Throw me a bone

It’s hard to believe I’ve been involved in the locksmith business for over thirty years. It started out as a hobby; showing up as an apprentice on Saturday, not even an apprentice since I was really just visiting a friend who happened to own a locksmith shop.

I’d watch and fiddle around all day learning what was inside different locks, tinkering with them or fitting keys. My payment came in the form of lunch; usually a Philly Cheese Steak Hoagie sandwich around lunch time. I had the benefit of learning from several locksmiths; picking their brains and learning techniques that eventually led to my becoming a locksmith in my own right.

A few months into my apprenticeship I’d learned enough to handle some jobs without having someone watching over my shoulder all the time. Near the end of the day if a call came in, one that wasn’t too involved, they would throw me a bone; I could complete the job on my way home and keep any money earned from that job. That was neat, seeing as how I’d have done the job for free just to gain extra experience.

I’ll never forget the first “paying” job. It was around four thirty in the afternoon and I drove several miles to make a replacement key on a Ford. I whipped out my impressioning file, filed the marks and turned out the key in a respectable time frame. I made a finished product key and handed it to the customer, not wishing to hand over the “art work” key which wasn’t as professional.

I was feeling pretty good about having done my first paying job as I was driving down the road, going over the entire job in my mind and smiling for having reached another level. I’d driven four, maybe five miles when it dawned on me; I’d never asked for the money. I’d been an apprentice for so long it never occurred to me that I’d accept payment for work I’d done, that’s what real locksmiths did. I guess I was still an apprentice, my next job would have to be the first “paying” job. I laughed at myself; what’s that line from Forest Gump, “Stupid is as stupid does”?

I’d forgotten all about that until this afternoon. It’s been raining for the past two days, starting Sunday morning and dropping enough rain to where I was considering closing down for the day. Many of the freeway service roads were under water making travel to some areas downright impossible; or is that impassable? The first two calls that came in didn’t want to wait for the roads to clear and so I recommended they call some other locksmith. I wasn’t going to let my truck, my livelihood, get washed away just because I thought I could make it through high water only to find the water was too deep. No, they could wait or find somebody else.

I did run a call a little later when the rains let up a bit and in an area of town that normally didn’t flood too easily. The car was under cover, well, half way under an awning as light rain fell. When I’d finished programming the keys I held them up in the air; the lady was standing in the house watching from the window. She poked her head up and held out her hand, the one with the money, up in the air.

“You want to get paid, don’t ya”?, as if I’d forgotten to ask for payment. That’s what triggered the memory of that first “paying” call some thirty years ago. She had her title and driver’s license ready so we could complete the transaction.

The sun peeked through the clouds for a few minutes as I started to make my way back. The rain followed, lots of it, and hasn’t let up since. I couldn’t say how much rain we’ve received in the past twenty four hours; I’ll leave that up to the folks at the news station with their fancy Doppler radar, but it’s enough to where I might have trouble hearing my phone ring the rest of the day. Instead of a bone, maybe I should ask somebody to throw me a towel so I can dry off; it’s nasty out there.

Sunday Comics

My daughter loves to work the Sudoku puzzles. I found this one in the Sunday funny papers. Bill Amend’s Foxtrot has a dorky kid handing the puzzle to his older sister, “Like my Sudoku?”

“Are you sure you don’t mean Sudorku?”.

I’d have shown both panels of the comic strip but it wouldn’t quit fit on the scanner platen; cutting off half an inch on either end.

French Post Cards

I remember growing up, that’s a laugh; anyway while I was supposed to be growing up there was some kind of reference to French Post Cards. It was intended to imply that somewhere in a back room there were pictures of scantily clad women striking less than modest poses.

I came across this beauty while looking for a picture of a car similar to the one my mom used to drive (link via title bar) , The Renault CV-4, built for early self destruction in the early 1950’s. Mom was rather fond of her cute little cars and would give them French sounding names like Franswa; don’t have a clue as how that should be spelled. That’s a better name than I’d have called that POS.

Bells and Whistles

Several years ago we had most of our kitchen remodeled; new flooring, new oven and some cabinets to replace the ones that caught on fire; I should back up and explain. Lucy and I were on our regular Saturday night date sitting down to enjoy a great meal when my cell phone went off. I looked at the caller ID and noticed it was my home phone calling; must be William, my son.

“Dad, do we have a second fire extinguisher?” Those kind of conversations make parenting a joy. Lucy and I hurried home to find that William had put out the fire caused by some wires behind the oven shorting out. William had sense enough to shut off the electricity at the junction box, empty the fire extinguisher and save the rest of the house. The area around the stove was a disaster and our insurance company sent a team of workers to do the repairs.

Lucy got to pick a new oven; the one that had been built into the fancy cabinets, the one with the loose wires had always been a mild source of aggravation. It was so small that her favorite turkey pan wouldn’t fit. We ended up at Lowe’s, Lucy carrying her turkey pan everywhere to qualify any purchase. Once those requirements had been met we picked out a matching microwave to go above; that had been damaged in the fire also.

That was some time back and I finally figured out some of the fancy features included with the oven and microwave. You’ve probably heard that the top of the line item will come with “all the bells and whistles”; well, that’s not too far off the mark.

I was turning off the light, the one that shines down from the microwave and casts a warm glow across a dark kitchen in the middle of the night when you don’t want to fry your eyes with a full blast from the regular light fixture. It had been left on well after the sun was up and I saw no reason to shorten the life of the bulb as I pressed the flat plastic pad covering the switch. A little “ding” went off as the amount of light emitted was cut in half. I pressed it again and it went off completely; another quiet “ding” alerted my ears that the light was off.

Why do I need a bell to go off, something to alert my ears that a light had been turned off? Isn’t that what my eyes are for? Maybe it’s one of the fancy models, made for blind people so they know the lights off too; but why would a blind person need the light on or off to begin with? Then I figured it out; it’s to alert the pets that a care giver is up and about, time to get fed. It’s a bit like the electric can opener sound that animals can hear half a block away.

I had no sooner turned off the light when I heard a steady chorus of “meows” pleading from the other side of the window. Lucy called out from the other room, “I’ve already fed them.”; it only took five years to figure that one out. I’ll work on timed bake some other decade.

Going the Extra Mile and CYA

I attended a class on automotive locksmith work this past summer to keep my Texas locksmith license requirements up to date. Stacy Hetchler, an automotive locksmith specialist put on the class and showed that he had the necessary skills; to be honest, he puts most others to shame with his efficiency level.

One of the areas he touched on would fall into the category of CYA; if I have to explain that one you’re in over your head to begin with. Stacy said that once you’ve made the key, the one to replace the key that got lost, broken or stolen; hand it to the customer and don’t try to start the vehicle. There might be mechanical issues that are unknown prior to attempting to start the vehicle, problems that you want to remain “one step removed” from. What if the motor blows up right at the moment you try to start the vehicle? The customer is going to claim it’s your fault; something about the key you just made caused the transmission to fall on the ground. Stacy advised each locksmith not to start the vehicle to avoid problems and litigation issues; I can understand the logic which would lend credence to such an attitude.

I’m not convinced, at least not entirely, that with today’s electronic keys that we as locksmiths are afforded that extra measure of implied safety. Yes, we could hand the customer the key and let them do the actual starting of the vehicle; however, we are being paid to provide a “working” key.

The advent of transponder technology has provided locksmiths with additional income based on the ability to provide not only a mechanically accurate key that turns flawlessly in the lock; but one that includes the necessary electronic data, be it a VATS key with simple resistor values which can be verified by the module or a more sophisticated transponder system which works in conjunction with the mechanical key. Since both facets are integrated into the process and both are part of the established price which is being paid for by the customer it stands to reason that the locksmith has the responsibility to verify for himself and the customer that all aspects of the job have been accomplished.

In order to protect myself from stepping into pitfalls I’ve made it a point to ask the customer questions prior to working on any vehicle, questions that will clear the air of issues that existed prior to my arrival. If it’s a lock out I check to see if there are tell tale signs that someone has attempted entry such as marks around the windows which might cause damage to linkage rods, wiring systems or airbag deployment. The customer will, in most cases, tell you that a wrecker driver tried but couldn’t open the door, that his next door neighbor used a coat hanger or any number of explanations for the damaged weather stripping, the scratches to the window or paint job.

I say that in “most cases” the customer will be up front about what you, as an unsuspecting locksmith, are getting into. I have had occasion to find folks who want you to jump in feet first in order to take the blame for something which they know is already broken. They had tried to “Slim-Jim” the door and quit when they heard the noise of the linkage rods falling to the bottom of the door; hoping that as soon as you followed with your own opening attempt that you would then have to fix what they had broken.

On one call I’d looked inside the car to obtain the information from the keys hanging in plain sight, made a perfect replacement key only to find that the lock spun freely since the linkage rods had been unhooked prior to my arrival. The customer knew that I had never placed anything inside the door cavity; I knew it and they knew it as, upon being confronted with such facts they had to admit, “Oh, yea, I forgot to tell you my friend tried for a couple of hours and never could get it unlocked.”, a sheepish “you caught me” look took over. I fixed the linkage rod that he’d knocked loose, even bent it back straight since King Kong must have been living next door; maybe it was Mighty Joe Young, I never met him.

This morning I was following an older Mercedes 300D, spewing and belching clouds of soot out the tail pipe. I remembered having made keys at one of my dealerships while the manager was sizing up the value of a Mercedes parked a couple spots down. He started it up and I heard the mechanical racket from under the hood as I called out to him, “Good thing that’s a diesel or you’d have all kinds of problems.” He winced and all he could say was, “It’s not a diesel.” I almost felt bad for him as he tried to figure out a way to place a value on that one. Not sure how this fits in with Stacy’s advise on not turning the key; but it will come to me, maybe next week but it will come.

I had a customer call explaining that I’d replaced a broken ignition on his old F-150 several months back and for some reason he couldn’t get the key out. I drove over under the impression that it was going to be warranty related; my integrity was involved. I examined the lock and observed that the ignition wasn’t being permitted to return to the lock position but that it turned forward and started the truck easily. With the customer watching and my explaining what I wanted to check, I took a poke tool and removed the ignition switch. I had the switch in hand and showed the customer how it worked properly, the key came out the way it was intended as long as the switch was in my hand; but that upon placing it back in the column there was something keeping the switch from returning to its proper position.

I then drew out on a piece of paper the various components that were inside the column; the ignition and how the gear fits the rack with its rod all the way down so the customer would understand how the back of the switch turned a gear, the gear pushed or pulled a connecting rod that was down at the base of the column which had the electrical device which in turn was hooked to the wiring which made the whole thing work as one. I‘d removed the locksmith industry and my original efforts and responsibility from the equation, having shown the customer that the lock did function the way it was designed and that the problem would need to be corrected by a mechanic; my having knowledge of what was wrong but not being a mechanic myself. The customer was thankful, even knowing that additional expenditures would be required, thankful that I had taken the time to explain what was wrong.

I suppose my advice to automotive locksmiths would be along the lines of providing the customer with a working key, making sure the key actually starts the car; but only after having questioned the customer about any know issues which might surface prior to turning that key. If the whole job turns upside down, the car burns to the ground, pieces of motor go flying past your ears and oil starts pouring onto the pavement it would have happened anyway. If you did something that wasn’t by the book, something that another qualified locksmith wouldn’t say is proper or acceptable then you’re still on the hook for damages in a court of law whether you turned the key and started the motor or the customer turned the motor on makes no difference. I’d rather know that my work was satisfactory, that the mechanical and the electronic phase that I’m being paid for actually do work prior to accepting that money.

Hezbo Toy Company

Catherine Donaldson-Evans of FoxNews reported in a story titled “Muslim-Themed Products Mimic Icons in American Popular Culture” ( linked via title bar ) wrote about how adapting Western pop icons to meet with Muslim tastes makes them sell better.

"If you adapt products, as all cultures do, to the local conditions, with a slight change of name and slight difference in the way they appear, then these products sell," said Akbar Ahmed, the chair of Islamic Studies at American University in Washington, D.C.”

It’s easy to see how such a statement is so insightful; just examine the adapted version of Mattel’s Barbie Doll. Hezbo’s Muslim version comes with a hijab ( shown in black; but available in many colors ), “Just like the one mommy wore before she blew herself up in the market place”. The loose fitting wrap easily hides detonator cord and wires. The “Jihad Joe Urban Warrior” comes with its own miniature strap on explosives and real C-4; no official uniform since blending in is important to infiltration. “Be the first on the block to take out infidel playmates!”, and remember, “Friends will always honor your memory as you await a reward of 21 virgins.”

The famous Mattel American Chatty Cathy doll has been refitted with digital technology; instead of, “Hi, my names Cathy,” the Hezbo Muslim doll spouts, “I’m Aasiyah, Convert to Islam or die!”, “Jemeelah proclaims, Death to all Infidels!”. This doll is selling especially well in the slums of Paris where second and third generation unemployed future terrorists reside.

Hezbo Toy Company is not affiliated in any way with Hasbro Toys. As a matter of policy, Hezbo Toy Company reserves the right to infringe on any and all patents associated with existing toys manufactured under different names by various legitimate manufacturers such as Mattel, Hasbro or Milton Bradley. Hezbo Toy Company, while acting independently and with impunity, is protected through the United Nations efforts to curry up with seriously deluded and armed militant organizations which stand against the evil empire of George Bush.

Car Runs on Water

I was watching game one of the American League Championship series as one of the commercials started with a spotlight announcement for a new technological breakthrough car that runs on water; a funny looking bubble car shown with some fellow holding a garden hose filling the tank. The commercial broke off in a split screen to announce Jack in the Box’s new Sirloin Chibata sandwich. The breakthrough announcement for the car that runs on water stopped in mid delivery to acknowledge the new Sirloin sandwich and the commercial ended. About the only food I can eat from Jack in the Box are their excellent chocolate milk shakes; the rest of their food ends up eating me so it’s unlikely that I’ll ever try one of those new sandwiches.

When I was growing up my parents were on a tight budget, my mother was in nursing school so things were stretched pretty thin. They bought two new cars, what I’d call entry level economy cars; but at the time I think Renaults were buy one get one free, the second was for parts that nobody had in stock. These were Renault Dauphins; pronounced Rhen-Ault back then. Now they want to be called Ray Know; it’s amazing what your ears pick up on. I remember when Jaguar was pronounced Jag waur; now they cost a lot more and are Jag You Are, much more continental to the ear; big deal.

Mom’s Dauphine had a problem leaking water from the radiator so she kept a six pack of Coke bottles filled with water in the back seat for emergencies. Some folks would have taken it in to get it fixed; but living on a shoe string creates imaginative solutions to tide you over from paycheck to paycheck. Mom would pull over every so often, take out a bottle of water and pour it into the car so she could get a few more miles before repeating the process.

At the time there weren’t too many Ren-Aults running around on the streets so folks were a little more than puzzled when Mom would pull over pour a bottle of water in and then get on down the road. Some figured the French had come across with a “too good to believe” break through, a car that runs on water; or maybe Coca Cola. Not many were aware that the small white towel that came in the glove box had a dual purpose; the obvious was for wiping your hands after it broke down on the side of the road, the other was to signal surrender in case of attack. You gotta’ love the French for planning ahead.

You might remember seeing a funny looking European POS called the Yugo some years back. These were fairly unreliable even when new. You have to wonder about the industrial spies from Yugoslavia who broke into the abandoned Rambler/Nash facilities to steal plans to build an automobile; I know, Yugoslavia didn’t have industrial spies so they were actually Polish.

I was sitting at a stop light and noticed a Yugo in the next lane. If I’d had my camera with me I’d have taken a picture just to show one had survived; kind of like finding the last Slimy Toed Speckled South American Sparrow, the picture might be worth something.

I rolled my window down, motioning for the other driver to do the same. Once I had his attention I pushed my cell phone towards him. There was a look of bewilderment on his face, not sure what I was offering. “’Just thought you’d need this to call for a wrecker; you know, driving a Yugo and all.”

Some people just don’t have a sense of humor; of course if you’re driving a Yugo or a Ray Know that’s perfectly understandable. I need to work on my people skills if I’m to ever be assigned as a Deep low mat at the United Nations. At least I will have Deep low mat tique eam mune eity when I park illegally in my Jag You Are in front of the Fie Yare Plug there in Nue Yeurk See Ti.

Yes, I Claim to be a Christian

Early this morning I read an excellent post, one that I saved to file. Dave over at Dave’s Mormon Inquiry asked the question, “Are Mormons Christians?”, in and article called, Nicene Links. ( linked via title bar ) There were several links within the article to others who’d written opinions as to which churches should be or could be considered “Christian”. I left a short response and explained that I’d get back later.

“To counter a widening rift within the church, Constantine convened a council in Nicaea in A.D. 325. A creed reflecting the position of Alexander and Athanasius was written and signed by a majority of the bishops. Nevertheless, the two parties continued to battle each other. In A.D. 381, a second council met in Constantinople. It adopted a revised and expanded form of the A.D. 325 creed, now known as the Nicene Creed.” Quoted from The Constitution of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).

Here’s the generally accepted wording of the Nicene Creed, the “be all end all” argument, at least according to those involved in the war of words. Bear in mind that there are variations to the Nicene Creed; the Lutherans have one version and then there is one called the English Language Liturgical Commission Translation and so there is mild contention exhibited among the sects to this day.

“We believe in one God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible.

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only-begotten Son of God, begotten of the Father before all worlds, God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father by whom all things were made; who for us men, and for our salvation, came down from heaven, and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary, and was made man, and was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate. He suffered and was buried, and the third day he rose again according to the Scriptures, and ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of the Father. And he shall come again with glory to judge both the quick and the dead, whose kingdom shall have no end.

And we believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord and Giver of Life, who proceedeth from the Father and the Son who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified, who spoke by the prophets. And we believe one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one baptism for the remission of sins. And we look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.”

Now compare that with the beliefs of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints as offered originally in the form of a correspondence, later to be called the Wentworth Letter and then adopted as the Articles of Faith for the Church.

THE ARTICLES OF FAITHOF THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS
History of the Church, Vol. 4, pp. 535—541

1 We abelieve in bGod, the Eternal Father, and in His cSon, Jesus Christ, and in the dHoly Ghost.
2 We believe that men will be apunished for their bown sins, and not for Adam’s ctransgression.
3 We believe that through the aAtonement of Christ, all bmankind may be csaved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.
4 We believe that the first principles and aordinances of the Gospel are: first, bFaith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, cRepentance; third, dBaptism by eimmersion for the fremission of sins; fourth, Laying on of ghands for the hgift of the Holy Ghost.
5 We believe that a man must be acalled of God, by bprophecy, and by the laying on of chands by those who are in dauthority, to epreach the Gospel and administer in the fordinances thereof.
6 We believe in the same aorganization that existed in the Primitive Church, namely, apostles, bprophets, cpastors, dteachers, eevangelists, and so forth.
7 We believe in the agift of btongues, cprophecy, drevelation, evisions, fhealing, ginterpretation of tongues, and so forth.
8 We believe the aBible to be the bword of God as far as it is translated ccorrectly; we also believe the dBook of Mormon to be the word of God.
9 We believe all that God has arevealed, all that He does now reveal, and we believe that He will yet breveal many great and important things pertaining to the Kingdom of God.
10 We believe in the literal agathering of Israel and in the restoration of the bTen Tribes; that cZion (the New Jerusalem) will be built upon the American continent; that Christ will dreign personally upon the earth; and, that the earth will be erenewed and receive its fparadisiacal gglory.
11 We claim the aprivilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the bdictates of our own cconscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them dworship how, where, or what they may.
12 We believe in being asubject to bkings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in cobeying, honoring, and sustaining the dlaw.
13 aWe believe in being bhonest, true, cchaste, dbenevolent, virtuous, and in doing egood to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we fhope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to gendure all things. If there is anything hvirtuous, ilovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.
Joseph Smith

I could go on for hours comparing the items listed with the Nicene Creed to determine the issues worthy of discussion; however, I will cut to the chase and leave all those minor details for the scholars out there. The most important difference, at least the way I see it, is on the last line, where it is signed, Joseph Smith.

Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God whereas those theologians associated with the writing of the Nicene Creed, those who were assigned the task of assembling a unified set of thoughts to describe, in less than contentious words, generally accepted concepts as to the beliefs of all Christians; were scholars, nothing more and nothing less. I find it entertaining in a dark sort of way, that there are so many willing to follow the teachings of men rather than gain instruction from God’s chosen Prophet.

I’ll wait a few moments while the wild shrieking, the tearing of sack cloth and the ashes settle down from those who call this blasphemy. It boils down to a matter of belief; doesn’t it? The many sects of the Christian world would rather be led by a consensus gained from scholarly notables rather than concede the possibility that God would rather have His Holy Prophets in charge. Doesn’t such arrogance fly in the face of the teachings contained in the Bible, something about the arm of flesh?

I believe that Joseph Smith was the Prophet of God chosen to bring about the restoration of the Gospel in the Fullness of Times, to hold all the keys of the Priesthood so that the world would be prepared for the Second Coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Those who are of a different belief have that right; see article 11 for clarification.

In a snobbish or mean spirited expression of my personal beliefs I might challenge those members of other faiths, “Why haven’t you joined MY church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, the only true Church that has Jesus Christ at the head and has living Prophets to lead and guide through direct revelation with God Himself?” Such an exclusive remark, similar to those who would assert that the Mormons are not really Christians, would only lead to angry words and contention and so I won’t go in that direction.

The information contained within the Scriptures was intended to help the children of our Father in Heaven return into His presence. I think it’s a wonderful blessing, being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints to have the Book of Mormon as translated by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Book of Mormon is another witness of the divinity of Jesus Christ as the Savior and I invite any and all to explore the information contained in that text as they search for those truths which God intended for all men to have. It is not up to any committee of Biblical scholars or theologians to determine the truth and meaning of sacred writings or to determine a comprehensive issued set of beliefs; but the responsibility of each individual placed upon this earth.


Disclaimer: I’m aware of the need to identify these opinions as my own, that I am not authorized to express official positions of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The answer to Dave’s question, in case you might have missed it, Yes, I claim to be a Christian; now all I have to do is live up to those lofty priciples.

Who’s Audie Murphy?

I did a locksmith job at one of my regular car dealerships and had one of their newer used car managers sign off in order to obtain a purchase order. That has always mystified me to some degree, wouldn’t you think they’d issue a purchase order and then I’d make them a key? That’s not what I wanted to write about today; I looked at the young man and was immediately reminded of Audie Murphy, close enough to where I asked if he were related in any way.

“Who’s Audie Murphy?”, a total blank. ( link provided in title bar )

“You’re kidding, right; you never heard of Audie Murphy, awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor and the most decorated war hero of WWII?” His expression left me wondering what had his generation been taught. Another salesman came up to the desk to have some paperwork checked and I asked him the same question; got the same response. This went on three more times; none of them had ever heard of Audie Murphy, the war hero or the movie star.

The first young fellow had access to the internet and at least showed some interest in finding out who Audie Murphy was through a Google search, call it vanity or interest about a historical figure. I bet they all know who Kid Rock, Seinfeld and Barry Bonds are.

I have the movie, Yankee Doodle Dandy, with James Cagney on DVD. There’s a scene towards the end of the show where he thinks he’s supposed to be retired, doing nothing but lounging on a hammock in the country. A car load of youngsters pulls up along side where he’s reading the Variety pages, their car needing water for the radiator. The kids made fun of the theatrical talk printed in the headline while asking permission to borrow some water. He explained the strange use of language used in Variety to the young people and introduced himself, “I’m George Cohan”. They’d never heard of him or any of his work.

Well, I hope all these kids can play Nintendo, X-Box or what ever the heck it is they think is really important ‘cause they sure are missing out on some interesting history. Let’s go blow up something, watch it burn, splatter that video blood all over the shadows in the third level of Doom.

Maybe I should become a History teacher, do something to help link these chowder heads to their past. It would be a shame for a whole generation, maybe two generations to forget why we’re supposed to have strong feelings when Veteran’s Day, Independence Day, D-Day or any number of important thought provoking opportunities to fall by the wayside; to be looked forward to simply because Target and Macy’s had a special Memorial Day Sale where the entire stock of Game Boy Gear was fifty percent off.

Urgent Need For Organs

Deborah Starr Seibel wrote an article ( linked via title bar ) that showed up in the Parade section of my Houston Chronicle, “Katherine Heigl of Grey’s Anatomy says... ‘‘I Needed To Make Sense of His Death’’”. At the end of the piece was a list showing how and why it was important to become an organ donor.

I think it’s wonderful that human organs can be useful “the second time around”. I can remember, and this wasn’t all that many years ago, the excitement generated by medical teams transplanting kidneys and the morality arguments that sprang up as it became possible to actually take a human heart and transplant that particular organ. The field of medicine had opened a Pandora’s Box which could never be closed; the technology was put to use and many folk’s lives have been extended and their quality of life improved as a result of such pioneering medical improvisation.

In the back of my mind lies a dark side, one that questions motives that on the surface may seem pure. It occurred to me that those in charge of deciding the fate of future donors, those who’d been involved in terrible automobile accidents, victims of violent crimes and similar trauma related issues had better be people with impeccable character, integrity above reproach or the opportunity to pervert the system could lead to untold corruption.

A few years ago I wrote a fictional short story and called it, “The Organ Donor Program” ( link provided below ). Each year I’m reminded of my deep suspicions when I come across articles such as were published in today’s Sunday paper. Do you trust these medical folks, the same ones who depend on or have to get permission to perform procedures from a finance director at the home office of the HMO? Who is it that really gets to decide who lives, who dies and who has a healthy kidney to donate?

http://pecawsgift.blogspot.com/2005/01/organ-donor-program.html

Don’t Look at Me, It’s The Dog’s Fault

I questioned Bubba this afternoon regarding how the fleas ( linked via title bar ) got in the house as she was relaxing on her ottoman. She was miffed that I’d interrupted her Sunday nap time and commented that at least the house smelled better with the dogs in the back yard. She claimed that it’s our own fault for letting those * ( expletives deleted ) dogs wander around in her house to begin with, bristling at the idea that I could even consider her an accessory to the recent flea issues.

I put down some of that fresh carpet stuff and realized that it was irritating everyone’s eyes; enough so that it would have been better not to have sprinkled it at all. We have to vacuum every day for a while anyway; this way at least there was something to pick up other than dead fleas. I hauled all the trash to the curb, emptying the kitty litter box as it was part of the annoying odor. Bubba shook her head, something about, “Mine doesn’t stink”. I’d already taken my hearing aids out so she might have said something else, who knows with cats anyway.

We Seek After These Things

A blogging friend of mine, Ethne at Pole Dancing in the dark ( linked via title bar ), posts photographs that she takes on the way to work or on the way home. This past week I commented that I had missed many opportunities to capture images on my way home from work when I was working night shift as a police officer.

I have similar opportunities now early on Sunday mornings on my way to meet with my Bishop and his councilors. I decided to start taking my camera and just let things develop, pun intended. I took several shots of the sky just prior to the sun’s breaking the horizon.

I chose this particular photograph as it took in more of the early morning sky, the greatness expressed as the intense colors present themselves and remind me that even as small as I am in this world, the Lord knows me and cares about my welfare. I appreciate the beauty of nature and remember to say “Thank You” to my Creator when I take a moment to gaze up into the Heavens, the sky above or even a meadow full of weeds gathering the morning ground fog.

“We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” 13th Article of Faith 

In the Gall of Bitterness

I noticed an AP article ( linked via title bar ) written by Frances D’Emilio where the Catholic Church is contemplating revising their stance on the fate of babies who have died without having been baptized. I’m not a Catholic and have always considered the position they take on the topic as rather cold hearted. Why would an all loving Father in Heaven deny any of his children the opportunity to meet with him face to face if they are without sin? The idea that little children are born with some horrible sin, one that would exclude them from returning to Father’s presence is a reflection of a perverted heart, not the will of Father.

Quoting from the article:

“Since both Pope Benedict XVI and his predecessor, John Paul II, have urged the theologians to study the limbo question, a document is widely expected to be made public.”
{. . .}

“Any document on limbo would likely reflect Benedict's nature, as a career theologian, to spell out the Church's stand on limbo in a well-developed theological argument.”

I would have hoped that since the Pope is the mouthpiece of the Catholic Church that he would ask God for the answer to such doctrinal issues rather than hand it off to a group of men who spend hours upon hours reading and interpreting the scriptures. It makes much more sense to me, call me ignorant if you will, to go to the source. If you want to know God’s will all you need to do is ask Him.

When I began reading the Book of Mormon and eventually joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, that issue was covered completely and fell within what I considered would be “the Lord’s way”. Prophets approach our Father in Heaven with questions which have a bearing on the entire world and ask for His direction; we, likewise are entitled to approach Him in the attitude of prayer to council us on individual matters. Those with the faith of a mustard seed are provided the means to obtain the mysteries of Heaven; why is it that the Pope hasn’t heard of this, the Catholic Church?

In the Book of Mormon, Moroni 8: 8 – 16 gives the world an answer as to the baptism of little children.

“8 Listen to the words of Christ, your Redeemer, your Lord and your God. Behold, I came into the world not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance; the whole need no physician, but they that are sick; wherefore, little children are whole, for they are not capable of committing sin; wherefore the curse of Adam is taken from them in me, that it hath no power over them; and the law of circumcision is done away in me.
9 And after this manner did the Holy Ghost manifest the word of God unto me; wherefore, my beloved son, I know that it is solemn mockery before God, that ye should baptize little children.
10 Behold I say unto you that this thing shall ye teach—repentance and baptism unto those who are accountable and capable of committing sin; yea, teach parents that they must repent and be baptized, and humble themselves as their little children, and they shall all be saved with their little children.
11 And their little children need no repentance, neither baptism. Behold, baptism is unto repentance to the fulfilling the commandments unto the remission of sins.
12 But little children are alive in Christ, even from the foundation of the world; if not so, God is a partial God, and also a changeable God, and a respecter to persons; for how many little children have died without baptism!
13 Wherefore, if little children could not be saved without baptism, these must have gone to an endless hell.
14 Behold I say unto you, that he that supposeth that little children need baptism is in the gall of bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity; for he hath neither faith, hope, nor charity; wherefore, should he be cut off while in the thought, he must go down to hell.
15 For awful is the wickedness to suppose that God saveth one child because of baptism, and the other must perish because he hath no baptism.
16 Wo be unto them that shall pervert the ways of the Lord after this manner, for they shall perish except they repent. Behold, I speak with boldness, having authority from God; and I fear not what man can do; for perfect love casteth out all fear.” ( emphisis added )

I am thankful in the knowledge that God has not forsaken his children here on the earth, that He has given us living prophets to relay His doctrine. I am grateful for the Book of Mormon which, having been translated by God’s chosen Prophet Joseph Smith Jr., testifies of the truthfulness of the Gospel and acts as a second witness to the divinity of Jesus as the Christ. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Flea Dipping Day

A couple of weeks ago our oldest kitty, Andie, decided it was time to get on the proverbial iceberg and float out to sea, saving her loved ones from having to watch her die of old age. Not too many icebergs around Houston so my guess is one of my neighbors will have a very unpleasant task when her body eventually turns up.

Andie was an outside cat, mostly because she refused to use the kitty litter box, the dinning room carpet was much softer. We’d permit her in the house to eat and then promptly show her the front door each day. Bubba, our other kitty is an indoor beastie; in actuality, this is her house, her sofa, her beds and her yard. Bubba permits us the use of it as long as all her needs and desires are provided.

We are the custodians of two dogs as well; Puppy is our little black rug and Roxie is my son’s dog while he’s away we take care of her, that’s been two years now. These four beasties picked up fleas and brought them into the house. We didn’t notice them at first since these fleas were content to feast on beasts. ( I’ll leave it to you to figure out when I should do my Dr. Suess routine )

Last week the two dogs developed some kind of bladder infection which caused them to become incontinent; they were removed from the indoor continent and became outdoor continent dogs at that time. You might wonder where this is leading; those content fleas, the ones who were feasting on beasties now had to look for another source of entertainment, humans.

“Hey, dad, a flea just jumped on me upstairs.” My daughter was home with us for a few days and wasn’t thrilled about sharing her room with other guests. I called my friends at Splat Pest Control, the same folks who come by each month and check for termites and things like that.

“We have feasting fleas, fella’. Can you come over today?” This Dr. Suess thing could get to be fun. I was given a check list of things that needed to be done prior to and directly after having the house sprayed for fleas; vacuum the carpets, take everything out from under the beds, vacuum, take everything out from the closets, vacuum, have the animals dipped, vacuum and make sure everything is away from the exterior walls of the house and then vacuum again.

Yesterday they showed up to spray. I locked the dogs in the garage so he could spray the entire yard first, let it dry and then reverse that so he could spray the garage. He then started upstairs and worked his way down, spraying the carpet on each step. He sprayed our bedroom, the den, the kitchen and worked his way around to the office and out the front door where we all were to vacate for two hours while the stuff dried. Bubba had been locked out of her house and was miffed.

It was time to take my shirts to the cleaners and I loaded them into my truck so that upon leaving I’d have a place to go first. One of the items found during the move and vacuum process was my blue suit jacket that had been lost for about a year. It was nearly brand new and somehow when it got placed on the dry clean stack it fell behind a large wicker basket used to store sewing supplies. In reality that’s where we keep the dead body of the tax collector; we just covered it up with bric-a-brac, ribbon and bolts of fabric to throw off the detectives.

I’d looked all over the place for that blue suit jacket, coming to the conclusion that it had accidentally been donated to Goodwill along with some other items by accident. I was happy to see I’d been mistaken, having replaced it some months ago with a very nice blazer. I tossed the blue suit jacket onto the pile of items going to the cleaners and headed there to make sure I got there before closing time.

Lucy called and wondered where I was, having forgotten that I was at the cleaners. She suggested we have dinner at Bo-Lee’s to help pass the time. “Great, I’ll be over there in a few; just found that the moths have destroyed that blue suit jacket.” There were holes of varied size and shape all over that wool jacket. I handed it to the oriental fellow and explained that I no longer wished to have it cleaned, that he could donate it to anyone he wanted, somebody in need. My guess is I’ll be sitting at a traffic light and some foul smelling guy will be wiping my window begging for a buck wearing my old blue suit jacket.

Jennifer called while I was donating the suit jacket to the laundry and asked what we were up to, hinting that if we were about to have dinner, could she tag along. “Sure, your mother and I are meeting at Bo-Lee’s in a few minutes, come on.” I pulled into Bo-Lee’s and there was Lucy’s car; Jennifer had just parked and was off loading my grandchildren as I avoided running over JJ who was running toward my truck all excited to see me. Bonnie, my other daughter, the one who’d helped get the house ready for the bug spraying job called and asked what we were up to and hinted that it would be neat to have dinner with us. What the heck, “Come on down, Jennifer and the kids are here, why not”.

The two hour time period ended and Lucy and I went home, vacuumed all over again, put stuff back in closets and finished off by taking showers and passing out. That was yesterday.

This morning I heard Bubba at the window letting us know how evil we were for having left her out the whole night. One of the stipulations that went with having the house sprayed was that the cat had to remain outside for 24 hours; something to do with them licking and ingesting the bug spray residue. We fed all the beasties; the cat and both dogs, outside. Bubba was not thrilled but ate on the front porch while the puppies devoured their portions in the backyard.

I quietly prepared a five gallon bucket with warm water, added the dipping solution and carried it to the back yard, placing it strategically next to the wrought iron fence prior to locking both dogs in the garage. I then called for Bubba, “Here Bubba, Bubba Kitty?”, and she came from her hiding place in the bushes all happy and purring.

“Gottcha!” I carefully carried her to the waiting bucket and guided her lower half into the water, ever aware that she was not happy and was struggling to escape my grasp. The location of the wrought iron bars provided Bubba with hope for escape as she wrapped her legs around them, claws extended, hissing and spitting up a storm. I covered Bubba’s top half with a towel that I’d soaked in the dipping solution and held her in the bucket for a few minutes. Lucy and I expected one of our neighbors to call 911 as Bubba shrieked and carried on as if she were being drowned. We let her escape, a straggly lump of wet fur that disappeared back into the bushes.

Puppy, the little black one, was next as we let both dogs out of the garage. Puppy is really too big for the five gallon bucket and only her lower half would fit. We used the same soaked towel to apply dipping solution to the rest of her. Roxie watched and was glad she couldn’t fit in the bucket. We had to place the towel on her and then pour the dipping solution over the towel, working it so it covered her whole body.

So, what’d you do before breakfast this morning?

Seigniorage and the King’s New Clothes

My friend Al, over at Old Whig’s Brain Dump, has a piece (linked via title bar) in which he introduced a new word to my vocabulary, Seigniorage. (linked via title bar)

“Seigniorage, the profit that results from the difference in the cost of printing money and the face value of that money.”

Al wrote about the pitfalls that accompany the use of government issued coinage as he referred to historical warnings spoken by Jonathan Swift. I’m no expert; heck, I’m barely educated when it comes down to the subject of currency and exchange. What I know about the complexities involved in printing money and assigning value to such would fill a thimble; a tin thimble at that.

I really have no problem with the concept of a common currency, a means whereby the government is responsible, ( is that oxymoronic to have government and responsible in the same sentence?)…where was I, responsible for the production and issuance of coins and paper currency. Money, when backed with a precious commodity such as gold, silver, diamonds or any other item of consistent value lends credibility to such coinage and the citizenry extend their trust toward their government ( see previous oxymoronic aside ) to facilitate a method of common exchange.

I don't mind paying a convenience fee added to the actual value of that money, a reasonable expectation to cover the cost of production. The network associated with maintaining currency should yield a fee to counter production costs and future expenditures to insure such a healthy monetary system; hence the term seigniorage.

Unfortunately for most forms of currency, to include the Dollar, there is nothing of real value to back its claimed value. The old Gold Standard and Silver Certificate days are long gone. There is no pile of gold stacked in the government bank to equal the number of dollars in circulation and so we operate on a system where the government is free to print money with no expectation of ever having to validate it. The government actually has special printing presses that print money around the clock which further dilute the associated value of previously issued dollars. If you or I were to operate such a system of money creation we’d be arrested for counterfeiting, the government hides behind a different word, fiat or inflation.

I remember a story about a young boy who observed the King’s new clothes and the fakery going on. “Oh, isn’t that a grand tunic, there has never been one quite so regal. The ermine is of the finest quality and will be the envy of all.” Everyone was afraid to point out to the King that he’d been sold a “bill of goods”, that he was in fact running around naked.

Don’t look now but we all might have to hide our nakedness, for so it is with the dollar. You might want to have something of real value stashed away, some gold, some silver or diamonds for that day which surely must come when dollar bills are used as wall paper decoration.

Secret German Prison Claimed

While reading the Houston Chronicle I came across an AP article (linked via title bar) which adds fuel to the fire of controversy that the United States has been holding suspected terrorists in clandestine facilities abroad.

“According to Reprieve, Guantanamo prisoner Hassan bin Attash claims he was told by Jordanian torturers that his brother — alleged senior al-Qaida figure Waleed Tawfiq bin Attash— was being held for interrogation at a U.S. prison at an air force base in Germany.”

In a related yet unconfirmed account, Yaphi al-Twidledum claimed that the German guards would have detainees stand in the middle of a small room filled with coo-coo clocks. The detainees were forced to place their arms high above their heads while tilting from side to side in time with the clock pendulums all the while guards verbally assaulted them, “Tic, Toc, Tic, Toc…” in an attempt to break their code of silence.

In an united act of defiance the detainees would aggravate their guards by performing only half of the intimidating exercise, Yaphi al-Twidledum would smile each time, egging his captors with a steady, “Tic, Tic, Tic…”

The guard in charge went ballistic, his round Arian face turning bright red in anger as he stepped down from his vantage point and reminded them in a thick German accent, “Ve have vays to make you Toc!”

This post is linked with TMH Bacon Bits “Open Post Friday”, a chance to read a variety of articles by various bloggers.

http://www.tmhbaconbits.net/2006/10/06/bbop-134/

Domestic Disturbance Calls and other War Stories

Sometimes when my shoulder hurts I’m reminded of a call I ran as a night shift police officer, more accurately it would be a series of domestic disturbance calls to the same location over an extended period. These were back in the mid to late 80’s so you’ll forgive me if I’m a little thin on particulars, not having any of my patrol notes to refresh my memory.

I was on my way home from the chiropractor’s office the other day, talking with my mom on my cell phone while driving. I must have felt a twinge in my shoulder, enough to bring up the memory as I continued my conversation. I recalled being dispatched to a corner house with a short chain link fence, a couple of barking German Shepherds in the yard keeping us from getting closer to the house for a short while until we mustered up enough courage to walk past them. The house was familiar to most of the night shift officers, it having been the scene of many family disturbances. Anytime a call went out at that place, at least two units would go to make sure that backup was already present. This was the kind of family that jokes are made of, “Proof that cousins can repopulate with almost no ill effect”.

When we got close enough to hear the screams of a young woman alerting us that her mother was holding a gun on her we carefully, but quickly entered the house. The mother had the grown daughter by the hair, a pistol in the other hand. I was close enough to act as I brought my flashlight down on the area of her arm where the Radial nerve would cause her to release her grip on the pistol.

In the back of my mind there was a reluctance to hit a “lady”; I know, this was no lady. I held back from hitting hard and attempted to minimize the damage to her arm, also in direct conflict to what I knew should be done. Regardless of the struggle going on in my mind, I was able to dislodge the pistol, gain control of the woman and make the arrest without serious injury to either the mother or the daughter.

The same was not entirely true for myself as I noticed that by holding back from a full Radial nerve strike I’d pulled my own muscles out of line. My back felt the stress, my shoulder ached and my neck hurt; all from a chivalrous attempt to minimize injuries to fair maidens. This was the kind of non injury/injury that never got reported or written up and so there was never any documentation; it never happened.

I heard from some evening shift officers several weeks later that the woman had been transported to the local emergency room complaining of a severe head ache; turns out her husband had shot her in the back of the head. She didn’t remember it and didn’t press charges against him.

While I sat here writing my vague recollections of a very particular location I brought up Yahoo maps and narrowed the search to within a block or two; it was either Rannie or Rayson near where Roma crosses in Northwest Houston.

This is only a few blocks from Hollister and Pitner where a huge apartment complex is located. One New Years Eve we had a rookie supervisor call us to meet at a school parking lot just down the street. He wanted us to make our “presence known” as there had been a steady stream of fireworks complaints being phoned in. I explained to him that it was more likely to be fire arms being discharged into the air rather than fireworks; shotguns, pistols and an occasional large bore rifle.

“Well, we still need to drive through a couple of times, just be careful.” About that time some fool in the middle of the apartment project let loose with a fully automatic Mac 10, changed out magazines and sprayed the air once more. “Maybe we can do that some other time, y’all get back on patrol and avoid those apartments; be careful out there.”

On New Years Eve or the Fourth of July I made it a point to volunteer for almost any kind of call which would require a lengthy report. I would take my time filling in the blanks and remain under the protection of a solid roof while listening to the bullets falling through a neighboring tree’s broad canopy of leaves. What goes up must come down is a natural law; fools shooting guns into the night sky after having a few too many beers is another.

I answered a call in a different apartment complex down at the other end of my beat regarding someone discharging a pistol. I drove slowly, listening to the report in the distance as I triangulated the location. I knew I was getting closer, my window down as I drove through one parking area and then another.

This might sound a bit strange; but I experienced a spiritual moment while on that particular call. The Spirit whispered to my mind that I needed to be ready, more so than I already was. I was instructed to take my pistol out of the holster, stop forward movement by applying the brake fully, rest the pistol on the padded armrest and pay attention. This was not what I normally would have done, not having a specific target in sight, much less in a vacant parking lot for all I could see at the moment. This might sound funny too; it was like sitting in an easy chair watching a show or something rather than being in a hostile environment; a peaceful feeling came over me telling me that I had perfect control over the situation even though I still had no idea where the gun shots were coming from.

No sooner had I placed my pistol at the ready, just below the window opening where it would not be visible to the public, at least not unless I raised it a few inches; the suspect came around the corner of the building. I was only a few feet from him when he appeared, holding his pistol half way out from his body in a threatening manner. In a fraction of a second my pistol was centered on his chest as I calmly caught his attention.

“ I wouldn’t if I were you.”, was all I need to say and he stopped dead in his tracks, placed the pistol on the ground and gave up. It was the easiest arrest I’d ever made; no hint of a struggle as the suspect knew he didn’t have a chance. Had I not been ready and had the “drop on him”, who knows how it might have turned out.

Subtle Snares of Communism

I enjoyed reading an article that Jay posted over at Stop the ACLU today (linked via title bar) Please take a few minutes to read that article to gain a better understanding of the present by visiting the past.

The simple mention of the word Communism is repugnant, or should be, to Americans. Those who would destroy our country from within hide behind the rights afforded all citizens, even traitors. They don’t wear trench coats and hold pitch forks, a convenient filmography ploy used in the old black and white movie days as the FBI went about the task of rounding up those no good saboteurs.

I’m afraid they look like anyone else, no name tag on the front of a shirt, “John Q. Citizen – I’m a Communist”. It’s hard to see them for what they are most of the time, that is until they come out from behind their disguises and announce through their actions and thoughts how much they hate the America that was founded some two hundred years ago.

I love to watch movies, even knowing that they are the product of the untra-left, the Hollywood elite who make a fortune from our capitalist system and then get on their soap box extolling the demise of that same system. One really well made movie comes to mind, “The American President”, with Michael Douglas as the president. I say it was a well made movie; the script was thoughtful, the actors presented a believable performance, the camera work and everything brought the viewers into the story so that at the end of two hours they came away with images that were intended.

Included in the well thought out script was a never ending agenda, an agenda that included anti capitalism in the form of extreme environmental issues regarding fuel consumption and exhaust emissions, flag burning, gun control and confiscation and a quiet little blurb about how important membership should be to all true patriots in the ACLU. I can recall the scene where Michael Douglas is holding up his ACLU card, defending his girl friend/concubine’s right to burn the American Flag as a constitutional right of free speech while hammering his opponent, the hateful conservative, “Why aren’t you a member?” or something close.

The ACLU is not a patriotic group of citizens fighting for the continuation of that America which was fought for two hundred years ago, a country which sought to promote the inherent rights which only God, our Father in Heaven could establish. The ACLU was founded to destroy those concepts and replace them with a different set of state issued entitlements, permission from your neighbors if you will, in order to establish equality through government benevolence rather than achievement by individual effort. The difference is subtle until you compare the authors of each doctrine.

According to the ACLU everyone should have an equal share of the spoils of this planet regardless of individual efforts; often times equating such as natural rights rather than acknowledging the concept of greater rewards based on greater effort. The ACLU has taken an assumed name, one which invokes the idea of patriotism instead of raising a red flag, one that would identify them as the enemy. Why else would they be the American Civil Liberties Union? They must be patriots; there’s that word American right up front.

Quoting directly from Jay’s article:

“Whether today’s ACLU is a communist/socialist organization or not their goals most definitely align with the ideologies of socialism. Regardless of what one label today’s ACLU there are many dangerous positions in practice that have never changed with them. Their unflinching support of abortion, euthanasia, their strange position on the Second Amendment and their open border policy are just a few examples. They consistently work to thwart the government’s efforts to protect its citizens, undermine America’s sovereignty, and defend America’s enemies. They have defended traitors funding Hamas, the PLO, and confessed Al-Qaeda operatives. All of these seem to support their founder’s goal of abolishing of the State itself.”

We as Christians have been admonished to take care of those in need, to visit the sick and afflicted, to be our brother’s keeper. This is accomplished through voluntary donations, fast offerings, tithes or other benevolent gifts to provide relief to those in need. It was never intended to be accomplished through governmental imposition, forced via taxation, penalty fees and especially not by coercion.

When somebody tells you they want to force everyone to follow their great plan you need to remember that Satan was cast out of Heaven for proposing that same plan. My guess is that he hasn’t given up and has caught the ear of those running the ACLU.

Expanding Horizons

I’m afraid I’ve fallen off into strange company, folks who share my religious beliefs and have not been picked up by the sanity police, at least not yet. The last week or so I’ve been visiting LDS writers blog sites looking for interesting articles. I found these so far and will keep surfing the net in search of more. I’ve replaced a few of the more extreme libertarian or left leaning bloggers on my blog roll with Mormon bloggers, gosh and oh heck! If you’ve never heard folks from the Salt Lake Valley talk, gosh and oh heck will go right on by.

Please welcome and then stop by to visit:

Dave’s Mormon Inquiry
http://mormoninquiry.typepad.com/

Tigersue’s Jungle
http://www.tigersuesjungle.blogspot.com/

By Study and also by Faith
http://bystudyandalsobyfaith.blogspot.com/

and a whole group of Mormon writers

Mormon Archipelago
http://www.ldsblogs.org/

Being Invisible

We have a cat named Bubba; no, she doesn’t have funny looking teeth and eat Moon Pies. My wife would call her Baby Kitty when she was just a kitten; that, along with a Texan accent turned into Bubba Kitty and then just Bubba.

Bubba has an inherent dislike for our two dogs, Puppy and Roxie. Puppy’s classification on the pedigree chart is somewhere between Border Collie and “rug with four legs” while Roxie has a hint of American Boxer, Pit Bull and Retriever. Bubba dislikes Puppy and enjoys giving her grief at the drop of a hat while her dislike for Roxie is even worse, Bubba having attempted to contact Dial M for Murder on more than one occasion.

Bubba has found a small cave in the entry way, actually it’s a small space under the piano bench where she feels a moderate measure of safety. The other day Bubba was quietly enjoying the solitude of her cave when Roxie walked by, oblivious to Bubba’s close proximity. It was too late as Bubba let go with a formidable guttural indictment of Roxie’s dubious ancestral records along with several swipes with claws extended.

Roxie’s legs turned to jelly in her attempt to escape. What a scene; a twelve pound ball of fluffed fur hissing, spitting and successfully bullying a sixty five pound dog. While explaining this to my oldest daughter, just home from being away on business for the past several weeks, I was reminded of a similar situation from my youth.

My family was attending a live performance of Mark Twain Tonight with Hal Holbrook at a local high school. During the intermission my brother and I were chasing each other through the empty halls, eventually finding the stairs that led to the darkened corridors of the second floor.

I had a good head start on my older brother as I hid in a very small space that I was able to squeeze into where a set of wall lockers was interrupted by a support column. I watched as my brother ran past looking for me and held my breath. He must have supposed that I’d gone a different way as he came walking back, having gone the length of the dark hall that led to a dead end.

I waited until he was directly in front of my position before leaping from the shadows and screaming out in wild excitement, my arms high above my head for effect. I had only a minimal chance of survival for having scared the living daylights out of him, the advantage would be mine for only a moment while he gasped for air. I ran back to the safety of my parents and the conclusion of Mark Twain Tonight. Interestingly, one of the stories told ended with the actor talking about the fellow who’d lost his golden arm and was forever looking among the living hoping to find the thief.

“Who stole my golden arm?”, the old man in the white summer suit pointed around the dark hall, “Who stole my golden arm?”, his wavering quiet voice inquired of those in attendance. “Who stole my golden arm”, and then unexpectedly he found someone at the edge of their seat, “You Did!” That was almost fifty years ago and I remember it as if it were yesterday.

Guilt as a Motivator

I was reading a number of blogs to orient myself with a community of LDS writers and came across some rather interesting articles and comment sections. I noticed that while the subjects covered were based on spiritual or historical context, the form of expression was very similar to the political bloggers I’ve been associating with for these past couple of years.

One article written by Keryn at a site called PonderIt, was on Guilt (linked via title bar) which referenced a talk given by Elder Ballard during General Conference. The admonition by Elder Ballard was to encourage members along with positive rewards rather than heaping guilt on folks as a means to obtain results.

Guilt is a natural consequence for having obtained the Second Estate, for having become a member of the human race here in mortality. Guilt cannot be avoided, nor should it be discounted as it is the conscious mind’s acknowledgement of short comings that should be addressed in order to progress. The point of Elder Ballard’s talk was in the context of motivating those in your sphere of influence to achieve progress through positive stimulation rather than negative.

I will use an example of my own to provide my opinion. This past year there were many opportunities for the folks along the Gulf Coast to provide assistance to victims of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. There was, without a doubt, genuine destruction and despair which required an extraordinary effort, an effort which continues in lesser degree until the present time. Church members were asked to serve in a variety of efforts; simple tasks which when looked at individually did not seem too important, when lumped together with other efforts improved the quality of life for those in need.

I was asked to help at our stake center building as boxes of personal care items were assembled to be distributed to those being sheltered at the Astrodome. We stood around tables in the cultural hall with piles of soap bars that needed to be unwrapped to lessen the likelihood of that wrapper becoming unnecessary waste material at the Astrodome. It was a simple issue and yet, once explained made perfect sense.

Others were enlisted to travel to the areas of destruction where they used chain saws and considerable effort to remove downed trees one yard at a time. Those who signed up to provide these services left early, stayed long hours and returned thoroughly exhausted from the physically demanding labors.

In my Sunday PEC meetings we would go over many topics, hurricane relief efforts being only one of these items. One of the opinions voiced went something like Shakespeare’s now famous lines; impugning the efforts, or supposed lack of efforts by those who had taken any job less strenuous.

“…Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”

I pointed out to the good brother that each individual volunteered for tasks based on the ability to carry out those tasks, their own physical limitations, time spent away from other commitments such as business or other employment needs. I cautioned him not to forget that any service provided was an act of sacrifice not to be overlooked as insignificant.

My eyebrow must have arched as I took a moment to catch this brother eye to eye, a mild challenge to step outside and settle this “man to man”, in an otherwise spiritual meeting. I still have areas, many areas as I have noticed, which need to be worked on to progress; all the same I would have enjoyed a quick scuffle after having listened to his remarks. It was my way of reminding him that good efforts are best obtained through kind and thoughtful means rather than laying on a guilt trip for not running with the bulls.

We all will have moments as we quietly reflect, “Did I do the right thing? Could I have done more or done a better job? Did I shrink from the test when it came my way?” These questions haunt each of us as we strive to do the will of our Father in Heaven, provided we are of a mind to do that which is asked to begin with. Those in leadership positions at each level need to recognize the principles taught by the Lord and those He has placed to lead this Church.

Finding Treasure

When I was a very young boy visiting a friend in his back yard I found buried treasure while digging along the back fence. The earth was a dark brown soil that had a wonderful rich smell, the kind that made for great vegetable gardens. We’d borrowed spoons from his mother’s kitchen, large stainless steel soup spoons as our imagination took our excavations along secret corridors of the Black Forest, the Great Wall of China and darkest Africa.

I ignored the dirt on my hands as being part of the thrill, a means of obtaining the unknown, when I spotted something with a reflective surface among the craters we’d created. Instantly I focused on the object still buried, a slim silvery trinket that had been left; had been left by Pirates. Yes, Pirates had been known to use the many coves along the island in times past; maybe I’d found the tip of a King’s ransom in my friend’s back yard garden. I dug carefully around the item, not wishing to damage it. It was a Sterling Silver knife, a butter knife as I later was informed. We dug for hours and never found any of the remaining buried treasure, items that might also match his mother’s silver pattern.

This weekend I learned that I could watch General Conference courtesy of BYU television on my computer. In the past I’d thought it pretty neat that I was able to listen as the audio stream was brought to my computer; but this was a crystal clear digital image with matching stereo, wow! I wasn’t aware that BYU had the ability to offer such fine programming via the internet; not only General Conference, but any of the variety of wonderful shows that are produced for their network.

I got up early to catch the Tabernacle Choir presentation; too early as it turned out; they come on half an hour prior to the first Sunday morning session of conference. I caught the tail end of a talk given by Douglas L. Callister, “Your Refined Heavenly Home”, which he’d given on September 19, 2006. I sat in my favorite chair as if he’d saved this particular talk just for me, my ears catching important information that struck chords of reason. I await, with eager anticipation, going back to retrieve a transcript of that talk, to listen and watch as the opportunity presents itself now that I know where to find it.

The treasure had been hiding just under the surface all this time, having been brought to light by my accidental digging. This time it wasn’t some lost butter knife borrowed from the family silver drawer; it was a box containing digital promptings, talks by inspired individuals with the ability to improve my life here on earth. I invite anyone with even the slightest desire to improve or cultivate the eternal nature of his/her soul to spend a little time digging; who knows, you might find some extraordinary treasures.

Here’s your link: http://www.byubroadcasting.org