Together We Climbed Kolomoki Mound

To celebrate our 40^th Anniversary Ginny and I rented a cabin in the woods of southwestern Georgia at Seminole Lake State Park which is near…

Actually, it’s not near anything.

And one day we climbed Kolomoki Mound which is near…

Well, in giving us directions the ranger at Seminole said, “It’s more in the middle of nowhere than this place is”.

When we arrived at our cabin, a flock of Canadian geese greeted us; Ginny counted 64 and new flocks migrated in every day.

The geese waddled out of the lake to graze in the pine straw right in front of our rocking chairs on the cabin porch.

One day a team of rangers raked up wagon loads of pine needles around our cabin. Ginny, wearing her Seminole shirt, posed for a photo beside one wagon load:

I’m smiling because I don’t have to rake leaves till we get back home:

Every day we rocked and talked and hiked and snuggled on cold nights before a blazing fireplace. This was a time of celebration, and getting acquainted again, and catching up on our reading, and recharging our spiritual batteries.

Not sure how effective that last goal was. I carried along a Bible and a prayer book but didn’t even crack the cover of either one. The most spiritual thing I encountered came from my favorite Stephen King novel, Desperation, in which a drunk minister tells an 11-year-old boy, “You’ve had a conversion… The job of the new Christian is to meet God, to know God, to trust God, to love God. That’s not like taking a list to the supermarket either, where you can dump stuff into your basket in any order you like. It’s a progression, like working your way up the math ladder from counting to calculus. You’ve met God, and rather spectacularly, too. Now you’ve got to get to know Him”.

I needed that reminder.

Thanks, Mr. King.

Every day Ginny and I enjoyed long walks in the woods. This area of the wilderness is called “Wiregrass Country”:

That’s a beaver pond in the distance; here’s a closer view:

On our anniversary we drove into the middle of no where to visit the Kolomoki Mound complex, a cluster of Indian burial and temple mounds which radiocarbon tests date to about 1,920 years ago, that’s about A.D. 30. Some of the mounds in the complex were destroyed by agriculture, road building, or development but seven of them remain. The Indians abandoned the site—no one knows why—a bout a thousand years before Europeans arrived in the New World. Therefore, much speculation about the various types of mounds on site exists.

The Georgia Park Service build a museum into the side of one excavated burial mound. Apparently someone important was cremated and the remains raked into a deep stone-lined pit; then two warriors were strangled and buried there as an honor guard, and several trophy skulls and a collection of effigy pottery placed as a mound of clay was raised above the initial grave.

In this photo the burial pit is to the left and a sacrificed guard in the foreground:

Here are some intact pots and effigy figures from the mound:

Mound A, the largest remaining mound in the complex, rises 56 feet above a plaza between it and another burial mound. The base of the truncated pyramid measures 325 feet by 200 feet. Apparently Indians got to the top via an earthen ramp, but in the 1940s the Corps of Engineers build cement stairs into the side of the mound.

Here is a photo of Ginny half-way up those stairs:

I made it to the top too:

In the distance over my left shoulder you can see a burial mound across the plaza. Archaeologists speculate that the plaza was used as a playing field for a ball game called… Sorry, I’ve forgotten the name of the game. It consisted of competing teams from various tribes or villages trying to get a ball through a ring on a pole. Apparently game winners and spectators killed and possibly ate the loosing team.

Super Bowl just ain’t what it used to be.

Anyhow, in spite of what our doctor says about our age and medical conditions, Ginny and I both made it, panting with frequent rest stops, all the way to the top of the mound—where we kissed.

Ginny quipped, “The couple that wheezes together, squeezes together”.

That’s how we celebrated our first 40 years of marriage, happy, climbing together, watching geese, reading, cuddling by the fire, rocking on the porch, listening to the wind in the pine needles.

Were anyone to ever write my biography, it would be a love story.

So we begin year 41.

If God continues to give us love and health and strength and mental stability we’ll climb to higher heights. Or maybe sink to lower depths… Whether our journey is moving into the sunrise or into our sunset, we feel we’re just getting started.

The Beauty Of A Gray Day

Wednesday, a gray day, overcast, drizzling rain, chilly— perfect for hunkering down inside with a good murder mystery.

I’d intended to spruce up the yard in preparation for taking time off for our 40^th Anniversary; tomorrow is Ginny’s last day at work and I wanted all ready so we will not have to worry about mundane things for a while.

In recent weeks we’ve graduated from CERT training and disaster drill, coped with major appliance breakdowns (heater/AC, microwave & pool pump), published the fire history book, prepared for Halloween, finished my term as president of our neighborhood watch, studied candidates and voted. Ginny has also been deeply involved in contract bidding at her office—We are ready for a vacation!

Ahead, between now and January we have another disaster drill, Thanksgiving, four family birthdays, Christmas, and the start of another book.

We are ready for a vacation first.

I was to get everything ready… but the gray day proved too tempting.

Instead of doing the yard work in the rain, I read all day.

My mystery of choice is Ruth Rendell’s The Rottweiler. I haven’t quite finished the book, but the story tells about this poor serial killer who is being harassed by these mean, nasty, juvenal delinquent, criminals who blackmail and torment him.

All he does is strangle a handful of girls, but the vile delinquents do not play fair.

I hope he gets them!

Vacation reading at its finest.

Ginny does not get off till tomorrow; I’m already in vacation mode.

I’m unlikely to post another entry again till after November 17^th. If you can’t wait that long to read my words of life and wisdom again, then browse in my blog archives on the sidebar and check out previous November Anniversaries from 2005-2007.

I hope this one will be an instant replay.

I wanted to write something spiritually uplifting this morning, but I have nothing to offer. I’m just too depleted.

All I can do is relish the beauty of the gray day spent reading my murder mystery and anticipating time to come alone with my beautiful bride.

Election Results

Jacksonville voters turned out in near-record numbers yesterday to elect Katrina Finley to a board seat in Duval County Soil & Water District, Group 4.

On other local, state and national levels, other candidates also won or lost offices.

Viewing this election from the standpoint of an amateur historian, I predict that in a only few years all winners and losers on all levels will be as well-known as Ms Finley.

Fame flees.

Some of today’s high and mighty may even be remembered as well as one of the famous King Herods I wrote about last Thursday— Although, I hope for more noble reasons.

Fame flees.

The burning issues of this day become the ho-hums of tomorrow.

I have studied the candidates and issues, and I’ve voted in every election since I became old enough to vote about 50 years ago. I feel it is a Christian duty to act as a good citizen. However, I do not get excited about leaders or issues—these are candle moth things, mundane things. You do the best you can about them, then move on to the important.

In our society, I stand in about the same position as one of the peasants digging sand for the foundation of an Egyptian pyramid, what happens politically at the top has little effect on my day to day life.

I have sand to load and carry.

I follow the news and activities of my times. I pray for the king. I cheer for my nation and support our troops in foreign wars. I volunteer to help the needy. I pay my taxes, oppose crime and corruption, and I’ve raised my children to be good citizens in their own right with their own political opinions independent of mine.

But I concern myself little with the doings of the powerful. They live in a different world. But I am pessimist enough to suspect that no politician means me any good. They’re all thinking about getting me a bigger basket to carry sand in.

I laugh at the political rhetoric of both Democrats and Republicans as they define the economic “middle class” as being people much richer than I’ll ever be. What world do these candidates live in?

Now, I did not vote for Ms Finley; I voted for one of the other three candidates for that office. However, I wish her well and I pray for her success in her governmental roll.

In the long view, God Himself raises up one and puts down another and the heart of all kings is in His hands.

Incidentally, my own choice for President did not win. This morning I checked the Supervisor Of Elections website at http://www.duvalelections.com/ And, in so far as I can tell, I am the only voter in Jacksonville to write in the name of my presidential choice—Aaron Solkin.

Sorry Mr. Solkin.

Now that you’ve beaten the cocaine addiction, I think you would have made a great President.

That’s all I have to say about politics.

I have another empty basket to fill with sand.

I’m building a pyramid.

Seeking Sage Advice

Monday morning my friend Barbara White treated me to breakfast at Dave’s Diner. Like everyone else in Dave’s, we talked about football (Florida/Georgia game, World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party)… and books. Barbara, a retired newspaper columnist, is the author of the Along The Way series of books.

Monday evening, Donald, my youngest son, called.

He and his wife face a decision of monumental proportions with life-changing implications, a decision which can influence their livelihood, residence, careers, and income. They contemplate a change that may put them on the razor edge of disaster or joy.

Understandably Donald wanted the advice of someone noted for wisdom, discernment, spiritual depth, common sense, wise counsel, and dedication to Christ.

Naturally he called me—to get Barbara White’s phone number.

Anytime you need me, Son.

Dad always stands ready to help…. I have a phone book.

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Today is Election Day; in an hour or two, Ginny and I will go to the polls to vote for president, legislature, judges, and many other officers; as well as seven Constitutional Amendments.

Our pre-election sample ballots offers us 58 choices.

Last night we again spent several more hours discussing our sample ballots and looking up on-line references related to the proposed candidates and amendments.

We solidified our choices.

May God give our country better leaders than we deserve.

Which Switch

When I was a bad little boy my mother punished me with a butcher knife.

She’d hand me this big sharp knife from the kitchen drawer and make me go out into our backyard and cut a switch for her to swack me with.

She never cut the switch herself.

She always made me do it.

I remember standing in the yard looking at various bushes asking myself questions. Would a little switch hurt less than a big one? Long and thin? Or short and thick?

I’d ponder about bamboo: those knotty places where the leaves branch out hurt like crazy. Tea weed grows flexible and tough, but the fibers and rough bark will cut my bear legs when I get switched with it.. Plumb branches sport thorns and they are not as flexible as tea weed or bamboo, but, even if I trim the thorns off, those little knobby places where they grew will snag my skinny legs..

I have to make a choice.

If I go back into the house with a switch too little, the wrong one, Mama will get mad and make me come out again to cut a different one…

That was sixty years ago.

Odd thing is that I never remember what it was I’d done to deserve punishment. And I never remember the actual whippings she gave me… All I remember of those long-ago days is having to chose which switch…

Now why in the world am I dredging up those painful memories this morning?

Oh, yes,. tomorrow is Election Day.

Changes

Time to change the clocks again.

Set them back one hour.

Drat!

My mind knows the time changed last night; my body doesn’t. So this morning I woke at 1:30 instead of my usual 2:30. Joy, O Joy.

I’ve spent much of my life preparing for changes that never happened. Before Tropical Storm Fay, I put away or fastened down everything loose in the yard—lawn chairs, flower pots, tools, statues—but Fay came in as a tropical storm instead of as the predicted hurricane.

I need not have taken such through precautions.

I still have not got everything put back where it belongs.

Then last week, anticipating a visit from our Mark & Debbie and two new adopted kids to our home, I began to child-proof the place. Did you know that as a pipe smoker I have eight boxes of strike-anywhere matches scattered all over the house in easy reach of any chair I happen to sit in? And there are sharp things and breakables and prescription bottles all over the house—it’s been years since we’ve had small children in the house, so we just didn’t think of child-proofing until anticipating their visit.

But the kids never actually made it into our house; we met at Eve’s and all went to the park instead. I could have left my matches where they were.

Every year Ginny and I prepare for an elaborate Halloween so we can give our tracts to the people who come to our door. We set up a display and pack generous goodie bags for kids (see October 30, 2005 or 2006 or 2007 in my Blog archives for photos)

Last week we added even more candy than usual to the goodie-bags and Friday night we canceled our date and skipped Eve’s party so we could sit at a table in our driveway to dispense candy and tracts and toys and comics to the kids… and only eight kids showed up the whole evening.

Some years we’ve had as many as 60 trick-or-treaters, but this Halloween, only eight.

We made all these preparations for nothing.

I spend much of my life preparing for things that never happen.

Earlier this year (on October 16) I wrote mentioning the suicide of the manager of Georgie’s BBQ—well, yesterday after shopping for a new vacation wardrobe at a local thrift store, Ginny and I drove to Georgie’s for lunch only to find the restaurant closed.

We’ve been going there regularly for 15 years.

But now, with the manager’s suicide, the owner decided to shut down the place entirely.

As best we can figure, ten or twelve employees worked each of two (maybe three) shifts at the restaurant. At least 24 people lost their livelihoods instantly and unexpectedly because of the manager’s suicide.

Then also, Gin and I are not the only old people who depended on the decrepit discount for a cheap, pleasant lunch or dinner out. Customers always packed the restaurant. Whole shifts of police officers, dozens of seniors, church groups and many families ate there often.

The poor manager attempted to end his own pain by ending his life. Maybe he did not realize the ripple effects his death would generate. Maybe he thought his life didn’t matter. Maybe he felt useless. Maybe he felt he was alone in facing his difficulties.

Poor bastard.

He wasn’t.

My 999th

Today my Blogger Dashboard marks the 999^th on-line diary entry I’ve made—Time To Celebrate.

This means I can write about anything in the world I want to!

Anything!

Since my days recently have been filled with yard work and tying up loose ends from the fire history book, I chose, for my own amusement, to write about— King Herod.

The other day in writing about meeting our new niece and nephew for the first time, I jokingly mentioned that I advocate the King Herod School of child care—say what you will about King Herod, but he did have a way with children.

However, many readers will not catch my reference because there were actually six King Herods (maybe more) and it’s easy to confuse them.

So, just for my own fun, I’ll try to straighten them out.

First came King Herod Antipater. He backed Julius Caesar in the Roman civil wars and when Caesar came out on top, he awarded Herod Antipater the territory of Israel, then occupied by Roman troops.

One of Antipater’s sons became king after him by killing off siblings. That son was known as Herod The Great. He’s the one who rebuilt Solomon’s temple in Jerusalem, and he engaged in many other extensive building projects.

Herod The Great had several sons who each wanted to become Herod The Greater. When he discovered their plots, he killed three or four of them at various times. Augustus Caesar observed that as a Jew who avoided eating pork, Herod had no scruples about slaughtering ambitious relatives; “It’s safer to be Herod’s pig than Herod’s son,” Augustus said.

Herod The Great wanted to protect his throne and title.

When wise men came out of the east saying they had followed a star and were come to worship Him born King Of The Jews, Herod The Great engineered the slaughter of the innocents; every male child under two years old in Bethlehem was killed.

The ancient historian Flavius Josephus says that Herod’s brother, who also wanted to become king, “escaped death only by dying”.

Sons, kids, and brothers were not the only ones Herod The Great suspected of wanting his throne. He had married a woman named Miriamne (Herod married ten different women but she was his favorite). Her reputation for beauty exceeded that of Cleopatra (Mark Anthony and Cleopatra were friends or business associates in intrigue with Herod The Great).

Anyhow, several times Miriamne was accused of adultery and plotting to size Herod’s throne. Her own mother testified against her (because Mama had a plot of her own going).

In a fit of rage, Herod The Great, even though he loved her to distraction, killed Miriamne… But, he regretted her death. He missed her company… so, (according to the Talmud and Josephus) he coated her dead body with thick honey as a preservative and had servants sit the body at the table with him for meals. He talked to the honey-coated corpse while he ate. And, tradition has it, that for the next seven years, he took Miriamne’s body to bed at night and had sex with it.

What can I say?

She was his honey.

Anyhow, at age 69, Herod The Great died himself in Jericho about the year 4, just after he’d tried to kill the baby Jesus by killing all male children in Bethlehem.

With the old king dead, brothers and sons and generals and priests scrambled for power. In the midst of all the backbiting and treachery, the Emperor Caligula split power in Judea among several contenders.

Coming out on top was Herod Antipas, a son of Herod The Great.

No great improvement.

Herod Antipas earned New Testament fame by beheading John The Baptist at a birthday party.

Herod Antipas fancied a lady named Herodias who happened to be married to his brother Philip. John The Baptist said it was not right for him to have his brother’s wife. So Herod Antipas locked John in jail.

At a birthday party the daughter of Herodias danced pleasing the guests and Herod Antipas who promised her anything.

Hollywood likes to portray the daughter, who may have been named Salome, as an exotic, erotic lap-dancer who turned the king on, but Bible scholar Edward Vernon says that the dancing daughter may have been a five-year-old child prancing and skipping around at the party charming king and guests with her cute antics.

The girl asked her mother what to ask for and Philip’s irate wife, said, Ask for John The Baptist’s head on a platter.

Ever one to please the ladies, Herod Antipas beheaded John… but later, when Herod heard about Jesus, he said, “This is John the Baptist; he is risen from the dead and therefore mighty works do shew forth themselves in Him”.

Jesus referred to Herod Antipas as “That old fox”.

When the mob brought Jesus before Pontius Pilate to be crucified, Pilate tried to wiggle out of making a decision by sending Jesus, a Galilaean, to Herod Antipas who held jurisdiction over that territory.

“When Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad; for he was desireous to see Him of a long season, because he had heard many things of Him, and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by Him. Then he questioned with Him in many words; but He answered him nothing… And Herod (Antipas) with his men of war set Him at nought, and mocked Him, and arrayed Him in a gorgeous robe, and sent Him again to Pilate”.

Later, Herod Antipas traveled to Rome to ask Caligula for more power and a crown; this peeved the emperor who banished Herod Antipas to Lyons where he died in exile.

Herod Philip The First (who’d been disinherited by Herod The Great) and Herod Philip the Second (son of Herod The Great and Cleopatra) contended with Herod Agrippa The First (he’s the one who executed the Apostle James) and Herod Agrippa The Second, (who seems to have married his own sister, Bernice).

These four jockey for power and preeminence. Sometimes their reigns overlapped, coincided or conflicted. The Roman Emperor Claudius favored Herod Agrippa The First and promoted him above the others.

In the New Testament book The Acts Of The Apostles, two of the Herod Agrippas earn mention:

Herod Agrippa The First put the Apostle James to the sword and imprisoned the Apostle Peter until God sent an angel to free him. Herod Agrippa I put the jail guards to death because of Peter’s escape.

A trade/political dispute arose involving the cities of Tyre and Sidon. “Upon a set day Herod (Agrippa I) arrayed in royal apparel, sat upon his throne, and made an oration unto them”.

Some ancient sources say that royal apparel was a suit made of polished silver plates which reflected sun light so strongly that it blinded onlookers.

As King Herod Agrippa I delivered his oration at that meeting, people proclaimed, “It is the voice of a god, and not of a man”.

“Immediately the angel of the Lord smote him, because he gave not God the glory; and he was eaten of worms, and gave up the ghost. But the word of God grew and multiplied”.

What a sad sight. The king arrayed in silver, brilliant in the sun. He orates. People cheer. He relishes the applause— until explosive diarrhea hits him right then and there. Worms gush out all over that shining silver suit.

Some poor servant had to clean up the dead king’s throne.

Like his father, Herod Agrippa I, King Herod Agrippa II seemed to savor elaborate pomp and showmanship. Herod Agrippa II flaunted his relationship with his sister, Bernice.

On a royal tour of Caesarea where the Apostle Paul was awaiting trial for agitating people proclaiming Christ…

“On the morrow, when Herod Agrippa (II) was come, and Bernice, with great pomp, and was entered into the place of hearing… Paul was brought out…

“Then Agrippa said unto Paul, ‘Thou art permitted to speak for thyself”.

And the first thing Paul, standing there in chains, said was “I think myself happy, King Agrippa…”

Paul said, “I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers… Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead”?

Paul told the king and Bernice about his own conversion on the road to Damascus and why he believed that Jesus is Lord risen from the tomb.

Paul said the ancient Hebrew prophets foretold that, “Christ should suffer, and that He should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto the people and to the Gentiles”.

Then King Herod Agrippa uttered one of the saddest lines in Scripture:

The king said, “Paul, Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian”.

Almost persuaded…

Almost.

A Day Without Religion

I did nothing overtly religious Tuesday.

Because I needed to go to the Jacksonville Fire Museum to see Lt. Treadwell, the curator, to tie up some loose ends with my book on the history of firefighting in Jacksonville, I drove Ginny to work and kept the car.

Several odd things happened.

Borderline religious experiences that made me think that Jesus lurks just at the corner of my eye, yet out of sight. No big epiphany , just everyday things that make me realize we walk every day through the world of the Spirit. That there’s more to life than the seen. That we move on the edge of wonder. That Jesus Himself walks unseen right at your elbow.

First, I dropped Ginny at her office then drove to Dave’s Diner for breakfast. An old guy came in and sat in a booth across from me. Nicole, the waitress, reminded him to take his medicine. He ordered something and she reminded him that he had to drink milk with his pills. She acted so caring and motherly toward this old man; surely such care lies beyond the duties of a waitress. I felt so touched by her kindness.

Nothing overtly religious here. Just goodness acted out in a corner diner.

At the hardware store—yes, yesterday as the temperature reached 87 degrees, I finally did get the swimming pool pump working and the pool clean except I needed some hose clamps today when the temperature here dropped to a record low of 37 degrees!

I don’t see the hand of Jesus in that!

But anyhow, at the hardware store, the guy in plumbing directed me to the guy in electrical conduit. As I approached, the young hardware guy stood listening intently to an old man, (a farmer?).

I waited my turn.

The farmer was saying he could not be away that long. “I need to be there to feed my dogs. And milk the cows. And the take care of the horses. If I’m not there, they’ll die. The doctor just don’t understand that. He says I’ll have to be in there a week or ten days. I can’t stay in there that long. My animals need tending”.

I could see the wheels turning in the hardware clerk’s mind. He was considering it. He really was thinking of volunteering to care for those animals while the farmer was in for his operation.

“Got to get going. Cain’t be away from the place too long. I’ll come in for that other stuff tomorrow,” the farmer said hobbling away.

“Are you part of his family,” I asked the clerk.

“No. He doesn’t have any family. He’s just a customer; comes in here regular. He’s got cancer and this is his forth operation”.

That’s what the clerk said… but his eyes, his mind was on something else. Hungry dogs and horses and cows. He was thinking about it. He really was.

I have no idea if he actually will tend the customer’s animals.

But the mere fact that the young man would consider doing such a thing thrilled me.

I thought Jesus is in Aisle 42.

Aisle 42, electrical conduit, is holy ground.

Walk carefully.

At your next step you may bump into God.

I drove off with my hose clamps (too cold to wallow in the mud to put them on today) and the car radio said something about some company laying off workers.

I thought I ought to maybe pray for the unemployed… Who do I know that’s unemplo—Pete!

Why in the world would I think of Pete?

Plenty of folks I know better and who live closer to me are looking for work; there’s Randy and Rick and Greg and Linda and Nathan and Helen and Homer and Reece and Alex … and Pete who lives a world away.

But Pete is the person who sprang strongly to mind.

He’s a guy lives in England who used to comment on my blog now and then. A couple of months ago (see May & June in my blog archive) , my computer overheated and melted stuff in the hard drive. I lived without a computer for close to two months. It was eventually restored but, in the process, I lost all my favorites and bookmarks and site links—including Pete’s. No contact with him in the months since.

Pete got laid off (only over there in Britain they call it “being made redundant”) from his job back before we lost contact. Out of sight, out of mind. I have not thought of him in ages…

But, as I drove to the fire museum, my mind fixed on him so I prayed for Pete.

This evening when I got home, guess who had commented on my yesterday morning’s blog?

Nothing supernatural in my day, just tiny hints of things far beyond myself.

Like I said starting out, I did nothing overtly religious today, common ordinary mundane things, but I feel as though I’ve walked near Jesus all day.

I don’t see Him.

I never do.

But there’s a shadow beside my own.

Meeting Our New Niece & Nephew

My blog has been down for two days because of a log jam; this morning, Donald went into the server and removed old log files and republished. He solved the problem. Thanks Donald!

Sunday for the first time Ginny and I met the two kids (Sabrina, age 7, and Rob, 5) which Ginny’s brother, Mark, and his wife, Becky, are adopting.

I see my roll as an uncle as being the guy who teaches kids the neat stuff their new parents would never teach them.

Alas, that was not to be.

I brought along a pipe shaped like a horse head so I could show the kids how to smoke—and that if the bowl of the pipe is the horse’s head, then what part of the horse is at the puffing end?

Becky, the new mother, was not amused.

I think she’s over-protective.

Why she even covered their ears when I tried to teach the kids the words to a grand old hymn of the church (well, it ought to be).

Since the kids were not allowed to hear me sing, perhaps someday they can read the lovely lyrics in this diary; I’d hate for these kids to grow up culturally deprived—.

Cigarettes and whisky,
And wild wild women,
They’ll drive you crazy,
They’ll drive you insane.

Cigarettes and whisky,
And wild wild women,
They’ll rot out your innards,
And coddle your brain.

Becky said it’s a good thing they live five states away; Ginny agreed.

Drat.

I think I’d make a great uncle.

Across The Finish Line

How you finish the race is more important than how you start it.