Semi-Great Expectations. . .My New Year's Revolutions

It's a new year.  It's coming, and it cannot be stopped.   It is approaching more rapidly now.  In the early months of 2010, it seemed a long way off--moving slowly but surely.  Like when I move from the Christmas dinner table to the nearest recliner; I know I will get there, I just don't know how long it will take.  But since the end of October, the approaching new year seems to have picked up speed.  And now, here it is.

I know the new year is here because all of my wall calendars are out of pages.  Also, my wife is already reminding me not to write "2010" on any checks I write after December 31st.  I really should watch that, because it's much harder to scribble a "1" over a "0" than it is some other numbers, say a "7", no matter how hard you press, how many times you repeat the stroke, or how thick you try and make it.

I can also tell the new year is here because I'm already beginning to feel guilty.  This is because I have yet to make my new year's resolutions.  Oh, wait--I forgot, I don't call them "resolutions" anymore.  Rarely does anything that I have resolved to do in the coming year get resolved.  So now I just say "I'm setting goals."  That way, if nothing gets resolved in the coming year, I can just say, "Well, my expectations were way too high!  I must learn to set more attainable goals." 

Anyway, this is another way I know it's a new year: I haven't set my goals for the coming year.  And now I'm beginning to feel guilty about it.    This means I am already behind on not attaining my goals.  At this pace, it's going to be spring before I get my goals set, and, what--September or October before I admit that I can't attain the goals I set for this year, because my expectations were too great.  And of course, by then, the next new year is approaching at warp speed, and I'll have to start concentrating on goals for the next new year.  I swear, it never ends.


Setting goals.  Making resolutions.  Both of those terms really sound as though a person is making giant strides toward self-improvement, don't they?  I should just call it what it is: Another Chance to Set Unrealistic Goals Which I Know I Will Never Be Able to Attain but Which I Will Set Anyway, and Then When I Fail to Attain Those Unrealistic Goals Within the Unrealistic Time Period of One Year, I Will Feel Guilty, But I Will Set Them Anyway Because I Will Also Feel Guilty If I Do Not Set Some Goals for the New Year.  That's a little cumbersome to write, and even more ponderous to read, however.  Maybe I'll find a better way of saying it, but for now, I'll just call it Setting Goals.  Hey, wait...I just had an idea!  Let me write that down. . .Find a better way of saying it.  That's now one of my goals for 2011.

When I'm setting my goals, I look back at the previous year and take inventory.  As I've already mentioned, rarely can I attain every goal set down in one year.  Sometimes, you just have to scratch some of the tougher ones off the list and forget about them.  Those would be things like, "Lose weight."  "Get taller."  But then, sometimes previous year goals can carry over.  This makes your job of setting new goals much easier!  Here are a few of my carry-over goals from last year, which I will be including in my list for this year.

1. Take a trip to Alaska on one of those cruises hosted by a local television celebrity and their lovely spouse
2. Beat my brothers-in-law at golf
3. Beat anyone at golf
4. Save enough money to pay someone to let me beat them at golf
5. Discover a way to make health food taste like a medium done, thick, juicy steak
6. Eat more health food
7. Arrange to put the Slap-Chop guy, the Progressive girl, and the "stars" from all local car dealer television ads in one room and see who can out-annoy the others. . . . .to death. . .like a cage match
8. Become one of those people who do nothing but write letters to the editor of the local newspaper
9. Become more tolerant of bad TV commercials and people who do nothing but write letters to the editor of the local newspaper.
10. Finish last year's Christmas shopping by February.  Okay March.

There!  Wow, I feel better already!  I'm well on my way to getting my goals set for 2011!  All things considered, I expect a great 2011.  You know, this is amazing, but writing this has been a catharsis for me.

Wait, I have to write that down. . .Look up 'catharis' and learn definition. 

I'd better stop before my list gets too long.  Then I wouldn't be able to attain any of my goals.  And I'm really looking forward to that cage match.  My money's on Flo.

A Shepherd's Story

Night to Day/Day to Night

By Keith Wilson

Three days ago I stood on a hillside just outside the walls of Jerusalem and watched while midday turned to night.  On that day, for almost 3 full hours, the sun quite miraculously ceased to shine, covering the region with a blanket of darkness like doom itself.

As I stood on that hillside, which they call Golgotha, tears made stained paths through the dust that covered my face.  At that moment, I thought of another such miracle I had witnessed some thirty-three years earlier.  On that occasion, I had been standing on another hillside, near the foothills of Shefalah.  Then, I had seen the night become day.

My name is Jareth.  In those days, I was a boy of thirteen.  I was, as I am still, a shepherd; like my brothers, and my father, and his father before him.   On that night our flock was sharing grazing land with the flock of my father’s brother–as well as the flock belonging to a family from north of the old city of Hebron.  Together, our sum was twenty-two: myself and my five brothers, my father’s brother and his seven sons, and from the other family the father and his seven sons.

My father was no longer able to navigate the rocky hills because of his age and ill health.  So, the burden of responsibility for our own flock of dependent sheep rested on the shoulders of my eldest brother, Zeth.

How I loved my brothers–Zeth in particular, for it was he who taught me the writings of the Old Ones when my father was no longer able to speak clearly.  I would try with all that was within me to speak as Zeth spoke, to mimic his actions–event try to duplicate his manner of walking.  Zeth made light of my attempts to be like him, but I didn’t mind.

My father–and later, Zeth–had told me of the coming of the Anointed One...The Messiah.  The Gentiles called him “the Christ.”  However he was called prior to his coming, he was, we believed, to be the living Son of God. 

As Jews, our family was but a few of our own who actually believed that the God of Abraham would deliver his son in the form of a man.  More than even that, we–again among the few of our faith–believed that the coming of the Messiah would occur within our lifetime!

That night, the air was very still.  The sky was clear of clouds and deeper blue than the Great Sea itself.  The stars shone in their fullness and the moon cast just enough light so that I could just make out the silhouettes of the resting flock. 

Each of the tending families took watch over their respective flocks.  And at this time of night, each sent their two youngest.  While my brothers and older cousins rested in the hollows of the rock outcroppings, I and my uncle’s youngest son tended the sheep.

My biggest chore was staying awake during these hours.  Most of the sheep slept, nestled near the big overhanging rocks where the older ones were sleeping.  I succumbed to a yawn as I pulled the sheep’s wool tunic tighter around my neck against the night chill.

It was my cousin who saw it first.

“Jareth!” He called excitedly from his station farther down the hill.  “Do you see it?”

I tried to see where his silhouetted arm was pointing.  “What is it?” I asked, keeping my voice low so as not to awaken the older ones unnecessarily.

“There!” He shouted loudly now.  “There, to the east, look!”

I saw it now.

At first, I thought a star was surely descending upon us.  It was a bright white light, moving slowly toward us until it illuminated the hillside and a portion of the field below.  The sheep were startled and began to move about, huddling and bumping against one another.  The men were awake now, standing and staring at the light, which was growing closer now. 

I felt as though I was paralyzed.  I wanted to yell–to scream, but no sound would come from my wide-opened mouth.  The men began shouting at each other from all directions.

“What is it?”
“I don’t know!”
“What can this mean?”
“Is this our death?”
“The sheep!  Quickly, gather your sheep!”

Then I heard Zeth’s voice above all others.  “All of you stand quiet!”   The authority in his voice calmed the others.

My eyes remained fixed on the bright light, which was now very near us, glowing a blue-white. 

Suddenly, a form began to take shape in the center of the light.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen!  It was wearing a long white gown that billowed in folds as if blown by some powerful wind as yet unfelt by us.

When the center of the light seemed to be just above our heads, a voice spoke.  The voice came from the gowned figure.  And I thought it was the most beautiful sound ever!

“Do not be afraid...I bring you good news!  News of great joy, which will be for all people!”

When the voice spoke, the fear subsided in us all.  Even the sheep were at ease now.  Again I heard Zeth’s voice, this time in an awe-inspired whisper.  “It is an angel of the Lord our God!”  He said, his voice trembling with excitement.

“Today, this day, in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you. . .He is Christ the Lord!”

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but could not turn my eyes from the angel in the light to see who it was.

“The old prophets were right, just as father said!”  I heard Zeth whisper into my ear.  I could hear the smile in his voice.

Again the angel spoke.  “This will be a sign to you: you will find the baby wrapped in bands of cloth, lying in a manger.”

When the angel had finished speaking, the night sky seemed to part like a great veil.  Slowly the darkness was replaced by a host of lights, similar to the messenger above us.  Angels!  Thousands and thousands of angels!  As far as the eyes could see, the angels appeared, their light shining as bright as noon-day!

I felt Zeth’s grip tighten on my shoulder.  “Jareth,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion.  “We are witnesses to the glory of the Lord!”

I drew in a long breath through my still-opened mouth as I gazed at this holy presentation.  With Zeth standing beside me, his strong hand on my shoulder, I tried again to speak but still no sound would leave my throat.

Suddenly, there was a great rushing sound.  A sound like a rapidly approaching rainstorm, but louder.  It was a sound like the longest pealing of thunder ever.  Then, a gust of wind struck us with enough force to put us all off balance!  The odd thing about that sudden burst of wind was that–it was warm.  Like the air that would come from the clay oven when my mother removed the baked bread.

I was finally able to move.  I turned to my brother.  I wanted to ask Zeth what it all meant.  But when I looked at his face, I saw tears.  Still looking at the miracle in the sky, his arms encircled me and drew me to his chest.  “My young brother,” he said in a barely audible voice, “We are standing in the presence of God!”

When I turned back to view this heavenly host, I heard them begin praising God.  Their song was beautiful!  I remember their words to this day.  “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace to men on whom his favor rests!”

More quickly than they had appeared, the host of angels left us and returned to the heavens.  The first messenger angel smiled upon us before joining the hosts in their retreat.

Zeth released me and walked three steps in front of me, now staring at the once again dark sky.  I stumbled over a rock as I moved up a step behind him.  I reached out and took hold of his tunic.  “Zeth, what does it mean?”

He looked down at me, then back to the sky, and once again back to my questioning eyes.

“What it means, young brother, is that we must go to Bethlehem, the town of David, to find the Messiah–the promised one!”

“Does God’s favor rest on us?” I asked, moving closer to Zeth, looking up at the sky again, as he was.

“Yes.  Yes, I feel it must be so!”  Zeth finally answered, “Else we would not have been witnesses to this thing!”

“The Messiah?  Resting in a feeding trough for cattle?”  The question came from the father of the other family.  “That hardly seems a fitting bed for the so-called ‘Living Son of God’!”

“Did you not witness the word of the Lord here, Na-mal?” Zeth asked the man.

“I’m not certain what I witnessed.”  The elder man answered, moving up the hillside toward us.  “It just does not seem possible, young one.”

Na-mal stood beside Zeth and looked down the hillside past the valley.  “What will you do, Zeth?”

“I and my eldest brothers will go to Bethlehem and find the baby.  We will leave Jareth here to tend our flock, along with my uncle and his sons.

When I heard this, I could not stop myself.  I lunged forward, grasping at Zeth’s arm.  “Zeth please!  I must be allowed to go with you!  I must see the one you and father have told me about!  Please, Zeth. . .I must see our Messiah!”

Zeth looked down at me.  He must have seen the longing in my eyes.  He leaned forward so that his eyes were level with mine, his hands on his knees.  “It will be a difficult journey, Jareth.”

“I am willing, Zeth–and strong enough!”

“As are we, cousin.”  My eldest cousin spoke.  “We will go as well.  Your young brother is right.  We must.”

My uncle took quick steps and joined us on the dark hillside.  “That is at it should be, Zeth.  I will stay, along with my youngest, to watch after our flocks.”  He placed his hand on Zeth’s shoulder.  “You must leave at the first sign of day. . .Or–I should say, the next sign of day, for we have just witnessed the first, have we not?”  He smiled and looked around at our group for affirmation.  His face once again took a serious tone.  “Come morning, I will send my youngest to inform your father as to what has happened here.”  He smiled again.  “He will be pleased, Zeth.”   

Zeth smiled at me, and then my uncle.  “He will be praising God, and praying for our safety guidance, Uncle.”  He reached out and locked forearms with my uncle in a traditional handshake of brotherhood.

“Look!  There in the sky to the east!”  My brother Elam shouted.

All our heads whirled in unison, first in the direction of Elam’s voice and then to where he pointed.                                   
There, low in the sky, was a star shining brighter than all the rest.  The star had many points of light radiating from its center.  The ray at the lowest point seemed to stretch to the earth itself.

“Is the star not in the direction of the town of David?”  Elam asked.

“It is indeed.”  My uncle answered.

“It is yet another sign from our Lord, for as Elam has noted, the star directs all who see it to the birthplace of the Messiah!”  Zeth said.

“I feel it is even more than that.” My uncle whispered.  “It is an indication of hope for mankind...it is an indication of a new beginning, as the angel said ‘for all people!’”

Our journey was three days and nights.  We arrived in Bethlehem two hours past the setting of the sun.  Zeth inquired of several innkeepers as to the whereabouts of the child.  None seemed to know.

The town of David was bulging with people of the region, there to enter their names on the census and to pay their taxes to the Roman government.  We struggled through the crowded streets to yet another inn.  Zeth motioned for the rest of us to wait outside as he entered.

I looked about, a bit frightened by the busyness of the crowds and the activity in the streets and alleyways, even at this late hour.  None of my family was accustomed to town life–least of all during the busiest time of the year.  I focused my attention on the front door of the inn.  After a few moments, Zeth came out.  He was smiling.

“That is why the child is in a manger!  There are simply no rooms available in the whole of Bethlehem!”   

He huddled us closer to him as he would do the youngest sheep in the flock.  “This innkeeper had to turn away a man whose wife was very near her time!”  The excitement in his voice caused us all to share in his anticipation.

“What became of the couple?” Elam impatiently asked Zeth for all of us.

“The innkeeper, when he heard of the woman’s condition, showed them to his own stable, so they could at least stay warm.”

“Was the child born then?” One of my cousins asked.

“Yes, according to the innkeeper, the woman gave birth to the baby only a few nights later!”  Zeth answered, his eyes glowing.

“When, Zeth?  When did the woman deliver the child?”  Elam asked, moving closer within our circle outside the inn.

Zeth stood up straight and looked over our heads, as if he wanted to gain the attention of all in the streets so that they might hear what he had to say.  “The child was born four nights ago.  About five hours after the setting of the sun.”

Elam stepped forward and put his hand on Zeth’s chest.  I could see Elam’s eyes welling with tears.  “Zeth,” he said breathlessly, “that was the exact hour the angels visited us in the field!  We—we have been truly blessed by God to have been told of this wonderful news!”   

“It is true, Elam.  We are blessed!”  Zeth put his hand on my head and smiled at me.  “Jareth, truly God’s favor does rest upon us!”  He gazed heavenward and began praising God loudly.  “All glory and praise be to God in the highest place, for we have found favor in his eyes!”

We all joined in praise for a time, oblivious to the looks from strangers in the streets.

My brother Zor-El spoke excitedly.  “We must go to this stable now and see this holy child in the manger!”

“Come, I will show the way.”  Zeth responded, breaking from our circle and stepping into the narrow alleyway that ran alongside the inn. 

The stable was just behind the inn.  We could see the glow of a fire near the stable and several people standing near. 

There were three men dressed differently than the rest.  They were attired as those from the east. 

“Zeth, who are those men?” I asked my brother as we hurried toward the stable.

“They are Magi, brother.  Men of wisdom from far to the east.  They must have been foretold of the birth of the Messiah!”

Elam took hold of Zeth’s shoulder.  “We do not know the name of the child–nor his mother or father!”

“We will ask.”

We approached the people near the fire.  Zeth strode ahead and inquired of a man who was warming his hands over the inviting blaze.
“We come seeking the child–the Son of the Living God.”

“Who is it that who asks?”  The man questioned, looking carefully first at Zeth then the rest of our group nearby.

“We are shepherds from the hills of Judea to the south.  We were visited by an angel of our Lord and told of the birth of the Messiah.  It is he whom we seek.” 

“Then you are welcome, brother.  I am sorry if I was rude...it is because of Herod Antipas.  He fears the birth of the holy one.  We do not know what he may do.”

“May we know the name of the child?” Zeth asked.

“He is called Jesus, as was ordained.”

“And the name of his mother and father?”

“His earthly father is Joseph, a carpenter from Nazareth.  He is of the line of David.  The child’s mother is called Mary.

“We must see them now, if we may.”

“You shall, brother.  Come, I will make your presence known to Joseph.”

We followed the man to the manger where the child rested.  He was a beautiful baby, completely at peace in his surroundings amid the straw and the people and the animals who shared the stable space.

Each of our group took our turn viewing the child.  This baby called Jesus—he smiled at me.  I know it to be true!  The Messiah smiled at me! 

We were in awe.  For the second time within the space of just a few days, we were standing in the very presence of God!  I had been witness to the child who would change the course of history forever!

We stayed in Bethlehem that night and the next, camping alongside the others who had come to see the child. When we left the stable early of that morning, and said our goodbyes to Mary and Joseph and the Messiah–this child called Jesus, we could not contain our joy!  We told everyone we saw of the birth of the Messiah!  On the streets of Bethlehem we proclaimed it.  On the road south of town, we stopped travelers to tell them of the good news! 

I have never known such joy as I felt during those days.  I could little understand then that I would one day experience heartache such as I have never known.

Now, some thirty-three years later, here I stand on this barren hill called Golgotha.  It was three days ago, right here on this place of misery, that I watched day turn to night.  Three days ago, in the midst of that darkness, I looked on with sorrow, and in horror, as Jesus was crucified.

Jesus.  The same Messiah I had seen as a newborn babe had been mercilessly nailed to a thick wooden cross and hung there for all to see.  I could scarcely believe what my eyes were seeing.  Nor did I wish to believe it. 

In the third hour of the darkness, I heard Jesus cry out, but I could not understand what he said.  Then he cried out for the last time, and that cry I did understand.

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

I saw his broken body slump there on that vile wooden structure–that inhuman implement of death.  I knew Jesus was dead. 

I wept so I could no longer see through the flood of tears.  My heart felt as though it was being torn from my chest.

“How could this be?” I thought aloud.  “The son of the Living God, the King of Kings, my Savior and Lord–the Messiah, left to die!” 

Suddenly, the ground began to shake violently beneath my feet!  The earth was rumbling.  I saw great rocks breaking.  I cried aloud, “It is the Lord our God!  He himself feels the pain, for it is his son who has perished!”

I wandered among the circles of believers following his death on that cross.  Many talked of his returning–of his resurrection from death itself.  Some were afraid for their lives because of their beliefs.  Others, like me, could feel only the pain, and a great sense of loss.

Early this morning, just before the sun rose, I felt the earth move once again.  I was standing with a group of believers when this happened.  We were sharing stories of our various encounters with Jesus.  When the rumblings began, a young woman I do not know shouted loudly, “It is a sign!  The prophecies are being fulfilled!  He is no longer among the dead!”

I felt the hair on my arms and the back of my neck bristling.  Could this be true?  Could it be that the Son of God is returning from a thing as certain as death?

Within the hour, a man came running to our group.  He was breathless and wide-eyed. “Have you heard?” He asked, gasping for air.  “Have you heard the glorious news?”

“What news do you bring, sir?” I asked as we encircled the excited messenger.

“It is true!  It is just as was foretold!” He continued between breaths.

A man from among our group of believers stepped forward and grasped the messenger’s cloak.  “What is true?  Does our Lord live?”  He asked, his voice overflowing with anticipation.

“A woman, her name is Joanna, had gone with others to the tomb of our Lord!  They were bringing spices for the body.  But when they arrived, they were met by an angel of the Lord!”

When I heard of the angelic appearance, I stepped closer to the man.  “What had the angel to say to the women, brother?”

The messenger’s posture took on a change as he looked about our circle.  “The angel asked this question: ‘Why do you look for the living—among the dead?’”

“Then it is true?” Another asked.  “Our Lord has been resurrected?”

“It must be so!” The messenger replied.

“Then—he is risen from the dead?” A young boy asked, struggling to get closer in our circle.

I reached out and held the young boy’s face in my hands.  In his eyes, I saw myself as a young shepherd boy those thirty-three years ago.”

“It is as you said, young one.”  I said, looking into his innocent eyes.  “He has risen.  He has surely risen!”

Just then, I heard a voice calling my name.  I looked about the group to see who had spoken.  No one responded to my inquisitive glance, for they were all still trying to understand the messenger’s words.

“Jareth.”

This time I heard the voice clearly.  It was coming from within me!

“Jareth, do not be afraid.”   The voice said.  “Jareth, you have found favor in the eyes of God because of your faith.” 

It was then that I realized that what I was hearing was the voice of the Holy Spirit!   I felt peace such as I had never felt, and I could not help but smile.

“Sir?”  The young boy tugged at my tunic.  “Do you really believe?  Do you really believe his has risen?”

A tear fell from my face and splashed in the dust at my feet. “Oh yes, I believe it!  I know it in my heart!  Jesus has risen!”

No Thunderstorms in Heaven

"Belle"

September 28, 2009.  That was the day we had to say goodbye to our beloved Golden Retriever companion and friend, Belle.  That very tough, very sad day came sharply back into focus for me this past week.  Our friend, Laura, had to make that same difficult decision to let go and say goodbye to her own Golden Retriever, Mac.

There is something innate in Golden Retrievers--all dogs, really, but Goldens in particular because of the very nature of the breed--that endears them to their masters in a way that is inexplicable to any but the truest of dog lovers.

World renowned suspense thriller author Dean Koontz, himself a Golden Retriever enthusiast, explains it this way: "Golden Retrievers are not bred to be guard dogs, and considering the size of their hearts and their irrepressible joy in life, they are less likely to bite than to bark, less likely to bark than to lick a hand in greeting. In spite of their size, they think they are lap dogs, and in spite of being dogs, they think they are also human, and nearly every human they meet is judged to have the potential to be a boon companion who might, at many moment, cry, "Let's go!" and lead them on a great adventure." 

Belle, in earlier days, with my daughter, Mitzi

I could definitely sympathize with Laura as she had to make that terrible, but logical and unselfish choice.  The last thing in the world you want to do is prolong the pain the old dog is struggling through.  In Belle's case, it was a tumor on her liver, and severe arthritis in her hips and spine.  With Mac it was Lymphoma along with the arthritis that so often accompanies the aging large breed dog.  In both cases, the decision had to be made to give the dog the peace they deserved.

"Mac"

We had Belle for 14 years and a little over two months.  She never could understand why anyone she might meet would not want her to give them lots of kisses.  If anyone who came around did not share our love of dogs, she somehow knew it and did her level best to make friends with them and lick them.  She was the most gentle and loving dog I have ever known.  She would let children pull her ears or her tail, try to ride her, or just squeeze her very hard because they loved her, and she never complained.  Even in her last days of being so very sick, she never complained or whined.  She even managed to look apologetic because she didn't make it outside to be sick.

Belle always wanted to go for a car ride, and always wanted the windows down.  She never minded the trips to the vet or the shots.  She loved fresh vegetables.  She loved bacon grease. And she loved her younger "sister," our other Golden Retriever, Annie.

Belle never made fun of our golf games or our singing abilities; never told us we needed to lose weight; never said our hair looked bad.  She never complained about the food she was given or the way she felt when she hurt.  All she ever "asked" was to be with us.  And maybe to lick the gravy bowl, and to snuggle between us when thunderstorms came.

We know that we made the best decision for her, although, it was hard not to be selfish and keep her with us for as long as we could.  But I got to be with her when she went to sleep, stroking her big furry body and talking to her as she left us. 

When I first picked Belle out of the litter, she was barely three weeks old. I selected her because, when I picked her up and held her close enough to check out her eyes, she kissed me on my nose...almost as if she were saying, "Hello!"  When she went to sleep that day, I kissed her on her nose and said goodbye.

If I had to write one short sentence to serve as her epitaph, it would be this: "She simply lived to love." 

Our other special girl, Annie, is officially named "Wilson's AnnaBelle Lee".  I chose this name for two reasons: first, it contains "Belle" in her name, a way of keeping Belle with us whenever that time came.  And, two, it is from the Edgar Allan Poe poem, "Annabel Lee" (I modified the spelling to "AnnaBelle").  There is a line in that poem that says,
"...And this maiden, she lived
With no other thought
Than to love,
and be loved by me."

That certainly describes both of our Golden Retrievers, and Belle embodied that statement for 14 years.  We miss her terribly, but knowing that she no longer hurts makes our grief a bit easier to take. 

In November last year, we brought Maggie into our lives.  Maggie is a reddish Golden, like Belle.  Although she's just over a year old now, she's all puppy.  And she's all Golden.  Annie is the big sister now, taking over that role from Belle.

Annie, patiently playing the "big sister" to the younger Maggie

Like Belle, Mac never got used to thunderstorms.  For Mac, they were the worst thing that could possibly happen to a dog!   When Laura had to make that horrible decision last week, she said to us, through tears, "At least there are no thunderstorms in heaven..."    And there is no pain.

I know that today, Mac and Belle are pain-free, playing and running together through grassy fields and sunny days; ears laid back, and feathers bouncing as they bark at each other to "hurry up!", stopping occasionally to nuzzle each other as Goldens do.  And as Laura said, there are no thunderstorms to interrupt their peace.  Their perfect, painless peace.

We miss you, Belle.

In Praise of the Properly Picked Fruit

I decided to write about the thing that was foremost in my mind at the time.  That happened to be fruit.  Lucky you.

There is an art form to purchasing fruit.  At least that is true for me.  This is because I am a picky fruit eater.  I am not all that picky about food in general, save for mayonnaise, which is not a food but something in the paste family, and sweet pickles, which is basically a cucumber fermented in the nastiest of spices that stink.  But about fruit, I am beyond picky.  In fact, I have little tolerance for a poorly chosen fruit.  With me, fruit has a shelf life of about two days.  Any fruit kept longer than that is no longer a food.  It’s just mushy, decaying plant life waiting to be thrown away.

Nectarines, peaches, cherries, apples, grapes, and watermelon.  These are my fruits of choice.  Watermelon doesn’t really get included in this particular writing because this is about picking the right fruit.  That’s just a crap-shoot, I don’t care who tells you they can tell by thumping it.  What is that about, anyway?  I mean, I can thump the belly of a pregnant woman and announce that it’s going to be a boy and I have a 50/50 shot of being right.  Now, back in the day, you would walk up to a melon stand, pull out a Barlow pocketknife, and cut a “plug” out of the watermelon to determine if it was ripe or not.  You walk into a grocery store today and pull out a pocketknife and you will likely be tackled by some well-meaning grocery shopper who fears you are threatening to do something politically incorrect.  (They probably pick their fruit by the "grab and throw" method.  That is, "oh, nectarines, grab 4 and throw them in the cart!"  I have no tolerance for these people.)  Not to mention the fact that if you did cut a plug out of a watermelon, you’re going to buy that watermelon even if the plug you cut out is as green as a Gecko.  Where was I?

Oh yes, picking fruit.  For me, fruit has to be very firm, so that it has a soft crunch to it, but not green.  If it’s ripe to most people, it’s probably already rotten to me.  Where apples are concerned, it has to be a Granny Smith.  And it has to be tart enough to pull your cheeks together when you take a bite.  Don’t even let me smell a Delicious or Jonathan apple.  Mushy, and not dense enough.  Yes, I said “not dense enough.”  It’s a texture thing with me.  Bananas?  Don’t let me even see a brown spot.  I’d rather have a green banana than a “ripe” banana.  Grapes?  They have to be seedless only, and nothing soft.  My basic test with a grape is to pull one off the bunch, throw it on the floor of the grocery store, and it has to bounce back up to at least my knee. 

These are not options with me.  These are hard and fast rules.  For example, I love Bing cherries.  LOVE them.  But one has to be careful when selecting them or pay the consequences.  Allow me to quote from the fruit scriptures.

Fruitations 3:1-12
“And there shall be cherries, and they shall be good; behold, pies shall be made from the reddest of these.  And they shall be good and lo, many will be eaten—yea, with coffee and ice cream they shall be warmed and eaten.

But the greatest of these shall be called Bing.  And so it shall be that Bing cherries will be tasty.  Yea, they shall bring forth juice and it shall be dark red and shall stain all that touch it.  Yea, even thy fingers shall be stained.  And the Bing cherry shall be eaten one following the other, until thy stomach acheth.
 
But there shall be a bad Bing.  And the bad Bing shall be mixed among the good Bing.  Woe to the produce manager who allows the bad Bing and the good Bing to intermingle.  For the bad Bing shall be malodorous and slimy and shall bring its bad Bingness to the good Bing  and shall make the good Bing bad. 

But the good Bing shall be firm, sweet, and with the right amount of tartness.  Yea, the good Bing shall ‘plunch’ when bitten into; by this ye shall know that thy Bing is good.
 
And let the stems and stainful pits of thy Bings fall into thy trash receptacle with ease and with minimal stainness.

Let all grocery stores which choose to carry the Bing hear and have discernment concerning the good and bad Bing, and let them make note as the Bing is offered.

For it is written, ‘There shall be few fruits as tasty as the good Bing; but woe to the eater of the slimy Bing, for theirs will be the loss of appetite and the washing out of the mouth to rid themselves of the sliminess.’

So it is written, so let it be done.”

Yes, it’s like that.  I love good fruit.  Poorly picked fruit has no place in my life.  I knew you would want to know these things about me.

Centrifuge -- Final Day: "Coming Home"

Centrifuge on the last day begins with a slap-in-the-face realization that you not only had to get up really really early after going to bed really really late, but you also have to get all of your gear packed up and out to the bus before breakfast!  And I have to make sure my crew is up, packed, and ready to take all their stuff to the bus before making the hike to the cafeteria.  Cap'n Crunch will have to wait this morning.

After breakfast, the final episode of the "Morning Show" got everyone up and moving, dancing, singing, shouting, and motivated.  Let me clarify what I mean by "everyone."  While I'm certain everyone was moving, dancing, singing, shouting, and motivated on the inside, the adult leaders seemed to be having more difficulty letting those emotions and actions make the journey to the outside.  You know the saying, "if you're happy, tell your face"?  As I looked around the auditorium this morning, it was clear that many of the adults did not get that message.

I found one adult leader from another church just sitting alone at the back of the auditorium, with moist eyes and a very weird smile on his face.  He reminded me of the Riley Poole character in "National Treasure" when he found the stairs leading them out of the caverns and said, with that same look on his face, "Look. . .Stairs!"  When I asked if this adult leader was alright, he simply responded, with profound joy and relief in his voice, "Home!"

"Home," indeed.  After an incredible week of learning, sharing, growing, and yeah, a little suffering here and there, we are going home.  What are we taking with us?  Memories, some great pictures, a strange craving for real scrambled eggs, and a new view of "Defining Moments" in our lives.

LOVE.  OBEDIENCE.  SACRIFICE.  INTEGRITY.  COMMITMENT.  How do these fit into our lives?  How can we make sure they fit into our lives?  What can we do to keep ourselves grounded in God's word?

We come home with questions; we come away with answers, too; we leave Union University with renewed motivation. 

For me personally, I believe this week truly has been a "defining moment" in my life.  It was worth every inch of walking, every forkful of weird eggs.  I have a whole new view of our young people, and I like what I see.

And, in the end, I would do it again next week if I could.  I've already volunteered for next year. 

I might bring along some Pop Tarts, though.

Centrifuge -- Day Five: "Commitment"

I pulled down the handle to dispense some Trix into my bowl.  This is when I discovered that the dispenser chute for the Trix was about the diameter of a truck tire.  So, larger than the diameter of my bowl.  I should have had a clue from the mounds of Trix on the table top and the crunchy sound under my feet.  As if in slow motion, I realized that I actually had to raise the handle back up to stop the eruption of little multi-colored sugar/corn-or-a-grain-of-some-sort  things. 

Since I was now standing in ankle-deep Trix, and my bowl was buried somewhere in the Trix hill, I determined that my best bet to retain some particle of dignity was to act like it never happened and slide quietly to the next cereal station, bobbing my head to some imaginary Hip-Hop song while reaching for another bowl.  I'm pretty sure it worked.  That's when I noticed, for the first time this week, that the kitchen crew at Union had added Cap'n Crunch to the menu!  With Crunchberries!  I determined at this point that Union University would, indeed, turn out some of the finest Christian leaders our country has ever known.  Bless them.

Friday.  The last full day of Centrifuge.  I'm beginning to realize that this week has actually gone by more quickly than I imagined it would.  If I feel that way, I can imagine how the kids must be feeling.

Today was jam-packed with a flurry of activity and a blur of teenagers making the most of this last full day.  More Interesting Eggs, bacon, grits, french toast sticks, gallons of syrup, and cereal; another morning of "Peel...the orange...Peel, peel, the orange" from the Morning Show crew to wake everyone up; another update from "Margaret Marjorie" and her friend "Dictionary Dan" (AH-HA-HA-HAA!  The kids can explain that one for you.); yet another installment of the very well-done series, "Adventure Now!", a video movie/show produced by Centrifuge and Lifeway to bring home the theme and daily focus; another quick illusion/trick from Sammy Knuckles, and then a mass exodus as everyone goes their own way to their recreation time and Bible study group.

Today's theme is "Commitment".  Part of the Bible study focus today was centered around Jeremiah 29:11-14.  This scripture became very important to me into the fourth month of a 9 month layoff I experienced during the down-turn in the economy in January 2009.  I was attending "Toward Wonder", a worship arts seminar at Willow Creek in the Chicago area.  My prospects for employment weren't looking good at that time, which put me in the same lifeboat as many, many other people.  In the bookstore at Willow Creek, I found a Bible bag (sort of a man purse...a "Murse" if you will...or a European Man Bag) to carry my Bible and various other notebooks, pens, phones, etc.  So, yeah, okay, a purse.  Anyway, imprinted on the bag was this scripture: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

That was a turning point in my outlook concerning my future.  But you have to read the rest of the passage to get the full effect: "12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. 14 I will be found by you," declares the LORD, "and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you," declares the LORD, "and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile."

See, continuing on when you don't feel like it requires something from us: commitment.  It requires some effort on my part.  "Call upon me..."   "Come and pray to me..."  "Seek me..."  Sometimes, we just don't want to go on.  It's easier to quit.   But we will find that, as the adult Bible study guide for the week says, "Follow-through and dedication to fulfill our calling are essential to experiencing the full life God intends for us."

Tonight, the kids' levels of commitment to winning were put to the test during the "Mega Relay" competition.  This is difficult to explain.  It's group against group, defined by Bible study groups (not church), and pitted against each other in physical tests of----well, weirdness.  Run as fast as you can, spin around a pool noodle 5 times as fast as you can, change direction, spin around 5 times, run back to the group as fast you can; Run as fast as you can as a group, holding hands, to a point, pile up on each other and have a bucket of water poured on you. . .it's like that.  And it is very competitive.  Teams have team flags, colors, and lots of face paint.  It's huge.  And it's awesome to watch!   And it's safe.  I'm sure it's safe. . . . . .It might not be safe.  But, the kids and the adults go crazy trying to help their respective teams.  Everyone's a winner.  But not everyone wins.

Last full day of Centrifuge.  How is it that am finding it sad that it's going to be over tomorrow?!  And just when I found the Cap'n Crunch---with Crunchberries!!!

Centrifuge - Day Four: "Sacrifice"

This morning was beautiful...a nice, clear sky and pretty sunrise.  A perfect southern early summer day.

However, into Day Four of Centrifuge, I have noticed another phenomenon.  Yes, the walking distance seems to be getting shorter.  Unfortunately, so do the nights.  Four hours of sleep really doesn't seem like much.  Here's why: BECAUSE IT ISN'T. Still, I find the energy to face Day Four head-on. 

Speaking of finding energy...After breakfast, before the "Morning Show" activity in the auditorium to kick off the theme of the day, some of the kids lined up in front of the fountain in "The Circle" and gave an impromptu performance of "Vast Voyage" from VBS, complete with choreography.

Apparently, they were energized enough to mobilize the show and they rolled on into the auditorium, keeping the music and dancing going all the way, until they spilled into the aisles of the auditorium, picking up more students as the concert continued.  It eventually flowed seamlessly into a coordinated choreography taking up two aisles and complementing the thundering pre-music for the "Morning Show".

It. Was. Awesome.

Today's theme was "Sacrifice".  Bible study focused on the sacrifice of Hannah in I Samuel.  In my study, Romans 12:1 and 2 provoked some thought.  It speaks of making ourselves living sacrifices and being transformed by renewing our minds so that our sacrifice is real and will stand up to the pressure of letting our own will override the sacrifice.  The life questions sting a bit.  What are you willing to give up in order to live the life God has for you?  Why does your affection for other things often outweigh your love for God?  Oh, so it's gonna be like that?

The evening worship services continue to be fantastic, with more examples of how God is moving in these young people's lives.  It's hard not to get caught up in the unbridled enthusiasm and excitement, even for a jaded old guy like myself!  Great praise and worship music, energetic, to-the-heart-of-the-matter teaching, and involved and engaged young people.  What's not to like about that?

The week is beginning to tell on the adults, for sure. The kids seem be impervious to calorie intake, fatigue, or hoarseness.  The rest us us?  Well. . . .what is the old saying about a picture and a thousand words?

 

And I would have to say that this picture also fits in rather well with the day's theme.  Let's caption this photo with one word:    "S A C R I F I C E"

Centrifuge - Day Three: "Obedience"

I would like to start this update by thanking the parents of the boys in my room (Jared Dietz, Kyle Crane, and Kyle Pettys--who, because we have so many Kyles, we call "Tucker" for some reason) for raising their kids with such good hygiene habits. Having experienced the opposite traits in teenage boys, I honestly can't thank you enough. I think that's all we need to say on that topic.

Jared and Kyle in a quiet repose after a meal

An interesting phenomenon has occurred on this third day of Centrifuge. During the night Union University officials, who have apparently been reading this blog, have moved the building that houses the cafeteria closer to our dorm!  (Yes, I allow for the possibility that I'm simply getting used to the walking, but--how boring to write about is that?)

During morning recreation time, the "adults" (hey, that's what they call us, stop laughing) participated in what is referred to as a "Trust Fall", or as I like to call it, "Do You Think I'm an Idiot with a Death Wish???"  Now, there are times when carrying a camera with a big lens can be helpful in more ways than taking good pictures.  "I can't participate in the Do You Think I'm an Idiot with a Death Wish??? fun because I have to take photos for our church...But I do get the point of the activity and I am in total agreement with the hoped-for result."

This "Trust Fall" was a bit different than the ones I have actually participated in before.  In those, one stood stiffly and simply forced oneself to lean backward until gravity could assist and then the person the Idiot with a Death Wish "trusts" catches said Idiot on the way down and helps soften the landing.  With this new and improved version, one stands on what looks to be a deer stand about a hundred feet off the ground and free-falls onto a group of adults who are as old and as out of shape as I am and who are entrusted with catching the Idiot with a Death Wish.   Enter the "I'm the photographer" excuse.

Bible study today focused on "Obedience" as the theme for the day, and the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego was the foundation.  Interesting to think that those guys not only refused to bow, but made it clear that they would not bow down even if God did not deliver them.  Compare that to the "situational obedience" we so often choose.  Lord help me to be willing to lay it all on the line, holding nothing back, and avoid the "depends on the circumstances" road that seems so much easier.

In the afternoon, I was part of the "Missions" Track Time, which included three of our young ladies (Katherine Alexander, Lauren Hennefen, and Justine Dietz).  About 30 young people boarded vans and drove off campus to a nursing home to minister to the residents.  What an awesome experience that was.  We met Miss Carolyn, a life-long resident of Jackson, and Miss Dorothy (one of my favorites simply because she shares the name of one of my grandmothers), both dear, sweet ladies.  But the amazing thing to me was watching our girls ministering to the residents there.  I would swear I could actually see them growing spiritually right before my eyes!

Union University really is a beautiful campus with a rich history (founded in 1823), and a great heritage as an institute of Christian education.  And since they were so nice to shorten my walking distance, I have to say they are extremely accommodating!  Parents, you really should make this college campus a part of your college visits for your young people.

Tonight's worship service was an anointed time of music and teaching.  I looked around me at one point and saw one of our teenage guys lost in worship, unashamedly praising God with lifted hands--not in a big, showy, "does this look right" sort of way, but truly worshiping.  I saw our teenagers singing songs of praise and making me believe that they not only knew what the words they were singing meant, but that they believed what they were singing.  What a concept, huh?  What a great teaching moment for me.



Again tonight, many lives forever changed, the Kingdom expanded, and seeds planted.  Following the service, when camp pastor Sammy Knuckles asked everyone to exit reverently and respectfully (of those still in counsel with leaders and pastors), you could have heard a pin drop.  Do you know what over 800 teenagers sounds like leaving an auditorium reverently and respectfully?  I do now.

Another great time of sharing in our Church Group time in the Chemistry class lecture room followed, with more openness from these awesome young people.  These are moments that will stay with them for the rest of their lives.  These are truly, as the theme of the camp suggests, defining moments for them.  And for me.


As for whether or not I'll survive the week, I think I'm over the hump.  I mean, teenage boys with good hygiene, and buildings closer together for less walking?  It's looking better all the time!

Heck, I might even try the eggs again tomorrow.  Nahhhhhh.  Let's not be unrealistic in our expectations.

Centrifuge - Day Two: "Love"

This morning, I awoke suddenly to a scream that sounded like a terrified little girl.  After a moment, I realized it was me.  Apparently my back did not appreciate the miles walked and the hours of standing in various lines yesterday.  So, I decided the best thing to do was to do it all again.

My judgment of distances may be slightly off, so forgive me if I'm off by a few yards here and there, but I'm pretty sure it is 12 miles from our dorm here on the campus of beautiful Union University to the cafeteria building.  Part of the requirement, after making that Byrd-esque trek, is that you stand in line with 492 people in front of you, waiting for a lukewarm dish that began as a powder in a cardboard box labeled "Scrambled Eggs" somewhere in a pantry or maintenance shed in back of the kitchen.  It tasted like feet.

Now, in all fairness, I must admit that my recollection of the morning may be somewhat slanted due to the fact that they ran out of coffee somewhere near the 490th person in front of me.  And since I didn't get coffee for some time, I may be remembering things a bit more harshly than they naturally occurred.

In retrospect, the breakfast was actually not bad at all.  The bacon was good, and so were the biscuit and gravy.  But the eggs not so much.  I do remember that.

Today's theme was "Love" and our Adult Bible Study time focused on the story of Jonah, running from God, and allowing God's love to lead.  The question in our study guide was, "When was a time you tried to run from God and His direction for your life?"  I ran out of fingers and toes doing the math on that one.  But I have experienced the mercy and compassion of God, and my aim should be to share that love.  Even if it is with the Ninevites in my own life.  1 John 4:16 says "And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.  God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him."  It was a great time of reflection and study, and in a nice air-conditioned room. 

The young people began their "Track Time" today, splitting up and joining other youth for tracks like "Witnessing," "Digital Photography," "Water Games," "Aerobics," and many others.  My job was to try and get as many pictures of our kids as possible involved in those activities.  This task added approximately 132 miles to my walking today.  But the effort produced some great pictures!

Tonight we experienced a fantastic time of worship and teaching with Dove Awards New Artist of the Year winners, Sidewalk Prophets and camp pastor Sammy Knuckles.  Several young people in the audience tonight gave their hearts to Jesus and new lives began.

Our own church group time followed that as we focused in on what we had all learned in our Bible study times, our fellowship and our worship time.  Again tonight, I saw kids opening their hearts before the Lord and each other, and lifting each other up.  It's a phenomenon you have to witness first-hand to fully appreciate.  You can see the spiritual leaders of our churches tomorrow being formed before your eyes in these sessions.

A late night "County Fair" themed Nightlife program capped a long busy day at Centrifuge.  These "kids" really are fun to watch and learn from.

I'm looking forward to starting another day at 'Fuge tomorrow morning!  I think, however, I'll start the long journey to the cafeteria a bit earlier.  I'll start with coffee and bypass the scrambled feet.

Centrifuge - Day One: "The Journey"

What is "Centrifuge"?  It's a modern version of an old tradition: church camp for young people.  Let me make this clear, however: this is NOT your father's church camp.  It IS the church camp your father wishes he had, though.

When my church's Youth Pastor, we'll call him "Lee" (because, you know, that's his name), asked if I would go to Centrifuge this year as an adult sponsor, I don't think he really knew just how old I am.  See, one thing that hasn't changed about church camp for young people is that it is mostly for young people.  It's a grueling schedule with lots of physical activity and lots of walking.  Lots and lots of walking.  So very much walking.  Nonetheless, I agreed.  I don't know why.  I love the young people at my church and I want to do what I can for them.  I didn't really think it through or it might have occurred to me that at some point during this week, the youth group may very well need to carry me.  Or at least wait with me until the ambulance arrives.

So, this morning--we'll call it Day One (because, well it's the first day and everything)--I was up at 4am, and at the church in plenty of time for the scheduled departure.  The Centrifuge camp this year is at Union University in Jackson, TN.  That's about a six hour drive from Springfield, IL.  And here I am, at around 11pm, still awake.  I say "still awake" because the pain in my feet, legs, and back won't let me sleep.  This is because I have walked the approximate equivalent of the distance BACK to Springfield today.

So, besides walking, what has transpired on this first day of Centrifuge?  Well, earlier, on the drive down here to Jackson, I threatened to throw one young person out the window of the van I was driving.  I stood in line at a Chic-Fil-A in temperature that approximated a pre-heated oven.  I babied an iced Latte from Starbucks long enough for another young person to run into my arm and knock it to the ground.  I spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating where to hide the body of that same young person.  And, in the middle of all that fun, something else happened.  Something extraordinary.

I saw over 800 young people celebrating their youth, lifting up God, and unabashedly proclaiming their faith.  I saw the young people from my church, 44 strong, work as a team to win top honors in a game that required a lot of activity, willingness to act silly, and individual effort.   I saw our young people gather in a chemistry lecture room and share very personal things from their lives that were defining moments.  "Defining Moments" happens to be the theme of this Centrifuge.  Some of these shared moments were profoundly sad.  Some were happy.  And what I heard and saw today was encouraging to me.

In a world that is increasingly cynical and discouraging, I was encouraged.  I saw young people at their best.  Better, more mature, smarter than I was at their age (all those many years ago), and more willing to lift each other up and share their burdens.

If Day One is any indication, the future of our country, all of us--we might just be alright after all.

The End of a School Year

I work in technology at an elementary school. Riverton Elementary School, in Riverton, Illinois, is a great place to work. I love working there, and I love the people I work with. Almost all of them. No, really, I do.

Today was the last full day of activities before summer break. It started with a district-wide breakfast at the high school for all of the school faculty and staff.

It was a great breakfast. I decided that this is what they do for us in lieu of anything so tacky and common as say, money. But, hey, I'm a sucker for a big breakfast, so I was all over it.

I found an empty table and sat with my bounty. I could eat in peace because I work in technology. So, basically, you eat alone.

On my plate was an egg casserole of some sort, with an enormous amount of cheese on it. How can that be bad, right? I swear, I could hear my arteries closing as I ate it. It was good. So was the bacon. I finished it all off with a cinnamon roll the size of a throw pillow. Hey, it was my raise, and I was going to enjoy it.

Following a short program to honor retirees, all the staff members returned to their respective schools to begin the task of "closing up shop" for the summer break. Some would be moving to different classrooms. Some would be moving to one of the other schools. Some would just be gone.

At one point, I made my way upstairs to visit with the 4th grade teachers. I should mention at this point that none of them are exactly what could be described as right. That's why I relate to them, I suppose. They are a fun group. And we were going to be losing one of them to the middle school. I decided to shun her.

This was my first year at the school, and I made some good friends. It was nice to see some of them moving up, and sad to see some of them moving on. As for me, my own office will be moving to another location in the elementary school. It's a nice change of scenery, and I'll have a busy summer of updating and reconditioning the various technology pieces in the school.

All too soon, the chatter of children will once again fill the hallways, and I'll be dodging them as I try to navigate through the waves of sweaty little bodies, to a classroom with an out-of-date computer that isn't working right, and I'll try to make it work. And I'll smile at the teacher and tell her it works again--for now.

But for now, I'll enjoy the quiet hallways, the empty classrooms, and wonder which teacher will provide me with animal crackers in August.

Tales of the Transmission, cont.

A few days have passed since I first wrote of my exciting stay in Marion, IL, Milky-Eyed Steve, and the fun that we all had.

Thursday afternoon, realizing that I would be once again be enjoying the hospitality of Marion, I made arrangements at a Hampton Inn. I chose them primarily because their website announced in bold letters "We are a 100% smoke-free facility." Well, that and the fact that Milky-Eyed Steve did not endorse the Hampton Inn.

I arrived later in the afternoon, after over 7 fun-filled hours of waiting at the Toyota dealership. Those are moments I will always treasure. I choose to treasure them because I'll never get them back, so I may as well treasure them.

I loved my room, but I needed a change of clothes. At this point, let me explain how guys pack. See, I was going to be gone for one night and one day. That's one pair of jeans and a t-shirt to wear on the drive down, one set of dress clothes for the funeral I was to attend in Tennessee, and one pair of jeans for the return trip. One extra pair of underwear, and I'm all set. So I wasn't ready for the marathon theme park that is Marion, Illinois. I needed to do some laundry at the hotel, but I had nothing to change into except the dirty jeans I had stuck in my suitcase on day two (the rest of the dirty clothes were in the dirty clothes bag in the back of my car).

I walked about 200 yards in the hot, muggy afternoon heat to a convenience store. Why, you ask, did I choose a convenience store? Because it was the closest store. I took a gamble that they might have an assortment of "Marion Rocks!" T-shirts, or maybe some "I Survived the Super 8 in Marion" T-shirts. I thought at the very least they would have some of the black, sleeveless, "wife-beater" tank shirts I had seen so many of in Marion already. But, no. The convenience store had no shirts of any kind. Only some Harley Davidson bandanas. Not quite enough material.

I walked the 200 yards back to my room, and by the end of the walk, I really needed to do some laundry. I looked online and searched for "walmart in marion il". Imagine how excited I was when I discovered there was a Wal-mart just across Highway 13 from my hotel! I was going to have something to wear while I did laundry! I left the hotel immediately to make the short walk to a real store!

Okay, first, it wasn't a short walk. Turns out, crossing Highway 13 is about 100 yards of steep banks and wide, very busy roadways. But I was on a quest. I made it across both east and west lanes of 13, and I could see the parking lot ahead. And the parking lot really didn't even look that full!

As I got closer, I realized that, in fact, there were no cars in the parking lot. There were, however, lots of cars at the Sam's Club next door. And then, I saw it. The "BUILDING FOR LEASE" sign on what used to be a Wal-mart store. Really?

I didn't have a Sam's Club membership. I do now.

At that point, it was a quest. I was going to get a new T-shirt. And maybe a little something extra.

Thirty minutes later, I headed back out across the massive, hot asphalt parking lot for the return trip to my wonderful, clean, 100% smoke-free, cool, hotel room. In my wallet was a new Sam's Club member card, with a likeness of--someone who looked less than zippity do-da about the entire odyssey. So yeah, it looked just like me. Under one arm, I proudly carried my new T-shirt and a Family Value Picnic Pail of Beefaroni. Under the other, a 25-pound bag of Cheetos. There would be a party at the Country Inn & Suites that night. Right after a load of laundry.

I would like to bring you up to date on the story of the remaining stay and intervening days, but I'm not sure what that would do to my blood-pressure. So, to quote Mandy Patinkin as Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride, "...Let me es-plain....no, there is too much---let me sum up..."

Friday evening, 5/28, returned to Springfield to await word on when the car would be finished.
Wednesday evening, 6/2, still waiting.

Don't get me started.

The best part of it all? At some point, I will get to return to Marion to pick up my car. At the current rate of service from Marion Toyota, however, that may be somewhere around Labor Day. . .2011.

Fear and Loathing in Marion IL

I was on the way back to Springfield, IL from Clarksville, TN. I was attending the funeral of a cousin there. It should have been an uneventful trip, with the exception of the exceptional storm that was approaching.

Somewhere between Paducah, KY and Vienna, IL (and that is pronounced "V-eye-anna" for the uninitiated, and I don't want to hear any mocking from folks in San Jose, or Athens...or New Berlin), my car decided to slip out of gear. It just said, "How do you like NEUTRAL for ALL gears?" My car has never spoken before, so this was really weird.

I pulled over to the side of the road, performed a highly technical maneuver straight from the owner's manual, in which a tool is used to pry off a plastic covering on the shift console, and a hidden button is pushed. I know.

I started back out on the highway, and made it about two miles before it happened again. So I repeated the process. This time I got one mile. And then, things really started to get interesting.

Eventually, I was traveling approximately 200 yards (on the shoulder with hazard flashers on) at about 10 mph before having to stop, shut the car down, and perform the magic trick with the button on the shift console.

Oh, I almost forgot: the exceptional storm had now arrived. Rain drops the size and impact of water balloons were pelting the car. Now, the car is not really wanting to go any more. It just said, "Why don't we just stop right here and enjoy the massive thunderstorm and lightning and hail?" My car had never really enjoyed bad storms before, so I was becoming concerned.

This is where cell phones are worth their weight in---well actually, my cell phone is pretty light, so it might actually cost more than its weight in gold, so let's just leave it at "they're really handy to have in situations like this." I called my wife, who quickly and nimbly scoured the web for 24-hour towing services in Marion, IL, the closest town of enough size to have a Toyota dealer. It was about 12 miles away now, after my shoulder-crawl for a few miles. She called one, gave my location, and we were set.

Meanwhile, I used the GPS to find a hotel in Marion. At this point it was clear that I would be spending the night somewhere besides our home in Springfield. I found one, called it, and they assured me they had a room. I'm so happy.

By now, the rain had settled to a drizzle, and my car would no longer go forward or backward (don't ask me why I found it important to test its backward mobility). Also, it was no longer talking, so things were settling down. Then the tow truck arrived.

When "Steve" stepped down from the truck, I will admit that I was a little taken aback. He looked like one of the weird family members from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies. His left eye was all milky-white. I was pretty sure at this point that "Steve" was in pieces in this guy's basement and this guy was just wearing his shirt.

Steve seemed like a pretty friendly guy, for a chainsaw murderer, and he was very talkative. In no time, he had the car up on the complicated tow truck tower thingy (technical term). He asked if I was staying in town and I told him I had already found a hotel. When I told him which hotel, he said "No you ain't!" Okay, I thought, here we go...this is where he says "You can stay with me and Mrs. Chainsaw Murderer, we have plenty of room for you on one of the hooks hanging in the basement!"

"Why not there?" I asked, masking my fear with a very manly, barely trembling, low voice.

"It's dirty." Steve said matter-of-factly. "If I leave you there, you will track me down and---" Now, at this point, Steve's language became very colorful. Since Steve would say many colorful things, I will use "mmmm" in place of what he actually said. It's easier than typing all those curse word symbols like they use in cartoon comics. "...You will track me down and cut mmmm, and mmmm, mmmm."

"Okay, well, where else?"

"Super 8...It's pretty nice." Steve said, his milky white eye glistening in the quickly fading dusk.

So, I jumped in the truck, and we headed for Marion and the highly-recommended Super 8 hotel.

During the trip, Steve talked of the mmmm car dealers and the mmmm weather and the mmmm-mmmm people running the mmmm-mmmm government and how a mmmm businessman like himself could barely stay in mmmm business let alone get ahead. Mmmm-mmmm. It was enlightening. Mostly I worried whether or not the milky-white eye affected his depth perception when driving.

Sure enough, the Super 8 had a room. However, I have to say at this point that I did not find it to be all that "Super." Nor do I know what the "8" has to do with anything, unless it has to do with the minimum number of smokers that should be lit up at any given moment in the lobby. Clearly, the "Smoke-Free Illinois" law did not extend to the Super 8 in Marion, Illinois.

I couldn't help but wonder how bad the "dirty" hotel must be if this one was Steve's idea of "clean." But, I was able to settle into my room, which was less smoky-smelling than the lobby and hallways, and fired up my laptop to research the transmission issue with the car. I was even able to make an online appointment with the Toyota dealership for the first available slot the next morning.

My thought was that I would be able to get the car going enough the next morning to nurse it the two miles to the Toyota service shop. Since I knew it would be a start and stop situation, a hundred yards at a time, I wanted to start early before traffic built up. So, I planned to be up and out of the hotel by 5:30.

Finally, half-expecting Milky-Eyed Steve to come bursting through the door with a raging chainsaw held above his head, I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I awoke at 4:45. I did not smell chainsaw oil, and my appendages all seemed to still be appended, so I jumped in the shower to start the new adventure. By 5:15, I was out the door and in the car.

The car would not budge. No cajoling, no magic button maneuver, nothing would make it move from its parking space, right where Steve had adeptly placed it with the tow truck. After trying for 10 more minutes, I resigned to the fact that I would have to call Steve again.

Fortunately, I had left the door to my room open, and I was able to return to the relatively smoke-free confines of the hotel room. I called Steve and he assured me he would be mmmm around in time to make the mmmm appointment at the mmmm-mmmm shop, mmmm-mmmm.

At this point, Marion, Illinois is not my favorite place in Illinois.

I caught up on email, called my wife, and walked to the McDonald's next door for breakfast and the largest coffee they could sell me, as soon as they were finished catching up on the latest gossip from their co-worker in their native language, which was not English.

Steve arrived with a different truck, but the same shirt as the night before, loaded up the car and deposited me safely at the Toyota dealership.

So now, I sit here in the plush waiting area of the dealership, anxiously anticipating the news from the technicians as to how long, how much, and how many more nights I will be in Marion, Illinois. And with Steve's words ringing in my head ("Mmmm, mmmm-mmmm, mmmm and mmmm, this mmmm-mmmm, mmm-mmm-mmmmmm..."), I tell you my story. Not because I think you will find it interesting or amusing, but because if I don't tell it--if I don't write down my thoughts of my time in Marion, Illinois, I'm afraid I will channel that energy in a bad direction.

And then, I'll end up wearing a shirt with someone else's name on it, telling unsuspecting travelers which hotels are the dirty ones, and I'll never get out of Marion and back home.

Mmmm-mmmm.