino • David Michael Ruddle • Bart Joseph Ruggiere • Susan Ann Ruggiero • Adam K. Ruhalter • Gilbert Ruiz • Stephen P. Russell • Steven Harris Russin • Michael Thomas Russo • Wayne Alan Russo • Edward Ryan • John J. Ryan • Jonathan Stephan Ryan • Matthew Lancelot Ryan • Tatiana Ryjova • Christina Sunga Ryook

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Thierry Saada • Jason E. Sabbag • Thomas E. Sabella • Scott Saber • Joseph Sacerdote • Francis J. Sadocha • Jude Elias Safi • Brock Joel Safronoff • Edward Saiya • John Patrick Salamone • Hernando R. Salas • Juan Salas • Esmerlin Salcedo • John Salvatore Salerno • Richard L. Salinardi • Wayne John Saloman • Nolbert Salomon • Catherine Patricia Salter • Frank Salvaterra • Paul R. Salvio • Samuel R. Salvo • Rena Sam-Dinnoo • Carlos Samaniego • James Kenneth Samuel • Michael V. San Phillip • Sylvia San Pio Resta • Hugo Sanay-Perafiel • Alva Jeffries Sanchez • Erick Sanchez • Jacquelyn P. Sanchez • Eric Sand • Stacey Leigh Sanders • Herman Sandler • James Sands • Ayleen J. Santiago • Kirsten Santiago • Maria Theresa Santillan • Susan G. Santo • Christopher Santora • John Santore • Mario L. Santoro • Jorge Octavio Santos Anaya • Rafael Humberto Santos • Rufino Conrado F. (Roy) Santos • Kalyan K. Sarkar • Chapelle Sarker • Paul F. 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Harry Taback • Joann Tabeek • Norma C. Taddei • Michael Taddonio • Keiichiro Takahashi • Keiji Takahashi • Phyllis Gail Talbot • Robert R. Talhami • Sean Patrick Tallon • Paul Talty • Maurita Tam • Rachel Tamares • Hector Tamayo • Michael Andrew Tamuccio • Kenichiro Tanaka • Rhondelle Cherie Tankard • Michael Anthony Tanner • Dennis Gerard Taormina • Kenneth Joseph Tarantino • Allan Tarasiewicz • Ronald Tartaro • Darryl Taylor • Donnie Brooks Taylor • Lorisa Ceylon Taylor • Michael M. Taylor • Paul A. Tegtmeier • Yeshavant Moreshwar Tembe • Anthony Tempesta • Dorothy Temple • Stanley L. Temple • David Tengelin • Brian J. Terrenzi • Lisa Marie Terry • Goumatie T. Thackurdeen • Harshad Sham Thatte • Thomas F. Theurkauf • Lesley Thomas-O'Keefe • Brian T. Thompson • Clive Thompson • Glenn Thompson • Nigel Bruce Thompson • Perry Anthony Thompson • Vanavah Alexi Thompson • William Harry Thompson • Eric Raymond Thorpe • Nichola A. Thorpe • Sal Tieri • John Patrick Tierney • Mary Ellen Tiesi • William R. Tieste • Kenneth F. Tietjen • Stephen Edward Tighe • Scott C. Timmes • Michael E. Tinley • Jennifer M. Tino • Robert Frank Tipaldi • John J. Tipping • David Tirado • Hector Luis Tirado • Michelle Titolo • John J. Tobin • Richard J. Todisco • Vladimir Tomasevic • Stephen K. Tompsett • Thomas Tong • Doris Torres • Luis Eduardo Torres • Amy E. Toyen • Christopher M. Traina • Daniel Patrick Trant • Abdoul Karim Traore • Glenn J. Travers • Walter (Wally) P. Travers • Felicia Traylor-Bass • Lisa L. Trerotola • Karamo Trerra • Michael Trinidad • Francis Joseph Trombino • Gregory J. Trost • William Tselepis • Zhanetta Tsoy • Michael Patrick Tucker • Lance Richard Tumulty • Ching Ping Tung • Simon James Turner • Donald Joseph Tuzio • Robert T. Twomey • Jennifer Tzemis

U
John G. Ueltzhoeffer • Tyler V. Ugolyn • Michael A. Uliano • Jonathan J. Uman • Anil Shivhari Umarkar • Allen V. Upton • Diane Maria Urban

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John Damien Vaccacio • Bradley H. Vadas • William Valcarcel • Mayra Valdes-Rodriguez • Felix Antonio Vale • Ivan Vale • Benito Valentin • Santos Valentin • Carlton Francis Valvo • Erica Van Acker • Kenneth W. Van Auken • Richard Bruce Van Hine • Daniel M. Van Laere • Edward Raymond Vanacore • Jon C. Vandevander • Frederick T. Varacchi • Gopalakrishnan Varadhan • David Vargas • Scott C. Vasel • Azael Ismael Vasquez • Santos Vasquez • Arcangel Vazquez • Peter Anthony Vega • Sankara S. Velamuri • Jorge Velazquez • Lawrence Veling • Anthony M. Ventura • David Vera • Loretta A Vero • Christopher Vialonga • Matthew Gilbert Vianna • Robert A. Vicario • Celeste Torres Victoria • Joanna Vidal • John T. Vigiano • Joseph Vincent Vigiano • Frank J. Vignola • Joseph B. Vilardo • Sergio Villanueva • Chantal Vincelli • Melissa Vincent • Francine A. Virgilio • Lawrence Virgilio • Joseph G. Visciano • Joshua S. Vitale • Maria Percoco Vola • Lynette D. Vosges • Garo H. Voskerijian • Alfred Vukosa

W
Gregory Wachtler • Gabriela Waisman • Courtney Wainsworth Walcott • Victor Wald • Benjamin Walker • Glen J. Wall • Mitchel Scott Wallace • Peter G. Wallace • Robert F. Wallace • Roy Michael Wallace • Jean Marie Wallendorf • Matthew Blake Wallens • John Wallice • Barbara P. Walsh • James Walsh • Jeffrey Patrick Walz • Ching H. Wang • Weibin Wang • Michael Warchola • Stephen Gordon Ward • James A. Waring • Brian G. Warner • Derrick Washington • Charles Waters • James Thomas (Muddy) Waters • Patrick J. Waters • Kenneth Watson • Michael H. Waye • Todd C. Weaver • Walter E. Weaver • Nathaniel Webb • Dinah Webster • Joanne Flora Weil • Michael Weinberg • Steven Weinberg • Scott Jeffrey Weingard • Steven Weinstein • Simon Weiser • David M. Weiss • David T. Weiss • Vincent Michael Wells • Timothy Matthew Welty • Christian Hans Rudolf Wemmers • Ssu-Hui (Vanessa) Wen • Oleh D. Wengerchuk • Peter M. West • Whitfield West • Meredith Lynn Whalen • Eugene Whelan • Adam S. White • Edward James White • James Patrick White • John S. White • Kenneth W. White • Leonard Anthony White • Malissa White • Wayne White • Leanne Marie Whiteside • Mark Whitford • Michael T. Wholey • Mary Lenz Wieman • Jeffrey David Wiener • William J. Wik • Allison M. Wildman • Glenn Wilkinson • John C. Willett • Brian Patrick Williams • Crossley Williams • David Williams • Deborah Lynn Williams • Kevin Michael Williams • Louie Anthony Williams • Louis Calvin Williams • John Williamson • Cynthia Wilson • Donna Wilson • William E. Wilson • David H. Winton • Glenn J. Winuk • Thomas Francis Wise • Alan L. Wisniewski • Frank T. Wisniewski • David Wiswall • Sigrid Charlotte Wiswe • Michael R. Wittenstein • Christopher W. Wodenshek • Martin P. Wohlforth • Katherine S. Wolf • Jennifer Y. Wong • Jenny Seu Kueng Low Wong • Siu Cheung Wong • Yin Ping (Steven) Wong • Yuk Ping Wong • Brent James Woodall • James J. Woods • Patrick Woods • Richard Herron Woodwell • David Terence Wooley • John Bentley Works • Martin Michael Wortley • Rodney James Wotton • William Wren • John Wright • Neil R. Wright • Sandra Wright

Y
Jupiter Yambem • Suresh Yanamadala • Matthew David Yarnell • Myrna Yaskulka • Shakila Yasmin • Olabisi L. Yee • Edward P. York • Kevin Patrick York • Raymond York • Suzanne Youmans • Barrington L. Young • Jacqueline (Jakki) Young • Elkin Yuen

Z
Joseph Zaccoli • Adel Agayby Zakhary • Arkady Zaltsman • Edwin J. Zambrana • Robert Alan Zampieri • Mark Zangrilli • Ira Zaslow • Kenneth Albert Zelman • Abraham J. Zelmanowitz • Martin Morales Zempoaltecatl • Zhe (Zack) Zeng • Marc Scott Zeplin • Jie Yao Justin Zhao • Ivelin Ziminski • Michael Joseph Zinzi • Charles A. Zion • Julie Lynne Zipper • Salvatore J. Zisa • Prokopios Paul Zois • Joseph J. Zuccala • Andrew Steven Zucker • Igor Zukelman

UNITED FLIGHT 93

Christian Adams • Lorraine G. Bay • Todd Beamer • Alan Beaven • Mark K. Bingham • Deora Frances Bodley • Sandra W. Bradshaw • Marion Britton • Thomas E. Burnett • William Joseph Cashman • Georgine Rose Corrigan • Patricia Cushing • Jason Dahl • Joseph Deluca • Patrick Joseph Driscoll • Edward P. Felt • Jane C. Folger • Colleen Laura Fraser • Andrew Garcia • Jeremy Glick • Lauren Grandcolas • Wanda Anita Green • Donald F. Greene • Linda Gronlund • Richard Jerry Guadagno • LeRoy Wilton Homer • Toshiya Kuge • CeeCee Lyles • Hilda Marcin • Waleska Martinez Rivera • Nicole Miller • Louis J. Nacke • Donald Arthur Peterson • Jean Hoadley Peterson • Mark Rothenberg • Christine Anne Snyder • John Talignani • Honor Elizabeth Wainio • Deborah Welsh • Olga Kristin Gould White

AMERICAN AIRLINES FLIGHT 77

Paul W. Ambrose • Yeneneh Betru • Mary Jane (MJ) Booth • Bernard Curtis Brown • Charles F. Burlingame • Suzanne M. Calley • William E. Caswell • David M. Charlebois • Sara M. Clark • Asia S. Cottom • James Daniel Debeuneure • Rodney Dickens • Eddie A. Dillard • Charles A. Droz • Barbara G. Edwards • Charles S. Falkenberg • Dana Falkenberg • Zoe Falkenberg • James Joseph Ferguson • Darlene E. Flagg • Wilson F. Flagg • Richard P. Gabriel • Ian J. Gray • Stanley R. Hall • Michele M. Heidenberger • Bryan C. Jack • Steven D. Jacoby • Ann C. Judge • Chandler R. Keller • Yvonne E. Kennedy • Norma Cruz Khan • Karen Ann Kincaid • Dong Chul Lee • Jennifer Lewis • Kenneth E. Lewis • Renee A. May • Dora Marie Menchaca • Christopher C. Newton • Barbara K. Olson • Ruben S. Ornedo • Robert Penninger • Robert R. Ploger • Zandra F. Ploger • Lisa J. Raines • Todd H. Reuben • John P. Sammartino • Diane M. Simmons • George W. Simmons • Mari-Rae Sopper • Robert Speisman • Norma Lang Steuerle • Hilda E. Taylor • Leonard E. Taylor • Sandra D. Teague • Leslie A. Whittington • John D. Yamnicky • Vicki C. Yancey • Shuyin Yang • Yuguang Zheng

THE PENTAGON

Craig Amundson • Melissa Rose Barnes • Max J. Beilke • Kris Romeo Bishundat • Carrie R. Blagburn • Canfield D. Boone • Diana Borrero de Padro • Donna Bowen • Allen P. Boyle • Christopher Lee Burford • Daniel Martin Caballero • Jose Orlando Calderon-Olmedo • Angelene C. Carter • Sharon A. Carver • John J. Chada • Rosa Maria (Rosemary) Chapa • Julian T. Cooper • Eric A. Cranford • Ada M. Davis • Gerald Francis DeConto • Jerry Don Dickerson • Johnnie Doctor • Robert Edward Dolan • William Howard Donovan • Patrick Dunn • Edward Thomas Earhart • Robert Randolph Elseth • Jamie Lynn Fallon • Amelia V. Fields • Gerald P. Fisher • Matthew Michael Flocco • Sandra N. Foster • Lawrence Daniel Getzfred • Cortez Ghee • Brenda C. Gibson • Ron F. Golinski • Diane M. Hale-McKinzy • Carolyn B. Halmon • Sheila M. S. Hein • Ronald John Hemenway • Wallace Cole Hogan • Jimmie Ira Holley • Angela M. Houtz • Brady K. Howell • Peggie M. Hurt • Stephen Neil Hyland • Robert J. Hymel • Lacey B. Ivory • Dennis M. Johnson • Judith L. Jones • Brenda Kegler • Michael Scott Lamana • David W. Laychak • Samantha L. Lightbourn-Allen • Stephen V. Long • James T. Lynch • Terence M. Lynch • Nehamon Lyons • Shelley A. Marshall • Teresa M. Martin • Ada L. Mason-Acker • Dean E. Mattson • Timothy J. Maude • Robert J. Maxwell • Molly L. McKenzie • Patricia E. (Patti) Mickley • Ronald D. Milam • Gerard (Jerry) P. Moran • Odessa V. Morris • Brian Anthony Moss • Teddington H. Moy • Patrick Jude Murphy • Khang Ngoc Nguyen • Michael Allen Noeth • Chin Sun Pak • Jonas Martin Panik • Clifford L. Patterson • Darin Howard Pontell • Scott Powell • Jack D. Punches • Joseph John Pycior • Deborah A. Ramsaur • Rhonda Sue Rasmussen • Marsha Dianah Ratchford • Martha M. Reszke • Cecelia E. Richard • Edward V. Rowenhorst • Judy Rowlett • Robert E. Russell • William R. Ruth • Charles E. Sabin • Marjorie C. Salamone • David M. Scales • Robert Allan Schlegel • Janice M. Scott • Michael L. Selves • Marian H. Serva • Dan Frederic Shanower • Antionette M. Sherman • Donald D. Simmons • Cheryle D. Sincock • Gregg Harold Smallwood • Gary F. Smith • Patricia J. Statz • Edna L. Stephens • Larry L. Strickland • Kip P. Taylor • Sandra C. Taylor • Karl W. Teepe • Tamara C. Thurman • Otis Vincent Tolbert • Willie Q. Troy • Ronald James Vauk • Karen J. Wagner • Meta L. Waller • Maudlyn A. White • Sandra L. White • Ernest M. Willcher • David Lucian Williams • Dwayne Williams • Marvin R. Woods • Kevin Wayne Yokum • Donald McArthur Young • Edmond G. Young • Lisa L. Young

Very Well, Alone.

2011-08-27T12:54:00.000-07:00

I’m not racist, I’m Southern. There’s a big difference. I don’t defend slavery. I don’t wish the South had won, though I admire the military genius of Robert E. Lee, “Stonewall” Jackson, and Nathan Bedford Forrest, which is the only reason the South lasted as long as it did. The landed plantation gentry (a class almost all of our Founding Fathers were part of, by the way) sent hundreds of thousands to good, honest, poor, working class men on both sides to needless deaths trying to save their leisurely, genteel, land-wasting, entitlement lifestyle that exploited defenseless human beings from across an ocean and well, pretty much everybody else, too, except themselves. Starting the war by firing on Ft. Sumter was the dumbest thing the South could have done. They started a war they couldn’t win. The majority of Confederate soldiers neither owned slaves nor knew anyone who did. These men were the poor, hard-scrabble farmers that my grandparents still were at the turn of the 20^th century, on par with the black family up the road. My Mama told me stories of being given food by a black family when Mama’s family had nothing and the black folks didn’t have much more. All you revisionists, hear this: the Civil War was NOT caused by slavery. It was caused by secession. Lincoln sent the troops in to stop secession. Read the man’s own words. Now, to be sure, slavery caused secession, but it came to blows because Lincoln’s hand was forced by secession and the South's attack on Sumter. The killing of Lincoln was also a terrible thing for the South. Lincoln would have been a strong moderating hand that would have made Reconstruction far easier and less destructive for the South. But there’s no defense for slavery. It was wrong for thousands of years before the war, it was wrong in 1861, and it’s still wrong today in far too many countries where it's still going on right now.

What I DO defend is Southern manners, charm and hospitality. You say “yes sir” and “no ma’am” to anyone older than you, and many who are younger. It’s a sign of respect, a recognition that our God told us to “consider others more than yourself,” and we took Him serious. If you have something that will help your neighbor, you help him. You don’t wait to be called in by FEMA, you don’t make your neighbor sign a waiver, if something needs pickin up, you pick it up, whether anyone is watchin or not. You don’t need someone to praise you to motivate you to do what needs doing. You pull yer own weight and earn the respect of the team. Meanwhile, you respect others; NOT once they earn it, but until they prove their NOT worthy of it.

I’m not rich or uncaring, I’m conservative. I believe the government can’t give you anything it didn’t take away from someone else, and keep a cut for their trouble. I’m TEA, but I’m reasonable and understand that not everyone agrees with me about what needs to happen right NOW. We need to get our runaway government back under control, but we also need more revenue, and that means higher taxes on somebody, or at least, better collection of the taxes we already have, and throw out the lifers in Congress who believe they “work hard” for their $175,000 a year salary (plus premium insurance, PLUS lifetime retirement income I’ll never achieve in a lifelong career in the REAL world). I’m reminded of a saying Abraham Lincoln made when he took office and found that an awful lot of his “supporters” expected cushy government jobs in return: “Too many pigs for the teats.”

I’m not stupid, ignorant or uneducated, I’m country. Even though I grew up in the “big city” of Memphis, my Mama and Daddy raised me to be the kind of people they were: simple, as in uncomplicated. I can’t say I’ve learned every lesson they taught me, even now, at 46, I’m still reminded of things they did and said when I was growing up, even though Mom’s been gone almost 3 years, and Dad nearly 13. They didn’t have Facebook friends, they had face-to-face friends who had forged a real relationship with them over a period of years. My Dad would have thought video games were a pointless waste of time, but he played things with me like “fishing” and “camping,” using actual lures and tents, not Xs, Os, triangles, and squares, sittin on our butts. The only reset button we had was to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and go again. We didn’t get “gamer’s thumb,” we got skinned knees and sore bottoms and tetanus shots.

I was not abused as a child, though I knew the dual purpose of my Dad’s belt or a nice, thin hickory switch. Truth be told, I didn’t get it as often as I deserved it. I ate what my Mama cooked for ALL of us, and was grateful to have it cooked for me. The universal cure for ADHD was to sit down and shut up, and act like you had some raising, and buddy, I did it when I was told to! The universal curfew was the street lights, and somebody’s front yard was our playground. I remember a friend’s Dad cutting the grass shorter by one mower’s width in a diamond shape for “base lines.” My parents knew the parents of my friends from standing around talking to them while we played. Everyone on the street knew who the “bad kid” was and what his parents’ drug of choice was. You didn’t admire the punks, you pitied them, and if you tried to pull the same kinda stuff they did, you got a booster shot of the aforementioned belt/switch.

There’s never a better time to take a stand than when you must stand alone.

I try to be a nice guy, honorable, dependable, and quicker to serve than to be served. I don’t always succeed, and I may have opinions that will make you shake your head and laugh, but they’re MY opinions, usually born out of experience, thought, and investigation. We may disagree, but you have a right to be wrong if you choose. I’m not the handsomest feller you’ll run across, but I’m real. I may look like crap, but it’s MY crap!

All of this is to say, whether you like it, love it, or consider me a mindless, Foxnews-reading, heartless Republican tea-bagger zealot, I don’t care. I didn’t form my opinions to please you. I don’t check the polls to decide what’s right and wrong. Wrong is wrong even if no one stands up for it. There’s never a better time to take a stand than when you must stand alone. To coin a phrase by that great theologian, Popeye; “I yam what I yam.” If you don’t like it, there’s a big wide world out there without me in it. Enjoy yourself. I’ll see you when you come to your senses.

I've got you under my skin (Right lung, to be exact).

2011-08-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

Pulmonary Embolism - "A blockage of the main artery of the lung or one of its branches by a substance that has travelled from elsewhere in the body through the bloodstream (embolism)."

Last Friday, very early in the AM, one of those low single digit hours you didn't realize your clock had two of, I woke up a little chilly. That by itself is unusual, my thermostat usually runs hot, but this one became more unusual as I started shivering. Catching the chills is bad enough, but mine was made worse by a back spasm. Ever had both? At the same time? It's a fun ride, let me tell you. After what seemed like an hour but was probably only a minute or two, I was finally able to relax enough to stop the spasm and chase away the chill.

Woke up as normal about 7, some pain the the right ribs, and behind my right pec (such that it is). Called in to work and laid back down. A little over an hour later, I get a call from work. "Where are you?" "Didn't So-n-so get my voicemail?" "Oh, she's not in today! We knew you wouldn't just 'not show up,' so we were worried" Well, that explains that, so I went back to bed.

About 11:45, I noticed a wheezy crackling noise in my right lung. "Great. Upper resp infection, maybe, MAYBE, a touch of pneumonia. Need antibiotics." Thought I still had some old Amoxicillin, so I VERY nearly blew this off. Good thing I didn't.

Well, the Amox was expired, and hunting online revealed that it's probably too far gone to be effective, So I start getting ready to go to South Salem Urgent Care, I've been there a few times and have never had to wait more than 15 minutes. As I'm gettin dressed, I cough up a nice wad of gunk into the bathroom sink: bright red. Okay, even I'm smart enough to know that ain't right! "Houston, we have a problem."

I hurry on in to SSUC, and the doctor comes in. I describe my symptoms for about 10 seconds, and she writes "ER" on my chart. No, no, I came down here because I DON'T want to go to the ER! She's the first one that says "pulmonary embolism." I wasn't positive what that meant (though my guess was correct), but I knew it wasn't good. So I pile back into my truck and head to the hospital. On the way, some responses come in from my Facebook crew that my suspicions were confirmed and that if they didn't call an ambulance, it must not be immediately life-threatening.

I get to the ER and there's one guy ahead of me: a prison guard who'd been conked on the head. He lifted the gauze pad once, and I could see just a little blood, so he was probably okay, though I never saw him again. They get me into a room, hook all kinds of stuff up and start the Waiting Game for a chest xray and CAT scan. I'm already seein dollar signs rackin up likie the National Debt. But what can you do, right? Coughin up blood isn't a "walk it off, rub some dirt on it" kinda thing. So I get the xray, and Doc says it looks good. That's ONE good thing, at least. And hour or so later, they do my CAT Scan (an american shorthaired named "Bella" if I remember correctly). Now all this time, I have my resident nursing experts, Michael and Deborah Eastes explaining what's going on and what all the big words mean. Then Cindy Culpovich arrives for more moral support, plus a visit from Michael & Deb's daughter-in-law, Carla.

This is a good spot to take a sidebar. I have the absolute BEST Community Group at Morning Star. I know, some of you think YOU have the best, but my folks are leavin ya in the dust, and I told Pastor Wayne that when he dropped by. Michael and Sam are as close to me as brothers; closer, really, since I've never had any contact with my natural, pre-adoption brother. These are men that add a richness to my life that cannot be over-estimated. Half the group ended up visiting me before my stay was over, and the whole group was praying for me. I've led groups like this before, sometimes singles, sometimes couples, sometimes just guys, and I don't in any way mean to denigrate any of the wonderful people who have passed through my life at one time or another. But this group has something really special going on, and it ain't me!

Back to the ER: Doc comes in and says, "Yep, that's a pulmonary embolism, all right." "No, that's the wrong answer! You're supposed to send me home with some pills!" Not this time. Well, crap, I didn't prepare Rascal and Smokey for Dad to be away overnight! Again, the group jumps in, Michael and Deb doing yeoman's work to get Rascal set up. Unfortunately, he was not so keen on the idea. Well, some of it might have had to do with Michael's cane falling next to him, causing him to jump 3 feet in the air and retreat to the corner under the bed. Have I mentioned what a brave little dog I have? He's only 8 pounds, but he's attacked a kid before, thinking the idiot was trying to hurt Elizabeth. He was going down swinging! Fortunately, another CGroup member, Carla (not that same Carla from above), drove down from Portland to take him. He stayed with her for a couple of months back in the winter while I was moving into this new place that allows dogs. He couldn't possibly be in better hands! He loves her and she loves him!

So anyway, I end up spending the weekend in the hospital, the first 2 days in step-down ICU. I dread seeing this bill. I'm guessing $25,000, probably more. But they sprung my on Monday, and although I have to take Coumadin for six months or so, and in the short term, I have to give myself shots of Lovenox in the stomach for a week or so until we get the Coumadin dose regulated. I'll try to post updates every so often, but as of now, it looks like God will put up with me a little longer. Thanks to my family and friends everywhere for your love, support, and prayers!

Cherry-picking the attributes of an Omnipotent God

2011-08-05T19:08:00.000-07:00

How shall we, from whom God has so often withheld the ill we do deserve, complain when He doesn't always give us the good that we don't?

We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering

All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?

What if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough

And all the while You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?

And what if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us, when darkness seems to win
We know the pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the achings of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can’t satisfy?

And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?

Leadership

2011-06-22T18:15:00.000-07:00

The rabble did babble in pointless fury

As the problem lay ignored and still

Opinions launched in a chaotic flurry

Each intent to impose its own will

Argue and argue and argue some more

Seems so hard for sanity to avail

While all around the debating floor

Lay all the wreckage of an oft told tale

Everyone knew what must be done

But no one dared to do it

By hard dirty labor it must be won

But no one would see through it

“We must get to work!” they all cried

But no one budged at all.

‘Cause none of the leaders they espied

Did more than issue the call

Ever higher the rhetoric was raised

Epithets flying in bitter sad song

As though the force of will displayed

Were sufficient to right all that’s wrong

Then somewhere near the side a man

Stepped from the shadows to fore

He said not a word, & raised not a hand

To quiet the din and the roar

He just quietly picked up a tool

And weighed it in his strong grip

Selected a board and a nail and a spool

And a hammer to hang on his hip

Silently he started to build

Unnoticed by the great teeming row

His hand were calloused, his face was filled

With wrinkles, yet strangely unbowed

He drove the nail and sawed the board

And soon had raised a wall

He asked no one to lift even a cord

Or help in any way at all

He soon was mocked and criticized

“How dare you start without us!”

They cursed and spit and spouted lies

“Don’t you know this is all about us?!?”

He paid them not a whit of heed

And kept his head bent to his work

He sawed and nailed, a steep price indeed

In sweat and blood and hurt

His attackers soon grew tired of him

“We’ll leave him here to rot!

“A model for fools, with wisdom slim!”

And they all walked away and forgot

But soon the man felt a soft breeze

Cooling the sweat on his brow

As a younger man quietly rolled up his sleeves

And set his hand to the plow

He said not a word, needed no inspiration

He simply took up the burden of toil

He followed along with no consternation

And didn’t care if his hands he did soil.

Soon other joined with no thought of gain

They had not a care for who might

Deride or applaud their efforts, not in vain

Tho’ they may be in some slacker’s dim sight

Their leader gave no indication

That he’d needed their help from the start

He simply worked with determination

And berated no one else’s small part

He did not command, no glory did sell

Certain that others like he would savor

The satisfaction of hard work done well

The peaceful sleep of an honest days’ labor

The work was not glamorous or high spoken

Few indeed noticed at all

He lost track of the tools that were broken

And hours spent sharpening his saw

The moral of my story ‘tis true

And not easily swept away

People will notice what you do

Long before they will hear what you say.

An old wise saying comes now to my mind

Though I’ve forgotten now just who ‘twas that said it

It’s amazing what will work out just fine

If you don’t care who takes the credit.

The Time Machine

2011-06-10T21:25:00.000-07:00

He built himself a time machine

when he was only three

And only just beginning to think always first of “me.”

He thought “how fun to skip the baths, the broccoli, the chores!”

A veritable thinking prodigy, beyond all childlike mores.

“I’ll skip just little things,” he said, “like visits from my aunts

Unpleasant early bedtimes, and undesired naps.”

I’ll miss nothing important,” he thought with confidence sublime

Sure of where the grand devise could take him fro in time

When in three days his fifth birthday party would draw near

He slipped into his time machine and quickly disappeared!

When stepping out he heard his mother’s voice ring loud and true

“Hurry up or we’ll be late, we’re all waiting on you!”

After birthday then came Christmas, his presents lined the wall!

“Surely one less week of life doesn’t matter now at all!”

So he skipped twenty-one, twenty-two December, twenty-three, then twenty-four

And hopped out of his time machine to a bright, clear Christmas morn!

On to kindergarten he ran, and saw with envious eyes

How all the first-graders towered above all the lowly kids his size

“I’ll just skip half a year,” he said, “then make it up one day

When all the games will be for me more fun to get to play.”

So first grade came and first grade went, as grades are wont to do

But school felt more like punishment, confinement in a zoo!

He saw how junior high kids played at sports, all real not make believe

And temptation sore arose once more his little mind to deceive.

Then freshmen year, my God, which one of US would not skip past?!?

Missing out only on wedgies and noogies and sophmores’ scornful blast!

“If I’m ever to have any fun,” he thought, “independence, I must find!”

So he rode his time machine once more, into the graduation line.

He had to admit, college could be fun, “but always broke, are we!”

“A job, a JOB is what I must have to satisfy my need!”

So he skipped four years of college and began to interview

For jobs that seemed so exciting, and an office with a view!

Well, not so much a view, per se, but a window he could see

From his little cube, “fifth one on the left hand side, that’s me!”

He was on his way up, for sure, climbing corporate ladders tall,

But each time his ladder always seemed leaned against the wrong wall.

“I’ll skip just one more year,” he said “no more than two or three”

“I’ll have a much better job to start to raise a family.”

Then came the nights of crying babe, up at three, then again at five

He lost track of all the nights he skipped, waiting for new teeth to arrive

He read too many bedtime stories, and so he skipped that time, though only slight

Coming back just in time to kiss a sleeping toddler “good night.”

When time for t-ball came at last he found no fun or learning there

So let’s just skip on over “coach-pitch” to the real competition where

His talents would be more appreciated, a boon to his son’s coach

Only finding he’d skipped all the years he’d found a tedious reproach

He’d skipped out, too, on the love he knew he once saw in his young bride’s eyes

So the service papers and brand new locks were not a complete surprise.

The squabbles and lawyers and bitterness drove him to the brink of despair

Who can blame him for deciding to skip to the end of that affair?

The loneliness in his little shack was a deafening silent dread

With no more smeared hand prints on windows, or stale left-open bread

“Surely I’ll be happy when I can retire, with no more daily toil!

My son and daughter will by then have given me grandchildren to spoil!

Now the time machine lies dusty, an ill-fated, hateful thing

For when he added up all the life he’d skipped, it left him not one thing

He found he’d skipped so much of life, he was but twenty-three

Trapped in a body old and frail, ears deaf, no eyes to see

There was only one more destination the damned machine could provide

So he entered that infernal box one last time, a one-way ticket to ride.

"I Love Me Some Rednecks!"

2011-06-01T18:45:00.000-07:00

Moulton [AL] Advertiser

Loretta Gillespie

May 7, 2011

"I Love Me Some Rednecks"

"Most all of us around here have born the brunt of remarks from people outside Lawrence County about being rednecks. Well, I'm here to tell you right now that I love me some Lawrence County rednecks!

Rednecks have Polan chainsaws, bulldozers, four-wheelers and big ol' trucks - and they know how to use 'em. They aren't afraid of getting dirty or of hard work.

As soon as the wind died down, they were the first ones out there, clearing the roads for emergency vehicles to get to where they needed to be. They were standing up to their knees in debris so that people could get out of their driveways. They were checking on neighbors who lived in the hardest hit areas where cars and normal vehicles didn't stand a chance.

If you were the victim of the storm and found your driveway miraculously cleared, you can thank a redneck. If you have a brush pile a mile high and you didn't do it yourself, you can thank a redneck. If someone brought you a shirt to put on your back that day, or hauled your furniture to a storage facility, you can probably thank a redneck.

Those good ol' boys waded through water filled with gas and glass, nails and torn tin roofs and no telling what else to offer assistance to people stranded in the rubble of their homes. They wore camo jackets and John Deere caps, spit tobacco and more than likely did a little cussing, but they got the job done, and they are the ones who are still out there cutting up trees and burning brush long into the night, just as they have been ever since the storms hit.

They didn't wait to be asked...they just 'got 'er done' in the true sense of the phrase. They didn't stand around jawing and waiting for someone else to take charge, they went to work doing what they do best - moving earth, pushing aside massive trees with root systems as big around as a VW, and tossing aside boards with splinters the size of kitchen knives.

And they did all this without any thought of their own comfort or safety. They put their scuffed cowboy boots and worn work boots on the ground and tread across roof beams and unsteady floors to make sure there was no one left inside the wreckage of everything from two –story brick houses to mobile home and barns. They already had a flashlight and a pocket knife with them.

They rounded up their neighbor's cattle and horses and coaxed kittens out of trees where the wind had tossed them and they cried like babies when they found someone's hunting dog broken and bleeding.

They waded into poultry houses and caught terrified chickens, and tossed mountains of dead ones onto piles to burn. They began to hang tarps and nail plywood over broken windows to save their cousins and other kin folk's belongings. They didn't stop for hours on end, hooking chains to cars, trees and any and everything that had landed helter-skelter as the tornados tore through.

Rednecks just show up when there is work to be done. They drive up and with a silent nod, they just pitch in, salvaging refrigerators and hooking up generators. They don't care if they look cool and they don't have to shave before they leave the house. They are tough as nails and love their mamas fiercely. They still say 'Yes, ma'm' and 'No, sir,' to anyone older than they are. They eat cornbread and pinto beans and drink tea so sweet a spoon will stand straight up in the glass. They sweat and swear and have grease under their nails sometimes. They can deliver a calf and half an hour later be sitting in church, scrubbed to a fare-the-well. And did they ever save the day when the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed and the wind knocked down the houses where they were born.

They don't do it for the glory, and wouldn't dream of taking a dime for it, and are sometimes even offended if someone asks how much they are owed 'cause that's what rednecks do - they drive loud trucks, bobcats and front-end loaders, they crank cantankerous chain saws and they know the feel of rope burns and blistered faces. They get those red necks from the sun beating down relentlessly as they labor in the dust and smoke from all the brush fires. They think sun-screen is for sissies and they don't worry much about anti-bacterial soap or drink fruit- flavored water.

Give me a Lawrence County (or any Alabama county) redneck any day when trouble comes – when fences get blown over and the lights go out, and there are trees and houses strewn like matchsticks as far as the eye can see, what in the world would we do without these Alabama rednecks?

Thanks to all of you dear rednecks, you deserve medals for what you have done in the past few weeks. And don't you think the world didn't notice, they did. In fact, somebody is probably writing a country song about you as you read this."

Please, don't say you're with me.

2011-05-20T18:41:00.000-07:00

Several hundred million Christians have managed to pass the preceding 7 days without doing anything to make a mockery of the Name of Christ or the Second Coming. We've fed the hungry, brought medicine to the sick, comforted the broken-hearted, and encouraged the down-trodden. We've been good friends, neighbors, co-workers, and students. We prayed for our families, our leaders, and our troops. We've waited, as has every generation since Christ's ascension, for the hope He has promised us: that there will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears. We've quietly told those around us that there is Hope, and that Hope can be found the same place we found it; in the Name and Person of Jesus Christ, our Living Saviour, and our soon-coming King. Not one of those I've just mentioned, including myself, has made news. Instead, a group of, at best, misguided zealots, and at worst, outright MORONS, have proved to the watching world that Christ definitely will NOT return tomorrow, for of "that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." You have served only to provide an entertaining sideshow to those who scoff at your "faith." When you stand before God, and you surely will, even as I and everyone else will, and He asks you why He should allow you into heaven, I pray you have a better answer than "I made the home page of CNN dot com!

Cultures Clash as the Border War Heats Up.

2011-05-03T19:24:00.000-07:00

On the 24th inst., my men and I set out with a retinue of cavalry and archers to the area near Gretna, having heard that a tasty morsel of ill-equipped, ill-fed, and ill-led Scots refuse was ripe for the picking, having set its meager sights on DeSpencershire, our lord’s small keep and outlying base of operations built near the ruins of the old Buxley Church. A contingent of about 20 archers accompanied us, drawn up to the southwest of the plain between DeSpencershire and Boglachburn. We also pressed into service a small group of peasants armed with javelin and ax. A pitiful group of “warriors,” these, but the price was right; free.

The poor Scots fools anchored two skiltrons by a swamp to the south and a patch of woodlands to the north. These spearmen appeared unusually well disciplined, for Scots, and may have made a sporting obstacle… if our fine cavalry had ever had any intention to charge.

They may have remained there for time immemorial for all we cared, for they were no threat to us whatever hemmed about on two sides as they were, and exposed to arrows raining from the heavens, launched by our peasant archers that acquitted themselves well.

But our true attention was focused on the mob of mindless rabble drawn up in the woods on the right flank of the two skiltrons.

Lord Locksley brought his swordsmen and archers to the field north of us, on the other side of Buxley Church, ready to rain sharply pointed misery on the upstarts as soon as they made their move.

As the battle began to unfold, we dispatched a group of 10 experienced archers to the top of the keep, an excellent vantage point from which to shower death upon the enemies of the King. Our remaining longbowmen moved into position around and behind the stone wall of the DeSpencershire longhouse. Our cavalry, including myself riding, Brego, who has been my friend and ally through many dangers, sallied forth across a small rise and deployed into a line out of reach of anything the enemy could bring to bear at the moment, whereupon we suddenly halted. Lockesly’s archers and our own began an antiphonal chorus of twinging bows into the skiltrons, and picked off several with each volley.

Meanwhile, the poorly disciplined Scots advanced to the edge of Boglachburn, and inexplicably stopped, although the stream is entirely fordable, being a mere two feet or so deep and less than 5 paces across. Lord Ingram advanced with the cavalry and stopped roughly 20 paces distant and facing the mob, and for several tense minutes, neither side advanced, although our missiles continued to drop wooden rain into the skiltrons.

Seeing that our cavalry had failed to produce a proper reaction from the Scots, Lord Ingram ordered the peasants to mount a charge upon the mob at the water’s edge.

He knew that Scots, being less intelligent and disciplined soldiers than any fighting unit Lord DeSpencer might have formed from the nearby cattle, would not be able to resist the urge to charge head-on at such a tempting target.

His analysis was, of course, correct, and soon the Scot peasants crossed the stream and broke into a run. The peasants were cut to ribbons, of course, but the men suffered not so much as a hangnail. My lord was about to order the cavalry to charge the unruly bunch when it became clear that their momentum, and bloodlust, would bring them to us where we stood! Lord Ingram ordered swords drawn and for us to stand our ground. The ruffians crashed into our line with a mighty clang of iron, steel, and wood.

Whether by design or by chance, Lord Ingram found himself alone facing three of these vermin, when two very lucky spear thrusts pierced his armor at the joints of the shoulder, and he fell together with his mount, both mortally wounded. As though we needed further exhortation, the death of our champion enraged those of us that remained, and we cut down the murderers to a man.

Having wiped out half of their total forces in the field, we reformed our line and prepared to deal with the skiltrons. As their position atop the keep, our most skilled archers were out of position to be effective, and since the Scots posed no threat, we signaled that we would wait a moment, so they could come down and join the festivities.

But before they could arrive, the Scots wisely fled the field, and we turned our full attention to tending to our beloved leader, who died in my arms where he had fallen, His blood shall be avenged, Scots mongrels!

My yoke is easy... is yours?

2011-03-29T19:11:00.001-07:00

Lost amid the din and roar

A still small voice is here once more

Inviting me to come and rest

As one who truly could be blessed

But do I listen? Do I slow?

Too often still, the answer's no.

I've things to do, places to be

Expectations weigh sore on me.

For one who's drunk the draft of life

Other waters I still seek to soothe my strife.

Instead of seeking His load so light,

I shoulder my own with all my might

Though I always stumble, always fall

I still pretend I can handle it all

"I'm fine" I cry when friends do ask

"I'm up to the challenge! I'm up to the task!"

Weak and frail I dare not appear!

What would they think if they could
see in here?

Here where my darkest pains inside,

From my own self I try to hide.

I dare not seek His blessed rest

Lest I should fail to pass the test

If only I could for once just see

It is in my weakness He wants to be

Closer than a brother dear

The One to banish all doubt and fear.

Sweet waters of life and eyes to see

He freely offers you and me.

For one who's debt by Him was borne

I still yet fear the Accuser's scorn

When right there all along has been

A Father to welcome this prodigal in.

The Mountain

2011-03-25T18:16:00.000-07:00

I paused on my trail up the mountain vale

and looked back at the valley below

all the days I’d seen when eyes were keen

and the things I’d come to know.

I saw glints atop the places I’d stopped

where a life I'd tried to build

of hardships borne and hopes betorn

and promises unfulfilled.

Back then the end seemed far round the bend

I’d no thought for what I might find

whence came the days when I surely faced

fewer steps ahead than behind.

I saw rocks a’hewn and rubble strewn

where I’d struggled and where I fell

their imprints there and everywhere

each with its own tale to tell.

I saw a few sweet springs of dew

and joys I’d thought would last.

Never once did I fear those things so dear

could become part of ages past.

The mountain crest seemed at its best

foggy and unclear.

Too late I turned to lessons learned

until ‘twas too late for fear.

Now I can see with eyes that be

growing dim at an e'er quicker pace

that the paths I tried in foolish pride

left scars naught can erase.

The mountain looms with unknown dooms

though I know not what may befall.

Will I die so weak on that summit peak

still looming so grand and tall?

Or will I fall short, with no resort

by chance or pain or choice?

Will evil’s lure reach premature

to silence my wondering voice?

I’m rested now more, though my burden sore

lie heavier than I could have dreamed

when the mountain tall seemed almost all

ahead of me unseen.

But shouldering my pack, with one last look back

I set out on the trail once more

for no power of man can change the plan

that drives me on as before.

I cannot go back, though there’s no lack

of good intentions and regrets.

Nor can I lie and wait here to die

and loose life’s cruel fetts.

No, my only choice is to make my voice

more determined than before

to say what I must, to do what is just

and continue my climbing chore.

I can only host the trailing ghosts

that trod my long worn road

and make small amends, and where I can, make friends

to lighten each other’s load.

A New Chapter Begins in the Wilderness of Ziph.

2011-01-26T20:25:00.001-08:00

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”
Bilbo Baggins

When I moved into my apartment at The Lee a little over 2 years ago, I named it The Cave of Adullam, hearkening back to the life of Israel’s exiled anointed-but-as-yet-uncrowned King David in the Old Testament book of I Samuel. Like David, things hadn’t gone like I thought they would or wanted them to, and a period of exile began. During my wanderings in the cave, I have seen God answer many seemingly impossible prayers, as well as a few that have been, from a human perspective, “unanswered.” I’ve encountered challenges I never anticipated, and have developed a self-protective tendency to turn inward, something I was always sort of inclined to do; I’ve always been sort of a loner. But I’ve also met some terrific people I probably would never have met any other way, folks who love me and encourage me, and challenge me when need be.

When David finally left the Cave of Adullam, where he had been hiding from Saul for months, he moved on to the Wilderness of Ziph, a desert area southeast of Hebron, the site of the ancient city of Ziph, and near the modern Palestinian settlement of about 900 by the same name, in the Hebron Governorate in the southern West Bank, The Sovereign Nation of Israel. He was visited there by then-King Saul’s son, Jonathan, a man dearer to David than his own brothers, although Jonathan was likely significantly older than David. Throughout their friendship, Jonathan assisted David, encouraged him, cared for him, and loved him, until the two were bonded by ties stronger than blood. I’m happy to say I have a “Jonathan,” a pair of them, actually. Men who, although they’re a few years older than me, have tremendous common ground with me, and who challenge me, sometimes in words, but more often simply in the way they live their lives, to put feet to my faith, and keep going when the going isn’t easy.

I’m moving this weekend, leaving the Cave and beginning a new chapter in this unfolding story in a new apartment in West Salem. It will afford much more room for me and the kids when they visit, and provide more opportunities to have friends over, for whatever reason I’d ever do that. Financially, it’s pretty much a wash, since I can ditch my storage unit and won’t need three rolls of quarters each month for laundry. I’ll also be able to bring my dog home, after a few months in the loving care of another of those terrific people I mentioned earlier. I’m naming the new place The Wilderness of Ziph, and changing the title of my blog to “Wand’rings in the Wilderness of Ziph.” David left Adullam to be a king. But leaving the Cave didn’t immediately produce a crown. He spent a period of time wandering around Ziph, even being betrayed into Saul’s hands by the Ziphites. 1 Samuel 23 tells how “God hid David” in the wilderness. Notice the subject of the action verb. David didn’t hide himself, God hid him. He [God] also rallied more people to David’s side and added a couple of wives, including David’s beloved Abigail. Is there an Abigail in this wilderness? I don’t know, and in any event there wouldn’t be more than one, but in some ways, I’m not sure I want to even go there.

David spent many years anointed as king, but unable to take the throne. He had to endure a period of exile, first in the cave, then in the wilderness, then in battle. During this time, God honed him into “a man after God’s own heart.” David fought against the unjust ruler who sought his life (Saul), liberated the weak (Keilah) from their oppressors (Philistines), and developed patience and a heart of praise and trust in God (many of David’s psalms were written during this time). It wasn’t easy. Caves are not comfortable, and barren deserts are not scenic. In the Middle East, wildernesses are not lush forests, they are dry, arid, deserted places. But David learned by experience that the mercies of God are new every morning (Lam. 3:22-23), there are friends who stick closer than brothers (Prov. 18:24), God takes note of even the least of His own (Matt. 10:29), and that if you…

“Make thankfulness your sacrifice to God, and keep the vows you made to the Most High, Then call on Me when you are in trouble, and I will rescue you and you will give Me glory.” (Psalm 50:14-15)

Will I do the same? Follow along and see.

Movin on in the wilderness of Ziph

2011-01-12T21:40:00.000-08:00

The Bible tells us in the story of the Prodigal Son about a young man who thought he knew what life was all about. He thought he knew where to find adventure, and excitement, and fulfillment... and it sure wasn't sittin at home with Mom and Dad. So he struck out on his own and lived that hedonistic lifestyle.

But when he came to the end of himself he found that it left him empty, not only his stomach, but also his soul. We're not told, but I suspect if he was like most of us, for some period of time, he sat there. First feeling sorry for himself, then slowly realizing, he was just harvesting those wild oats he had sown. And feeling too ashamed and unworthy to admit his Father was right and go back to his house, he sat there.

But at some point he realized if you keep doing what you've always done you'll keep getting what you've always gotten, and that nothing was going to change, until he did. And when he finally got sick and tired of being sick and tired,

he got up,

he dusted himself off,

and he went home.

An Act of WAR!!

2011-01-06T18:16:00.001-08:00

I, Eleazar, commander of forces loyal to Lord DeSpencer of Ainwick, by order of my lord, attached to the service of Lord Lockesley, to assist him in enforcing laws forbidding the peasants to assemble themselves without permission of the Crown, entered the woods south of Dumphries, in the company of Lord Lockesley and two fellow knights, named Guiles and Lambert.

Approaching from the west, we observed two clerics preaching to a group of peasants.

As ordered, we concealed ourselves at the edge of the woods and waited. If the peasants peaceably dispersed when confronted by their treason, they may be allowed to go home.

As we waited in concealment, Lord Lockesley rode boldly forward, crying "In the Name of the King..."

His cry was suddenly silenced as the peasants began to flee in all directions.

We watched in horror as Lockesley fell mortally wounded from the saddle! But from our distant vantage point, I could not immediately determine the source of the danger. I raised my sword to order our men forward in defense of the emissaries of the King, and took one last second to determine the proper angle of assault.

From across the field, I spotted the source of the peasants' terror: Riders, Irish by my reckon, and six in number. I prepared to sound the charge to dispatch these brigands.

I watched our two remaining knights for their lead, but they seemed transfixed by the body of Lockesley. Their hesitance cast a shadow across my own heart.

Suddenly, the event took on a new clarity as I spotted Lockesley's murderers: French crossbows, occupying the high ground to the south of the battle (for it now surely was one, and no longer a simple police action). I could see they were preparing to fire again, what would surely be a murderous rain from their perch high above an excellent field of fire. In an instant, my plan changed with the fluidity of the situation, and I prepared to order my men southeast to attack the shooters by a fearless charge up the more gentle slope behind the crossbowmen.

To my great dismay, as I turned to issue the order to charge, I caught a glimpse of yellow to the north: Lord Lambert was fleeing, lying close along the neck of his mount to hasten his departure and save his own skin. Guiles, too, had fled, but I could see he had turned to rally, finding his courage too late.

With our employer dead, and both his compatriots fled (at the time), we no longer had orders in this matter. Though I certainly recognize our loyalty to the King, mercenaries that we are, suicidal charges command a higher price than we were being paid. I sounded the retreat and lagged behind my men to see if the enemy would pursue.

The dogs pursued as far as the woods, but then contented themselves to despoil the body of the valiant Lockesley. I led my men south to report the villianous acts of these foreigners to the Crown. It was heard more than once within my hearing that Scotland would pay for this act of open WAR! As a mercenary, I have found that BOTH sides pay, and pay handsomely.

Usurpers and Trespassers in the Scottish woods

2010-12-19T16:49:00.000-08:00

It was a cold, windy day in the Scottish highlands as our party set out on a hunting expedition. With the other two knights and myself, Almaric was in charge of 4 archers, one mercenary javelinman working off a debt to me, and and unlucky peasant who met my gaze as we rode past on the road. For his impudence, he would be charged to dress our kill.

As we approached the woods, Roberge and I rode to the left to drive game along the woods to our waiting attackers deployed just west of a small rise in a clearing which was to become our killing zone. As Roberge left my line of sight around the north edge of the woods, I heard him cry out and fill the air with curses! Thinking him to have blundered into some sort of ignominious injury, I turned my mount to follow at a walk, but I soon heard him cry "Archers!" then, "B@astards!" as swords clashed!

Rounding the northwest edge of the trees, I found Roberge engaged with two horsemen, whose colors I did not recognize. I also spotted two archers atop what we had assumed was a badly damaged and abandoned small keep. Worse, 4 more of these interlopers were crossing the plain opposite the woods, racing to the keep with the other squatters.

Almaric had spotted the 4 newcomers and deployed his archers on the small rise to the south, where he had a clear view of the plain and 4 runners. His longbowmen unleashed a murderous volley, taking down one and forcing his fellows to carry him up the stairs into the keep, where they could be dispatched at our leisure soon enough.

With the archers' success, all that remained was to dispatch the two usurpers harassing Roberge, which were soon hopelessly outnumbered and would surely have fallen had we not pitied their poor equipment and obvious lack of martial skills. We magnanimously offered to allow them to yield and spare their wives the status of "widow," provided they would order their associates in the tower to do likewise. One of them appeared to be of low birth, but one claimed to be of great worth and a valuable ransom. We shall see.

How will you be remembered?

2010-12-09T18:10:00.000-08:00

Former University of Florida football coach Urban Meyer shows reporters the Gators' "Rub & Pat" drill.

I don’t often share articles cut-&-paste style from other sources, but this one is as eloquently stated as can be expected in the sports realm, and contains a message for every husband and father who works to make a living for his family. Yes, you have a responsibility to put food on tables, clothes on backs, and roofs over heads, and men who, for reasons within their control, abdicate that responsibility should be publicly humiliated and criminally liable. But when enough is enough, and your family doesn’t need one more toy, or one more trip, or one more luxury, recognize that what your family also needs, and for which they have no substitute, is YOU. While you’re busy making a living, don’t forget to make a life.

© Andy Staples, Sports Illustrated

GAINESVILLE, Fla. -- "Hopefully, he means it this time.

When Urban Meyer resigned as Florida's coach on Dec. 26, 2009, a health scare had convinced him he should spend time with his family because he didn't know exactly how much he had left. He would later call that resignation a "knee-jerk reaction."
But maybe the knee-jerk reaction was Meyer's decision on Dec. 27, 2009 to return to the Gators. Maybe he made the correct decision the first time.

When Meyer resigned as Florida's coach on Dec. 8, 2010, he said he needed to spend time with his family. He has a wife, Shelley, two daughters, Nicki and Gigi, and a son, Nate. Nicki is a sophomore volleyball player at Georgia Tech. Gigi is a high school senior about to leave for Florida Gulf Coast University, where she also will play volleyball. Meyer said he never saw them play in high school. "I can't get that time back," he said Wednesday.

"Sometimes, we make it too complex," Meyer said. "At the end of the day, I'm very convinced that you're going to be judged by how you are as a husband and as a father and not by how many bowl games you've won."

The cynical will assume Meyer quit because his team went 7-5 this season and he can't handle losing. Listening to the man Wednesday, he didn't seem nearly as worried about the games he'd lost as much as the moments he had lost. Meyer has spent the past 10 years building programs, first at Bowling Green and then at Utah and then at Florida. All the while, Shelley raised their children.

A year ago, I didn't quite understand Meyer's original decision to resign. My own son was only a few months old, and my job hadn't required me to be away very much.

I understand this time. According to the Marriott Web site, by the end of this calendar year, I will have spent an average of three nights a week in a hotel room. When my son's first tooth broke through, I learned of it from a picture sent to my cell phone while interviewing players at the Senior Bowl. The first time he made a noise that sounded an awful lot like the word "Daddy," I was in a hotel room in Los Angeles.

The difference between Meyer's job and mine is that I get the other four days. I saw my son stand for the first time. I saw him take his first steps -- and I got to be the one to send the cell-phone video. Meyer never got those other days. Coaching Florida -- or any top-shelf college football program -- is a 24/7/365 grind. Not one moment passes when that person isn't the Head Coach of the Florida Gators.

He missed a lot. Time flew as he won two national titles, two SEC titles and coached a Heisman Trophy winner. Wednesday, Meyer recalled that six years and one day had passed since he had stood in the same spot and promised to return Florida's football program to national prominence. As Meyer noted the time, daughter Gigi mouthed the word, "Wow."

It is amazing so much time has passed so quickly. Six years ago this month, I sat in the food court of a Salt Lake City mall with Shelley, Nicki and Gigi Meyer while working on a story on the family of Florida's new coach for The Tampa Tribune. Meyer's daughters were just kids. Today, they're women. And he missed most of the transition. That has to break a father's heart.

Maybe that's part of the reason why Florida lost five games this season. Meyer the fire-breather never really came back after the first resignation. Doctors had discovered the esophageal spasms that caused his constant chest pain and prescribed him medication to control it, but maybe he also got dosed with perspective. At some point, he must have realized that football wasn't as important to him as it was before. Otherwise, he wouldn't have decided this week to leave the Gators for good.
Meyer attributed the program's slide to a churn of assistant coaches that left the Gators with a raw staff this season, and he's probably correct that the new mix of personalities and responsibilities played a role. So, too, did the departure of quarterback Tim Tebow and a group that seemed born to win.

"It has to be fixed," Meyer said of Florida's program. "It's a little bit broke right now."

The man who fixes it must be willing to accept that 24/7/365 responsibility. At times this season, Meyer didn't seem willing to accept that responsibility. One example is when Meyer elected to allow junior Chris Rainey back on the team after Rainey had text-messaged a death threat to a woman. When Meyer made that controversial choice, who was the first representative of the Florida football program to answer reporters' questions? Not the guy who makes more than $4 million a year. It was offensive coordinator Steve Addazio, who had enough questions to answer about an offense that couldn't move the ball to worry about responding to queries that should have been directed at the head coach.

"Florida deserves the best," Meyer said Wednesday. "I'm not sure we gave them our best."

Hopefully, Meyer means what he said Wednesday. Hopefully, he will spend time with his family. Hopefully, he will take in college volleyball games next fall in Atlanta and in Fort Myers. Hopefully, the only coaching he does for a while will be for Nate Meyer's youth-league teams. Hopefully, he'll keep his pledge to help Florida locate a suitable replacement.

If Meyer winds up on a sideline again in a year or two, shame on us for believing he had his priorities in order. If he does some light television or consulting work and then spends the rest of his time with his wife and children for a few years before he throws himself back into the meat grinder, good for him. He has worked hard to provide financial security for his family. Now he needs to enjoy being a husband and a dad.

Meyer made the correct choice when he resigned last year. It only took him 347 days to realize it."

Effin around

2010-11-13T11:52:00.000-08:00

This post started on one subject, and then segued into another and another. Fasten your seatbelts, we’re gonna go toe-stepping.

On the way to work one recent morning, I heard a little bit of the new Blake Shelton/Miranda Lambert song, “Draggin the River.” It begins with the idea that Blake has asked Miranda’s Dad for her hand in marriage, a quaint little idea that my daughter still thinks I’m joking about requiring of her future fiancé. Long story short, Miranda’s Dad, to put it mildly, disapproved, so they hatch a plot to fake their deaths while they run off to get married. Blake comments on their brilliant scheme by saying, “that’ll show that son-of-a-b!tch!”

Then I get to work, and the front page of that previous Sunday’s Oregonian had the gripping story of a Portland police officer who faced down a homicidal man with a knife and had to kill him. In quoting the officer, they printed: “'Oh, sh!t' is the only way to say it," [expletive NOT deleted in the paper]. Don’t misunderstand me; I am not in any way faulting the officer for his language in that situation. I’ve never been seriously threatened physically (not since high school anyway), nor faced (thank God) the decision to use deadly force against another human being (though I do have my Oregon CHL). Considering the magnitude of the situation, the officer’s language was mild.

I’m not a prude. I’ll slip a mild curse word in every now and then, myself (as my daughter delights in pointing out). But I can remember when you used to at least NOTICE curse words! I draw that line at two words myself: F-bombs and G**d***, both of which I find offensive, and I don't think I'm alone... yet. Part of my reaction to the Shelton/Lambert song (which I am not critiquing here, as I’ve heard literally nothing more of the song than I’ve shared) could be the fact that as a Dad of a priceless daughter that I would die/kill for without a second thought, I’m the SOB in that story. But that’s not all. I’ve commented in this space and others before about how casually people out here in the Pacific North Wet (sic) fling F-bombs around. I’m waiting to hear someone walking down the street refer to sexual activity as “effin effin that effer!” Words that once raised eyebrows and caused debate have devolved to the status of potholes in our audible road. We might hear them; but unless they’re aimed at us, we don’t pay them much attention.

Anyone else old enough to remember the first time SOB was used on television without being bleeped? It was during the eighth season of the stridently anti-war M*A*S*H* (I still love the show, even though I now disagree with some of their “morality plays"). In an episode entitled “Guerilla My Dreams,” Hawkeye leveled it at a South Korean interrogator. I was young, but I remember the uproar it caused. Commentary ranged from “it’s not that big of a deal” to “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It” (apologies to R.E.M. and Leonard Bernstein). Even George Carlin’s “Seven Words,” which once got him arrested following a live performance, are becoming fair game. As much as I love the series “Band of Brothers” (another case of perfectly understandable coarse language), I was a little disappointed that “G**d***” was not bleeped, nor anything else except “f*ck,” as near as I could tell.

But it’s not just cursing, and here’s our first sharp curve. Our public discourse is becoming increasingly base, vulgar, and bitterly divisive. The (insert Left-Wing/Right Wing, depending on your views) extremists are hell-bent…OOPS!, I mean, uh, HECK-bent on demonizing the other side, all the while extolling the virtues of their own views as “compassionate,” “common sense,” and/or “morally superior” (or A-moral, if the argument revolves around the existence/non-existence of morals). For every Ann Coulter there’s a Huffington Post, for every “Obama is bankrupting our country with the help of a buncha socialists,” there’s a “why don’t you nutjob Tea Baggers quit crying about the election!” (Although, that last one’s not being bandied about the way it was a few months ago, hehehehe).
Civil discourse has largely fallen by the wayside, and has become neither civil, nor discourse. We have become a nation of monologists. We simply cannot agree to disagree anymore. It’s partly our own fault. To some extent, Conservatives' dread of deficit spending is inversely proportionate to our support for what’s being funded with it. We, as a society, usually ascribe purer motives to our “friends,” while ascribing nefarious intent to every word out of the mouths of our opponents.

Do you know who became one of President Abraham Lincoln’s most ardent supporters? Stephen A. Douglas; the political rival who had faced off against candidate Lincoln in some of the most well-known campaign debates in American history. What united these foes? The preservation of the American Union (the merits of which I, as a proud Southerner, will refrain from debating here). Want to see a picture of an advocate of reconciliation and peace in the wake of the Civil War? Google “Robert E. Lee.” We are devolving as a nation and society into factional interests, squabbling about issues ranging from the momentous to the ridiculous, while our Ship of State proceeds toward the Falls of Rauros. To further plagiarize the analogy, Lincoln and Lee stand like Isildur and Anarion warning us back from the danger ahead. Aragorn and Boromir argued, bitterly, the night before the battle at Amon Hen, Boromir even going so far as to circumvent the agreed plan, but when the swords began to fly, they were all on the same page. Sadly, we do not even seem to be linked together by this kind of patriotism anymore. Each side seems to think its “America” is being destroyed/held back/undermined/prevented from being what in their minds it CLEARLY must be: a global citizen no better (perhaps in fact, WORSE) than any other global citizen; or a distinct and exemplary world superpower and force for good on Earth. And yes, I do have an opinion, quite a strong one, about which of those alternate realities is superior to the other, as you'll see in a moment. But I also recognize that I’m better off working to SUPPORT my vision for our country than ranting and raving AGAINST someone else’s view of it.

We have taken the Ring. Or more accurately, it has taken us. I don’t recall whether the books contain the line or not, but there’s a telling quote in The Two Towers, where Frodo tells Faramir, “The Ring cannot save Gondor; it has only the power to destroy.” Bitterness, enmity, and rancor cannot save our republic (we are NOT a democracy). Will we destroy The Ring like Frodo, or try to “use” it like Isildur?

Which leads us to our next sharp curve, a hard Right. If you want a hard Left, write your own blog. This one is worth what you paid for it.

I am NOT a “citizen” of a planet: I am a citizen of a NATION. I am an AMERICAN! And I am an unabashed proponent of the idea of American Exceptionalism.

The United States is, and by Providence may it always be, the greatest, most generous, most freedom loving nation in the history of civilization. Oh we’re FAR from perfect, and have failed many times, sometimes miserably, to live up to our own lofty goals, but we are lightyears ahead of not only where we were, but ahead of every other nation, past or present. We may not be the philosophers of Ancient Greece, or have a world empire like Persia, Rome, Spain, or Great Britain, but we have been, and still have the potential to be, THE greatest nation on Earth. The nation with the worst immigration problem on the planet. People WANT to come here! People take GREAT RISKS to come here! And we have provided a perfectly reasonable PROCESS for them to LEGALLY do so! Some 1.13 million did so, LEGALLY, in 2009.

Immigration has been a difficult issue in the United States almost since its founding. The particular ethnic group has changed over the years, be it Irish, German, Chinese, Vietnamese, or Latino. But it is only in recent years that the concept of someone having a “right” to immigrate illegally has gained such remarkable, and inexplicable, support. Ironically, many of these same supporters absolutely DEMAND that Bush 43 be prosecuted for “war crimes,” “torture,” illegal detainment, illegal surveillance, etc., LOUDLY proclaiming the virtue of the motto “no one is above the law.”

It would seem that SOME people are above SOME laws, depending upon whether the supporter likes the “violator” and/or dislikes the law in question.

And for my celebrating Republican friends...

Drew Brees: The power of believing in someone

2010-07-07T21:05:00.000-07:00

Buy this book @ Barnes & Noble

I don't normally post so close to my last one. When you have as little material as I do, it pays to stretch it out a bit. Keeps all 8 of you faithful readers coming back. But something happened yesterday. A book was released. "Big deal!" you say? Well, this was a book by a fella I think pretty highly of.

Brees gave an interview about the book to Peter King of Sports Illustrated. An excerpt of that interview is found below. It's message is clear: never underestimate the power you have to change someone's life by believing in them.

The most enlightening thing about the Brees book, I thought, was the one final conversation he had with Nick Saban before he decided to pick the Saints over Saban's Dolphins in the spring of 2006. We've all heard that the Saints believed unconditionally in Brees' ability to come back from his shoulder surgery, while the Dolphins were skeptical about it. But we hadn't heard about Brees commandeering the situation from his agent, Tom Condon, which, at the end of the negotiations, apparently Brees did.

Brees had significant interest on the table from the Saints. But he wanted to find out if Saban had the same faith in him that Payton and Mickey Loomis had in New Orleans. So Brees picked up the phone and called Saban, who told him the Miami team doctors believed Brees had a 25 percent chance to come back and be the same quarterback, or better, that he'd been before the shoulder surgery.
According to the book, Brees said to Saban: "Coach, I know what your doctors believe about me. My question is, what do you believe?''

Wrote Brees: "Nick Saban paused. That was really all I needed to hear. His pause told me everything. 'Well, Drew,' he said, 'I would still love to have you, but I have to trust what our medical people are saying ...' He went on from there, like he was reading from a script. But I was starting to tune out. By then I had all the information I needed. I had made my decision.''

Brees told Saban thanks, and he'd be going to New Orleans, even though telling Saban that might kill his negotiating position with the Saints.

As Brees told me, "The impression I get from the Dolphins was I should feel lucky they were even looking at me. It just wasn't a welcoming feeling.''

And the rest, as they say, is history. Super Bowl History. I haven't read Brees' book yet, but I will. And I recommend that you do, too. In it, you'll get a glimpse into the character of a young man who believed in himself, found an organization that did, too, and poured his heart into a city that would now, in all likelihood, elect him Pope if he wanted it! Brees is the Anti-JaMarcus, who ironically was also in the news today, for a very different reason. Brees is a future Hall-of-Famer who works as hard as any practice-squad hopeful to be the best quarterback on the field. And right now, he deserves to be in any conversation about the league's best; right alongside Brady, Manning, Favre, and anyone else you care to promote.

Stunned By Grace

2010-07-06T21:03:00.000-07:00

The following content is the property and copyright of Max Lucado. I claim no ownership rights whatsoever. I do claim, and with good reason, to be a living, breathing example of the "sheep" in the following devotional.

Behind the Shower Curtain

by Max Lucado

I’m going to have to install a computer in my shower. That’s where I have my best thoughts.

I had a great one today.

I was mulling over a recent conversation I had with a disenchanted Christian brother. He was upset with me. So upset that he was considering rescinding his invitation for me to speak to his group. Seems he’d heard I was pretty open about who I have fellowship with. He’d read the words I wrote: “If God calls a person his child, shouldn’t I call him my brother?” And, “If God accepts others with their errors and misinterpretations, shouldn’t we?”

He didn’t like that. “Carrying it a bit too far,” he told me. “Fences are necessary,” he explained. “Scriptures are clear on such matters.” He read me a few and then urged me to be careful to whom I give grace.

“I don’t give it,” I assured. “I only spotlight where God already has.”

Didn’t seem to satisfy him. I offered to bow out of the engagement (the break would be nice), but he softened and told me to come after all.

That’s where I’m going today. That’s why I was thinking about him in the shower. And that’s why I need a waterproof computer. I had a great thought. A why-didn’t-I-think-to-say-that? insight.

I hope to see him today. If the subject resurfaces, I’ll say it. But in case it doesn’t, I’ll say it to you. (It’s too good to waste.) Just one sentence:

I’ve never been surprised by God’s judgment, but I’m still stunned by his grace.

God’s judgment has never been a problem for me. In fact, it always seemed right. Lightning bolts on Sodom. Fire on Gomorrah. Good job, God. Egyptians swallowed in the Red Sea. They had it coming. Forty years of wandering to loosen the stiff necks of the Israelites? Would’ve done it myself. Ananias and Sapphira? You bet.

Discipline is easy for me to swallow. Logical to assimilate. Manageable and appropriate.

But God’s grace? Anything but.

Examples? How much time do you have?

David the psalmist becomes David the voyeur, but by God’s grace becomes David the psalmist again.

Peter denied Christ before he preached Christ.

Zacchaeus, the crook. The cleanest part of his life was the money he’d laundered. But Jesus still had time for him.

The thief on the cross: hellbent and hung-out-to-die one minute, heaven-bound and smiling the next.

Story after story. Prayer after prayer. Surprise after surprise.

Seems that God is looking more for ways to get us home than for ways to keep us out. I challenge you to find one soul who came to God seeking grace and did not find it. Search the pages. Read the stories. Envision the encounters. Find one person who came seeking a second chance and left with a stern lecture. I dare you. Search.

You won’t find it.

You will find a strayed sheep on the other side of the creek. He’s lost. He knows it. He’s stuck and embarrassed. What will the other sheep say? What will the shepherd say?

You will find a shepherd who finds him. (Luke 15:3-7)

Oh boy. Duck down. Put hooves over the eyes. The belt is about to fly. But the belt is never felt. Just hands. Large, open hands reaching under his body and lifting the sheep up, up, up until he’s placed upon the shepherd’s shoulders. He’s carried back to the flock and given a party! “Cut the grass and comb the wool,” he announces. “We are going to have a celebration!”

The other sheep shake their heads in disbelief. Just like we will. At our party. When we get home. When we watch the Shepherd shoulder into our midst one unlikely soul after another.

Seems to me God gives a lot more grace than we’d ever imagine.

We could do the same.

I’m not for watering down the truth or compromising the gospel. But if a fellow with a pure heart calls God Father, can’t I call that same man Brother? If God doesn’t make doctrinal perfection a requirement for family membership, should I?

And if we never agree, can’t we agree to disagree? If God can tolerate my mistakes, can’t I tolerate the mistakes of others? If God can overlook my errors, can’t I overlook the errors of others? If God allows me with my foibles and failures to call him Father, shouldn’t I extend the same grace to others?

One thing’s for sure. When we get to heaven, we’ll be surprised at some of the folks we see. And some of them will be surprised to see us.

From When God Whispers Your Name
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1999) Max Lucado

WORST PRESIDENT EVER?!? Hardly!

2010-06-23T18:50:00.000-07:00

The vitriolic political rhetoric of the past decade or more in the United States has reached a level unseen in the history of a generation that has seen the end (for now) of the Cold War, the fall of the Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie, and the loss of two Space Shuttles (Challenger & Columbia) and their crews. The cries of “worst president ever” echo in the halls and on TV, talk radio, and internet blogs on a minute by minute basis. It should be noted that, while the war of words has gone tactically nuclear, we still don’t even approach the chaos of some contemporary foreign legislatures or the violence of the antebellum Congress when Representative Preston Brooks savagely beat Senator Charles Sumner into unconsciousness on the floor of the Senate Chamber. But for flaming rhetoric, the Internet has given voice to millions of people whose freedom to speak has not yielded verbal and written contributions of value to the historical narrative. George W. Bush was (and still is) vilified as stupid, bumbling, inept, and the greatest liar in history. Barack Obama is an elitist, arrogant, anti-US, Big Government Socialist, who is spending money by the trillions, rivaling any band of drunken sailors ever to disembark.

Labeling either Bush OR Obama as the “worst president ever” is at best simplistic, and more likely belies a serious lack of knowledge of United States history. Since its inception, America has had 44 presidencies by 43 different men (Grover Cleveland served two non-consecutive terms). The halls of the White House have seen a staggering level of corruption, incompetence, and mismanagement. Let’s look at a few former “leaders of the Free World;” men who would be in the running, were we officially assigning an award for “worst president.”

1. William Henry Harrison. President for about 2 hours in 1841. Harrison is on our list, if for no other reason, because he literally didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain. Despite being the oldest president elect in history until the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980, Harrison wore neither hat nor overcoat while delivering a nearly two-hour inaugural address. His attempt to dispel his critics by a most public display of vigor resulted in pneumonia. His greatest accomplishment during his 32-day presidency? Calling Congress into special session.

2. Ulysses S. Grant. President from 1869-1877. Grant had the ignominy to preside over perhaps the most corrupt presidency in U.S. history. Grant’s two-term presidency was plagued by no fewer than twelve separate scandals. Grant staffed his administration with a litany of former military associates, many of whom were simply not up to the task, and a few of whom were actively involved in the aforementioned scandals. Grant has the distinction of being one of the few presidents to give a deposition during a criminal investigation regarding the alleged actions of a subordinate (at least so far, notwithstanding the current trial of Rob Blagojevich). Grant’s few “accomplishments” include the establishment of The National Weather Service,” Yellowstone National Park, Department of Justice, and the Office of the Surgeon General.

3. Warren G. Harding. President from 1921-1923. Before his death by heart attack in 1921, Harding’s presidency looked promising for a country emerging from the shadow of WWI and a financial depression in 1920-21. He would go on to give Grant a run for his money, scandal wise, suffering at least seven separate scandals, watching the first U.S. Cabinet member (Secretary of the Interior Albert Fall) ever to be convicted and sent to prison for accepting a bribe; endure his Assistant Secretary of the Navy (and future 4-term president) Franklin D. Roosevelt launching an investigation into allegations of homosexuality in the Navy. Harding himself was accused of at least three extra-marital affairs. A quick Google search gave no indication of the existence of any stained dresses.

4. Millard Fillmore. President from 1850-1853. The first unelected President (to this day sharing that title with only Andrew Johnson, who completed the term of the assassinated Abraham Lincoln, Chester A. Arthur, who completed the term of the assassinated James Garfield, and Gerald R. Ford, who became president when Richard Nixon resigned to avoid impeachment over the Watergate break-in), Fillmore failed to even receive the nomination of his own party after serving out the term of Zachary Taylor. Fillmore’s presidency was marked by the violent defense of and opposition to slavery and the so-called “Compromise of 1850", which ultimately failed to avert the U.S. Civil War. He may best be seen as attempting to, if not make anyone happy, at least make virtually everyone equally UNhappy.

5. Richard M. Nixon . President from 1969-1974. Where to start? Nixon was described as “an idiosyncratic president, so brilliant and so morally lacking”(Skidmore 2001, James MacGregor Burns), Nixon remains the only man ever to be elected twice as both president and vice president. The stark contrast of his presidency may be seen by his successes: a negotiated cease-fire with North Vietnam, effectively (although not successfully by most standards) ending the Vietnam War, opening arms treaty talks with The Soviet Union, and being the first U.S. President to visit China while in office. Unfortunately, he also very likely committed several major felonies and left office in disgrace over his role in the so-called “Watergate" scandal. His iconic “I am not a crook” speech remains a common punchline, ranking right up there with “you misspelled ‘potatoe’”, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” “Mission Accomplished,” and “I’m going to find out whose @$$ to kick.”

The list goes on, but you get the point. Obama might go down in history as the most EXPENSIVE president in US history, and Bush might go down as the progenitor of the longest war(s) in US history 24, but neither could crack the top five, perhaps even the top TEN worst presidents.

How to get rid of a roommate.

2010-06-18T18:25:00.000-07:00

At some point in your college/early professional life, you may well find yourself living with someone solely out of financial necessity. All humans are, at least to some degree, annoying to all other humans. It is the nature of the beast to believe that all of your own mannerisms, quirks, habits and hang-ups are perfectly normal, while everyone else can only hope to achieve such perfection. Learning to live with others without killing them or yourself is a natural part of growing up.

Sometimes, however, you encounter a person that simply cannot be tolerated short of a sudden “snap” into a homicidal rage. But moving is such a hassle that it is usually preferable to try to get the offending party to leave voluntarily. To this end, there are a number methods for the annoyed to one-up the annoyer.

It is important to remember the words of Sun Tzu; “know your enemy and know yourself, and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.” Even scant observation will give insight into the soon-to-be-ex-roommate’s “hot buttons.” But some annoying things are almost universal, and as long as these do not represent acquiescence to matching the offender’s habits, they can be used to great effect. Begin with common but low-level annoyances like leaving the toothpaste tube open on the sink; replace the toilet paper roll “backwards” (“over” if your roommate likes it “under,” and vice versa). With a little advance planning (unless you are going prematurely bald), you can leave thick, disgusting mats of lost hair in the shower drain. Bonus points are awarded for attaching little black and white “googly eyes” (available at any crafts store) to your creation. At a minimum, you may get that goofy “somebody’s watching me” 80’s song stuck in your victim’s head (some of you probably thought it was just from those insurance commercials, didn’t you?).

If these steps do not yield satisfactory results, stronger methods are called for, such as leaving a few “Soldier of Fortune” magazines, spent shells casings, and a half-completed Federal Firearms Dealers’ License applications lying around. Highlight one of the questions about “mental illness” with a sticky-note caption like “CRAP! Ask Doc if this is gonna be a problem,” or under “have you been convicted of domestic violence,” write “NOT convicted, no.” Pretend to practice a religion that calls for periodic bloody sacrifices. Thanks to the recent “vampire” craze, recipes for fake blood are almost as plentiful on the Internet as porn. Animal organs that are usually cast off in the making of everything except vienna sausages may be obtained at many grocery stores in predominantly low-income areas, and unless your roommate is a pre-med student, they’ll never know the difference. Some items, such as eyes, lips, and testicles, can be had for little or no cost.”

If nothing else is working, and you’re beginning to rationalize murder, desperate measures are in order. This method will only work, however, if your roommate is of the same gender as yourself, and neither of you are GLBT, OR with a person of opposite gender if one of you is GLT and the other isn’t. Wait until your roommate is asleep, preferably after a night of serious consumption of alcohol (roommates over 21 only, please). Crawl up next to them and very gently wake them up. When you are sure they are awake enough to process complete sentences, say something like “good morning, sexy,” or “My GOD, that was amazing!” They should be packed and out the door in 15 minutes. If they are not, LEAVE THE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY!”

One final caveat: your roommate may be reading this, too.

Venting more than just oil

2010-06-07T20:54:00.000-07:00

Watch live streaming video from wkrg_oil_spill at livestream.com

A friend posted on Facebook a link to a story about Obama telling the press he was going to "find out whose ass to kick." I posted a couple of comments, and it really took over her post, which I certainly did NOT intend to do. So I decided to take it to my own space. You are the lucky recipients.

First, I do NOT expect Obama to do much more than he's doing. Obama could imprison every employee of BP (and Transocean, the real culprit) and declare Martial Law, and it wouldn't stop a drop. There's a reason why he hasn't taken charge. It's because no one, not BP, not Transocean, not FEMA, or the US Military, or Obama and his "experts" (remember how well the eggheads ran the Vietnam War?), NO ONE has the technology to fix something that's never been broken this badly before. No one really knows how to completely fix this thing until the pressure is taken off that oil deposit. And that won't be done until the well runs dry or the relief wells are drilled, and they'll take another 2-3 months. It takes months to drill relief wells, and relief wells were not already drilled because it costs months of labor and MILLIONS of dollars to drill each hole, and no one expected ALL of the "fail safes" to all fail at once. They never had before.

When George Washington was sick with pneumonia, his doctor drained a pint of blood, because bloodletting was the "conventional wisdom" of the day. An hour later, he drained another pint, and wrote in his journal: "he seems to be getting worse."

I'm not being sarcastic (for once), but the analogy is the same. Again, no deep water well has ever failed this badly before. At least one of several redundant safety mechanisms has always worked before. This time, everything failed. Wells of twice this depth are being explored right now, or were, until this happened. No one, at least from everything I've read, believed a catastrophic failure like this was even possible. It would be literally like blaming BMW for not building their cars to survive a meteor strike. It's not COMPLETELY out of the realm of possibility, but it ain't very likely. The analogy here would be me pulling up to the pump to fill my gas tank, then while the gas is pumping, the rubber hose breaks, starts a fire, kills me and several customers, and destroys the station. Then the owner of the equipment blames ME, the buyer of the gas, for the failure of their own equipment. Do you inspect the gas pump when you pull up in your car? No, you assume that the people who do this for a living know what they are doing and are not taking shortcuts. BP apparently did the same with Transocean. I say "apparently," because it is possible that BP was pressuring Transocean to take shortcuts.

BP should get SOME credit for taking ownership of this nightmare from the beginning. I think BP stepped to the forefront early on because they had a better chance at stopping this thing than anyone else and they knew that doing nothing except getting on TV pointing fingers at Transocean would not win them any sympathy whatsoever. I'm sure BP's lawyers are already preparing their case against Transocean, who know they have nothing to gain from any visibility at all. Tragically, the only ones who will make money off this is the lawyers; hundreds, if not thousands of them in twenty years or more of courtroom combat.

Ironically, I've seen some stories that say that the water/foam used to extinguish the fire may have sunk the rig, ripping open the pipe deep underwater. It's at least possible that it may not have been nearly as bad if they'd let the rig burn itself out above the pontoons.

Obama isn't an idiot. He's trying to walk a fine line between looking like he's doing something without having to actually do something, because there isn't anything else he CAN do. BP is still in charge because no one has come up with a better idea. I'm among the first to castigate Obama for spending TRILLIONS of dollars, and meddling where he (and Congress) doesn't belong, but for once, this one isn't his fault.

Top Ten of the 80s: The Final Countdown!

2010-05-16T11:42:00.000-07:00

Ironically, that song didn't make the list anywhere!

Disclaimer: The videos posted below are the best available on YouTube. In a few cases, the original video was unavailable for imbed and I had to go with a "knock-off," like one showing just the album cover, or lyrics. At least one has a minor error in the lyrics, sharp eyes & ears will spot it easily. In some cases, & this is true of the "cut" list, also, a song was chosen as representative of several songs by that artist: e.g. Journey, Def Leppard, and darn near half of everything Foreigner ever released as singles!

This is my Top Ten Songs of the 1980s list, otherwise known as The Reason I Have High Frequency Hearing Loss!

Number 10
One Night in Bangkok - Murray Head

Number 9
Shadows of the Night - Pat Benatar

Number 8
Urgent - Foreigner

Number 7
Photograph - Def Leppard

Number 6
Mr. Roboto - Styx

Number 5

Number 4
Who's Crying Now - Journey

Number 3
Subdivisions - Rush

Number 2
Against All Odds - Phil Collins

And the Number One Song of the 1980S.....
Twilight Zone - Golden Earring

This has been a fun project! Thanks for all who followed along & offered suggestions as the list took shape!

Best of the 80s: Missed the Cut

2010-05-15T06:54:00.000-07:00

These are the songs that didn't quite make it into the top ten, for a variety of reasons. Several were in my top ten before being bumped as the final list (which I will post tomorrow) took shape. Again, in no particular order after the first one.

Eye of the Tiger - Survivor
End of the Innocence – Don Henley
Cold As Ice – Foreigner
Living Years – Mike & the Mechanics
Shot in the Dark -Ozzy Osbourne
Holding out for a Hero - Bonnie Tyler
Livin on a Prayer - Bon Jovi
You Belong to The City - Glenn Frey
18 & Life - Skid Row
Here I Go Again - Whitesnake
Don’t Stop Believing - Journey
Faithfully - Journey
In The Air Tonight - Phil Collins
Smokin in the Boys Room - Motley Crue
Devil Went Down to Georgia - Charlie Daniels Band
When You Say Nothing at All - Keith Whitley
Should Have Known Better -Richard Marx
Sister Christian – Night Ranger
Wild Flower – The Cult
He Stopped Loving Her Today - George Jones

Best of the 80s - Songs Born Too Early/Late

2010-05-14T18:32:00.000-07:00

These are the top songs (in no particular order after the first one) that were awesome, but fell in the 70s/90s, and thus were ineligible for my Best of the 80s List.

Sweet Home Alabama - Lynyrd Skynyrd
When I Call Your Name - Vince Gill
Hotel California - The Eagles
Wheel in the Sky - Journey
High Enough - Damn Yankees
Fading Like A Flower - Roxette
Sweet Home Alabama - Lynyrd Skynyrd
Turn the Page - Bob Seger
Enter Sandman - Metallica
Feel Like Making Love – Bad Company
Let Me Touch You For a While – Alison Krauss & Union Station

Tomorrow, I reveal the 20 songs that didn't make the cut for the top ten!

Sugarland - Settlin'

2010-05-08T13:21:00.000-07:00

Minor liberties taken with the lyrics.

Fifteen minutes left to throw me together
For Miss Right Now, not Miss Forever
Don't know why I even try when I know how it ends
Looking like another "maybe we could be friends"
I've been leaving it up to fate
It's my life so [I'll wait for God's grace]

I ain't settling for just getting by
I've had enough so-so for the rest of my life
Tired of shooting too low, so raise the bar high
Just enough ain't enough this time
I ain't settling for anything less than everything, yeah

With some good red wine and my brand new [boots]
Gonna dance a blue streak around my living room
Take a chance on love and try how it feels
With my heart wide open yeah you know I will
Find what it means to be the [guy]
Change [his world] and change [his mind]

I ain't settling for just getting by
I've had enough so-so for the rest of my life
Tired of shooting too low, so raise the bar high
Just enough ain't enough this time
I ain't settling for anything less than everything

I ain't settling for just getting by
I've had enough so so for the rest of my life
Tired of shooting too low, so raise the bar high
Just enough ain't enough this time

I ain't settling for just getting by
I've had enough so so for the rest of my life
Tired of shooting too low, so raise the bar high
I ain't settling no, no, no, no, no, no, ohhh

So raise the bar high

I miss you, Mom.

2010-05-03T21:20:00.001-07:00

Oh, yes, that and so much more

2010-04-16T23:19:00.000-07:00

It's more than hope. Hope is nice, but it's ultimately not much more than a dream, with no power behind it to accomplish anything. Faith is more, so much more. Faith is believing in more than you are capable of. Believing what we can do together, with a limitless God behind us. Dare to dream. Dare to hope. But more than that, dare to have faith!

A friend shared this with me, for which I am grateful. I'm familiar with Kutless, but this track was new to me. I think I like them. A lot. The band, I mean. But maybe that's not all I mean.

Sorry about the imbed, Youtube is getting so anal about that. Click play, then click the link.

I asked God...

2010-04-12T20:29:00.000-07:00

Received this from a friend, I can't take credit for it, but I can pass it along.

I asked God to take away my habit.
God said, No.
It is not for Me to take away,
but for you to give it up.

I asked God to make my handicapped child whole.
God said, No..
His spirit is whole, his body is only temporary.

I asked God to grant me patience.
God said, No.
Patience is a byproduct of tribulations;
it isn't granted, it is learned.

I asked God to give me happiness.
God said, No.
I give you blessings;
Happiness is up to you.

I asked God to spare me pain.
God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and brings you closer to me.

I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.
You must grow on your own,
but I will prune you to make you fruitful.

I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life.
God said, No.
I will give you life, that you may enjoy all things.

I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me.
God said...
I thought you'd never ask!

Witticisms

2010-04-05T18:00:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me at all knows I love a quick wit! These insults are from an era before our language got boiled down to 4-letter words.

"He has delusions of adequacy."
- Walter Kerr

"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire."
- Winston Churchill

"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure."
- Clarence Darrow

"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary."
- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).

'Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?'
- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it."
- Moses Hadas

"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it."
- Mark Twain

"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends."
- Oscar Wilde

"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend.... if you have one."
- George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one." - - Winston Churchill, in response.

"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here."
- Stephen Bishop

"He is a self-made man and worships his creator."
- John Bright

"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial."
- Irvin S. Cobb

"He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others."
- Samuel Johnson

"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up."
- Paul Keating

"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily."
- Charles, Count Talleyrand

"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.."
- Forrest Tucker

"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?"
- Mark Twain

"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork."
- Mae West

"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go."
- Oscar Wilde

"He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than illumination."
- Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it."
- Groucho Marx

'There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure.'
- Jack E. Leonard

'They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge.'
- Thomas Brackett Reed

'He has Van Gogh's ear for music.'
- Billy Wilder

'He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know.'
- Abraham Lincoln

'A modest little person, with much to be modest about. '
- Winston Churchill

And my personal favorite: "Mr. Churchill, if you were my husband, I would put arsenic in your tea!” Lady Nancy Astor

"Madam, if you were my wife, I would drink it." Winston Churchill

I am willing...

2010-04-03T12:03:00.000-07:00

A lot more verses to this little ditty than most folks know.

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for halcyon skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the enameled plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till souls wax fair as earth and air
And music-hearted sea!

O beautiful for pilgrims feet,
Whose stem impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till paths be wrought through
wilds of thought
By pilgrim foot and knee!

O beautiful for glory-tale
Of liberating strife
When once and twice,
for man's avail
Men lavished precious life!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till selfish gain no longer stain
The banner of the free!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till nobler men keep once again
Thy whiter jubilee!

Fifteen Thousand Hits

2010-03-23T18:24:00.000-07:00

Sometime in the past 24 hours, my hit counter rolled over 15K.

Danged if I know why.

Looking at some recent IP addresses, I've gotten views from places including (but not limited to): Oakland CA, Lafayette LA, Louisville KY, Bloomfield Hills MI, Mountain View CA ("googlebot" is there, it crawls me everyday... which sounds creepy!), Anaheim and Brentwood CA, Parramatta New South Wales Australia, Budd Lake NJ, Curitaba Brazil, Hsinchu Taiwan, Fort Richardson AK, Sneek Freisland in The Netherlands (no foolin, that's the name it gave me), Bjuv Sweden, Fountain Valley CA, Trgu Mehedinti Romania, Figueira Da Foz Coimbra Portugal, Dubai Dubayy UAE, Santiago Region Metropolitana Chile, and other exotic places like Memphis and Jackson Tennessee (the Memphis IP is almost always from Memphis.edu). Other than that Memphis one, and googlebot, I have no idea who most of these people are, or why they'd be reading anything I'd write.

If you're here from one of those, or any other, exotic locations, welcome! Whether you got here from a Google image search, a Facebook posting, a geocaching forum, or because of a poorly-typed URL, thanks for spending a few seconds with me.

In the 3 or so years I've been blogging, I've discussed religion, my kids, my marriage (and the eventual implosion thereof), geocaching, travel, and not a small bit of politics. I've reviewed movies, made thinly-veiled references to people and situations, ridiculed stupidity mercilessly whenever possible, and chronicled a softball-career-ending knee injury (if you can call what I had a "career"). I've made some people laugh, occasionally made myself cry, and made some people mad enough to choke my eyeballs out. I honestly cannot recall ever regretting anything I've posted, but when you've put your foot in your mouth as many times as I have, your taste-buds get dull enough not to always notice.

If you take a notion (although I'm sure there's a million reasons NOT to), post a comment sometime and let me know who's behind that IP address, like you there, on Pacbell.net, or you on Charter.com, or you, o' faithful reader from Memphis.edu. I've not the time or inclination to keep track of such stuff, I'm just curious.

30 October 1992 - 8 March 2010

2010-03-10T20:57:00.001-08:00

Might as well laugh, eh?

Highway I-5 ride

2010-02-18T19:51:00.000-08:00

I know I promised a more complete set of thoughts on being a Saints fan for 36 years before they won a Super Bowl, but something else caught my attention while dropping my middle child at youth group tonight. Actually, something ripped my heart out, stomped and spit on it, then kicked it down the storm drain.

The highway is I-5, and there's two sons, plus a daughter, but other than that, God have mercy, I could have written every line.

I hope someday they understand why things are the way they are. But they're smart kids, and I know they'll someday see.

But right now, 532 days, 5 hours, and 25 minutes is killin me. But the hug I just got from William helps a little. Pickin up my Chicklet in about an hour will, too. And the prayers I'll say with Tim will be just a little longer, and more thankful, tonight.

Super Bowl XLIV: Saints XXXI, Colts XVII

2010-02-07T20:53:00.000-08:00

Monday morning, 12 December 1977, a 12 year old kid sits in some class or other (probably math, I hated that teacher), doodling on his notebook instead of paying attention. Drawing a little fleur-de-lis on the back of his spiral notebook, he writes "Beaten by Tampa Bay??"

One day earlier, the team he'd been rooting for for about 4 years became the first NFL team ever to lose to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Tampa did not win a game until the next to last game of their second season. In fairness to the Saints, Tampa also beat the (then) St. Louis Cardinals the following week, but dem Saints was da foist!

Today, Sunday, 7 February 2010, 2100 PST, here I sit, still watching replays. More to come later, but for now, I just want to relax and wrap my head around the words "2010 World Champion New... Orleans... SAINTS!!!!!!!!!

Jack Brisco (1941-2010)

2010-02-02T19:35:00.001-08:00

Jack Brisco. A gentleman in and out of the ring. One of my favorite wrestlers as a kid, back when they had to make it look real and had to know how to wrestle and not just fly around the ring and run their mouths. I remember seeing him live in the old Mid-South Coliseum. Rest easy, Jack, until God rings the bell for us all.

A long time comin....

2010-01-26T19:22:00.000-08:00

New Orleans Saints head coach Sean Payton told his second-year kicker, Garrett Hartley, to aim for the fleur-de-lis emblem on the wall above the tunnel to the locker rooms and below thousands of screaming, pleading, praying, long-suffering fans, some 50 yards away and 10 yards beyond the crossbar. Forty-three years of frustration and failure, hopes and haplessness, dreams and despair all bore down on an undrafted free-agent kicker from a little Texas town within spittin distance of the home of the Dallas Cowboys. How many kickers had missed seemingly gimme field goals this year? Have you ever seen a year in the NFL when placekicking was as bad as 2009-10? Had Hartley himself not missed a 37 yarder a few weeks earlier, a potential game winner with 9 seconds left against the (this year) hapless Tampa Bay Buccaneers, a game the Saints LOST in overtime? A kick that he missed wide LEFT when he was lined up on the RIGHT hashmark, crossing the entire width of the goalposts?! Now here he stood, in overtime, trying to finally put away the Minnesota Vikings in the NFC Championship game, the same Vikings with which his team was still tied despite FIVE MN turnovers. After a timeout by the Vikings to "ice" him (a stupid rule they ought to change), Hartley lined up for the kick. From the moment it cleared the raised hands of the Vikings' D-line, 70,000+ fans in the dome and millions watching nervously on TV (including your truly) knew, it wasn't even going to be close.

He damn near nailed his coach's target.

For the first time in team history, the New Orleans Saints would be going to the Super Bowl. A franchise that is less than three months older than the Super Bowl itself. The perennial Sad Sack of the NFL, once humiliated by their own fans who wore paper bags over their heads and dubbed their boys the "Aints," will be honored guests in Miami without having to buy tickets to the game.

I'll admit it. I cried. Not sobbing or blubbering, but I cried. I have been a Saints fan for more than 35 years. When I was growing up, my dad was a truck driver, and not very athletic, so it was the father of my cross-street friend who threw footballs to me and the other neighborhood kids. His family was from northeastern Mississippi and what few family members went to college went to Ole Miss. This explains how a boy born in Arkansas and raised in Memphis became an Ole Miss fan. And right about that time, an Ole Miss legend was on his way to becoming the Saints' greatest quarterback, Archie Manning. Archie spent eleven long years runnin for his life behind a porous offensive line, throwin to receivers who would sometimes literally stop and stare in amazement as he ran back and forth across the field, doing everything he could to keep plays alive. So, although I was also a Dallas Cowboys fan (in the Staubach days), I developed a love for the Saints that lasts til this day.

You must understand, the Saints have no fair weather fans. Until recently, they only RARELY had fair weather! Oh sure, they had a fierce defense in the early 1990s, when Jim Finks was at the helm. But they had no offense, and it is entirely possible (though I don't think they ever actually did) to lose a football game 2-0. And for the last few years, mainly since the arrival of Drew Brees, they've had a positively explosive offense. But scoring 50 points doesn't help much if you give up 51.

But this year, with the notable additions of defensive coordinator Gregg Williams, and defensive superstars Darren Sharper and Jonathan Vilma, the Saints finally had all the pieces of the puzzle at the same time.

A little over 4 years ago, the Mississippi and Louisiana Gulf Coast was hit by one of the most devastating hurricanes in recorded history, Hurricane Katrina. As clearly unprepared city, state, and federal agencies struggled to aid its citizens, the city turned its largest asset, The Superdome, into a refuge for upwards of 30,000 mainly poor citizens whose already meager housing was utterly destroyed. Before you start back in on the FEMA and George W. jokes and criticisms, keep in mind that this was arguably the worst hurricane in American history, and that it hit in just about the worst possible place it could have hit. But whoever was to blame didn't matter much to the refugees, who endured a bad situation that became unimaginable as electrical power was lost and the cavernous dome, with gaping holes ripped in its roof, was reduced to a lawless, lightless HELL on Earth. I've taken the "tour" of the dome, even got to stand on the actual field surface (something was being painted, so we had to cross the endzone, they don't usually let tours out onto the astroturf, nicknamed "Mardi Grass" which was recently replaced with Field Turf.). I can tell you, the concourses and ingress/egress ramps would have been as dark as anything you can imagine. Even now, over four years later, much of the city is still devastated squalor. But the resilient citizens of New Orleans clung to their team as a symbol of the rebirth of the city. A rebirth that in no small way is creditable to two men: Saints Head Coach, Sean Payton, and franchise quarterback, Drew Brees. Brees in particular is cementing himself in the hearts of Nawlins folk through his tireless humanitarian efforts, in a city that still desperately needs tireless humanitarians.

For the first time ever, I'm cheering for my team in late January!! For the first time in YEARS, I actually CARE who wins the Super Bowl. Some have wondered... "are you satisfied?" "Is it enough just to be in the SB?" "Will a Saints (fully conceivable) drubbing at the hands of the Colts (ironically QB'd by the son of aforementioned legend and STILL New Orleans resident, Archie Manning) make this season, with its record number of wins and memories (especially a systematic dismantling of the Patriots on Monday Night Football) a disappointment?"

No. Do I want them to win? Of course I do. But after so many years, so many sad seasons, so many highs that never quite got high enough, I have to say, I'm pretty happy with what my boys have done.

And only death will keep me from watching the son of the Saints' greatest quarterback try to prevent the Saints' NEW greatest quarterback from bringing a Super Bowl title to each and every long-suffering Saints fan. Including yours truly.

Saints leading rusher, honorary Team Captain, and recent retiree, Deuce McAllister
Saints Pro Bowl quarterback and future Hall of Famer, Drew Brees.

He didn't know it at the time, but...

2010-01-22T18:50:00.001-08:00

"So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little."

New Year's Resolutions

2010-01-01T21:26:00.001-08:00

SO 1981! LOL Hadn't heard it in years until yesterday on XM. Moving back to move on, you might say.

Notice the old Simpson "Bandit" helmets the guys are wearing? I used to have one of those, painted to match my crotch-rocket.

So long, 2009...

2009-12-31T21:50:00.000-08:00

Wish I could say I was sorry to see you go.

No I don't.

Christmas firsts, and Christmas lasts

2009-12-24T22:49:00.000-08:00

Sometimes Christmas is a Christmas of firsts. Our first Christmas together, Barbara got up early and came back to announce that she was pregnant with our first child Timothy. She did this having not yet learned that I run on 7 cylinders until about 10am (despite her insistence that I once threw a pillow at her for tryin to wake me, a charge I still deny but one to which I must plead no contest since, IF I did it, I certainly wouldn’t remember doing it).

1998 brought us a Christmas of lasts. My dad died just after midnight on 29 December. Sometimes, Christmas is both. 2007 found our family celebrating our first Christmas in Oregon. We didn’t know it at the time, but it would also be my mom’s last. She died 15 December 2008, two weeks short of ten years after my dad.

2007 would also be a last for another reason we didn’t know at the time: our last as a family together, as Barbara and I separated in September 2008. Thus was 2008 to be forever known as our first Christmas living apart, although thankfully and with much praise to God (and a break in the worst snowstorm in the Pacific Northwest in 40 years), we were able to spend Christmas Eve and day in the same place, and renew a Christmas Eve tradition that we have not missed in 16 years: a reading of the Christmas Story from the Book of Luke, and the opening of any one present of the children’s choosing, before eggnog and bedtime.

Now we arrive at Christmas 2009, which will also be a Christmas of firsts and a Christmas of lasts. For the first time in 16 years, we’ll read the Christmas Story via speakerphone, an equitable compromise that gives Barbara Christmas Eve and early morning with the kids, while I have Christmas Day and the day after with them. She’ll be taking them to a friend’s church for Christmas Eve services, while I arrive on the late train and set up a Christmas morning surprise for my middle child.

Christmas 2009 will be a last for Barbara and I as our 17 year marriage will end sometime in January. It will also usher in many firsts as we continue to work together to do what’s best for the kids. Although there’s ample reason to be sad, I am thankful that she and I are working together well (for which I hereby publicly thank her) to arrange my visits with the kids as often as vacation time and finances will allow. I’m back to taking the train most trips, as my truck still needs a $550 wheel bearing :^/ but hopefully we can soon resume meeting halfway and letting the kids stay here in Salem. Now that gas has gone back up, it’s a little more expensive than the train, but the kids like seeing their Salem friends when time allows and it makes for a bit more of a break for the routine for them. Like an adventure, which it certainly is cramming into my 1br apt with 3 kids, me, a dog, and a cat that has decided she LIKES having the place all to herself!

But with all the firsts and all the lasts, happy ones and sad ones, we can all still celebrate this Christmas because the REASON we celebrate has not, and will not, change: We celebrate because, a long, long time ago, in a little backwater town in Judea, in a little backwater stable behind a backwater inn, something happened that would reach everywhere and everyone, even you, if you find yourself in your own little backwater situation this Christmas, even in the Cave of Adullam:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

I'll be home for Christmas...

2009-12-20T20:25:00.000-08:00

but only in my dreams. As someone once said, you can't go home again. But if I could, 20 years, give or take, would be just about right.

"Can you hear me...can you hear me running..."

2009-12-05T19:53:00.000-08:00

Thoughts anyone? I remember loving this song on MTV some 20-odd years ago. Wondering if the songwriter knew something the rest of us didn't. Then the Berlin Wall fell and the USSR declared Ch.7, and the thought of needing an underground resistance in our lifetime seemed ludicrous. Now the Russian bear has awakened and remembered he once had claws, Iran thinks it can build a N-Bomb (and for some unfathomable reason, thinks Israel will hesitate to do whatever is necessary to wipe out their nuke facilities), Radical Islam is waging a small-scale, but wide-spread guerrilla war, while we're too "enlightened" to call it a "war" even though THEY do, and by the time we need them the most, our government just might have already maxed out our credit cards (for that is what Treasury Notes are) on bailout and benefits, and we may find ourselves with no one to defend us but ourselves.

"A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until a majority of voters discover that they can vote themselves largess out of the public treasury." Unknown, usually attributed to Alexander Tytler. (and yes, I know we're not actually a democracy)

For further reading, take a look at this article. (note the dateline, you can read the abstract without subscribing) Khalid Sheikh Mohammed isn't the first terrorist to have been tried in criminal courts. Reckon his defense strategy will be history repeating itself?

Thanksgiving Day...

2009-11-26T12:33:00.000-08:00

The final day of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

One year ago today, in the early hours of the morning, my mother went into the hospital. She lingered for three weeks, passing away at age 84 on 15 December 2008, two weeks shy of ten years after my father died. Today, I wrap up just over two weeks of daily posts, in response to a challenge issued by a not-so-old dear friend; to be thankful for something each day, still having so many things for which to be thankful. On this day, I am thankful that, although it may be a long while, or this afternoon, I will see my mother and father again, along with many, many others who have crossed the vale before me.

Day 14...

2009-11-25T19:08:00.001-08:00

of The Thanksgiving Challenge.
Tonight, I'm grateful for the ball of fur sitting behind my head on the back of my recliner. When we split up, she took the dog and I got the cat. Except when she wakes me up at 3AM batting me with her paw wanting to be scratched, she's a lot better than coming home to an empty apartment every night. Or when she pees in the dirty clothes... or gets into the trash... or "forgets" how to "cover it up!"

Day 13...

2009-11-24T19:32:00.000-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

Today I am thankful for my freedom, and those who have paid for it in blood. For the freedom to sit securely and unthreatened in my recliner and post any dang thing I want to, while listening to news stories of others doing the same thing, protesting this or that, demanding this or that, pontificating on such diverse subjects as foreign policy, military strategy, healthcare, insurance, macroeconomics, and global weather patterns with no more credentials to do so than the cat currently resting above my head. The double-edged sword of freedom of speech is that everyone else has that right, too, so that in our country, you have the right to be a blithering idiot if you so chose. Your right to speak doesn't mean you necessarily have anything important to say.

"Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children's children what it was once like in the United States where men were free." --Ronald Reagan

Day 12...

2009-11-23T18:18:00.001-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

Today, I am thankful for the gift of laughter!

Fair warning if you're not familiar with Jeff Dunham, there's a few bad words and a couple of crude bodily references.

Day 11...

2009-11-22T17:16:00.000-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

http://www.theblindsidemovie.com
View Trailer.

Today, I am thankful that I had the opportunity this afternoon to see one of the most remarkable movies I've ever seen. The Blind Side is the incredible true story of Michael Oher, former Ole Miss Rebel and first round draft pick for the Baltimore Ravens in the 2009 draft. Born on 28 May 1986 in Memphis, Tennessee, Oher grew up in as tough a situation as any young man can face: a broken home, public housing in Memphis' Hurt Village (which, remarkably, was built in the 1950's as an all-white development), a crack-addicted mother, separated from his "family" as a young child, Oher was on a familiar path to nowhere. Blessed (or cursed) with tremendous size, Michael is befriended by Sean and Leigh Anne Tuohy, a wealthy white family and strident Ole Miss fans. The movie follows Michael as he goes from homelessness to standing on the stage with NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell.

I won't get into a great deal of detail about the movie, because you owe it to yourself to see it. But I do want to point out a few of the things that made this movie, which certainly could have been a trite, contrived tearjerker, a must see.

Sandra Bullock (besides being unspeakably HOT) delivers one of the best performances (grade her on a curve, folks) I've ever seen from her as Leigh Ann Tuohy. She nails the woman who faces down a street thug who thought it would be okay to call her a "bitch," informing him that she is "in a Bible Study with the DA, a member of the NRA, and ALWAYS packin!" (her next line is a great one, too) Luckiest man on earth goes to Sean Tuohy. What man wouldn't dream of having Tim McGraw chosen to play him? (BTW, Tim McGraw: Hair Club for Men client? YOU be the judge)

Stealing scenes right and left, the Tuohy's son "S.J." is played by Jae Head. He is pure gold as Michael's "agent" as he is recruited by a bevy of SEC coaches making cameos as themselves, including former Arkansas head coach and current Ole Miss head coach Houston Nutt. None of the coaches (incredibly) do a terribly convincing job playing themselves, but you'll notice that Nutt's filmography contains only one entry. There's a reason.

Adriane Lenox turns in a brief but gritty, emotional performance as Oher's mother, meeting Leigh Anne Tuohy for the first time as Leigh Anne tries to find out more about a young man who seems to have gone unnoticed and unmissed for his first 16 years.

But the best performance of the movie has to be little-known actor Quinton Aaron, who plays the starring role, in spite of the top billing Sandra Bullock receives. Aaron is a raw nerve throughout the movie as he moves from homeless castaway to NFL millionaire. He NAILS the shy vulnerability of a young man sleeping on a "friend's" couch, overhearing the family argument that spells the end of his stay with them, and the beginning of actual homelessness. Without a word, he is amazing as he washes his one spare shirt in the sink at a coin-op laundry and sneaks it into another woman's dryer load.

One of the most emotional moments in the film occurs when Michael takes S.J. to the store to get a video game, going old school with Young MC's 1989 hit "Busta Move." What happens next, after paramedics explain to Leigh Anne that S.J. is lucky to be alive, must been seen to be appreciated.

As a lifelong Ole Miss Rebel fan, one of my great regrets is that, despite living only 70 or so miles from Vaught-Hemingway Stadium, I never made time to attend a home game, or to experience the incomparable tailgating experience of The Grove (a situation unlikely to be corrected, exiled as I am now in Oregon). Today, I added a regret to my list: that I slept through Michael Oher's career at Ole Miss, knowing they had phenomenal left tackle, but not knowing they had a phenomenal young man.

Day 10...

2009-11-21T14:56:00.000-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

Today, I'm thankful for the gift of recreation, and my favorite season: Football season!!

Day 9...

2009-11-20T21:21:00.000-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

Today I am thankful that I need not know what the future holds as long as I am held by Him who holds the future. And it's a darn good thing, 'cause I sure don't know!

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope, and a future." Jer. 29:11

Day 8...

2009-11-19T21:54:00.000-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

Today I am grateful for an anchor in this storm. Nothing happens by accident, nothing is beyond His power, no one is beyond His love, and no tear that falls ever escapes His notice. When things that look so perfect don't happen, and injustice carries the day. When I can't seem to say/do/be the right things. When I don't understand, when I can't find His plan, when I can't trace His hand... I can trust His heart.

Day 7...

2009-11-18T19:09:00.000-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

Today, I'm grateful that God believes in 2nd chances (and 3rd, and 4th...). When daydreams turn into nightmares, God can take our shattered hopes and fashion them into something beautiful.

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him." Psalm 62:5

Day 6...

2009-11-17T18:35:00.001-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge.

Today I am thankful for my church family and friends that have stood by me through this past very difficult year. You never know how much a simple hug can mean, or how much it means simply to have someone come over and sit with you until you go to church alone.

One such friend shared this with me today, and it meant enough to me to share with y'all today:

Do not ask to have your life's load lightened, but for courage to endure. Do not ask for fulfillment in all your life, but for patience to accept frustration . Do not ask for perfection in all you do, but for the wisdom not to repeat mistakes. Finally, do not ask for more before saying Thank you Lord for what You have already done for me.

Day 5...

2009-11-16T20:56:00.000-08:00

...of the Thanksgiving Challenge

Today I'm thankful that in two short months my Ram will be paid for, and (although it needs a $550 wheel bearing) it still runs and drives just fine! The body has a few scars, and a couple of the joints creak (come to think of it, it's a lot like its owner!), but at 106K it's still doing just what I need it to do!

Taken a few months ago on a rural backroad between Auburn and Maple Valley, Washington (the air bag light has been on for years).

Day 4...

2009-11-15T21:54:00.001-08:00

of the Thanksgiving challenge.

I'm thankful for a secure job which insures that the few extra pounds around my middle, although not sexy, prove that I have more to eat today (and tomorrow) than more than 12 million children in the United States alone. On second thought, I'm not just thankful, I'm more than a little bit ashamed.

So I did something about it.

Day 3...

2009-11-15T09:35:00.000-08:00

of the Thanksgiving Challenge

Today, I'm thankful for relatively good health. No serious ailments, just a lil out of shape and a lil snap-crackle-pop in the old joints now and then!

"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good..."

2009-11-14T12:15:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, someone gave me a challenge: everyday through Thanksgiving Day, post one thing you are thankful for.

I started yesterday with:

"Day one: A Savior, whose mercy I can't comprehend, whose grace I don't deserve, and whose love I can never lose."

Day Two is today:

"Day Two: my 3 kids, the best kids a Dad could ask for!"

Stay tuned tomorrow for Day Three.

Why? by Rascal Flatts... amongst others.

2009-11-06T20:49:00.000-08:00

Death isn't the only way someone can go away, never to be seen again.

You must have been in a place so dark
you couldn't feel the light
reachin' for you through that stormy cloud
Now here we are gathered in our little hometown
This can't be the way you meant to draw a crowd

[Chorus]
Oh why, that's what I keep asking
Was there anything I could've said or done
Oh, I had no clue you were masking
a troubled soul, God only knows
what went wrong
and why
you'd leave the stage in the middle of a song

Now in my mind I'll keep you frozen
as a seventeen-year-old
rounding third to score the winning run
You always played with passion
no matter what the game
when you took the stage
you'd shine just like the sun

[Chorus]
Oh why, that's what I keep asking
Was there anything I could've said or done
Oh, I had no clue you were masking
a troubled soul, oh, God only knows
what went wrong
and why
you'd leave the stage
in the middle of a song

Now the oak trees are swaying
in the early autumn breeze
A golden sun is shining on my face
Through tangled thoughts I hear
a mockingbird sing
This old world really ain't that bad a place

Oh why, there's no comprehending
And who am I to try to judge or explain
Oh, but I do have one burning question
Who told you life
wasn't worth the fight
They were wrong, they lied
Now you're gone and we cry
it's not like you
to walk away
In the middle of a song

Your beautiful song
Your absolutely beautiful song

The president wants to get "tough" on Israel, and negotiate with Hamas and Hezbollah.

2009-10-27T19:24:00.000-07:00

That whirring sound you hear is Winston Churchill spinning in his grave. And the laughter and cheering is a soundtrack from the streets of Palestine on the afternoon of 11 September 2001, as Palestinians danced in the streets upon hearing of the thousands of civilians murdered in New York and Washington, D.C.. If you listen closely, you might even hear the laughter of a German corporal.

"An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile - hoping it will eat him last." - Sir Winston Chruchill

ARROGANT AMERICA INVADES SOVEREIGN NATIONS, ESTABLISHES PERMANENT PRESENCES, REFUSES TO RETURN SOIL TO NATIVE GOVERNMENTS!

2009-10-21T12:46:00.000-07:00

If you're waitin on MY apology, especially France, don't hold your breath. The next time Germany hits your borders, as they have three times in the last 150 years, don't call us, we're not arrogant enough to tell them they can't.

If what you are doing is the right thing to do, it shouldn't matter that you have to do it alone.

Our European arrogance in alphabetical order

1. The American Cemetery at Aisne-Marne , France . A total of 2289 of our military dead.

2. The American Cemetery at Ardennes , Belgium . A total of 5329 of our dead.

3. The American Cemetery at Brittany, France . A total of 4410 of our military dead.

4. Brookwood , England American Cemetery. A total of 468 of our dead.

5. Cambridge , England . 3812 of our military dead.

6. Epinal , France American Cemetery. A total of 5525 of our Military dead.

7. Flanders Field , Belgium . A total of 368 of our military.

8. Florence , Italy . A total of 4402 of our military dead.

9. Henri-Chapelle , Belgium . A total of 7992 of our military dead.

10. Lorraine , France . A total of 10,489 of our military dead.

11. Luxembourg . A total of 5076 of our military dead.

12. Meuse-Argonne. A total of 14246 of our military dead.

13. The Netherlands . A total of 8301 of our military dead.

14. Normandy , France . A total of 9387 of our military dead. Most killed liberating France from German invasion the THIRD TIME.

15. Oise-Aisne , France . A total of 6012 of our military dead.

16. Rhone , France . A total of 861 of our military dead.

17. Sicily , Italy . A total of 7861 of our military dead.

18. Somme , France . A total of 1844 of our military dead. Most killed liberating France from German occupation the SECOND TIME.

19. St. Mihiel , France . A total of 4153 of our military dead.

20. Suresnes , France . a total of 1541 of our military dead.

Apologize to no one. Remind them of our MANY sacrifices and don't confuse arrogance with leadership.

Couldn't have said it any better...

2009-10-07T18:10:00.001-07:00

If you've been around my blog for a while, you may have noticed one of the links down the right side, "Mike Bratton's Blog." I had the honor of knowing Mike (admittedly briefly and peripherally) at my old church, Bellevue Baptist (also a link on the right) when I took an acting class from him (bout the only thing I learned about acting is that I make a better bad guy than a good guy, but really don't do either one particularly well), before I moved to Oregon and he moved to Alabama. Mike's blog was the inspiration for this blog, which reminds me of an old story about Alexander MacLaren (ask me if you're interested).

Mike's post are always interesting and well thought through, and I really couldn't do any better myself, so I'll just draw your attention to it from here.

The Bratton Report: The Florida premiere of High School "Tolerance"