The Good Thing About Hurricane Katrina

No doubt that Hurricane Katrina wreaked havoc along the Gulf Coast. People dead. Homes destroyed. Refugees in misery. Lives disrupted. Economy ruined.

On every channel our tv news displays pictures of mass destruction showing what all authorities say is the worst natural disaster in U.S. history.

But overlying the horror another factor looms large.

Thousands and thousands of people reach out to help in every way possible.

Strong young men and women risk their own lives to rescue victims from housetops. Volunteers from every charitable agency mobilize soup kitchens to feed the hungry. Businesses give workers paid time off to help. Government agencies and the U.S. military activate emergency aid plans. Cities all over the country collect cash and goods to aid survivors. People who’ve hardly thought of God in years pray for mercy on the victims. Churches of all sorts open their facilities as shelters. Gray-haired old ladies donate part of their meager pensions to help. Kids drop their allowance in collections jars. Burley men load trucks with groceries and bottled water. Arthritic old guys sit in their recliners watching tv and cheering rescue workers on.

Good hearted people pop out of the woodwork to do what they can.

Awesome!

Yes, there are looters and scam artists and oil companies who take advantage of the situation; such are always with us. But the multitude of people doing whatever good they can far outnumbers the wicked exploiters.

Yes, Hurricane Katrina may be our greatest natural disaster so far; but it has also generated one of the greatest outpouring of kindness, helpfulness and good will the world has ever seen.

Over a hundred years ago Charles Spurgeon, a preacher in London, wrote a daily devotional book; included in his selection for this date are these words:

(A man) must simply and entirely trust himself to the providence and care of God. Happy storm that wrecks a man on such a rock as this! O blessed hurricane that drives the soul to God and God alone! …

When a man is so poor, so friendless, so helpless that he has nowhere else to turn, he flies into his Father's arms, and is blessedly clasped therein! …

Oh, tempest-tossed believer, it is a happy trouble that drives thee to thy Father!..

Now is the time for feats of faith and valiant exploits.

Be strong and very courageous, and the Lord thy God shall certainly, as surely as He built the heavens and the earth, glorify Himself in thy weakness, and magnify his might in the midst of thy distress.

Delighted!

I’d planned to spent Tuesday formatting my Glog manuscript. But instead I devoted the day to my own spiritual renewal by reading, praying, examining my heart, and cooking a big pot of spaghetti.

While the results of my spiritual exercise seem so so, there was a major development concerning Glog – which I think is the best thing I’ve ever written.

When we met Donald’s friend Sunday, we talked about Glog a bit. Both Donald and Eve have read the manuscript and they amused me by their description of it. What I write, and what readers get can be two very different things.

Glog, a science fiction/humor fantasy, relates the adventures of a sentient dinosaur in the Chesapeake Bay area where he prays for divine guidance while being buffeted by adverse circumstances which confuse the creature to no end.

Glog eats muskrats, lots of muskrats, and hunger motivates him more than anything else. He also illuminates the uncials in a biblical manuscript.

Today, Donald’s friend e-mailed a preliminary sketch for the title on the book cover. I’m delighted. She’s combined various aspects of the novel succinctly capturing just what I envision.

I’m impressed!

Adventures In Sitting

At 3 a.m. Monday I sat down at my computer catching up e-mail and updating my blog. I worked formatting on my Glog manuscript all day (up to page 207 now).

Occasionally, I’d go sit in front of the tv to catch the latest news on Hurricane Katrina. The tv news followed its usual pattern of presenting worse-case-scenarios before the event, then saying, “It was not as bad as expected” after the event. I suspect the primary mission of tv news is to keep viewers agitated and upset.

Between sitting at the computer or in front of the tv, I took breaks to sit and read, or sit and eat.

Perhaps I need to get off my tail and get a life.

Stormy Thoughts

Fixed plumbing. Met Donald’s new girl for lunch with Jennifer, Pat and Eve. New girl was lost in the Cowart hive. I think meeting us as a group may have overwhelmed her. She’s a Jacksonville native and a graphic artist.

I’ve been at a loss about how to pray concerning Hurricane Katrina which approaches New Orleans this morning. The tv news shows long lines of people walking into the superdome for shelter and I wonder how many of them will be alive tomorrow.

A couple of random thoughts:

1. -- Nothing against New Orleans, but I’m thankful it’s them in the hurricane’s path instead of us. That’s not a very Christian attitude, is it? But whenever a storm approaches here, I can’t help but pray it will hit somebody else instead.

2. -- There is no reason it could not be Jacksonville.

3. --A natural phenomena, hurricanes are necessary for the earth’s replenishment.

4. – God controls the path of the storm and for His own reasons He directs it this way instead of that. I can pray that many frightened people will think of Him and call on Him for mercy; but I can’t picture such devastation as an evangelism tool.

5. I can’t see this hurricane as a punishment for sin; there is nothing that goes on in New Orleans that does not go on within walking distance from my house. So why them instead of us -- this time?

6. – Ginny & I trained as Red Cross volunteers a few years ago but dropped out after training. I wonder if we perhaps should have stuck with their program.

7. From the photos I see of life in a shelter, I’m so claustrophobic I don’t think I could stand being with that many people in any confined space.

I subscribe to a free e-mail devotional service which Donald put together and this morning’s readings seem appropriate for today. Oddly enough, I think the Daily Light selections were prepared over 50 years ago; the Spurgeon selections are over a hundred years old.

Here is a section from Daily Light (It could be from the morning news):

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. — It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man. It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in princes. — The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand.

The reading from Spurgeon touches me on a more personal level::

The best of men are conscious above all others that they are men at best.
Empty boats float high, but heavily laden vessels are low in the water; mere professors can boast, but true children of God cry for mercy upon their unprofitableness.

Big Plans

Saturday morning Ginny & I drove to Country Kitchen for a leisurely breakfast before a trip to the grocery store. As the waitress cleared the table we broke out pens and planned our menu for the next few weeks.

Yes, we are planners.

Years ago Ginny made out this menu planning form which we use constantly. One side of the sheet lists the days of the week; the other side has a topical grocery shopping list.

First we fill in the dates, then write down activities we’re involved in. For instance, a friend asked me to drive him to the hospital on Sept.2^nd; Ginny has an eye test Thursday, etc. Then we write down meals which fit in with those activities (Finger food for Monday Night Football) .Then, on the grocery side of the sheet, we write down what we need to buy for that particular meal.

Our planned menu is not chiseled in stone but on any given day we have a fair idea of what to cook for supper without having to make a decision at the end of each day.

Today we also added items to replenish our hurricane supplies. Of course, being Floridians, we keep basic hurricane supply kits in car and closet year round, but a few weeks ago we crossed paths with a poor family going through a rough patch and they got our surplus food stuffs so we felt it wise to restock.

Hurricane Katrina still hovers south of us and that causes us some anxiety.

No, the projected path of the storm does not include Jacksonville. No problem there -- maybe.

But there’s a kicker for us in that we plan to go on vacation in a couple of months – we reserved and paid for our cabin back in January – and our vacation spot on the Gulf lies directly in the storm’s path.

That happened to a friend of our’s last year, when he went to his cabin, a storm (I think it was Francis) had wiped out the state park, he had to turn around and come back.

Assuming that our cabin on the beach is not washed away by Katrina, we spent all afternoon planning our vacation trip.

The anticipation is so much fun!

We floated on air mattresses in the pool talking about what to pack (our binoculars and bird books, mosquito repellant, negligees ), what to buy (good hiking boots, digital camera), where we want to eat (Bamboo House and that fried oyster place for sure), things we want to do (boat tour on the Gulf), sights we want to see (Lighthouse Point, wildlife refuge), and even clothes we want to wear (the tee shirts we bought at Goodwill last year).

We had such a wonderful time planning and anticipating.

Looking forward to an event can be as much fun as the event itself.

Of course, all our plans hinge on following the will of God. Here’s a link to a cartoon I enjoy about planning (It’s supposed to move but I can’t get that part right).

We love to anticipate happy things such as our vacation, but we also plan as well as we can for less desired events. For instance, when we bought our home ten years ago, one of the things we considered was our age and health; if we should ever need a wheelchair ramp, we can install one here.

The tiniest things can knock plans whopajaw. A ring of the phone, a knock at the door, a microscopic virus, a dead cell in the car battery, a drunk driver – tiny, unforeseen, unplanned for factors can change lives and plans forever.

In January 2004, we started planning a vacation trip for last year but as soon as we started, both Ginny and I felt a check in our spirits. That’s hard to explain but we both independently knew that we should not make that planned trip. So we cancelled those plans. This year, we both feel free to plan and anticipate the same trip.

Odd.

So, some events we view with anticipation while others we regard with apprehension. As we do our part, the final outcome of any matter is all in God’s hands.

Here’s another matter of some concern for us.

Friday night Donald called saying he wants to bring his new girlfriend to meet us over lunch today. We wonder if we will pass inspection.

Poor Donald.

As my old aunt used to say about another young man, “I think the devil owed him a debt and decided to pay him off in women”.

Donald’s heart has been broken several times as he courted various girls and saw things disintegrate for one reason or another.

I don’t understand why he has such a difficult time hitching up with a dream girl.

Donald is employed and sober and he actually wants to get married!

In this day and age, considering the other young men I see around, those three qualities alone should put him high on the list for any young woman.

In addition, he is kind, generous, intelligent, and romantic. He wants someone to love and lavish affection on.

On the other hand, he does keep a vile, nasty cat – but then you can’t expect him to be perfect.

He has said that he wants a marriage and family life just like Ginny and I have.

We’re flattered.

But I feel a little apprehensive about meeting his latest date. I sure don’t want to scare her off. Ginny and I plan to be low-key and nice and on our best behavior.

I don’t have time to mow the yard today, but we plan to clean house. And I’ll shave. And I won’t smoke inside around her. And I won't tell her any of the good jokes. And we plan to ….

To Hell with plans!

Never fails when we expect company....

Ginny just walked in telling me that the toilet won’t flush! I’ll have to fix that immediately. And we have this over-the-commode cabinet thing filled with plants and seashells and knickknacks and bottles of shampoo -- that thing has to be moved before I can lift the tank lid…

Damn.

This is not the way I planed to spend my Sunday!

Ladies May Want To Skip This Posting

Friday morning rain and wind kept me from my usual outdoor chores so I settled in at the computer for a solid day of formatting my Glog manuscript.

Got up to page 178.

Would have gone further but I bogged down browsing internet photos of naked women instead of working.

When I was a kid back in the early 1950s, fellow Boy Scouts clued me in to the fact that library copies of Esquire magazine featured paintings of pinup girls by the artist Vargas. I carried a razor blade to the library and sliced out pages of these pictures to sneak home to my room.

A reporter once asked Vargas why he only painted pictures of unclad women; he replied, “Show me something more beautiful than a naked woman and I’ll paint it”.

Don’t need a razor blade any more.

The internet can flash a whole harem full of naked beauties onto my desktop with a single click. Hundreds of thousands of naked women display themselves in poses ranging from tasteful Grecian classic Venus de Milo stances to postures reminding me of the old joke:

Q: What does Lulu put behind her ears to make herself more attractive to men?
A: Her ankles.

Saint Paul said that when he was a boy, he spoke as a boy, he understood as a boy, he thought as a boy, “But when I became a man, I put away childish things”.

Good for him.

That’s beyond my experience.

At heart I’m still a sneaky twerp lurking in library stacks to peek at pinup girls.

Then there’s that teaching of Jesus: “Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her in his heart. And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out…”.

But I’m not lusting; I’m just curious.

Ha!

How can I, a Christian, and not only a Christian but a writer who, on some low level, seeks to honor God in my work, how can I be so perverse as to linger over pictures of naked women in the internet when I should be working?

Maybe it’s because I’m human.

I do what I do because I am what I am.

Or is this just a guy thing?

Once a bunch of guy friends and I were talking about looking at women. Included in the group was Sam, who was born blind. We teased him about never having this particular temptation.

“Bull,” he said. “You guys have it lucky. You can see if a woman is a dog. With me, every time I hear a woman’s footsteps or her voice, I get this image of a lascivious beautiful babe. To me all women are gorgeous. I see them all that way”.

So maybe this is just part of being human; maybe it’s just natural…

The thing is, Jesus calls us to a supernatural life, an eternal life. He calls us to be a bit more than human, to be godly.

I wish He wouldn’t do that!

Nothing to say so here’s a joke:

Thursday I chopped vines from the fence all morning and read all afternoon, a good day for me but nothing to blog about … so here’s a favorite joke:

Three healthcare professionals, an ophthalmologist, a cardiologost, and the chief executive officer of a health maintenance organization, died in an accident and appeared at the Pearly Gates.

The Admitting Angel greeted them saying, "Welcome, gentlemen. Welcome! I'm glad to see you here. But before I can admit you, each must give an account of his life and reasons you should get into Heaven. Who wants to start"?

The first man spoke up, "I was an ophthalmologist. I helped people better see the glories of God's creation".

"That's wonderful," exclaimed the Angel. "That's really something. You go right on inside".

The second man said, "In life I was a cardiologist. I repaired weak hearts, extended people's lives, I even did a few heart transplants greatly improving my patients' quality of life".

"That's wonderful. How impressive," said the Angel. "You go right on inside... Now, what about you"?

"I was the CEO of an HMO. In my executive capacity I helped provide low-cost health care for thousands of clients who might not have otherwise had access to hospital care. At the same time I provided optimum profits for our shareholders".

"That's wonderful," exclaimed the Angel. "You go right on inside... But..."

"BUT! What do you mean But," demanded the CEO.

"Well, you are admitted to Heaven, but you're only allowed to stay for five days".

Work I enjoy

After all my work on the pool and yard repairing the damage from Hurricane Dennis, and after all my fooling with doctors recently, Wednesday I finally resumed work formatting the manuscript for my novel Glog.

Glog, a science fiction/humor fantasy, relates the adventures of a sentient dinosaur in the Chesapeake Bay area where he prays for divine guidance while being buffeted by adverse circumstances which confuse the creature to no end.

I hope, God willing, to finishing formatting and have Glog ready for the printer within the next two weeks.

It feels so good to get back working in my own element!

I enjoy writing, yet I avoid it by enmeshing myself in grade B projects. Yes, I have studied time management books, yet I gravitate to old work habits all too easily. I envision long, golden blocks of uninterrupted time so I can do massive amounts of work at one coherent sitting – but life is just not like that.

I still need to learn how to eat the elephant one bite at a time.

Drove Ginny to her doctor’s appointment in the afternoon.

She is sick of seeing doctors!

Later, over an Italian dinner at Kosta’s, we discussed our personal medical guidelines and policies. There is nothing wrong with either of us that can’t be accounted for by our age and we’re tired of being jerked around about tests and procedures we don’t feel are necessary to our health and happiness. So we made several general decisions we plan to stick with:

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Oh, the eye doctor said that my macular degeneration is stable, that my vision is unlikely to get worse anytime soon, and that I don’t need to see him again for one year.

All I can say to that is: FTL! FTL! FTL!

----

Jennifer called saying she and Pat finally have a contract to sell their home. That’s a mixed blessing; they avoid foreclosure, but they have to find a new home and move in a month. She asked me to help dismantle and move their pool…. Joy Oh Joy.

Hurricane Katrina lies south of us. Jacksonville may feel its fringes. We’ll see.

Sometimes I think I See Too Much Religion

Breakfast at Dave’s Diner Tuesday with my friend Wes, who is a nurse at a world-renowned hospital. We talked mostly about medical stuff, especially some tests I face, living wills, and coding.

I liken my tests to taking your car to a mechanic and saying, “It’s running fine; but put it on your diagnostic machine and see if you can’t find something wrong with it”.

“My motto is If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It – the medical community on the other hand feels sure that if they test enough, they’ll find something somewhere to “fix”.

Enjoyed .a Chinese lunch with my friend Barbara at Silver Star. I have eaten so much Chinese food that I’m shaped like Buddha.

Barbara says that at the retirement home where she lives death comes in clusters; they’ll go for months with no one dying then several will pass away within days of each other. She appears in much better health and can go for a ways without the help of her walker now.

Both Wes and Barbara are Christians and thoughts of Christ underlie our conversations whatever the overt subject.

Ginny & I saw a bumper sticker: If You Die Tonight Will You Be In Heaven Or In Hell?

Ginny said, “If we died tonight, we’ll still be in debt”!

Today Donald reestablished a free daily e-mail devotional service. The site offers two selections: Daily Light, a topical selection of Bible verses, and Charles Spurgeon’s Devotions. Spurgeon, an 18^th Century preacher in London, was the Billy Graham of his generation. If you could use a lift at the start or finish of each day, sign up for one or both of these devotionals. The devotional web address is: www.rdex.net/devotions.php

I’ve been hanging around religious stuff far too much.

It even influences my vision.

As you may know I have the start of macular degeneration which fuzzes some of the things I see.

This morning as Ginny and I dressed for work, I mentioned my holy underwear. She thought I was referring to briefs with holes in them but, although I do have a few pairs of those, I was referring to the ones that have these initials printed around the waistband – PTL PTL PTL PTL For ages I’ve thought the cloth was manufactured by some religious group with poor taste. I think the catch–phrase motto Praise The Lord is not in great taste on bumper stickers, much less printed on a man’s jockeys!

Ginny looked at the underwear in question and started laughing. She explained that the initials are FTL FTL FTL – standing, of course for Fruit Of The Loom!

I feel disillusioned.

My faith is shattered.

Maybe an eye exam is called for.

(Ginny says that I should consider what kind of fruit I am producing!)

My Life In A Pinball Machine

I haven’t seen one in years but back when I was a kid, every store sported a pinball machine.

Shoving a nickel in the slot released a steel ball bearing which a spring-loaded plunger shot up an incline plane. As the ball rolled down toward a hole at the base, it hit various obstacles. Contact caused colored lights to flash and bells to ring.

On each side of the hole where the ball would eventually disappeared, were flippers which knocked the ball up the plane again when you hit buttons on the side of the machine.

The player received no reward but bells and lights.

My activities today remind me of a pinball machine.

I play the roll of the ball:

Sprong! Up at 3:30 a.m. to catch up weekend e-mail and such.

Flip! Pack Ginny’s lunch and dress for and appointment with Dr. #1.

Flip! The yard trash men who were supposed to have been here Friday, arrive and place trash cans in the drive so I have to move them before moving the car.

Flip.! Ginny drops me on King Street as she drives to work. Walk to the Whiteway Delicatessen (one of my favorite places for breakfast) where I chat with Sammy, the owner, about Springfield history and high rents..

Flip! Backtrack to the bank to give our house payment to a cashier who had never received one before. I hope it gets credited to us.

Flip. Walk to Dr. #1’s appointment. Get my eyes dilated. Twice.

Flip. Call Warren for a ride home.

Flip. Go to second doctor’s office to pick up a referral so I can see Dr. # 3.

Flip. Arrive home to find a message from Dr. # 2 returning my call from Friday. Sorry he missed me; I can try going through the Automated Telephone Answering Machine Experience again if I really need to talk with him (Like, why else would I have called?).

Flip! Call Dr. # 4 to make an appointment. Informed I must go to Lab # 5 first.

Flip! Call Dr. #4’s office again but the lady wants me to read tiny numbers off the referral from Dr. # 1 and since my eyes are still dilated from Dr. # 432-8765 I can’t read the damn numbers. … I guess at them, or make them up wholesale (I figure she can read the numbers herself when I take the papers to her office)

Good thing I’m not sick; all this stuff is for routine tests. What do people who are actually ill have to go through?

Finally I am home. I can relax. Eye’s dilated. Can’t read or work so I’ll take a nap…

Flip!

Scratching at the front door. My neighbor’s dog has climbed the fence and wants into our living room. I let the dog in, give her a bowl of milk, get dressed, find my shoes, and take her back into her own yard. Back home to resume my nap.

Flip! The phone rings. It is Dr. # 1’s secretary – no, not my doctor # 1, but Ginny’s doctor #1. She’s not sick either, but the doctor still wants to see her again.

Flip. Flip. Flip – Glanced outside to see that the Polaris Pool Cleaner had flipped onto it’s back and is happily pumping galleons of water arching into the air to splash down onto the electric plugs. So, ankle-deep in water, I undid the plugs…

And not once today did colored lights flashed or bells ring …

THEN GINNY CAME HOME – Rings my chimes every time!

She baked me a cake!

Now it’s time for Monday Night Football.

All’s right with the world.

Lazy Sunday

After a restless night, Ginny & I chose to skip church and go back to bed this morning. We got up about 9 and drove out to a leisurely breakfast at Famous Amos. We lingered over coffee talking for between two and three hours.

One thing struck us as funny: on the backs our menu cards, they print topics of conversation to talk about! Tell about the smartest person you ever met? What movie sequel do you like best? That sort of thing. How odd that couples might need such a card; I don’t think we ever run out of things to talk about.

Back home we decided to wash the car. While Ginny vacuumed, I rigged the garden hose. Soon the car sparkled.

Then I challenged her to a Wet-Tee-Shirt Contest.

I chased her around the front yard with the garden hose while she squealed about not getting her hair wet. So, I sprayed the hose across my own chest and shouted, “I WIN!”

I laughed myself silly.

She didn’t.

Seems I’m married to this humor-impaired woman.

Is There Intelligent Life at The Smithsonian?

Scientist Richard Sternberg at the Smithsonian Institution
Washington, D.C.

Angry fanatic zealots recently attacked a respected research scientist.

They called Richard Sternberg nasty names and demanded that he be fired from his work at the Smithsonian Institution and as editor of the Proceedings of the Biological Society of Washington.

The August 18^th Washington Post newspaper carried an article by staff writer Michael Powell. telling about the controversy.

According to Powell’s excellent article, the fanatics resorted to name calling using such terms as Closet Bible Thumper,. Shoddy Scientist, Crypto-priest, sleeper cell operative, Anti-Darwinian, Unqualified Scientist, and Young Earth Creationist.

How childish.

They called his ideas bogus and rubbish.

There was even the threat of physical violence.

When the biological society discussed Sternberg’s ideas, he was told not to attend the meeting. He said “Feelings were running so high, they could not guarantee me that they could keep order”.

The U.S. Office of Special Counsel, which was established to protect federal employees from reprisals, is investigating. The Counsel examined e-mail traffic … and reported that, "retaliation came in many forms . . . misinformation was disseminated through the Smithsonian Institution and to outside sources. The allegations against you were later determined to be false."

Really! You’d expect better from scientists associated with the prestigious Smithsonian Institution.

How pathetic.

You see the zealots are scientists who espouse the theory of evolution; Sternberg published an article in the Proceedings questioning that theory.

His raising questions galled the zealots who found this intolerable and launched an attack to hound him from his position at the Smithsonian.

As I see it, the whole furor is about intelligence.

Intelligence exists or it does not.

Thought or intelligence, if it exists, has an origin or it does not.

I suspect that God gave us intelligence and the ability to think -- although I must admit that a lot of my own experiences clash with that idea.

But, if intelligence and the ability to think, did not originate with God, then what is the origin?

As I understand it, the evolutionist thinks that intelligence either does not exist at all; or, if it does, that it is the lucky result of Brownian Movement, the random bumping together of various electrons or molecules inside the brain with no order or pattern or design or purpose.

If they are right, then one thought is as valid as another. Hitler’s thoughts are no better or worse than Mother Teresa’s; Michael Jackson’s, than Elvis’; your thoughts than mine; Billy Graham’s ideas are no different from Dennis Rader’s (He’s the sexual deviant serial killer known as BTK) – because, all those ways of thinking have no origin other than the random bumping together of molecules.

It seems to me that in evolutionary theory nobody’s thoughts count for anything.

Eminent scientist and corner bag lady – their thoughts are the same purposeless muddle of bumping molecules. The thoughts of one scientist holds no more validity than those of another… So why are the evolutionary scientists acting so childish and upset that another scientist voices another idea? If intelligence has no origin, then no thought is valid.

In other words, there is no such thing as intelligence!

And judging from the petty squabling and behavior of the other scientists at the Smithsonian, I wonder if they’re not right.

Hello? Hello? Is Anybody There?

In ancient times, biblical prophets looked far into the future to denounce something they called The Abomination Of Desolation; they referred, or course, to Automated Telephone Answering Machines.

Yes, I spent Thursday playing phone tag with various doctors’ offices which are equipped with these machines. “If this is an emergency medical situation,” the machine said, “Punch 666 now and hold on till Hell freezes over”.

Finally, I got hold of two live human beings in various offices; both of whom had taken assertiveness training classes for dealing with pesky callers. “Someone will call you right back,” they chuckled.

I anchored myself to the phone.

Hey, I even carried the phone with me when I took the garbage to the curb so I’d be sure to hear the thing ring. I may as well have put the phone in the can with the other trash.

No call back.

I did get hold of my oldest daughter who said she called the electric company yesterday about her bill. Their telephone machine has a special feature to enable the company to handle more callers – it automatically hangs up on anyone who has been on hold for ten minutes.

How convenient.

On a happier note:

When I went to update my website yesterday, the pop up menu said, “Access Denied”. Silly me. Why would I think I could get into my own website?

Anyhow, Donald to the rescue.

He came over after work and, in the light of my recent surge in book sales, refurbished my Bluefish Books Storefront.

He restored the lovely photo of the grinning blue fish logo; this statue was a Christmas gift from my youngest daughter who knows my taste in aesthetics and fine art. So I decided to use that statue as a storefront logo to attract cultured, refined readers, the sort noted for their exquisite taste in art and literature.

Donald solved the site access problem; he determined that the only thing wrong is that the server computer personally hates me.

But by the time he solved the problem, I felt too weary to update the site anyhow.

Maybe this weekend.

Meanwhile, I’m changing the message on my own answering machine so it will be classy like the ones the doctors’ offices have:

Hello. You have reached John Cowart’s Automated Telephone Answering System especially designed to screen out calls from riff-raff….If you are Riff, press One….If you are Raff, press Two. …All others please hang up now to clear the line for more important callers.

Happy! Happy! Happy!

Appointments with doctors bookended a happy day for Ginny and me.

She had an 8 a.m. appointment with Dr. A., her eye doctor (no problems); I had a 4 p.m. meeting with Dr. D for a general physical. This was my first meeting with Dr. D. and I’m favorably impressed. He looks cool -- like Mr. Rodgers did on tv. He appears to have a firm grasp on reality. He acted as though he knows what he’s doing; and he treated me as though I were the only patient he had to see today.

Of course, he ordered tests.

One visit to a doctor spawns others.

One thing I kicked myself for later was that during our appointment, Dr. D. mentioned that he’s just had done on himself the same tests he’s ordered for me. I did not pick up on that to ask about his health. I mean, nobody would have these tests just for the fun of it. I plan to call and ask him about it.

In between doctor visits, Ginny & I enjoyed a delightful day together. We carried a carload of stuff out to the mission (yes the same mission where I staged my Great Brassier Hunt but nobody there recognized me – Thank God!).

We also strolled through a woodland park and along a boardwalk over a swamp. And we just hung out in the Krystal’s parking lot -- leaning on the car, chatting, smoking, and sipping Coke like teenagers. Very relaxing. Lord, but we had a good time!

When we got home, we discovered that while we were seeing doctors and strolling in the swamp, seventeen copies (17) of my various books sold on line today!

That makes me so happy!

I’m delighted.

Giddy.

To those of you who bought copies I extend my hardy thanks!

Steven King, America’s greatest writer, can’t be any more pleased about his sales today than I am. Thank you.

Today’s book sales inspire me to buckle down with the Glog manuscript, work hard and produce something else worth your reading… or maybe, I should take my hands off things and stroll in the swamp more often.

Anyhow, thank you very much for buying my books. I hope you enjoy my work.

Mr. H Dropped A Prune

Monday the young man interested in Wellhausen’s documentary hypothesis about biblical transmission (which assumes that the miraculous is impossible therefore some other explanation for Scripture must exist, J,E,P,Q,D, etc.) …Anyhow the young man told me that Mr. H, an elderly gentleman on my block, had busted his hip and is just home from the hospital, and could be in bad shape.

Tough.

What’s that got to do with me?

I’ve got plans and duties and responsibilities. I can’t be bothered. Besides, although I’ve spoken to Mr. H, I hardly know the old man.

This morning, Tuesday, I had a yard long 2do2da list beginning with brunch with my friend Wes. While I waited for Wes to arrive I read Peterson’s rendering of Mathew in which Jesus said, “I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty and you gave me a drink. I was homeless and you gave me a room. I was shivering and you gave me clothes. I was sick and you stopped to visit… Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me – you did to me”.

When Wes arrived he got to talking about “opportunities to exercise righteousness” in relation to a charity he favors. His words reminded me of a sermon phrase I heard long ago: “The call of God always comes at the most inopportune moment possible”.

Well, between Scripture, Wes’s words, and that sermon phrase, my reaction was, “The poor are always with you -- and are always a pain in the ass”.

I’d much rather read about Christianity, or write about it, than to live it. But, what the hell, I’ll go visit the old codger and see what he needs (hopefully, nothing). So I unwillingly trudged around to Mr. H’s house hoping nobody would be home.

Turns out that Mr. H is only ten years older than I am. He served a 20-year hitch in the U.S. Army, then a 20-year hitch in the U.S. Air Force, then he served 25 years in the Merchant Marine. When he was a kid playing stick ball, he got hit in the eye, and the stick punched his eye out; he has worn a prosthetic eye (a glass eye) ever since.

Got that?

As we visited, Mr. H told me how he’d chipped his hip bone.

He was getting something out of the refrigerator when he dropped a prune on the floor. As he turned, he stepped on the prune, slipped and fell. It was a long time (maybe an hour or two, he said) before he could drag himself to a phone to call for help.

Rescue took him to a local hospital emergency room. They could not get hold of his regular doctor so hospital staff doctors began to treat him.

They x-rayed him, ran some test for other age-related problems, and began to prepare him for emergency brain surgery.

Brain surgery?

Yes, obviously this old guy had lost his balance and fallen, he’d chipped a hip bone; his speech was slurred from pain and medication – and the pupil of his left eye would not respond to light or dilate – obviously, he’d suffered a stroke or some sort of brain trauma.

They planned to operate to determine the extent of the brain damage.

Fortunately, about that time Mr. H’s daughter arrived and explained about the glass eye… the doctor’s comment, “Well, it sure looks realistic”!

Mr. H was released, without even needing a cast, and sent home the next day; he can get around with the aid of a walker.

Know why I find his tale of particular fascinating interest?

Well, I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon….

A Normal Day Of Odds & Ends

Ginny & I butted heads this morning in one of our rare arguments. I went to the frig expecting to find stuff to pack her a lunch, but she did not buy the stuff yesterday while we were at the grocery store. It was a case where our both being a tad deaf confused us. She told me this and I told her that, but neither one had heard what the other had said and both our feelings were hurt.

When we realized what had happened, we agreed that each of us lives with a difficult person. But that’s normal and nothing to get upset about. We’ve heard that communication is important in marriage, but we know that it isn’t. If we communicated, we’d have probably split up 37 years ago. The most important thing in marriage is to assume the good will of your partner – especially when you don’t understand.

Because of all the outside work we did over the weekend (no, the pool is not quite ready yet) I spent the day playing catch up indoors. Yes, we’re down to drinking coffee out of the Christmas mugs again, so I washed dishes, repaired minor stuff, read, and caught up with e-mail and computer work… (I should shovel dirt more often because while I’ve been away from the computer, several copies of my books sold and the web site was very active -- it all works better without me).

A neighbor came by looking for a scarce Bible translation. I just happened to own a copy. I debated within myself about letting it out of my hands but decided that it was more important for him to read it than for it to sit on my shelves completing my collection. Bibles were not made to be collected. So I gave it to him – although reluctantly. (“The Lord loveth a cheerful giver” – Darn, I don’t score any brownie points with God even when I give away a Bible!)

My visitor wanted to discuss the Eloist,J, E, D and Q sources for Deuteronomy. While I recognize the style variations, I still hold to the overall Mosaic authorship. But it was refreshing to find someone knowledgeable in such matters which I haven't bothered to think about in years. But I agree with Mark Twain who said, “It ain’t the parts of the Bible I don’t understand that bother me; it’s the parts that I do”.

This evening two young ladies from the neighborhood knocked at our door. They have noticed a suspicious car and driver parked nearby, apparently observing our house for about 20 minutes. Some neighborhood boys ask him if he were lost. He told them he was looking for me, but then sped off. They noticed that there were no tags on the car.

Odd.

We live in an obscure area and strangers stick out when they enter. I’m glad the girls were looking out for us. Their gut feeling was that this man was up to no good.

The Heavens Declare ...

It is now 4:02 a.m. and I’ve been up for an hour outside looking for more shooting stars from the Perseid meteor shower. Unfortunately, an overcast of haze clouds Jacksonville’s sky and not a star is to be seen.

I’m tempted to wake Ginny and drive to the beach to watch the sky and the sunrise. I mentioned the prospect to her yesterday and she greeted the idea with less than enthusiasm.

When the kids were little, we used to wake them in the small hours and walk them to a park near our house to see meteor showers, comets, eclipses, things of that sort. We’d all lay out in the grass on blankets and eat cinnamon buns, drink hot chocolate and watch the sky.

I’d try to tell them about how "the heavens declare the Glory of God", etc.; they were more interested in the cinnamon buns.

One night when they were teens, I drug them all out for a walk down to the dock on the Ribault River to watch an eclipse of the moon. There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth as they complained about having to be out at that ungodly hour. And clouds covered the sky so that nothing was visible.

They bitched and whined and said uncomplimentary things about the wisdom of a father who’d subject them to such horrible treatment – forcing them out to see a moon that wasn’t there to be seen.

So, I made them all cluster at the end of the dock while I walked to the shore end. I told them to all observe closely....

Then I unfastened my belt buckle, dropped my pants and mooned them.

They chased me home howling with laughter.

That was one scientific outing they still talk about.

Too Bright -- Not Too Bright

Friday I shoveled more dirt using the sand from the pool pit to raise a flagstone walk and fill various low places in the yard. One more day of this should finish the job. Thanks Be To God!

I figure that doing all this work myself instead of hiring professionals saved us close to $3,000. It may possibly have been worth it; the tv weatherman says the heat index today reached 105 degrees.

This evening Ginny & I went to Salty’s with our friends Warren and Carol. We feasted on great seafood, costly but great. The four of us enjoyed inconsequential relaxing conversation about everything and nothing in particular. Afterwards, Carol drove us to the Northbank Riverwalk where we sat on the first bench available and enjoyed the evening lights of the city. Then we drove all over town reminiscing about what building used to be where when we were kids and what’s there now.

I awoke at 4 a.m. Saturday and rushed outside. I worried that the city lights would be too bright for me to see the annual August Perseid meteor shower.

I put on my swim trunks and got in the pool to float on an air mattress and watch the stars. The lights were not too bright at all and I saw a couple of falling stars.

This is the way to enjoy a pool, floating alone in the dark at 4 a.m., no one around but me and the stars and the Lord who made us both.

My mini adventure did prove one thing: it is possible, in Florida, in August, heat index of 105 -- to freeze your ass off!!!

Not too bright.

Fun Alert!

Ginny & I are late for work this morning because we spent so much time laughing at the photos in Donald's blog posting! Here is a link to it. Enjoy!

Praying behind a mower

Mowed grass all day. Because of work on the pool, I’ve neglected the grass so it is thick and difficult to push the mower through. As I worked, occasionally I prayed for a woman I really dislike.

I prayed that God would do good things for her, keep her healthy, bring her financial prosperity, and give her peace. I still don’t like her. I don’t like her even a little bit. So no warm fuzzes accompany my prayers.

I prayed for her simply because Jesus said to pray for our enemies. Sometimes, I think Christianity consists of simply doing something (or not doing something) for no other reason than Jesus said so.

Sometimes, nothing is the best thing to do.

Too depressed and distracted to do much positive today so I concentrated on doing obvious, non-pressing duties such as storing tools I’d pulled out to work on the pool, laundry, washing dishes, etc. I mailed the required copies of Letters From Stacy to the Library of Congress.

And I picked up my pool pump from Jacksonville Electric Motor Exchange.

Can you imagine -- the repair shop bumped work on my pool pump back because some housing development needed repairs for their sewerage treatment pump which handles waste from a hundred homes. Mr. Fuller, the repairman, felt that work on their pump deserved priority over mine so he delayed fixing my pump by about three hours.

But I had my order in first!

I mean it’s like going to a hospital emergency room with a toothache and here comes some guy having a heart attack and the triage nurse jumps him to the head of the line and makes me wait even though I was there first.

It’s just not fair.

I wonder if prayer works like that? I wonder if God is fair? Could it be that He thinks that there are more important people and issues in the universe than ME?

That’s something to ponder.

Meanwhile, Donald took today off work and took me out to lunch at Arden’s (on Hamilton St. at St. Johns) where we enjoyed the finest food ever cooked in Jacksonville.

I mean Bill Gates did not eat any better than we did today! Good stuff!

Donald and I just hung out all afternoon talking about life, God, computers, books -- and women, a subject more complex than any of the others.

Donald looked over the pagination problem with the Stacy Letters and advised me to forget it because the thing that bugs me is only cosmetic, unrelated to the accuracy of the material. It’s just a vanity thing for me that no one else is likely to even notice.

I have not decided how to handle the questions the Civil War buff raises. When I wrote the piece I used a lot of source material only available on microfilm and now, years later, my eyesight (I have macular degeneration) hinders my being able to confirm or correct what I wrote back then.

My e-friend Eric advises that I leave it alone. He said, “What does this require of you? I'm totally curious. If you just say "okay, fine" and move on without doing a thing, what are the repercussions?”

Good advice.

I think that to be fair, that as soon as I finish the pool work and the Glog manuscript and get to updating my website, I’ll just post Civil War buff’s letter as an addendum to the article I wrote so readers can check the sources for them selves… Would that work? Like the pool pump and the sewerage pump, it’s a matter of priorities.

Concerning depression, a thing that helps me is that when my thoughts get to beating up on me, I simply say (aloud if necessary) the word STOP! Then I redirect my mind in more productive channels. If thoughts fall in the same rut again, I say Stop again and move on. That technique really helps me.

However, for a positive Christian active approach to handling depression, this morning I sat down reading a murder mystery and ate half a box of chocolate-covered cherries. … That’s what Jesus would do, isn’t it?

"Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, ..."

Down & depressed for several reasons, some external but most of them from within myself.

I get this way periodically. So it’s a pain in the ass, but no big deal.

External factors included:

· Computer problem with my bookstore front. Even if someone wanted to buy one of my books, they’d have a hard time navigating the site. In the same vain, I received printer proofs of the Stacy Letters and find a pagination problem which throws the index off. AGGGGG!

· A letter from a Civil War buff pointing out what he says are ten factual errors in a history piece I wrote many years ago. To check out the accuracy of the information I’ll have to dig out moldering files in storage.

· Letdown from pool work: as usual when finishing a project I’m experiencing a backlash. You know, the way you feel after final exams in school. Perfectly normal, but depressing nonetheless. Besides, yesterday I discovered a pump seal leaking which meant dismantling a bunch of work and taking the pump to the repair shop.

· Also, the cleanup from the pool project remains to be done and I find it overwhelming. I still have lots of dirt, shoveled from the pool bed, to distribute and spread to low places in the yard. I’m growing to my shovel.

· Several of my children face major decisions and I’m concerned about them.

· Several friends and neighbors tell me about developing tensions.

· Several people have asked favors which will require extra physical work and time from me if I choose to help out.

Internally, I feel I’m a useless looser spending more and more wasted days in a wasted life. This is my normal mental outlook, although I think my own view of reality may be a bit skewed; cain’t nobody be as bad as I feel I am.

Then I feel a tad guilty that as a Christian I feel the way I do because I’m told that Christians are supposed to be happy folks filled with joy, confidence, purpose and all that crap. Those things are beyond my daily experience.

I’d like for life to get back to normal – but the thought comes that This Is Normal!

My meager devotions feel hollow. less than shallow. I have a hard time remembering what Bible passage we read last night… O yes, it was about the transfiguration. (If you’d like to read my take on that odd occurrence in a science fiction piece I wrote years ago, please take a look at the Transfiguration Of What’s His Name ).

Sorry I don’t have anything more positive to say in my blog today, but if I only wrote about the good times, that would not be honest and would not reflect the Christian Life as she is lived – at least by this one guy.

“Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, What did you think of the play”?

The Pool Boy's Socks

I envision how our backyard pool will look when I finish work on it:

No, this is not our pool and I don’t know who the bathing beauty is, but this picture from the net epitomizes the finished pool in my mind.

Unfortunately, I have a ways to go yet.

Still shoveling dirt.

Friday, my daughter Eve came over to help me work. She sawed a sheet of plywood and built a platform for the pump and filtration system. (Eve acquired building skills by volunteering to build houses for Habitant For Humanity when she was a teenager). She helped mow. She vacuumed my neighbor’s pool (one of my usual Friday duties). She squeezed air bubbles from under our pool liner.

And to start the day, Eve put my socks on my feet.

Yes, my arthritis hurt so bad today that I couldn’t pull on my own socks!

And here I keep the mental image of myself as a macho guy -- faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap off tall buildings in a single bound, defender of truth, justice, and the American way of life….

No, wait a minuet. That’s Superman.

I was never able to do any of that stuff … But I’ve never before needed my daughter to help me put my socks on either.

As Eve helped me, naturally my thoughts turned to my favorite church service; the church we sometimes attend practices foot washing each year on the Thursday before Easter. That is by far the happiest occasion in the church year. Inevitably some guy tickles his wife’s feet. A playful slap follows. Kids giggle as daddy washes their feet. Somebody always tips a basin over. Laughter reigns in the sanctuary … Just as Jesus said it should:

“Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well; for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another’s feet… If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them”.

Anyhow, Eve put my socks on me and worked with me all day. Here’s a photo she took of the tools we used. I keep them lined up in order so I don’t end up burying my own shovel:

Once Ginny & I saw this movie about a pool boy named Hershel. He knocked on the doors of suburban homes to be greeted by bikini-clad young lovelies anxious to have their pools cleaned among other things. The mere sight of the pool boy inspired these women into amorous fits. Deep in my fundamentalist Christian heart, I’ve always envied Hershel. What a neat way to make a living. Pay isn’t much, but Hershel did enjoy certain fringe benefits.

Now that I’ve been working as an official pool boy for the past few weeks, I wonder it the sight of me in my pool getup would similarly inspire the bikini girls???

Here’s a photo of me in my pool boy outfit:

No, black socks with shorts are not a geriatric fashion statement; I’ve wallowed in so much dirt all week that these are the last clean pair I own. Notice the chic clothespins clipped to my shirt for easy access while adjusting the liner. Do I look like a lopsided porcupine? And, incidentally, Donald’s old shirt that I’m wearing carries the physic’s formula W=FxD, Work equals force times distance -- which I think is a scientist’s way of saying, “Avoid being forced to work by keeping yoru distance".

Don't I look cool?

Eat your heart out, Hershel!

Cowart, your pool boy replacement, is on the prowl.

Ginny’s office, which I think involved about a hundred people, has finally moved. Now all they have to do is find their desks, computers and chairs in the chaos. Gin says a lot of trash meant to be thrown out at the old building, got moved to the new building. Happens every move. She’s glad that part of the job is over.

For our usual Friday Night Date, we dinned in a romantic private alcove at Jimmy’s Fried Chicken where we lingered and chatted and got re-acquainted. Then, because it is a soft summer evening with drifting clouds, wafting breezes, and a rising moon, we spent our intimate time together at Home Depot getting more fixtures for that pool!

One final thought about socks:

In First Century Jerusalem men didn’t wear socks with their open-toed sandals and the camels, horses and donkeys plying the streets were not equipped with emissions control devices.

Jesus did not wash the disciples’ feet just to institute a quaint religious ceremony.

He washed their feet because their feet were dirty.

What a Savior! He is absolutely terrific!

Life in the hole

Yeap, I'm still digging.

Look at any pool ad. You see a bikini girl relaxing on a float with a colorful beverage in her hand.

Look at our pool today, you see me covered with mud and sand with dozens of clothespins attached to my filthy tee-shirt, my shoes in tatters, me sweating like a pig -- me with a disposition to match.

No fear. I'm sure to have the pool filled and running by the next freeze.

PS: The clothespins are a handy way to anchor the vinal linner and I wear them on my person so they won't be at the other side of the pool whenever I need one -- like every other tool I reach for.

In other news: Ginny's office is moving to another building this week. She can't find the files she needs to work. In fact, she can't even find the file cabnets; they may still be in the old buiding. It's 96 degrees today and the air conditioner in her new building has not been turned on yet. So between me in the mud and her office move, our week has been .... Well, you get the picture:

Joy. Joy. Joy. This is the day that the Lord hath made -- What the hell happened to it?

Still Digging

Phoned the pool supply place with model number, serial number and all info on parts I need. “Sure we have that in stock,” she lied. Drove 45 minutes across town to the store. “We can order that for you; takes eight to ten days…” They did not stock the items I’d called about.

No, John. Christians shouldn’t talk like that!

Good, Clean Fun

Sunday afternoon Donald came over and helped me dig out all the old mud foundation from the swimming pool. Shovel. Shovel. Shovel. Donald, a math genesis calculated the pool dimensions (p X18X6¸2 or three=?). He estimates that we moved 249 square feet (or maybe he said cubit meters, or yards) of mud.

Impressive.

But once I stumped him with this math problem:

If a telephone wire stretched from here to St. Augustine is divided into four sections and on the first stretch of wire sit 500 mockingbirds, and on the second section sit another 500, and on the third another 500, and on the forth still another 500 -- then in metric units, how many mockingbirds are there?

Two Killamockingbirds!

Nothing else to blog about.