Rabid Fun

busted

05/19/2012

lightening or something busted my computer last week.

I am trying to use a borrowed iPad.

Phooy,

Saw a four year old in line at a restaurant using one of these things while sitting the pavement. She whizzethru grouch screens and programs like a professional. Smartass kid intimidates me.

When my real computer gets repaired, I,ll poste again.

John

Wisdom From A Homeless Man

05/16/2012

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Yesterday I enjoyed breakfast with some friends near the courthouse.

One of the guys invited a homeless man off the downtown street to eat with us and enjoy our conversation.

We laughed and talked and joked for close to two hours. When we broke up, two of the guys each gave the homeless man a couple of dollars.

He had not ask any of us for anything but I felt I should give him something too—I  didn’t want to look cheap in front of my friends.

The homeless man turned down my money.

“You keep that to give someone else,” he said. “The Lord has supplied me with everything I need to do all I have planned for today”.

Then he added, “Know the difference between a pig and a hog”?

“No,” I said.

“John, a pig gets fed, a hog gets slaughtered. It never pays to be a hog”.

Harry Potter and Me

05/13/2012

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Friday’s dentist pulled no teeth; he referred me to another dentist who will. By the time the dentists get through with me, I’ll qualify to star in the next Harry Potter movie. I’ll play the role of Nearly-Toothless John.

I’m Off For A Bit

05/10/2012

Thursday, May 10, 2012

I doubt that I’ll write much over the next few days. Tomorrow at 7 a.m. I visit a dentist to see about having eight teeth pulled. Any diary entries I’d make after that would read: “Ouch! Groan. Damn! Ouch”!

But that’s tomorrow; this is today and all sorts of good things are happening.

Ginny and I continue to prepare for her retirement. Exciting times. We look forward to enjoying more time together before we get old, feeble and die. Yes, I know that could come at any moment but we hope other happy things come first.

She says her top priority before leaving the office is to make sure all the plants are watered! She is also training her replacements—looks like it will take three people to take over her duties.

Here’s a happy find: when clearing her desk, as she carried some trash to the dumpster she found this clipping someone had thrown out. We don’t know the source or I’d give credit, but it rings true:

Soon after my dentist encounter, I’m scheduled for another eye operation, the sixth one since Christmas. Eve brought me a player to listen to talking books and I’m enjoying hearing Homer’s Odyssey. Why had no teacher ever told me this was a fun story? I’ve encountered bits and pieces of it for ages but this is the first time I’ve (read) it cover to cover.

I also continue to read Jeremy Taylor’s Rules And Exercises For Holy Living And Holy Dying. What a powerful happy book. Though written 400 years ago, it speaks to my condition.

For instance, yesterday as I mowed the lawn, I reflected on Taylor’s take on the subject of faith and work. Quoting James (I’ll show you my faith by my works) Taylor mentions that work is not limited to what I’ve commonly thought of as good works—you know, feeding the poor, religious rituals, stuff like that. But work also means the common, everyday duties we are called to do.

In other words, I show my faith by the way I mow the lawn!

Do I do a half-assed job of it and say “close enough for government work” or do I perform this task to the best of my ability—yet without drudgery. Jesus said “My yoke is easy and My burden light”.

As Paul said, “Whatsoever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father by Him”.

Thus the butcher shows his faith by keeping his thumb off the scale. The merchant by his customer service and fair dealing. The lawyer by honestly representing his client’s interests. The clerk by not goofing off too much around the water cooler.

In practical application to my own work, perhaps I should spend less time browsing bikini girls on the internet and more time editing copy.

Oh, speaking of the net, the guy in Croatia sent me a copy of the tourist flyer with a tweaked picture of William Short’s 1854 leather diary cover:

It is a double 8-page concertina fold, perforated in a way that each page can be torn off as an individual flyer written in one of the six languages.

Mr. Short would be amazed at this.

And my Google Analytics shows that last week 9 readers from Bosnia checked out my site. That astounds me. I hope they found something interesting and helpful. Incredible to think a bit of stuff I produced here in my little home office on a cul-de-sac in backwater Jacksonville finds its way across the world.

Perhaps I should regard my work with a deeper sense of responsibility. There may be more at work here than I realize.

Enough musing. Today’s work remains to be done today.

As for tomorrow, I hope this new dentist is a man of faith who shows his work by sending me home intact…

Say, how come it is that Jesus never cured anybody of a toothache? Walk on water, raise dead Lazarus, give sight to the blind—but no toothaches. Must be some oversight on God’s part.

Or, maybe in some things He lets me live with the consequences of my own actions. Maybe I’m paying for all those Snicker’s Bars, the kind with nuts, I ate as a kid.

That thought daunts me.

I don’t want to go the dentist.

I need comfort food.

I think I’ll buy me a Milky Way Bar, the kind without nuts.

A Long Short Letter

05/09/2012

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Yesterday I spent almost nine hours writing a one-page letter, a letter related to William Short’s 1854 Diary.

Why should a short letter take so long to write?

I find that’s often true, it takes me longer to write a brief piece. On a good writing day I can whip out ten pages of first draft text for a 300+ page book. Yet once it took me two days to produce a Garage Sale sign!

If anything impresses me about the Gospel writers, it’s the succinct quality of their writing. They say much in few words. Not verbose like me.

I think their confidence roots their conciseness. They knew what they wanted to say and said it well. I fear being misunderstood so I elaborate and repeat and explain and illustrate and reiterate and… (Besides, I love to hear myself talk).

For instance, Luke tells the parable of the Good Samaritan in just seven verses; yet other writers recount that tale in whole books.

Once I attended a class where the teacher read the Good Samaritan, then asked each student to pick a character in the story and identify with that character. Tell what the character saw, what they thought, how they acted, what they felt…

Some students identified with the mugging victim, left broken and bleeding by the road. Others identified with the religious people who passed by on the other side of the road. Some identified with the Samaritan being helpful. Some thought of themselves as the inn keeper offering long-term care.

I, of course, identified with the ass trudging along doing the donkey-work of the kingdom as a bystander to the main action.

Interestingly enough, nobody identified with the robbers, although who hasn’t run roughshod over others in our lives and left them bleeding in our wake.

I wonder what Luke would have made of that?

Of course there is a danger of being too concise. Matthew 25 tells about a wedding feast and I’ve heard of one preacher expounding that passage who challenged his congregation: “Will you stay awake with the wise virgins, or will you sleep with the foolish virgins”?

Evening & Morning Glories

05/07/2012

Monday, May 7, 2012

Saturday night I used my wheeled walker to see how the Heavens declare the Glory of the Lord. Ginny and I drove to the Ortega River to watch the rise of the Supermoon over the waters. (Saturday the moon approached closer to earth than any other time this year.)

Although we’d suffered a bit of a bickering time beforehand, we sat holding hands, watching the moonrise, and enjoyed talking for a couple of hours by the river.

Sunday morning, we enjoyed strolling in our garden and talking about plants and how Ginny plans to improve the garden when she retires at the end of the month. I fail to see how she can improve much on the flowers I photographed:

Click on photo to enlarge

A Dirty Old Man On Wheels

05/04/2012

Friday, May 4, 2012

God sees to it that we have whatever we need to do whatever He wants done.

Case in point: last summer as my daughter Jennifer and I shopped in a thrift store, we spotted a walker. One of those contraptions with four wheels decrepit folks can push along. It had a fold-down seat where the poor old dears can sit when they tire.

Jennifer wanted to buy it for me.

I said, “Humph! Grump! Don’t need no @%*^ walker! Gruff, Groan. Aint that old and feeble!. Not me! Humph. Insulted. Prefff. Whistle. I’m ok! Don’t even really need my cane. Humph!”

She relented.

Time passed.

Guess who can hardly walk from here to the bathroom now?

Guess who came to see the advantages of a walker?

Guess who didn’t have one?

Guess who is so loved by family, friends and neighbors that when I admitted I needed a walker…?

Earlier this week I came within inches of owning four wheeled walkers!

Yes, four!

Whittled those down to  one, but I had to beat loving people off with a stick, they all were so intent on making sure I have what I need.

Makes me feel like Ezekiel.

When he saw the vision of God coming at him with all those wheels—I think maybe Ezekiel may have needed a wheeled walker and the Lord poured them on him.

Having my walker lessens my pain and increases my range. I’ve walked for blocks this week, further than I have in the past year.

I tied a folding lawn chair on the front of my walker so when Ginny and I went to the park, we just pick a place in the shade and we can both sit without having to search for a free park bench.

The other night we strolled in Riverside Park to watch wading birds squawk, and flutter seeking a roost on the island. Cranes, egrets, herons and wood storks—beautiful white wings in the sunset.

Last night, to watch the rising of the periodic Supermoon over the river, we had to park six blocks away from the Northbank Riverwalk because of concert crowds, but I managed to walk to the romantic spot where we sat and talked beside the beauty of the moonlite river.

I wanted to stroll down to the memorial spire commemorating the Great Fire of Jacksonville (111 years ago today) but I faded too soon. Having a walker does not make me Superman, though I’d like to think so

I have to learn that however far I walk, I must walk that same distance to get back to the car. With the walker, as with everything else, I tend to overdo it.

“Humph! Grump! Don’t need no walker! Gruff, Groan. Aint that feeble!. Not me! Humph… I’m ok! Don’t even really need my cane. Humph!”

On a different note, I’ve been reading Rule And Exercises Of Holy Living and Holy Dying by Jeremy Taylor, a happy and helpful book!

Taylor (1613-1667) served as royal chaplain to England’s Charles I, the king they beheaded.

Referring to some Virgin Martyr in the far past, Taylor observed, “It is easier to die for chastity than to live with it”.

Concerning work he said, “It is presumption to hope that God’s mercies will be poured forth upon lazy persons”.

On preparing for a happy end, he said, “Let a man frequently and seriously, by imagination, place himself upon his deathbed, and consider what great joy he shall have for the remembrance of every day well spent”.

And Taylor encourages me to think on Christ and to live happy and content. “If thy bed be uneasy, yet it is not worse than His manger; and He suffered all the sorrows which we deserve. We therefore have great reason to sit down upon our own hearths, and warm ourselves at our own fires, and feed upon content at home,” he said.

Learning of a neighbor’s entering a hospice program yesterday caused me to think a bit about my own demise soon or late. And Taylor’s book puts me in a happy frame of mind.

I feel ready for whatever comes—I got wheels.

Ginny Announces Retirement

05/02/2012

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Yesterday when Ginny announced her retirement as of June first, her boss broke into tears.

Thanks Wes

05/01/2012

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Yesterday I did something incredibly stupid. But the action came so natural to me that I didn’t realize what a dumb thing I’d done till two hours afterwards.

Thank God my friend Wes bailed me out.

Poor Wes, every time he sees me, it costs him money.

However, as he graciously explained his act of Christian charity while gesturing with each hand, “Here’s a problem. There’s a solution. And I happened to be in the middle with the wherewithal to bring them together”.

Parking Lot Sex and Other Stuff

04/29/2012

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Yesterday I sat in the car smoking my pipe while Ginny ran into the grocery store for a few things; my arthritis hurt too bad for me to want to go inside. A car whipped into the crowed lot and parked a space a few rows over. A bride got out of that car.

Yes, a bride wearing her white gown, no veil, but  with a long white train. She gathered the train in folds, draped it over her arm and rushed into the grocery store.

Curious.

I assumed she must be a model going in for some product promotion or maybe a photo shoot.

But no. After a few minutes, the bride rushed out of the store caring a plastic grocery bag containing some small package. She maneuvered her gown and train into her car and drove away to???

I wondered what in the world would bring a bride dressed in wedding finery into the Publix??? She must have been on her way to her wedding because she was alone in her car and I can’t imagine her leaving the groom to visit a grocery store.

Of course that supermarket houses a pharmacy. Maybe she needed headache medicine. Or carrots. Or a can of soup. Maybe she bought a roll of SeranWrap in case the groom ran out of condoms.

What a mystery!

That’s not the only odd thing I’ve encountered in parking lots recently.

The other day Ginny needed some bird seed and garden supplies, so we shopped at Big Lots. My back wore out before her few things were collected. I walked outside to a bench in the shade to smoke my pipe and watch girls walking past.

About that time a guy I used to know spotted me across the parking lot and came over. He carried a plastic Walgreens Drug Store bag in his hand.

Greeting me as a long lost friend, he showed me some loose pills in his bag.

“Let me give you one of these,” he said.

He said the pills were better than Viagra. “One of these babe’s will put lead in your pencil Try one,” he said.

“No thank you I do not want to,” I said.

“Go ahead. Try one. It will let you last all night”.

“No thank you, I do not want to,” I said.

“You don’t even have to take a whole pill. See these little hatch marks? Split the pill into four quarters and just take 1/4^th . You’ll make some lady very happy”.

Again I refused to try a pill offered by some guy in a parking lot.

“You still live in the same place?,” he said. “If you change your mind, give me a call and I’ll bring one by your house”. He handed me a business card with his cell number.

He went across the parking lot, got in a car, and drove away.

You ever hear little mental alarm bells?

They ring for a reason.

I’ll get back to talking about parking lot sex in a minute, but my encounter with this guy reminded me of an encounter with a book publisher years ago.

I had written a business article about a trucking company he owned. He liked the article.  He asked me to critique the manuscript of a novel his publishing company (he owned several companies) was considering. I had not known he owned a publishing company.

I agreed to review the novel (written by a friend of his) and asked him in return to read my book manuscript The Lazarus Projects.

A few weeks later he called me to his penthouse for a conference. My home would fit into his living room. Floor to ceiling windows on three sides overlooking the St Johns River. Several sofas, easy chairs, bar, and a grand piano rattled around in there. A stuffed zebra dominated the living room decor.

Yes, a whole stuffed zebra nosed up to the piano.

He explained he’d shot it on one of his African safaris. Trophy heads of other species decorated the massive fireplace surround.

Mr. Publisher praised my book manuscript. He said he’d never read better description; my dialog was perfect. He said he laughed often. When he read the climax, he said, he could not stop crying.

He wanted to publish my book!

He set up meeting with several of his bright young men. He and his staff talked about a 100,000 copy press run. They wanted to release The Lazarus Projects to coincide with a National Booksellers Convention in Dallas. He wanted me to go to his own tailor and buy a new suit at his expense then go to Dallas for the book signing, start a promotional tour, and….

Heady stuff for me.

Another meeting under the zebra’s watchful eye… “By the way, John, I a little favor. My wife and I are going to our place in the mountains for the summer. Our pilot will fly us up, but we want our car there too. We will pack the car with her furs and jewelry in the trunk and the trunk will be locked—you don’t have to worry about packing anything. I want you to drive our car up there. No hurry. Don’t exceed the speed limit. Deliver the car to my man there, and our pilot will fly you back to Jacksonville…”

I heard the same mental alarm bells I’d heard with the pill guy on the parking lot.

“I do not want to do that,” I said.

I’ve always told my children that they can say, “I want to… or I do not want to”. No other explanation or excuse is necessary to anybody for anything. Let your yea be yea and your nay be nay; whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil. “I want to; I don’t want to”. Nothing more need be said.

Mr. Publisher elaborated on the beauty of the mountains and how fun to drive a luxury  car, and…

“I do not want to,” I said.

A week later my book manuscript came back to me by mail with a Xeroxed form rejection and check list marked with 15 reasons why my work was too shoddy to be considered for publication.

I’ve always wondered. Am I too suspicious? Was this another missed opportunity… or something else.

Back to another parking lot—one I was at last Friday.

Again Ginny shopped. Again I wore out. This time I retreated to sit on  a lawn chair, part of a sidewalk display. Three store employees on break sat nearby—a young blond lady, a brunette lady a bit older than the other, and a male security guard.

The guard sweet-talked the blond about having sex with him; The brunette encouraged her to go ahead and cheat on her husband.

The trio dismissed my presence with a nod and kept up their intimate conversation.

The brunette said some magazine forum claims 80% of men cheat on their wives and that 50% of women cheat. “With so many people doing it, it’s no big deal,” she said.

The guard pressed his case with a tactic I’ve never heard before.

He pulled out his cell phone offering it to the blond.

He said the directory contained the numbers of 20 different women. He told her to call any of them and they’d tell her how satisfying they’d found sex with him.

He was offering her references!

No one mentioned sexually transmitted diseases, AIDS, pregnancy… or morals.

The guy encouraged the blond to go with him. The brunette said, the blond might as well do it because her husband had probably cheated on her already.

The blond said no because…

Get this!

She said no because she didn’t have time!

“By the time I finish my shift, pick the kids up from the sitter, go home, cook supper and wash dishes… I just don’t have time to have an affair,” she said

She sounded dead serious.

No moral consideration. Just she did not have time to cheat.

I gave a thought to entering the strangers’ conversation … but I didn’t.

In Psalm 51, King David repents of his adultery. He does not mention his wife, or Bathsheba, or her husband. He says to God, “Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight”.

All sin has only one “Victim”.

Many instruments, many occasions, but only One Person transgressed against. The damage our sin does to other people is only a toxic by-product of our rebellion against the High and Holy One Who inhabits Eternity.

I want to tell one more parking lot incident—doesn’t involve sex this time.

Years ago my children attended school with the grandkids of Jacksonville’s Mayor, Ed. Austin, God rest him. The accelerated learning program hosted many field trips.

Inevitably these bus trips returned to Jacksonville late at night. Mayor Austin often picked up his grandkids at the same time I picked up mine. Many other parents met the busses. The Mayor and I often gravitated to a corner to talk about tools or football—never city stuff or politics.

One night the bus was late. Then later. A chaperone called some parent saying there’d been a breakdown. Most parents left—went home to await a phone call when the bus finally did get in. Mayor Austin and I ended up the only two people in that dark parking lot in the small hours of the morning.

“John, do you know what I call a man who hangs around dark school parking lots at 3 a.m.?”

“No, Mayor, what do you call him?”

“A good father”.