Bob Bentley. . . one day at a time.

A thing of beauty . . .

2012-02-05T17:45:00.000-06:00

I had a long list of things to do this week-end, and have made a little headway. I would have made a lot more headway except that I watched SEC basketball all Saturday afternoon as I worked (Arkansas/LSU, Auburn/Miss. St, Florida/Vanderbilt.) Then I went to Tuscaloosa to watch the Alabama Ole Miss basketball game which started at 7:00 p.m. I planned to get home by 11:00 p.m., get a good night's sleep, then get up and go back to Tuscaloosa to worship at Taylorville UMC. Alabama won the basketball game . . .after two overtimes. Overtimes in college basketball are only five minutes each, but, if the game is tied at the end of regulation, both teams feel like they deserve to win. The intensity in overtime compared to regulation is comparable to how NBA player play during the regular season versus how they play in the NBA championship game. Last night the Tide and the Rebels went to two overtimes. It was no place for the weak.

And it was no place for someone who needed to get home early, unless you are one of those people who don't deserve a basketball ticket because you leave the game early when your team goes down by three or five. If you do that, you know nothing about basketball. (Unless you have small children, as Benjamin observed, although I'm pretty sure that when he was that age he would not have allowed me to take him home early, which I never would have done anyway). So it was after midnight when I got into the house, which I then left at 6:00 a.m. to get to church.

And now I'm ready to watch the Super Bowl. (I intentionally avoided the pre-game and checked a few more things off my list of things to do)

I like games. I like to play games.

And I like to watch people play games.

I love the team aspect of games, I really do, and I know that team play is the politically correct thing to talk about. But still.

As I turned on the Super Bowl programming a few minutes ago a play from a former Super Bowl was being replayed. Super Box XLII in 2008. Eli Manning fought his way out of three tackles and threw high above David Tyree, who made what is now called the "helmet catch."

It was like free-style ballet.

These games we watch are full of them, people who have pushed themselves to go beyond what prior generations thought could not be done.

Some folks think this obsession with games is silly. And it can be.

But in these days when we are so disappointed by the human performances that make the headlines, maybe we have a need for it. A need to watch a human being pushing to be the best he or she can be. The playing field is brightly lit. Any shortcuts of preparation or stinginess of effort will be revealed. There is no place to hide on these playing fields, courts, and arenas.

Enough of this. Time for kick-off.

I wanna be like Mitt . . .except he can't drink caffeine

2012-02-04T09:53:00.000-06:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

And I'm glad about that. The quiet is a comforting blanket this morning as my ears still ring from the noise of the work-week. Through the branches of the leafless trees hundreds of buzzards are circling around the top of the hill. That's creepy. I may be wearied by the week, and I admit that I often appear lifeless while on my sofa, but the interest of the buzzards in this old carcass is premature. I just need a little more coffee.

I scoffed at Mitt Romney's assertion that I might envy him cause he's got a lot of money and I don't. I thought, "how spiritually bereft to think that I might envy you because you've got money. How shallow . . ."

On the other hand . . .

Wouldn't it be nice if we all had money. So much money stored up and making more money without doing anything that none of us, no one, ever had to work again. We could all just do whatever we wanted to. Personally, I would start out with lying on the sofa, drinking coffee, and maybe writing something. That would be great.

There would be no more class warfare, because we would all be rich. None of us would have to work. We could play golf, watch TV, play guitar, travel, paint, go to movies and shows and plays and fancy places to eat. We could buy whatever car we want and all of us could have i-pads. We could shop, and then actually buy all the coolest clothes, the best fishing rig, gourmet cheeses, wines, art and pedigreed pets.

We could all sit together on the fifty yard line of the Super Bowl cause we all could afford the tickets.

But with such a crowd on the fifty yard line, it would really get hot, and we'd really get thirsty. We would look for the guy that always yelled "cold drinks." He would be here, but not selling drinks. He would be sitting with all the rest of us rich elites. While rich folks shouldn't have to get up and walk to the concession stand, thirst is no respecter of riches, so we might finally get up and walk to the concession stand. There's no one working there either. Hmmmm . . . .

So we go to the parking lot to find our brand new ride to head home. The parking lot is empty. New rides don't exist because the men and women that put them together don't have to work anymore. They are rich. And even if the cars were there they wouldn't move because the folks who work the rigs, pipelines, trucks, refineries and gas stations don't work anymore. They are much more important now. They are rich.

It is getting dark now, and we need to get home. There are no lights. There are no movies, no shows, no fancy places to eat, not even a Krystal or TV. There are no ipads or cool clothes. There is no water to drink, even at home. No one is at work anymore.

But it's okay. We still have all this money, And it is working for us. It will create jobs.

We know that having money is the most important thing.

Just check your tax code.

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Teachers all over the State are praying they don't get a raise . . .

2012-02-03T20:36:00.000-06:00

Alabama teachers' pay raises are not Biblical.

Shadrack McGill, a member of the Alabama House of Representatives from Ft. Payne, who defended a sixty two percent legislative pay raise of a few years ago, said in an interview this week that a significant raise in teacher's pay is not Biblical. He said that teaching is a calling. If teachers' pay is raised too high, it will attract people who are teaching, not because they are called, but because of the big money. And we need teachers who teach because they are called. Reasonable salaries would defile the purity of their calling.

I assume he is tying this weird explanation to the Bible because of the calling of prophets and disciples. He didn't say, exactly.

Shadrack supported the legislative pay raise in Biblical language as well. He said that raising legislators' pay prevented the lawmakers from being tempted. Tempted to take bribes.

Lead me not into temptation Lord . . . a little cash will make it easier to resist evil.

Teachers must surely be relieved that legislators are once again helping them walk the straight and narrow and maintain the purity of their calling by helping them resist the evils of the love of money. There is no sleep for the weary. It was only a couple of months ago that the new state ethics legislation enacted by Shadrack and his guardian angels of the educators put an end to the shameful practice of students giving Christmas gifts to teachers.

Many a teacher has succumbed to the illicit urge to fudge on a grade or look the other way for an unexcused absence when seduced by the siren song of a fruitcake, coffee mug, bath oil, or scarf offered by an amoral elementary tempter, or temptress, evilly presented under the auspices of Christmas. Shameful.

More money will help legislator's do their job better.

More money will hurt the quality of teachers.

And it is all Biblical. Somehow.

Shadrack might want to review the story of his Biblical namesake in the, Book of Daniel, Chapter 3,

Shadrach did not burn because he was saved by standing for truth.

That is Biblical.

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Thurvey 2/2/2012

2012-02-02T08:31:00.000-06:00

It is Thursday once again and the world still has questions. Or at least the Thurvey staff has questions. It is your time, dear reader, to be part of the answer. To respond to the Thurvey enter your wisdom in the comment below, type your name if you wish to be known, click on "anonymous" from the drop down menu, and click on "publish". If the comment box does not appear below, click on the tiny "comments" below and the box will probably appear.

#1 In this time of extreme political polarization in America, when Republicans won't vote for a Democrat's tax cut and Democrats are criticizing Bush's Medicare Prescription Bill because it cost too much, there is an idea that should be favored by all parts of the political spectrum. An inestimable amount of good is being done for America by "non-profits", entities that are set up much as businesses are, but with the purpose of doing some good or charitable purpose, not to make a monetary profit, but to accomplish a valuable purpose. The work of non-profits in Alabama is being celebrated today, Thursday, February 2, during "Alabama Gives." This is the day to give to your favorite Alabama non-profit. If you do it through the link above your contribution will be included in the big total, to see how much Alabama will give to its non-profits in one day. What is your favorite non-profit organization? Tell us why we should give to it.

#2 Presidential candidates must do a lot of talking these days, so it is understandable, considering how much they must talk, and the grueling schedule they face, that they say something they wish they could take back. But when should gaffe's be dismissed due to those factors, and when do they really say something about the candidate that needs a closer look? In the summer Romney argued with a member of the audience at a State Fair, adamantly stating the "corporations are people." He later said, though taken out of context, "I like to be able to fire people." Last week in Florida he passionately bemoaned, commiserating with a member of the audience who was having financial trouble, "Banks are hurting, too." Then yesterday morning Romney said, "I am not worried about the extremely poor . . ." There are many more similar statements and incidents. Is it important to consider these kinds of statements? Has it affected how you feel about Romney? In fairness, feel free to talk about other candidates' gaffes.

#3 It made me sad when I heard about the death of Don Cornelius this week. Don Cornelius created, owned and was the face, heart and particularly the Soul of the long running syndicated TV program "Soul Train." I watched Soul Train on a fairly regular basis decades ago. Yes, I was an extremely white Alabama high-school kid in the early seventies and I watched Soul Train. I loved the Temptations and the Chi-lites and Aretha and mostly I wanted to sing like Al Green. I wanted to sing cause I really didn't think I had much of a chance at dancing. The President sang a few lines of Al Green's song "I'm So in Love with You," during a speech at the Apollo this week. Michelle Obama said on Jay Leno that Obama sang that song to her all the time. What soulful song do you find yourself singing from time to time? When did you first hear it?
Peace, love . . . and sooooooooooul.

Deja voo doo . . .

2012-02-01T14:55:00.001-06:00

It was refreshing to hear a few policy statements from Mitt Romney last night after the dust cleared from his Florida carpet bombing of Newt Gingrich. It apppears that Newt is like some of his amphibian namesakes, his political life is on the endangered list. But like the simpler animals, Newt will not disappear easily.

But still, the victory allowed Romney a platform to turn toward the general election, to explain to the nation how he would correct the America's woes. Most of his plan involved removing President Obama from the White House. I think we can all agree that would be necessary for Romney's plan to have a chance. But what policies did Romney put forth?

He would build the biggest, strongest, most intimidating military in the world and stand shoulder to shoulder with friends around the world and speak out for those seeking freedom.

He would repeal the health insurance reform act.

He would extend the Bush tax cuts.

He would make America the most attractive place in the world for business.

He would balance the budget by cutting spending, and without any tax increases.

A military that is substantially more intimidating than our present military will add billions of dollars of spending. Repeal of the health insurance reform act will cost millions. Extending the Bush tax cuts will cost billions of dollars. Incentives and tax breaks for businesses will cost millions.

I am sure that Romney would say that the additional tax revenue created by new business and investment would make up the difference. I believe there is a place for this type of thinking in the solution. But it cannot be the only thinking. We tried that.

In January, 2001, there was a federal surplus of 128 billion dollars. The Congressional Budget Office projected that if the good times continued to roll, and the spending remained the same, there would be about 5.6 trillion dollars of surplus generated in the following ten years.

But things didn't stay the same. In 2003 the Bush tax cuts were put into affect. In the same year Medicare Part D was implemented, though unpaid for. And about the same time there was a massive increase in military spending as the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were begun. And a series of deregulation of business and environment for the purpose of helping business were the constant goal of the decade.

The economy, which was projected to create a 5.6 trillion dollar surplus, had created a one trillion dollar deficit by January, 2009.

Tax cuts.
Health care cost increases.
Increased military spending.
Deregulation of business and environment.

In the words of a beloved President,

"There you go again."

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Reality, not bumper stickers . . .(a bit of political wonkiness)

2012-01-29T22:29:00.000-06:00

I was told today that liberals believe in fairy tales and ignore reality.

Here is some reality.

Since 2002 the United States has been involved in two wars. The cost of those wars, so far, is 1.2 trillion dollars. There was no effort by the federal government to pay for the war in any way, be it tax increases or reductions in other areas of the budget. This is not about whether the wars were good or bad. This is about sound financial policy. In 2008, the year that the economy was collapsing, the cost of the war was around $180,000,000,000.00 (that's billion) dollars. Hopefully the costs of the wars will continue to go down in the next couple of years, but they will continue to add to the deficit in smaller amounts. That does not take into consideration continuing increases in costs of treating and supporting our veterans.

In 2003, Congress enacted what is now Medicare Part D, which provided assistance to seniors with the high costs of prescription medicine. Like the wars, it was not paid for, either by new taxes or reductions in other areas of the budget. This is not about whether the program is good or bad. This is about sound financial policy. It is estimated to cost forty to fifty billion dollars each year, and will continue indefinitely.

In 2008 the U. S. economy hemorrhaged jobs, losing 2.6 million. In December, 2007, the unemployment rate was 4.7 percent. The unemployment rate had risen to 7.4 percent in January, 2009, an increase of 2.7 percent in one year. That is where it stood when President Obama was inaugurated.

In 2007 U. S. Tax revenue was 2.6 trillion dollars, falling to 2.5 trillion in 2008 as the effects of the recession began to hit tax collection. . U. S. federal tax revenue dropped to 2.1 trillion in 2009. (I think revenues received in a given year reflect the tax liabilities of the prior year, if that is wrong, let me know). That's a drop of half trillion dollars in collected revenue in two years, fourteen to seventeen percent of the federal budget.

In January, 2009, before President Obama was inaugurated, the Office of Management and Budget estimated that the 2009 budget, already in its fourth month, was projected to create more than a trillion dollar deficit.

The housing industry was in free fall. The financial system was near collapse under the weight of a mortgage and lending crisis and a busted real estate bubble.

I will leave out the discussion of the federal income tax cuts of 2003, except to say that taxes were cut with no commensurate cuts in spending. Not very prudent during a war.

Reality is that a president took office when the unemployment rate was around 7.5 percent. After reaching a high of above ten percent in the next couple of years, the unemployment rate was down to about 8.5 percent at the end of his third year. That president was Ronald Reagan. And Barack Obama.

Not excuses.

Reality.

Reality is that Barack Obama proposed and pushed through Congress the original stimulus package, to spend 750 billion dollars, about thirty percent of which were tax cuts. That spending is the primary thing that President Obama has contributed to an increase in spending. It is fair to examine that policy decision during his re-election campaign. .

And it is fair to examine other real policy decisions about foreign relations, health care reform, energy, education, immigration, the environment and all the rest. It is fair to honestly look at how much he has spent and on what, how much spending he has cut, and how much his policies have raised or lowered taxes.

But it is just ignorance to dismiss Obama as a socialist or a liberal. Or question his citizenship. Or his patriotism. Or his religion. Or any other label that you might post on facebook or stick on your bumper. Those notions are just fairy tales.

Get real, or get over it.

..

Show a little class . . . (warning: a little preachy)

2012-01-28T09:25:00.000-06:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

At lunch the other day a friend of mine said,

"I am sick and tired of hearing the whining and complaining about class warfare by the guys that have already won it."

I wish I had said that.

"Class warfare" is a mantra from page one of the Republican 2012 song book (if mantras are in songbooks. I do not worry about such nuances on Saturday morning, I try not to worry at all on Saturday mornings . . . aummmmmm . . .) (And I find it very open minded of the Republican conservative religious right to be chanting mantras anyway, considering that the practice derives from Eastern religions, and I don't mean Boston, so maybe some progress is being made in religious tolerance . . . or perhaps they are singing praise choruses) The term "class warfare" has been introduced into the discourse by the GOP (I don't really believe the GOP still exists, so I will no longer refer to the Republicans as such. While I have never been a member of the GOP, I long for the days of the dependable, traditionally conservative adversary, the Grand Old Party. Perhaps I romanticize days gone by) (I am using too many parentheticals this morning, so I will stop that now.)

I was talking about "class warfare" before I was interrupted by my own parentheticals. The Democrats have generally not used the term "class warfare" in this election season, except in response to the Republicans assertions. The Democrats, more specifically President Obama, have simply pointed out the rapidly increasing sizes of the upper and lower economic classes, and the endangered species known as middle class America. The Republicans have screamed "class warfare" in response to this statement of an undisputable truth.

There is a sad irony here. The Republicans cannot win without the support of fiercely committed conservative Christians. It is these Christians that have, to a great extent, nailed down many of the planks of the Republican platform.

But the nails in the platform are not the only nails being pounded by the harsh, mean rhetoric of the Republican campaign.

For those who have forgotten, Christians are followers of Jesus Christ. His brief earthly story is recounted in the New Testament. The One they follow is the One who said, reflecting the prophecy of Isaiah 61:1:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free,"
Luke 4:17-19

He is the one who said,

"Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”
Matthew 19:23-25

He is the One who said,

"‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. ⁴² For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³ I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’
⁴⁴ “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
⁴⁵ “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
Matthew 25:41-45

He is the One who Paul was talking about when he said:

"This man was handed over to you by God’s deliberate plan and foreknowledge; and you, with the help of wicked men, put him to death by nailing him to the cross."
Acts 2:22-24

Jesus favored the oppressed, the poor, the sick, the outcast,and the stranger. His harshest language and actions were directed toward those who ignored, abused and used them.

Policy should be discussed. Government may be the answer, maybe not. But Christians, if we are following Christ, cannot tolerate the demonization of those who Jesus said He came to free. Jesus beloved include those on food stamps. His beloved include those on "welfare." His beloved include illegal immigrants. His beloved include children. His beloved include the lonely, the elderly, the sick. His beloved include gays, His beloved include straights.

His beloved include us all, because we are all poor in some way, no matter how much money we have or don't have.

Any words that do not recognize this, do not embrace this, are not the words of Jesus. And they cannot be the words of anyone who is following Him.

I suppose some might say that Jesus incited "class warfare." His accusers said as much to Pilate when they said he was stirring up the people with his ravings. His words of love. His words of truth.

Put away the nails.

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Thurvey 1/26/2012

2012-01-26T08:02:00.000-06:00

Thursday has rushed upon us once again, and with it the Thurvey (Thursday survey). I would like to ask who it is that keeps passing these cold germs my way, but that won't be a Thurvey question. You may confess if you are the culprit. Excellent commentation from last week's Thurvey convinced the Thurvey staff writers that fewer questions must be better, so less is more will continue. Many of you may get tired of reading the instructions on how to comment each week, because it may be as natural as splenda to you by now, but, there are still millions of cyber-introverts who are intimidated by sharing their thoughts, and lean on the exaggerated complexities of posting a comment to avoid expressing their views. (Obviously not facebook users) Who knows, they may be hiding the secret to world peace. So bear with me. If you wish to comment, type your comment in the box below, sign your name if you wish (or a pseudonym), click on the drop-down menu and choose anonymous, then click on publish. If no comment box appears below, click on the little "comments" below and a box will appear. So, now you have no excuse to stay in your shell. The world needs your input.

#1 The term "class warfare" is being heard in much of the political rhetoric of the 2012 campaign. The obvious classes being referred to are the rich and the poor, the haves and the have nots. One side raised the term saying that the discussion of the wealth gap is causing division. The other side says that the division already exists and ignoring it is not the answer, nor does stating the truth mean it is fanning the flames of "class warfare." Does such a significant gap exist in the U. S. or is the idea of it just a creation of those who would want to use it? Is it a problem that needs correction or just a natural result of a free economic system? What other types of "class warfare" either truly exist or are created for political purposes? How is victory defined in "class warfare?"

#2 How do you keep from catching a cold? How do you cure it? Are kleenex recyclable? Any information about how to endure a stupid cold is appreciated.

#3 Are you more interested in the Super Bowl or the Oscars? Give any opinion you wish about either, or both, or explain you preference.

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Thurvey, 1/19/2012 . . . a cleaner, leaner Thurvey

2012-01-19T08:21:00.000-06:00

Here we go with the Thurvey (Thursday survey) again. Based upon anecdotal data it appears that the large number of questions from which to choose may be daunting to potential responders. So, the Thurvey staff has cut back dramatically on the number of questions. If you wish to share your responses with the world, simply type your response in the comment box below, include your name if you wish to be known, click on anonymous from the "comment as" drop down menu, then click on publish. If the comment box does not appear below, click on the tiny "comments" below and voila, it should appear.

1. The presidential election is nasty, and keeps getting nastier, and that is just among the Republicans in the family feud. It will only get worse. So, let's try an exercise that I learned somewhere in my childhood. I think it was the roots of my penchant for sarcasm. Pick out a candidate other than the one you support, preferably the one you like the least, and say the best things you can muster about him (or her for those who are just aching to say something nice about Michelle Bachman, even though she stepped aside.) For instance, I might say that Newt Gingrich reminds me of Captain Kangaroo and Mitt Romney reminds me of Mr. Green Jeans. Now that I think of it Santorum reminds me of Mr. Moose and Huntsman reminds me of Mr. Bunny Rabbit. Chris Christie reminds me of Dancing Bear. Paul reminds me of Grandfather Clock. I have fond memories of all of these characters from Captain Kangaroo, and so now I feel a warmer spot in my heart for all of them. (For you younger readers, these are all characters of the early TV hit childrens' program "Captain Kangaroo.") I suppose my Captain Kangaroo theme might stem from typing this while eating fruit loops and watching morning TV, not wanting to go to school . . . I mean work. Anyway, that's what I might say. Serious or sarcastic, it doesn't matter. Let's just try to feel better about each other.

2. Ron Paul was booed by the crowd at the last Republican debate when he suggested that the Golden Rule, do unto others what you would have them do unto you, is an appropriate consideration in our country's foreign policy. How do you feel about that? Why?

3. What is the best movie you have seen since Thanksgiving? Why?

Ordinary income?

2012-01-17T20:53:00.000-06:00

Okay, this post is a bit dry. But I want to know if what I'm thinking is true. Hopefully some reader can point me in the right direction. Because it is time to get serious, and it is hard to find serious information in the circus atmosphere of politics these days.

Today Mitt Romney reluctantly mentioned that he thought his effective tax rate on his income for the past year is somewhere around fifteen percent. He still isn't releasing his tax return, but he did reveal this tidbit of vague disclosure. His lack of specificity makes one think perhaps it might be a little less than that. On an annual income of millions of dollars. He says that his income is taxed at fifteen percent because it is all investment income now, from the buying and selling of equities and other investments, as he is not employed by Bain Capital anymore. It is legal.

What he is not yet discussing is whether he ever paid more than fifteen percent rate on the income when it was originally received. Odds are he did not.

Even those of us who are not particularly knowledgeable of the tax code have heard the general argument that one of the reasons that taxes on capital trades are so low is that the capital was taxed as income at some point as it was being earned and saved, so it should not be taxed again at the same rate.

But that is not the case with Private Equity Managers, such as Bain Capital, for whom Mitt Romney worked. Private Equity Managers have eked out a loophole for themselves, saying that the compensation that they receive from their company is comprised of assets that have appreciated, and therefore not subject to ordinary income tax, but rather capital gains tax. In other words, it is common for Private Equity Managers to never pay an ordinary tax rate on compensation they receive from their employment.

So, I am wondering. Did Mitt Romney ever pay more than ordinary income tax rates on compensation when he was paid it by Bain Capital?

I don't know, but I suspect it won't be just me considering this question in the next few days.

If you already know the answer, please let us know by commenting.

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A letter from the past . . . to the present

2012-01-16T20:55:00.000-06:00

I went to Birmingham today. Not the Birmingham that I go to two or three times a week for court or meetings or entertainment.

I went to the Birmingham where the jail is located. The jail from which Martin Luther King wrote the letter. The letter from the Birmingham Jail. If you have done nothing to reflect on all that Martin Luther King evokes in the consciousness of the United States on this day set aside, then I suggest you read this long, long letter penned by Dr. King from the heart of Birmingham as the civil rights movement was reaching critical mass. Like the prophets of the Hebrew Testament, his words are eerily timeless. If your time is limited, read it instead of the rest of this post.

The crowds strolled through Kelly Ingram Park today, almost oblivious to the powerful display of the civil rights sculptures which are permanent fixtures of the greenspace, seeming to be much more interested in talking and laughing with one another than reflecting on the message of the inanimate objects. There was music in the air and the smoky aroma of barbecue and polish sausage. This crowd knew too well the story and the message of the sculptures along the tour in the park. They didn't need the recorded tour. They just wanted to be there on this day. At the edge of the park, facing the civil rights museum, there is one statue where almost everyone paused for a moment . . . Martin Luther King.

The line for entrance into the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute stretched down the formidable front steps of the institute and along the curb of 16th Street. It was estimated that between 3000 and 4000 visitors went through the BCRI today. I was not one of them. I was on a tight schedule and could not stay long enough to get in.

So I walked across the street to the 16th Street Baptist Church, where, on Sunday, September 15, 1963, four children were killed, and 22 others were injured by a dynamite blast, set by radical segregationists. The children killed were preparing for a youth day event at the church later that day. Prior to the explosion the church was a center of organization for the Birmingham civil rights movement. After that day it became a civil rights icon around which much of the nation rallied.

Today the church was a place of joy, celebration and commitment. Several speakers were on the program, remembering the past and speaking to the future. They honored King. And Shuttlesworth. And there was a choir. A choir that sang about justice. And freedom. About Bull Connor and the Constitution. And about justice.

I started a post about the Republican Presidential race today. But after going to Birmingham, after attending the church and hearing the speakers and the choir, after reading several of King's speeches, the politics of today just seemed silly.

Today I saw thousands of African Americans strolling through the park and around a church in downtown Birmingham, Alabama, where about fifty years ago they lived and fought in mortal fear of being attacked by Bull Connor's dogs and firehoses and the KKK's dynamite bombs. I was reminded of the leaders and foot-soldiers of the civil rights movement, many of whom didn't survive. I was reminded of Presidents and Attorney Generals and Congressmen who struggled with the pressure of making the decisions to change in spite of personal danger and potential political suicide. But some of them did what had to be done. All of them together. Not perfectly. Not quickly enough. But they did it. It was not over then and it is not finished even now, but looking at the difference that was apparent around 16h Street and 6th Avenue in Birmingham, Alabama today, it reminds me and inspires me that we as a people are capable of doing the right thing, the good thing. The incredibly important thing.

So there won't be any post about politics today. It just seems embarrassingly silly. I'll get on that tomorrow.

Because it is time to get serious. Again.

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New Hampshire, same old song . . .

2012-01-10T21:24:00.000-06:00

New Hampshire has spoken. Mitt Romney received just over a third of the votes cast in the Republican primary. Normally that would not seem like much of a victory, but when votes were split among six candidates, seven if you count Michelle Bachman, who has previously stepped aside, then thirty seven percent of the vote is not bad. Not great, but not bad. In his victory speech Mitt acted like he had won the nomination. Most of his attention was turned to attacking President Obama with the usual hyperbole, throwing in the term "European socialism" a couple of times. He was certainly trying to look like the Republican nominee. It was a good speech, by Romney standards. No gaffes. He used a teleprompter.

You would think that Mitt is it. Finally.

And I am pretty sure he is. But none of the other candidates left seem to believe that Mitt is it.

Ron Paul came in second in New Hampshire with a respectable 24 percent of the vote. For Paul 24 percent is a mandate. In his speech he claimed a moral victory, promised to drastically reduce the size of the American military, keep the government out of our personal lives, and keep us out of war. He is headed to South Carolina.

John Huntsman came in third in New Hampshire with 17 percent, an increase of about ten percent in the past few weeks. Huntsman called for immediate withdrawal from Afghanistan, and for restoration of the people's trust in federal government. He is headed to South Carolina. Probably with a couple of million of his father's money.

Newt Gingrich received 10 percent of the vote in New Hampshire. He hates Mitt Romney for what Romney's super pac did to him in Iowa. In his speech he told us of something he had learned from the way New Hampshire handled their budget process. He didn't call anyone a liar. He is headed to South Carolina where he has already placed a 1.5 million dollar ad buy, which most assuredly will be dedicated to disemboweling Mitt Romney.

Rick Santorum also received 10 percent of the vote in New Hampshire. He did not expect to do very well in the moderate state of New Hampshire. But South Carolina is Santorum's kind of place. Socially conservative. So, Santorum cannot wait to get to South Carolina.

I'm not sure about Rick Perry, but he says he will be in South Carolina as well.

And the weird thing is, none of them seem to be able to admit that by not stepping out of the race, they are insuring that Mitt Romney will be nominated.

Mitt Romney has a big problem. He is not the choice of a huge majority of Republican voters. The support of all the "non-Romneys" is somwhere upwards of sixty percent. Not just in New Hampshire. Pretty much everywhere. Romney cannot seem to attract more than 35 to 40 percent of the Republican voters.

I have often thought that President Obama is one of the luckiest politicians. But Romney may be luckier. All of these men who so passionately want to defeat him in the Republican race are assuring his victory by splitting the huge anti-Romney vote into insignificant morsels.

I am a Democrat. But I enjoy politics of all stripes. This Republican race has been and continues to be entertaining. For bigger military, for less military, pro-life, pro choice. Trust government, fear government. For pure entertainment, I would like for it to go on for awhile. And I suppose, as a Democrat, the argument can be made that as long as the Republicans try to rip Mitt apart, President Obama's chances in the general election increase.

But I am getting tired of the silliness. This general election will offer an opportunity for valuable public discourse about national policies and directions that will set the course for our future. The opposing platforms and ideologies will be distinct. That serious conversation will not begin until the Republicans decide who they are this year. And it seems like they are still a long way from figuring that out.

But, the show goes on. Next stop South Carolina.

This may call for a road trip. It's gonna be quite a show.

.

It is time . . .RTR

2012-01-09T19:19:00.001-06:00

I was a bit late taking a lunch break today, heading the Prius down main street Oneonta around 12:30 to fetch me some loaded potato soup and a toasted pimento cheese from Downtown Diner.

There was no one in town. I thought I saw a tumbleweed roll down 3rd Street.

The crew at Downtown Diner was on duty serving the two or three of us that showed up for lunch, but main street was deserted. Roll Tides were exchanged as I left the Diner and headed back to the office.

Two afternoon appointments cancelled.

After I left the office I stopped by Walmart on the way home. That's where everbody was.

Getting ready.

For the game.

As most of us have been all day, even when we were doing other things. At the courthouse today settlement negotiations would drift into Championship game predictions. Pregame analysis. Snack and drink menus.

Game faces were being put on.

There are important things going on in the world that need discussing. But not right now.

It's time for the national anthem. . .

.

I wouldn't read this one, but I had to cause I wrote it . . .

2012-01-07T21:31:00.000-06:00

I have a cold. My strategy for fighting a cold is denial, which proved quite effective for most of the week, until Friday afternoon, just in time for me to lie down on the sofa for the weekend.

So, I have been sneezing all week. Personally, I enjoy a good sneeze. It is quite a physical release if you are willing to give in to it. I realize, however that sneezing is an intensely personal thing. Some have a more Victorian attitude about it than I, suppressing the sneeze as if it were something shameful. I often worry that those who suppress the sneeze will blow up their head somehow. I have heard that a sneeze exits the mouth at speeds of around 100 mph. Where does that Category 2 hurricane force go when the sneezer clamps his mouth shut? Through the sinuses up into the brain I suspect. FEMA can't help with that damage.

So don't squeeze the sneeze.

This has been a public service announcement of One Day at a Time.

I am watching the Republican Presidential Candidates debate in hopes of being inspired to write about something.

I suppose this sneeze issue may deserve a closer look.

I believe that I have a right to a full throated, body-wrenching, eye-watering explosion of a sneeze, including the traditional and culturally accepted expression of the sneeze, "ah-choo." That is what a sneeze is. Not this politically correct respiratory implosion resulting in popping eardrums and potential storm damage of the brain. So I was hurt this week when people looked at me with disdain muttering epithets regarding my thoughtlessness as I let a couple of thunderous sneezes go. These are the same people that stifle their sneezes, catching anything that might escape their respiratory system in the crook of their elbow and the sleeve of whatever garment they are wearing. I can't imagine the bio-hazard nightmare that grows in those elbow bends. And yet, these snotty sleeved people are looking down on me for sneezing the way people have been sneezing for generations. It's just crazy.

They act like they own the air or something.

Don't let them take this basic right, this way of life away . . .

Don't squeeze the sneeze.

I'll do better tomorrow. Or Monday.

.

Wake up, look up, it's Christmas morning . . .

2011-12-25T07:13:00.004-06:00

And so it came to pass. In the middle of the hustle and bustle, the crowds and the business, the One for which they had been waiting and hoping and watching for centuries had been born. But almost nobody noticed.
Read more »

Frosty window panes . . .

2011-12-24T08:16:00.002-06:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

Christmas Eve.

We look through a frosted window darkly. We can't make out exactly what's happening on the other side of of the crystallized aperture, but for some reason we cannot turn away from the warmth of the light that streams from the other side, piercing the darkness of the cold, cold street. Something is happening on the other side of the glass. Something that draws us in, like the light from a kitchen light in our favorite memory.

The light melts our heart and makes clear our next few steps into the darkness. In that light we scurry about, not knowing what to do, or for what or who we are preparing. We clean our houses, we cook our food, we look for the right gifts to give. We are charitable.

The world is different because of the light that we do not understand, coming from a place that we have almost forgotten, yet there is a faint memory, something warmly familiar.

It is Christmas Eve.

We do not yet understand. Yet we have seen strange, wonderful light from another place.

Light from a rising star.

Light from the angels.

And this Light streaming through the frosty window. We press our faces against the thin glass, straining to see a clue of what is coming, of what is being prepared on the other side.

But it is Christmas Eve.

All we can do . . . is wait.

The Thurvey Christmas Special, 2011

2011-12-22T20:34:00.003-06:00

Tis the theason for a Thurvey . . .falalalalalalalala.

Yes it's Thurvey (Thursday survey) time once again. The Christmas Thurvey Special. . . Andy Williams and the Osmonds are not available so the staff here at the Thurvey needs your help. This is the opportunity for you readers to spread a bit of Christmas cheer by sharing your thoughts about the Thurvey questions. If you wish to share a comment, simply type it in the comment box below, including your name if you wish, click on the anonymous button, and click publish. If the box does not appear, click on the little "comments" below and one should appear. If you haven't sent Christmas cards yet, just forget it. Share your good wishes through the Christmas Thurvey Special 2011 . . .

#1. We mark time by clocks and calendars. But we mark time by many other things too. I think this is particularly true of our Christmases. I mark time by popular toys, popular to me in particular or popular in culture. My favorite, and perhaps the best Santa Claus gift of all time was a U. S. Navy pedal propelled jeep when I was about five. And for me, nothing says Christmas like Silly Putty. Still. What favorite toys do you have memories of? What year?

#2 Following up on question 1, we have marked Christmases by music since that heavenly choir of angels serenaded the shepherds abiding in their fields. Sometimes it is the romantic Christmas hit of the season shared with a girl wearing a maroon velvet dress to a junior high Christmas party, or it may be a church music program, or carols sung around a piano or on a cold windy street. What is your favorite Christmas song or Christmas music memory, and when was it?

#3 I just back from a Christmas get together with some colleagues. Nice folks, a warm, beautiful house, and some seriously good food. I fell off the low carb diet wagon a couple of weeks ago and it seems to have left me hopelessly behind in Candyland as everywhere I go sugar is pushed on me in an infinite number of confectionery delights. It is worth the coma that follows shortly thereafter. What do you like to eat at Christmas? Or drink? What do you like to cook, for yourself or others?

#4 One of my favorite memories of Christmas is riding around looking at lawn decorations. I have never forgotten my mother's comment about one house when I was extremely young.

"That just looks like a honky-tonk." I didn't know what a honky-tonk was at the time, but I figured it must be a wonderful place, because the house we were passing had long strings of red light bulbs outlining the roof of the house. Not Christmas lights. Just regular light bulbs, only they were red. It was magnificent, from my perspective. I still enjoy the Griswoldian lawn/house decorations. Have you seen any outstanding or unique lawn decorations this year? or in years past? Where, and why did they stand out for you?

#5 There are a few stores, some in Oneonta, one or two in downtown Birmingham, a couple in Homewood, a couple around Five Points, and a few others, that I never go into except to shop for Christmas gifts. I love those places. Maybe it's just the feeling of tradition. What are your favorite places to Christmas shop? Do you have particular shops or stores that you would recommend? Do you having shopping traditions? (Like last minute shopping for instance?)

#6 Some people think some of the Thurvey Christmas Special 2011 topics are excesses and contrary to the real meaning of Christmas . . .the hours of shopping for stuff, the over indulgence in food and drink, and the attention given to toys and games. On the other hand, Jesus was not opposed to a good time, or to giving good gifts. Can you reconcile the life and teachings of Jesus with how we celebrate Christmas? C'mon, this one might take a little effort, but give it a whirl.

#7 Many people are contributing to charities instead of exchanging gifts? This is your chance to help your favorite cause. What charities do you recommend? Include a link if you have it.

#7 What would you like to say about Christmas this year?

#8 What would you like others to comment on about Christmas?

Turning on the light . . .

2011-12-20T20:23:00.004-06:00

When I was very young I slept in a bedroom with stained pine tongue and groove paneling. As I lie in bed at night, trying to go to sleep, the room was almost dark. In the darkness the pine paneling came alive, the lines of the grain of the finished planks creating images of wolves and monsters that seemed to move, straining to jump out of the wall that contained them, and eat me up. No one could go to sleep with all that going on all around him. Having wild animals and monsters lurking in your room presented a difficult dilemma. As we all know, the bed offered some degree of protection against such evil entities, though not certain. So, I lie in bed, staying still for as long as I could take it. At some point I reached the tipping point, sure that the attack of the wood grain wild things was imminent, and sprang from the bed and flipped on the light.

In the light there were no wild things, no wolves or monsters. Just pine paneling.

That is what light does. It allows us to see the truth.

Christmas is about light. That's what John said in Chapter 1 of his gospel:

¹ In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ² He was with God in the beginning. ³ Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. ⁴ In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Light, as we know it in our physical world, is a form of energy. It has power.

Darkness, on the other hand, is simply the absence of light, the absence of that illuminating energy.

Darkness has no power, other than that which we give it through our fear of things we cannot see.

If you attend a candlelight service this Christmas Eve, let me make a suggestion. As the room is still dark except for the light of the Christ candle, get into a position where you can turn and look at the crowd, preferably at their faces. In the beginning, before the flame is passed from the Christ candle, the room will be full of shadowy figures and faces. Then, as the light is passed from person to person, from candle to candle, the light is not diminished as it is shared. It is multiplied. The room will begin to glow. The shadowy darkness will retreat in the face of the warm, lovely, loving light.

Jesus was born into this world as a tiny baby, a single white-hot pinpoint of undefinable light. But the light did not stay in the stable. It was passed from heart to heart, from generation to generation.

Even to this generation.

In the darkness that remains in this world it is tempting to lie still, trembling with fear, hoping that the wild things and monsters that lurk in the shadows will not notice us.

But if this world is dark, we are the ones at fault. We have been given the gift we need.

We must simply reach for the Light.

Haven't you heard, the war is over . . .

2011-12-19T19:14:00.003-06:00

A significant moment happened late Saturday or early Sunday morning.

The withdrawal of American troops from Iraq was complete. In the past few weeks, in a massive transport operation, tens of thousands of American troops returned to American soil. They completed a complex and difficult mission with honor, fulfilling strategies that shifted with politics and conditions. The national news outlets gave this historical milestone considerable air time, column inches, and web and blog posts over the weekend. But the public has not seemed that interested. When that happens, the news media moves on to the next story. How sad.

This should be no surprise. We have not been interested in the Iraq war for several years.

I wish that were a surprise.

Four thousand four hundred seventy four American service men and women were killed in the eight year war. Over 36,000 suffered injury. Tens of thousands suffer from PTSD. Thousands developed other emotional or mental illness, Over a trillion U. S. dollars were spent. Conservatively over 100,000 Iraq civilians were killed.

And we hardly notice when it is over?

What is wrong with us?

If you were against the war, where is the relief? Where is the gratitude that it is over? Where is the reflection on the toll and the conviction that such a thing will not happen again?

If you were in favor of the war, where is the relief? Where is the gratitude that it is over? Where is the reflection on the toll and the conviction that such a thing will not happen again?

Where is the national appreciation for those who served? Where is the public policy that will address the physical, emotional and mental injuries suffered?

Where is the national discussion?

When the war began we agreed that it wasn't appropriate to discuss the war while our troops were on foreign soil in harms way. Now eight years have passed.

We can't even remember what it is we were supposed to talk about. We have moved on. But we left some precious people behind. Our sons and daughters who wear our uniforms and carry our weapons.

I hate war. It is a preposterous, obscene, barbaric means of dispute resolution.

But I just finished waging one, a long, horrible one, and so did you, if you are an American. And we let our children do our killing for us, let them drive across IED's for us, let them spend the golden years of youth in a foreign, harsh, fear-filled land.

Not to mention what we had them do to hundreds of thousands of non-military men, women and children of Iraq.

That's the problem. We really don't want to mention any of it. We just want to forget the little that we ever really knew about this war.

But this war will be with us for at least a generation. We will see it in the faces of the soldiers who so honorably did our bidding without question as they struggle to catch up, struggle to hold on, struggle to get back to normal.

The troops are home. We didn't do so well by them during the war or in their homecoming. It's time for us to join them in the fight for their lives. It's not too late.

Roomers of Angels . . .

2011-12-18T15:52:00.003-06:00

There are people making room.

I saw a few of them this morning.

One is a businessman, good at what he does for a living. Too many people rely on him at work for too much. No one would blame him for being selfish with his time off. You remember the tornadoes from April that left so many without homes? So does he. But he does more than remember. He heads up work groups to go and continue the work of restoring homes, even in December, when there are plenty of other things he could be enjoying on his off days. He doesn't talk about it much. He just works. He and the others he encouraged to work with him are quite literally "making room."

One is a "jackess of all trades." Okay, that didn't sound right, although this woman would probably appreciate that title. She prides herself on her feistiness. She is constantly busy, most of her money-paying jobs involving working with children in one way or the other. I've seen tears of pain in her eyes for a child in need. She quietly bought a new outfit for a child in need of self-esteem to wear in a Christmas program. She's not nearly as tough as she lets on. And she definitely made some room.

One is a gifted young professional, with small children in tow. She spent much of her week exhorting her colleagues and anyone else in earshot to give to families in need during Christmas by adopting families through the Hope House in Oneonta, another real room-maker. She is not just talk, although she is world-class at talking, and spent quite a while shopping for children other than her own during this week before Christmas. She is making room.

One is a young, skinny man with a heart that seems bigger than his slight frame could hold. Due to his work and leadership there are people who are fed hot meals who might otherwise go without . . .without the hot meals, and without a human touch. He is a bit goofy sometimes, which is a ministry to me, but he is making room.

One is a preacher saying bold things in the pulpit. A preacher in a church where it would very easy to get comfortable, especially during the happy, joyful Christmas season, with its growing crowds, children's' programs, beautiful music, warm fellowship, inside the walls of the church. This morning he said to the crowd that had gathered in that spirit, "we must get over the warm, fuzzy feeling that we get at Christmas. We must remember that God came to be among us at Christmas, but then he commanded us to go . . ." He is making room.

There were so many more. None were famous, or powerful. Just ordinary folk. Making room. It was humbling to get to hang around that crowd.

The Book of John opens with these powerful words:

"¹ In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ² He was with God in the beginning. ³ Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. ⁴ In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome^[a] it.

There is hope. Hope that comes from ordinary people carrying the light into the darkness. Preparing room.

Maybe there will be room after all. And the One who seeks a place there will bring the light.

And He'll always leave it on for us.

Less than ten days till Christmas . . .

2011-12-16T07:33:00.003-06:00

I cannot believe Christmas is less than ten days away.

I have made many lists since Thanksgiving, none of which had anything to do with Christmas. Deadlines. Due dates (bills, not babies). Appointments. Meetings. Politics. Taxes.

Maybe that's why Christmas crept up on me. It hasn't been on my lists.

It is hard for me to listen to anyone read the Christmas gospel story aloud without being a little critical, because my memory contains a gold standard. When I was young Lester Memorial UMC presented a live nativity on the front lawn of the church. There were a few live animals, but the camels were plywood as best I remember. As Joseph and Mary walked across the illuminated yard to the stable, a beautiful, clear baritone voice boomed out of the loudspeaker, reading from the King James Version, Luke Chapter 2:

^"¹And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed .²(And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) ³And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. ⁴And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) ⁵To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child."

That clear voice belonged to another Luke, my dad. Maybe that's why I remember this passage so clearly. It has always evoked an image for me, an image of a weary, anxious young couple making their way along the crowded roads, from Nazareth to Bethlehem. They were making the trip, not to be with friends and family to assist them during the birth of their first child. They were making the trip because they were ordered to by Caesar Augustus of Rome. A young Jewish couple, leaving behind a hometown whispering gossip about the young woman obviously pregnant before marriage, trudging along a crowded road toward an even more crowded city, to register their existence so that Rome could be assured of their tax payment.

This was the world around Bethlehem, around Mary and Joseph right before Jesus' was born.

Mary and Joseph had both been told that the baby that was to be born was going to be special, that he was the son of God. I wonder if they wondered why, if that was so, this whole thing seemed to be so hard.

Dealing with gossip and tough family decisions. Travel plans. Lodging problems. Due dates (Roman registration and baby). Politics. Taxes.

It should have been easier to anticipate the joy of the imminent birth of their first child.

But the world was too much with them. And so it has been for me.

William Wordsworth wrote a poem titled "The World is Too Much With Us." Consider the first four lines:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

The weekend is almost here. Surely there will be time to escape the world, the strife and the gossip, the toil and the taxes, to be still and wait for the miracle that is to come, or truly, has already come.

Surely I can make some room.

Thurvey 12/15/2011

2011-12-15T07:11:00.003-06:00

After a long post Thanksgiving hiatus the Thurvey (Thursday Survey) staff is rested and the weekly questionnaire extraordinaire is back in production. You know the world is in desperate need of your reasoned input, but you you just haven't had a soapbox to stand on. Step right up, your box is ready. Just be careful. The thing that no one tells you about a soapbox is that it may get very slippery. To respond to any of the Thurvey questions simply type your answer in the comment box below, click "anonymous", and click "publish". If the comment box does not appear below, click on the tiny "comments" below and it should appear. If you want to be unanonymous, simply give us your name with your comment.

Christmas questions

#1 Have you ever roasted chestnuts on an open fire? Or rode in a one horse open sleigh? What is your favorite Christmas song that includes things that you have never done?

#2 What Christmas song do you like least (or drives you crazy)?

#3 Have you ever substituted words in Christmas songs to amuse yourself or annoy others? If so, share with a larger audience. I would give my own examples, but, I don't want to steal anyone else's thunder.

#4 What is the best Christmas gift you ever received? Feel free to list Jesus first, but then give us the next best.

#5 Some folks have started donating to charities as part of their exchanging of gifts. What charity would you recommend to give to and why?

Political questions

#5 We are coming to the end of another year. What were the greatest, or worst I suppose, political or government mistakes of the year? (By candidates, legislatures, governors, Congress, President . . .) You may include stupid quotes if you wish. To get going on the quote thing, google Christine O'Donnell or Rick Perry or Herman Cain. Sorry Michele, you've just been a little too sane lately.

#6 So, who are you presently supporting in the Republican Presidential nominee race? I know this question has been asked, but the issue is fluid. It runs downhill . . . This question is not just for Republicans by the way. Tell us the reason for your current position. Feel free to flip flop. It seems to be the trend.

#7 What do you think about the Alabama Immigration law now? How should the State proceed?

#8 A recent study said Alabama is the worst State in the nation regarding the plight of homeless children. What, if anything, should be done?

Other stuff

#9 How bad is Bama going to beat LSU in the rematch?

#10 What question of your own would like answered?

Sweet homeless Alabama . . .

2011-12-13T18:22:00.002-06:00

So one of the big questions that should ring in our ears as we look forward to Christmas is "do you have any room?" (from yesterday's post)

Do you have any room?

Room for a poor family on the road without a place to stay?

Shelter for a helpless child?

Do we have room, Alabama?

Apparently not. Or if so, we're saving it for company.

Alabama is the worst place in the nation to be a homeless child, according to a report published in the Washington Post today. States were ranked by the extent of child homelessness; the well-being of children; the risk for child homelessness; and state policy and planning efforts. According to the study Vermont is best in the nation and Alabama is worst. Nationally the average is that one out of forty-five children experience homelessness during a one year period.

Since Alabama is the worst state in the union, we can assume that the percentage is higher here.

We can react to this as we have been taught for decades. Ain't no pointy headed intellectuals from up north going to tell us anything, certainly how to take care of our children. That Washington Post is the same liberal rag that started Watergate, ain't they?

And while we ignorantly defend ourselves, children will die. Right in our own back yard. Like the countries we visit to do mission work, spreading the love of the Lord.

The same Lord whose birthday we are preparing for with lights, and music, and presents and parties and food and drink and parades. The same Lord who was born homeless because there was no room for his family.

The same Lord who said, when you did it to the least of these my children, you did it to me.

If we really want to celebrate Jesus' birthday with the birthday Boy, we will have to change our party plans.

Cause I guarantee, He will be with the children.

Make a little room . . .

2011-12-12T18:43:00.002-06:00

She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

Luke 2:7

What was Jesus' thinking?

He had to know there was no room for Him in the world He was born into. He is God after all. He didn't arrive in the manger by mistake. At least not His mistake. He had to know his whole life would be an uphill battle. His whole ministry had Him going uphill. Perched high on a precipice to be tempted. Climbing the hillside to share the dangerous truth. Moving up the steps of the temple to challenge the powerful. Hiking up a mountain with James, John and Peter to meet Moses and Elijah, and that last hill, it was brutal, a real killer . . .

So why did He come to this place where He didn't fit, where there was no room for somebody like Him?

I get it wrong.

I find myself feeling sorry for Jesus.

When I should feel sorry for myself.

Let's say, for instance, Bono was coming to Oneonta, and needed a place to stay. I don't know why he would come to Oneonta, but just work with me here. Maybe he wanted to see the Covered Bridge capital of the world. Anyway, Bono and I share some similar interests, music, social justice, etc. He wrote an edgy Christmas song. He has just been slightly more effective in his cultivation and expression of those interests. If I couldn't find room or time to be a host to Bono, he would make it with or without me. I doubt it would be a huge problem for him. But I would feel like an idiot and spend the rest of my days kicking myself, stuck in the moment and I couldn't get out of it . . .

When we don't make room for a special guest, who suffers? Not the special guest. A special guest can find another host, if that's what he chooses.

No, the one who is in need of sympathy is the host who can't find space or time for a special guest.

It is true that Christmas is about the God who comes. Emmanuel.

But Christmas is not just about a God who comes.

It is about us. About whether we make room or not.

God is not the variable in this story. I don't know what He was thinking, but He decided to come and be with us. And God can do pretty much whatever He wants. Maybe He wanted to build a few bridges . . .

We are the ones who get to write the rest of the Christmas story, a story that started with a "No Vacancy" sign.

There is a story in the gospel that seems just as appropriate for us as the traditional Christmas passages. It is the story of a visit the grown up Jesus was having in the home of the sisters Mary and Martha. While Jesus was visiting in the home, Martha was busy doing, cooking, and then washing the dishes and getting things put away. Mary was in the den visiting with Jesus. Martha complained to Jesus that Mary was not helping her . . .

⁴¹ “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10: 41-42

I don't know what God was thinking, but He said He came because He loves.

As hard as it is to believe when we look at each other and at ourselves, God came because in His heart He was choosing the better part . . . amazingly, us.

The only part of the story left unwritten is whether we will find room, whether we will find time . . .

for the best part of all.

Run faster, jump higher . . .secrets of the sole

2011-11-28T18:25:00.004-06:00

When I was a child, shortly after recorded history began, and with it, advertising, things were much simpler. I generally watched Cousin Cliff in the afternoon on Channel 13. I occasionally watched Benny Carl on Channel 6. Mr. Carl seemed like a nice guy, but he carried the adventure cartoon "Clutch Cargo," who was no match for Cousin Cliff's Popeye and the Three Stooges for cinematic artistry. Channel 6, your clear picture station, did, however, feature Bugs Bunny. I did, and still do, like me some Bugs Bunny and associates. I don't know what was up with Clutch Cargo. It was like watching a comic strip with the characters having human lips a la Conan O'Brien, animated by flipping the frame every three seconds. I can still whistle the theme song, I just discovered. Haven't thought of that for awhile. Hope I don't dream like that tonight. Comic strip characters with live lips. Scary. But I regress . . .

About this time of the year I anticipated the commercials on both programs more than I anticipated Popeye, the Stooges, or Bugs. The breaks were full of slinkies and wheeloes and silly putty and Operation and Mouse Trap and banana bikes and frisbees and walkie talkies and model trains and racetracks . . . Way better than the Sears or J. C. Penney's Christmas catalogues. Mattel, Hasbro, and Parker Brothers were household names, at least in my part of the house.

I believed what those advertisements said. If you couldn't trust Cousin Cliff and Benny Carl, who then?

One advertisement that really hooked me was not about Christmas toys. It was about shoes. Back then all athletic shoes were called tennis shoes, even when playing basketball, football, or baseball. I thought they were "tinney" shoes until I was about 40.

These particular shoes, not when I was 40, but back when I was six or so, were called P.F. Flyers. I had always been a Keds kid. But this television ad rocked my world. P. F. Flyers had a "secret built in wedge." I don't know why they chose to let the secret out of the bag on national, or at least Birmingham TV, but there it was right there on both Cousin Cliff and Benny Carl. They showed a engineer's rendering of the wedge buried underneath the rubber of the sole, doing what it did. I never really knew how the wedge worked, but, according to the 60 second documentary, it promised to make me run faster and jump higher, which is pretty much every six year old boy's goal.

I harassed and harangued my poor mother until she finally bought me a pair of P. F. Flyers with the secret built in wedge. I don't think she knew the secret. Shortly afterward I won the gold in the Olympic decathlon.

Not really. But when I put those shoes on I felt like I could, except at that age I didn't know what a decathlon was. I most definitely felt like I could run faster and bound across ditches in a single leap, which I did for a few days, annoying all who came around. Feeling like I could run faster and jump higher probably helped me do so. I'm not sure the secret wedge did.

Looking back I wish I had cut into the soles of those P. F. Flyers to check out that secret built in wedge, sort of like I unwound the coil on my brother's Cub Scout crystal radio to see how it worked. The consequences of that experiment are probably why I kept my curiosity in check for awhile.

So I never checked. And I guess I'll never know.

There are a lot of secret built in wedges around these days. Things that we are told exist, and will make things great, if we'll just trust and buy it, without looking too closely.

I don't think we can afford to do that anymore . . .now without some serious sole searching.

Expecting someone?

2011-11-27T16:31:00.003-06:00

My friend Deb Welsh (yes, that sound you heard was a celebrity name being dropped) posted on facebook acouple of days ago:

"Hmmm. You know the book of Esther doesn't mention God, but the context makes it understood. I wonder if that can happen other places as well ;)"

Deb says stuff like that when she already knows the answer.

During the LSU-Arkansas game the TV guys were talking about the unexpected death of Garrett Uekman, an Arkansas player, just a few days before the game. I did not hear who they were quoting, but whoever it was said something like:

"It is one thing when you have 'something' to play for, but it is an entirely different thing when you have 'someone' to play for."

That was kinda like the Book of Esther to me. Didn't mention God, but it seemed God might be mentioning something through it.

Today is the first Sunday in Advent for many western Christian denominations. Advent is a period of time, beginning with the fourth Sunday before Christmas, to reflect upon the anticipation and expectation of the coming of Christ. It ends on Christmas Day.

It is clear that the world around us is getting ready for something. Neighborhoods are awash in Griswoldian luminescence. Christmas trees are trimmed. Stockings are hung. Snow men and grinches are inflated. Plywood cutout reindeer stand rampant along city streets. Gift lists are in a state of flux but almost done. Malls and stores stay open late with warm lights on and cinnamon scented air welcoming you in with strains of "There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays" . . .(oops, I mean Christmas. Sorry Al, some would say your lyrics need an update, though it seems you actually wrote the song about Thanksgiving).

Yes it's beginning to look, sound and smell a lot like Christmas.

Really?

At the time of the birth of Jesus, the world in which he was to be born was a dark place. The Roman government, the latest in oppressive foreign powers to rule over the Jews, was increasingly oppressive. Poverty was prevalent as the gap between rich and poor was great and heavy Roman taxation was unforgiving. There was strife even among the Jews. Hope was in short supply.

And in Bethlehem? The only light in the cave/cattle stall may have been a fire or oil lamp, if Joseph and Mary had money for oil. There were plenty of sounds. A woman in labor. The cry of a new-born. The breathing, lowing, and stomping of hoofs of the cattle. The quiet, joyful weeping of a new mother. The pacing of a father made heavy with what seemed like the weight of the world on his shoulders . And the smell?

It was a cattle stall.

So, when we sing, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, what Christmas are we talking about? What Christmas are we getting ready for?

Are we doing what we do for something?

Or for SomeOne . . .

It's Black Friday, but Sunday's coming . . .right after the Alabama Auburn game

2011-11-26T08:49:00.005-06:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

It's a crazy week-end here in Alabama. All week-end long.

Black Friday in Alabama was huge. Florence police had to use a stun-gun on a WalMart shopper. Apparently he was intoxicated on more than huge discounts. A woman in Trussville was knocked out during a bed linen fracas. Bed linens- $19. Embarrassment for the rest of your life - priceless. Shoppers in Saraland who had been standing in line for a couple of hours for wii's and xbox's were rushed and assaulted by a group of marauders. Other shoppers heroically sprung into action, attempting to defeat them by manning the nearest xbox controllers, but got distracted when a torrid Dance Central challenge broke out instead. That pretty much covers the State of Alabama from North to South. Just wanted to be fair.

On the positive side, the weather was beautiful and crowds were huge. The "Occupy Target" movement spread across the state, as tent villages sprung up in front of mall and store entrances by those excitedly leaving their homes, anticipating the coming of the promised one . . . a 42 inch flat screen for $185.00. Songs proclaiming Jesus' birth, romantic snowy nights and toys filled the air. Parking lots were slam full from the pilgrimages from every village and town to the mall meccas. Cash flowed like a mighty river of gravy on a Hardees breakfast biscuit.

Early estimates indicate a five percent increase in shoppers and sales over last year.

But, in Alabama, there is only one force capable of stopping the fervor of the consumer madness spawned by Black Friday. According to retail experts, that madness will stop abruptly at 2:30 this afternoon, when a football lifts from the tee in a tranquil village nestled in the southeast part of the state.

Today is Iron Bowl Saturday. For you readers outside Alabama, the Iron Bowl is the annual football game between two universities in the State of Alabama.. The University of Alabama and Auburn University. The intra-state war will resume this year on the loveliest village of the Plains. That would be Auburn, for you outsiders. The description comes from a pastoral poem, "Deserted Village," by Oliver Goldsmith, more specifically the line that says, "Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plains . . ."

The city of Auburn, Alabama will be anything but a Deserted Village today. And the atmosphere will be anything but lovely.

A football game is played with 22 players on the field, eleven from each team. But the Iron Bowl is played by about 4 million people, roughly 2 million on each side, facing off on every square inch of the state of Alabama, and world-wide courtesy of Armed Forces Radio and CBS.

It is difficult to describe the Auburn-Alabama rivalry to outsiders. The only thing the opposing sides unite on is that their rivalry has no rival. Even that can become a weapon, as in some years one or the other may claim they have grown bigger than this one game. That team often loses that year. Fans on both sides arrange their lives around the it. . .menus, wardrobes, vacation days, wedding dates, surgeries, children's names, funerals, entertainment center and vehicle purchases, and other significant decisions, based upon allegiance or the scheduled time of kick-off, which is really challenging in these days of shuffling TV schedules. The pain or glory of the game, depending on your perspective, lasts for a year, until the next chapter is written. I am still trying to awaken from the nightmare of the second half of last year's contest in Tuscaloosa. The last thing I remember is going to get a hot dog at half-time. Then I vaguely remember fumbling the hot dog into the end zone and someone else eating it. All other memory is repressed, which I consider a means of grace. Hopefully I will be fully awakened from that horrible dream by about 5:30. Hopefully sooner. But after last year any good Bama fan knows it is not over till its over.

So, all over the state, ordinary life will stop at 2:30. Real life shall commence with a referee's whistle.

But the real action will be in Auburn, Alabama, at Jordan Hare Stadium. Somewhere around 125,000 fans, by my scientific estimate, will be on the loveliest campus of the plains. The stadium itself seats about 87,500. It will be at capacity. Outside the stadium thousands of tailgaters without tickets will be watching on satellite TV's hooked up to generators in front of RV's, pickups, and tents full of chicken wings, barbecue, hot dogs,obligatory vegetable trays, potato salad, and any beverage you might desire. Many arrived yesterday to set up. It is a huge party. Decorations of orange, blue, crimson and white adorn everything and everybody. Doctors, lawyers, teachers, preachers, businesspeople, old and young, rich and poor, sport outfits featuring elephant trunks and tiger tails, boxes of Tide detergent and rolls of toilet paper. T-shirts featuring demeaning, yet clever artwork about the opponent is common. Yes, it is quite a party.

But the party stops at 2:30. Then it's time to get serious. By 6:00 we'll know who is happy and who is sad.

And the roads of Alabama will be jammed as everyone returns home.

Returning home after a crazy Friday of shopping. After a crazy Saturday of football.

To get to church on Sunday morning, right? Alabama is the buckle of the Bible Belt after all. And most of the football heroes we love so much make sure, before saying anything else about their performance, to give glory to God, sometimes even pointing up at Him as they run into the end zone. The money we spent on Friday says, "In God We Trust." We are told that our consumer purchases will help save our society. That's what Jesus came for isn't it? To save our society?

So, surely our churches will see a gain in the offering plate of at least five percent over last year, right?

And folks will be camping out at the doors of the church tomorrow to get the best seats, right?

The crowd at church will be so big some of us will have to watch in the parking lot, but it will be kind like a party cause we just want to be there, right?

And all our decisions, weddings, funerals, menus, wardrobes, purchases, children's names, and vacation days are based on our love of God and the schedule of our church, right?

I don't mean to be a downer. I love it all. At least the football part. I am not much of a shopper. But I am a true Bammer (Alabama fanatic). I have paid too much for tickets. I get temporarily depressed after a loss. I own a good selection of shirts. And one cap. I keep a shaker in my car. I break out into Rammer Jammer whenever I hear those iconic notes of Gary Glitter's Rock and Roll, part 2 (also known as the "Hey Song"). Nna, Nna, Nna, Hey Tigers . . . I have spent uncounted Saturdays in Tuscaloosa enjoying all that I have talked about, and I hope I will continue to do so. I have strained to hear the internet broadcast of the Auburn Alabama game, way into the night in Riga, Latvia. Today I will sit on my sofa, eat nachos, and be tense until the Tide finishes the task at hand. So, perhaps to justify myself, I don't think the passion and fun of Auburn-Alabama is a bad thing (unless it just gets stupid or harmful).

It is obvious we know how to be passionate. Let's just show it in church tomorrow, if we love God more than anything as we often claim,, even more than we love Alabama or Auburn football. And like our Alabama-Auburn feelings, let's do it throughout the year.

Making buying so much stuff okay spiritually? I'm still struggling with that.

I'm glad Jesus didn't talk much about football.

Thanksgiving Thurvey, 11/24/2011

2011-11-24T09:32:00.002-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you spend part of the day giving thanks. To whomever blesses you, be it your God, family, friends, country, boss, employee, church, preacher . . .

Because being aware of how you are blessed is only half of thanksgiving. It is just as important to remember who blesses your life. For instance, I am thankful that I get to write random thoughts on the One Day at a Time blog. But I am thankful to you who indulge me by reading what I write. It would not be nearly so much fun without you.

Thanksgiving is always on Thursday, so, the Thanksgiving Thurvey should become a tradition, but we'll have to wait a couple of years and see if it achieves the status of turkey, cramberries (yes I know I mispelled it, I just like to do that), football and naps. Ironically those traditions are what may prevent the Thurvey tradition, as I tend to get lazier and lazier as Thanksgiving Day progresses. I was up early cooking collards today though, so here we go.

If you wish to respond to any of the questions, just type your comment in the comment box below, type your name at the end of your comment if you wish to be known, don't if you don't, click on anonymous and then click on publish. If the comment box does not appear below, click on the tiny "comments" below this post. Now to the Thanksgiving Thurvey 2011 questions:

1. In the last post I remembered Julie Andrews as Maria in the Sound of Music, singing about "favorite things." We all have favorite things that help us get over the dog bites and bee stings of life. A simple cup of coffee sipped (okay, truthfully, I am not really a sipper), music, a good Alabama basketball game, a meal with my sons, a walk in the woods, or time with my favorite pastoral counselor are salve for my bites and stings. So what about you? What are the simple things that heal your heart or soothe your soul?

2. Who should you thank today? Many of you will naturally say God, which I believe as well. Sadly this year two members of the legendary class of '73 OHS passed away. As I was standing with other classmates at the funeral home I felt regret that I never told either one of these special characters how much I appreciated their lifelong friendship. Express your thoughts on being thankful to God if you wish, but, consider what humans you should thank as well.

3. I love words. I love music. And I simply cannot comprehend how some people can use paint or clay to create beautiful things. Creative people who share their gifts change the world with inspiration, insight, comfort, criticism, and beauty. I cried when I read Daniel Clem's post on facebook this morning. Who'd a thought it? Another example, Neil Diamond is singing right now in the middle of the Macy's Parade. You laugh. But how much joy does the world still receive by joining together in stadiums and coliseums and singing "Sweet Caroline . . . bom,bom,bom . . .What author, musician, or other artist are you thankful for in your life? Why?

4. For some reason there is always a football thrown in the yard somewhere between the initial stuffing and the sofa collapse. What are your favorite Thanksgiving traditions? (Including after the foodfest)

5. I like food, so there is not much that I won't eat. On the other hand, there is always that awkward moment when you are asked the question, "How did you like my beet salad?" Or "would you like another serving of tomato aspic?" Feel free to substitute a dish that wasn't your favorite. What is your favorite Thanksgiving menu? Which traditional Thanksgiving menu item would you just as soon be left out?

7. One of my childhood memories is a little poem that went something like "on thanksgiving day, on thanksgiving day, if you want to be happy, give something away." What blessing do you have that you wish you could share with the rest of the world?

8. Anything else?

Thanks, from a grateful heart.

bob

Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens . . .and cute nuns

2011-11-23T07:32:00.004-06:00

You remember that scene from The Sound of Music during the thunderstorm when Maria, really Julie Andrews, gathered the Von Trapp brood around her and invited them to sing a song about their favorite things? Perhaps I remember it a little more than you because the scene was first emblazened in my memory when, as a pre-adolescent, I thought the aspiring to nun-ship Maria was incredibly hot. I suppose I should bring that up in counseling now that I think about it, but that's a different story.

Maria and the children were popping off lines quicker than an old skool free style rapper.

I have occasion to lead worship from time to time. That is one of a few of my favorite things. But there is something that bothers me. In many services there is a time for worshippers to offer up prayer concerns, celebrations and thanksgivings. We are quick to offer our concerns to our community and to God. We are proud to offer celebrations of anniversaries, birthdays, graduations and t-ball championships. But thanksgiving? Not so much.

Thanksgiving is encouraged by most religions, giving thanks to a higher power. But I suspect that an attitude of thanksgiving is considered to be a good thing by the non-religious as well, whether it is directed to a higher power or not.

I tend to focus on the negative in the big ol' world, even in my little life. Wars, injustice, poverty, inhumanity. Bills to pay with too little money, too much work to do-not enough time, broken heat pumps, lower back pain, loss of ups, losing reading glasses, spaghetti stains on white shirts, touch screen on my droid not responding to my pounding . . .

I overlook the incredible joys of my life while ferreting out every thing, big or tiny, that is not so good.

Perhaps I am the only one with this problem. If so, I would be thankful for your good fortune, if I weren't so focused on my own problems.

Maria had it right. In times of fear and uncertainty it is helpful to exercise the discipline of thanksgiving. Once you get the hang of it, it can become a much longer song than the Rodgers and Hammerstein ditty.

I encourage you to try it if you haven't already. It can be a miraculous exercise, even if in the beginning it seems silly or unnatural, like it is with me. Just start where you are with what you are doing. Kinda like when Maria paused for a moment before the song and had this exchange with one of the children:

"Whenever I'm feeling unhappy, I just try to think of nice things."

" What kind of things? "

"Well, let me see. Nice things. . . ."

She was so cute.

For instance. as I look around the den . . .

I am thankful for the warmth of a soft sofa, for the aroma, taste and lift of a hot cup of coffee, for early morning light, for deer that visit my yard every morning, for bananas with their healthy nutrition, sweet taste and handy, easy open wrappers, for a fire in the fireplace to calm and warm me when the world seems cold, for hot showers, for my sons, whose pictures around the room remind me of a zillion happy moments and hope for the future and a daughter-in-law who is more like a daughter made to order, for parents whose house I can see from my kitchen door who instilled in me the parts of me that I like the most, for siblings who helped me grow up, and still help me, for the mystery of music, for books full of words and wisdom by writers who worked so hard to share their gifts, for the brilliance of the writers' of the U. S. Constitution (a copy is on my bookshelf) for friends, many of whose gifts scattered around the house remind me of special times and special love and that are always there when I need them, for a most unlikely new relationship with a wonderful woman who likes me, for the fun of games, for laughter, for the beauty of falling leaves, for the calming patter of falling rain . . .

Just a few of my favorite things to be thankful for . . . once I remember to do it. The list could go on and on and on.

Yeah, I've got it pretty good.

Thanks.

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear . . .

2011-11-21T20:57:00.006-06:00

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

President Franklin D. Roosevelt uttered this now famous assertion in his first inaugural address on March 4, 1933, against a backdrop of 25 percent unemployment, pervasive bank failures, a near collapse of the manufacturing and agricultural sector, and increasing homelessness.

FDR was fighting fear. A nation fearing failure. Fearing uncertainty. Fearing poverty. Fearing the future. Because we humans are not so different from the rest of God's creatures when survival is in question. Fear evokes two reactions. Fight or flight. Thoughtless, reflexive reaction or paralysis. The first would cause mass hysteria, perhaps anarchy. The second would assure that the free fall would continue. FDR knew that his first job was to expose the enemy, fear, harness its energy for survival, and give the nation confidence to move in a positive direction.

People still argue about the radical policies instituted by FDR. But few can deny that by giving the nation a positive, hopeful way to move despite and beyond its fears, the nation recovered.

Meanwhile, across the pond, in February, 1933, 32 days before FDR's inauguration, another leader ascended. Adolf Hitler became .Chancellor of Germany. The good people of Germany were suffering the same fears that came with the world-wide Great Depression.

Hitler also harnessed the energy of his people's fear. He spoke of protecting the Christian faith against the immoral, against the atheists, against the inferior, against the Jews. He spoke of the superiority of the true Germans and the inferiority of just about everyone else.. In 1922, as he was laying the groundwork for his rise to power, he said:

"I say: my feeling as a Christian points me to my Lord and Saviour as a fighter. It points me to the man who once in loneliness, surrounded only by a few followers, recognized these Jews for what they were and summoned men to the fight against them and who, God's truth! was greatest not as sufferer but as fighter. In boundless love as a Christian and as a man I read through the passage which tells us how the Lord at last rose in His might and seized the scourge to drive out of the Temple the brood of vipers and of adders. How terrific was His fight for the world against the Jewish poison. Today, after two thousand years, with deepest emotion I recognize more profoundly than ever before—the fact that it was for this that He had to shed His blood upon the Cross. As a Christian I have no duty to allow myself to be cheated, but I have the duty to be a fighter for truth and justice. And as a man I have the duty to see to it that human society does not suffer the same catastrophic collapse as did the civilization of the ancient world some two thousand years ago—a civilization which was driven to its ruin through this same Jewish people."

Adolf Hitler, Munich speech of April 12, 1922

And the good people of Germany, paralyzed by fear of the future, followed. They allowed and assisted in the holocaust, the brutal torture and murder of millions of human beings. How in the world could that have happened?

They were afraid.

When I was younger, much younger, I took a lifesaving course. We were taught how to go out into deep water and assist swimmers in trouble. We were warned that a drowning person is not rational, they are afraid, and as a result of that fear, they might overpower you, grab onto you, and take you under with them. It was difficult to arrange a real drowning person to participate in the lessons, so we just did the best we could to simulate as we took turns being the drowning swimmer, flailing and grabbing and struggling against our rescuer.

I passed the course and got the card to tote in my wallet.

Then, one day at a camp, I had the chance to use what the card said I was qualified to do. But this wasn't a simulation. The swimmer was a skinny young fellow, smaller than me, so I wasn't worried. I was a certified Red Cross Lifesaver, after all. I approached him cautiously, trying to say calming things, but before I could say a whole lot he lunged for me. Somehow this slight young boy had morphed into a raging eight tenacled monster octopus intent on dragging me to the bottom of the lake. Fortunately another swimmer arrived about that time, and saved the young swimmer from the water and me from octopus-boy. We all made it back to the dock.

Octopus boy was tiny and shaking..

Fear is a powerful thing. It makes normally intelligent people do crazy things. It makes normally good people do monstrous things. And it does it powerfully.

We live in a fearful time. But what is it that we fear?

It's an important question.

Because we may be fighting against our best hope of rescue.

Or we may become monsters.

Unattended consequences . . . I mean unintended

2011-11-19T07:48:00.004-06:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

Last night as I was watching Alabama basketball and listening to OHS play-off football, both of which ended well, I experimented with Twitter. I opened an account a couple of years ago, so long ago that I had forgotten my user name and password. After searching old emails I found them.

I was all a-twitter.

The only tweet I had previously uttered was 490 days ago. All it said was "test." I recall that was the last time I thought I should experiment with Twitter. I had problems with the Twitter concept. What could I possibly tweet that was worth my time and anyone else's time to type or read in the space of 140 characters? I still don't know. However, it is possible to post my tweets to this blog-site, as you see on the right. I'm not sure how I will use it, but we'll see. It seems like a cool thing to do.

Last night as I began my experiment, I was trying to tweet about the Alabama basketball game. Tony Mitchell began the game playing above the rim as he is known to do, slamming the ball down through the hoop after swinging on the rafters of the gym. In an effort to tweet colorfully, I attempted a simile to describe Mitchell's antics. I tweeted, "Tony Mitchell has more dunks than a brush arbor revival." It was a clever reference to creek baptisms that often occurred after such events, during which the baptisee was dunked under the water.

But after I tweeted, I noticed that I had not said that at all. My tweet said, "Tony Mitchell has more sinks than a brush arbiter revival."

I did not appear nearly so clever as I had planned. Colorful, maybe, but not clever. More like nonsensical.

Auto-correct. It will be the downfall of modern civilization.

It didn't recognize "arbor" or "dunks." It is illiterate. For your information it does not recognize "fecal matter" either. That ruined a clever text about the movie "Rango."

And when you need its help, where is it? No, I did not mean that your signature must be acknowledged by a "Notary Pubic." Where the L was auto-correct then?

Auto-correct can be a source of embarrassment and pain to the one it is supposed to serve. It is not given the ability to think. It just follows the rules it has been given.

That leads to unintended consequences.

In Tuscaloosa, the home of the other Robert Bentley, Alabama governor and primary advocate of the Alabama immigration act, a visiting employee of Mercedes Benz was arrested Friday under the Alabama immigration law and taken to jail. He was a German member of a management team here for a few days. He was released after one of his colleagues retrieved his documentation from his hotel.

It appears that the arresting officer followed the law to a T. The German visitor was driving a rental vehicle with an improper tag. The officer stopped the car and asked for identification. The driver did not have it with him. The officer arrested him and took him to jail. The law gave him no choice. If he did not do everything he could to fully enforce the immigration law, the officer was subject to legal sanctions. He was just following the rules he must observe.

Unintended consequences.

This guy was German, not Hispanic.

Need a special session to correct that one.

Thurvey for November 17, 2011

2011-11-17T20:09:00.003-06:00

Time once again for the Thurvey, that is the Thursday Survey, a chance for you to let your opinion, or your brilliance, ideally both, be displayed and scattered across the Internet universe. If you wish to respond to any or all of the questions posed, or just free-skate, type your comment in the comment box below, click on anonymous from the drop down list, and click publish. If the comment box is not visible, click on the little "comments" below the post and it should appear. Type your name in your post if you wish to be unanonymous.

1. The "Occupy" movement is in the news. It is a variation, or expansion, of the sixties,"sit-in," in which peaceful protests are held by occupying spaces normally occupied by the persons and institutions being protested. This one began with Occupy Wall Street in New York City. In your life, if you could choose anywhere in the world to occupy, where would it be, and why?

2. Alabama Congressman Spencer Bankus (attribution to Courtney Hayden, read his stuff in Weld) got a big shout-out on CBS 60 minutes last Sunday. He was one of most Congressmen who take advantage of what amounts to legalized insider trading, just for Congressmen. (Today he scheduled a hearing to investigate it. A bit drafty what with the barn door just now being closed) By law (wonder who passed that) it is legal for Congressmen to use non-public information gained from their jobs as Congressmen to buy or sell stock based on that non-public information before it becomes public. That kind of behavior might land you in prison if you are in the private sector. Ask Martha Stewart. Or don't. I've heard she's not nearly so friendly off camera. She might make a Thanksgiving centerpiece out of you . . . Anyway, since Congress has set the precedent, what criminal law would like to be able to violate with impunity? Or if you'd rather, just rant about how crappy this is.

3. Is it too early to buy final four tickets to watch Bama play some hoops in March?

4. What is your favorite R.E.M. song? They are calling it quits after a short run of 30 plus years and selling about 85 millions albums. Slackers. If you need help recalling their songs, click here.

Or if you don't know anything about the band, describe your most memorable dream.

5. Pretend that you had been foolish enough to get elected President of the U. S. in 2008. What would you have done to address the freefalling economy?

6. Huddle House, Waffle House, or IHOP? Why?

7. What question of your own do you want answered this week?

A History lesson . . .

2011-11-15T21:08:00.005-06:00

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a line in a post about the Republican Presidential field. All Herman Cain had to worry about was defending the sexual harassment allegations. Rick Perry had just had his now second most embarrassing public appearance in a speech in New Hampshire in which he was either drunk or just crazy. I wrote,

It's Mitt.

I deleted the line. Not because I didn't believe it. I deleted it because I wasn't ready for the entertainment of the Republican nomination campaign to come to an end. But I believed it. I was sure that within two or three days all Republicans, conservative and moderate, would join hands and read excerpts from "Atlas Shrugged," and hoist Mitt Romney on the back of the big elephant and go in hunt of Barack Obama.

I was wrong. I can't believe it. Not because I'm never wrong, but because it just seemed so obvious.

Not only is it not Mitt. In several polls he trails Newt Gingrich and is neck and neck with Herman Cain.

I still believe Herman Cain is done. In a Perryesque moment, Cain took about a minute to not respond to a trick question about whether he agreed with President Obama's handling of the U. S. role in Libya. But then again, I thought he was done last week.

And now Newt Gingrich?

I have a nephew who is a history major, and is quite good at it. I hear he is headed to graduate school and I hope he is.

Especially in light of the money historians are making these days. Newt Gingrich said this week he was paid $300,000.00 for his advice as a historian, according to news reports arising from a question asked of Gingrich in last Wednesday's Republican debate.

He was paid that fee by Freddie Mac, the controversial government sponsored enterprise otherwise known as the Federal Home Loan Mortgage Corporation, who contracted with Gingrich in 1999 and again in 2006. Officials of Freddie Mac say Gingrich was hired to build bridges with Congress at a time when Congress was being pressured to take them over. Some would call that lobbying. Gingrich maintains he simply gave them a history lesson.

A $300,000.00 history lesson. But there was no lobbying involved. Gingrich said he would never do that.

And one would assume that he wouldn't, at least for Freddie Mac, which he excoriated as recently as last month's New Hampshire debate. Perhaps Freddie Mac would have been well advised to get a confidentiality clause in their employment contract with Gingrich similar to the one in Herman Cain's sexual harassment settlement.

He taught them a lesson alright. An expensive one. I hope they learn from history. I hope everyone does.

But on the brighter side, perhaps there is hope for other Arts and Sciences graduates.

When I was young, tobacco companies were allowed to advertise. TV commercials and magazine advertisements featured handsome men and sexy women sitting by cool, babbling streams, smoking a popular brand of cigarette, especially menthols. They were the coolest.

The Marlboro man was iconic. A handsome, quiet, grizzled cowboy riding his horse into the setting sun.

The ads made it look cool. Not the menthol kind. The kind that said of cool that said surely you want to look like this.

It worked. Generations of Americans lit up.

But it was a lie. And a lot of beautiful people died too young.

Sadly, it still works. The truth is the enemy. It can be covered up with something attractive. Or it can be buried.

About three years ago I wrote a post about shooting the messenger. The point of the post was that an old tactic was being used in the public discourse. Folks like Karl Rove had revived the Machiavellian-like tactic that if you kill the messenger, the truth he carries will never be seen nor heard. If the messenger is successfully assaulted, the truth will be trapped, undelivered, under his fallen body.

It's worked throughout history.

And now we are being taught the same history lesson . . . by a very pricey teacher.

I don't want to see that . . .put something on

2011-11-13T19:33:00.006-06:00

I wonder what it is that I see or know but refuse to acknowledge.

I would like to be a writer, but sometimes it seems like the good stuff has already been written. And for the purposes of this post, Hans Christian Andersen wrote the perfect fairy tale way back in 1837, The Emperor's New Clothes. You may remember it from school, or even from childhood storybooks, but I invite you to click on the link and read the translated story once again.

I have referred to the short story in a previous post, as have many others.

It is often difficult these days to find the facts we need to know for an informed opinion. Issues are so big, or so technical, or so obfuscated by those who might suffer loss from the discovery of underlying facts that it requires more time and energy than most of us have to find the truth.

On the other hand, we often choose to ignore the facts.

Herman Cain settled two sexual harrassment cases for around eighty thousand dollars. That is not an unfounded allegation. It is a fact.

Voter fraud in the United States is not a problem. In more than five years, the Bush administration, using the full force of its Department of Justice, aggressively investigated the "problem." Less than 100 people were successfully prosecuted nationwide during the five year investigation. Republicans have insisted on and enacted voter identification laws to address that massive fraud.

The Obama administration has been far tougher on illegal immigration than its Republican predecessor, deporting almost 400,000 illegal immigrants in each of the last two fiscal years, more than his Republican predecessor.

There are a lot more examples I can see. It makes me wonder what is going on that I refuse to see.

It's an important exercise.

Because Herman Cain could be elected president despite being a multiple sexual harassment offender.

And hundreds of thousands of elderly and poor citizens who have voted in the past may be effectively disenfranchised for no good reason.

And Republican states like Alabama pass draconian (not to mention ridiculous) legislation based on the assertion that the federal government is not enforcing the immigration laws.

I have good friends who question my liberal, Democratic ways. Most of the time I argue with them. Okay, I admit that I will continue to do that.

But I think I'll try to listen more.

Cause it is possible that I am missing something. I think we all must have our blind spots. You can let me know by commenting.

But I'm going to cut us all some slack. Let's face it. Looking at the naked emperor can be an ugly, and embarrassing sight. It is natural to want to cover up an ugly truth.

So I guess that's why we dress him in our minds, in something more tasteful.

Thurvey for November 3, 2011

2011-11-03T20:55:00.003-05:00

I just can't seem to give up on the Thursday survey (Thurvey), so here we go again. If you wish to participate, just answer any or all of the survey questions by typing them in the comment block below. If the comment block is not there, click on "comments" below and poof, it will appear. After you have finished typing your survey responses, click on "anonymous" and click on "publish" and you'll become part of the answer and not just the question, whatever that means. The Thurvey questions for this week are, from light to heavy by popular demand:

1. How bad is Alabama going to beat LSU?

3. With what song could you win any karaoke contest, no matter the competition? Why?

3. The cable news shows and talk radio have been dominated by she-Cainery this week. Conservative talker Ann Coulter was incensed by the liberal media coming down unfairly on Her man Cain. Coulter came to her man's defense by stating, "our blacks are better than the Democrats' blacks . . ." How do you feel about any of that? If you don't know what I am talking about, be thankful . . .

4. What did you do last week to celebrate our troops coming home from Iraq? Or to mourn continuing loss of life in Afghanistan? If not, why haven't you thought about that?

5. How do you feel or what do you think about Mississippi's proposed state constitutional amendment that would define human life as beginning at the moment of fertilization? Keep in mind that if you were conceived while your parents were visiting in another country, you will still be a U. S. citizen, but probably will not be eligible to run for president. Just thinking out loud.

6. What question of your own do you want answered this week?

Republican campaign update . . .

2011-10-31T18:33:00.004-05:00

And so it has started. Sexual harassment charges against Herman Cain from a few years ago were discovered a couple of weeks ago and published today by Politico. The charges were settled out of court in a confidential settlement years ago when Cain was a lobbyist for the National Restaurant Association, so it is not yet known whether Cain's assertion that there was nothing to them is accurate. Sometimes such cases are settled for what is called "nuisance" money, meaning that the money paid was not because the accused was guilty, but that it would cost more to defend the case in court than pay a small amount to the complainant. That could be the case here. Cain should have been forthright from the beginning. His avoidance, vagueness, and inconsistent answers today did not help him at all, especially having been given ten days by the reporters at Politico to prepare a response. That may ultimately cost him the nomination, even if the accusations turns out to be minor. But the guy can sing.

Like chum to circling sharks the issue will draw every news agency, pundit, and opponent. We will know the complete truth soon, I expect. So let's move on.

Perry is gone. I mean he is on another planet. If you did not see his blast-off during a speech in New Hampshire last Friday, check it out. It defies description, other than he would fit in well in a smoke filled dorm room sitting on the floor discovering the apparitions hidden in the floor tile next to the nacho bag.

Michelle Bachman has yet to go anywhere. Like everyone else I continue to consider her a viable candidate, but I don't know why. Perhaps we would all just miss the joy of seeing what she says next. Ms. Bachman's mantra regarding her qualifications to be president is that she is a former federal tax litigator and has the knowledge to reform the tax code. Currently she is expounding the merits of the tax flavor of the day, the "flat tax." The problem is, many of her opponents are also "flat tax" advocates. So, using her vast tax lawyer knowledge and experience, she proposed her own "flat tax" during an appearance a day or two ago on ABC's This Week.

"I would not have just one rate, but I’ll have several rates,” she said.

I'm no federal tax litigator, but that sounds more like a progressive tax than a flat tax. She is just too much fun to lose.

Rick Santorum and Newt Gingrich are not funny. But we may hear more from them as the rest of the field disintegrates.

John Huntsman is actually a good candidate. But, he believes in science, which is apparently a deal breaker in Republican circles this year and has struggled to break the three percent polling ceiling. He had the quote of the weekend regarding Mitt Romney, who he has really been going after.

Huntsman, in an ad, pointed out Romney's flip-flops, and at the end called Romney a "lubricated weather vane.

John Huntsman may be the only one left standing at the end of this all.

As he pointed out, the front runner can't seem to stand for anything for long.

To be continued. I am sure of it.

How great your art . . .

2011-10-30T17:49:00.003-05:00

I figure it must have been a day like this one when God finally sat down and rested, looked around and said, "Not bad . . ."

I got up in the dark this morning. The stars were brilliant pinpoints in a navy velvet canopy as I pointed the Prius toward Tuscaloosa. It has travelled that route so often I don't have to steer, especially on the empty roads of Sunday morning, so it offered me a chance to see the glory of a perfect late October morning in North Alabama.

There is something about the lay of the land and water along Highway 75 a few miles north of the Jefferson/Blount County line, right beyond Mitchell/Alex Smith farm, starting at the double bridges, that occasionally creates fog. Big, rolling, cotton pillows that absorb whatever comes through. The sun had appeared above Pine Mountain, but the gentle morning rays were no match for the ground hugging clouds. The Prius slowed to a crawl as I prayed that no one was stopped in front of me or speeding closer behind me. But it seemed we were alone in the grey quietness.

Then there was an explosion of light as the fog released us, and the mountains were on fire as the sun ignited the trees, flaming in red, orange, yellow and fading green, straining upward toward the cloudless, pure, striking blue, sky.

"Hallelujah"

"Who said that?" I thought, but then realized the utterance came from me in kind of a froggy tone, being the first effort I had made at speaking since waking.

I get all het up about things, about politics and politicians, about justice and injustice, about religion and religiosity, about games and losing the top to the shampoo and incorrect change at the convenience store and the TSA confiscating my snowglobe statue of liberty at the airport and having to go to Walmart, again.

But there was no heat this morning, in the air outside or in my troubled soul. All those things that I make so important seemed so small, so insignificant, dwarfed by the morning masterpiece of the One who created and is creating.

As did I.

Smiling faces, sometimes . . .

2011-10-29T08:53:00.009-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

I enjoyed the World Series. My criteria for support in each game was which team had to win to make the series continue through the maximum seven games, because I had no dog in the hunt (a colloquialism that means I have no investment in the outcome of a contest, or in this case, I was not a supporter, or detractor, of the Cardinals or the Rangers). I just enjoyed watching the games, so my main concern was that the series continue for my entertainment.

Which brings me to the horse race for the Republican Presidential nomination. I love this stuff. I hope it continues for awhile. Looks like it will. Santorum is moving up on the outside on the far right even as we speak. Gingrich is bullying his way into position. Perry is tentatively holding his own. Bachman trails the pack but still denies it and will never be out of shouting distance. Not because she is close to the pack. She is just loud. Ron Paul is running his own race, refusing to be told what course to run. And Mitt Romney is boxed in against the rail to his left by every other rider to his right.

But for today Herman Cain is in the lead. And he is in Alabama. So let's talk about him. Seems like a really nice guy. His educational achievements are impressive. His life, family and religious experience resonate well with America.

He has a world class smile.

I don't know how these things happen, but when being referenced in articles, blogs and broadcast news, his name is generally followed by the appellation "former CEO of Godfather's Pizza." Until I looked it up I thought Cain probably still had flour dust on his apron from walking straight out of the pizza kitchen to run for president. Actually he resigned from the position in 1996, some fifteen years ago, after overseeing the fall of Godfather's from a #3 position nationally to #5, and a fall in annual sales of $10 million dollars over the ten years he ran the joint, first as an employee of Pillsbury, then as a part owner. It seems that the modifier after his name would be something more recent and perhaps represent a more successful experience, but for some reason that hasn't happened.

On the other hand, Herman Cain, the Washington lobbyist who attempted to prevent smoking bans for restaurants just doesn't seem so folksy.

And Herman Cain, the Washington lobbyist who attempted to prevent strengthening DUI laws by the lowering of blood alcohol content standards, just doesn't seem so "Washington outsider."

That's what Herman Cain did, and did right well, after he resigned from Godfather's Pizza. He was a Washington lobbyist. He made a lot of good and rich friends. He is gifted at making rich friends, like the Koch brothers, of Americans for Prosperity (AFP) fame.

Perhaps a more appropriate appositive following his name would read, especially after the now famous defiant smoking ad of last week,

"Herman Cain, lobbyist for tobacco and alcohol interests and friend of the uber rich . . ."

I suppose that didn't play as well in focus groups.

Another interesting, and now revealing, part of Cain's resume', is his work with Burger King in the '80's. He was a successful manager. He really was. Frustrated with a lack of authority to make any real changes in his 400 restaurants, like pricing and menu, he looked for something, an innovation, to increase sales.

He basically taught his employees to smile. And sales went up. The prices were exactly the same. The same artery clogging, empty calorie filled, nutrition deficient but addictably tasty menu was being offered.

But it was offered with a smile.

And the people bought it.

Debates are empty . . .

2011-10-27T21:08:00.005-05:00

It's what makes America great.

America watches as they take their positions on the center stage, in the bright lights, scrutinized by cameras from every angle, putting all that they are on the line, ready to answer the questions that remain. Well prepared. They know their stuff. They've been getting ready for months as other competitors have fallen by the wayside, to join and watch with the crowd, destined to wait and hope for another chance in another year.

The looks on their faces are serious as the gravity of the moment rides weightily upon their shoulders. Under sometimes furrowed brows their eyes are steely when taking stock of their adversaries, searching for weakness, constantly sizing them up, challenging their every move. Their faces glisten slightly from perspiration. This is a chance to win it all.

The audience is almost as impressive. They know their stuff. They wince at the mistakes. They hope, pray, applaud and cheer for their favorite. They are not as kind to those they oppose. They know their stuff and they let their opinions be heard.

The Republican Presidential Candidate Debates?

Are you kidding?

I was talking about the World Series. The Cardinals and the Rangers. They take this stuff seriously.

It is time for the Republicans to get a clue.

And take the world serious.

It's no game.

Smoke one for America . . .

2011-10-25T18:15:00.007-05:00

Finally, a Republican candidate did something that really got my attention in a positive way. And it was the conservative Senator from Pennsylvania Rick Santorum, with whom I disagree on almost everything political.

When caught clandestinely watching the screen of his smartphone during a series of political speeches by other candidates at a rally last Saturday, he came clean. He was checking the score of the Penn State football game. A breath of fresh air.

Speaking of fresh air, who is advising Herman Cain? Check out his TV ad, if you have not seen it. Watch the whole thing. If the Republican race were not already so bizarre, you might have noticed Cain's hopes going up in smoke at the end of that video oddity. In the wake of gaffes left by former front runners Bachman and Perry and Trump and whoever else I mercifully forgot or mercifully never made it to the top of the polls, this little bit of strangeness will hardly be noticed.

But the ad intrigues me. I have two theories of how it came to be.

First, perhaps Democrats have infiltrated the campaigns of Republican candidates and are giving them horrible advice. Some have had plenty of experience doing that for Democrats. Remember the John Kerry wind surfing ad? Or Dukakis in the tank? (both the military kind and the resulting poll results). That would explain a lot about the fortunes and actions of the Republican front runners so far this season.

But I think Republicans are too savvy, or paranoid, to let something like that happen.

I think Herman Cain knew exactly what he was doing having Mark Block end the ad taking a big drag on a Marlboro and blowing the smoke right back at the camera.

Herman Cain knows that the votes he needs to become the Republican nominee will be from people who are tired of the government telling them what to do . . .like telling them where and when they can light one up.

It is a subtle message for personal freedom, blown right back in the face of big, over-reaching government. and inhaled joyfully by a group of fed up, nervous voters.

I can see the next one, if Herman would allow me to offer an idea. The scene is Ellis Island, that sacred entry way into America. Lady Liberty herself bends down, not to an immigrant, of course, but to some workers on a smoke break, and offers her torch while saying . . .

"send me your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free . . .that delicious nicotine enriched carbon monoxide without government intervention. . . "

In a totally unrelated story, Herman Cain was a lobbyist from '96-'99, fighting against smoking bans in restaurants and gaining great favor with the tobacco industry.

All that smoke isn't coming from burning pizza.

And that's no exhaust vent he's trying to blow it up.

Voice lessons . . .

2011-10-15T10:37:00.003-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

I am voiceless this morning. Okay, not really voiceless. I have a voice. Terribly low and quiet. J. D. Sumner without talent and therefore mercifully without volume. I forget how much I depend on my normal, loud voice. In the wonderful clatter of the Huddle House it was difficult to make my order of a farmer's omelet and wheat toast heard by the counter waitress. Conversation with the Saturday morning breakfast crowd was impossible, and I felt alone, even among the host of folks dressed up in their finest Roll Tide regalia. The best I could muster was to mouth RTR. I noticed mothers holding their children close to their sides and mouthing something that looked like "call 911" as my indistinguishable words were no more than muttering, so I decided it was better not to try to communicate any further.

I made a few more stops this morning, and learned that having no voice leads to invisibility. It is hard to get folks attention, much less communicate what is needed. At a couple of yard sales and the CVS I wandered aimlessly, feeling like Ebenezer Scrooge as he viewed his life without being able to be heard.

Lately I have had the occasion to spend time with a cat. A fine cat indeed. This cat has a voice, a persistent voice, which she is not afraid to use. What Bimba lacks in vocabulary she makes up for in volume, both loudness and number of utterances. She meows as she wanders. clearly attempting to draw attention to the wonders of her life to those around her. If proper attention is not given to her observances, she resorts to those amazing ways that cats have of getting attention. She has an uncanny catty ability to determine where a human's eyes are focused, be it a computer screen, a magazine, a book, or another human, and places herself directly and unavoidably in the line of sight, sometimes reclining directly on the human's object of focus, like a living bookmark. She knows that she should not be ignored, and knows how to make that impossible.

Voiceless.

Humans are not so different from Bimba. If our voices are too low or too quiet to be heard, out of desperation we we ultimately find other ways to get attention, to let our needs be known. And it can be really annoying to those of us whose focus is elsewhere.

The wild-eyed homeless man holding the cardboard sign asking for food or work interrupting our lives at the bottom of the exit. Picket lines of workers who have lost their jobs, health insurance, and pensions blocking the entrance to a public building. Arab Spring protesters in the streets of Cairo and Benghazi. My favorite Mexican restaurant closing in protest of the Alabama immigration law.

Tea Party. Occupy Wall Street.

Sure, there are eccentric fringes among the crowds of the voiceless. For those of us who don't want to hear, it is easy to dismiss the lunatic fringe. But the fringe is only the fluttery, unraveled edge. The middle of those groups are not so lunatic. They are just desperate. In the middle of voiceless groups there are things that need to be heard by the rest of us, no matter how inconvenient. Because when you are voiceless for a long period of time, you are forced to listen. Forced to listen to the voices of power that drown out everything else. Forced to listen to those who seem to have taken your voice. Forced to hear things that the rest of us have been able to ignore because we are too busy talking with our respected, loud voices.

The thing about being voiceless is that you are forced to spend a lot of time listening. And there can be a lot of truth and wisdom gained from listening. But that wisdom is useless unless it is given the opportunity to be shared. And the respect to be heard.

When the voiceless plop themselves right down in our paths, right in our precious focus, we get irritated. We call them lazy, crazy, shiftless, right-wing nuts or anarchists or hippie wannabes. And we hope they go away.

But as diverse as these groups are, like the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Street, the thing that they have in common is they felt like their voices were not being heard.

It was hard to let my order be heard among the chatter and clatter of the Saturday morning Huddle House crowd. But a waitress came to me as I sat at the counter, leaned in close as she heard my struggling voice and asked what I wanted. I had to repeat myself a couple of times before she could understand. But she stayed right there with me, patiently listening hard.

I could tell she had done this before. Stopping and listening hard among the noise and commotion until she understood.

We could learn a lot from that Huddle House waitress.

We could learn a lot if we stopped and listened . . .

for the wisdom of the voiceless.

Chewy goodness . . .

2011-10-08T08:14:00.004-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

I helped eat a pan of Special K Bars last weekend. Not the snack bar found on convenience store shelves. Homemade. A healthy base of Special K cereal mixed with peanut butter, corn syrup, butter, sugar and chocolate. There is probably some other stuff, but I don't know because I didn't help make it, I just ate it. It took all weekend to eat because this batch of Special K Bars had an added benefit.

You couldn't do anything fast when trying to eat them. I don't know if there is a scientific scale for such, but this batch of SKB could have been used for the standard for the ultimate degree of chewiness. As a result of that consistency, removal of a piece of the confectionery delight from the pan required such a whole body workout that the number of calories consumed was matched by the number of calories burned during the removal process. A couple of Cutco knives were dulled during the effort. And then, when success had been achieved in excavating a chunk of the gooiness and it was popped into the mouth, it had staying power, providing about 983 chews per tablespoon. If you have been wanting to develop that strong, square jawed look so valuable when running for political office, negotiating a sale, or taking a photo for a dating website, then this is the snack workout you have been looking for.

Eating the Special K Bars required a little more work, was a little messy, and took time. They were delicious. And slow. Something to chew on.

There will always be a place for quick fix snacks, small, mostly sugar morsels that melt in the mouth and disappear after a quick burst of satisfaction, like Pixie Stix or Skittles. They will get you by for a moment when there is no time to do anything else. But they have no staying power.

There is nothing to chew on.

That's Radical, man . . .

2011-10-05T20:34:00.003-05:00

At the OBS (Ongoing Bible Study) at Lester Memorial UMC tonight I sat in on a study of David Platt's book "Radical." I have not been able to attend the study, so I was just a spiritual parasite as I sat around the table, listening to and engaging in the discussion with people who have actually been involved in the group study for several weeks.

Platt, who is the pastor of the Church at Brook Hills in Birmingham, Alabama, is on a prophetic mission, it seems, to exhort Christians to take back their faith from the American dream. Read the link above for a far better synopsis. Perhaps even buy the book.

Tonight the discussion was centered on the question "What is enough?"

The question has two meanings in the context of the book. One of the primary premises is that American materialism is an obstacle to living out the gospel. The question of what is enough regarding the accumulation of stuff, or wealth, runs throughout.

But the second meaning of the question, in the chapter discussed tonight, is, when have we given enough of our stuff, or wealth, or life away?

In the course of the discussion it occurred to me the frustration created by the exercise. If we are exposed to the hurts of the world, the poverty, the hunger, the disease, the oppression, the injustice, quite often we have a desperate desire to do something. Sometimes we might even adjust our way of living, not spend so much on things, give money to good causes, even engage ourselves in service.

But there are millions of people in the world in misery, and my efforts simply cannot make a difference, it seems, in the face of slums and tenements that stretch for miles, or countries where there is no food, or where disease is rampant and medical treatment is lacking, or where governments or religions oppress the masses.

That is no excuse for me, of course.

But it is obvious that the efforts of individuals, of me, while necessary, are not enough.

We simply must learn to do these things together, without worrying about who gets power, or credit, or religious or political benefit, or anything at all.

As a follower of Jesus, I am not called to save the world all by myself, but to be part of a body, a connected organism, moving and working in concert. I am afraid that the Body of Christ in the world today is like an uncoordinated, unsteady infant, unable to control its limbs and balance, unable to focus its sight, unable to articulate its thoughts, as it struggles to make its way out of the arms of its encouraging parent and walk.

An infant is by nature self-centered. The capacity to be concerned for the needs of others comes with maturity.

It is time to grow up.

If all of us who profess to follow Jesus really were following, and that would be hundreds of millions of people across the world, then working together there is no limit to what could be done.

But maybe that's not even enough.

We talked again about Matthew 25:31, known as the parable of the sheep and goats. Read it if you want to, it is a scary story told by Jesus. It has always been interesting to me that Jesus said nothing about the religion of the people who were headed to heaven. He just said that they were good to go because they had been good and kind to the least, the last and the lost. Period. No other requirements listed. In fact Jesus said that there would be many who said "Lord, Lord," and claim to have done great things in His name that would not make the heavenly traveling squad because they didn't do His will. Another scary passage. So it seems the will of God is the most important thing.

I have felt a call in my life to follow Jesus. But I don't know what others feel, nor have I heard their call. I do know of Jews and Muslims, secularists, agnostics and atheists who share my desperate feeling to do something about the misery of the world. The desire is common to the better part of being human. Where that desire comes from is an interesting point of discussion, but to a starving child, a dying mother, an imprisoned political figure and others in misery, these interesting points are painfully irrelevant.

And I wonder if they are irrelevant to God as well.

If it is best to accomplish what Jesus commanded, to feed the hungry, heal the sick, clothe the naked, visit the imprisoned, stand with the outcast, to love and to serve, then who are we as Christians to deny the company of any person who has the same intense desire, no matter their belief or disbelief?

Enough is enough.

Just another liberal rant, business as usual . . .

2011-09-26T20:30:00.004-05:00

A couple of years ago I wrote a post about social myths. I would like to apologize now to all you hundreds of freshmen political science students who have googled the phrase and been directed to that post as a source for your pape. And now there will be another one you will not find to be very authoritative. In the context of political science a social myth is a fear that is created by a person or entity in power for the purpose of maintaining that power. It is the creation of a fictitious common enemy, and insidiously plays upon the human weaknesses of fear, selfishness and prejudice.

One of the things that makes the strategy so dangerous is that the masses who are being misled and manipulated by the powers that be are like me. I would never be so foolish as to fall for such a thing. But I might.

It is still difficult for me to imagine that the good people of Germany fell for the rhetoric of Hitler prior to World War II. They were good people. And yet, somehow they became so convinced by the myth created by der Fuhrer that they at best allowed and at worst participated in the atrocities of the holocaust and the other outrages of his effort to conquer Europe.

Immigrants, minorities, liberals, intellectuals, homosexuals, religions, communists, unions, and witches, real or imaginary, have been the stuff of which social myths have been made, not only in the past, but in the present.

It seems to me that social mythology has become commonplace in today's politics. Perhaps the results are not as horrific as the holocaust, but it is certainly becoming an obstacle to intellectual discourse and progress in solving the problems that beset us. For example:

"Big government."

Makes chills run up your spine, doesn't it?

But why? What has big government done that is so odious, so evil?

I will tell you.

It has protected, or attempted to protect you from big business. The scary reality is that the power that is creating the social myth regarding "big government" is the real power in our society. That power is big business and big money. The only thing, and I mean the only thing at this point in time that can, or is, offering any protection to ordinary people from the soul-less will of big business is big government.

Perhaps you are thinking that Bob is just on another liberal rant. And you might be right. But it doesn't mean I am wrong.

If "big government" were not regulating "big business" in its use and abuse of the environment, water, air and natural resources, would "big business" regulate itself? Seriously?

If "big government" were not regulating the financial industry, would "big business" look after the best interest of the consumer as a matter of conscience? Did you sleep through the past ten years?

If "big government" failed to pursue safety standards for consumer products, like seat belts in automobiles and testing for medicines, would "big business" have foregone profit and done it voluntarily? Can you say Ford Pinto? or Monsanto?

If "big government" had no interest in protecting labor would "big business" have voluntarily addressed limiting work hours, safety, overtime, and minimum wage?

If "big government" ignored the constitution and turned a blind eye, would "big business" have dealt with discrimination against minorities, age groups and women?

If you believe that "big business" would have done any of these things, you may be in danger of swallowing the latest social myth.

"Business" is not bad. It is not good. It is just a structure for exchange of goods and services and amassing capital to do more business. It has no conscience, in and of itself, other than making a profit. The less it spends on compensation for resources, or for protection of or damage to the environment, or safety for labor, or for safety of its products, or for assuring justice in employment, the more money it can keep as profit.

Government, while far from perfect, has at least one component that business does not have. It must answer to all the people. If it does not, it will change. Ideally, big government does have a conscience, and that is the conscience of the people.

There is a common line that often surfaces in these discussions. "What is good for business is good for America."

Is it good for America to have a toxic environment? Is it good for America for its consumers to use inherently dangerous products? Is it good for America for its labor force to be at risk of physical injury or disease because of work? Is it good for America to allow discrimination based on race, religion, gender, sexual orientation or age?

Is it good for America that jobs, good jobs, have been exported to other countries?

Is it good for America that trillions of dollars of real cash are being held by "big business" while the country is in a recession and millions of people are unemployed?

That's crazy talk, you might be thinking. Those are just good business decisions. And you would be right. But those decisions, and others like them, are not good for America. They are just good for business.

Business is important because of the way our cultures and economies have evolved. It can be a very, very good thing. It can make our lives far better. Many do.

But I don't believe big business can be a good thing without strong government.

Maybe I'm wrong.

And maybe you're a witch.

Pomp and our circumstance . . .

2011-09-24T05:37:00.001-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

A friend of mine is in New York City this week-end. She is meeting friends from Italy on their first trip to the United States. They arrived yesterday. This morning, around 8:00 a.m., they will visit Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.

The image of these travelers standing in line when the gate opens this morning to see the Statue of Liberty evoked unexpected feelings in me.

The words I memorized way, way back at Oneonta Elementary (some said Grammar) School immediately came to mind:

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Those are the closing lines of "The New Colossus," the poem by Emma Lazarus originally penned and published to raise money for the construction of the base of the statue, and now immortalized on a plaque inside.

I looked up the rest of the poem.

The New Colossus

By Emma Lazarus, 1883

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

I am certain that my friend's friends from Italy are not huddled masses yearning to be free, certainly not wretched refuse, nor homeless, but having recently flown in they are probably tired. I know nothing about them. Except, one of the first things they will do in USA is visit Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.

One thing stands out to me this morning in the image of Lady Liberty created by Lazarus.

We were a nation of change. Emphatically and pridefully so. With disdain for the way the world had been run so far.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp, she cried with silent lips."

"Pay attention world," it seems like she was saying, "you can keep your old, stale ways, we are going to do things differently here. We'll welcome those that you reject and then show you what you've lost."

That is what made America great . . .

I have heard the phrase a million times and I have said it about that many times, a few times seriously, and many times in jest. But I wonder if as the generations pass we are losing what really made America great. (For those of you rebels out there, yes, I am making the assumption that America is great. I believe it is. Not perfect, but great)

The United States has only been around for two centuries and change.

Change.

That is what made America great. A straining for the future, for something different, something better, even if, especially if, it seemed, it involved some risk. Even if things had never been done this way before.

It is hard to imagine a more radical change in a form of government than from the monarch of Great Britain to the Constitutional Democracy hammered out by those bold representatives of the States that became United as a result of their meeting in Philadelphia.

Freedom of speech, ideas and religion, even speech in opposition to the government. Expansion of the right to vote to all citizens over a long, sometimes difficult path. Exploration of new frontiers, first westward to the Pacific, and ultimately to the moon and beyond. Creation of an economic system that provided the capital for explosive growth and economic opportunity, as well as mind-boggling technological advancement. Education for all. Security for the elderly. Medical insurance for the poor. Protections for the ones who labor. Equality under the law.

And so much more.

All were advancements, meaning that none of the changes came from returning to the way things were in a past time, or even staying the way they were in the present moment. The status quo represented failure. If you stood still you were left behind.

Because it was believed that while things may be better than they were, they were surely not as good as they could be. So things were changed.

Is the United States as good as it can get?

Of course not. But we are acting that way as we look to the past for the security of familiar but failed and outdated solutions to our present day challenges.

But maybe that's what happened to those "ancient lands" Lady Liberty so pointedly addressed. Change became too frightening. The status quo became too comfortable. No new ideas were let in. Opposing ideas were exiled. Along with the people that carried them.

And the USA became stronger at the expense of those "ancient lands" and their "storied pomp."

Perhaps it would be good if the base of the Statue of Liberty were put on a swivel like a wind up music box. Then occasionally she would face not only the rest of the world out across the ocean, but would also turn and face our on soil, and say,

"Keep, ancient men, your storied pomp . . ."

Thurvey 9/22/2011. Just one question, and its not much fun

2011-09-22T20:31:00.003-05:00

I am a criminal defense attorney. From time to time I represent someone who is accused of the premeditated intentional killing of another person who presents no immediate threat of serious injury or harm to another. Sometimes we call that murder.

Other times we call it capital punishment, or execution by the State.

If you have read this blog for a couple of years, you know that I am opposed to capital punishment. See That's Why I Cry. Or This One's for Billy Ray or Dead Man Walking.

But I know many people are in favor of it, some of whose judgment in other matters I respect.

When I defend a person accused of intentional killing, one of the defenses is justification. Self-defense. Defense of another. Another area of defense goes to the defendant's mental state, lack of the mental ability to form intent or mental illness sufficient to affect the ability to discern right from wrong or resist the compulsion to do wrong.

Under its own definitions the State is committing murder when it executes a convicted person. It just excuses itself by a statute that makes it alright.

So, since it is Thursday, I would like to pose one Thurvey (Thursday survey) question.

What are the reasons to continue the practice of capital punishment? Or what are the reasons to put an end to it?

Comment if you wish and I wish you would. I do not understand the value of this ancient and barbaric practice. But maybe I'm missing something.

Struggling

2011-09-20T22:11:00.005-05:00

Rick Perry said last week "I never struggled at all," when it came to the thought of an innocent human possibly being killed by the state Texas.

If he has not struggled with that possibility in light of his exclusive power to stop such a killing then he is hardly human himself.

I want my elected officials to struggle with matters of life and death. I want Rick Perry to struggle every time someone is executed in Texas. By law the governor is given the power to commute the death sentence. He is supposed to struggle with that weighty decision.

It is his job to be human, even if it does not come naturally.

I want my elected officials to struggle with the pain that will be caused to the poor, disabled and disadvantaged by budget cuts.

I want my elected officials to agonize every day over soldiers in harms way at war, hundreds or thousands of whom will not make it home alive. I want them to struggle over collateral damage of our bombs and bullets, collateral damage being an antiseptic name for the death of innocent mothers, fathers, children and grandparents who cannot escape the ferocity of our not so smart bombs.

I want my elected officials to struggle over injustice and inequality maintained by systems, institutions, and businesses supported by our elected officials.

I want my elected officials to struggle over inadequate medical care.

I want my elected officials to struggle over a degrading environment.

I want my elected officials to struggle over children who need guidance, education and a way out.

I want them to struggle.

I know they can't solve all the problems. But how can you solve any of them if you never admit that we have a problem.

So they have taken the easy out, and we have let them. You are familiar with this easy out. You may even really like it when you hear it. It goes like this . . .

"Sure, all of those things are important, but they cost money, and to get that money would mean a tax increase, and God knows we can't do that."

And He probably knows that we won't.

Too much of a struggle.

I believe . . .

2011-09-17T07:18:00.004-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

I believe you.

I believe in you.

Let me first be clear. I believe science.

For years I have seen bumper stickers and car magnets that make a statement in support of the science of evolution. The creative part of me appreciates the cleverness of the simple symbols. The one seen most often is the traditional Ichthys, the Christian symbol of the fish, modified in some way, usually filled with the name "Darwin", and sprouting small legs to allow it to scamper onto the beach and continue to evolve. Another more pointed version has a larger Darwin labelled fish approaching the smaller Christian fish with its large maw wide open ready to overtake and ingest the smaller, weaker of the species.

I have not studied the science of evolution, but the little reading that I have done over the years has been consistent with every other science I never really studied but know a little about.

And for me evolution is entirely consistent with my faith, which begins with a brilliant Creator.

While I appreciate the chuckle I get from creative car magnets, I don't understand the animus they represent between Christians and Evolutionists.

And I've got a little animus with both sides of that public disagreement. The Christians who so adamantly argue that the science of evolution is somehow excluded from God's method of creation have unfairly included me, as a Christian, on their side. I am a Christian. Therefore I must be a creationist, and opposed to the science of evolution, as if opposing a science has any effect at all on the phenomena it attempts to explore and explain.

And the Darwinists. Making a claim of open mindedness, all the while denying the possibility of an intelligent creator. I have seen nothing in the science of evolution that excludes that possibility. It cannot and does not attempt, as a science, to explain the beginning of the story. So the Darwinists have unfairly excluded me, as a Christian, from learning and believing the science because of their close mindedness.

Some people call evolution a theory. Some call it a science. I am not scholarly enough to know which it should be called. But no doubt it is a useful study of the world around us. And the more we understand these things, the more we can understand how to heal the sick, feed the hungry, restore our environment and be the caretakers of creation that we we were called to be in that beautiful Biblical creation story.

The rhetoric of the evolution/creation discourse has made me wonder.

Often the question is posed, "Do you believe in evolution?"

Do I believe in evolution? No.

Do I believe the basic science of evolution. Youbetcha.

Nor do I believe in capitalism, communism, or socialism, nor the federal government nor states' rights, nor any particular theory of psychoanalysis, nor any diet or exercise program.

Do I believe that some of the elements of these theories, institutions, methods and ideas are true and helpful? Yes, I do.

But I don't believe in them.

Because believing in them makes them more than they are. At least that's what I think. My belief in something give it a quality of having some value in and of itself, akin to life, rather than merely an intellectual or institutional construct whose value is derived from its usefulness.

And that makes it difficult to be open to needed change, to be open to new ideas.

You remember Galileo? Yes, the one who improved the telescope and gave us many of the formulas we learned in physics class.

At the time Galileo was doing all those wonderful things, the world, in particular the Church, believed in geocenticism. That is, that the earth was the center of the universe around which all the heavenly bodies revolved, including the sun. It was more than a scientific fact. It had achieved the status of a religious tenet. Galileo challenged geocentricism and the Pope's position on it. Galileo, this brilliant father of modern science, was subjected to an inquisition by the church and lived under house arrest for the remainder of his life.

But Galileo was right.

Had geocentricism been considered just a fact to be believed because of the evidence at hand, perhaps the work of Galileo would have been more easily considered and Galileo could have gone out for pizza instead of constantly relying on delivery.

But the world believed in geocentricism. It had life. It was sacred. And it was wrong.

So now we believe in evolution or creationism, and all those isms, institutions and ideas that we want to somehow breathe life into. And once we have become the creators, the ones who breathe life, the ones who give birth, we cannot change, we cannot allow our creations to die, even if they are wrong.

I believe a zillion things. But I believe in only a few. I believe in God (though things I believe about God change, and often I realize I am not sure what, if anything, I believe about God. It is a matter of faith, after all). I believe in Love as the only thing that can change the human heart. There are a few people I believe in.

And I guess that's about it.

So, do me a favor. Listen for the phrase "believe in" and ask, is the object of that phrase worthy of such trust?

Because what we believe does not change the truth. The earth never was the center of the universe.

And putting Galileo under arrest couldn't change that.

Labor Day Pains . . .

2011-09-05T20:35:00.002-05:00

I left the house a couple of times today. Both were mistakes. The highway resembled the old log flume ride at Six Flags, except the logs were automobiles.

Then I made a turn, or tried to make a turn. There was a large hickory tree lying across the street. I did not anticipate what the sight of a large hickory tree across a street would evoke in me. Dread. Sick. Fear. I was actually living in a house a few hundred feet from the downed tree a few years ago when a tornado threw trees around the neighborhood and left them stacked like pick up sticks. Then there is the fresh memory of too many similar trees to comprehend still vivid from last April. Some are still on the ground in remote areas of Alabama.

So, while I've enjoyed being ironically lazy on Labor Day, there has been a subtle disturbance in my soul.

Six years ago on Labor Day Benjamin, Charles, the bus driver, and I spent the day on a bridge to nowhere in New Orleans, made so by Katrina. A week had passed since the levees gave way, and there had been no way to reach the neighborhoods beyond the bridge. We watched and waited and handed out water and welcomed people into the airconditioned bus with a bathroom all day as hundreds of small boats, mostly fishing rigs, were brought in and launched from the edge of the bridge as it disappeared into the floodwaters to search house to house. We were to wait and take survivors to the hospital. We received no survivors from that rescue effort. I did find out, in response to my stupid question, that the refrigerated trailers up ahead were being used for morgues. We ended up bringing a bus load of Katrina victims north to Tuscaloosa and Oneonta, a story too long for tonight, but suffice it to say we were determined to help somebody after that miserable Labor Day of waiting.

I've had a lot of great Labor Days, before and after Katrina, and the memories of that Labor Day in 2005 do not dominate my thoughts on this holiday. I usually think about it for a few minutes as something reminds me. But today it was a little more than usual.

It has been a crazy six years since then. Hurricanes, sunamis, floods, tornadoes, earthquakes . . .
So many people are still hurting, from Katrina, from Haiti, from Mississippi flooding, certainly still from Alabama, now from fires in Texas, and so many other places.

It's no time to forget or let up in helping people who have been hurt or suffered loss from these natural disasters.

Cause outside my window it doesn't seem like nature is ready to let up.

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A good day . . .

2011-09-04T17:00:00.000-05:00

After rising from the sofa yesterday morning I took off for Nashville, where my two sons and one daughter in law live. I drove slowly so that I could hear as much of the Alabama game on the radio as I could before getting out of range in Tennessee. I wasn't moving slowly enough, so I stopped at Cracker Barrel at the

Athens exit and ordered pancakes with maple syrup, eggs and bacon. Sugar slows me down, more accurately puts me to sleep, so the maple syrup on top of the white flour cakes really over-did the job. Thank goodness for caffeine to even things out.

I heard the first half of the game before the rolling hills of south Tennessee blocked the propaganda being beamed in from its southern neighbor. That was enough. Roll Tide.

I drove straight in to Nashville, to the Vanderbilt campus, where Vann lives. Correction, I did not drive straight to where Vann lives. I should have gone straight at that intersection, but his apartment building was right there on my left, so I turned. And so did the police officer that was behind me. Ironically, this was in the same area I was driving in a few weeks ago when I posted about the one-way sign. Unfortunately this time there was a sign, but I didn't see it, it did not pulsate like the one-way sign. And it said, according to the police officer,

"NO LEFT TURN".

The blue light came on. I think he was worried that I might floorboard it in the Prius and try to get away, with a burst of low voltage, but I did not. The officer was very professional and friendly. I told him that the building we were stopped beside with his blue light flashing was where my son lived and was about to come meet me any second. He laughed and said, "Well that's gonna be kinda funny, isn't it." He wasn't being a smart aleck, he was just saying what I was thinking too. It took a while to check my license, apparently everyone back in Alabama was at a football game. He came back to the car window and we talked awhile about where I was from. He advised me that the license check might have gone a lot faster if I had not chosen to wear my University of Alabama shirt to the Vanderbilt campus on the first game day of the season. Vann was on the sidewalk by now and waved. The officer laughed and told me to observe the signs. I wonder if he meant this sign or the One Way sign. I think he meant all of them. He was a nice guy.

Vann is a gracious fellow and did not overly enjoy the moment of his dad being stopped by the police. Instead we drove, carefully and obeying the traffic control devices, to "Noshville", a local eatery, where we talked and he ate lunch. I was not hungry, still being full of Mama's Pancake Platter, but I had a chocolate milkshake just to be sociable. It was a real soda fountain milkshake, the kind that is served in a thick parfait glass with whip cream and a cherry, with the extra in the metal milk shake machine container on the side.

Vann caught me up on his classes, He is taking eighteen hours so he can finish up this semester. He reminded me of me a few years ago, talking about his professors who professed to be communist, or strained to be eccentric, and the unsettling thought that one's future lies in how one feels on the day the LSAT is given. Things have changed though. In one class he is required to tweet. If we tweeted in class we would have been in trouble, or possibly taken to the infirmary, possibly Bryce's. From there I took Vann back to campus to where the pre-game party had commenced. Vandy's game with Elon was at night, so it was going to be a long party. He disappeared into a crowd of young girls in sun dresses, looking older than the last time I saw him.

The rest of the day was spent with Benjamin and Kate. We went to the American Folk Festival, which was in Nashville this year. I really thought it was going to be mostly exhibits of regional visual arts, and there were a few, like a man who carved figurines out of peach pits. He had created a whole baseball park with fans in the stands and the teams on the field. And there was a woman who created collages out of old discarded metal. But it was mostly music venues .All kinds of music. It seemed that we timed our walk around the park perfectly to miss whatever act was just finishing or coming up next, but we heard and saw bits and pieces of several. And a flea circus. It was a great, albeit painfully hot afternoon at Bicentennial Park. As we left we visited the farmer's market which is next to the park. If I lived in Nashville I would visit that place at least once a week.

Then it was back to Benjamin and Kate's house for dinner and more Football in America on TV (or whatever Benjamin kept saying) while playing guitar and singing Alleluia and playing the geography quiz and talking and devouring a bowl of a great healthy dip with chips and a little wine.. A typical visit. But typical is really good.

This is not a post that takes a turn at the end and makes a point.

Except that I am a very blessed man.

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The games we play . . .

2011-09-03T09:10:00.000-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

I slept late this morning, which is a bad thing because for the past few weeks the only tolerable part of the Alabama day has been early in the morning. I missed the early part of the morning. Hold on, let me check the weather . . .

Oh, it is still nice out, a good sign that things are changing. So I'll take the laptop and do a remote post from the yard this morning, unless the dust that is now my yard starts getting into my computer. Autumn is my favorite time of year, but I am afraid that by the time the leaves are supposed to be changing color they will have already died and fallen. Maybe a hurricane will sling us some rain in the next few days. It is supposed to happen. A rainy Labor Day would be the best holiday we could get. Okay, I'm awake now. The coffee is poured and maybe I can think more clearly. Sorry about the delay.

The University of Alabama plays football today. I am a fan. I won't be going to T-town for the big Kent State rivalry, but it doesn't matter. Having an Alabama game to listen to or watch as the normal Saturday stuff is getting done is just fun. And we will begin to see how the quarterback situation is going to unfold.

I love my Alabama football, and my Alabama basketball even more. So by no means take what I am about to write on a metaphorical level as a criticism of the joy some of us get from athletic contests.

We could learn a lot from athletic competition. Many of us have. I think I learned as much from practicing and playing basketball for endless hours as I did in any classroom, not about the substance of knowledge, but about life. In fact, some of the ancient athletic games were designed to teach competitors about strategies for battle. And many of our favorite games still do, we just don't think about it much.

Football is the best example. One team is attempting to advance across the opponent's territory, to reach the ultimate goal. The advancing team explores and exploits the weaknesses of the other's defense, attempting head on assaults, moves around the flank, aerial advancements, and occasionally deception.

The defensive team does the same. Sometimes playing it safe, playing it straight up, every man defending his turf, but other times becoming as aggressive as the offense, making unexpected moves, gambling on which decisions the offense will make in order to get there first and disrupt the plan.

It is a battle. Face to face. A battle for turf. Each team trying to protect their own and take as much of the other as possible.

It can be a thing of beauty for some of us. Seriously. We all have our favorites. I have many, but in the recent past I will just remember seeing former Alabama receiver Julio Jones rise above defenders and make a catch look easy that, had it been a lesser athlete, would have resulted in an easy interception for the defender. Or, dare I say it being an Alabama fan, watching Auburn quarterback Cam Newton last year frustrate teams. He was really beyond description. But I am glad I got to see him, except for one particular half.

And in America our favorite games are based on that same basic principle. Defend your turf. Invade and conquer the opponent's.

But there are other athletic contests with a different principle. The purest is track. The runners line up and race to the goal, unimpeded by anything except their own limitations of physical strength, endurance, skill and will. The external obstacles are not provided by the other human opponents, but by the natural forces of the world, gravity, friction, sometimes wind and weather, and the limitations of the human body.

And there is another radical difference in these other contests. The performance of the opponent does nothing but inspire and force the other competitor to run faster. The end result is that the effort of all of the competitors to achieve their personal best, pushes the winner to the best performance of all.

I enjoy it all, football, track and tiddly-winks.

But sometimes I wonder if our culture, our politics, our religions, could learn from attending a few more track meets along with our football.

Sometimes we suffer because everything becomes a turf war.

Sometimes it might be better if so much of our energy was not put into being an obstacle to our opponent, but rather to push our opponent to do his best by pushing ourselves to do our best.

But that only works if we are running toward the same goal.

And by the way. Roll Tide.

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Fair minded . . .

2011-09-01T22:29:00.001-05:00

I was reminded tonight of a memory. The State Fair.

The conversation evoked an explosion of sensory memories, Aromas mixed and stirred by the late summer breeze, of hot dogs and hamburgers, brats and barbecue, cotton candy, popcorn and peanuts, the grease of the rides, the stench of the farm animals and their product, the sweat of the man who fastened me into the Ferris wheel, and occasionally the very unpleasant smell of someone who had lost all of the above foods after a ride on the Bullet.

The fair was a great place to have a private conversation. There was so much noise, The grinding and creaking of the rides that you prayed were in better shape than they sounded. The calliope of the merry go round and the squeeze box carnival tunes. The screams and laughter of children and young couples in love. The patter of the guys who tempted you to come and throw rings at coke bottles, or balls at pins, or pick up ducks, or come in and see the pretzel woman or the two headed chicken. The stern rebuke of mothers to their children who wanted to do any of the above. The moos of the cattle, the grunts of the hogs, the clucking of the chickens, the bleating of the goats and the baaing of the sheep.

And the sights. The bright colored blinking light bulbs that outlined everything. The rides that soared high into the darkness. Families and couples and carnival workers and farmers and young girls travelling in groups followed by young guys trying to cut one out of the group like a cowboy after a calf. Rows and rows of vegetables and fruits in canning jars on display shelves, some sporting white, yellow, red, blue, or the coveted Grand Prize Best Bread and Butter Pickle in the Show ribbon. The cows,pigs, sheep, goats, roosters and hens, ducks, rabbits and the occasional emu. The barkers standing outside the sideshows trying to make eye contact with a mark. The soft pastel clouds of cotton candy, the candy apples that dazzled like Dorothy's shoes, and the young men leaning over the games of chance that most thought had something to do with skill, sometimes with a girl beside them with a stuffed animal.

And lots of kids crying from having too much fun too late into the night on a load of too much sugar.

But mostly I enjoy the feelings. The thrill of the carnival rides or the fact that you are on the ride with the girl that you wanted to come to the fair with and ride the scrambler or the Ferris wheel. The fear of throwing up under those circumstances. The guilt of wanting to disregard your mother's warnings not to go into those evil side shows, the ones with scantily clad women who had strange features or could supposedly do things that normal women could not. At that age I was not sure what was normal, but I sort of wanted to find out. The excitement. The pure, plain fun. The contented weariness of the walk back to the car.

I miss that. Thousands of folk, all made ordinary no matter their station in every day life, because we were all at the fair enjoying this gaudy, authentic, wonder-filled display together. After all, a two headed chicken is a thrilling thing no matter how simple or sophisticated the observer.

We have some formidable problems in America these days.

Maybe it would help if we could all meet down at the fair.

It couldn't hurt.

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Thurvey 9/1/2011

2011-09-01T07:37:00.000-05:00

Since I am having difficulty finishing a post this week, I am bringing back the Thurvey after a month hiatus. For those of you not familiar with the Thurvey, it is a Thursday survey. The Thurvey provides you, the reader the opportunity to respond to a variety of questions, or in the last question option, to raise one of your own. To answer a question merely type your comment in the box below, let us know your name after the comment if you wish, click anonymous, and follow the instructions. If there is no comment box below, click on "comments" and it should appear. If it is not working for you, comment on my facebook post or just give up.

#1 Scientists regularly report that a particular food, formerly thought of as bad, turns out to have health benefits. What food do you wish to be declared a health super-food, and what benefits would you like for it to confer?

#2 If you could have only five songs on your ipod or like device, what would they be? Why? If there were one song that you could erase from the library of songs of the world, what would it be? Why?

#3 What is your idea of the perfect Autumn Saturday?

#4 Do you believe science? (you know, evolution, climate change, gravity, etc.) Explain. Be careful if you have political ambition.

#5 Which Republican would you choose to be President? Why?

#5 What question of your own would you like to be answered this week?

Fun raising . . .

2011-08-27T05:59:00.004-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

It is dark this morning. Apparently the days became shorter without me noticing.

But there is just too much to keep notice of these days. Surely I can be forgiven for not noticing the creeping darkness . . .

Just kidding. I'm not going there this Saturday morning, although I kind of like where it seemed to be heading, so I'll save it for later.

The problem is, I am happy this morning. Not a problem in the sense that I want to change how I feel. It is a problem in the sense that I don't really want to take on any heaviness this morning, be it political, social, cultural, theological, or even in the troubling area of edible plants. That significantly limits my options for a topic. It seems I often have this problem for one reason or another on Saturday mornings. I like it when the reason is happiness.

I think everyone within a hundred miles should go to Lipscomb, Alabama today for a hot dog. Since the town no longer receives revenue from bingo it is in a severe financial bind. So, today there will be a hot dog fundraiser in Lipscomb. They need to raise $250,000.00. That's a lot of hot dogs. Buy several. They'll keep in the freezer.

Perhaps the efforts of the fine folk of Lipscomb should be a positive example for us all. Local governments are suffering from the federal budget cutbacks and important services are being lost. So maybe it is time for some fundraising. Other than writing more traffic tickets . . .

In Oneonta, for instance, there is an intersection at which one could grow old waiting for the green light. Be sure and check your drivers' license and license plate expiration date before approaching this intersection because there is a possibility of expiration during the unexpected wait, maybe the license, maybe you. I envision city council members on roller skates hawking cold drinks or coffee, sandwiches, magazines, a gallon of gas, and possibly license renewal, voter registration or long term care for those who were not aware of how long this light stayed red . . .

Yard sales, bake sales, 10k's, karaoke contests, fruit cake sales, it's so much better than having a workable tax system and code.

But another idea crosses my mind this morning, at the risk of dampening my happiness. In some places, like my sweet home Alabama, it would be much more expedient to raise money for government services by selling public offices to the highest bidder. The only difference in the way it works now is that the money used to buy the office would go directly into the government's treasury and we wouldn't have to suffer through all the political advertisements. . . okay, there are still a few kinks to work out, but for a real discussion of this problem see this 2007 article in Harpers.

Enough of that. Almost took a negative turn.

But I am still happy so I better quit. I'll get meaner about things next week. But not hateful. That's a subject for another day. . .just not today.

Your review of 500 blogposts . . .

2011-08-23T16:01:00.003-05:00

A few of you searched through the archives (see previous post) and here is what you chose in no particular order. Probably different from what I would have chosen, but I may do my list later. Left out most holiday and travel blogs :

At a loss for words . . .and melody

A little help from my other friends

Press on toward the goal . . . the right goal

The three men I admire most, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, we'll throw on a bus to Mexico

Chainsaw Parables, Part 1

If it were just three times I could get some sleep . . .

You b log to me, Be My Valentine

Party Elections

Lift Your Eyes Unto the Mall, from whence cometh your salvtion

Pardon My Romance, but I have writer's block . . .

The hits and misses . . .your choice

2011-08-22T19:27:00.003-05:00

Now that I have noticed that I just rolled over the 500 posts marker a couple of days ago, I decided to mark the occasion by listing a few of my personal favorites. Then I started looking back and it was a bit daunting.

So I invite you regular readers, and you irregular ones as well, to take some time and look through the archives over on the far right and let me know, by commenting, which, of any, that stands out for you.

Goin' viral . . .

2011-08-22T12:38:00.004-05:00

It is Monday and I have posted three days in a row so I planned on skipping today. The calendar was full all the way to eight or nine tonight. However, it seems that some sort of bug has hitched a ride in my bloodstream, and the results are not something to discuss in polite company, leaving me for the most part flat of my back, except an occasional necessary trip. I am working, but it's time for a break. Under these circumstances there's not much to do on a break.

I noticed that I recently passed the 500 posts mark on the One Day at a Time blog. Had I been writing on one of the eight or so great American novels I started (some just have titles), I would have at least one in the bank by now. Maybe this afternoon.

A couple of housekeeping matters (not my literal house, but the blog). If you want to be notified when a new post goes up, click on the appropriate button on the right where it says "subscribe to blog" or send me your email address. Otherwise I will continue to post the link on facebook, which I feel guilty about, subjecting the facebook universe to my neediness to be read. Until I remember what everybody else subjects me to, then I don't feel so bad. My name is Bob and I have been a bad facebook friend. I have never helped on a farm or with the mafia or accepted my gift of flowers or cupid cards, nor have I sent them, and I never repost even in the face of going to hell. I usually ignore such requests or comment sarcastically. My soul is tortured about this.

Second, I wrote the intro to the blog when I first started. I apologize for the paucity of posts regarding edible plants as proposed. More guilt. I will work on that.

All of this internet and social networking means of communicating is fascinating, but, I have noticed, it can become a formidable source of guilt, such as the aforementioned failure to fulfill the promise of posts regarding edible plants and facebook callousness.

Or the failure to reply to emails and texts promptly. No one really believes all of those messages didn't get through.

A couple of years ago I signed up for a Twitter account. I have yet to utter a tweet. Occasionally I get a message from some random European woman who says she is following me on Twitter. Bless her heart. If she's following me she is standing still. I am such a jerk.

Not to mention offending people with what I think and write. I write a lot about my faith and a lot about politics. My faith tells me to be kind and compassionate. My politics tells me to be less so. It is a tough balancing act.

Well, it feels good to confess, to get all that weight off of my back.

Now if I could really get off my back that would be good.

Gotta run . . .

Yes, I listened in church this morning . . .and remembered.

2011-08-21T13:37:00.009-05:00

A thought struck me during church this morning as we celebrated the Lord's Supper. I imagine thousands of others have had the same thought, and most of them have written books, but just in case you missed them, as I apparently have, let me get it down before I forget. I may write a book someday, packed with original unoriginal thoughts, or unoriginal original thoughts, I am not sure. Someone else has probably already written that one too.

Matt Smith, pastor of Taylorville UMC in Tuscaloosa, was moving us from his sermon into the time of communion. He reminded us that Jesus had given us a means of becoming of one mind in the Body of Christ. He reminded us that as Jesus offered the cup and broke the bread to share with his friends He said, "Do this and remember me."

I like words. If I am in danger of jealous and envy, it is for people who can condense profoundness into few words. So in that sense I am most envious and jealous of Jesus. There aren't that many red letter words in the Bible. But the economy of words that produce such perfection and power are beyond my understanding, certainly my ability. This instruction at that last meal is so brief that its depth is almost lost as we skim the text, much like we hurry through the taking of the elements.

Break the bread. Do this and remember.

As Benjamin reminded me, sometimes I over think. The most obvious meaning is the meaning. Sometimes I strain to go deep in clear, shallow water. And of course it is here. Jesus knew He would not be present with his friends in the chaotic times to come. Using the most common things, food and drink and a treasured ritual from his own religion, he gave his friends a way to remember Him.

But this morning the sermon was on unity, the one mind of the Body. And another meaning struck me. This is when I really envy Jesus' communication skills.

Jesus broke the bread, a foreshadowing of his imminent fate as his human body would be tortured, whipped, abused, and ultimately cruelly destroyed. And he broke the bread as a foreshadowing of the future of His Church, as it suffered, and suffers, or should, for the condition of the world. And I believe he broke the bread for the times each of us have crumbled.

He blessed the bread and broke it. He told us to eat the broken bread, broken for us, symbolic of Him and us, and brokenness, and then, re-member.

I know all my seminary graduate friends will say I am taking license here, that the old French derivation of "remember" simply means to remember again, and that is what Jesus meant for us to do.

But re-member means something else. "Member" is also derived from Old French and means something that belongs, or is a part of. And the prefix "re" means again.

So the bread is broken. Jesus was broken. And we are broken.

But we all belong. We are all a part. And the promise and example of Jesus assures us that it can all be put together again, better than before. Fully whole, fully restored.

After the brokenness, remember, and then re-member.

I believe I can fly . . .but I'll call Southwest just in case

2011-08-18T19:43:00.014-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

One of the reasons I love Saturday mornings is that for three or four hours I behave as though I have nothing to worry about or stress over. The Saturday morning rule is "do what you want to, don't do it if you don't." On Saturday mornings I pretend. It may be the healthiest thing I do for myself.

A vivid memory of pre-school childhood is that of my friend and I pinning one end of bath towels around our necks so that the rest of the towel flowed down our backs like a cape. You got it, Superman's cape. On rainy days we would run down the hall, through a bedroom door, leap into the air and land on a bed. But on sunny days we would be outside, where the flying was much easier, our only limit the sky. We climbed up onto the long picnic table, gathered our formidable strength as we crouched at one end, then in a burst of hypersonic speed we raced the eight foot length of the table/runway before launching into space, capes flapping behind us. We knew with every lift-off that we were staying airborne a little bit longer, much like the pioneering Wright Brothers, and before the day was finished, we knew that we could really fly.

It really hurts me to admit it now, but we never really flew. We just wanted to real bad. And it seemed like if we talked about it all afternoon as if it were really happening, then it really was happening.

I'm glad we didn't launch from the tree house.

But we did consider it. We climbed up the ladder to the platform that I called a tree house, stood at the edge and peered over staring at the dusty, root laced, rocky ground below. We didn't move. We couldn't move. Reality overcame us. Our capes suddenly scratched like terry cloth dried in the sun. Even at our young age we knew that the soft grassy yard was only two or three feet below us as we zoomed off the end of the table, but to continue pretending from the height of the tree house would most certainly result in pain.

So we peed off the edge instead. That's what five-year old boys do in such situations.

There is a lot of pretending going on these days. But it doesn't seem to be limited to Saturday mornings, nor is their any hint that reality will set in.

There is a style of politics that depends on the ability to pretend that the truth is a lie and a lie is the truth. Those that are gifted at this style have a way of inciting the crowd with short, emotionally charged assertions that may or may not have a basis in truth and require a complete absence of conscience to utter outloud. I still remember a master at this, Alabama Governor George Wallace, when I was a child, speaking at political rallies.

"Ain't no pointy-headed liberal intellectuals from Washington gonna tell us here in Alabama what we gonna do . . ."

The crowds would go wild.

Governor Rick Perry has the gift. So does Michele Bachman.

Evolution is an unfounded theory. Global warming is not affected by the activity of man. Our men and women in uniform don't trust their president. The federal debt can be reduced without additional taxes. Government is bad. Corporations are good. Regulation is bad. The founding fathers who wrote the constitution fought tirelessly until slavery was abolished. Ben Bernanke is a traitor if he prints more money for quantitative easing, but Rick Perry is not for suggesting that Texas might leave the union. Homosexuals can be cured. Dependence on foreign oil is increasing at an alarming rate. Social Security is already bankrupt. Elvis was born on August 16 (that is the day of his death, which created another embarrassing gaffe at a Michele Bachman rally Tuesday when she kept wishing the King happy birthday).

The list is far too long and gets longer every day.

The thing that really sets Perry and Bachman apart is the ability to pretend that everything they say is true, even when their error is clearly pointed out. Reality is not welcome. It only gets in the way when you're on a roll and the crowd is with you. And this crowd won't tolerate any talk about being wrong.

But, reality will set in, sooner or later. Pretending does not change truth. At some point all pretenders stand on a ledge high above the rocky ground, a place that they have climbed to on a rickety ladder so unreliable it is frightening to climb back down, with no way to move forward except to take a step out into space as their bluffs are ultimately called. And they may have gathered a large crowd ready to follow them one more time, making it almost impossible to turn back.

When the stakes aren't so high, nobody gets hurt by pretending. But from this height?

I wish they'd throw in the towel and pee in the wind.

Say man, do you love me . . ..(allusion to John 21:15)

2011-08-17T21:33:00.005-05:00

I had a conversation with a friend several years ago. He said that it was not the place of government to take care of everyone. At that time he was referring to the "welfare" system. He couched his concern in religious terms, saying that welfare was the work of the church, not government. I agreed with him, to his surprise, and told him that the church should surely get to work and handle the problem. If the church would handle the problem, the government could get out of the business. I asked him how we were going to start, because surely he did not mean we should wait for the government to quit before we got started, that just wouldn't make sense, too many people would suffer in the meantime. He still hasn't given me an answer.

With all the rhetoric about making government smaller by cutting spending, I wonder if the national discussion is missing the point.

Perhaps a more basic discussion needs to be had. Perhaps we need to be honest.

Should the hungry be fed? Should the homeless be provided shelter? Should those in poverty be helped? Should widows and orphans be cared for? Should the elderly be given help? Should equal opportunity for quality education be provided for all? Should the sick get medical care if they cannot afford it?

I'm not asking whether government should do it or not. I think it might be helpful to have an honest, outloud discussion as to whether Americans believe these are things that should be done, by the government, the church, the Civitans, or not at all. I wonder, if we are honest, what the answer will be.

There are logical public policy arguments as to why the government has an interest in addressing these questions. But that will be a subject for another post, if I can remember. Tonight I just want to ponder, are these things we believe should be done, or not? Because if a majority of the people truly do not believe that these things should be done, then maybe the government should not do it.

I ask these questions because right now the government provides health care for the poor and elderly, food assistance for families, aid for those in poverty, and public education. If the government does not provide these things, then either someone else will have to do so, or they won't be provided.

I wonder, is that what we as a country are really saying? That we do not care whether the hungry are fed, the sick are cared for, children are given a fighting chance, those in poverty are lifted up, homeless are given shelter, and the elderly security in their final years?

That is the first question. Do we really care?

Then we can decide who will do it.

In years past I worked in a prison ministry. (The ministry I worked in was called Kairos, one of several great programs). While I was working that ministry I was struck by the depth and commitment of the Church within the walls of the prison. Being a practicing Christian was not exactly the coolest thing in the eyes of a large number of residents of the institution, and their opinions could be expressed quite brutally. But the committed believers just kept on believing, trying, transforming and caring. I wondered if I would be so faithful under the same pressure.

About the same time one of the parables of Jesus' began to really get after me. It is called the parable of the wedding feast , found in Matthew 22. It is an odd parable, particularly the end, but the main story line involves a man who was throwing a wedding feast for his son. He sent out save the date cards and invitations to all the right people. On the day of the feast he sent his attendants to tell those who had been invited that the dinner was done and it was time to come. No one showed up. He sent them out to tell the invitees once again. Again they didn't show up. So the angry father killed them all and burned their city. He told his attendants to go out into the streets and invite anybody who would come to a good party. And that crowd showed up. The country club was full. Jesus ended the parable by saying, "Many are invited, but few are chosen."

What has the got to do with anything, you might ask.

The majority of Americans still claim to be Christian. As Christians it is indisputable that we are called to feed the hungry, tend to the widows and orphans, give water to the thirsty, clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit the lonely and imprisoned, to love and serve, and to do so without condition. If Jesus is the way, as we so often like to say when we are planning our route to heaven, then we need to remember this is the way Jesus is. He fed the hungry, healed the sick, and all the rest. And that is the way Christians are too. If we are not like that, then, well, let's just say it's something to think about.

Because the invitations to the banquet have been sent out. And if we don't respond, someone else will get our place at the table. I expect several of my prison buddies will get seats close to the front. And at times I wonder if I will make it past the velvet rope.

It would be nice if government did not have to do all these things Jesus asked us to do.

Asked us to come and do.

Invited us.

Exxon Mobil, just plain folks . . .

2011-08-15T19:35:00.003-05:00

"Corporations are persons."

Mitt Romney. Bless his heart.

He makes Al Gore look cool.

Sporting his khakis and button down dress shirt, the man who should be king of the Republican presidential wannabees looked about as comfortable as Robert Bentley at a Cinco de Mayo fiesta, one foot propped up awkwardly on a bale of hay as he spoke to a crowd from the "soapbox," a rather clever idea of the Des Moines Register, a stage from which politicians could address and converse with the Iowa State fair crowd.

"Corporations are persons."

Romney had been talking about no new taxes on the people. A member of the crowd suggested that taxes could be raised by closing large corporate loopholes. That's when Romney said,

"Corporations are persons."

Yes, I remember in law school learning about the principle that corporations are persons, an idea expanded by the SCOTUS a couple of years ago in the Citizen's United case. But the Iowa state fair with bales of hay for ottomans may not be the place to assert such contrivances of law.

I am a democrat. Some people say I am liberal. So I am sure I see the tax question differently than Mitt Romney. But I am not sure what bothers me most, his position, or the complete lack of wisdom exhibited by his response.

Will that be the intelligence he will use when he gets the call at 3:00 a.m.?

Equating corporations with human beings is not a pretty proposition for most voters, Democrat or Republican.

So today must have been tough for Romney. It was Texas Governor Rick Perry's first day on the campaign trail in Iowa. Perry was suffering from a minor self-inflicted political injury in Iowa as a result of his decision to announce his candidacy from South Carolina on the same day as the Iowa straw poll. Some Iowan Republicans considered it to be a bit rude. And Iowans are polite. Remember Radar O'Reilly of Ottumwa?

But it looked like Perry was quickly healing the wound. When he propped his foot on the bale of hay, it was at home as a goat on a spit. When I closed my eyes I thought I was listening to W, except his words fit together, even without the use of a single "g" on the end.

I don't think he has said it yet, but I expect it has already been considered. It would be for sure if I were advisin' him. Somethin' like . . .

"Mitt said that corporations are persons. He caught a lot of flack about that, but I know what he meant and so do you. He's talkin' bout that Supreme Court case upholdin' the first amendment. I don't know about all that, I'll let those judges work that out. But what I do know is that those corporations were started by real folks just like you and me, and they provide jobs for folks just like you and me, and the folks that own and run those corporations will be the ones to get us out of this economic mess we're in. I sure don't think we want 'em to have to pay more taxes right now, do we? I think I'd rather them pay out pay checks to real folks like you and me than tax checks to the government, wouldn't you?"

Corporations may be persons.

But they aren't folks.

And that is why Romney is in trouble.

Gimme some kind of sign . . .

2011-08-14T15:32:00.003-05:00

I saw a sign today. It is not an unusual sign. I have seen hundreds just like it. But for some reason this time it seemed to pulse like a beacon, drawing my focus to its sudden clarity.

I sometimes pray to God for a sign, and then withdraw the request, not wanting God to think that my faith is somehow weak because I want a sign. I believe God sometimes grants my request even if it has been withdrawn. But, as is God's way, the sign is often as cryptic as the dilemma for which I was requesting a sign. If I am faithful to ponder the meaning of the sign seriously, an answer, guidance, peace or at least incredible amusement is forthcoming.

When I pray for a sign, I imagine divine guidance written in the condensation of the bathroom mirror revealed after the morning shower, a pattern in the swirl of half and half in my coffee cup before it is stirred, a yes or no spelled out in jagged bolts of lightning, or maybe the classic revelation in a dream. None of those have happened, except maybe for the dream, and I am not sure about that. I was asleep.

I never imagine a traffic sign.

But yesterday there it was, filling my vision as if someone had pressed the zoom button on my optic nerve.

One Way

Do Not Enter

Part of the problem is that I have not asked for a sign lately. I have been satisfied being on a need to know basis with the Holy One. So now not only do I have a cryptic answer, I don't even know what the question is.

Perhaps it is my age and stage in life, perhaps it is a need to run away from some recent hurts, perhaps it is boredom, or maybe is is simply a chemical imbalance, but I have had a sense lately that it is time for a change. So when a traffic sign behaves the way that one did yesterday, I wonder if it has anything to do with that vague feeling, or whether it is something else entirely.

Benjamin reminded me the other day that sometimes the most obvious, logical, simple interpretation is the correct one. Sometimes we over-think, we go too deep. Perhaps I am occasionally guilty of this. You regular readers of this blog know it's true. So, what is the most simple interpretation of the sign?

Don't turn my car up that street. Okay, I didn't. But I never considered going up that street. In fact by the time I saw the pulsating warning I was well past the point of making that illegal turn. So I don't think the most obvious interpretation is what I am looking for on this one.

So what about the literal interpretation of the message, not necessarily to be applied to driving my car? There is only one way. And you can't go there. Now that's a depressing thought. What am I supposed to do? Just stay where I am?

Possibly . . . but it just doesn't feel right. While that may be my answer, more pondering seems called for.

What was I doing when I saw the sign? It is sometimes helpful to put the sign in context. I was driving in Nashville, trying to get back to the interstate. There were several one way streets and even a dead end or two. Had I been able to go directly toward the interstate by going the wrong way on the one way street I could have been there in a few seconds. But I had to go a different way, a way that took me out of the way, it seemed to me, several blocks, up music row, around a roundabout with statues of large naked people, by a couple of publishing houses and in the midst of a bunch of offices of the United Methodist Church General Board of Discipleship. Then I was back in the flow of traffic headed the right way, back toward the on-ramp.

Hmmmm. If you have any ideas what that might mean, let me know, but be gentle. Maybe the sign was telling me there is a right way to go, but there are no shortcuts. You can't just jump into the middle of a race. It is important to run the course that is set.

I still pray for signs sometimes. But not as much as I used to. More often I pray for the truth. While my writing and speaking are strictly amateur, I do a lot of it. I have a tremendous fear of misrepresenting the Truth. Yes, the Truth with a capital T. I find I cannot be fully truthful, even in my prayers. There is always a hint (sometimes more than a hint) of manipulation, of pride, of selfishness, even when I am talking to God, and much more when I am communicating with people. It is difficult for me to discern the truth in these contentious and mean-spirited days. Days when being right is more important than being good. Days when my way is the only way, and if you're not going my way then you're going the wrong way and you may as well stay where you are and be left behind. Days when the truth that lies beyond the prescribed path is never heard or seen.

Days when the world tells me there is only one way to go, and if I try to do or say differently, then I'll get run over.

I don't know. But the sign was there jumping out at me. I am sure it is worth pondering . . .

Banana peels . . . I had you all wrong. (Thurvey)

2011-08-11T18:20:00.007-05:00

I have a deadline to meet, so the obvious thing to do is to read the news and post a blog.

One of the puzzling things I remember from my childhood involved taking out the trash. My mother, trying to be polite I suppose, would say "do you want to take out the trash?" Even at a tender young age I was a bit rebellious, though never where she could hear. "Why of course," I would grumble under my breath, "who wouldn't want to haul a load of old coffee grinds, egg shells and banana peels out back, it is my pleasure." In my defense I was a bit of a scrawny child so taking out a full, ripe kitchen trash can required that I hug it up against my body, which positioned my nose in close proximity to the top of the can. I can still remember that wonderful mixture of aromas of meals past.

One of the signature smells of that kitchen garbage was old banana peels. It wasn't a rotten smell, as old milk cartons or rotten vegetables might produce, it was much less pungent. And yet, I identify that essence of banana peel with trash that needs to be removed from the house.

Banana peels suffer from poor public relations strategy. And it is not just the association with trash. If one believes the common lore, the banana peel is the cause of most of the world's injuries from slips and falls. But I've never really known anyone, other than Elmer Fudd and his colleagues, who ever suffered from such an accident. Dweadfully unfair when you think about it.

So it was heartening that today's news contained a story of redemption for the banana peel. Somehow a scientist figured out that banana peels could be used to soak up heavy metals from polluted waters. Things like copper and mercury and lead. Banana peels do it better than anything being used now and they cost virtually nothing. At least until someone figures out that banana peels really smell a lot like money in light of this discovery.

So maybe I, maybe we all, have been wrong about the lowly, laughable banana peel.

It makes me wonder what else we are wrong about.

So, for those of you who have missed the Thurvey, that is to say, the Thursday survey, that can be your question.

What might you, or we, be wrong about? (Not rhetorical. Please comment if you are so inclined).

Why there are so many songs about rainbows . . .

2011-08-08T20:28:00.004-05:00

Sometimes you just have to be there. A storm blew up quickly this evening. When I walked outside after the rain had ended the world around me glowed with sunlight filtered by low hanging clouds and leaves heavy with raindrops. As I looked toward the horizon a rainbow divided the heavens. Above the bow the sky was a dark blue-gray. Below the bow the space glowed a fiery red. I was alone and had no one with whom to share the moment, so I ran to the car, grabbed my camera and took lots of pictures, knowing this kind of display is fleeting.

And it is impossible to capture. Sometimes you just have to be there.

When I was in junior high I went to a Boy Scout National Jamboree in Idaho. We spent the night at Yellowstone. As all good tourists must do, we gathered around Old Faithful to view the geyser erupt. Sure enough, true to its name, it erupted, more or less right on time. When I got home I had about fifty pictures of Old Faithful erupting.

In the photos Old Faithful looked a lot like a lawn sprinkler.

Sometimes you just have to be there.

(I realize that part of my problem is that I have never invested in a camera capable of capturing much of anything except Christmas gatherings, snow pictures, and beach shots, but work with me here for the deeper point).

The birth of a child. The depth of a relationship. The romance of a perfect moment. The heat of a battle. The thrill of victory. The disappointment of defeat. The grief of a loss. The perfect concert. The best game ever. The devastation of a tornado. The breaking of a heart.

Sometimes you just have to be there. Photographs fall short. Words are inadequate.

There are all kinds of relationships. We know about the ones with other people. But there are other kinds that are important to our people relationships.

There are relationships with the moment. These kinds of relationships connect people and things, time and timelessness, movement and stillness, intellect, senses and emotion, and the only images or recordings are encrypted on the soul. Sometimes one soul. Sometimes two. Sometimes millions. Connected by the moment.

A moment that cannot be photographed or recorded or explained.

Only shared by those who were there.

That cloud looks like Jimbo . . .

2011-08-06T11:01:00.005-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee. This one is a bit personal. But that happens, especially on Saturdays.

Tuesday I wrote about the great cloud of witnesses that surround us as we move through the course of life, offering encouragement, wisdom and companionship. After reviewing the news sites this morning I was discouraged. Standard and Poor's reduced the nation's credit rating, Alabama's gambling/bribery trial is wrapping up while Alabama's government is strangely quiet waiting for the sound of the next shoe dropping, a fighter jet was shot down in Afghanistan, and everybody is blaming everybody else for everything. If you believe the news, the only clouds that surround us are dark and dangerous.

So I took a break, stumbling back into the kitchen to warm up the coffee, and then being distracted by a box of old photographs. With nothing else to do I checked facebook. I am a parasitic facebooker, contributing nothing except the occasional sarcastic comment when one is deserved. But this morning I checked on a few friends that were on my mind.

I am glad I did.

Part of the cloud of witnesses is moving.

Jim and Lisa are moving to North Carolina. Lisa posted that she had secured a teaching job there.

Jim will be entering Duke Divinity School to formally begin the process of becoming an ordained minister. The informal process has been going on for years.

My friendship with Jim began on the first Appalachia Service Project Mission trip that Lester Memorial UMC went on to Bartley, West Virginia. Jim was a freshman or sophomore in high school, I was older than that. We were on the same work team repairing an old house built on a cut out ledge on the side of a mountain in remote coal country. Jim was a skinny young man with the ability to grow a beard in half a day. He took heed of my advice that women loved a guy who could play the guitar. He possessed a sense of humor in a league with Joe Hastings, an ability to figure out how to repair old houses on a par with Randall Conn , a laugh as recognizable as Max Blalock's (although not as loud), and a goodness of spirit all his own.

Jim was active as a youth at Lester and continued to go on summer mission trips to Appalachia. After he went to college he worked on summer staff with ASP, where he met Lisa, who came as a volunteer to his center. They married and now have two wonderful boys, Andrew and Reece. Jim is a civil engineer and Lisa a teacher. They are wonderful parents, loyal friends, and dedicated church members. They have faced challenges in life the past few years, challenges that continue even today, but have continued to grow through the struggle. Jim has known he was called by God for a long, long time. Sometimes God seems to leave out details when He first calls. I think He does that on purpose. But Jim and Lisa knew the call was there, and answered as much of the call as they could understand as they lived their lives. And now it seems they are ready for the next big step.

I teared up as I read Lisa's post about their move. Not out of sadness because Jim and Lisa are moving away. But out of joy because they are moving on, running the race with perseverance the course that has been set, and now made clear.

So some of my cloud is moving toward the horizon. But the distant clouds make the rising and setting of the sun more beautiful, and give us hints of things to come.

I love those guys.

Jogging in the clouds . . .

2011-08-02T21:11:00.003-05:00

My dad is 85 years old. I don't think he would mind me mentioning that since he mentions it to me almost every day. I often visit with him late in the afternoon and catch a couple of the cable news programs while bumming a few nacho flavored Doritos and reprogramming the TV remote.

"I just can't keep up with everything anymore," he told me today. "I'm sorry, but I just can't keep up with it all . . . especially this crap." He said that last part as he pointed toward the TV with the remote, more specifically the cable news/political shows, which at the time were wall-to-wall ceiling, debt-ceiling that is.

I don't believe he can't keep up with it anymore. We have had too many recent discussions about it that have given great evidence to the contrary. He understands more about it than I do. But he is so frustrated with our "public servants" that he just doesn't want to keep up with it. In my eyes his life has been one of public service, something I wish I could emulate and will write about more fully sometime. We talked about the recent developments and critiqued the various news hosts and guests. Then I left to take a little jog. He told me it was too hot, but to be careful.

It was a dumb idea. The temperature was still about 92 degrees. About a mile into the jog I saw a familiar figure up ahead coming toward me, actually sort of like a stick figure. It was Bert, an old friend who lives at the end of the street I was running down. Bert has got long legs. I think they attach directly to his neck. And they are skinny. Birds that passed by looked at them with envy. Bert is in his mid-eighties. I always thought of him as very wise, and his counsel has always born that out, but, since he also chose to be out exercising on such an evening as this I began to wonder. He was sporting a bright yellow "Mule Days" cap from Ider, Alabama. I was sporting my bright crimson super baggy University of Alabama basketball shorts. We stopped for a moment or two in the middle of 4th Avenue to chat. But not for long. We both were on a mission. To get some exercise. As we parted I told him I hope to see him again soon when we could talk a little more. I don't know if he heard me. He was already on his way.

My jogging route took me part of the way up Shuff's mountain, through a little cut-through known by some as the "preacher's trail", and back down. As I jogged breathlessly I remembered the words of a friend who used to run that route regularly. Perhaps my brain was now overheated to the point that I was seeing visions, sort of like in one of those sweat lodges that some Native Americans use in religious cleansing rituals.

"You seem to think you are stuck," my friend told me a few years ago, somewhere close to the beginning of that trail. "But you are where you are, doing what you do because that is what you choose to do. You always have a choice." That simple advice changed my life forever.

Later in the jog I was greeted by an old friend parked at the ball field who offered me encouragement and told me it was unnecessary to try to speak. As I cooled down from the jog with a walk toward the Prius a loud honk of a car horn from a passing SUV startled me. I looked up and two friends were smiling and waving as they headed down the road.

When I got back to the Prius there I had a message. Rita called at 7:23 to tell me she loved me.

That's the way life is supposed to be I think. Sort of like a 10K or half marathon or just a pitiful jog, with folks along the way, both present and past, cheering us on, giving us advice, or running alongside us as long as they can. A Bible verse came to mind, so I came home and checked it out. Hebrews 12:1:

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us . . ."

Maybe the jog wasn't such a dumb idea after all.

We hold these truths to be self-evident? Really?

2011-07-30T07:30:00.005-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

What is truth?

Okay, that may be a little heavy to ponder on a Saturday morning when the only thing moving is the swirling vapor rising above my hot coffee cup, made visible by a single ray of the sunrise streaming through the window of the kitchen door straight to the coffee table.

See? That's the problem. It is Saturday. I am sitting on the sofa. I am drinking coffee. And the only thing I notice moving is the misty plume rising from my coffee. But my idealistic description of my morning contains non-truths. The vapor is not the only thing moving, there is movement all around. The room is full of morning light, not just a single ray of sun, whatever that is. But it sounded pretty. And it describes what I feel about my surroundings this morning. If you were here with me you might notice completely different things about the scene. I suspect that your first observation would be that I need to put on a shirt. And that it might be helpful if I choose one from that pile of laundry on the love seat that never made it to the closet. Or that you don't notice any plumes of vapor coming from the two coffee mugs on the coffee table obviously still there from previous mornings. Perhaps that is why you haven't been invited to join me.

Sometimes our disagreements would suggest that one of us is not telling the truth. For instance, I would describe my Saturday morning coffee ritual today as quite close to perfect. You, on the other hand, might have entered the doorway and seen nothing but the mess, which would have had to be done away with before any ritual could be enjoyed. Our views of the scene are so different. Was one of us lying? Which one of us saw the truth?

Silly, I know. We both were seeing only a part of the whole truth of the room. Each view was a partial truth.

But it is important how we deal with our limitations on knowing the entire truth of a situation. If we accept a partial truth as the whole truth, we will end our pursuit, and our partial truth will become a lie. But if we accept a partial truth for what it is, we are on our way to discovering more of what we have yet to see.

A few years ago on an Appalachia Service Project mission trip the staff assigned the group I was in to a mobile home in a small town a few miles up the road from Flagpond, in Unicoi County, Tennessee. Normally the staff would have fully investigated a work site to define the work to be done, but for some reason they had not done so this time. The instruction I received on Sunday evening before we started work on Monday was to check out a little weakness in the floor below a window and repair it. Apparently they had noticed the floor gave a little when they walked on it.

Monday morning, after we had introduced ourselves to the owner of the house, visited and mosied for awhile, we took a closer look at the problem. We pulled back the floor covering below the window. The floor disintegrated into small particles. We could have stopped there, repaired the floor and wall immediately under the window, and had an easy week. But we couldn't see the edge of solid flooring, so we pulled the flooring back a little more. The floor continued to disappear. As it turned out the flooring in the entire den and kitchen area was nothing but disintegrated particle board held together with floor covering. So, in order to fix it, we had to remove all the flooring, as well as the kitchen counters and cabinets. Upon lifting the counter top we were treated to the sight of about a billion little roaches scampering to find darkness again. Then the cabinets fell apart. It was then that we discovered the root of the whole problem, a serious leak in the plumbing below the sink. I could go on. It was quite an adventure. But the point is, the truth turned out to be a whole lot more than what the staff had perceived by sensing a weak place in the floor below the window.

To fix what was broken, we first had to uncover the whole truth, as ugly as it was. Believe me, there were moments when we wanted to declare the whole truth discovered and not go any further in that pursuit. Especially when the roaches were revealed. But we had yet to discover anything solid. Replacing the flooring without uncovering and dealing with the whole truth would have been pointless. In this case the partial truth, had we taken it as the whole truth, would have been a harmful lie.

We know how hard it is to deal with the truth in personal relationships. Often it is so much easier to ignore the truth, to put a nice shiny linoleum over it without checking the sub floor, or refusing to look for the leak caused the weakness in the first place. Peeling back the layers is painful, and sometimes scary, like a plague of roaches. A quick patch might avoid immediate pain, but will probably result in a full collapse some time down the road. And maybe the hardest thing in relationships is to remember that each is viewing the same truth, but from different vantage points. How the differing views are used can be the end of the relationship, or a new beginning.

And the same is true in our collective and political lives. There is nothing wrong with differing viewpoints. In fact, differing viewpoints should be encouraged and treasured. The more views we have of the truth the more realistic picture we have of the whole thing. It is when we begin to believe that our viewpoint from our limited vantage point captures the whole truth that we get into trouble.

And as a nation we are in a bit of trouble.

As a nation we owe a lot of money. We need to pay it back. To raise money to pay these debts we need to cut what we spend. That is a valid part of the truth. We need to raise more money, that is, to pay more taxes, to pay the debt back. That is another valid part of the truth.

To claim either partial truth as the whole truth is to transform it into a dangerous lie.

None of this truth stuff is easy. Much of the time I can't see the truth, or I wonder if the concept of truth applies at all.

So I need help.

And maybe that's enough truth for this morning.

Werewolves or Vulcans . . .

2011-07-23T07:44:00.000-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

I just heard an interview with Glen Duncan, author of "The Last Werewolf." The interviewer asked Duncan what, in his opinion, was the basis for readers' apparently insatiable appetite for stories about werewolves and vampires. In responding to the part about werewolves, Duncan said that while we may fear the primal instincts that seem to have ultimate control over werewolves, there is something in us that envies a creature who is not expected to deliberate and agonize over the proper choice, but rather is expected to act according to that primal instinct, to act on that impulse of desire. Duncan then read an excerpt from his novel which was a bit racy for early Saturday morning. Morning Edition's host's voice was blushing.

That sums up the struggle to be human. We are still of the animal kingdom, subject to animal instincts. But we are more than that. We can make choices against our instincts.

I was passing by one of the mobile rabies clinics the other day. The dogs did not like the shots. They wanted to bite the hand that hurt them. They could not understand that the same hand also helped them. But the vet, with the help of the owners, held the dogs still while the shot was administered, often while the dog growled meanly with bared fangs. The dogs could not make a choice not to react to the pain with the instinctive growl and tooth display. If not restrained, the dogs would have followed their instinct away from there as quickly as they could run. The vet, being human, also had an instinct, to be afraid of a mad, growling, fang gnashing animal. But he calmly did his job in delivering the vaccine. He chose to act contrary to his animal instinct.

It is not that we humans should not rely on our animal instincts. Sometimes a quick action based on instinct and not deliberative thought can save our lives. Adrenaline produced from fear can produce amazing results, even in humans.

But I tend to be analytical. A wise friend recently pointed out a problem I have. She said that I analyze a situation as it is today, decide how it is going to turn out tomorrow or in a week or in a month, and then I go into a depression about the bad thing that I have decided is sure to happen. My instinct was to slap her. But I didn't. I couldn't reach her through the phone, and besides, she is right.

It is obvious that we humans have the best of both worlds. We have the advantages of instincts built deeply into us as survival tools, and we have reason to allow us to advance beyond the rule of instinct and make choices to act otherwise.

Getting the balance right is the problem.

We are wired to be dominant, to win. Survival of the strongest. Death to the weakest. When long horned rams do battle to see who shall lead the herd and get the pick of the ladies, there is no compromise. The one who is the most butt-headed is the winner. And winner takes all. This instinct is still with us as humans. It is no accident that the capitol building in Montgomery, Alabama is set on goat-hill. There are other more prominent legislative venues that deserve that title at least as much. Compromise and better choices are often the victims of the instinct to dominate, win, and take it all.

But it is hard to be reasoned while standing in the path of a runaway train. Reason may have been appropriate when the train was still miles away, but when it is in sight and blasting its horn, fear takes over, adrenaline kicks in, and decisions of survival are made, or tragedy results. The action taken as a result of the instinct for survival may save the moment, but is probably no where nearly as good as the action that might have resulted from reason and choice while the train was still in the next county over. Take the debt ceiling crisis. Or social security or medicaid. Or dependence on oil. Or pollution of the environment. Or illegal immigration. Or the tax structure. Or any number of other runaway trains.

But our ability to reason can be a hindrance as well. We delay action, always looking and hoping for the better way, the more certain way. Or a way to get our way. Then all of a sudden we hear the whistle of the approaching train and it is too late.

I am a David Wilcox fan. The David Wilcox from North Carolina, not the one from Canada, although he is a fine musician as well. The Carolina David Wilcox wrote a song that means a lot to me titled "Just Get On." The chorus says:

And I'm running out of time
And my heart says, C'mon let's go
And my mind's saying, I don't know
And the train is at the station
But I'm lost in contemplation
And this ticket's only good for just so long
I can think about it 'til that train is gone
Or just get on

I like being analytical. I don't like being surprised by the future. Live long and prosper.

But even so, some of the best moments of my life resulted from a moment's decision based not on reason, but on impulse. Like the werewolves.

I guess it's just something we have to live with, this tension between instinct and reason.

Or more accurately, that we are blessed to live with.

And it came to pass . . .if we let it

2011-07-16T08:30:00.004-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee

It is almost cool this morning.

There were times during the past few weeks I wondered if it could ever be cool again.

But it is. In the heat of things it is hard to remember that things change. In a little while it will be cooler. A little bit longer and it will be cold. (At least here in the temperate zone). But the hope of that change is hard to remember when the heat seems to threaten my next breath.

I looked back over my blog posts for the past couple of years. There were many moments of heat, not the thermal energy kind, but the human condition kind. Wars, racism, presidential elections, governor's elections, Supreme Court decisions, second amendment issues, health care reform, earthquakes, tornadoes, unfair taxes, immigration issues, economic catastrophe, and the role of government. And that doesn't count the vague references to moments of heat in my personal life, which shall remain vague, but which certainly left me breathless.

It is interesting to look back at those moments in which I was so thoroughly engulfed. It seemed as if there was no end in sight to the heat.

But the heat is gone from many of those things, for good or bad. There is always a new fire to run toward with bucket in hand.

We have all heard that the discovery and control of fire was a major leap in the progression of humanity.

But fire is a tricky thing. Under control it can be transforming. It can make food edible and safe, turn stony elements into liquid, provide heat against oppressive cold, provide power for transportation and manufacture.

But out of control, it is destructive.

Sometimes in our attempt to deal with the fires we go through we are reckless. In our beating and flailing to put out the flames we only fan them higher and hotter, all the while screaming at someone else for doing the same, only from a different direction.

And fire is no respecter of persons. If the fire gets too hot, we all burn together.

The heat of the moment will pass, if we let it.

And then maybe we can get things under control.

Fingerprints

2011-07-15T19:36:00.003-05:00

I sent a friend a photo of a project he had begun years ago, which continues today, having affected many, many lives in a positive way. In the photo were the signatures of some of the people on the ground floor of the project, with their hand prints by their names on the wall, created at the time the whole thing started. It was a happy memory and I thought he should know that his good work continues.

A message of thanks came back. But the thank you was followed by another line. It said, " and thanks for letting me know that my fingerprints still exist somewhere."

I sent an immediate response of chastisement, reminding him that he was clueless about how many peoples' lives he had affected in the past and still does to this day and to get over his feeling of uselessness.

And I meant that. That's what friends are for. To be sensitive.

But his words bounced around in my head for the rest of the day. I'm pretty sure I understood what my friend was trying to say, questioning whether his life's work really mattered to anybody.

But his words began to speak something different to me, whether he meant them to or not. I'm pretty sure after the comfort I offered in response to his message he would be glad something was bouncing my head.

"Thanks for letting me know that my fingerprints still exist somewhere . . ."

Fingerprints are synonymous with identity. It is said that no two designs are alike. I have had clients who obliterated their fingerprints, or attempted to, to further their chances of success in their chosen fields of theft and burglary. They wanted to lose their identity, or at least that part of it.

But some of us lose our identity without meaning to. Our days are filled with things to do, goals to meet, people to help, people to please. Passions and politics that don't play well with the crowd we must satisfy are stashed away. Sensibilities that seem senseless we accept to fit in. Time taken by and given to others leaves no time for ourselves. Before long there is no ourselves, we have given us away. Just a collage of others' expectations. Our true identity is gone. The world around us has given us a new one. And we can't remember where we set the real one down.

It might be nice to have what my friend has, even though he doesn't realize it. A place in the past with his fingerprints right there on the wall, a monument to at least a part of his true identity reflected in the productive passion of earlier days. A place where, if he can't remember where he set his old identity down, at least he can be reminded of where to start looking.

I saw a lone Canadian goose fly across the sky over a pasture today. It was flapping its wings furiously and honking like an ambulance clearing traffic, but there was none around him up in the sky. I don't know why the goose was flying solo, but he looked odd, being away from a formation of other geese. He looked odd because a Canadian goose is not supposed to be flying alone. He is supposed to be a member of a large flying V. But he was just a flailing punctuation mark streaking across the sky. He had lost his real identity, and he was straining to find it again, flying as fast as he could, and making as much goose noise as possible, to get to that place where he knew it lay, where he saw it last, in his case, back with his flock. He was heading in a direction he had been before, the way that they had always come. He at least had a place to start looking.

So, I don't know, maybe my friend was saying both things. He wasn't sure that what he has done and what he is doing really matters. Or maybe he just can't see it anymore because he left his real identity somewhere back a ways, or perhaps the people he helped then and now took it from him without thinking.

Either way, at least he's got a place to go back to and start looking. Fingerprints on a wall.

Thurvey 7/14/2011

2011-07-14T16:16:00.003-05:00

Time flies. It is once again time for the Thurvey, the Thursday survey. Your chance to let your voice be heard, if you are bold enough,on a variety of topics from serious to not so serious. Just enter your answers in the comment box below, or if the box is not there, click on the little "comments" below and follow the instructions. You may use the anonymous option and remain anonymous, or use the anonymous option and type your name at the end of your comment, or whatever other way seems to work best for you. Be advised that the Thurvey responses will be made available to Congress for public policy considerations.

Before we get to the Thurvey questions, the much awaited results of last week's lazy survey responder poll (those who don't want to write essay answers) over on the right indicated that fifty percent of those responding thought that coffee in the morning made them happiest, twenty-five percent preferred a good steak, twelve percent chose chocolate chip cookies out of the oven with milk, twelve percent chose wine with friends, and ice cream at night, well it just didn't do well at all. A new poll is being put up for this week. Now to the Thurvey questions:

#1 In the last week, what did you laugh hardest at?

#2 Which character from a TV program, movie or literature would you support for President?

#3 How do you find new music to listen to, what have you found that you would recommend, or have you just no clue?

#4 Why does the government need to set spending or debt limits? Shouldn't it be able to act responsibly without them? Why don't they?

#5 What question of your own would you like to have answered this week?

The fat of the land . . .

2011-07-12T17:41:00.004-05:00

Have you ever been in a swimming pool and stood in front of the nozzle where the water is pumped back into the pool from the filter? The water shoots in a jet stream. And if you have done that did you let the jet stream of water hit you in the stomach and look down at it? Your belly I mean? If you have I bet you considered going on a diet or possibly throwing up. The jet stream makes the fat around your middle ripple and shake like cottage cheese. It is disturbing. Try it and tell me I'm wrong.

Or have you actually started an exercise program (maybe after the swimming pool nozzle experience) that included running and realized your thighs or love handles started aching, not from the muscular strain but from bouncing up and down with the rhythm of your stride?

Or have you looked in the mirror after dressing and wonder whether you put your belt on because it is being obscured by something lapping over it, which you wish was just extra material of your shirt but you know it is part of you?

Have you added bacon grease to salad dressing?

Have you tried frying fresh fruit?

Have you planned a complete football Saturday during which you never had to leave the sofa except to go to the bathroom? (Let me know if you found a way to get around that)

You may be an Alabamian. But the good news is Alabama is not number one. We are number two.

When it comes to being fat Americans.

Once again let the familiar cheer of gratitude ring out, "Thank God for Mississippi." Then stop to catch your breath. Mississippians are the fattest in the land. I suppose "obese" is the politically correct term. But in this case p.c. doesn't seem much better.

Why are we so fat?

It is easy to blame our recipes laden with cream, butter, and pork fat of some description, as well as our gift of figuring out how to fry anything. But that has always been the diet of the south, and yes, we should change some of those things. Even skinny folks arteries can clog up under a steady diet of fat and salt.

But we haven't always been fat. At least not this fat.

We just don't move around as much. Unless we are riding on motor driven wheels. That is another thing we are great at. Birmingham, Alabama, has recently been named as one of the top gas guzzling cities in the country. Is there a correlation between these two high rankings?

I think so.

Have you ever jumped in the car to go eat fried chicken or ice cream at a restaurant less than a mile from where you work? I have. And I jump into the car at my office almost every day and drive two blocks to find a parking place at the courthouse. But now that I've admitted that I will not do it anymore. Thanks for letting me share.

So, maybe we should all admit why we are obese, or overweight, or out of shape. Because if we admit to someone else we are a bit overweight, and that we ride when we should walk, or we eat a bag of chips because we are nervous about anticipating the conclusion of Lost or the winner of Idol or the choice of Bachelor as we lie supine on the sofa, or that we deserve ice cream because every day seems to require a bit of comfort for sanity, then we have made a start. If we choose an accountability partner who is fully capable of ridicule as well as encouragement, maybe we can change. For the lesser.

A body mass index of 25-30 is overweight. A BMI above 30 is obese. Check yours out on this BMI calculator.

Over the past ten years I have lost about 35 pounds. The first 25 pounds took about nine years and 9 months. I was proud of that sustained loss because I did it right. More exercise and a better diet. The last ten came off in the past 3 months. I lost that through stress. Not recommended.

But even with the last ten pounds, I have just lowered my weight into the healthy range, according to the calculator and the BMI recommendations. I think I must be "big boned." I don't know who made up these calculations, but I suspect it was a bunch of marathon runners and Lance Armstrong.

I may be skeptical about the BMI calculations, but the eyes don't lie. Just take a trip to Wal-mart, or to your favorite buffet. The tensile strength of spandex and knits are being tested everywhere you look and it is not a pleasant thing.

And even in the high end restaurants check the serving size on the plates. A single serving would be enough to take to a covered dish dinner at the church. And we in the south have been taught as a matter of culture to clean our plates. Especially at the prices charged by the high-end restaurants.

I ate salad for lunch. Not for my health, at least in the body fat sense. I was just trying to keep the Lester United Methodist women happy by supporting their salad luncheon fundraiser for the Lester pre-school program. I learned early that keeping the UMW happy was important.

But it was good. And then I hopped back in my car and drove the three blocks back to the office.

I've got work to do. I don't mean at the office. I mean on my health habits.

Go take the swimming pool nozzle test and I'm sure you'll join me.

Cause when it comes to our health, we need to give ourselves more than a fat chance.

Pardon my romance, but I have writer's block, and romance is the easiest thing for a romantic.

2011-07-11T16:51:00.007-05:00

I am fighting through a significant writer's block today. These are the days that are the reason that I started blogging in the first place, to make myself write even when I didn't really want to or have anything to write about. Now, having stalled sufficiently, I shall start writing, like Anne LaMott and so many others say a writer must do. Just start writing. Today I will go for melancholy and romance. I think it's the heat. So I apologize in advance.

I want to go back to Elrod Falls.

A few years ago, after a long, hot day of work on a mission trip, our group ended the day at Elrod Falls for a picnic. The entrance to the park and dusty parking area were dilapidated, with fallen rusty chains between the cracked fenceposts and dangling and broken signs. No one had told us what the falls were like. It seemed like it was going to be the kind of evening that I hoped would end quickly so I could get to the showers, rest a bit, and get to bed.

My hard working group was later than most in arriving. We stumbled along the winding, up and down rocky trail through the woods, guided by the sound of rushing water and laughter. Suddenly there it was, Elrod Falls, a towering flat faced rock formation with water cascading down to a pool below. About halfway up was a waterfall. It was heaven.

On this hot July 11 I wish I could go back to Elrod Falls, to the laughter, to the rock slide, to the cold water of the falls massaging the heat from my shoulders, while the golden rays of a late summer evening streamed through the thick umbrella of towering hardwoods. It was perfect. And I never expected such perfection to arise on such a trip as that.

But isn't that the way it is. Sometimes the best things in life happen when you aren't expecting it, when you're on the way to nowhere, when you're too tired to say no, or when the perfection of the moment is just overwhelming. Sometimes the best things begin in such insignificance, like a glance, a touch, or a word that makes one stay. Insignificant like the small creek at the headwater of Elrod Falls. It is just a trickle up there, but after a mile or two, by the time it reaches the rocks of the falls, it is something beautiful, something perfect, something timeless.

Yea, I need to get back to Elrod Falls. I bet it's still there.

Fig-u-ratively speaking . . .

2011-07-09T15:47:00.009-05:00

There is a fig tree a few steps from my kitchen door. It is loaded with figs, hundreds of them. Fig trees are odd things. Sometimes they bear no fruit, and sometimes the same tree will be overloaded with fruit that suddenly becomes ripe in the same moment. As I stood beside the tree today and pondered those oddities I was suddenly struck by a feeling of deja vu. I had pondered the oddities of the fig tree before.

But it was the fig trees in the Bible that intrigued me.

The whole thing began when fig leaves were used to hide Adam and Eve's nakedness. You have to admit that is kind of a weird role to play in the story of creation.

Figs are mentioned in the Song of Solomon, something about their early ripe fruit next to the pomegranates. I just can't comment on that.

There is a strange passage in Judges that no sermon is ever preached on in which Joachim is telling his countrymen about choosing a king. The fig tree refuses to be appointed king because to do so would require giving up its sweet fruit.

And the old Testament is full of the phrase, "they sit under their own fig tree." Apparently the spreading arbor of the fig tree created a place of shade, often used by the community, and was a common place for quiet study, prayer, meditation and peace.

Some commentators say that "fig" in the Bible is symbolic for "sweetness."

So now we come to the stories I was deja revuing as I stood in the shade of my own fig tree.

In one story, Jesus went to a fig tree because He was hungry, but it had no fruit. He cursed the fig tree. Now my dad likes his figs, and he is disappointed when his tree has no fruit. But I never heard him curse it. But Jesus did. And the tree wilted and never produced fruit again. Jesus' turned the whole incident into a teaching moment, somehow turning his display of anger into a lesson on faith.

But the Jesus fig story that intrigues me the most begins at John 1:43 and concerns the disciple Nathanael. Nathanael was sitting under the fig tree, getting out of the heat and meditating when Philip runs up and says that they have found the one that was prophesied about, Jesus of Nazareth, son of Joseph. Shortly before this Jesus had said to Philip "follow me." And Philip did. Nathanael's response does not sound like one who had been drinking fully from the peace and sweetness that is supposed to be found under the spreading fig tree.

"Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"

Philip said "come and see."

And Nathanael did.

He left the shade of the peaceful, sweet, meditative fig tree and went to check out Jesus, from of all places, Nazareth. As Nathanael approached, Jesus said, "here comes a man of Israel in whom there is no deceit." I always wondered if Jesus fully meant that or if he was digging a bit into Nathanael's prejudicial statements about Him being from Nazareth. Nathanael asked, "how do you know me? " Jesus replied, "I saw you while you were still sitting under the fig tree where Philip found you."

Apparently that was enough for Nathanael. He followed too.

The "Come and follow me" stories in which Jesus' called his disciples perturb me. This young rabbi just walks up, says "come and follow me," doesn't give a plan, a timetable, even a purpose, other than fishing for men, which is a bit cryptic. And these guys followed. They didn't straighten out their lives, finish unfinished business, bury their fathers. They just followed. Even in their imperfection.

Even Nathanael, who thought little of folks from Nazareth. As far as we know Nathanael didn't spend a whole lot more time in quiet meditation under the fig tree. He may have, it just wasn't important enough to mention in the gospels. For three years he was on the road, leaving family, friends, peace and sweetness, to follow Jesus of Nazareth.

In times such as this it is tempting to stay and hide under the shade, the peace and sweetness of the fig tree. But it is obvious from the story of Nathanael the purpose of the shade of the fig tree is not to hide, it is simply a place to get ready,

to go.

Because we know He can see us. Even through the fig leaves.

Is it live or is it Memorex?

2011-07-09T06:48:00.009-05:00

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

About thirty years years ago a good friend called me and said she had just bought something I had to come see, and help her figure out. It turned out to be a TV video tape recorder. It was the BETA edition. For those of you who weren't around or don't remember, when digital video-tape recording first became available to the consumer for household use, there were two formats competing in the marketplace, VHS and BETA. VHS won ultimately, but it didn't matter that day. That thing was amazing, even if it was BETA. Television programs could be recorded even while everyone was at work. It was a God-send for the Days of Our Lives crowd. But that was not all. She had also bought a video tape camera, which was about the size of a microwave oven, and weighed about the same. But it was amazing. It was cool.

And it was obsolete within five years.

There are many ways that I index my memories, not the ones on video, but the ones in my head. It seems that one of the ways is association with popular technology.

I can put a date on an event from my early childhood based on whether the TV show I was watching was black and white or color. I will never forget the first time I saw the opening animated fireworks scene set off by Tinkerbell on Disney's Wonderful World of Color.

How I listened to music may be my best memory marker, because the technology became so much a part of the memories. Early on there was the static filled, interference distorted sound of AM top forty radio from WVOK or WSGN out of Birmingham in the daytime, or the cool sound of Chicago's WLS on a night with good atmospheric conditions as I rode around with my older siblings, or lay in bed at night worrying about the Tet offensive and the draft age that I was approaching in a few years. Then there was the miracle of eight track tapes. Any car was cool if it had an eight track tape player, even if much time and money was wasted extracting malfunctioned tapes that were eaten by the machine. And the music wasn't interrupted by news of the war, which was a real plus. The proper mode of receiving music was an important element of social status and social success, especially during the teen dating years. Some of those systems would drain a battery quicker than one might think, but that's a different memory and a different story. Then FM radio, which had always been around but dominated by elevator or classical music or public service announcements, suddenly became the platform for edgy rock, and everything changed. I was in college by then and the war was ending. Now my songs are on my computer and in my ipod, many of which are reminders of the people who shared the songs with me. I like that. These days relationships are shared through playlists. The health and rhythm of my heart, physically and emotionally, are dependent on them, as I jog along an actual road or negotiate the up and downs of the journey of life.

Now radio is for listening to the news while I drive.

Or take phones. Please. From rotary dial landlines to keypad phones, from party lines to private lines.

My first cellular phone was a bag phone. The transmitter was in a black vinyl purse like bag, with the cord running from the bag to the handset. It was about the size of a microwave and weighed about the same. I remember the first week or so that I had it making a call from somewhere in the backwoods of Kentucky and being absolutely amazed and relieved at being able to communicate with my office from such a remote place. Now I am not so sure. Despite the bulky bag, it was so cool. But my children and their friends still make fun of it fifteen years later.

Computers, DVR's, smarter phones, I-pads, satellite technology, embedded chips, time and memories sprint along.

I started thinking about this today because of the final flight of the space shuttle, the Atlantis being the particular craft that receives that historical honor. It was about the same time that my friend bought the Beta recorder that the space shuttle program got underway. That first launch created a bit of excitement from space enthusiasts hungry for the excitement of the space race of the sixties and seventies. But the efficiency of the system and the lack of a defined mission soon made the subsequent launches seem unnoteworthy, almost mundane. Very few of us could name astronauts as we could when the moon was our collective destiny, except for names like Christa McDuffie, the first teacher to take a space ride. Unfortunately that ride was on the Challenger in 1986.

It is unfortunate that for most of us, the most prominent memories of the space shuttle program will forever be the two horrible disasters. I remember a friend, in fact the same friend with the Beta recorder, calling and asking if I had seen the news. The Challenger had blown up shortly after launch. I hung up and turned on the TV. For the first few minutes the nation hung on to the ridiculous hope that somehow the passengers could escape. I don't believe the national psyche was ever the same after that shared tragedy. And then a few years later the Columbia basically disappeared on its way back to earth's atmosphere, exploding and burning like a meteor. I was riding with a friend to a meeting in Birmingham that Saturday morning when the news came on the radio. It was a quiet ride that I will never forget.

And now the last shuttle flight is in progress. If you are like me, since the Challenger and Columbia disasters I cannot shake a lingering fear for every mission. So I pray for their safe return.

But, like BETA and VHS, big tube televisions and rotary phones, bag cell phones and eight tracks, technology will move on and give us something else to replace the shuttle.

And new ways to mark our time.

Push button politics . . .

2011-07-07T17:52:00.005-05:00

First let me direct you to the Thurvey, which is the next post after this one. A few changes there, including a simple poll on the right. But the Thurvey staff still encourages you to go for the essay questions.

I like politics. I like to talk about it, I like to read about it, and I like to hear others talk about it.

But sometimes it makes me sick.

Last week I had my first professional brush with the effects of the new Alabama immigration bill. Someone asked me a question about child custody. The caller said he was Hispanic, but was here legally. He is divorced. His ex-wife has custody of their one child. His ex-wife is illegal. She is moving to another state to escape the harshness of the new law. The caller was upset. He said his ex=wife is a good mother and he had no desire to hurt her, but he couldn't bear the thought of his child being on the run for the rest of his childhood, nor could he bear the thought of not being a part of the child's life. I explained to him his options. Do nothing and lose his relationship and possibly security for his child. Go to court and get custody of the child, but, if the judge is doing his job, his ex-wife will be put in jail and possibly deported. He sounded as if he were about to cry.

I went to a meeting of a government body this morning. The issue being discussed was the juvenile justice system in our county. The Juvenile Probation Office supervises probation and provides and monitors other services for delinquent juveniles. Ours is a smaller county, population wise. The current JPO office is staffed with three probation officers and one administrative assistant. Last year they handled approximately 800 cases.

The State of Alabama has ordered that two of the four be let go. Either two probation officers or one probation officer and the administrative assistant. They might as well close the whole office.

At the meeting I attended the discussion centered around finding local funding, from the county government and from the local school boards.

It was a civil meeting. No one was mean. And no one on the government body said a word about the children. It was all about the money, or lack thereof, and properly placing the blame on the state government. There was no indication that help was forthcoming.

I have worked for years representing juveniles. I have seen suicidal teens brought back from the brink. I have seen youth strung out on drugs to avoid the problems at home get clean and counseled and move on. I have seen kids whose parents blame them for all the parents' problems find a reasonable ear and reasonable discipline to help them know what the world is supposed to be like.

I didn't do any of that. It was the Juvenile Probation Officers. We need more of them, not less.

So today politics makes me sick. There is not enough money to save our children, but plenty to buy fleets of government cars to drive around and new buildings to be built and meaningless state publications to be printed and thrown away.

For years every time there was an election one of the gubernatorial candidates would run an ad claiming that he wouldn't make the taxpayers pay for anymore air conditioned prisons. It played well with the people, but it was a lie. The only place that was air conditioned in Alabama's prisons was the warden's office.

We the people must wear big buttons on each of us that invite politicians to push. Plush prisons. The horrors of illegal immigrants. Evil public school teachers. Gambling or no gambling. Gay unions or none.

Meanwhile our children are languishing, some dying, some destined to kill, or steal, or end up for some other reason in big boy prison, which we don't have enough of now to handle the load.

Because the names and faces of those children are not on our buttons for the politicians to push and be guaranteed a vote. And the politicians know it well.

If you want new buttons, let me know. And help me pass them out.

Thurvey 7/7/2011

2011-07-07T17:10:00.003-05:00

Once again it is time for the Thursday survey, or Thurvey as it has become to be known. Reader feedback tells me that the first question is usually too deep, and as a result, the readers in question sit and ponder without responding to any of the questions. So, let's try something different. The following questions will begin with the more frivolous and progress to the more serious, as I see it. Or if you had rather just mark a response to a survey I'll leave the one on the right up for a week and give you the results next week, if I remember. But still, the world needs your thoughts. So if you wish to actually comment on the following questions, or anything else, just enter the comment in the box below and follow the instructions, anonymous being the easiest way to go, sign your name to your comment if you wish to be unanonymous, and publish it to the world. If the box does not appear below, click on "comments" below and it should magically appear. If you are still awake, here are this week's Thurvey questions:

#1 What will be your next new car? Not your dream car, but what you are really thinking you will get?

#2 If you had to (or if you were allowed to) spend a weekend by yourself, where would you go and what would you do?

#3 What song, when you hear it, forces you to sing aloud and along, no matter who is around?

#4 What is your solution to the debt ceiling standoff?

#5 What question do you want answered?

Jellyfish of the world, unite . . .

2011-07-06T21:20:00.003-05:00

It was bound to happen. We human beings have been so careless in taking care of mother earth that other species have taken up the mantle of caretaker. As I was perusing the various news sites today I ran across a headline on the NPR website:

MILLIONS OF JELLYFISH THREATEN TO SHUT DOWN ISRAELI NUCLEAR POWER PLANT

I have never been a fan of jellyfish. From the balcony of the condo the beach conditions look perfect. A few clouds in a sunny sky. A breeze to cool things off. Snow white sand. Crystal blue water. But then, as you approach the waves break-dancing on the shore there they are. Jelly fish. They will sting you and it will hurt and you can't see them coming. It is hard to seem manly when squealing like a pig and dancing like a ballerina at the sight of one of those insidious creatures floating stealthily on the back side of a wave or plastered firmly in the place your next step is to land.

So, while I admire the environmentally energized jellyfish of the promised land, millions of them at that, for protesting the nuclear power plant, it is disturbing to me to think of what might happen if these amorphous creatures get organized.

Against us humans.

I don't see them peacefully protesting. But it will be a silent protest. They rarely speak. And it will be difficult for them to carry signs. Maybe sticky notes. But they will be relentless with such big numbers. They will come in waves. We could be in a real jam.

But today millions of them are threatening to shut down a power plant. That is impressive. And their commitment was even more impressive than their numbers. They threw, or at least allowed themselves to be floated, into the cooling system of the plant, which meant almost certain death.

I have been suspect of the slimy little creatures after I was stung by one as a small child walking along the shore. I tried to carry one home in a cup in the trunk of the car. All that survived was a horrible stench. But that's another story.

The real truth is that NPR composes print headlines as if they worked in radio.

So much for currant events.

Back to normal . . .

2011-07-05T20:16:00.005-05:00

The three day July 4th weekend is over and everything is back to normal.

Casey Anthony was found not guilty by a jury of twelve, the ones who had actually heard and seen all of the evidence for the past six weeks, but the jury of public opinion, who had viewed the trial as rabidly as if it were the first season of American Idol or the final episode of Bachelor, voted guilty from their perfect vantage point. It is amazing how a jury was picked that disagreed so absolutely with the Jerry Springer audience. What were those twelve people thinking?

You thought the recession of 2007 to the present was bad? Those years will look like the good old days if Congress doesn't get off its legislative derriere and raise the federal debt ceiling. It is a no- brainer. The money has already been spent. Defaulting on debt by the government will cause a dramatic rise in interest, a cessation of governmental services, and a potentially final nail in the coffin of the economy. Treasury bonds, a chunk of which is held by China and other countries, will be suspect, and they will very difficult to sell, and thus our huge equity line of credit will be cancelled. But if you have no problem with stiffing the likes of China (which would be a big mistake), consider the fact that if you have an interest in mutual funds or retirement accounts you too are probably the proud owners of such bonds. Your retirement account will also become suspect. Your social security check, or that of your parents, which is due to hit the local post office or direct deposit on August 3 may be delayed awhile. There will probably be insufficient funds to cover the payment.

But Congress, who has never seriously considered refusing to raise the debt ceiling, is apparently doing just that. If the Republicans do not get everything they want, dramatic spending cuts and absolutely no new taxes, including taxes that would actually be generated by closing loopholes in the present tax code, they say they are willing to let America default on its debt.

Exxon Mobile, the most profitable corporation the world has ever seen, who in the past year has gained five million dollars in profit per hour (not revenue, I'm talking profit), suffered a leak in its pipeline under the Yellowstone River in Montana last Friday. As of today Exxon Mobil officials said they "were curious" about the rupture in the pipeline, which so far has spilled over 42,000 gallons of oil into the local river, coating the water, the coastline, and local wildlife, and fouling the air with noxious fumes, none of which the Exxon Mobil officials on the scene have noticed, at least until confronted by residents whose relatives had to be taken to the hospital. They have yet to discover a way to handle the spill in the mighty Yellowstone River, which is about the size of the Warrior River of Alabama. Apparently the profits were large because Exxon Mobil used none of them to enhance its response to oil spills. The spill occurred less than two weeks after local governments had requested EM to consider whether the continued operation of the pipeline under the river during floods posed any threats. Exxon Mobil said there was no threat.

I don't know if I can make it to Labor Day.

Inalienable rights . . . .

2011-07-04T17:24:00.005-05:00

July 4, 2011 is coming to a close and so is the three day week-end. I sang a patriotic song or two, and quite a few that were something other than patriotic. I saluted a flag, watched some fireworks, swam (actually just floated) in a lake, ate grilled meat at two or three locations, consumed watermelon, ate patriotic blueberry dessert with squirt whip cream topping, and toasted freedom with a variety of beverages at different locales.

As it turns out the pursuit of happiness can be quite tiring, and it is quite an artfully elusive prey, at least these days. But I shall not be deterred. In the days ahead I will continue the fight in honor of our forefathers. But for tonight I think I'll give it a rest.

This personal pursuit of happiness is important for my sanity and is fun, if not yet completely successful. But Independence Day is much bigger than my pursuit and the various methods I have enjoyed, many of which I am sure you enjoyed as well.

It disturbs me that we have diminished patriotism to waving the flag, identifying with certain ideologies, and saying the currently popular catch-phrases. Our forefathers argued and fought and compromised and agonized, at great personal risk, first to declare independence from the most powerful country on earth, and then to fashion a constitutional government unlike anything that had been seen in human history.

A way of life that we in the United States now take for granted were radical concepts when the Declaration and Constitution were written. Individuals had rights that were inalienable because we were born with them, and no government should have the authority to diminish those rights. Among these inalienable rights were life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The Constitution was a bit more specific. Individuals have the right to freely express themselves without fear of governmental retribution. Individuals could exercise their faith in any manner they choose, or not at all, and government could do nothing to promote a religion or restrict a religion, or make anyone be religious if they chose not to. Individuals have a right to privacy and to be secure from government intrusion. The government could not affect the rights of the citizen to property without due process.

There are more, to be sure. Here in 2011 we Americans look at this set of rights as the norm. We rarely think about them anymore. But in 1776 and 1784 our forefathers saw them as true, but also as a risky experiment in leaving a great deal of power with the people as opposed to the government.

"Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of bondage and slavery? Forbid it almighty God. I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death." Patrick Henry said that back in the days of the American Revolution.

But what of us? Do we still have the same passion? Are we more concerned with safety than with liberty?

Here's the dilemma. It is expressed powerfully in a familiar poem by Martin Niemoller.

"When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out."

The inalienable rights are not the exclusive property of the Democrats or the Republicans, the Anglo, African American, Hispanic or Asian, the Catholic, Protestant, Jew, Muslim or atheist, the capitalist, Marxist or socialist, the young or old, the gay or straight, the rich or poor, the intellectual or simple-minded.

The rights belong to humans. All humans. And if the rights of one human are threatened, the rights of all humanity are so threatened.

And the experiment fails.

Real patriots won't let that happen.