One of the many things I started while I was on my nice extended vacation was a set of matched bookshelves. Real bookshelves, made out of real wood, not the prefab kind that the movers keep destroying every PCS. The first one is about half done now. The second one is still in the pre-assembly stage, which means I have cut all the pieces out, but have lots of work to do yet.
As I have journeyed on this little adventure, I have already learned a couple things that apply not only to bookshelves, but to life. Here they are:
1) Measure once twice, cut once! If you don't want a lot of scrap wood in your life (or your garage), you are going to make sure you properly assess before committing. This is something I have said I've learned before, but it is one of those lessons that just keeps getting reinforced.
2) Plan how long you think it will take, then double or triple it. This is good advice for woodworking projects, parenting, trying new restaurants, golfing, and on and on. The applications are endless.
3) Somedays you will not actually make any visible progress. As disappointing as this is, you must persevere or you will end up with: a garage in which you can no longer park your vehicle, hundreds of dollars worth of wasted material, a disappointed spouse/parent/child/co-worker, and less willingness to take the risk and try something new down the road. YOU CAN DO IT!
4) IT WILL NOT BE PERFECT! No matter how hard you try, no matter how precise you think you are being, wood and metal will not join together in perfect harmony. But Life isn't perfect either. Prepare, do your best, but be prepared to have to make some patches or spot repairs, or even invent a brace to try and bring it back into square.
Does anyone else have life lessons to share? Feel free to comment and we can all benefit!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Now to step on some toes!
You were warned. Continue reading at your own risk!
One of the very disturbing (to me at least) trends I have seen lately is the number of my "Christian" friends on FB playing a game that mimics real life mafia activity. Is this really the message we want to send to the world, that we think it's okay to "pretend" to be involved in murder, theft, racketeering, prostitution, etc., as long as we don't do it in real life?
That doesn't sit very well with what I read in the New Testament, or the Old for that matter. Five times in the book of Leviticus alone, we read words "Be Holy, for I am Holy." "Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean [thing]; and I will receive you," 2 Cor 6:17.
"And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God." 2 Cor 6:11.
How do we as Christians align the concepts of being separate and sanctified and being imitators of Christ (1 Cor 11:1) with pretending to murder, steal, extort, commit sexual impurity, etc? In my mind the two cannot and should not be brought together. "No man can serve two masters . . ."
Am I right? Am I wrong? What do you think?
"And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God." 2 Cor 6:11.
How do we as Christians align the concepts of being separate and sanctified and being imitators of Christ (1 Cor 11:1) with pretending to murder, steal, extort, commit sexual impurity, etc? In my mind the two cannot and should not be brought together. "No man can serve two masters . . ."
Am I right? Am I wrong? What do you think?
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
And Now, for Your Reading Enjoyment
Back in the day (read before I had a family) I used to spend an inordinate amount of time reading, and almost as much writing. Below is the opening chapter of one of my unpublished masterpieces. Who knows, maybe some editor with a deadline is even now surfing the blogs, desperately hoping to encounter a previously here-to-for unknown writer. If you are such an editor, please drop me a note! ;) For the rest of you, enjoy and feel free to critique . . .
My foes ambushed me on my way to the bathroom, an unglamorous but highly effective time for an ambush. Nearly two months had passed since I was last attacked. I should have been ready, but wasn’t. I felt secure in the knowledge that they believed me dead from our last encounter, as I very nearly had been. That time luck, fate, or Divine Providence had taken care of me. Tonight could be different, and would be if I didn’t move fast enough.
As I said, I had been on my way to tend to one of nature’s obligatory functions when something caught my eye. I was nearing the latrine, and so expected to see a partygoer or two, but found instead that it was deserted. However, the courtyard behind me seemed to suddenly fill with swirling forms, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw swords flashing in the bright moonlight. Having been on the run at various periods in my life, I automatically became defensive, casting about for a weapon and a defensible position. I had my dagger, but it would be little use against a large party of armed men.
The latrine ran parallel to the back wall of the manse I was in, and then dropped down to run underneath the wall and over the cliff that the manse sat on. A few bushes screened the latrine area from the rest of the courtyard, but none of the branches was large enough to use as a cudgel, had I the luxury of time to cut one and trim it. However, lying near the bushes was a pair of workman’s shears, abandoned by some worker in the past. They were rusty, and one handle was cracked nearly in two, but the rapidly approaching footsteps told me I hadn’t the time to be selective.
Snatching up the shears, I turned to face my attackers, counting them as I dropped into a fighting stance. Two larger figures held their position some twenty paces from me. Another broke from the group and circled to my right, cutting off any chance of breaking past him back into the crowded rooms I had left moments earlier. My left was blocked by one of the courtyard’s towering stone walls. Three more continued to advance directly at me, spreading out slightly to give themselves room to swing their weapons without injuring each other. They had narrowed the gap to approximately ten paces when they stopped, one of their number stepping forward and speaking in a low voice, “Cedric, you shall not escape this time.”
“I have in the past. What makes you think this time will be different?” My words betrayed none of the fear coursing through my body.
“Before we have sent those with little experience to deal with you. Now you are faced with the Fyar J’aroll’s personal guard. You will not survive.” Those words were the last sounds any of them intentionally uttered. I sidestepped the first attacker’s broadsword as it descended and spitted him on the hedge shears. Stepping back, I wrenched the shears from his lifeless body and lifted them in time to knock away a slim cudgel whistling towards my ribs. As I parried the cudgel, my left boot rose and caught the man’s windpipe, crushing it. The block had finished splitting the handle of the shears, leaving a poorer grip on my weapon, but fewer attackers to face.
By now sweat flowed freely from my body, stinging my eyes when it dropped from my forehead. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on my remaining attackers. The one still standing in front of me hesitated, and I pressed the attack, stepping towards him and swinging my bloody shears. His blade came up to block the shears and I stepped underneath his defenses, plunging my dagger into his heart.
I heard a whisper of leather on flagstone, and turned in time to have a fist collapse my nose. I staggered back, trying to blink the tears from my eyes, and took a kick to the ribs. Stumbling sideways, I smashed into the wall, numbing my arm so that the shears dropped from my grip. Now my assailant was battering my body with blows, which I could only take, being unable to see or defend myself. Another heavy blow landed, knocking my to my knees. Blows rained down upon my head, and I began to slide down the wall. Spots danced before my eyes while my arm suddenly came to life, tingling and buzzing the way a limb will when blood flow suddenly returns.
Seizing the opportunity, perhaps my last, I shoved my revitalized arm out in front of me, my hand crushing shut when the fingertips brushed cloth. Fortunately, my hand had found a vital area, as evidenced by the scream that issued from the man’s throat, a high keening cry that quickly climbed into the range beyond human hearing. I clambered up the body in front of me, tightening my grip on both my dagger and my foe’s anatomy. More footsteps sounded in the courtyard, drawn by the man’s earlier scream. I knew I had no time left, so I drove my dagger upward into the man’s groin and twisted, spurting his life’s blood over my hand.
Standing up, I cast about for a means of escape, and suddenly felt a presence moving towards me. It belonged to one of the two figures that had held off earlier. Both were approaching. I felt my eyes being drawn not to the bejeweled man wearing ceremonial robes, but to the dark, sinister figure that flowed in his wake. Now several other figures crowded into the courtyard. Not wanting to continue this in front of an audience, I sheathed my dagger and made my escape, sliding down the latrine and over the lip of the cliff. My fingers scrabbled at the cliff’s edge, slippery with blood and the latrine’s contents, catching hold just before my arms fully extended. I held that position forever, nearly five minutes, listening to the voices of those in the courtyard, straining to discern individual words over the rush of water and other, less appealing substances that splashed my head and drained down my body.
Realizing that the voices and torchlight were approaching my hiding place, I began searching for a hand or foothold, hoping to make my escape down the face of the cliff. The toes of my right foot caught the slimmest of outcroppings at full extension, and I slowly eased my weight on to it. It held, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Next, my right hand moved down until it encountered a crack barely wide enough to wedge the tips of my fingers into. I did so, straining to expand their grip on the nearly shear cliff face.
In such a fashion, I made my way down the precipice, trusting that no one would think to look for me there. No one did, or else I was concentrating so hard on finding my next grip I never noticed. Sweat poured off me, causing me to slip occasionally, but I clung precariously to the wall, striving to maintain three points of contact at all times, with only one hand or foot moving at a time, and never until I was secure with the position I was currently in. That is a lesson I had learned the hard way, trying to move too quickly on a rock face I thought I knew well. It took months for my ribs to heal, and I never made the mistake of rushing a descent again.
As I neared the bottom of the cliff I was currently descending, the beating I had suffered began affecting me, causing me to miss a handhold. I bumped and scraped my way down the last twenty feet of the now rough wall, collapsing in a heap in the hard packed sand that the cliff fronted. Rising groggily to my feet, I set off down the beach, stumbling occasionally when my foot encountered a stray stone or stick. I stumbled hard and fell, pitching down the bank of a small stream to land head first in the mud and stones lining the bank. I lay there momentarily, letting my trembling, aching muscles rest. They had been strained far past any term of normal endurance.
The stones underneath me grew uncomfortable quickly, and I stirred from my position. The blood had crusted around my nose while I rested, but as I moved my head it began to flow again. Probably left a trail any boy could follow, I thought in disgust. I plunged my head under the creek’s surface, knowing the cold would help stanch the flow. The shock brought my senses back fully alert. The loss of blood had dulled them, and dull senses were a luxury I could not afford if I were to survive this night.
Realizing that to stay where I was could only give my enemies an advantage, I drank from the stream, then began to move into the woods, looking for a hidden place to rest where I would not be exposed. I knew that my night was not over, for there were still two opponents unaccounted for. While I moved, I pondered the significance of those two foes whom I would still have to face this night. Some hundred paces into the woods, I found a deserted thicket and sank to the ground.
While I rested, I thought bitterly that only hours ago I was partying, enjoying the pleasures my position in this world had brought me. Now I was wounded and hunted, no better off than the deer whose bower I had temporarily claimed. I’ve been in this position before, and if God is with me tonight, I will live through this hunt, as I have the other seven in the past two years. “God be with me,” I prayed, “or at least blind luck.”
Skill I have, but it alone would not be enough, for they had planned well, and I had been unprepared. Obviously I had been unprepared, or I wouldn’t be shivering in the bushes in the middle of the night. I rubbed myself with bits of grass to warm up, pondering my situation, my liabilities, my resources, and my options. Liabilities were many, resources and options few, so I offered up another quick prayer and began to move, hoping to worm my way through this night without further incident.
Not to be, for I had no sooner left the bushes concealing me than I tripped, breaking branches, scraping flesh, and alerting my pursuers to my location. I knew they were close because I heard a shout go up as I went down. I thought about praying yet again, but instead saved my breath. I was going to need it. Dropping into a tall crouch, I pulled my dagger and waited. "Let them come to me," I thought. "I am tired of running." I heard the first one approaching from the north. He fell easily when I sliced his throat. His haste, and mine combined for a quiet kill. "Finally," the thought crossed my mind, "something to my advantage." The other pursuer still didn’t know my exact location.
I checked the body quickly, leaving the large pouch tucked inside his shirt. Another time I would have taken it, but tonight I had neither time nor reason. Instead, I claimed his dark woolen great cloak, as well as the blade his lifeless left hand clutched. His right was empty, but a large signet ring rode his index finger. That I took, for it could serve me well in the future.
Better armed, and in a slightly better mood, I made my way toward the heart of the woods. I knew now I had only one further foe to face, and then I would be free, at least for this night. The moon had gone down, but my eyes had not seen light in hours now, so I traveled quickly. Too quickly, because I was in the clearing before I perceived it, and the danger it held. The being faced me, its head and form concealed by the thick robe it wore, blacker than anything I had ever seen, so black it seemed to absorb light. Perhaps it did. Those who served the Far J’arol had access to materials not usually found on this plane of existence.
“human!” The word came out as a sneer, and I could hear the purposeful lack of capitalization.
I bowed, not deeply. “Yes, I am.”
“I suspect the archbishop is dead. It is his cloak and sword you carry as your own.” The being stated. “He was a fine soldier. You have once again proven your worth as an opponent.”
“I have?” My mouth formed the words, but my brain was busily engaged in trying to watch for the attack I knew was coming.
It nodded, then through back its hood. The face was human, but too perfect. Perfectly symmetrical and flawless, it was obviously the face of a Kompanion or gaur’ Dian sent to dispatch of me, prompting my question, “Have I so garnered the evil one’s attention that he no longer sends mere mortals to apprehend me?”
It laughed, and I parried the long blade that swept towards me.
“Not bad.” Then I had no more time for words as the evil creature attacked, two blades at once. I fought defensively, trying the being’s skills. Being under the Far J’arol, who would have adequately programmed this minion to challenge and dispatch me, it eagerly pressed the attack. I fell back under the onslaught of flying steel, towards the edge of the woods. I could sense the darkness behind me, but it was not the darkness I sought. Darkness would be no help in combat with a being of the dark. Rather I sought the trees, like the one I felt behind my back. I slid around it, then another, and had a moment’s respite from my attacker.
It was enough. I jumped, catching the branch above me and pulling myself up. Quickly I positioned myself, then my newly acquired blade and I dropped as one, spearing the form that sidled around the trunk of the tree. An otherworldly scream parted its lips, and the body parted in twain. I stood between the two halves, covered in unearthly gore, and smiled. I was still alive. I had survived another hunt!
My foes ambushed me on my way to the bathroom, an unglamorous but highly effective time for an ambush. Nearly two months had passed since I was last attacked. I should have been ready, but wasn’t. I felt secure in the knowledge that they believed me dead from our last encounter, as I very nearly had been. That time luck, fate, or Divine Providence had taken care of me. Tonight could be different, and would be if I didn’t move fast enough.
As I said, I had been on my way to tend to one of nature’s obligatory functions when something caught my eye. I was nearing the latrine, and so expected to see a partygoer or two, but found instead that it was deserted. However, the courtyard behind me seemed to suddenly fill with swirling forms, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw swords flashing in the bright moonlight. Having been on the run at various periods in my life, I automatically became defensive, casting about for a weapon and a defensible position. I had my dagger, but it would be little use against a large party of armed men.
The latrine ran parallel to the back wall of the manse I was in, and then dropped down to run underneath the wall and over the cliff that the manse sat on. A few bushes screened the latrine area from the rest of the courtyard, but none of the branches was large enough to use as a cudgel, had I the luxury of time to cut one and trim it. However, lying near the bushes was a pair of workman’s shears, abandoned by some worker in the past. They were rusty, and one handle was cracked nearly in two, but the rapidly approaching footsteps told me I hadn’t the time to be selective.
Snatching up the shears, I turned to face my attackers, counting them as I dropped into a fighting stance. Two larger figures held their position some twenty paces from me. Another broke from the group and circled to my right, cutting off any chance of breaking past him back into the crowded rooms I had left moments earlier. My left was blocked by one of the courtyard’s towering stone walls. Three more continued to advance directly at me, spreading out slightly to give themselves room to swing their weapons without injuring each other. They had narrowed the gap to approximately ten paces when they stopped, one of their number stepping forward and speaking in a low voice, “Cedric, you shall not escape this time.”
“I have in the past. What makes you think this time will be different?” My words betrayed none of the fear coursing through my body.
“Before we have sent those with little experience to deal with you. Now you are faced with the Fyar J’aroll’s personal guard. You will not survive.” Those words were the last sounds any of them intentionally uttered. I sidestepped the first attacker’s broadsword as it descended and spitted him on the hedge shears. Stepping back, I wrenched the shears from his lifeless body and lifted them in time to knock away a slim cudgel whistling towards my ribs. As I parried the cudgel, my left boot rose and caught the man’s windpipe, crushing it. The block had finished splitting the handle of the shears, leaving a poorer grip on my weapon, but fewer attackers to face.
By now sweat flowed freely from my body, stinging my eyes when it dropped from my forehead. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on my remaining attackers. The one still standing in front of me hesitated, and I pressed the attack, stepping towards him and swinging my bloody shears. His blade came up to block the shears and I stepped underneath his defenses, plunging my dagger into his heart.
I heard a whisper of leather on flagstone, and turned in time to have a fist collapse my nose. I staggered back, trying to blink the tears from my eyes, and took a kick to the ribs. Stumbling sideways, I smashed into the wall, numbing my arm so that the shears dropped from my grip. Now my assailant was battering my body with blows, which I could only take, being unable to see or defend myself. Another heavy blow landed, knocking my to my knees. Blows rained down upon my head, and I began to slide down the wall. Spots danced before my eyes while my arm suddenly came to life, tingling and buzzing the way a limb will when blood flow suddenly returns.
Seizing the opportunity, perhaps my last, I shoved my revitalized arm out in front of me, my hand crushing shut when the fingertips brushed cloth. Fortunately, my hand had found a vital area, as evidenced by the scream that issued from the man’s throat, a high keening cry that quickly climbed into the range beyond human hearing. I clambered up the body in front of me, tightening my grip on both my dagger and my foe’s anatomy. More footsteps sounded in the courtyard, drawn by the man’s earlier scream. I knew I had no time left, so I drove my dagger upward into the man’s groin and twisted, spurting his life’s blood over my hand.
Standing up, I cast about for a means of escape, and suddenly felt a presence moving towards me. It belonged to one of the two figures that had held off earlier. Both were approaching. I felt my eyes being drawn not to the bejeweled man wearing ceremonial robes, but to the dark, sinister figure that flowed in his wake. Now several other figures crowded into the courtyard. Not wanting to continue this in front of an audience, I sheathed my dagger and made my escape, sliding down the latrine and over the lip of the cliff. My fingers scrabbled at the cliff’s edge, slippery with blood and the latrine’s contents, catching hold just before my arms fully extended. I held that position forever, nearly five minutes, listening to the voices of those in the courtyard, straining to discern individual words over the rush of water and other, less appealing substances that splashed my head and drained down my body.
Realizing that the voices and torchlight were approaching my hiding place, I began searching for a hand or foothold, hoping to make my escape down the face of the cliff. The toes of my right foot caught the slimmest of outcroppings at full extension, and I slowly eased my weight on to it. It held, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Next, my right hand moved down until it encountered a crack barely wide enough to wedge the tips of my fingers into. I did so, straining to expand their grip on the nearly shear cliff face.
In such a fashion, I made my way down the precipice, trusting that no one would think to look for me there. No one did, or else I was concentrating so hard on finding my next grip I never noticed. Sweat poured off me, causing me to slip occasionally, but I clung precariously to the wall, striving to maintain three points of contact at all times, with only one hand or foot moving at a time, and never until I was secure with the position I was currently in. That is a lesson I had learned the hard way, trying to move too quickly on a rock face I thought I knew well. It took months for my ribs to heal, and I never made the mistake of rushing a descent again.
As I neared the bottom of the cliff I was currently descending, the beating I had suffered began affecting me, causing me to miss a handhold. I bumped and scraped my way down the last twenty feet of the now rough wall, collapsing in a heap in the hard packed sand that the cliff fronted. Rising groggily to my feet, I set off down the beach, stumbling occasionally when my foot encountered a stray stone or stick. I stumbled hard and fell, pitching down the bank of a small stream to land head first in the mud and stones lining the bank. I lay there momentarily, letting my trembling, aching muscles rest. They had been strained far past any term of normal endurance.
The stones underneath me grew uncomfortable quickly, and I stirred from my position. The blood had crusted around my nose while I rested, but as I moved my head it began to flow again. Probably left a trail any boy could follow, I thought in disgust. I plunged my head under the creek’s surface, knowing the cold would help stanch the flow. The shock brought my senses back fully alert. The loss of blood had dulled them, and dull senses were a luxury I could not afford if I were to survive this night.
Realizing that to stay where I was could only give my enemies an advantage, I drank from the stream, then began to move into the woods, looking for a hidden place to rest where I would not be exposed. I knew that my night was not over, for there were still two opponents unaccounted for. While I moved, I pondered the significance of those two foes whom I would still have to face this night. Some hundred paces into the woods, I found a deserted thicket and sank to the ground.
While I rested, I thought bitterly that only hours ago I was partying, enjoying the pleasures my position in this world had brought me. Now I was wounded and hunted, no better off than the deer whose bower I had temporarily claimed. I’ve been in this position before, and if God is with me tonight, I will live through this hunt, as I have the other seven in the past two years. “God be with me,” I prayed, “or at least blind luck.”
Skill I have, but it alone would not be enough, for they had planned well, and I had been unprepared. Obviously I had been unprepared, or I wouldn’t be shivering in the bushes in the middle of the night. I rubbed myself with bits of grass to warm up, pondering my situation, my liabilities, my resources, and my options. Liabilities were many, resources and options few, so I offered up another quick prayer and began to move, hoping to worm my way through this night without further incident.
Not to be, for I had no sooner left the bushes concealing me than I tripped, breaking branches, scraping flesh, and alerting my pursuers to my location. I knew they were close because I heard a shout go up as I went down. I thought about praying yet again, but instead saved my breath. I was going to need it. Dropping into a tall crouch, I pulled my dagger and waited. "Let them come to me," I thought. "I am tired of running." I heard the first one approaching from the north. He fell easily when I sliced his throat. His haste, and mine combined for a quiet kill. "Finally," the thought crossed my mind, "something to my advantage." The other pursuer still didn’t know my exact location.
I checked the body quickly, leaving the large pouch tucked inside his shirt. Another time I would have taken it, but tonight I had neither time nor reason. Instead, I claimed his dark woolen great cloak, as well as the blade his lifeless left hand clutched. His right was empty, but a large signet ring rode his index finger. That I took, for it could serve me well in the future.
Better armed, and in a slightly better mood, I made my way toward the heart of the woods. I knew now I had only one further foe to face, and then I would be free, at least for this night. The moon had gone down, but my eyes had not seen light in hours now, so I traveled quickly. Too quickly, because I was in the clearing before I perceived it, and the danger it held. The being faced me, its head and form concealed by the thick robe it wore, blacker than anything I had ever seen, so black it seemed to absorb light. Perhaps it did. Those who served the Far J’arol had access to materials not usually found on this plane of existence.
“human!” The word came out as a sneer, and I could hear the purposeful lack of capitalization.
I bowed, not deeply. “Yes, I am.”
“I suspect the archbishop is dead. It is his cloak and sword you carry as your own.” The being stated. “He was a fine soldier. You have once again proven your worth as an opponent.”
“I have?” My mouth formed the words, but my brain was busily engaged in trying to watch for the attack I knew was coming.
It nodded, then through back its hood. The face was human, but too perfect. Perfectly symmetrical and flawless, it was obviously the face of a Kompanion or gaur’ Dian sent to dispatch of me, prompting my question, “Have I so garnered the evil one’s attention that he no longer sends mere mortals to apprehend me?”
It laughed, and I parried the long blade that swept towards me.
“Not bad.” Then I had no more time for words as the evil creature attacked, two blades at once. I fought defensively, trying the being’s skills. Being under the Far J’arol, who would have adequately programmed this minion to challenge and dispatch me, it eagerly pressed the attack. I fell back under the onslaught of flying steel, towards the edge of the woods. I could sense the darkness behind me, but it was not the darkness I sought. Darkness would be no help in combat with a being of the dark. Rather I sought the trees, like the one I felt behind my back. I slid around it, then another, and had a moment’s respite from my attacker.
It was enough. I jumped, catching the branch above me and pulling myself up. Quickly I positioned myself, then my newly acquired blade and I dropped as one, spearing the form that sidled around the trunk of the tree. An otherworldly scream parted its lips, and the body parted in twain. I stood between the two halves, covered in unearthly gore, and smiled. I was still alive. I had survived another hunt!
It's a . . . Breaking Baby News!!!
For those of you who haven't already read Kari's FB post, the ultrasound was this afternoon. After 2 1/2 hours, we are 100% sure that this baby is an . . . uncooperative wiggle worm! We are 90% sure that this one is a girl. There will be a follow up ultrasound in a couple weeks because (she) would not cooperate for the view to rule out cleft lip/palate.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Latest on Kari's Uncle Mike
Kari's mom, Melinda called about an hour ago with an update. He remains in stable but critical condition. They are allowing him to "wake up" every few hours. He is following commands, blinking, squeezing hands to indicate he understands, wiggling fingers and toes, etc. THESE ARE ALL VERY GOOD SIGNS!
Thank you for your continued prayers on Mike's behalf, as well as his family - Robert
Thank you for your continued prayers on Mike's behalf, as well as his family - Robert
The Devolution of a Beard
Well, the time is rapidly approaching for my return to the world of work. One of the benefits of having had a nice long break from work was the opportunity to make my first serious attempt at the age of 33-34 at growing a beard.
A much more famous writer from the town I went to High School in, Tom Bodet, had some very funny thoughts on beards many years ago. My Program Director said to "Never trust a man with a beard. He's usually hiding something."Take a look at the following pictures as my beard devolves, and maybe you will understand the humor that comes from facial hair. Maybe you will just laugh at me, looking like a goofball. Maybe not. Anyways, enjoy the pics!
A much more famous writer from the town I went to High School in, Tom Bodet, had some very funny thoughts on beards many years ago. My Program Director said to "Never trust a man with a beard. He's usually hiding something."Take a look at the following pictures as my beard devolves, and maybe you will understand the humor that comes from facial hair. Maybe you will just laugh at me, looking like a goofball. Maybe not. Anyways, enjoy the pics!
The efforts of Dec 17th thru January 22nd, 37 days total - pretty pitiful compared to many "Real Alaskans!"
Two Different views of the Goatee/70's sideburns combo above
SuperCheesy Mustache Moment!
The final product!
Note the shocked look on my face - I had forgotten what I looked like clean-shaven.
Update on Mike
Please continue the prayers for Mike. The latest information we have is posted below.
He is in critical, but stable condition. All of this info is from Ken, he was at the hospital around 9:00 a.m.
There were 4 surgeons waiting in the ER on the slow (blizzard weather) ambulance in Des Moines. The x-ray in Osceola showed the blood clot.
He had a headache that got worse throughout the day. By evening he was laying on the basement carpet vomiting. Matthew drug him up the stairs and got him to the hospital.
The blood clot was on the brainstem. They shaved his head and his eyebrows. The incision is from the back (toward the right side of the back) clear up to the front of the hairline.
The doctor's still don't think it was caused from an injury. They have sent the clot to be tested? I don't know if it can be cancer or what the tests will show.
Martha told Ken Beeman that he wouldn't even recognize him he is so swelled and with his head shaved he doesn't look like himself.
He will probably be on the vent tube for 3-5 days.
Thank you for your prayerful consideration - Robert
He is in critical, but stable condition. All of this info is from Ken, he was at the hospital around 9:00 a.m.
There were 4 surgeons waiting in the ER on the slow (blizzard weather) ambulance in Des Moines. The x-ray in Osceola showed the blood clot.
He had a headache that got worse throughout the day. By evening he was laying on the basement carpet vomiting. Matthew drug him up the stairs and got him to the hospital.
The blood clot was on the brainstem. They shaved his head and his eyebrows. The incision is from the back (toward the right side of the back) clear up to the front of the hairline.
The doctor's still don't think it was caused from an injury. They have sent the clot to be tested? I don't know if it can be cancer or what the tests will show.
Martha told Ken Beeman that he wouldn't even recognize him he is so swelled and with his head shaved he doesn't look like himself.
He will probably be on the vent tube for 3-5 days.
Thank you for your prayerful consideration - Robert
Prayer Request
Good Morning All,
Please add Kari's uncle, Mike Snell to your prayer list. He is in critical condition in the ICU at Methodist Hospital in Des Moines, IA. He was taken in by his son around 1:00 this morning and was in surgery for several hours to remove a blood clot from the back of his head/brain. Mike is not a Christian.
Thank you - Robert
Please add Kari's uncle, Mike Snell to your prayer list. He is in critical condition in the ICU at Methodist Hospital in Des Moines, IA. He was taken in by his son around 1:00 this morning and was in surgery for several hours to remove a blood clot from the back of his head/brain. Mike is not a Christian.
Thank you - Robert
Monday, January 25, 2010
On the lighter side . . .
After two very heavy, serious, potentially downer posts, I thought I'd share a little humor with you. This is an almost exact re-creation of my morning.
0800 - Alarm goes off and I roll out of bed. Must call the California Board of Nursing to find out why my nursing license hasn't been renewed, even though I sent the renewal back in November. November 7th to be exact.
0802 - Look up telephone number on internet and dial. Busy signal!
0802 - Dial number again, it rings . . . this is a good sign, but wait, no. Me, "Hi, my name is . . ." I am cut off by the automated voice, "The California Board of Incompetence, I mean, Nursing is closed each Friday by executive order of the Guvner, Ahhnold. To continue in English, press 1. Por continua en espanol, marke tres." Now this is the United States of America. Should I really have to choose my language to conduct business? I think not. But I digress. I press one and the automated voice continues, "Please visit our website to conduct ALL your business. If you are foolish enough to believe you can actually speak to a human being, press zero." I press zero and hear, "Ha ha ha, you foolish human being. Due to a rash of other foolish human beings, you will never speak to a human on this call! Good bye!" Click.
0804 - Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal.
0805 - Go get a large cup of coffee. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal.
0806 - Redial, busy signal. Redial, IT RINGS! I wait this time, and the automated voice answers. "It's a beautiful foggy Sacramento Monday Morning here at the California Board of Nursing . . ." I press zero, hoping against hope to speak with a living, breathing person. The fast becoming despicable automated voice assures me, "We are experiencing an abnormally high volume of calls at this time." My mind wonders, "What would a normally high volume of calls be?"
The curiously lilting voice continues, "Please stay on the line and someone from Customer Service will be with you shortly. The music comes on. It is Wagner's Ring Cycle, I think. Maybe this explains the nearly 4 Trillion Dollar State deficit. Ahhnold is blowing all the state's money on upscale Muzak!
0807 - Holding
0808, 0809, 0810, 0811, 0812, 0813, 0814, 0815, 0816, 0817, 0818, and 0819 - Holding, listening to Wagner. Whilst on hold, I replace the ink cartridge in the printer, cajole it and the computer to actually speak to each other to recognize that yes, there is ink and yes, I can print. Finally, shutting down both machines and restarting them suddenly causes them to see the light.
0820 - In the midst of printing, I hear an ominous click on the line. "Oh no," I think, "They've hung up on me!" Fortunately my fears are assuaged when an effeminate sounding male voice states. "Thank you for surviving the Automated Gauntlet. My name is Josephus (name changed to protect the innnocent). How may I assist you?" HALLELUJAH, it's a real, live boy, I mean, person!
I explain my situation in as polite a manner as possible. "What's you number, big boy?" He asks. "Uhh . . ." I garble. He sighs, "Your license number?" "OH!" Big relief on my part. I give it to him.
"Were you attempting to change your name or address with your license renewal?" he asks. "My address," I explain. "Just let me get the correct information and we will update it online this evening and have your new license to you in a jiffy!" He replies. I give him the correct information, and then he asks, "Are you sure you aren't changing your name as well?" I reassure the gentleman (and I may be going out on a limb there) that, No, I am indeed not changing my name. He hangs up on me! HOW RUDE!
So that was the start of my day. How was yours?
0800 - Alarm goes off and I roll out of bed. Must call the California Board of Nursing to find out why my nursing license hasn't been renewed, even though I sent the renewal back in November. November 7th to be exact.
0802 - Look up telephone number on internet and dial. Busy signal!
0802 - Dial number again, it rings . . . this is a good sign, but wait, no. Me, "Hi, my name is . . ." I am cut off by the automated voice, "The California Board of Incompetence, I mean, Nursing is closed each Friday by executive order of the Guvner, Ahhnold. To continue in English, press 1. Por continua en espanol, marke tres." Now this is the United States of America. Should I really have to choose my language to conduct business? I think not. But I digress. I press one and the automated voice continues, "Please visit our website to conduct ALL your business. If you are foolish enough to believe you can actually speak to a human being, press zero." I press zero and hear, "Ha ha ha, you foolish human being. Due to a rash of other foolish human beings, you will never speak to a human on this call! Good bye!" Click.
0804 - Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal.
0805 - Go get a large cup of coffee. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal. Redial, busy signal.
0806 - Redial, busy signal. Redial, IT RINGS! I wait this time, and the automated voice answers. "It's a beautiful foggy Sacramento Monday Morning here at the California Board of Nursing . . ." I press zero, hoping against hope to speak with a living, breathing person. The fast becoming despicable automated voice assures me, "We are experiencing an abnormally high volume of calls at this time." My mind wonders, "What would a normally high volume of calls be?"
The curiously lilting voice continues, "Please stay on the line and someone from Customer Service will be with you shortly. The music comes on. It is Wagner's Ring Cycle, I think. Maybe this explains the nearly 4 Trillion Dollar State deficit. Ahhnold is blowing all the state's money on upscale Muzak!
0807 - Holding
0808, 0809, 0810, 0811, 0812, 0813, 0814, 0815, 0816, 0817, 0818, and 0819 - Holding, listening to Wagner. Whilst on hold, I replace the ink cartridge in the printer, cajole it and the computer to actually speak to each other to recognize that yes, there is ink and yes, I can print. Finally, shutting down both machines and restarting them suddenly causes them to see the light.
0820 - In the midst of printing, I hear an ominous click on the line. "Oh no," I think, "They've hung up on me!" Fortunately my fears are assuaged when an effeminate sounding male voice states. "Thank you for surviving the Automated Gauntlet. My name is Josephus (name changed to protect the innnocent). How may I assist you?" HALLELUJAH, it's a real, live boy, I mean, person!
I explain my situation in as polite a manner as possible. "What's you number, big boy?" He asks. "Uhh . . ." I garble. He sighs, "Your license number?" "OH!" Big relief on my part. I give it to him.
"Were you attempting to change your name or address with your license renewal?" he asks. "My address," I explain. "Just let me get the correct information and we will update it online this evening and have your new license to you in a jiffy!" He replies. I give him the correct information, and then he asks, "Are you sure you aren't changing your name as well?" I reassure the gentleman (and I may be going out on a limb there) that, No, I am indeed not changing my name. He hangs up on me! HOW RUDE!
So that was the start of my day. How was yours?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
If You Want a Better Life STOP PRAYING
Do I have your attention yet? I know this title certainly grabbed my attention the first time I encountered it, on Facebook, in a post by The John Galt Project. For those of you who don't know "Who is John Galt?" I highly suggest you check out the nearest library for a copy of Atlas Shrugged. In the meantime, allow me to enlighten you on the subject of this post, this little book of the Post title by Mark Quam.
Now Mark is a previously published author and successful entrepreneur who has started seven companies. So by earthly standards, nearly every one of us would consider him a success. Since so many people in this world are striving for success, myself included, I decided to request my free copy of his book and see what he had to say.
His premise is that many people spend their entire lives "praying" for success, but never taking any steps to accomplish it. As his title suggests, he proposes that rather than do something unfruitful like "praying," the person who wants to be successful should set about to make changes in their life that will cause them to be what they want to be.
He states, " . . . your life purpose is to become all you are capable of becoming." (p. 10) Is that in line with what a Christian should be striving for? I would argue that yes, we are to become all we are capable of becoming. The Ecclesiastical writer said to do whatever we set our hand to with all our might (9:10). We are told in the New Testament that "I can do all things through Christ Jesus who strengthens me." Philippians 4:13. Over and over we read encouragement to "Press on," "Strive," etc. But we as Christians have to think about becoming all we can in light of service to God, rather than in service to self.
To this end, we should, just as Mr. Quam suggests, NOT ONLY pray, but be active and growing. Think about the first century Christians. Did they devote themselves to prayer? Certainly. We are told so over and over. But is that ALL they did? Certainly not. They worked and grew and helped others gain access to what God wants for each of us, salvation. Can you honestly argue that anything else is truly "becoming all you are capable of becoming?" Nope. At least not in God's eyes.
Mr. Quam has some excellent suggestions on how to accomplish this growth, and that is why I am writing this post, to share his ideas. He advocates Five Daily Disciplines, which I'll share in a moment. But it was his challenge at the beginning that really got me thinking, and was the most beneficial to me. See if you agree. His challenge was to write down the names of 3 people you really admire, then list 5-7 attributes of those people that really impress you. Then turn it around, three people you do not like, and 5-7 attributes they possess that really bother you. Then, examine yourself. List the attributes about yourself you admire, and honestly list what you don't like. This self-examination made me realize that some of the same things I had listed as not liking about others were issues I had myself. OUCH! This kind of self-inspection is a Biblical concept. Consider 2 Corinthians 13:5 where we are told to "test yourselves" and "examine yourselves." So I would encourage each person reading this blog, Christian or not, to complete this exercise and see if you don't learn a little something about yourself. Also look at James 1:23-25 to see the mirror we are to base our examination upon.
As for the Five Daily Disciplines, they are relatively straight-forward, and all in line with what a Christian should be doing. The first is to read 30 minutes a day of serious material. If we spent 30 minutes a day in God's Word, how much stronger would we be as Christians? How much more likely is it that we would be "ready to give a defense" when the occasion arises? 1 Peter 3:15
Secondly, Mr. Quam says we should exercise our bodily daily. Third, we are to eat healthily. Both of these fall under the category of respecting what God gave us, and treating our body as the temple it is.
Fourth, he says we need to make the right decision and stick to it . . . all the time. Even if it is a little tiny decision, choose the best path at all times. Still in line with God's Word.
Fifth, Journal ten minutes a day, recording how you did with each of the 4 previous disciplines, as well as including one positive experience in your day, and one random act of kindness that you performed. This makes you accountable to yourself. If you are actually tracking how you are doing on a daily basis, you are more likely to accomplish what you set out to do.
As he states on p. 24, "Repeating positive behavior 365 days a year for the rest of our lives is the only way of reaching your hopes and dreams." Sounds a lot like the message of 1 Corinthians 15:58 and Revelation 2:10 to me.
I probably didn't take this book the way that the author intended, but still found it very beneficial.
How 'bout you? Do you see his point of view? Do you see mine? Do you agree with either? Sound off!
Now Mark is a previously published author and successful entrepreneur who has started seven companies. So by earthly standards, nearly every one of us would consider him a success. Since so many people in this world are striving for success, myself included, I decided to request my free copy of his book and see what he had to say.
His premise is that many people spend their entire lives "praying" for success, but never taking any steps to accomplish it. As his title suggests, he proposes that rather than do something unfruitful like "praying," the person who wants to be successful should set about to make changes in their life that will cause them to be what they want to be.
He states, " . . . your life purpose is to become all you are capable of becoming." (p. 10) Is that in line with what a Christian should be striving for? I would argue that yes, we are to become all we are capable of becoming. The Ecclesiastical writer said to do whatever we set our hand to with all our might (9:10). We are told in the New Testament that "I can do all things through Christ Jesus who strengthens me." Philippians 4:13. Over and over we read encouragement to "Press on," "Strive," etc. But we as Christians have to think about becoming all we can in light of service to God, rather than in service to self.
To this end, we should, just as Mr. Quam suggests, NOT ONLY pray, but be active and growing. Think about the first century Christians. Did they devote themselves to prayer? Certainly. We are told so over and over. But is that ALL they did? Certainly not. They worked and grew and helped others gain access to what God wants for each of us, salvation. Can you honestly argue that anything else is truly "becoming all you are capable of becoming?" Nope. At least not in God's eyes.
Mr. Quam has some excellent suggestions on how to accomplish this growth, and that is why I am writing this post, to share his ideas. He advocates Five Daily Disciplines, which I'll share in a moment. But it was his challenge at the beginning that really got me thinking, and was the most beneficial to me. See if you agree. His challenge was to write down the names of 3 people you really admire, then list 5-7 attributes of those people that really impress you. Then turn it around, three people you do not like, and 5-7 attributes they possess that really bother you. Then, examine yourself. List the attributes about yourself you admire, and honestly list what you don't like. This self-examination made me realize that some of the same things I had listed as not liking about others were issues I had myself. OUCH! This kind of self-inspection is a Biblical concept. Consider 2 Corinthians 13:5 where we are told to "test yourselves" and "examine yourselves." So I would encourage each person reading this blog, Christian or not, to complete this exercise and see if you don't learn a little something about yourself. Also look at James 1:23-25 to see the mirror we are to base our examination upon.
As for the Five Daily Disciplines, they are relatively straight-forward, and all in line with what a Christian should be doing. The first is to read 30 minutes a day of serious material. If we spent 30 minutes a day in God's Word, how much stronger would we be as Christians? How much more likely is it that we would be "ready to give a defense" when the occasion arises? 1 Peter 3:15
Secondly, Mr. Quam says we should exercise our bodily daily. Third, we are to eat healthily. Both of these fall under the category of respecting what God gave us, and treating our body as the temple it is.
Fourth, he says we need to make the right decision and stick to it . . . all the time. Even if it is a little tiny decision, choose the best path at all times. Still in line with God's Word.
Fifth, Journal ten minutes a day, recording how you did with each of the 4 previous disciplines, as well as including one positive experience in your day, and one random act of kindness that you performed. This makes you accountable to yourself. If you are actually tracking how you are doing on a daily basis, you are more likely to accomplish what you set out to do.
As he states on p. 24, "Repeating positive behavior 365 days a year for the rest of our lives is the only way of reaching your hopes and dreams." Sounds a lot like the message of 1 Corinthians 15:58 and Revelation 2:10 to me.
I probably didn't take this book the way that the author intended, but still found it very beneficial.
How 'bout you? Do you see his point of view? Do you see mine? Do you agree with either? Sound off!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Food
So a quick second post, just to give you something to ponder.
I am trying to follow a healthy diet at the moment. My last 6 months or so of Nurse Anesthesia school followed by Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and vacation added 20+ pounds to the scales. That is not okay. In fact, it's just about forbidden by the military, because it makes me overweight. Not only overweight, but unhealthy. So, after I got home, I set about to renew my exercise obligation, and pay attention to what I stuff in my mouth.
And that's when I made a realization. I don't normally think of food as fuel, and I don't think many other people do either. We treat it as soooo much more, companionship, comfort, reward, etc. We eat when we are happy, we eat when we are sad, we eat when we are bored, etc., often without thought. It is GIGO. When I treat food as fuel, I am much more likely to stick with a diet plan. If food is only fuel, then fruits and vegetables, proteins and healthy carbohydrates are what I need, and what I am going to consciously choose to ingest. I'm also much less likely to overindulge, because just as you can't overfill a car's gas tank, it's useless to try and cram extra fuel into our bodies.
And then I thought about the inverse parallel of this information I had realized. I'm not sure an inverse parallel is the correct phrase, but stick with me here. :) If the Word of God, fellowship or worship is treated only as fuel, then we only want the minimum necessary to keep us going. But if we recognize all the other things beyond basic fuel that the Bible, fellowship and/or worship provide, we are much more likely to want to Feast on these things. If we recognize the comfort, the reward, the encouragement, the uplifting rewards to be found in the Bible/fellowship/worship, we go beyond the minimum necessary to the point that we are no longer just spiritually surviving, but experiencing spiritual growth from an abundance of spiritual food.
What do you think?
I am trying to follow a healthy diet at the moment. My last 6 months or so of Nurse Anesthesia school followed by Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and vacation added 20+ pounds to the scales. That is not okay. In fact, it's just about forbidden by the military, because it makes me overweight. Not only overweight, but unhealthy. So, after I got home, I set about to renew my exercise obligation, and pay attention to what I stuff in my mouth.
And that's when I made a realization. I don't normally think of food as fuel, and I don't think many other people do either. We treat it as soooo much more, companionship, comfort, reward, etc. We eat when we are happy, we eat when we are sad, we eat when we are bored, etc., often without thought. It is GIGO. When I treat food as fuel, I am much more likely to stick with a diet plan. If food is only fuel, then fruits and vegetables, proteins and healthy carbohydrates are what I need, and what I am going to consciously choose to ingest. I'm also much less likely to overindulge, because just as you can't overfill a car's gas tank, it's useless to try and cram extra fuel into our bodies.
And then I thought about the inverse parallel of this information I had realized. I'm not sure an inverse parallel is the correct phrase, but stick with me here. :) If the Word of God, fellowship or worship is treated only as fuel, then we only want the minimum necessary to keep us going. But if we recognize all the other things beyond basic fuel that the Bible, fellowship and/or worship provide, we are much more likely to want to Feast on these things. If we recognize the comfort, the reward, the encouragement, the uplifting rewards to be found in the Bible/fellowship/worship, we go beyond the minimum necessary to the point that we are no longer just spiritually surviving, but experiencing spiritual growth from an abundance of spiritual food.
What do you think?
It's Alive! Mwahahaha!
Thanks to some encouraging words from Peyton over at Scatterbrained, I am now blogging. How long it lasts is up to you, the reader. If, for some crazy reason you encourage me in this endeavor, it will continue. If not, well, at least I will be able to say I've done something new this year.
What makes me qualified to blog, you might ask? Well, there are no qualifications required to blog, just a desire to make one's voice heard in the morass that is the internet, the voice of one crying in the wilderness, if you will. And, I have that. Also, I think that I have an occasional unique insight that others might want learn about. So, here goes.
You might be wondering about the name. There is a story there, and those of you who know Kari and I well might remember this story. But for the rest, here goes. I was raised in Alaska, and Alaska is still in my blood. I had the privilege of vacationing there this past December with my family, but that isn't pertinent to the story. What is relevant is the fact that when Kari and I first started hanging out, she asked me a question after learning I was from Alaska. That question was, "Did you have any pet penguins growing up?"
Now those of you who are Alaskans know that there are NO penguins in Alaska, only puffins. Penguins are confined to the Antartic, primarily the continent of Antartica itself, but also the tip of South America, occasionally New Zealand or near South Africa. I'm not completely sure of the extent of their natural range, but know that it is confined to the southern hemisphere.
I thought everybody knew that, so when Kari asked me that question, my assumption was that she was making fun of me! It turned out that she was asking an honest question, without malice aforethought. Since then, we have had a running joke about Alaskan Penguins. Her first two trips to Alaska, she was able to bring back souvenir penguins, perpetuating the joke. So now you know where the penguin portion of the blog name comes from.
And penguins themselves hold a fascination for me. On land, they waddle and are ackward, the way I often feel. But get them in the water, and they SOAR. While I feel that I spend most of my time on land, I relish those "water moments" when all is right. Can you relate?
Wondering/Wandering is a play on the similarity of the two words. I am a wanderer by nature. Kari and I have lived in approximately 1 house/year for each of our nearly 12 years of marriage. I have been to Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Florida, Hawaii, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Missouri, Mississippi, Nevada, New Mexico, New York and Tennessee in the U.S.; Ghana, Africa by way of Holland and Niger, Iraq by way of Germany and Quatar, back to the U.S. through Ireland . . . so in short, I wander. And as I wander, I wonder, A LOT! But that is material for another blog.
So welcome, feel free to look around and make suggestions. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Come back soon!
Robert
What makes me qualified to blog, you might ask? Well, there are no qualifications required to blog, just a desire to make one's voice heard in the morass that is the internet, the voice of one crying in the wilderness, if you will. And, I have that. Also, I think that I have an occasional unique insight that others might want learn about. So, here goes.
You might be wondering about the name. There is a story there, and those of you who know Kari and I well might remember this story. But for the rest, here goes. I was raised in Alaska, and Alaska is still in my blood. I had the privilege of vacationing there this past December with my family, but that isn't pertinent to the story. What is relevant is the fact that when Kari and I first started hanging out, she asked me a question after learning I was from Alaska. That question was, "Did you have any pet penguins growing up?"
Now those of you who are Alaskans know that there are NO penguins in Alaska, only puffins. Penguins are confined to the Antartic, primarily the continent of Antartica itself, but also the tip of South America, occasionally New Zealand or near South Africa. I'm not completely sure of the extent of their natural range, but know that it is confined to the southern hemisphere.
I thought everybody knew that, so when Kari asked me that question, my assumption was that she was making fun of me! It turned out that she was asking an honest question, without malice aforethought. Since then, we have had a running joke about Alaskan Penguins. Her first two trips to Alaska, she was able to bring back souvenir penguins, perpetuating the joke. So now you know where the penguin portion of the blog name comes from.
And penguins themselves hold a fascination for me. On land, they waddle and are ackward, the way I often feel. But get them in the water, and they SOAR. While I feel that I spend most of my time on land, I relish those "water moments" when all is right. Can you relate?
Wondering/Wandering is a play on the similarity of the two words. I am a wanderer by nature. Kari and I have lived in approximately 1 house/year for each of our nearly 12 years of marriage. I have been to Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Florida, Hawaii, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Missouri, Mississippi, Nevada, New Mexico, New York and Tennessee in the U.S.; Ghana, Africa by way of Holland and Niger, Iraq by way of Germany and Quatar, back to the U.S. through Ireland . . . so in short, I wander. And as I wander, I wonder, A LOT! But that is material for another blog.
So welcome, feel free to look around and make suggestions. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Come back soon!
Robert
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