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.
Monday, October 09, 2006
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
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
Sunday, October 08, 2006
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
Saturday, October 07, 2006
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.
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?
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.
Friday, October 06, 2006
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/
“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.
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.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
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/
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/
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
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
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
Friday, September 29, 2006
Idiot and TSA is Redundant
I read an article (linked via title bar) by Mike M. Ahlers on the CNN site this morning where a “Wisconsin man who wrote “Kip Hawley is an Idiot” on a plastic bag containing toiletries said he was detained at an airport security checkpoint for about 25 minutes before authorities concluded the statement was not a threat.”
“Ryan Bird, 31, said he wrote the comment about Hawley -- head of the Transportation Security Administration -- as a political statement. He said he feels the TSA is imposing unreasonable rules on passengers while ignoring bigger threats.
{. . . }
“My level of frustration with the TSA and their idiotic policies has grown over 2 ½ years," he said. "I'm frustrated that poorly trained TSA people can pull random passengers out of line and pat them down like common criminals. The average traveler has no recourse."
Everyone pay attention because I’m only going to say this a few times today; the folks at TSA are idiots, to include Kip Hawley. It’s not their fault, it’s a requirement, call it “job description” from the bureaucracy which is Washington. These folks “allegedly” (that was fun) learned how to perform security checks by watching a cake walk at some elementary school Fall Carnival. They saw the children marching in circles around a row of chairs while the music played. Then one chair was removed, the music stopped and one child was randomly removed from the game. Notes were taken as it was determined that nobody’s rights had been violated, those remaining in the game continued to march to the music and the ACLU didn’t threaten litigation.
Back in Washington the notes were handed off to a committee and key issues observed. Was that child, the one without a chair, a threat to the rest of those marching aimlessly around in circles; no, that’s just the way the game has always been played. Did the teacher in charge of the game get sued for discrimination, no; in fact everyone was all smiles, well, almost everyone. The same holds true to passenger searches at the airport; are the passengers, the ones who are singled out threats to the other passengers or did some idiot simply turn off the music?
Here’s a list of known threats:
“My name is Atta and you’re all going to die!”
“I’m Ted Kennedy and I’m your voice in Washington.”, ditto for Harry Reid, Hillary Clinton, Chuck Schu…., hell, just put (D) on a name and they're a threat.
“I’m John McCain”, that should be enough to scare anyone; forget that he’s a front runner for the presidency in 2008, party affiliation to be determined later.
Possibly the most frightening of all, “I’m Victoria Osteen and I’d like to fly to . . . (fill in the blank)”.
Okay, you can turn the elevator music back on, get the line moving; “Hey you, yea you, the nearly Caucasian looking fellow wearing the table cloth on his head and reading the Koran, stop lighting your shoe laces, this is a non smoking flight.”
I’ve posted on this topic before:
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2005/02/this-isnt-droid-youre-looking-for.html
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2005/02/this-isnt-droid-youre-looking-for_14.html
I’ve linked with TMH Bacon Bits for the “OTB Splatfest”, or Open Line Friday as I like to call it. http://www.tmhbaconbits.net/2006/09/29/bbop-132/
“Ryan Bird, 31, said he wrote the comment about Hawley -- head of the Transportation Security Administration -- as a political statement. He said he feels the TSA is imposing unreasonable rules on passengers while ignoring bigger threats.
{. . . }
“My level of frustration with the TSA and their idiotic policies has grown over 2 ½ years," he said. "I'm frustrated that poorly trained TSA people can pull random passengers out of line and pat them down like common criminals. The average traveler has no recourse."
Everyone pay attention because I’m only going to say this a few times today; the folks at TSA are idiots, to include Kip Hawley. It’s not their fault, it’s a requirement, call it “job description” from the bureaucracy which is Washington. These folks “allegedly” (that was fun) learned how to perform security checks by watching a cake walk at some elementary school Fall Carnival. They saw the children marching in circles around a row of chairs while the music played. Then one chair was removed, the music stopped and one child was randomly removed from the game. Notes were taken as it was determined that nobody’s rights had been violated, those remaining in the game continued to march to the music and the ACLU didn’t threaten litigation.
Back in Washington the notes were handed off to a committee and key issues observed. Was that child, the one without a chair, a threat to the rest of those marching aimlessly around in circles; no, that’s just the way the game has always been played. Did the teacher in charge of the game get sued for discrimination, no; in fact everyone was all smiles, well, almost everyone. The same holds true to passenger searches at the airport; are the passengers, the ones who are singled out threats to the other passengers or did some idiot simply turn off the music?
Here’s a list of known threats:
“My name is Atta and you’re all going to die!”
“I’m Ted Kennedy and I’m your voice in Washington.”, ditto for Harry Reid, Hillary Clinton, Chuck Schu…., hell, just put (D) on a name and they're a threat.
“I’m John McCain”, that should be enough to scare anyone; forget that he’s a front runner for the presidency in 2008, party affiliation to be determined later.
Possibly the most frightening of all, “I’m Victoria Osteen and I’d like to fly to . . . (fill in the blank)”.
Okay, you can turn the elevator music back on, get the line moving; “Hey you, yea you, the nearly Caucasian looking fellow wearing the table cloth on his head and reading the Koran, stop lighting your shoe laces, this is a non smoking flight.”
I’ve posted on this topic before:
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2005/02/this-isnt-droid-youre-looking-for.html
http://tfsternsrantings.blogspot.com/2005/02/this-isnt-droid-youre-looking-for_14.html
I’ve linked with TMH Bacon Bits for the “OTB Splatfest”, or Open Line Friday as I like to call it. http://www.tmhbaconbits.net/2006/09/29/bbop-132/
Thursday, September 28, 2006
PSALM 131
Last night while taking a reading break in the Old Testament I was going over the book of Psalms. I came across several of the pointing fingers of guilt, character traits which continue to ensnare my weaknesses as I struggle to improve. I suppose the important part is that I do continue in my struggles to improve; none the less, I found this one particular thought among them which caused me to contemplate blogging. Who would have considered that David would be writing about bloggers in his day and time?
I write my thoughts and put them out on the internet, nothing to deep, at least most of the time they are light editorials and nothing more. I’m not a world economics or political guru, I can’t tell you which political party will win and I enjoy a baseball game far more than Meet the Press. I wear sneakers while working, a pair of blue jeans and a sport shirt instead of blue pin striped suits. At the end of the day I long for the comfort of home and my wife, not some preppy bar where I can impress anyone with my wit. I think David read my blog and left this comment.
PSALM 131
David says: Let Israel hope in the Lord forever.
A Song of degrees of David.
1 Lord, my heart is not haughty nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.
2 Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.
3 Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever.
Here’s a friendly invitation to listen to the leadership of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints as General Conference is broadcast this weekend. Details are provided via the link in the title bar.
I write my thoughts and put them out on the internet, nothing to deep, at least most of the time they are light editorials and nothing more. I’m not a world economics or political guru, I can’t tell you which political party will win and I enjoy a baseball game far more than Meet the Press. I wear sneakers while working, a pair of blue jeans and a sport shirt instead of blue pin striped suits. At the end of the day I long for the comfort of home and my wife, not some preppy bar where I can impress anyone with my wit. I think David read my blog and left this comment.
PSALM 131
David says: Let Israel hope in the Lord forever.
A Song of degrees of David.
1 Lord, my heart is not haughty nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.
2 Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.
3 Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever.
Here’s a friendly invitation to listen to the leadership of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints as General Conference is broadcast this weekend. Details are provided via the link in the title bar.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
What if . . .
What if . . .
I got this from my friend Richard Sutton. Most of you have seen the Mormon missionaries, the clean cut young men on bicycles who knock on your door. What if the same approach were used by Al Qaida ( best guess on the correct spelling, I’ve seen it spelled several ways; but each one requires looking under a rock )
Click on the link to watch a short video clip ( Viewer Discretion Advised :).
http://media.putfile.com/Al-Mormons
I got this from my friend Richard Sutton. Most of you have seen the Mormon missionaries, the clean cut young men on bicycles who knock on your door. What if the same approach were used by Al Qaida ( best guess on the correct spelling, I’ve seen it spelled several ways; but each one requires looking under a rock )
Click on the link to watch a short video clip ( Viewer Discretion Advised :).
http://media.putfile.com/Al-Mormons
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Sunday Picture Music
Years ago when our children were young and living at home with us we would have special music videos reserved for Sunday, something to remind them that the Sabbath was a day to rest and appreciate the quiet moments. We have an exceptional library of videos that bring out such an appreciation.With the purchase of our new computer, one that has all kinds of entertainment abilities, I’ve decided to transfer my Laser Disk videos to the hard disk to protect them from eventual deterioration and loss of quality.
I began by recording Earth Scapes and Earth Dance, two of my favorites. The photography is enough to take your breath away as the Earth in all her splendor is revealed; panoramic views of majestic mountain ranges, migrating birds, close up shots of intricate flowers and such; all with hypnotizing rhythms to match the mood presented. In contrast to the everyday offerings on the television these gentle reflections are necessary reminders of the important natural blessings given to us all.
I took a break from recording and writing as Bricks Corbin, my Home Teacher, arrived to check on the well being of my family. Bricks had a copy of a talk given back in May of 2004 by Elder Dallin H. Oaks Of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, entitled, “Preparation for the Second Coming”. One of the quotes that Bricks had highlighted with his marker happened to fit with my observation that it was wise to avoid watching television’s perverted view of what’s permissible or even lauded as enviable in today’s world most of the time, much less on Sunday.
“Evil that used to be localized and covered like a boil is now legalized and paraded like a banner. The most fundamental roots and bulwarks of civilization are questioned or attacked. Nations disavow their religious heritage. Marriage and family responsibilities are discarded as impediments to personal indulgence. The movies and magazines and television that shape our attitudes are filled with stories or images that portray the children of God as predatory beasts or, at best, as trivial creations pursuing little more than personal pleasure. And too many of us accept this as entertainment.”
I once had to defend my actions as a police officer to my immediate supervisors and up the chain of command, all the way up to the Assistant Chiefs as they attempted to impress me with “gray areas”, that I might turn a blind eye to keep from rocking the boat. My unwillingness to overlook minor violations, especially those involving “sacred cows” of the community, those with considerable influence at city hall had put them in a position of having to void out tickets that I continued to issue. Possibly the best compliment I’ve ever received came in the form of an accusation, that I saw everything in “black or white”. It made me bristle, that those in a position of leadership would lower the standards of an entire community in order to avoid drawing a line in the sand, by not enforcing laws that were on the books evenly and without consideration as to who it was that was complaining due to political influence or financial ability. Well, shame on them for buckling under pressure.
Quoting from Dallin Oaks again, “An increasing number of opinion leaders and followers deny the existence of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and revere only the gods of secularism. Many in positions of power and influence deny the right and wrong defined by divine decree. Even among those who profess to believe in right and wrong, there are “them that call evil good, and good evil” (Isa. 5:20; 2 Ne. 15:20). Many also deny individual responsibility and practice dependence on others, seeking, like the foolish virgins, to live on borrowed substance and borrowed light.” (emphasis added)
The day is winding down and I will return to recoding my Sunday Picture Music, this next one is Windham Hill’s Autumn Portrait, an appropriate way to start the change of seasons. May the sacred nature of the Sabbath become a part of our lives as we seek to find balance among the ever increasing outside influences that the world provides is my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
George W. Bush - Dumb Like a Fox
Growing up I can recall hearing the phrase, “He’s dumb like a fox”, maybe it was, “Crazy like a fox”, I don’t think it matters a whole lot. I tried to picture in my mind what would qualify such a statement. I think I’ve found just the person; George W. Bush. Here’s a man who has been called stupid, illiterate and dumb by quite a few folks; all the while continuing with his duties in spite of the distractions.
It would seem that by quietly letting the talking heads rally around the flag pole of ridicule, letting them vent their hateful remarks and slanderous denouncements of his presidential abilities that the time has come for the truth to come forth. President Bush has the truth on his side, something which needs no fabrication, no pumping up to become “more” true; truth wins out over time.
Mover Mike had an article which he called, “Who is Tyler Drumheller?” (linked via title bar) The main thrust of the piece goes on to explain that Tyler Drumheller claimed that Bush took the United States to war with Iraq in spite of being informed by the intelligence community that Saddam Hussein was not building WMD’s and had no program to obtain nuclear weapons. Mike refers to an article published on NewsMax by Ronald Kessler and is linked by Mike.
“An addenda to the Senate report on postwar findings about Iraq's WMD program says all the operational documents relating to Sabri indicate he told the CIA just the opposite of what Drumheller claimed. The Senate report refers to Sabri as a source with direct access to Saddam Hussein and his inner circle but does not name him.”
{. . . }
“At least 134 stories and TV shows have referred to Drumheller's claims and his criticism of the CIA and Bush administration in general. One of the stories ran as the second lead of the June 25, 2006 Washington Post.”
What this says is that in spite of knowing that they were continuing to spread a lie, one that fit their agenda to undermine the credibility of a sitting president during a time of war, the large news media organizations representing the “not so loyal opposition” would rather slander an honest man engaged in defending American interests than admit they made a mistake. I’d call that treason; but what do I know?
Why hasn’t there been a news conference to enlighten the American public as to the truthfulness and integrity of President Bush? The extreme left continues the mantra, “Bush Lied”, Bush is a dummy and too stupid to run the country. Where is the humble pie being served to the liberal media giants, their remorse for having mislead the public through shabby reporting and slanted journalism; my guess it will never happen.
Key leaders in the Democratic Party, those who have had access to this same information continue to ignore the facts set down by their own investigation of these matters, instead holding to their lies and misinformation in the hope that a public, tired of being lied to and not sure which side to believe, will flip a coin to determine the truth. Truth has a strange way of making it to the surface, this time it comes two months away from election time.
The Bush administration has been labeled as too stupid and inept at determining the course of action against a known enemy, an enemy who was known by Republicans and Democrats alike to be in direct violation of the U.N. resolutions, violations which if left unchecked would have left us more vulnerable, violations which are not a matter of opinion; rather, are well documented and a part of the Senate’s findings.
Why would these folks turn around and publicly denounce their own President on the world stage as being a liar and too ignorant to be trusted. Could it be a case of these folks looking in the mirror and explaining how they see themselves? When you hear Harry Reid, Ted Kennedy or Nancy Pelosi hollering into a microphone, “Don’t believe the President, He’s a liar”, what you should consider is that these folks are actually bellowing, “Don’t listen to us, we’re liars. We say these things to make a better man than we are, President George W. Bush, look as bad as we are”.
President Bush has taken a steady barrage of insults from the so called “loyal opposition”, which include leaders in the Democratic Party and a goodly portion of Hollywood’s pretend leaders; Danny Glover, Harry Belefonte and Barbara Streisand come to mind, those whose only qualifications are their box office draw rather than actual “gravitas”. Instead of hammering the liars, President Bush has waited for the course of truth to unveil itself at a most interesting “juncture”, as his father would have said. No, George Bush isn’t dumb, well, maybe he’s “dumb like a fox.”
It would seem that by quietly letting the talking heads rally around the flag pole of ridicule, letting them vent their hateful remarks and slanderous denouncements of his presidential abilities that the time has come for the truth to come forth. President Bush has the truth on his side, something which needs no fabrication, no pumping up to become “more” true; truth wins out over time.
Mover Mike had an article which he called, “Who is Tyler Drumheller?” (linked via title bar) The main thrust of the piece goes on to explain that Tyler Drumheller claimed that Bush took the United States to war with Iraq in spite of being informed by the intelligence community that Saddam Hussein was not building WMD’s and had no program to obtain nuclear weapons. Mike refers to an article published on NewsMax by Ronald Kessler and is linked by Mike.
“An addenda to the Senate report on postwar findings about Iraq's WMD program says all the operational documents relating to Sabri indicate he told the CIA just the opposite of what Drumheller claimed. The Senate report refers to Sabri as a source with direct access to Saddam Hussein and his inner circle but does not name him.”
{. . . }
“At least 134 stories and TV shows have referred to Drumheller's claims and his criticism of the CIA and Bush administration in general. One of the stories ran as the second lead of the June 25, 2006 Washington Post.”
What this says is that in spite of knowing that they were continuing to spread a lie, one that fit their agenda to undermine the credibility of a sitting president during a time of war, the large news media organizations representing the “not so loyal opposition” would rather slander an honest man engaged in defending American interests than admit they made a mistake. I’d call that treason; but what do I know?
Why hasn’t there been a news conference to enlighten the American public as to the truthfulness and integrity of President Bush? The extreme left continues the mantra, “Bush Lied”, Bush is a dummy and too stupid to run the country. Where is the humble pie being served to the liberal media giants, their remorse for having mislead the public through shabby reporting and slanted journalism; my guess it will never happen.
Key leaders in the Democratic Party, those who have had access to this same information continue to ignore the facts set down by their own investigation of these matters, instead holding to their lies and misinformation in the hope that a public, tired of being lied to and not sure which side to believe, will flip a coin to determine the truth. Truth has a strange way of making it to the surface, this time it comes two months away from election time.
The Bush administration has been labeled as too stupid and inept at determining the course of action against a known enemy, an enemy who was known by Republicans and Democrats alike to be in direct violation of the U.N. resolutions, violations which if left unchecked would have left us more vulnerable, violations which are not a matter of opinion; rather, are well documented and a part of the Senate’s findings.
Why would these folks turn around and publicly denounce their own President on the world stage as being a liar and too ignorant to be trusted. Could it be a case of these folks looking in the mirror and explaining how they see themselves? When you hear Harry Reid, Ted Kennedy or Nancy Pelosi hollering into a microphone, “Don’t believe the President, He’s a liar”, what you should consider is that these folks are actually bellowing, “Don’t listen to us, we’re liars. We say these things to make a better man than we are, President George W. Bush, look as bad as we are”.
President Bush has taken a steady barrage of insults from the so called “loyal opposition”, which include leaders in the Democratic Party and a goodly portion of Hollywood’s pretend leaders; Danny Glover, Harry Belefonte and Barbara Streisand come to mind, those whose only qualifications are their box office draw rather than actual “gravitas”. Instead of hammering the liars, President Bush has waited for the course of truth to unveil itself at a most interesting “juncture”, as his father would have said. No, George Bush isn’t dumb, well, maybe he’s “dumb like a fox.”
Finding Stuff on the Internet
My daughter Jennifer posted a slide show on her blog (linked via title bar) the other day. I found this picture of Jocelyne, my granddaughter sitting in front of the computer. While she hasn’t quite figured it out; that mouse makes things happen and judging by the look in her eye. Jennifer needs to keep her Amazon.com password under wraps. “Jenn, did you order a gold filigree sippy cup and a case of fleece lined Huggies?”
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Eager Anticipation
One of the traits that I admire in children is their ability to over flow with eager anticipation. I’m afraid that many adults loose that important potential energy as life wears them down into meaningless rituals that neither gratify or inspire; how unfortunate.
We planned to take our children on a vacation to Big Bend National Park one year. We showed them maps and pictures months in advance and as the time grew ever closer we had them help with putting supplies into boxes, rolling up sleeping bags and things like that. “Next week we will take our trip”, “Only a couple of days ‘till we go” and finally, “We leave for Big Bend today.” What we hadn’t explained to them was that we would be leaving at night.
All day long the kids were bursting with excitement as if we were taking the space shuttle down there. The truck was loaded, gassed up and ready; so why were we not on the road as the sun sank below the horizon. “A little while longer and we’ll go” didn’t sit well with them. The evening wore on slowly and tears began to fall when we had them get into their pajamas.
“But, you said we were going on vacation…”, sniffles and choking back tears as best they could. Then came the accusations, “You lied to us; why else would we be in our pajamas?” Lucy and I could hardly keep from laughing as we loaded them all into the truck and explained that they would be able to sleep in the truck WHILE we were on the way to Big Bend. It took several miles of driving to convince them that the vacation had begun; each mile away from their house was a mile toward the promised vacation. Their smiles returned along with their eager anticipation for the unknown which lay ahead.
Saturday Lucy and I were on our date enjoying a meal at the local Steak & Ale. Some how the topic of our grand kids came up, “Surprise surprise!”, as Gomer Pyle would say. Imagine grandparents talking about their grandchildren over dinner. We had observed that when JJ, almost 5, was playing on the computer that his younger sister, Jocelyne, just over a year old, watched every move he made. Jocelyne was fascinated with the mouse and began picking it up and waiting for the computer to respond to her desires. One day soon Jocelyne will figure it out and a new world will be opened unto her. With proper guidelines that will only include those areas of life which are uplifting and beneficial.
It occurred to me that I’d read a book many years ago, A gnome there was,: And other tales of science fiction and fantasy, by Henry Kuttner, which featured a story about a “toy box” that had been found by a young boy, a box which contained fascinating and yet unfamiliar items. They were in fact, teaching tools from the future which had either been misplaced or intentionally sent out; it’s been quite some time since I read the book.
One of the items was a clear box or sphere which would materialize simple thoughts. The boy imagined a house under construction and it appeared with little people scurrying about hammering, sawing and framing the house. He imagined the house catching fire and a patch of smoke appeared; the need for firemen to put out the fire and so on.
Another item looked like an abacus and by properly moving the beads it would sing or hum pleasantly. When he moved them in some order other than that which would lead toward the right “answer”, an electrical shock would correct such errors.
The young boy was totally engaged with these “toys” and found, to his amazement, that his little sister was able to work them much more efficiently; not having been locked into any particular regimented thinking process. The two would play for hours in their room while their parents enjoyed the peaceful moments. I won’t give away what happens in the story; but will only say that I was reminded that sometimes the younger open minded child will solve problems more easily than those who have been hammered by traditional thinking.
When Lucy and I returned home from our night out I got on line and looked to see if the book was still available. I found two copies available through Amazon.com; both used, one in very good condition which I purchased. I should have it some time next week.
I await, with eager anticipation mind you, the opportunity to share the stories contained within the bindings with my grandchildren. It is my hope that by hearing well written Sci-fi fantasy stories that they will develop a desire to improve and grow.
We planned to take our children on a vacation to Big Bend National Park one year. We showed them maps and pictures months in advance and as the time grew ever closer we had them help with putting supplies into boxes, rolling up sleeping bags and things like that. “Next week we will take our trip”, “Only a couple of days ‘till we go” and finally, “We leave for Big Bend today.” What we hadn’t explained to them was that we would be leaving at night.
All day long the kids were bursting with excitement as if we were taking the space shuttle down there. The truck was loaded, gassed up and ready; so why were we not on the road as the sun sank below the horizon. “A little while longer and we’ll go” didn’t sit well with them. The evening wore on slowly and tears began to fall when we had them get into their pajamas.
“But, you said we were going on vacation…”, sniffles and choking back tears as best they could. Then came the accusations, “You lied to us; why else would we be in our pajamas?” Lucy and I could hardly keep from laughing as we loaded them all into the truck and explained that they would be able to sleep in the truck WHILE we were on the way to Big Bend. It took several miles of driving to convince them that the vacation had begun; each mile away from their house was a mile toward the promised vacation. Their smiles returned along with their eager anticipation for the unknown which lay ahead.
Saturday Lucy and I were on our date enjoying a meal at the local Steak & Ale. Some how the topic of our grand kids came up, “Surprise surprise!”, as Gomer Pyle would say. Imagine grandparents talking about their grandchildren over dinner. We had observed that when JJ, almost 5, was playing on the computer that his younger sister, Jocelyne, just over a year old, watched every move he made. Jocelyne was fascinated with the mouse and began picking it up and waiting for the computer to respond to her desires. One day soon Jocelyne will figure it out and a new world will be opened unto her. With proper guidelines that will only include those areas of life which are uplifting and beneficial.
It occurred to me that I’d read a book many years ago, A gnome there was,: And other tales of science fiction and fantasy, by Henry Kuttner, which featured a story about a “toy box” that had been found by a young boy, a box which contained fascinating and yet unfamiliar items. They were in fact, teaching tools from the future which had either been misplaced or intentionally sent out; it’s been quite some time since I read the book.
One of the items was a clear box or sphere which would materialize simple thoughts. The boy imagined a house under construction and it appeared with little people scurrying about hammering, sawing and framing the house. He imagined the house catching fire and a patch of smoke appeared; the need for firemen to put out the fire and so on.
Another item looked like an abacus and by properly moving the beads it would sing or hum pleasantly. When he moved them in some order other than that which would lead toward the right “answer”, an electrical shock would correct such errors.
The young boy was totally engaged with these “toys” and found, to his amazement, that his little sister was able to work them much more efficiently; not having been locked into any particular regimented thinking process. The two would play for hours in their room while their parents enjoyed the peaceful moments. I won’t give away what happens in the story; but will only say that I was reminded that sometimes the younger open minded child will solve problems more easily than those who have been hammered by traditional thinking.
When Lucy and I returned home from our night out I got on line and looked to see if the book was still available. I found two copies available through Amazon.com; both used, one in very good condition which I purchased. I should have it some time next week.
I await, with eager anticipation mind you, the opportunity to share the stories contained within the bindings with my grandchildren. It is my hope that by hearing well written Sci-fi fantasy stories that they will develop a desire to improve and grow.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Ford Unsolved Mysteries
I make a good living generating replacement keys; especially on Fords with their PATS programmable key systems. I don’t claim to be an expert on how those electrons vibrate, twist and turn in order to come up with an acceptable recognition sign so the computer will permit the fuel injection module to work; I simply follow the instructions that came with the programming computer and hope like the Dickens it works.
The basic PATS system came out in 1996; starting with a small percentage of Taurus and also on the Mustang GT model cars. Once it was determined that the system actually worked it spread throughout and has been improved upon, altered and convoluted until the present where not even Ford fully knows what goes on inside their own cars.
This past week I’ve had a chance to be humbled by some strange goings on. The first was on a 1998 Mustang using PATS II transponder keys. The woman called to explain that her “EX” boyfriend ran off with her only key and refused to give it back. I just love domestic issues; but, seeing as how he wasn’t going to be around while I would be working on the vehicle I decided to go ahead and make her a set of keys. The price was agreed upon before I arrived.
I got to the job and looked at all the locks and noticed an aftermarket alarm system had been installed. I immediately asked if it had “remote start”, something that would require a little more effort. I also explained that who ever had installed the system must have recently come down from the trees to join the human race; looking at the variety of duct tape, electrical tape among the spaghetti bowl of wires shoved up under the kick panel on the driver’s side. I made sure she understood that all my efforts might not provide her with a car that would start depending on how badly the original wiring systems had been corrupted. I was right; after going through the ten minute program the computer showed a fault in reading the new keys, this was after it showed that all the old keys had been erased. I accepted her money and let her know that she needed to take it to the nearest Ford Service Center to have their electrical mechanic restore the system to factory wiring.
Two days later I got a call from her; the old boy friend was no longer “EX” and he gave back the original key. “The old key starts just fine. Will you give me a refund or make these new keys work too, they don’t do anything.” I have to tell you, I have no answer why the old key would start the car since according to my NGS machine all keys had been erased. I also used my T-Code programming machine and had the same results. I told her to get with me and we would settle up.
This afternoon I got a call to make keys for a 1997 Mustang that was on the PATS I programmable key system. The key had been broken and the plastic that used to hold a transmitter was empty. He told me that it had been that way for months and that sometimes the car would start right away while other times he had to try a couple of times before it would work. I had my doubts as I generated a working key since he’d broken off the part that had the mechanical cuts.
I like to use the E-Z Reader; having developed a real liking to the way I can have the exact cuts in a matter of moments. I progressed the last two cuts while sitting in the driver’s seat as I explained how Ford 8 cut keys worked to the customer. The key turned when I got to 4-3 on the tip cuts; it also started the car, the “THEFT” light remained on solid for three seconds before going out as if it had recognized an authorized PATS key.
“Well, I’ll be darned!” I then turned it off and then back to start; the “THEFT’ light was blinking the way it’s supposed too and nothing. “This is very interesting”, I shared my thoughts aloud with the customer.
“See; I told you, sometimes it starts right away, sometimes I have to try a couple of times.” I tried again, nothing, again and “shazamm” it started right up. I was tempted to hook my NGS machine up to program a proper PATS key, one that I knew would solve the issue; but I wasn’t at all sure it WOULD solve the issue. What if I cleared off the system only to find that the new PATS key wouldn’t be recognized? No, leave it the way it was; what’s the old saying, “If it isn’t broke don’t fix it”? I’m not sure it’s not broken; but it still works, well, almost the way it’s supposed to.
I handed him my card and told him to check back later; that I’d write this one up and submit it to Ford. The interesting thing about technology is finding out what happens a few years down the road; what kind of ghosts were built into the system that not even the “en-gin-ears” can explain. I still think, for the most part, Ford’s PATS key systems are a fairly good means to integrate a mechanical key with an electronic anti-theft system at a reasonable price. That having been said, I would never discount the possibilities for the strange and unexplainable when dealing with the invisible world of electronics that have been exposed to the elements here in the Great State of Texas.
Update: I found the Ford Customer Relations Page and sent them a copy of this article as I had promised the customer with the 1997 Mustang, the one that would start sometimes and then wouldn’t. I called him a few minutes ago to let him know that I followed up on my promise and all he could do was laugh.
The basic PATS system came out in 1996; starting with a small percentage of Taurus and also on the Mustang GT model cars. Once it was determined that the system actually worked it spread throughout and has been improved upon, altered and convoluted until the present where not even Ford fully knows what goes on inside their own cars.
This past week I’ve had a chance to be humbled by some strange goings on. The first was on a 1998 Mustang using PATS II transponder keys. The woman called to explain that her “EX” boyfriend ran off with her only key and refused to give it back. I just love domestic issues; but, seeing as how he wasn’t going to be around while I would be working on the vehicle I decided to go ahead and make her a set of keys. The price was agreed upon before I arrived.
I got to the job and looked at all the locks and noticed an aftermarket alarm system had been installed. I immediately asked if it had “remote start”, something that would require a little more effort. I also explained that who ever had installed the system must have recently come down from the trees to join the human race; looking at the variety of duct tape, electrical tape among the spaghetti bowl of wires shoved up under the kick panel on the driver’s side. I made sure she understood that all my efforts might not provide her with a car that would start depending on how badly the original wiring systems had been corrupted. I was right; after going through the ten minute program the computer showed a fault in reading the new keys, this was after it showed that all the old keys had been erased. I accepted her money and let her know that she needed to take it to the nearest Ford Service Center to have their electrical mechanic restore the system to factory wiring.
Two days later I got a call from her; the old boy friend was no longer “EX” and he gave back the original key. “The old key starts just fine. Will you give me a refund or make these new keys work too, they don’t do anything.” I have to tell you, I have no answer why the old key would start the car since according to my NGS machine all keys had been erased. I also used my T-Code programming machine and had the same results. I told her to get with me and we would settle up.
This afternoon I got a call to make keys for a 1997 Mustang that was on the PATS I programmable key system. The key had been broken and the plastic that used to hold a transmitter was empty. He told me that it had been that way for months and that sometimes the car would start right away while other times he had to try a couple of times before it would work. I had my doubts as I generated a working key since he’d broken off the part that had the mechanical cuts.
I like to use the E-Z Reader; having developed a real liking to the way I can have the exact cuts in a matter of moments. I progressed the last two cuts while sitting in the driver’s seat as I explained how Ford 8 cut keys worked to the customer. The key turned when I got to 4-3 on the tip cuts; it also started the car, the “THEFT” light remained on solid for three seconds before going out as if it had recognized an authorized PATS key.
“Well, I’ll be darned!” I then turned it off and then back to start; the “THEFT’ light was blinking the way it’s supposed too and nothing. “This is very interesting”, I shared my thoughts aloud with the customer.
“See; I told you, sometimes it starts right away, sometimes I have to try a couple of times.” I tried again, nothing, again and “shazamm” it started right up. I was tempted to hook my NGS machine up to program a proper PATS key, one that I knew would solve the issue; but I wasn’t at all sure it WOULD solve the issue. What if I cleared off the system only to find that the new PATS key wouldn’t be recognized? No, leave it the way it was; what’s the old saying, “If it isn’t broke don’t fix it”? I’m not sure it’s not broken; but it still works, well, almost the way it’s supposed to.
I handed him my card and told him to check back later; that I’d write this one up and submit it to Ford. The interesting thing about technology is finding out what happens a few years down the road; what kind of ghosts were built into the system that not even the “en-gin-ears” can explain. I still think, for the most part, Ford’s PATS key systems are a fairly good means to integrate a mechanical key with an electronic anti-theft system at a reasonable price. That having been said, I would never discount the possibilities for the strange and unexplainable when dealing with the invisible world of electronics that have been exposed to the elements here in the Great State of Texas.
Update: I found the Ford Customer Relations Page and sent them a copy of this article as I had promised the customer with the 1997 Mustang, the one that would start sometimes and then wouldn’t. I called him a few minutes ago to let him know that I followed up on my promise and all he could do was laugh.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Something of Value
Barbara Hagenbaugh, USA TODAY, wrote an article, “Feds Lower Boom on Alternative Money” (linked via title bar), which I got from the AOL Money and Finance website. Most folks are unaware that the money issued by the United States Mint has no real value, it having nothing to back up the printed denominations or coinage. There are no huge piles of gold or silver sitting in the national coffers equal in value to the amount of money being printed around the clock by special presses on special paper. The Gold Standard and Silver Certificates became a part of history years ago. Most of us are familiar with the saying, “It’s not worth the paper it’s printed on”; well, some folks are trying to remedy that situation.At the heart of the issue is the government's claim that money is only what the government says it is, as opposed to the idea that bartering objects of value, whether those items are precious metals or chickens may be determined by those involved in such a trade of items. I was counseled to invest a portion of my assets in precious metals as a means of protecting a segment of my income. I began purchasing 1 ounce gold coins; their price determined by the going rate at the time of purchase. The point being that regardless of the set price, the actual value would be equal to 1 ounce of gold, something which has remained a constant since man began to exchange money.
A group of individuals got together and decided that they would create a hedge against our current valueless monetary system, one that would guarantee true economic value regardless of inflation because each unit of measure would be matched by precious metals such as gold or silver. I’ve included a link which explains much better than I could, how and why money should have actual value rather than the fiat system now in place.
http://www.libertydollar.org/
Quoting from Barbara Hagenbaugh’s piece:
“The Justice Department has determined that use of Liberty Dollars, which come in varying denominations, "is a crime," according to the Mint, which issued a rare public warning Thursday.”
"The United States Mint is the only entity that can produce coins," Bailey says.
{. . .}
"Reed Runk, part-owner of Kendall Funk & Bismark Jewelers in Chambersburg, Pa., says the store has been accepting Liberty Dollars for about a year and has sold a few as well. Runk says the store will continue to accept and sell the coins."
"We just feel that they are something that educates people as to what the monetary systems are like in the world, that they are a fiat system, that if people lose faith in them, they will collapse," he says. Besides, "They are a good-looking coin."
My own opinion is that the Fed is jealous of something much better than their own currency, something that has value. Don’t get me wrong, if I saw a dollar bill on the ground I’d still pick it up and spend it just as if I’d earned that through my labors.
When I began buying gold coins I had to decide which coins to purchase, Kruggerands, Philharmonics, Maple Leafs and so on; each having its price determined by the gold content and quality of artwork on the actual coin. I happened to chose American Eagles because they hold up to wear better than those coins made out of a more pure version of gold. Here’s a link to a website where the fluctuation in the price of precious metals is updated every few minutes.
http://www.ajpm.com/htbin/gold.cgi
I never liked the fiat system of money; Lucy and I owned a Fiat, one of the worst cars I ever had the privilege to drive, always in the shop for some kind of repair, the parts were never on hand and you get the idea. The Saturday Night Live crew had a character, Rosana Rosana, who would go on for a few minutes and then realize the difference between a fiat and a Fiat, turn to the camera, smile awkwardly and then say, “Never mind.”
I could go a step further and point out to Mr. Bailey, the only “crime”, as that was the term he used when pointing his finger at the Liberty Dollar, is our government’s taking our labor efforts and trading those efforts for a piece of paper that very soon won’t be fit to use as wall paper in the bathroom.
Maybe we could do something a little different; change the base monetary unit from gold or silver to something everyone can understand, a gallon of 89 octane gasoline. Instead of “In God We Trust” being printed on the front there could be, “Put a Tiger in Your Wallet”. A single dollar bill would be worth half a gallon and so on. Instead of putting pictures of “dead presidents” we could have famous oil entrepreneurs; maybe have Getty on the Hundred Gallon Bill, I mean, the Hundred Dollar Bill.
I’ve linked with TMH Bacon Bits as they have an open link invitation most every Friday, a neat way to view other blogger’s articles.
http://www.tmhbaconbits.net/2006/09/15/bbop-128/
Thursday, September 14, 2006
World Trade Center Revisited
I avoided writing about my feelings this week, those feelings which I keep locked away, those which are so sensitive that the simplest reminder causes my emotions to overflow. I’ve read some well written blog articles, seen various media coverage during the week and was able to distance myself from those emotions somehow; that ended this morning.
I was preparing to go off on a locksmith job that had been scheduled the night before. Lucy was explaining how she had gone over to a friend's house to deliver something and the next thing they were talking about how her daughter was coping.
Out of respect for my friends I will not mention any names. Their daughter was working in one of the World Trade Centre buildings the day of the attacks. She witnessed far more than anyone should; much less have to relive those moments each year as the film footage is played over and over.
I learned that she was sheltered by friends across the river in New Jersey for quite a while, that she was unable to sleep for several days. She was unable to be alone, requiring somebody to be with her at all times. When she went to bed she had to have a lamp on at all times and still her sleep was interrupted with panic attacks and terrifying moments that replayed end to end as she recalled the horrors.
She has made good progress and continues to work in the metropolitan area, taking walks on the beach to relax. This past year while walking along the shore she saw an airplane low on the horizon as it positioned itself on approach to the local airport; that close proximity to a low flying jet caused her to run in panic and hide, believing that her life was in peril.
As for me, I recall leaving our home, having watched the televised nightmare on that fateful day. I thought my emotions had run their course and that by involving myself in work it might take my mind off what had happened. I was mistaken.
I remember arriving at one of my larger car dealerships to make a set of keys for a vehicle. Everyone was talking about the attacks, the buildings collapse being aired on every television. The manager, a friend of mine for quite some time came over and must have picked up on something he’d observed in my countenance, as he asked, “Are you okay?” I was thinking about my friend’s daughter, knowing how concerned they were and knowing that at the time I left they had not yet heard anything from her.
Something in my mind must have crossed the line that controls emotions as I heard, “Are you okay?”, my weakness permitted those emotions to spill over. Again, no names as it is not my intention to put a spotlight on anyone in particular; my response caught the car manager by surprise as he jumped to the conclusion that maybe one of my own family member’s lives might have been in question. It might have been that I was so close to my friends and their being in the dark as to whether or not their daughter was alive, injured, safe or whatever as my mind played a trick on me.
It was my daughter that was in peril and I bought it hook line and sinker at that moment in time. The tears in my eyes flowed down my cheeks and I had trouble breathing as I was unprepared to contemplate this new data. I remember being asked if I wanted to sit for a while; responding that, “I needed to work, to make a key and that maybe that would help”.
That was five years ago and this morning when Lucy said that she had spent an hour or so visiting to make sure that their daughter was handling all this, I found those emotions had been suppressed; but still quite potent. The tear ducts opened up and I found myself worrying about that young lady, how she might never leave those nightmares or that the slightest trigger mechanism might set it off all over again.
I learned that she’d gone to “ground zero” and managed to hold it together. Maybe, with any luck, my having written my feelings down will help my own healing process. For those who profess that we’re not at war; I invite you to explain that to my friends, their daughter, my friend at the car dealership and if they are unable to explain it to you; come by and I’ll give it one more try.
I was preparing to go off on a locksmith job that had been scheduled the night before. Lucy was explaining how she had gone over to a friend's house to deliver something and the next thing they were talking about how her daughter was coping.
Out of respect for my friends I will not mention any names. Their daughter was working in one of the World Trade Centre buildings the day of the attacks. She witnessed far more than anyone should; much less have to relive those moments each year as the film footage is played over and over.
I learned that she was sheltered by friends across the river in New Jersey for quite a while, that she was unable to sleep for several days. She was unable to be alone, requiring somebody to be with her at all times. When she went to bed she had to have a lamp on at all times and still her sleep was interrupted with panic attacks and terrifying moments that replayed end to end as she recalled the horrors.
She has made good progress and continues to work in the metropolitan area, taking walks on the beach to relax. This past year while walking along the shore she saw an airplane low on the horizon as it positioned itself on approach to the local airport; that close proximity to a low flying jet caused her to run in panic and hide, believing that her life was in peril.
As for me, I recall leaving our home, having watched the televised nightmare on that fateful day. I thought my emotions had run their course and that by involving myself in work it might take my mind off what had happened. I was mistaken.
I remember arriving at one of my larger car dealerships to make a set of keys for a vehicle. Everyone was talking about the attacks, the buildings collapse being aired on every television. The manager, a friend of mine for quite some time came over and must have picked up on something he’d observed in my countenance, as he asked, “Are you okay?” I was thinking about my friend’s daughter, knowing how concerned they were and knowing that at the time I left they had not yet heard anything from her.
Something in my mind must have crossed the line that controls emotions as I heard, “Are you okay?”, my weakness permitted those emotions to spill over. Again, no names as it is not my intention to put a spotlight on anyone in particular; my response caught the car manager by surprise as he jumped to the conclusion that maybe one of my own family member’s lives might have been in question. It might have been that I was so close to my friends and their being in the dark as to whether or not their daughter was alive, injured, safe or whatever as my mind played a trick on me.
It was my daughter that was in peril and I bought it hook line and sinker at that moment in time. The tears in my eyes flowed down my cheeks and I had trouble breathing as I was unprepared to contemplate this new data. I remember being asked if I wanted to sit for a while; responding that, “I needed to work, to make a key and that maybe that would help”.
That was five years ago and this morning when Lucy said that she had spent an hour or so visiting to make sure that their daughter was handling all this, I found those emotions had been suppressed; but still quite potent. The tear ducts opened up and I found myself worrying about that young lady, how she might never leave those nightmares or that the slightest trigger mechanism might set it off all over again.
I learned that she’d gone to “ground zero” and managed to hold it together. Maybe, with any luck, my having written my feelings down will help my own healing process. For those who profess that we’re not at war; I invite you to explain that to my friends, their daughter, my friend at the car dealership and if they are unable to explain it to you; come by and I’ll give it one more try.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Short, Sweet and to the Point
I got this one from my friend Richard Sutton. You have to turn the volume up a little more than normal. If you don’t say “Wow!” after this one, well, nothing I can do for you.
http://www.youtube.com/v/SmLhyPjHVes
http://www.youtube.com/v/SmLhyPjHVes
Microsoft Outlook Problem - HELP!
I need a favor from anyone who happens to read this. I just bought a new computer and installed the Student/Teacher version of Office from the disc that I bought to go with that neat new computer. I had to do that because the 30 day trial software version of Office that came pre-installed would not work. I deleted the trial version by following the instructions on the Office CD I purchased and then installed the new program and everything looked great. I was instructed to download all the updates which I did. I then found that Outlook will not load, something to do with anti spam software conflicts caused by Norton, so I can’t email anyone. I was instructed to contact Norton, Symantec which I did.
I used the “chat” function at Symantec, communicating with some guy name Dass since the error message by Outlook claimed that the Norton Anti Spam program was the cause for the failure. Microsoft also claimed there was no way to fix the problem, how’s that? Dass had me turn off Norton Security so I did; still no Outlook. Dass said that it had to be a Microsoft problem and to contact them.
I tried to figure out the red tape involved in contacting anyone at Microsoft. It reminded me of the old saying, “Never try to teach a pig to sing, it only makes the pig angry” or something close. So now, yes, I’m angry and tired; having spent most of the day pretending that I knew what I was doing putting this new computer on my desk and getting it up and running.
My internet works fine, as does Word and Excel. I need somebody to leave me a comment, one that a non singing pig will be able to use. Better yet, get a hold of Microsoft and leave a comment for me, tell THEM to read my blog. Maybe tomorrow I will uninstall Office and start all over. Right now my eyes are beginning to blur from reading page after page of Microsoft user unfriendly no-tech no-help pages. They wanted me to wait a full day to receive an email reply to my request as to why my email won’t work on Outlook. HELLLLLLOOOOO!!!!!!
Remember, I am a card carrying Mormon so I don’t drink alcoholic beverages, or smoke odd looking rolled up cigarettes, snort white powder to make things seem better. Those kindly suggestions, while tempting, would be of as much value as waiting for your reply by email. Please leave a comment; maybe that you know how to get explosives past the Microsoft security desk or that you know a member of the Jersey Long Shore Man’s Union, a cousin Vinny who wields a mean baseball bat or something along those lines. I’d love for tech support to understand how happy I am to have purchased yet another fine Microsoft Product.
FYI, I love the wireless keyboard and mouse, awesome. The 19 inch flat panel is nice too. Maybe sometime later in the week I will enjoy my %&*#@ email too.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Membership Dues Serve a Purpose
I had a lock job close to downtown the other day, close enough where I could stop by and visit with my old friend Jim Reed, the fellow who started me down the road to become a locksmith. We had a good visit as he chided me for having mentioned him in some of my previous writings. Jim was a good teacher and taught more than how to make a key; teaching about politics and where the locksmith industry was headed, that was back in the mid 70’s and he was correct in almost all his predictions. Jim was, at the time, and continues his membership, in the ALOA and wanted me to jump on board. I think there was a deal where if you got somebody to join your next year’s membership was reduced or maybe even free. He explained what the membership dues covered; a monthly Keynotes Magazine with all kinds of helpful tips, legislative updates and last; but not least, the added benefits of having key fairies to help along the way. He’d laugh and wink, a sly grin graced his face as his East Texas accent pulled me along; his wry sense of humor was equal to his locksmith skills.
“Key fairies have to follow the rules too, ya’ know. They’re honor bound; no stealing keys or anything like that. They are; however, permitted to place the corner of a newspaper on top of a set of keys that are on somebody’s desk, flick them in the trash or let them fall into a pocket so’s the owner of those keys thinks they’re lost.” Jim would smile, always a big grin as he went along, following the wonderful explanation of how locksmiths who are members of ALOA have these added ways to earn a living.
Once in a while a customer will ask me why a particular job is so expensive. I’ll point to a list hanging in mid air, going down each item; cost of a transponder key blank, time to determine the mechanical cuts, the expensive computer used to program the onboard systems, license fees to the State of Texas and lastly, ALOA dues which include a small portion set aside for the Key Fairies. I try my best to emulate Jim Reed’s East Texas humor and have some fun with all my customers.
Last year’s tomato garden may have been my very best ever. The plants grew thick with tomatoes that were large and sweet. I enjoy a vine-ripened tomato sliced with a touch of salt; not much can beat the flavor. Each year I take a few photographs to compare with prior crops. In this way, long after the last tomatoes have been eaten I can remember with a certain amount of satisfaction, having grown them in my back yard and look forward with renewed anticipation, the warmth of spring and yet another chance to plant more. It wasn’t until the other day that I discovered the reason for their success; tomato fairies.
No, I haven’t been re-visiting the 60’s and I haven’t taken a pain pill for my back in over a week. Like I said, I took pictures of my tomato plants; the best photograph I’ve been using on my computer as wall paper behind all the icons. This past week I was cleaning up the desk top, getting rid of some unused program icons which left a hole, as it were, in the middle of the desk top icons. More of the tomato plant picture could be seen, an area that heretofore I had ignored, my interest had been focused on the huge tomatoes.
It now showed a part of the plants that were mostly leaves, off to the left of the part that had the tomatoes. There, caught in the moment, mixed in with the lush green of the tomato plant leaves; was a clear and distinct image of a tomato fairy. She must have been flying in and out doing her magic at the very moment I took the picture; her wings outstretched as the reflection of the blue sky danced on them.
Not being an expert on tomato fairies, I have to assume that the one in my picture must be a female fairy; either that or male fairies wear long gowns too. Her translucent figure blended in so well with the leaves as to render her nearly invisible. If it had not been for the sparkling of fairy dust near her head I would never have picked her out of the background. There was no denying her presence, the light blue wisp of gown as it gently floated above the plant, her face rising with the glow of tiny luminescent orbs to light her way. I showed the picture to my wife; but she insists that my imagination has run away with me, that the image is the product of two leaves of varied hue and nothing more.
In my thirty years as a locksmith I have never once seen a Key Fairy; all the same I have no doubt that they have helped my business grow. I renew my membership with ALOA without fail and know that it’s a good investment. My wife can go on about how I’ve let my imagination get the best of me or how the leaves make it appear or give the illusion of something that might look like a fairy. To see such things one has to have the faith of a child, regardless of age. I remember my mother telling me how she took a fairy from Staten Island across to Manhattan when she was young. What more need I say?
This is an updated version of an article I posted in January 2005. You get extra points if you can spot the Tomato Fairy.
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