I can honestly say that I have no preformed conclusions about the capacity of our current president to rule over the United States. His recent quest for a nationalized health care program does leave a few doubts in my mind though. I did not vote for him, but I was not saddened when he was elected. I decided on election night that it is God Himself who allows rulers to be placed in positions of prominence and leadership and that if he was the man chosen to lead this country that I would give him the benefit of the doubt and pray for him and hope he could lead us out of the quagmire that the previous president had taken us into. But I received an article several months ago and have wondered about many questions it posed. Many of the issues I'd heard of before and just decided they were the ramblings of conservative conspiratists. But many of these points keep coming up and yet, I don't hear anything from anyone except to just ignore the questions and give the man the benefit of the doubt. And I hear from others that most of the objections and questions are myths themselves. So I filed the article away and have spent time trying to research myself to find answers to many of the questions asked. The fact is that I can't find any. I can only find where his critics say these things, and his supporters say they are lies. I can't find any proof that either is right. It's almost like trying to prove that the light goes off in the refrigerator when you close the door. How can you know? So, after months of thought, I'm going to go ahead and post this article as an illumination for others to perhaps ponder these things. If the thesis of this journalist is right, we're not headed down a good road for America. If this journalist is wrong, then I'm hoping that someone will read this and feel perfectly free to comment and offer some firm and concrete example of proof that a statement or all the statements are false. I do know that one of the best defenses for a sound democracy is an electorate that is free to ask questions. Right now I still can question the motives of even those in the highest office in the country. If this journalist is correct, and the present administration has some agenda toward a leftist, and marxist oriented government and massive redistribution of wealth, I know that someday that right to question leaders would be taken away. I would not want that day to come and have to tell my children and grand children that I wondered but said nothing. The article is reprinted below. I have intentionally taken the liberty of deleting some comments that I felt were pure conjecture and noted the omissions when made. The authors name and contact information is at the end of the article. You can write her, or post a comment here. I will print rebuttal or substantiation if presented in a clear and evidentiary manner. I suppose I'm saying here that it looks to me . . . from what I can see . . . that the refrigerator light stays on all the time. If you can prove to me it doesn't please say so. But don't just tell me you know it goes off, unless you can tell me how you know. I hope the writer is wrong.
God is Great!
Obama's Revenge
Posted by: Joan Swirsky 02/15/2009
Once upon a time, a white teenager from Kansas got pregnant by her black Kenyan boyfriend, Barack Obama Sr., or was it her husband? Whatever. (I say whatever because we've never seen either marriage or divorce certificates). Some say the couple was in Kenya visiting relatives when the birth of their son, Barack Obama Jr., occurred. No matter. (I say no matter because we've never seen an authentic birth certificate). By the time the baby was two years old his father abandoned him for his other wife and child in Kenya. I wonder how toddler Barry felt when his father left him, and never reappeared until a single time when the boy was 10. Bewildered? Sad? Lonely? Angry? What do two-year-olds do with those feelings? It didn't take long for Barry's mother to meet and marry an Indonesian native named Lolo Soetoro. They moved to Indonesia , where her child became Barry Soetoro, took on Indonesian citizenship, and was presumably schooled in public, Christian, and Muslim schools. (I say presumably because we've never seen those school records). But when Barry was 10 years old, his mother sent him back to the U.S. to be raised by her parents, Madelyn and Stanley Dunham, although she kept her baby daughter Maya Soetoro with her. I wonder how the by-now fully-sentient young Barry felt when his mother sent him packing. Sad? Jealous of the baby who remained behind with mommy? Confused and dizzy by the disparate cultures - languages, customs, foods, sights, sounds, schooling - he had experienced? Resentful? What did Barry do with those feelings? By the time he was 10, the boy had been abandoned three times - by his father, stepfather, and mother. And although he was raised by his white grandparents in Hawaii - where "people of color" were not his color - he found out soon enough that his mixed-race background rendered him, in effect, an outsider. Did that make him feel self-conscious, indignant, victimized? But he wasn't altogether an outsider. In Hawaii , young Barry met Frank Marshall Thomas, his first and perhaps most influential mentor. The infamous Marshall, a Communist activist (and self-confessed pedophile) taught Barry – was it Obama, Soetero, Dunham? - that white people were the devil incarnate and that blacks were the most "victimized" people on earth. Yet the abandoned and rejected child was lucky. His white-devil grandparents gave him a comfortable life in Hawaii , and an education that apparently qualified him to attend several prestigious schools - Occidental College in CA, Columbia Univ. in NY City, and Harvard Law School in Cambridge , MA . (I say apparently qualified because we've never seen any of his college transcripts).
BARRY MORPHS INTO BARACK
After his undergraduate days at Columbia , Obama chose not to go to graduate school, but instead held various jobs in the Big Apple and then moved to Chicago to become a community organizer.. Although he had been exposed to American exceptionalism through his life in the United States and his privileged education, it is clear that his experiences in impoverished Kenya and totalitarian Indonesia , as well as his exposure to Marshall and the other radicals he had met during his years in New York - among them the unrepentant domestic terrorists William Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn of Weather Underground infamy - made the deepest and most lasting impressions. Their messages of American imperialism and its white-devil culture clearly resonated in the thrice-abandoned boy. In his young-adult and adult years, free to choose his friends and pursuits, he opted exclusively for far-left socialists and Marxists, and activities aimed at relieving the suffering of people he perceived to be as victimized as apparently he felt he had been. He understood their feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, and impotent rage, as well as the pain of fatherlessness. After all, his Harvard-educated father consciously chose to leave him. And his mother gave him away. Was that depressing to Barry? Infuriating? When given the opportunity to join one of dozens of churches in Chicago, Barry - who had morphed into Barack - opted for the Trinity United Church of Christ , which was led by the fire-breathing Rev.Jeremiah Wright, whose decades-long anti-American and anti-Semitic rants apparently resonated in Obama's rejected and abandoned heart and soul. (I say apparently resonated because in over 20 years of regular attendance, Obama said he heard nothing inflammatory or anti-American, and we've never seen the videotapes of any sermon, although each one was unfailingly recorded). "God damn America ," Wright raged. "The chickens have come home to roost," he "preached" to his whooping and hollering congregation after 9/11. Obama heard nothing. But it wasn't only Wright who Obama was attracted to in Chicago . He was also drawn to another hate-spewing radical, Rev. Louis Farrakhan, as well as to the raving Father Michael Phleger, the radical Islamist Khalid Rashidi, his friends and neighbors the Ayers, and to equally-close friends "Tony" and Rita Rezko - Tony being the notorious "fixer" and now-convicted-and-imprisoned felon for fraud, bribery, and money laundering. What did the seemingly mild-mannered Obama find so irresistible in these angry and/or crooked people and others like them? Was it the same thing that a shy man finds in his attraction to a flamboyant girlfriend - and alter-ego, a person who expresses what he really feels but is unable to give voice to? In these relationships and in community organizing - which offers inner-city mostly-black residents job training, tutoring, and methods to organize tenants'-rights groups and voter-registration drives, etc. - the twenty-something Obama apparently found his calling, and also a renewed and burning ambition.
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE
While his community-organizing job paid a paltry $12,000 or so per year, Obama somehow managed to pay his way through one of the priciest graduate schools in the world, Harvard Law School. (I say somehow managed because we have no record of his tuition payments). Even more amazing, he became the first black president of the Harvard Law Review without ever producing a written paper - or at least a paper that the public has ever read. There is a good deal of evidence that Obama's acceptance at Harvard Law - and his tuition - were facilitated by friends who had a vested interest in the community organizer. Among them was Percy Sutton, a former Manhattan borough president and ardent leftist, who was also Malcolm X's lawyer. In an interview last year, the octogenarian Sutton stated: "I was introduced to [Obama] by a friend. The friend's name was Dr. Khalid al-Mansour, and the introduction took place about 20 years ago." Sutton described al-Mansour as "the principle adviser to one of the world's richest men" and suggested that al-Mansour was raising money for Obama. Knowing that Sutton had friends at Harvard, al-Mansour asked him if he would write a letter to Harvard recommending Obama, which Sutton did most agreeably. This took place about 1988 when 27-year-old Obama was applying Harvard Law. Two years [after he was admitted to law school], Cashill writes, "while still a law student, Obama improbably received an advance to write a memoir that would be called `Dreams From My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance,' which was published in 1995." His second memoir, published in 2006, was "The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream." (I suspect Cashill said "improbably received an advance "because, as stated earlier, Obama had not produced even one paper or distinguished himself in any way to have inspired a major publishing company to approach him). All this begs the question: Who writes two memoirs about himself before the age of 45?
(text omitted here by Bud as speculation)
(text omitted here by Bud as speculation)
In the less-than four weeks of his presidency, the new president has taken volumes from the Marxian handbook, which dictates that the stupid masses be blitzed with an overload of information, hollow press conferences, appointments, dismantling of formerly effective national-security programs, et al., in order to set the stage for a massive, Soviet-style takeover of our government, including a civilian national security force that Obama has said should be "just as powerful, strong and well-funded as the U.S. military."
(text omitted by Bud as speculation)
He is closing Gitmo within one year, has suspended trials there, and dismissed the charges against the U.S.S. Cole plotter. [He] has just put our money where his mouth is and is using $20.3 million to bring in Palestinian refugees from Gaza ... [he] had the gall to pronounce the so-called economic stimulus bill absolutely free of `earmarks' and `make-do work'...but according to the Congressional Budget Office [this bill] will do worse to our overall economy than no government action whatsoever." And Obama has done all this with the predictable double-speak that characterizes malevolent intention, i.e., touting transparency while concealing everything, speaking of integrity while appointing crooks and incompetents riddled with conflicts-of-interest, supporting energy independence while killing off-shore and domestic oil-drilling and nuclear power, and feigning optimism while he speaks of impending "catastrophe" in order to push through a pork-laden, trillion-dollar-plus Stimulus plan that rewards the corrupt voter-fraud organization Acorn with billions and unions with discriminatory union-only labor agreements, paves the way for socialized medicine, and threatens to take away the most cherished rights of We The People. As blogger Eric Gurr has said: "We still talk about the health care crisis, the environmental crisis, the oil crisis, the banking crisis. Let me tell you my friends you are about to learn the meaning of the only crisis that matters, the survival crisis.. "You can be sure that the sad-lonely-angry two-year-old, the jealous-confused-resentful 10-year-old, the self-conscious-cheated-victimized adolescent, and the man who found solace in and identified with his hate-America mentors is now determined to redeem all of his demons. Unfortunately, he is acting out his rage on free-market capitalism, a free press, property and gun rights, a limited constitutional government, protection of the unborn, and everything else that is good and great about our country.This is Obama's revenge!
Joan Swirsky (http://www.joanswirsky.com/) is a New York-based author and journalist who can be reached at joansharon@aol.com.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Tough times call for tough strategies in the Job Market
With the current recession and higher and higher unemployment rates, it's time for networking and flexbility in finding a job. Employers too are trying to be adaptable and find new ways of recruiting. The jobs will go to those individuals who are willing to think outside-the-box.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Climbing Mt. Fuji in Japan 1972
I was sending out some random emails tonight and came across some pictures of me in the army in 1972. I'm going to go ahead and post it today even though it was 37 years ago. No one will probably ever read my blog back to the beginning and I doubt they'd go back that far.
These are a couple of pictures of us stopping on the way up and resting. I'd gone to Japan while I was stationed in Korea on the demilitarized zone. My best friend John Bradley and I had decided to make the climb of the 14,000 foot peak.
And then after we had climbed all day long, we stopped and spent the night at the 13,000 foot level and got up early to finish the climb to the top of the crater and watch the sunrise. By the time the sun did come up, the clouds had moved in off the ocean and we were so high that we were above the clouds. When John took the picture of me we didn't realize that it would come back looking like I was standing on top of the clouds. I guess for a moment I was super man!
And then after we had climbed all day long, we stopped and spent the night at the 13,000 foot level and got up early to finish the climb to the top of the crater and watch the sunrise. By the time the sun did come up, the clouds had moved in off the ocean and we were so high that we were above the clouds. When John took the picture of me we didn't realize that it would come back looking like I was standing on top of the clouds. I guess for a moment I was super man!
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Train and the Kitchen Bitch
A mother was working in the kitchen listening to her 5-year-old son playing with his new electric train in the living room. She heard the train stop and her son saying, "All of you sons-of-bitches who want off, get the hell off now ... cause this is the last stop! And all of you sons- of-bitches who are getting on, get your asses on the train ... cause we're going down the tracks. The horrified mother went in and told her son, "We don't use that kind of language in this house. Now I want you to go to your room and you are to stay there for TWO HOURS. When you come out, you may play with your train ... but I want you to use nice language."
Two hours later, the son came out of the bedroom and resumed playing with his train. Soon the train stopped and the mother heard her son say. "All passengers, please remember your things, thank you and hope your trip was a pleasant one. We hope you will ride with us again soon." She heard her little darling continue...
"For those of you just boarding, remember, there is no smoking in the train. We hope you will have a pleasant and relaxing journey with us today." As the mother began to smile, the child added, "For those of you who are pissed off about the TWO HOUR delay, please see the bitch in the kitchen...."
Two hours later, the son came out of the bedroom and resumed playing with his train. Soon the train stopped and the mother heard her son say. "All passengers, please remember your things, thank you and hope your trip was a pleasant one. We hope you will ride with us again soon." She heard her little darling continue...
"For those of you just boarding, remember, there is no smoking in the train. We hope you will have a pleasant and relaxing journey with us today." As the mother began to smile, the child added, "For those of you who are pissed off about the TWO HOUR delay, please see the bitch in the kitchen...."
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Ten Reasons for lacking financial success.
Ten reasons that I have discovered that often times hinders me achieving the financial success that I want:
You feel entitlement: If you believe you deserve to live a certain lifestyle, have certain things and spend a certain amount before you have earned to live that way, you will have to borrow money. That large chunk of debt will keep you from building wealth. The world, the government, your boss, and no one else owes you a thing. With the rare exception of a few folks who inherited wealth, most people who have more than you have worked harder, saved more, and spent smarter than you have. Take some responsibility for youself and make a decision to do something to move forward. A man, who was one time appreciating a house that I was building (and paying cash for) told me that he wished he could have a house someday like mine. I asked him why he didn't think he would. And he said "are you crazy? I could never have enough money to have a house like this.". I told him that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he wasn't willing to "pay the price". And the price was not measured in $$$$. The price was measured in the fact that I was willing to work 50 or 55 or 60 hours a week to earn extra money to pay cash for something. Whereas he was primarily focused on how soon 5 o'clock would arrive so that he could get off and go get a beer. I deserved the house I was building. He didn't.
You care what your car looks like: A car is a means of transportation to get from one place to another, but many people don't view it that way. Instead, they consider it a reflection of themselves and spend money every two years or so to feel better about themselves or to impress others instead of driving the car for its entire useful life and investing the money saved. I drive a seven year old nice car that still runs wonderful, is very comfortable, and has 145,000 miles on it. My car payment is zero and I am just as comfortable in it as I would be in a car that was new or that I was making payments on. A car . . .unless it is a collector or toy . . .has no value other than to get you from Point A to Point B and perhaps to do it in some measure of comfort. Most cars lose money every day that you own them. Now . . I am not throwing stones at anyone. I have had nice cars before. But I wish now I had the money back that I lost on owning them. They didn't get me anywhere I was wanting to go any faster or more comfortably than the 7 year old Toyota I have now. I've also had two expensive collector cars that were sports cars. I did not buy them for status. I bought them for fun. I don't do many other things for entertainment that cost money, so I spent money on those cars as an entertainment option. At the time I could afford that kind of entertainment. The day came when I couldn't. Today I could again, but I choose to spend my money on things that will be more practical and that will make me money. And lastly, I should add, that sometimes the excuse is given (as I did to myself) that I "need" a very nice car for the sake of my business. That is rubbish. A client can be just as comfortable in my car as he ever would have been in a Cadillac. And if he's the type client that I need to impress, then I've decided that I'd just as soon not have clients like that.
You lack diversification: There is a reason one of the oldest pieces of financial advice is to not keep all your eggs in a single basket. Having a diversified investment portfolio makes it much less likely that wealth will suddenly disappear. It also helps you to see if one basket is going rotten you can dump it without contaminating or spoiling the other baskets.
You started too late: The magic of compound interest works best over long periods of time. If you find you're always saying there will be time to save and invest in a couple more years, you'll wake up one day to find retirement is just around the corner and there is still nothing in your retirement account. It would still be better to save 500.00 a month for 5 years, than it would be to save nothing for 30 years.
You don't do what you enjoy: While your job doesn't necessarily need to be your dream job, you need to enjoy it. If you choose a job you don't like just for the money, you'll likely spend all that extra cash trying to relieve the stress of doing work you hate. Many have been critical of me in because I've been a printer, a salesman, a school principal, a cotton broker, a builder and a hotel operator. It seems to a lot of people that I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But the fact is that if something stops being fun, or I find something else to do that might be more fun than what I'm doing . . . . or more prosperous . . .I will get up and make a change. I have loved practically every job I've ever done.
You don't like to learn: You may have assumed that once you graduated from high school or college, there was no need to study or learn. That attitude might be enough to get you your first job or keep you employed, but it will never make you rich. A willingness to learn to improve your career and finances are essential if you want to eventually become wealthy. I flunked out of college for lack of enthusiasm and desire. But it didn't mean I didn't want to learn. I just didn't want to go to college. And even if you can't read well, or don't enjoy reading, you can watch the Discovery Channel or the History Channel, or The Learning Channel and learn more about life and how things work. But if you sit around watching the Simpson's, then you can simply expect to go through life as a cartoon character yourself.
You buy things you don't use: Take a look around your house, in the closets, basement, attic and garage and see if there are a lot of things you haven't used in the past year. If there are, chances are that all those things you purchased were wasted money that could have been used to increase your net worth. I personally think that if I look at something and can't remember using it in the past two years, that I don't need it. I can't see a reason to own more than six dress shirts, six sport shirts and six pair of pants. Three pair of shoes is plenty and anything else is excess. If you're hanging around friends that you feel would not think well of you for having a limited wardrobe, then you should get some new friends. Being "stylish" is about one of the silliest waste of money I can imagine. Take the money from buying a large wardrobe and invest it into something that will make you more money where you can achieve a point of not having to work as much. I just got back from the cobbler today a pair of shoes that I've owned for 15 years. I love those shoes and have had them repaired and resoled many times in those years. Today my bill was 62.00 to have them look brand new all over again and now they'll last me two or three more years. That's a cheap price for a pair of great shoes.
You don't understand value: You buy things for any number of reasons besides the value that the purchase brings to you. This is not limited to those who feel the need to buy the most expensive items, but can also apply to those who always purchase the cheapest goods. Rarely are either the best value, and it's only when you learn to purchase good value that you have money left over to invest for your future. And I'm not saying you can't have expensive things. If it brings you a value, either financially or mentally or emotionally, then it could be worth every penny of what you paid for it. But if you bought something just because it was the "designer" name then it was extravagance. (PS. I do own one Armani suit. It was extravagance. It's not much better than a $800.00 suit. But it is better. Its a great suit. And I like the way it hangs on me. I like the feel of the fabric. But it was still extravagance.) I regretted wasting the money on it ten days after I bought it. If I had put that $2,500.00 into my business ten years ago, I'd have $7,500.00 more in the bank today and could buy a closet full of suits if I wanted. I could even buy a modest suit every year off the interest that I made on the money I had saved by not buying it. In general . . .it was one of the dumbest decisions of my life.
Your house is too big: When you buy a house that is bigger than you can afford or need, you end up spending extra money on longer debt payments, increased taxes, higher upkeep and more things to fill it. Some people will try to argue that the increased value of the house makes it a good investment, but the truth is that unless you are willing to downgrade your living standards, which most people are not, it will never be a liquid asset or money that you can ever use and enjoy. Find a house that meets your needs and then buy that house. But try to find on that just meets your needs and provides your family a level of comfort and safety that will make the house and asset to your living standard and not a distraction. Or in some cases, you can rent cheaper and invest the difference. That can make sense too.
You fail to take advantage of opportunities: There has probably been more than one occasion where you heard about someone who has made it big and thought to yourself, "I could have thought of that." There are plenty of opportunities if you have the will and determination to keep your eyes open. I myself, have a tendency to consider new ideas and wonder to myself "well, if it was a great idea why hasn't someone else already done it?". And the answer is simply that maybe no one else has thought of it.
That's it for tonight. I'll write more later girls as I remember them. For a broader perspective on wealth, read back a few weeks to the letter from the employer to his employees about the Stimulus checks and taxation and redistribution of wealth.
You feel entitlement: If you believe you deserve to live a certain lifestyle, have certain things and spend a certain amount before you have earned to live that way, you will have to borrow money. That large chunk of debt will keep you from building wealth. The world, the government, your boss, and no one else owes you a thing. With the rare exception of a few folks who inherited wealth, most people who have more than you have worked harder, saved more, and spent smarter than you have. Take some responsibility for youself and make a decision to do something to move forward. A man, who was one time appreciating a house that I was building (and paying cash for) told me that he wished he could have a house someday like mine. I asked him why he didn't think he would. And he said "are you crazy? I could never have enough money to have a house like this.". I told him that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he wasn't willing to "pay the price". And the price was not measured in $$$$. The price was measured in the fact that I was willing to work 50 or 55 or 60 hours a week to earn extra money to pay cash for something. Whereas he was primarily focused on how soon 5 o'clock would arrive so that he could get off and go get a beer. I deserved the house I was building. He didn't.
You care what your car looks like: A car is a means of transportation to get from one place to another, but many people don't view it that way. Instead, they consider it a reflection of themselves and spend money every two years or so to feel better about themselves or to impress others instead of driving the car for its entire useful life and investing the money saved. I drive a seven year old nice car that still runs wonderful, is very comfortable, and has 145,000 miles on it. My car payment is zero and I am just as comfortable in it as I would be in a car that was new or that I was making payments on. A car . . .unless it is a collector or toy . . .has no value other than to get you from Point A to Point B and perhaps to do it in some measure of comfort. Most cars lose money every day that you own them. Now . . I am not throwing stones at anyone. I have had nice cars before. But I wish now I had the money back that I lost on owning them. They didn't get me anywhere I was wanting to go any faster or more comfortably than the 7 year old Toyota I have now. I've also had two expensive collector cars that were sports cars. I did not buy them for status. I bought them for fun. I don't do many other things for entertainment that cost money, so I spent money on those cars as an entertainment option. At the time I could afford that kind of entertainment. The day came when I couldn't. Today I could again, but I choose to spend my money on things that will be more practical and that will make me money. And lastly, I should add, that sometimes the excuse is given (as I did to myself) that I "need" a very nice car for the sake of my business. That is rubbish. A client can be just as comfortable in my car as he ever would have been in a Cadillac. And if he's the type client that I need to impress, then I've decided that I'd just as soon not have clients like that.
You lack diversification: There is a reason one of the oldest pieces of financial advice is to not keep all your eggs in a single basket. Having a diversified investment portfolio makes it much less likely that wealth will suddenly disappear. It also helps you to see if one basket is going rotten you can dump it without contaminating or spoiling the other baskets.
You started too late: The magic of compound interest works best over long periods of time. If you find you're always saying there will be time to save and invest in a couple more years, you'll wake up one day to find retirement is just around the corner and there is still nothing in your retirement account. It would still be better to save 500.00 a month for 5 years, than it would be to save nothing for 30 years.
You don't do what you enjoy: While your job doesn't necessarily need to be your dream job, you need to enjoy it. If you choose a job you don't like just for the money, you'll likely spend all that extra cash trying to relieve the stress of doing work you hate. Many have been critical of me in because I've been a printer, a salesman, a school principal, a cotton broker, a builder and a hotel operator. It seems to a lot of people that I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But the fact is that if something stops being fun, or I find something else to do that might be more fun than what I'm doing . . . . or more prosperous . . .I will get up and make a change. I have loved practically every job I've ever done.
You don't like to learn: You may have assumed that once you graduated from high school or college, there was no need to study or learn. That attitude might be enough to get you your first job or keep you employed, but it will never make you rich. A willingness to learn to improve your career and finances are essential if you want to eventually become wealthy. I flunked out of college for lack of enthusiasm and desire. But it didn't mean I didn't want to learn. I just didn't want to go to college. And even if you can't read well, or don't enjoy reading, you can watch the Discovery Channel or the History Channel, or The Learning Channel and learn more about life and how things work. But if you sit around watching the Simpson's, then you can simply expect to go through life as a cartoon character yourself.
You buy things you don't use: Take a look around your house, in the closets, basement, attic and garage and see if there are a lot of things you haven't used in the past year. If there are, chances are that all those things you purchased were wasted money that could have been used to increase your net worth. I personally think that if I look at something and can't remember using it in the past two years, that I don't need it. I can't see a reason to own more than six dress shirts, six sport shirts and six pair of pants. Three pair of shoes is plenty and anything else is excess. If you're hanging around friends that you feel would not think well of you for having a limited wardrobe, then you should get some new friends. Being "stylish" is about one of the silliest waste of money I can imagine. Take the money from buying a large wardrobe and invest it into something that will make you more money where you can achieve a point of not having to work as much. I just got back from the cobbler today a pair of shoes that I've owned for 15 years. I love those shoes and have had them repaired and resoled many times in those years. Today my bill was 62.00 to have them look brand new all over again and now they'll last me two or three more years. That's a cheap price for a pair of great shoes.
You don't understand value: You buy things for any number of reasons besides the value that the purchase brings to you. This is not limited to those who feel the need to buy the most expensive items, but can also apply to those who always purchase the cheapest goods. Rarely are either the best value, and it's only when you learn to purchase good value that you have money left over to invest for your future. And I'm not saying you can't have expensive things. If it brings you a value, either financially or mentally or emotionally, then it could be worth every penny of what you paid for it. But if you bought something just because it was the "designer" name then it was extravagance. (PS. I do own one Armani suit. It was extravagance. It's not much better than a $800.00 suit. But it is better. Its a great suit. And I like the way it hangs on me. I like the feel of the fabric. But it was still extravagance.) I regretted wasting the money on it ten days after I bought it. If I had put that $2,500.00 into my business ten years ago, I'd have $7,500.00 more in the bank today and could buy a closet full of suits if I wanted. I could even buy a modest suit every year off the interest that I made on the money I had saved by not buying it. In general . . .it was one of the dumbest decisions of my life.
Your house is too big: When you buy a house that is bigger than you can afford or need, you end up spending extra money on longer debt payments, increased taxes, higher upkeep and more things to fill it. Some people will try to argue that the increased value of the house makes it a good investment, but the truth is that unless you are willing to downgrade your living standards, which most people are not, it will never be a liquid asset or money that you can ever use and enjoy. Find a house that meets your needs and then buy that house. But try to find on that just meets your needs and provides your family a level of comfort and safety that will make the house and asset to your living standard and not a distraction. Or in some cases, you can rent cheaper and invest the difference. That can make sense too.
You fail to take advantage of opportunities: There has probably been more than one occasion where you heard about someone who has made it big and thought to yourself, "I could have thought of that." There are plenty of opportunities if you have the will and determination to keep your eyes open. I myself, have a tendency to consider new ideas and wonder to myself "well, if it was a great idea why hasn't someone else already done it?". And the answer is simply that maybe no one else has thought of it.
That's it for tonight. I'll write more later girls as I remember them. For a broader perspective on wealth, read back a few weeks to the letter from the employer to his employees about the Stimulus checks and taxation and redistribution of wealth.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
facts bout Texas
Here are some little known, very interesting facts about Texas . 1. Beaumont to El Paso : 742 miles 2.. Beaumont to Chicago : 770 miles 3... El Paso is closer to California than to Dallas 4. World's first rodeo was in Pecos , July 4, 1883. 5. The Flagship Hotel in Galveston is the only hotel in North America built over water. 6. The Heisman Trophy was named after John William Heisman who was the first full-time coach at Rice University in Houston . 7. Brazoria County has more species of birds than any other area in North America 8. Aransas Wildlife Refuge is the winter home of North America 's only remaining flock of whooping cranes. 9. Jalapeno jelly originated in Lake Jackson in 1978. 10. The worst natural disaster in U.S. history was in 1900, caused by a hurricane, in which over 8,000 lives were lost on Galveston Island . 11. The first word spoken from the moon, July 20,1969, was " Houston ," but the space center was actually in Clear Lake City at the time. 12. King Ranch in South Texas is larger than Rhode Island .. 13. Tropical Storm Claudette brought a U.S. rainfall record of 43" in 24 hours in and around Alvin in July of 1979... 14. Texas is the only state to enter the U.S. by TREATY, (known as the Constitution of 1845 by the Republic of Texas to enter the Union ) instead of by annexation. This allows the Texas Flag to fly at the same height as the U.S. Flag, and may divide into 5 states. 15. A Live Oak tree near Fulton is estimated to be 1500 years old. 16. Caddo Lake is the only natural lake in the state. 17. Dr Pepper was invented in Waco in 1885. There is no period in Dr Pepper.. 18. Texas has had six capital cities: Washington -on- the Brazos, Harrisburg , Galveston ,Velasco, West Columbia and Austin .. 19. The Capitol Dome in Austin is the only dome in the U.S. which is taller than the Capitol Building in Washington DC (by 7 feet). 20. The San Jacinto Monument is the tallest free standing monument in the world and it is taller than the Washington monument. 21. The name ' Texas ' comes from the Hasini Indian word 'tejas' meaning friends. Tejas is not Spanish for Texas .. 22. The State Mascot is the Armadillo (an interesting bit of trivia about the armadillo is they always have four babies. They have one egg, which splits into four, and they either have four males or four females.). 23. The first domed stadium in the U.S. was the Astrodome in Houston
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
An Amusing Puppeteer
I thought this was cute. And certainly an interesting twist on playing with life size puppets.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April 1. Splash Day
Besides being a day for playing jokes on people, April 1st of the year means for me the day I get to take my boat back out of the marina. My insurance policy requires that I "lay up" from November 1 through March 31st. And that simply means that the boat can not be moved away from it's mooring during the winter months. Plus the fact that it gets cold enough up here in Northeast Oklahoma that I have to remove all the fluids from the boat and winterize it. Of course that makes it difficult to spend any evenings on it during the winter since there is no running water while it's "laid up". But the last week in March, marks the time of the year for getting her ready to take back out again. And April 1st is the day to start the engines and take her down river for a bit and check the systems out.
This year I am considering taking the Island Girl all the way down the Arkansas River to the Mississippi and then going on south to New Orleans. If I do go, I'm not sure if I'll turn and head toward Houston and Corpus Christi or whether I make take her down to the Florida Keys. But way, I intend to take things more easy this summer and spend a lot of time on the way.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
The Scent of Vienna
October
Stepping off the plane in the Vienna airport I am reminded how wonderful it is that some things never change. I could be blindfolded, drugged, flown here, and taken off the plane . . . . and instantly I would know, from the mixture of musk and expresso, that I am in the Vienna airport. To me this scent says "welcome back Bud".
I don't even know the people here . . . not a soul . . but they are almost all smiling . . . and welcoming me . . I pretend. They are glad that I'm here even though I'm leaving again in two hours. I stop . . . closing my eyes . . .and tilting my head backwards . . . I take in the scent. I stand so long with my face upturned that the Austrian Air attendant comes up and says "Sir? Are you ok?". I smile and say "yes, I'm ok, I'm only intoxicated". And with a puzzled look on her face, I will walk calmly away.
I have always heard that to get to heaven you have to first make a connection in Atlanta. I'm not sure about that, but I do know that on the plane trip to Odessa, Ukraine you must always connect through Vienna. They tell me that the Austrian officials pay tremendous sums of money to keep Odessans from building an international airport. They legally keep people from flying directly to that beautiful city on the Black Sea that Catherine the Great ordered to be built. Unfortunately, Catherine's authority did not extend into the 21st century or international air travel. But it doesn't bother me this morning . . . or really any other morning I arrive here . . .because I would prefer to make a seven hour flight and a three hour flight, rather than one ten hour flight . . . any day. The man who wouldn't let me sleep last night on the flight from Chicago says that this is a unfair traveling penalty imposed on the Ukraines by vengeful Austrians in retaliation for Hitler loosing the war. Well if it is, then it must be something similar in severity to having your parents punish you by making you finish your chocolate cake before you can go outside and play. Today . . . this moment . . . I am not being punished. I am being aroused. My memories are being stirred. I am in another world.
I have always been more sensitive to smells than other people I know. Which is not a strange thing to me, because I seem to be very different from almost every one I've ever known.
I've been told that the sense of smell is the most closely associated with memory than any of the other senses. I know this is true for me. Smells take me back to far away places, and forgotten friends, and even memories that I wish I didn't remember. Sometimes it would be nice to be able to turn off your nose, but then I wouldn't be able to smell the good either.
I have memories associated with Root Beer, Tide Detergent, PIne Sol, fresh baked bread, vicks vapor rub, cinnamon and Apple Pies. Old Charter Bourbon, hay, cotton seed, and car wax all arouse me in one way or another.
A movie character, Dr. Lecter, taught me how to construct my memory palace and I can go back inside its rooms to many different places or events at the faintest whiff of Garlic Bread or bus emissions or Old Spice Cologne. Some days seem more "scentfull" than others and on those days, I probably spend more time in the past that I do in the present.
Scent of Woman was a great movie and one of my all-time favorites. I am like Al Pacino's character in at least two ways. One, I can tango and will do so with a partner as the only couple on the dance floor. And two, I can pick up a lady's fragrance from across the room. I know that to this very day, when I smell Jungle Gardenia perfume near me, I can still sense the presence of my 7th grade sweetheart, and I can still remember the first feelings of passion, as a young boy . . . having a girl slow dance close to me with "real" boobs . . . as opposed to the false ones the 6th grade girls had. I smell that perfume and I can even hear in my mind's super-high-fidelity-stereophonic-speakers, the harmonious strumming of Santo and Johnny playing their only top forty hit, Sleep Walk. My goodness . . . how many senses can one person have swirl over them at one time . . . but that night as a boy of 13 . . . I must have had every warm and fuzzy emotion a boy can have. And I can look back and remember that it was tortuous in a way. It was terrible to have all those feelings and not know what to do with them, or how to make them last. Forty years later, I still have this problem. Fortunately nature has a way of taking care of those frustrations. I think that night, dancing, may have been the first time a girl told me that my palms were clammy . . .a problem that I've had since then. But I have danced that dance over and over and over in my mind . . . at least one hundred times since.
This list of my smellories goes on and on. When I smell caramel, I remember a popcorn store in my neighborhood as a boy of seven and walking with my mother the four blocks to get there . . . she spent a dime and got me a bag and half way through the 25 cent movie later, I puked my guts out just as Vincent Price was about to strangle a beautiful lady.
To this day I avoid eating caramel and when I see it or smell it, I always think of that beautiful lady that I didn't get to see die, and having to walk home with semi-digested-sticky-caramel-coated-popcorn all over my shirt. Of course one of my biological discoveries has been the inverse relationship between scents and other scents. The smell of puke now reminds me of the smell of caramel and dying women. And people getting strangled in movies reminds me of puke.
Gardenia flowers, like the perfume are fond stimuli. They take me back to childhood and brief happiness. They make me remember lying in bed late on Saturday mornings in the spring time in my boyhood home. With no air conditioning, my bedroom window was open on any warm day and the scent wafted through my room and across my bed. I had seen a movie with Betty Davis and she had gardenias growing outside her bedroom. I learned attractiveness-through-association, from Miss Davis. I thought she was ugly, but Peter Lorrie thought she was beautiful. And I liked Peter Lorrie so therefor I liked Betty Davis. It was nice to be young and poor and a nobody, and still have something in common with a famous person. I really don't think though, that Vincent Price was a Gardenia-loving-kinda-guy. I imagine that he had deep dark blood red roses outside his window. I wonder though, what the beautiful woman he was stangling had outside her window?
The smell of a new baseball glove makes me think about rejection and being told to go away. It's a smell of sadness and melancholy. Wanting to play so badly, a boy of seven doesn't understand being told that he's not wanted on either team. I was sure that I could do good if they'd give me a chance. I'd even gotten my mother to get me a new glove to show them my earnestness. But the new glove wasn't noticed. It didn't do the trick to make me wanted. In hindsight, I can see that his mother could put a 200 dollar football helmet on Stevie Wonder, but he still couldn't have caught the ball and no one would have picked him either. Unfortunately the hindsight of a seven year old is not focused to wisdom . . but things like caramel popcorn and puke and horror movies.
Today I am older . . .and maybe wiser. And it's probably good that I didn't have a son. I'm sure that I'd have prodded him on to being a great poet, or mathematician, or writer, or dress designer, or something other than normal boyish sporting games. If I wasn't any good at it, how could I have ever taught him to be good. I was always most proud of my daughters in their financial or academic achievements rather than their sporting awards. I just never was comfortable playing softball with them. I should have told them so.
Campho Phenique always reminds me of summer days at the home of my great grandmother . . .she being the one who taught me that it is a good cure for anything that ails you if rubbed it in generous proportions on the disease or sore.
I still keep a bottle of it in my nightstand. I also have one in my travel bag, and one in my vanity, and usually a bottle in my car. I think the small bottles make excellent stocking stuffers. I would rather die or listen to Neil Diamond than even think for a moment about using Walgreen's generic for this miracle drug. It is very likely to me that Mother Teresa used it often in treating her poor people in Calcutta.
Cow manure takes me back to the barn next to my great uncle's house and reminds me of hide and seek with my cousins . . .who I found out weren't really playing hide and seek with me, but were simply trying to loose me and get away from me to play by themselves. Maybe I should have tried showing them the new baseball glove that had never been used.
They were actually second or third cousins, I was told, and they were the first snobs that I ever met. My mother told me they thought they were rich because their mother had a lot of rich boyfriends, but that actually they had no more money than we did. I had overheard my mother telling my other aunt that my cousins' mom was a "loose woman". I tried so hard to understand what it meant, and for years just believed it was a woman who dated rich boyfriends. Maybe that is still what it means. My mother always had interesting explanations for why anyone had more money than us.
I was ten and my cousins made me feel so unwanted and like a such a loser that for most of my junior high and high school years I felt like people were trying to avoid being with me. But it also taught me to always gravitate toward the other "apparent" losers in life that I encountered and choose them to be on my team. I say apparent, because I've learned over the years that many people only appear to be losers. . . just like I appeared that way to my cousins. But in fact they aren't. They just need someone to believe in them, like my cousins wouldn't believe in me. I have many good memories of hide and seek with my leper friends from elementary school. I think I would have probably even chose Stevie Wonder to be on my team.
The scent of the salty ocean air reminds me of times in the 6th grade playing at my uncle's beach cabana, north of Los Angeles. It was small . . a shack really . . . but to a 12 year old boy it was grandiose and offered me a chance to live in the lap of luxury. I was sure at the time that celebrities like Steve McQueen did this sort of thing every day . . . possibly in this very spot on the beach. . .but he was gone today . . .because (I imagined) we were there. Maybe even Betty Davis walked on that beach. Of course today will be my fourth time this year to come to the Black Sea, and I have many new memories to associate with the smell of the ocean. But the cabana will never go away when I smell the salty ocean air. Somehow though, I just can't picture Steve McQueen liking it here. He didn't seem much like a Black-Sea-kind-of-guy when he was breaking out of the Nazi concentration camp in The Great Escape.
The smell of new car leather takes me back to being a child, of only five, and being picked up by my biological father for his twice-a-decade visit. His car seemed to have been a sparkling new Cadillac that was at least a city block long. And the lady that was in the front seat with him, with the long legs, flowing blonde hair, ruby red lips, and the plush mink coat . . . well . . . she was the closest I'd ever come in my life to a movie star . . . I thought. My mother had to explain to me that she was "one" of my daddy's girlfriends. Up until that time I didn't realize that boys might have more than one. Actually, I didn't even know until that night that men had girlfriends. I thought that men had wives and boys had girlfriends. I'm sure today that she was the finest woman money could buy. She called him "honeeeeeee" in a way that drew out the long "E" sound into what sounded like she had pinched her finger in a door. I learned later in life that this is the way some people trying to make their voice sound dramatic. I thought it sounded painful and today still detest that term. The back seat had a pull down arm rest that my daddy . . . (his term for himself . . .not mine) told me was in fact a child's seat for little boys my age so that I could see out the windshield. This was why he had bought this particular car . . . (so he said) . . so that I would have my own seat. I believed him of course, just as I would have believed him if he told me the moon was made of cheese or that he loved me. Five years without a father is a long time for a boy of five. I probably wouldn't have cared even then, if I'd known he was lying . . . I just wanted him to tell me anything. All of my friends had fathers who told them things all the time, all five years of their lives.
Looking back now, I wish that if he was going to be a liar to me, that he'd at least gone on farther with the lie and written me letters telling me of why his enlistment in the French Foreign Legion . . . or anything . . .had kept him away and caused him not be able to return to America . . . and to me. I was too young to know about postmarks. If he said he was writing from Africa, I just would have believed it. It would have been much more reasonable . . . if a five year old boy can be reasonable . . . to believe that the reason he didn't take me with him, was because it wasn't safe where he was going. I wish I'd gotten a hundred letters from him full of lies about missing me and loving me. And then maybe a final letter someday, from him, pretending to be his buddy, informing me of my father's death on the battlefield in Algiers after throwing himself on a grenade to save his platoon. Instead I got no letters to remember him by. Just the memory of the smell of new car leather, and a ride in a luxury car with a seat for a child, a trip to Mooreland's Drug Store for a hamburger, a movie, a trip to Bolin's toy store and then a trip home again on the child's seat, in the long new Cadillac, bought just for me to ride on. And then a good bye as he drove off with the movie starlet and me screaming at the top of my lungs to take me with him. And so now, the new leather smell does not remind me of good things, like for instance the smell of Jungle Gardenia. . . because even though he told me everything wonderful that night, he didn't tell me that he would take me with him to where ever he was going when he left. I'm not so sure that I really wanted to go where he was going, I just wanted to know that he wanted to be with me. I used to be under the impression that if you loved someone that you wanted them to be with you. And though I'm sure he must have told me that he loved me that night, that memory is totally gone from my mind because if he had loved me he would have wanted to take me with him and us live together forever like families were supposed to do. Something - even at five - told me that I would have been more loveable for him than Zsa Zsa. At least that's what I thought at the time. I must have been wrong.
Today though, is different than that night almost fifty years ago. It's not the smell of new leather coming through my flared out nostrils. And it's not the smell of manure and the memory of being left alone in the barn, or anywhere else. I have paused for a long, long time at the exit to the gateway and I stand here just staring at all the hundreds of other passengers in the terminal and I find peace in the knowledge that some things never change.
It was worth waiting seven hours for, to step off and smell this. It was worth seven hours of flying, to be reminded of the things in life I can count on. No one is trying to get away from me here. No one is thinking of leaving me behind. Or telling me to go away. We're all just here assembled in this great terminal area being swirled and stirred together in one big pot. It's sort of a human globogumbo. Today both those cousins are bums and losers and they are not part of the ingredients. I am the one on a holiday heading for the Black Sea and now it's my turn to hide from them. I am in Vienna.
Stepping off the plane in the Vienna airport I am reminded how wonderful it is that some things never change. I could be blindfolded, drugged, flown here, and taken off the plane . . . . and instantly I would know, from the mixture of musk and expresso, that I am in the Vienna airport. To me this scent says "welcome back Bud".
I don't even know the people here . . . not a soul . . but they are almost all smiling . . . and welcoming me . . I pretend. They are glad that I'm here even though I'm leaving again in two hours. I stop . . . closing my eyes . . .and tilting my head backwards . . . I take in the scent. I stand so long with my face upturned that the Austrian Air attendant comes up and says "Sir? Are you ok?". I smile and say "yes, I'm ok, I'm only intoxicated". And with a puzzled look on her face, I will walk calmly away.
I have always heard that to get to heaven you have to first make a connection in Atlanta. I'm not sure about that, but I do know that on the plane trip to Odessa, Ukraine you must always connect through Vienna. They tell me that the Austrian officials pay tremendous sums of money to keep Odessans from building an international airport. They legally keep people from flying directly to that beautiful city on the Black Sea that Catherine the Great ordered to be built. Unfortunately, Catherine's authority did not extend into the 21st century or international air travel. But it doesn't bother me this morning . . . or really any other morning I arrive here . . .because I would prefer to make a seven hour flight and a three hour flight, rather than one ten hour flight . . . any day. The man who wouldn't let me sleep last night on the flight from Chicago says that this is a unfair traveling penalty imposed on the Ukraines by vengeful Austrians in retaliation for Hitler loosing the war. Well if it is, then it must be something similar in severity to having your parents punish you by making you finish your chocolate cake before you can go outside and play. Today . . . this moment . . . I am not being punished. I am being aroused. My memories are being stirred. I am in another world.
I have always been more sensitive to smells than other people I know. Which is not a strange thing to me, because I seem to be very different from almost every one I've ever known.
I've been told that the sense of smell is the most closely associated with memory than any of the other senses. I know this is true for me. Smells take me back to far away places, and forgotten friends, and even memories that I wish I didn't remember. Sometimes it would be nice to be able to turn off your nose, but then I wouldn't be able to smell the good either.
I have memories associated with Root Beer, Tide Detergent, PIne Sol, fresh baked bread, vicks vapor rub, cinnamon and Apple Pies. Old Charter Bourbon, hay, cotton seed, and car wax all arouse me in one way or another.
A movie character, Dr. Lecter, taught me how to construct my memory palace and I can go back inside its rooms to many different places or events at the faintest whiff of Garlic Bread or bus emissions or Old Spice Cologne. Some days seem more "scentfull" than others and on those days, I probably spend more time in the past that I do in the present.Scent of Woman was a great movie and one of my all-time favorites. I am like Al Pacino's character in at least two ways. One, I can tango and will do so with a partner as the only couple on the dance floor. And two, I can pick up a lady's fragrance from across the room. I know that to this very day, when I smell Jungle Gardenia perfume near me, I can still sense the presence of my 7th grade sweetheart, and I can still remember the first feelings of passion, as a young boy . . . having a girl slow dance close to me with "real" boobs . . . as opposed to the false ones the 6th grade girls had. I smell that perfume and I can even hear in my mind's super-high-fidelity-stereophonic-speakers, the harmonious strumming of Santo and Johnny playing their only top forty hit, Sleep Walk. My goodness . . . how many senses can one person have swirl over them at one time . . . but that night as a boy of 13 . . . I must have had every warm and fuzzy emotion a boy can have. And I can look back and remember that it was tortuous in a way. It was terrible to have all those feelings and not know what to do with them, or how to make them last. Forty years later, I still have this problem. Fortunately nature has a way of taking care of those frustrations. I think that night, dancing, may have been the first time a girl told me that my palms were clammy . . .a problem that I've had since then. But I have danced that dance over and over and over in my mind . . . at least one hundred times since.
This list of my smellories goes on and on. When I smell caramel, I remember a popcorn store in my neighborhood as a boy of seven and walking with my mother the four blocks to get there . . . she spent a dime and got me a bag and half way through the 25 cent movie later, I puked my guts out just as Vincent Price was about to strangle a beautiful lady.
To this day I avoid eating caramel and when I see it or smell it, I always think of that beautiful lady that I didn't get to see die, and having to walk home with semi-digested-sticky-caramel-coated-popcorn all over my shirt. Of course one of my biological discoveries has been the inverse relationship between scents and other scents. The smell of puke now reminds me of the smell of caramel and dying women. And people getting strangled in movies reminds me of puke.
Gardenia flowers, like the perfume are fond stimuli. They take me back to childhood and brief happiness. They make me remember lying in bed late on Saturday mornings in the spring time in my boyhood home. With no air conditioning, my bedroom window was open on any warm day and the scent wafted through my room and across my bed. I had seen a movie with Betty Davis and she had gardenias growing outside her bedroom. I learned attractiveness-through-association, from Miss Davis. I thought she was ugly, but Peter Lorrie thought she was beautiful. And I liked Peter Lorrie so therefor I liked Betty Davis. It was nice to be young and poor and a nobody, and still have something in common with a famous person. I really don't think though, that Vincent Price was a Gardenia-loving-kinda-guy. I imagine that he had deep dark blood red roses outside his window. I wonder though, what the beautiful woman he was stangling had outside her window?
The smell of a new baseball glove makes me think about rejection and being told to go away. It's a smell of sadness and melancholy. Wanting to play so badly, a boy of seven doesn't understand being told that he's not wanted on either team. I was sure that I could do good if they'd give me a chance. I'd even gotten my mother to get me a new glove to show them my earnestness. But the new glove wasn't noticed. It didn't do the trick to make me wanted. In hindsight, I can see that his mother could put a 200 dollar football helmet on Stevie Wonder, but he still couldn't have caught the ball and no one would have picked him either. Unfortunately the hindsight of a seven year old is not focused to wisdom . . but things like caramel popcorn and puke and horror movies.
Today I am older . . .and maybe wiser. And it's probably good that I didn't have a son. I'm sure that I'd have prodded him on to being a great poet, or mathematician, or writer, or dress designer, or something other than normal boyish sporting games. If I wasn't any good at it, how could I have ever taught him to be good. I was always most proud of my daughters in their financial or academic achievements rather than their sporting awards. I just never was comfortable playing softball with them. I should have told them so.
Campho Phenique always reminds me of summer days at the home of my great grandmother . . .she being the one who taught me that it is a good cure for anything that ails you if rubbed it in generous proportions on the disease or sore.
I still keep a bottle of it in my nightstand. I also have one in my travel bag, and one in my vanity, and usually a bottle in my car. I think the small bottles make excellent stocking stuffers. I would rather die or listen to Neil Diamond than even think for a moment about using Walgreen's generic for this miracle drug. It is very likely to me that Mother Teresa used it often in treating her poor people in Calcutta.Cow manure takes me back to the barn next to my great uncle's house and reminds me of hide and seek with my cousins . . .who I found out weren't really playing hide and seek with me, but were simply trying to loose me and get away from me to play by themselves. Maybe I should have tried showing them the new baseball glove that had never been used.
They were actually second or third cousins, I was told, and they were the first snobs that I ever met. My mother told me they thought they were rich because their mother had a lot of rich boyfriends, but that actually they had no more money than we did. I had overheard my mother telling my other aunt that my cousins' mom was a "loose woman". I tried so hard to understand what it meant, and for years just believed it was a woman who dated rich boyfriends. Maybe that is still what it means. My mother always had interesting explanations for why anyone had more money than us.
I was ten and my cousins made me feel so unwanted and like a such a loser that for most of my junior high and high school years I felt like people were trying to avoid being with me. But it also taught me to always gravitate toward the other "apparent" losers in life that I encountered and choose them to be on my team. I say apparent, because I've learned over the years that many people only appear to be losers. . . just like I appeared that way to my cousins. But in fact they aren't. They just need someone to believe in them, like my cousins wouldn't believe in me. I have many good memories of hide and seek with my leper friends from elementary school. I think I would have probably even chose Stevie Wonder to be on my team.
The scent of the salty ocean air reminds me of times in the 6th grade playing at my uncle's beach cabana, north of Los Angeles. It was small . . a shack really . . . but to a 12 year old boy it was grandiose and offered me a chance to live in the lap of luxury. I was sure at the time that celebrities like Steve McQueen did this sort of thing every day . . . possibly in this very spot on the beach. . .but he was gone today . . .because (I imagined) we were there. Maybe even Betty Davis walked on that beach. Of course today will be my fourth time this year to come to the Black Sea, and I have many new memories to associate with the smell of the ocean. But the cabana will never go away when I smell the salty ocean air. Somehow though, I just can't picture Steve McQueen liking it here. He didn't seem much like a Black-Sea-kind-of-guy when he was breaking out of the Nazi concentration camp in The Great Escape.
The smell of new car leather takes me back to being a child, of only five, and being picked up by my biological father for his twice-a-decade visit. His car seemed to have been a sparkling new Cadillac that was at least a city block long. And the lady that was in the front seat with him, with the long legs, flowing blonde hair, ruby red lips, and the plush mink coat . . . well . . . she was the closest I'd ever come in my life to a movie star . . . I thought. My mother had to explain to me that she was "one" of my daddy's girlfriends. Up until that time I didn't realize that boys might have more than one. Actually, I didn't even know until that night that men had girlfriends. I thought that men had wives and boys had girlfriends. I'm sure today that she was the finest woman money could buy. She called him "honeeeeeee" in a way that drew out the long "E" sound into what sounded like she had pinched her finger in a door. I learned later in life that this is the way some people trying to make their voice sound dramatic. I thought it sounded painful and today still detest that term. The back seat had a pull down arm rest that my daddy . . . (his term for himself . . .not mine) told me was in fact a child's seat for little boys my age so that I could see out the windshield. This was why he had bought this particular car . . . (so he said) . . so that I would have my own seat. I believed him of course, just as I would have believed him if he told me the moon was made of cheese or that he loved me. Five years without a father is a long time for a boy of five. I probably wouldn't have cared even then, if I'd known he was lying . . . I just wanted him to tell me anything. All of my friends had fathers who told them things all the time, all five years of their lives.
Looking back now, I wish that if he was going to be a liar to me, that he'd at least gone on farther with the lie and written me letters telling me of why his enlistment in the French Foreign Legion . . . or anything . . .had kept him away and caused him not be able to return to America . . . and to me. I was too young to know about postmarks. If he said he was writing from Africa, I just would have believed it. It would have been much more reasonable . . . if a five year old boy can be reasonable . . . to believe that the reason he didn't take me with him, was because it wasn't safe where he was going. I wish I'd gotten a hundred letters from him full of lies about missing me and loving me. And then maybe a final letter someday, from him, pretending to be his buddy, informing me of my father's death on the battlefield in Algiers after throwing himself on a grenade to save his platoon. Instead I got no letters to remember him by. Just the memory of the smell of new car leather, and a ride in a luxury car with a seat for a child, a trip to Mooreland's Drug Store for a hamburger, a movie, a trip to Bolin's toy store and then a trip home again on the child's seat, in the long new Cadillac, bought just for me to ride on. And then a good bye as he drove off with the movie starlet and me screaming at the top of my lungs to take me with him. And so now, the new leather smell does not remind me of good things, like for instance the smell of Jungle Gardenia. . . because even though he told me everything wonderful that night, he didn't tell me that he would take me with him to where ever he was going when he left. I'm not so sure that I really wanted to go where he was going, I just wanted to know that he wanted to be with me. I used to be under the impression that if you loved someone that you wanted them to be with you. And though I'm sure he must have told me that he loved me that night, that memory is totally gone from my mind because if he had loved me he would have wanted to take me with him and us live together forever like families were supposed to do. Something - even at five - told me that I would have been more loveable for him than Zsa Zsa. At least that's what I thought at the time. I must have been wrong.
Today though, is different than that night almost fifty years ago. It's not the smell of new leather coming through my flared out nostrils. And it's not the smell of manure and the memory of being left alone in the barn, or anywhere else. I have paused for a long, long time at the exit to the gateway and I stand here just staring at all the hundreds of other passengers in the terminal and I find peace in the knowledge that some things never change.
It was worth waiting seven hours for, to step off and smell this. It was worth seven hours of flying, to be reminded of the things in life I can count on. No one is trying to get away from me here. No one is thinking of leaving me behind. Or telling me to go away. We're all just here assembled in this great terminal area being swirled and stirred together in one big pot. It's sort of a human globogumbo. Today both those cousins are bums and losers and they are not part of the ingredients. I am the one on a holiday heading for the Black Sea and now it's my turn to hide from them. I am in Vienna.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Why can't we all just get along?????
Click here: http://www.youtube.com/v/D85yrIgA4Nk
I think that people can learn to get along with other types of people regardless of the background.
Hope you enjoy this. It's cute.
This is a video of a homeless man in Santa Barbara and his pets.
They work State Street every week for donations.
The animals are pretty well fed and are mellow. They are a family.
The man who owns them rigged up a harness for his cat so she
wouldn't have to walk so much (like the dog and him).
At some juncture the rat came along, and as no one wanted
to eat anyone else, the rat started riding with the cat and,
often, on the cat! The dog will stand all day and let you talk
to him and admire him for a few chin scratches.
The Mayor of Santa Barbara filmed this clip and sent it out
as a holiday card. A great video .....a MUST watch!
I think that people can learn to get along with other types of people regardless of the background.
Hope you enjoy this. It's cute.
This is a video of a homeless man in Santa Barbara and his pets.
They work State Street every week for donations.
The animals are pretty well fed and are mellow. They are a family.
The man who owns them rigged up a harness for his cat so she
wouldn't have to walk so much (like the dog and him).
At some juncture the rat came along, and as no one wanted
to eat anyone else, the rat started riding with the cat and,
often, on the cat! The dog will stand all day and let you talk
to him and admire him for a few chin scratches.
The Mayor of Santa Barbara filmed this clip and sent it out
as a holiday card. A great video .....a MUST watch!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I want my Grandkids to learn better
We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made many things worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better.
I'd really like for them to know about hand me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would. My mom made me think that getting a slice of bread with just some ketchup spread on it was a treat. I hope they learn the value of some simple things.
I hope they never think it's a waste of time to bend over and pick up a penny when theysee one on the ground. And think to themselves that they found free money.
I hope they learn humility by being humiliated, and that they learn honesty by being cheated.
I hope they learn to make their own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
And I really hope nobody gives them a brand new car when they are sixteen.
It will be good if at least one time they can see puppies born and their old dog put to sleep.
I hope they get a black eye fighting for something they believe in.
I hope they have to share a bedroom with their younger brother or sister. And it's all right if they have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when they want to crawl under the covers with you because they are scared, I hope you let them.
When they want to see a movie and their little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope they'll let him/her. I hope they have to walk uphill to school with their friends and that they live in a town where they can do it safely.
On rainy days when they have to catch a ride, I hope they don't ask their driver to drop them two blocks away so they won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as their Mom..
If they want a slingshot, I hope their Dad teaches them how to make one instead of buying one.I hope they learn to dig in the dirt and read books.
When they learn to use computers, I hope they also learn to add and subtract in their head.
I hope they get teased by their friends when they have their first crush on a boy or girl, and when they talk back to their mother that they learn what ivory soap tastes like.
May they skin their knee climbing a mountain, burn their hand on a stove and stick their tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I don't care if they try a beer once, but I hope they don't like it. And if a friend offers them dope or a joint, I hope they realize they are not your friend.
I sure hope they make time to sit on a porch with me someday and even listen to me tell them some story for the fifth time and act like they've never heard me tell it before.
I hope they learn to feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.
I hope their mother punishes them when they throw a baseball through their neighbor's window and that she hugs them and kisses them at Christmas time when they give her a plaster mold of their hand.
These things I wish for them - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.
I'm here for you. And if I die before you do, I'll go to heaven and wait for you.
I'd really like for them to know about hand me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would. My mom made me think that getting a slice of bread with just some ketchup spread on it was a treat. I hope they learn the value of some simple things.
I hope they never think it's a waste of time to bend over and pick up a penny when theysee one on the ground. And think to themselves that they found free money.
I hope they learn humility by being humiliated, and that they learn honesty by being cheated.
I hope they learn to make their own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
And I really hope nobody gives them a brand new car when they are sixteen.
It will be good if at least one time they can see puppies born and their old dog put to sleep.
I hope they get a black eye fighting for something they believe in.
I hope they have to share a bedroom with their younger brother or sister. And it's all right if they have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when they want to crawl under the covers with you because they are scared, I hope you let them.
When they want to see a movie and their little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope they'll let him/her. I hope they have to walk uphill to school with their friends and that they live in a town where they can do it safely.
On rainy days when they have to catch a ride, I hope they don't ask their driver to drop them two blocks away so they won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as their Mom..
If they want a slingshot, I hope their Dad teaches them how to make one instead of buying one.I hope they learn to dig in the dirt and read books.
When they learn to use computers, I hope they also learn to add and subtract in their head.
I hope they get teased by their friends when they have their first crush on a boy or girl, and when they talk back to their mother that they learn what ivory soap tastes like.
May they skin their knee climbing a mountain, burn their hand on a stove and stick their tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I don't care if they try a beer once, but I hope they don't like it. And if a friend offers them dope or a joint, I hope they realize they are not your friend.
I sure hope they make time to sit on a porch with me someday and even listen to me tell them some story for the fifth time and act like they've never heard me tell it before.
I hope they learn to feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.
I hope their mother punishes them when they throw a baseball through their neighbor's window and that she hugs them and kisses them at Christmas time when they give her a plaster mold of their hand.
These things I wish for them - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.
I'm here for you. And if I die before you do, I'll go to heaven and wait for you.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Music that Calms me down a bit
It never fails, in any moment of stress or strife, I can listen to this opera piece and calm myself down.
Dante's La Vita Noveau
Dante's La Vita Noveau
Thursday, February 5, 2009
stepping into Paradise
My best friend Julia stepped over into Paradise today. I'm so anxious to see her again. And, though sad at our separation, I have joy that I have a confidence that I will see her again and enjoy her friendship. She was a stalwart of the faith. A saint. A bright shining candle. And the world will not be so bright now with her candle gone out.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
missed goals
Today is my birthday. And I missed a major life goal. I had intended to retire by this time in my life at least 1 week out of each month. I have had some things that I'd hoped for that did not materialize. But nevertheless, I continue on. I will move toward that goal and hopefully soon be able to not work so many hours, nor have so many stressful things on my mind.
I've been here in the place before and thought that I'd learned my lesson and would never get so consumed again. But my business has consumed me and sometimes the responsibilities and pressures and stress seem unbearable. I will . . . by the grace of God . . .very soon . . . unchain myself from so much. I will get back to a place of life being more simple with fewer decisions and responsibilities to take my attention.
I have other priorities now and I want all the time I can have to pursue those.
I continue on.
As I have told my children, if you don't have a destination in mind, any road will take you to no where. I set the goal in front of me and continue on.
I've been here in the place before and thought that I'd learned my lesson and would never get so consumed again. But my business has consumed me and sometimes the responsibilities and pressures and stress seem unbearable. I will . . . by the grace of God . . .very soon . . . unchain myself from so much. I will get back to a place of life being more simple with fewer decisions and responsibilities to take my attention.
I have other priorities now and I want all the time I can have to pursue those.
I continue on.
As I have told my children, if you don't have a destination in mind, any road will take you to no where. I set the goal in front of me and continue on.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Something never change
There was a scorpion that walked down to the river one day and wanted to get to the other side. He found a frog there and inquired if the frog might give him a lift to the other side. The frog said "impossible. You'll sting me and I'll die and drown". The scorpion said "that is silly. Why would I sting you and you drown? I'd drown with you". The frog thought . . .that sounded reasonable.
So the scorpion climbed on and the frog began to swim. When he got about to the middle of the river, the scorpion uncurled his stinger and plunged it into the frog's back. The poison acted quickly in small frog and he began to gasp for air and started to sink with the scorpion on his back. As he was going down he said "why did you do this? you said you wouldn't sting me. Now we'll both drown."
And the scorpion just replied as they were going under "I know I said that, but it's just my nature".
Consider someone's nature. It never changes. If you want to be near a Scorpion, you must decide if you are big enough to not let the poison kill you. You will ALWAYS get stung now and then. They can't help it. It's just their nature.
So the scorpion climbed on and the frog began to swim. When he got about to the middle of the river, the scorpion uncurled his stinger and plunged it into the frog's back. The poison acted quickly in small frog and he began to gasp for air and started to sink with the scorpion on his back. As he was going down he said "why did you do this? you said you wouldn't sting me. Now we'll both drown."
And the scorpion just replied as they were going under "I know I said that, but it's just my nature".
Consider someone's nature. It never changes. If you want to be near a Scorpion, you must decide if you are big enough to not let the poison kill you. You will ALWAYS get stung now and then. They can't help it. It's just their nature.
Monday, January 12, 2009
letter from a friend to his employees
I received this email of a letter that one "rich capitalist" wrote to his employees. It does put a little different twist on the economic situation today and it's certainly not a perspective that you'll read in the newspaper.
To all my valued employees:
There have been some rumblings around the office about the future of this company, and more specifically, your job. As you know, the economy has changed for the worse and presents many challenges. However, the good news is this: The economy doesn't pose a threat to your job. What does threaten your job however, is the changing political landscape in this country.
However, let me tell you some little tidbits of fact which might help you decide what is in your best interests. First, while it is easy to spew rhetoric that casts employers against employees, you have to understand that for every business owner there is a back story. This back story is often neglected and overshadowed by what you see and hear. Sure, you see me park my Mercedes outside. You've seen my big home at last years Christmas party. I'm sure all these flashy icons of luxury conjure up some idealized thoughts about my life. However, what you don't see is the back story. I started this company 28 years ago. At that time, I lived in a 300 square foot studio apartment for 3 years. My entire living apartment was converted into an office so I could put forth 100% effort into building a company, which by the way, would eventually employ you. My diet consisted of Ramen Pride noodles because every dollar I spent went back into this company. I drove a rusty Toyota Corolla with a defective transmission. I didn't have time to date. Often times, I stayed home on weekends, while my friends went out drinking and partying. In fact, I was married to my business--hard work, discipline, and sacrifice. Meanwhile, my friends got jobs. They worked 40 hours a week and made a modest $25K a year and spent every dime they earned. They drove flashy cars and lived in expensive homes and wore fancy designer clothes. Instead of hitting the Nordstrom's for the latest hot fashion item, I was trolling through the Goodwill store extracting any clothing item that didn't look like it was birthed in the 70's. My friends refinanced their mortgages and lived a life of luxury. I, however, did not. I put my time, my money, and my life into a business with a vision that eventually, some day, I too will be able to afford these luxuries my friends supposedly had. So, while you physically arrive at the office at 9am, and then leave at 5pm, I don't. There is no "off" button for me. When you leave the office, you are done and you have a weekend all to yourself. I unfortunately do not have the freedom. I eat, and breathe this company every minute of the day. There is no rest. There is no weekend. There is no happy hour. Every day this business is attached to my hip like a 6-month-old child. You, of course, only see the fruits of that garden--the nice house, the Mercedes, the vacations... you never realize the back story and the sacrifices I've made. Now, the economy is falling apart and I, the guy that made all the right decisions and saved his money, have to bail-out all the people who didn't. The people that overspent their paychecks suddenly feel entitled to the same luxuries that I earned and sacrificed a decade of my life for. Yes, business ownership has its benefits, but the price I've paid is steep and not without wounds. Unfortunately, the cost of running this business--and employing you--is starting to eclipse the threshold of marginal benefit and let me tell you why: I am being taxed to death and the government thinks I don't pay enough. I have state taxes. Federal taxes. Property taxes. Sales and use taxes. Payroll taxes. Workers compensation taxes. Unemployment taxes. Taxes on taxes. I have to hire a tax man to manage all these taxes and then guess what? I have to pay taxes for employing him. Government mandates and regulations and all the accounting that goes with it, now occupy most of my time. On Oct 15th, I wrote a check to the US Treasury for $288,000 for quarterly taxes. You know what my "stimulus" check was? Zero. Nada. Zilch. The question I have is this: Who is stimulating the economy? Me, the guy who has provided 14 people good paying jobs and serves over 2,200,000 people per year with a flourishing business? Or the single, unemployed mother sitting at home pregnant with her fourth child waiting for her next welfare check? Obviously government feels the latter is the economic stimulus of this country. The fact is, if I deducted (read: stole) 50% of your paycheck, you'd quit and you wouldn't work here. I mean, why should you? That's nuts. Who wants to get rewarded only 50% of their hard work? Well, I agree, which is why your job is in jeopardy. Here is what many of you don't understand: To stimulate the economy you need to stimulate what runs the economy. Had suddenly the government mandated to me that I didn't need to pay taxes, guess what? Instead of depositing that $288,000 into the Washington black-hole, I would have spent it, hired more employees, and generated substantial economic growth. My employees would have enjoyed the wealth of that tax cut in the form of promotions and better salaries. But you can forget it now. When you have a comatose man on the verge of death, you don't defibrillate and shock his thumb thinking that will bring him back to life, do you? Or do you defibrillate his heart? Business is at the heart of America and always has been. To restart it, you must stimulate it, not kill it. Suddenly, the power brokers in Washington believe the poor of America are the essential drivers of the American economic engine. Nothing could be further from the truth and this is the type of change you can keep. So where am I going with all this? It's quite simple. If any new taxes are levied on me or my company, my reaction will be swift and simple. I fire you. I fire your co-workers. You can then plead with the government to pay for your mortgage, your SUV, and your child's future. Frankly, it isn't my problem any more. Then I will close this company down, move to another country, and retire. You see, I'm done. I'm done with a country that penalizes the productive and gives to the unproductive. My motivation to work and to provide jobs will be destroyed, and with it will be my citizenship. If you lose your job, it won't be at the hands of the economy; it will be at the hands of a political hurricane that swept through this country, steamrolled the Constitution, and will have changed its landscape forever. If that happens, you can find me sitting on a beach, retired, and with no employees to worry about!
Signed, (name withheld)
To all my valued employees:
There have been some rumblings around the office about the future of this company, and more specifically, your job. As you know, the economy has changed for the worse and presents many challenges. However, the good news is this: The economy doesn't pose a threat to your job. What does threaten your job however, is the changing political landscape in this country.
However, let me tell you some little tidbits of fact which might help you decide what is in your best interests. First, while it is easy to spew rhetoric that casts employers against employees, you have to understand that for every business owner there is a back story. This back story is often neglected and overshadowed by what you see and hear. Sure, you see me park my Mercedes outside. You've seen my big home at last years Christmas party. I'm sure all these flashy icons of luxury conjure up some idealized thoughts about my life. However, what you don't see is the back story. I started this company 28 years ago. At that time, I lived in a 300 square foot studio apartment for 3 years. My entire living apartment was converted into an office so I could put forth 100% effort into building a company, which by the way, would eventually employ you. My diet consisted of Ramen Pride noodles because every dollar I spent went back into this company. I drove a rusty Toyota Corolla with a defective transmission. I didn't have time to date. Often times, I stayed home on weekends, while my friends went out drinking and partying. In fact, I was married to my business--hard work, discipline, and sacrifice. Meanwhile, my friends got jobs. They worked 40 hours a week and made a modest $25K a year and spent every dime they earned. They drove flashy cars and lived in expensive homes and wore fancy designer clothes. Instead of hitting the Nordstrom's for the latest hot fashion item, I was trolling through the Goodwill store extracting any clothing item that didn't look like it was birthed in the 70's. My friends refinanced their mortgages and lived a life of luxury. I, however, did not. I put my time, my money, and my life into a business with a vision that eventually, some day, I too will be able to afford these luxuries my friends supposedly had. So, while you physically arrive at the office at 9am, and then leave at 5pm, I don't. There is no "off" button for me. When you leave the office, you are done and you have a weekend all to yourself. I unfortunately do not have the freedom. I eat, and breathe this company every minute of the day. There is no rest. There is no weekend. There is no happy hour. Every day this business is attached to my hip like a 6-month-old child. You, of course, only see the fruits of that garden--the nice house, the Mercedes, the vacations... you never realize the back story and the sacrifices I've made. Now, the economy is falling apart and I, the guy that made all the right decisions and saved his money, have to bail-out all the people who didn't. The people that overspent their paychecks suddenly feel entitled to the same luxuries that I earned and sacrificed a decade of my life for. Yes, business ownership has its benefits, but the price I've paid is steep and not without wounds. Unfortunately, the cost of running this business--and employing you--is starting to eclipse the threshold of marginal benefit and let me tell you why: I am being taxed to death and the government thinks I don't pay enough. I have state taxes. Federal taxes. Property taxes. Sales and use taxes. Payroll taxes. Workers compensation taxes. Unemployment taxes. Taxes on taxes. I have to hire a tax man to manage all these taxes and then guess what? I have to pay taxes for employing him. Government mandates and regulations and all the accounting that goes with it, now occupy most of my time. On Oct 15th, I wrote a check to the US Treasury for $288,000 for quarterly taxes. You know what my "stimulus" check was? Zero. Nada. Zilch. The question I have is this: Who is stimulating the economy? Me, the guy who has provided 14 people good paying jobs and serves over 2,200,000 people per year with a flourishing business? Or the single, unemployed mother sitting at home pregnant with her fourth child waiting for her next welfare check? Obviously government feels the latter is the economic stimulus of this country. The fact is, if I deducted (read: stole) 50% of your paycheck, you'd quit and you wouldn't work here. I mean, why should you? That's nuts. Who wants to get rewarded only 50% of their hard work? Well, I agree, which is why your job is in jeopardy. Here is what many of you don't understand: To stimulate the economy you need to stimulate what runs the economy. Had suddenly the government mandated to me that I didn't need to pay taxes, guess what? Instead of depositing that $288,000 into the Washington black-hole, I would have spent it, hired more employees, and generated substantial economic growth. My employees would have enjoyed the wealth of that tax cut in the form of promotions and better salaries. But you can forget it now. When you have a comatose man on the verge of death, you don't defibrillate and shock his thumb thinking that will bring him back to life, do you? Or do you defibrillate his heart? Business is at the heart of America and always has been. To restart it, you must stimulate it, not kill it. Suddenly, the power brokers in Washington believe the poor of America are the essential drivers of the American economic engine. Nothing could be further from the truth and this is the type of change you can keep. So where am I going with all this? It's quite simple. If any new taxes are levied on me or my company, my reaction will be swift and simple. I fire you. I fire your co-workers. You can then plead with the government to pay for your mortgage, your SUV, and your child's future. Frankly, it isn't my problem any more. Then I will close this company down, move to another country, and retire. You see, I'm done. I'm done with a country that penalizes the productive and gives to the unproductive. My motivation to work and to provide jobs will be destroyed, and with it will be my citizenship. If you lose your job, it won't be at the hands of the economy; it will be at the hands of a political hurricane that swept through this country, steamrolled the Constitution, and will have changed its landscape forever. If that happens, you can find me sitting on a beach, retired, and with no employees to worry about!
Signed, (name withheld)
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Who will take the message?
Message to Garcia. . . . The Path to Great Riches
To my Friends and Others,
Years ago I was asked to deliver the graduation message at a small private school. I pondered for weeks what words I could say to the graduates that would offer them a brighter hope for their future. I wanted words that might be life changing for them. And I remembered a story that I had heard from a friend about a man and I remembered the secret that had been unlocked for me in my own heart when I heard the story. I took that story of a man who lived many years before me, and embellished it somewhat to fit the culture of today. Today, I found this story saved on my computer and was rereading it. It still inspires me today, the same way it did the first time I heard of this man called Rowan. I have spent many years and much effort in trying to him. There are few priceless things that any person can pass on to another. But this is one. Perhaps you’ll read the story and it will unlock for you, or your children, or someone you know, the secret to a great buried treasure. Perhaps you’ve already discovered in your life the secret in the story. And if so, then feel free to pass the story on to others you know, who might need a road map to a brighter future. If on the other hand you read it and disagree with its philosophy, then feel free also, to send it to the recycle bin. If this attachment happens someday to fall into the hands of a man named Rowan, then I’d love to hear back from him that this message reached him.
Your friend,
Bud
For graduation this year I wanted to come and give each of you a gift of fabulous riches. A long time ago, a friend told me how to obtain more riches than most people have ever imagined. Within the words I am about to tell you is a hidden map. You must listen very carefully to the story I am about to tell you to discover the instructions to find where this treasure is. However, you do not need to take any special care with safeguarding these instructions because most people will not be able to understand how to find the treasure. If after hearing my words, you still have to ask me what the secret is, then you .
have failed to read the map.
I have a question for each of you today? It’s a question being asked over and over every day in every part of the world by hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. Who can find a faithful man or woman? In all of United States history, one person stands out on in my mind as much as any other. I have heard of a faithful man.
Many decades ago, when war broke out between Spain and the United States, it was necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents in a small island country south of the United States. A man named Garcia was somewhere in the mountain vastnesses of Cuba - no one knew where. No mail or telegraph message could reach him. The President of the United States needed to secure his cooperation, and quickly. What could he do? Someone said to the President, “There is a fellow by the name of Rowan who will find Garcia for you, if anybody can.”
Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How the “fellow by the name of Rowan” took the letter, sealed it up in an oilskin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia - these are things I have no time now to tell in detail. The point that I wish to make is this: The President gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, “How can I find him?” This was a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every school in this country. It is not book-learning young people need most, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the backbone which will cause them to be loyal, to be trustworthy, to act promptly, concentrate their energies, and in short - to be faithful - to be able to “Carry a message to Garcia.” With these qualities, any person will obtain all the wisdom and knowledge to be found in every book.
General Garcia is dead now, and so is Rowan. But there are other Garcias to be reached. But the world is still searching for Rowan every day to reward him for his faithfulness. Personally, every day I strive to be a Rowan, and every day I look to find another person like him. Every man or woman who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, has been appalled, at times, by the stupidity of the mediocre woman or man - the inability or unwillingness of most people to concentrate on a thing and to do it. Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and half-hearted work seem the rule: and no man seems to succeed unless by hook or crook or threat or bribes. Perhaps they expect God in His great goodness will perform a miracle, and send them an Angel of Light for an assistant. Perhaps if they wait long enough, someone else will take up the task. You, my friend, put this matter to a test: You are sitting someday in an office and six assistants are within your call. Summon one of them and make a request: “please look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Corregio.” Will the assistant quietly say, “Yes sir,” or “Yes Ma’am” and go do the task ? Probably they will not. More than likely, they will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the following questions: Who was he? Which encyclopedia? Where is the encyclopedia? Was I hired for that? Don’t you mean Bismarck? What’s the matter with Charlie doing it? I didn’t see that this was part of my job description! Is he dead? Is there any hurry? Shall I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself? Why do you want to know? And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the assistant will go off and get one of the other clerks to help them try to find the answer - and then come back and tell you there is no such man as Corregio.
Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Averages I will not. Now if you are wise, you will not bother to explain to your “assistant” that Corregio is indexed under the C’s, not in the K’s, but you will still smile very sweetly and say, “Never Mind,” and go look it up yourself. And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift - these are the things that assure me that pure Socialism will never come to pass. If men will not act for themselves, what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all? The dread of getting “the pink slip” on Friday afternoon keeps too many a worker in their place. Advertise for a typist, and five out of ten who apply can neither spell nor punctuate - and do not think it is necessary to. In my own business enterprise, I have an employment application which about two thirds of the way down the page clearly and emphatically says, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WRITE BELOW THIS SENTENCE. And yet, 50% of the applicants who apply to work for me, continue on writing and answering the questions below that line. Can such a person be counted on to take a letter to Garcia?
“You see that bookkeeper,” said the supervisor in a large factory to me. “Yes; what about him?” Well, he’s a fine accountant, but if I’d send him to town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, he might stop at four shops on the way, and when he got to where he was going, he probably would have forgotten what he had been sent for.” Can such a person be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?
We have recently been hearing much sad sympathy expressed for the “downtrodden workers of the sweatshop” and the “homeless wanderer who will work for food,” and with it all, often go many hard words for the people in power. Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get an employee to do intelligent work, and his long, patient striving after “help” that often does nothing but take a break when his back is turned. In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away “help” that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business, and others are being hired. No matter how good times are, this sorting continues. If times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is done finer - but out, and forever out, the unneeded and mediocre will go. It is the survival of the not fittest, but the most hardworking and FAITHFUL. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best - those who can carry a message to Garcia. Now this is not to say that the most faithful themselves might not be dismissed on occasion by an employer who would fail to see their earnestness. But if this happens to you, rest assured. There are 1000 other employers out there that will rehire you and who are waiting and hoping for you to show up at their door. A faithful person may get cast out sometime, but they will not be cast down.
I know one man of really brilliant mentality, who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that any employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress him. He can not give orders, and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, “Take it yourself!” Today this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him would dare employ him, because he is a regular firebrand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled Number Twelve boot.
Of course I know that one so morally deformed is to be pitied; but in our pitying let us drop a tear, too, for the men and women who are striving to carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold the line, in spite of indifference, slipshod stupidity, and the heartless ingratitude of many of their employees which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry and homeless.
Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have. But when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the person who succeeds - the person who, against great odds, has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds there’s nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes. I myself, have fried hamburgers at Dairy Queen, emptied a grease trap, mopped a floor, repaired a roof, and worked for day’s wages. I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides. There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; and all employers are not MEAN and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous. My heart goes out to the employee who does their work when the “boss” is away, as well as when they are in the office or on the factory floor. And the man who, when he is given a letter for Garcia, quietly takes the note, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest trash can, or of doing anything else but delivering it. Civilization is one long, anxious search for just such individuals. ANYTHING such as a man or woman, like Rowan asks, shall be granted. They are wanted in every city, town, and village - in every office, hotel, shop, store, and factory. I myself would hire as many as I could find. I would help them to become rich. In time, I would pay them a fortune. And in the meantime, I would make a fortune myself by profiting from their faithfulness. I would teach them any skills they might be lacking in exchange for their possession of dedication to a task and their faithfulness to serving me. The world cries out for such; they are needed and needed badly - the man, or woman, who can “Carry a Message to Garcia.” If you ever meet a Rowan, who is looking for a job. Send him, or her to me. I look for her every day. Good luck to each of you. May God give you a speedy, safe and prosperous journey if you, yourself, decide to carry a message to Garcia. Godspeed.
To my Friends and Others,
Years ago I was asked to deliver the graduation message at a small private school. I pondered for weeks what words I could say to the graduates that would offer them a brighter hope for their future. I wanted words that might be life changing for them. And I remembered a story that I had heard from a friend about a man and I remembered the secret that had been unlocked for me in my own heart when I heard the story. I took that story of a man who lived many years before me, and embellished it somewhat to fit the culture of today. Today, I found this story saved on my computer and was rereading it. It still inspires me today, the same way it did the first time I heard of this man called Rowan. I have spent many years and much effort in trying to him. There are few priceless things that any person can pass on to another. But this is one. Perhaps you’ll read the story and it will unlock for you, or your children, or someone you know, the secret to a great buried treasure. Perhaps you’ve already discovered in your life the secret in the story. And if so, then feel free to pass the story on to others you know, who might need a road map to a brighter future. If on the other hand you read it and disagree with its philosophy, then feel free also, to send it to the recycle bin. If this attachment happens someday to fall into the hands of a man named Rowan, then I’d love to hear back from him that this message reached him.
Your friend,
Bud
For graduation this year I wanted to come and give each of you a gift of fabulous riches. A long time ago, a friend told me how to obtain more riches than most people have ever imagined. Within the words I am about to tell you is a hidden map. You must listen very carefully to the story I am about to tell you to discover the instructions to find where this treasure is. However, you do not need to take any special care with safeguarding these instructions because most people will not be able to understand how to find the treasure. If after hearing my words, you still have to ask me what the secret is, then you .
have failed to read the map.
I have a question for each of you today? It’s a question being asked over and over every day in every part of the world by hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. Who can find a faithful man or woman? In all of United States history, one person stands out on in my mind as much as any other. I have heard of a faithful man.
Many decades ago, when war broke out between Spain and the United States, it was necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents in a small island country south of the United States. A man named Garcia was somewhere in the mountain vastnesses of Cuba - no one knew where. No mail or telegraph message could reach him. The President of the United States needed to secure his cooperation, and quickly. What could he do? Someone said to the President, “There is a fellow by the name of Rowan who will find Garcia for you, if anybody can.”
Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How the “fellow by the name of Rowan” took the letter, sealed it up in an oilskin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia - these are things I have no time now to tell in detail. The point that I wish to make is this: The President gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, “How can I find him?” This was a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every school in this country. It is not book-learning young people need most, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the backbone which will cause them to be loyal, to be trustworthy, to act promptly, concentrate their energies, and in short - to be faithful - to be able to “Carry a message to Garcia.” With these qualities, any person will obtain all the wisdom and knowledge to be found in every book.
General Garcia is dead now, and so is Rowan. But there are other Garcias to be reached. But the world is still searching for Rowan every day to reward him for his faithfulness. Personally, every day I strive to be a Rowan, and every day I look to find another person like him. Every man or woman who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, has been appalled, at times, by the stupidity of the mediocre woman or man - the inability or unwillingness of most people to concentrate on a thing and to do it. Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and half-hearted work seem the rule: and no man seems to succeed unless by hook or crook or threat or bribes. Perhaps they expect God in His great goodness will perform a miracle, and send them an Angel of Light for an assistant. Perhaps if they wait long enough, someone else will take up the task. You, my friend, put this matter to a test: You are sitting someday in an office and six assistants are within your call. Summon one of them and make a request: “please look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Corregio.” Will the assistant quietly say, “Yes sir,” or “Yes Ma’am” and go do the task ? Probably they will not. More than likely, they will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the following questions: Who was he? Which encyclopedia? Where is the encyclopedia? Was I hired for that? Don’t you mean Bismarck? What’s the matter with Charlie doing it? I didn’t see that this was part of my job description! Is he dead? Is there any hurry? Shall I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself? Why do you want to know? And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the assistant will go off and get one of the other clerks to help them try to find the answer - and then come back and tell you there is no such man as Corregio.
Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Averages I will not. Now if you are wise, you will not bother to explain to your “assistant” that Corregio is indexed under the C’s, not in the K’s, but you will still smile very sweetly and say, “Never Mind,” and go look it up yourself. And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift - these are the things that assure me that pure Socialism will never come to pass. If men will not act for themselves, what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all? The dread of getting “the pink slip” on Friday afternoon keeps too many a worker in their place. Advertise for a typist, and five out of ten who apply can neither spell nor punctuate - and do not think it is necessary to. In my own business enterprise, I have an employment application which about two thirds of the way down the page clearly and emphatically says, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WRITE BELOW THIS SENTENCE. And yet, 50% of the applicants who apply to work for me, continue on writing and answering the questions below that line. Can such a person be counted on to take a letter to Garcia?
“You see that bookkeeper,” said the supervisor in a large factory to me. “Yes; what about him?” Well, he’s a fine accountant, but if I’d send him to town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, he might stop at four shops on the way, and when he got to where he was going, he probably would have forgotten what he had been sent for.” Can such a person be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?
We have recently been hearing much sad sympathy expressed for the “downtrodden workers of the sweatshop” and the “homeless wanderer who will work for food,” and with it all, often go many hard words for the people in power. Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get an employee to do intelligent work, and his long, patient striving after “help” that often does nothing but take a break when his back is turned. In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away “help” that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business, and others are being hired. No matter how good times are, this sorting continues. If times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is done finer - but out, and forever out, the unneeded and mediocre will go. It is the survival of the not fittest, but the most hardworking and FAITHFUL. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best - those who can carry a message to Garcia. Now this is not to say that the most faithful themselves might not be dismissed on occasion by an employer who would fail to see their earnestness. But if this happens to you, rest assured. There are 1000 other employers out there that will rehire you and who are waiting and hoping for you to show up at their door. A faithful person may get cast out sometime, but they will not be cast down.
I know one man of really brilliant mentality, who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that any employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress him. He can not give orders, and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, “Take it yourself!” Today this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him would dare employ him, because he is a regular firebrand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled Number Twelve boot.
Of course I know that one so morally deformed is to be pitied; but in our pitying let us drop a tear, too, for the men and women who are striving to carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold the line, in spite of indifference, slipshod stupidity, and the heartless ingratitude of many of their employees which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry and homeless.
Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have. But when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the person who succeeds - the person who, against great odds, has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds there’s nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes. I myself, have fried hamburgers at Dairy Queen, emptied a grease trap, mopped a floor, repaired a roof, and worked for day’s wages. I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides. There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; and all employers are not MEAN and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous. My heart goes out to the employee who does their work when the “boss” is away, as well as when they are in the office or on the factory floor. And the man who, when he is given a letter for Garcia, quietly takes the note, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest trash can, or of doing anything else but delivering it. Civilization is one long, anxious search for just such individuals. ANYTHING such as a man or woman, like Rowan asks, shall be granted. They are wanted in every city, town, and village - in every office, hotel, shop, store, and factory. I myself would hire as many as I could find. I would help them to become rich. In time, I would pay them a fortune. And in the meantime, I would make a fortune myself by profiting from their faithfulness. I would teach them any skills they might be lacking in exchange for their possession of dedication to a task and their faithfulness to serving me. The world cries out for such; they are needed and needed badly - the man, or woman, who can “Carry a Message to Garcia.” If you ever meet a Rowan, who is looking for a job. Send him, or her to me. I look for her every day. Good luck to each of you. May God give you a speedy, safe and prosperous journey if you, yourself, decide to carry a message to Garcia. Godspeed.
Self Pity
D.H. Lawrence – Self Pity
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop
frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry
for itself.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop
frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry
for itself.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Rivers running upstream and Cats chasing Dogs
I have confirmed this story as being true from one person who was at the event, and two others who knew of the event second-hand. But even if it had been just a fable, or myth, it's a principle I'd like to make part of my life. I had a hard time reading it all the way through because my eyes became swollen from crying the more I read. Life would be better if people had the heart of these people. And I will be better if I believe man's heart is capable of this expression. The story shows the 2nd finest demonstration of Christian love I can ever remember reading about. The headline from the paper read:
There are some games
in which cheering
for the other side
feels better than winning
by Rick Reilly
Gainesville State players douse head coach Mark Williams in celebration.
They played the oddest game in high school football history last month
They played the oddest game in high school football history last month
down in Grapevine, Texas.
It was Grapevine Faith vs. Gainesville State School and everything
It was Grapevine Faith vs. Gainesville State School and everything
about it was upside down.
For instance, when Gainesville came out to take the field,
the Faith fans made a 40-yard spirit line for them to run through.
Did you hear that? The other team's fans?
They even made a banner for players to crash through at the end.
Did you hear that? The other team's fans?
They even made a banner for players to crash through at the end.
It said, "Go Tornadoes!" Which is also weird, because Faith is the Lions.
It was rivers running uphill and cats petting dogs.
It was rivers running uphill and cats petting dogs.
More than 200 Faith fans sat on the Gainesville side
and kept cheering the Gainesville players on—by name.
"I never in my life thought I'd hear people cheering for
"I never in my life thought I'd hear people cheering for
us to hit their kids," recalls Gainesville's QB and middle linebacker, Isaiah.
"I wouldn't expect another parent to tell somebody to hit their kids.
But they wanted us to!"
And even though Faith walloped them 33-14,
And even though Faith walloped them 33-14,
the Gainesville kids were so happy that after the game
they gave head coach Mark Williams a sideline squirt-bottle shower
like he'd just won state. Gotta be the first Gatorade bath
in history for an 0-9 coach.
But then you saw the 12 uniformed officers escorting
But then you saw the 12 uniformed officers escorting
the 14 Gainesville players off the field and
two and two started to make four.
They lined the players up in groups of five
—handcuffs ready in their back pockets—
and marched them to the team bus.
That's because Gainesville is a correctional facility
75 miles north of Dallas. Every game it plays is on the road.
This all started when Faith's head coach, Kris Hogan,
This all started when Faith's head coach, Kris Hogan,
wanted to do something kind for the Gainesville team.
Faith had never played Gainesville, but he already knew the score.
After all, Faith was 7-2 going into the game,
Gainesville 0-8 with 2 TDs all year.
Faith has 70 kids, 11 coaches, the latest equipment
and involved parents.
Gainesville has a lot of kids with convictions
for drugs, assault and robbery
—many of whose families had disowned them—
wearing seven-year-old shoulder pads and ancient helmets.
So Hogan had this idea. What if half of our fans
So Hogan had this idea. What if half of our fans
—for one night only—
cheered for the other team?
He sent out an email asking the Faithful to do just that.
"Here's the message I want you to send:"
Hogan wrote. "You are just as valuable as any other person on planet Earth."
Some people were naturally confused.
Some people were naturally confused.
One Faith player walked into Hogan's office
and asked, "Coach, why are we doing this?"
And Hogan said, "Imagine if you didn't have a home life.
And Hogan said, "Imagine if you didn't have a home life.
Imagine if everybody had pretty much given up on you.
Now imagine what it would mean for hundreds
of people to suddenly believe in you."
Next thing you know, the Gainesville Tornadoes
Next thing you know, the Gainesville Tornadoes
were turning around on their bench to see something
they never had before. Hundreds of fans. And actual cheerleaders!
"I thought maybe they were confused," said Alex, a Gainesville
"I thought maybe they were confused," said Alex, a Gainesville
lineman (only first names are released by the prison).
"They started yelling 'DEE-fense!' when their team had the ball.
I said, 'What? Why they cheerin' for us?'"
It was a strange experience for boys who most
It was a strange experience for boys who most
people cross the street to avoid. "We can tell people are
a little afraid of us when we come to the games," says
Gerald, a lineman who will wind up doing more than three years.
"You can see it in their eyes. They're lookin' at us
like we're criminals. But these people, they
were yellin' for us! By our names!"
Maybe it figures that Gainesville played better than it
Maybe it figures that Gainesville played better than it
had all season, scoring the game's last two touchdowns.
Of course, this might be because Hogan put his
third-string nose guard at safety and his third-string
cornerback at defensive end. Still after the game, both
teams gathered in the middle of the field to pray and
that's when Isaiah surprised everybody by asking to lead.
"We had no idea what the kid was going
to say," remembers Coach Hogan.
But Isaiah said this: "Lord, I don't know how this happened,
so I don't know how to say thank You, but I never would've
known there was so many people in the world that cared about us."
And it was a good thing everybody's heads were bowed
And it was a good thing everybody's heads were bowed
because they might've seen Hogan wiping away tears.
As the Tornadoes walked back to their bus under guard,
As the Tornadoes walked back to their bus under guard,
they each were handed a bag for the ride home
—a burger, some fries, a soda, some candy, a Bible and
an encouraging letter from a Faith player.
The Gainesville coach saw Hogan, grabbed him hard
The Gainesville coach saw Hogan, grabbed him hard
by the shoulders and said, "You'll never know what your
people did for these kids tonight. You'll never, ever know."
And as the bus pulled away, all the Gainesville players
And as the bus pulled away, all the Gainesville players
crammed to one side and pressed their hands to
the window, staring at these people they'd never
met before, watching their waves and smiles
disappearing into the night.
Anyway, with the economy six feet under and
Anyway, with the economy six feet under and
Christmas running on about three and a half reindeer,
it's nice to know that one of the best presents
you can give is still absolutely free.
Hope.
Hope.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Native Wisdom
An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life."A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight and it is between two bears.
One is evil - he is anger, envy,sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.
This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which bear will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
One is evil - he is anger, envy,sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.
This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which bear will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
Thursday, January 1, 2009
It's a New Year
I believe that the coming year will be one of much happiness and a few changes in my life style as I have the opportunity to sell my Tulsa hotel and move on to other . . . less demanding . . .challenges. I dream of days in the sunshine on the beach. And being held, and holding. I dream of smiles and making others smile more. I believe that 2009 will be a great year and a very prosperous year for me. I find myself happy inside and eager for the new things this year will bring. I know that 6 weeks will pass slowly and then when it gets here, I'll look back and see that it happened so fast. The key phrase that has been on my mind for the past week is just four words:
EAGER ANTICIPATION
and
ANXIOUS EXPECTATION
ANXIOUS EXPECTATION
Life is like a box of chocolates . . .as Forest Gump would say. You just don't know what you're going to get out of it till you take a bite.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Its a New Year
It's a new year and a year of opportunities. The past year has seen the biggest stock market sell off and crash since the Great Depression. The price of oil has dropped 65%. And in many places unemployment is high and real estate prices are low. I have had partners dissappoint me and in a few cases betray me. I have witnessed by best friend and her husband endure a year of pain and struggles and shared in their pain as she has fought bravely against her battle with cancer. I've seen my children and grandchildren grow up another year. I've endured through great challenges and had tall mountains to scale in my own businesses. We drilled one dry hole and then drilled again and hit oil in another. My best friends are closer to me and my enemies are farther. I've found someone new that fills my days with many smiles and happy thoughts. And I've had to drive more miles this year, than the past four put together. I've lost 13 pounds of body weight. And I've gained a 111 pounds of happiness. I've been knocked down a few times by opponents, but managed to still pick myself up for another fight.
New Years Eve
I spent this evening without a grand party. Just went to dinner next door at the Tulsa Petroleum Club with some friends and came home and enjoyed some new books I got for Christmas. I had a chance to meet a new friend and put a face with a story, and . . . yes . . .there is a Tom.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
A word of encouragement from my friend
My friends Jerry and Julia are departing on Friday for El Salvador to seek a treatment for the cancer which has attacked her over and over and over.
They received an email from a Pastor friend in Uganda that they emailed on to me. I found the words particularly encouraging to me too. I am facing a large struggle myself and see that I should have a new attitude. Both about Julia's treatment and my own struggle with my partners.
Peter in Uganda wrote:
When a farmer prays and expects rain
He goes out and tills his field.
We expect our faithful God to deliver on
His promises, . . . . so prepare for that.
Book the 'champagne and fine wine',
start preparing the guest list,
take a look at the new clothes,
clean up the house, prepare the lawn arrangements,
make sure the garden is in order,
check out prices for the guest list,
work on the thanksgiving speech....
Faith is being certain, sure that God has heard,
God will keep, God will not fail.
There are no ' mights' in faith...only 'wills'.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The Opening of the Money Jar
On the evening of our "late" Christmas, after the gift giving we once again celebrated our new tradition of giving to all the kids my money in the money jug from the year. It's a large water bottle that throughout the year I put all of my change into. I have started a habit a few years ago of always using a bill to pay for anything. So at the end of every day I have a pocket full of change. Sometimes a few dollars. And now it takes me about a year to almost fill it up. Now and then I might even throw in a dollars, or five, or ten or twenty. Sometimes I even put in rolls of coins that have come out of my vending machines here at the hotel. The jug was so full this year, that it took Kenneth and me both to carry it from the car. This years total was about $2,250.00. We all sat on the floor with Jami having the honor of carving the money . . . which means sticking a knife up in the jar to loosen the coins to fall out. And then after we got it all out on a blanket, we sat and had the task of dividing it into pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, and even a few dollar coins. The fact that it was over 90% quarters brought a lot of smiles. And then after we had all the coins out, Kenneth was given the task of using chop sticks to get the bills out of the jug.
Two hours later the money was all out and separated and counted and divided up among the kids. Each had brought pillow cases to carry away the "loot". And just as it was last year . . .we all smiled and talked about the vacations that each would use their gift for.
Tomorrow the jug will be back in Tulsa and the process will begin again.
Click here for a short video of the celebration.
Christmas Came late this year
Christmas came a bit late this year for me. Each year, Jami and Emily alternate spending Christmas day with their families, or spending the day with their husband's families. This was the year apart. So we all got together on the Sunday afternoon after Christmas in Fort Worth at their mom's house. Jami and Kenneth and Sophia, and Emily, Bill, Coleton, and Cade, and Katy and their mom . . .and of course Me. Pam was was out commission for the preparations while having to nurse a broken foot back to health but she was able to enjoy it all and watch and see the joy of the children as they opened their gifts.
Everyone was watching the Dallas Cowboys suffer the worst defeat of the year in their last game. And I arrive late after having to stop at JC Penney's and get some new jeans after having spilled coffee on mine during the drive down from Tulsa.
After the game we shared a happy time of gift giving and receiving and laughing and watching the kids glow with delight as they opened each new present. At 19 months this was the first Christmas we all got to watch Sophie actually enjoy the time of tearing paper off.
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