A 3 1/2 inch floppy labeled, "DOS 3.3 - backup"; O.S.2 Warp - a box full of disks that puts the O.S.2 program on to your harddrive; I gritted my teeth and tossed them out today.
A Quicken Home and Business ‘99 C.D. Several CDs that have the utility drivers for long since lost and destroyed motherboards. I THREW THEM ALL OUT this afternoon. Spring cleaning has come to my home computer center and when I walked in this afternoon my wife pointed to a file of floppys, CDs and manuals stacked near my chair and suggested I needed to do something about it. I said, "What?" She smiled and said brightly, "The trash pick-up is tomorrow?" I wailed, "But what if O.S.2 Warp makes a comeback?" Her smile suggested that the Mental Health S.W.A.T. could be at the house in under 5 minutes if needed.
I purchased my first computer in 1985, an IBM clone. I got the one with two floppies; it turned out to be handy. I figured it would last me 10 years, at least that what I promised my wife. [Within 2 years it had been replaced by an upgrade.] She was afraid I was wasting my money. I’ve long since lost count off how many computers my family has owned but my wife and I currently have 6 working computers between the two of us. If we want, we could be on 3 computers a piece at one time. Of course you only end up using one at a time though laptops and chrome books (my latest acquisition} are handy to drag around.
Not only are floppies long since passe, the youngest generation is bypassing laptops for sophisticated smart phones, leaving the "boomers", such as me, way behind. Oh, I now have an obsolete iPhone and I can make calls on it and text too. It actually does a lot of stuff, I just don't know how to use it. I can still mostly find my way around a P.C.
But I can't on a unit that has Windows 8; the O.S. from hell. I don't own it but I know about it. I talked my little old neighbor into buying a new laptop since his 10 year old would no longer load, and ended up being confronted by Microsoft's newest demon; Windows 8. I don't LIKE Windows 8. Windows 7 is an excellent O.S. Windows 8 makes every attempt to make sure you can't find things; or if you can, you can't move them around. It's been pretty successful at that. Sooner or later, against your will, you're going to own it. It will be pre-installed on your next soon-to-be-obsolete P.C.
But back to the floppys CDs and manuals. If you were wise (and after a few major errors we all became wiser) you made backups of everything, particularly drivers and utilities. But now they're all available on the internet? Need a Dell computer or printer driver? Go to dell.com and with a little searching you'll find all you need. It was a huge advance when companies started putting their utility drivers on the internet for downloading.
A big "shout out" to that advancement in acquiring needed information.
So all those backup floppys, all those CDs with the utilities and drivers on them; "Historie" Kaput, needless, obsolete. Computers quit being built with floppys a few years back. For now they have flash-drives, but I have no doubt they'll also be obsolete not so distant future. But what about your priceless pictures and documents? Don't we need to back those up? Maybe not .......
BECAUSE now we have "THE CLOUD." Write a post using google docs and google Chrome and your work is automatically saved somewhere out in the internet ether where only God actually knows where it is stored. Theoretically it will always exist in "THE CLOUD." Pictures will be there too. And the cloud is cheap and they say you'll never have to worry about backups. But, if the Google Server Farm is ever hit by a nuclear device, we'll no longer exist.
In the modern era, I am only what Google knows about me; But that's a post for another day.
SPRING CLEANING; where do the years go.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Murder-suicide in my little neighborhood
[ This is not a good story. You really don't need to read it. ]
They moved in across the street about a couple years after we did A Dad, a Mom, an older brother and a younger brother my age. The older brother was lively and funny, his name was Davey. The younger brother was more serious but he and I got along well enough. His name was Jimmy. That's a picture of him. He was 10 years of age when his father killed him and then committed suicide, apparently in response to his mother asking the father for a divorce and forcing the father to move out.
The father had visitation, came to pick up both boys one weekend but Davey didn't go.
The father took Jimmy to the motel where he was staying and shot him to death then turned the gun upon himself.
I really didn't live in "that kind of a neighborhood." But I guess I did.
Jimmy wrote a suicide note;
It is a terrible thing.
Below is a picture of Jimmy's mother.
I suppose those are the detectives talking to her, I'm not sure.
My parents were very devout and we always went to church. My father recognized, after the separation, that the father was struggling and he invited him to come to church one Sunday. The father came and sat next to my Dad. At the end of the service there was an "altar call" for people to come forward and give their lives to Jesus Christ vowing to follow after His ways, not ours.
So we're standing, singing the invitation hymn and the father is gripping the pew in front of him so hard that his knuckles are white. But he didn't go ask for help, ask for salvation and he never came to church with us again. Then a few/couple of weeks later the father and Jimmy were dead.
"Sad" inadequately describes the story. Decades later I still have trouble with it.
Davey and his Mom soon moved out of the neighborhood never to return.
I've often wondered how Davey is doing. I hope he was able to find some hope, joy and love in his own life. Maybe he became a follower of Jesus Christ. I know my folks prayed for him and his Mom after the tragedy. I hope he made it out of the family trauma alive.
He was funny, personable and he made the other kids in the neighborhood laugh. He had a lot going for him.
I hope Davey made it.
They moved in across the street about a couple years after we did A Dad, a Mom, an older brother and a younger brother my age. The older brother was lively and funny, his name was Davey. The younger brother was more serious but he and I got along well enough. His name was Jimmy. That's a picture of him. He was 10 years of age when his father killed him and then committed suicide, apparently in response to his mother asking the father for a divorce and forcing the father to move out.
The father had visitation, came to pick up both boys one weekend but Davey didn't go.
The father took Jimmy to the motel where he was staying and shot him to death then turned the gun upon himself.
I really didn't live in "that kind of a neighborhood." But I guess I did.
Jimmy wrote a suicide note;
It is a terrible thing.
Below is a picture of Jimmy's mother.
I suppose those are the detectives talking to her, I'm not sure.
My parents were very devout and we always went to church. My father recognized, after the separation, that the father was struggling and he invited him to come to church one Sunday. The father came and sat next to my Dad. At the end of the service there was an "altar call" for people to come forward and give their lives to Jesus Christ vowing to follow after His ways, not ours.
So we're standing, singing the invitation hymn and the father is gripping the pew in front of him so hard that his knuckles are white. But he didn't go ask for help, ask for salvation and he never came to church with us again. Then a few/couple of weeks later the father and Jimmy were dead.
"Sad" inadequately describes the story. Decades later I still have trouble with it.
Davey and his Mom soon moved out of the neighborhood never to return.
I've often wondered how Davey is doing. I hope he was able to find some hope, joy and love in his own life. Maybe he became a follower of Jesus Christ. I know my folks prayed for him and his Mom after the tragedy. I hope he made it out of the family trauma alive.
He was funny, personable and he made the other kids in the neighborhood laugh. He had a lot going for him.
I hope Davey made it.
Friday, January 11, 2013
HALEY MAKES SPENCER VISIBLE
They were in 5th grade, Haley had it all. Cute, bright, personality plus, vivacious and liked by all. If there was a popularity Clic, she was the alpha dog.
I asked her one day, "Who's the quietest kid in your class?" She thought for a moment and then said, "Spencer." I asked her to tell me about Spencer. She really didn't know anything about Spencer except he was kind of chubby, sat in the back of the class, never spoke and didn't seem to have any friends.
I said, "Haley, who's the most popular kid in the class?" She replied, honestly enough, "I suppose I am."
I said, "Hm."
I said, "Haley, have you ever talked to Spencer?" She said, "No, why would I want to?"
I said, "Hm."
"Haley," I said. "I have a homework assignment for you." She promptly indicated she was doing enough homework already. I said, "No, this is a different kind of homework, "I said, "I want you to speak to Spencer this week?" She wanted to know why. Then she wanted to know what she was supposed to say.
"In answer to your second question Haley, I want you to say 'Hey Spencer.'" She said, "That's all?" I said, "That's all."
She asked again, "Why do you want me to do this?" I told her, that's how I measure popular kids.
She told me her friends would think it strange if she was talking to Spencer. I asked if she would lose friends if she spoke to him. She replied, "I guess not."
I saw Haley a few days later. I asked her how her homework was coming. She said she was walking by his desk and said, "Hey Spencer."
"What did he do?" I asked.
"Nothing" she said. "He kind of looked startled though."
"Hm" I said.
I told her that her homework was to speak to him at least 3 times the next week I told her I'd be checking her homework.
When I saw her some days later she told me she had greeted him and that he finally muttered, almost inaudibly while keeping his head down, "Hey Haley."
I lost track of Haley for a few weeks then ran across her one day. I asked about Spencer.
I said, "Is Spencer still the quietest kid in class?"
She said, "No; now he won't shut up." ( I muttered under my breath, "YES" ) I asked if he only talked to her, she said "No, he talks to everyone."
Haley moved on, I ran into here when she was in high school; still smart, cute, vivacious and personality plus. Sadly I forgot to ask about Spencer.
I was proud of Haley. When you're the most popular girl in 5th grade it must appear there is no "upside" to interacting with the least popular kid in the class; and she did worry about the ramifications. But she did what she was asked and I have no doubt that Spencer's 5th grade year was immeasurably better because of the actions of the most popular girl in the class.
I struggle to remember my own lessons. It's pretty easy to interact with some one pretty/handsome, personable and outgoing. But I find I have to discipline myself to say hello to the quiet, sometimes unattractive people. It takes effort and sometimes I'm unwilling to make it.
But if the measure of a popular 5th grader is how she treats the invisible 5th grader, I suppose it's a measure of the adult male how I treat the less visible adults; male and female..
"Hey Spencer." Such a simple assignment but what a significant impact on an invisible kid and maybe Haley learned something too.
"Hey Spencer,"
I think I can do that.
I asked her one day, "Who's the quietest kid in your class?" She thought for a moment and then said, "Spencer." I asked her to tell me about Spencer. She really didn't know anything about Spencer except he was kind of chubby, sat in the back of the class, never spoke and didn't seem to have any friends.
I said, "Haley, who's the most popular kid in the class?" She replied, honestly enough, "I suppose I am."
I said, "Hm."
I said, "Haley, have you ever talked to Spencer?" She said, "No, why would I want to?"
I said, "Hm."
"Haley," I said. "I have a homework assignment for you." She promptly indicated she was doing enough homework already. I said, "No, this is a different kind of homework, "I said, "I want you to speak to Spencer this week?" She wanted to know why. Then she wanted to know what she was supposed to say.
"In answer to your second question Haley, I want you to say 'Hey Spencer.'" She said, "That's all?" I said, "That's all."
She asked again, "Why do you want me to do this?" I told her, that's how I measure popular kids.
She told me her friends would think it strange if she was talking to Spencer. I asked if she would lose friends if she spoke to him. She replied, "I guess not."
I saw Haley a few days later. I asked her how her homework was coming. She said she was walking by his desk and said, "Hey Spencer."
"What did he do?" I asked.
"Nothing" she said. "He kind of looked startled though."
"Hm" I said.
I told her that her homework was to speak to him at least 3 times the next week I told her I'd be checking her homework.
When I saw her some days later she told me she had greeted him and that he finally muttered, almost inaudibly while keeping his head down, "Hey Haley."
I lost track of Haley for a few weeks then ran across her one day. I asked about Spencer.
I said, "Is Spencer still the quietest kid in class?"
She said, "No; now he won't shut up." ( I muttered under my breath, "YES" ) I asked if he only talked to her, she said "No, he talks to everyone."
Haley moved on, I ran into here when she was in high school; still smart, cute, vivacious and personality plus. Sadly I forgot to ask about Spencer.
I was proud of Haley. When you're the most popular girl in 5th grade it must appear there is no "upside" to interacting with the least popular kid in the class; and she did worry about the ramifications. But she did what she was asked and I have no doubt that Spencer's 5th grade year was immeasurably better because of the actions of the most popular girl in the class.
I struggle to remember my own lessons. It's pretty easy to interact with some one pretty/handsome, personable and outgoing. But I find I have to discipline myself to say hello to the quiet, sometimes unattractive people. It takes effort and sometimes I'm unwilling to make it.
But if the measure of a popular 5th grader is how she treats the invisible 5th grader, I suppose it's a measure of the adult male how I treat the less visible adults; male and female..
"Hey Spencer." Such a simple assignment but what a significant impact on an invisible kid and maybe Haley learned something too.
"Hey Spencer,"
I think I can do that.
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
The Death of an old friend
ELMER “BUDDY” DOE
My nursing home friend, Elmer, died today.
He was, by his own admission, a handful as a youngster. He went off and joined the Army during WWII, served in the European theater and then came home. He had dropped out of school and never acquired much formal education.
He held various odd jobs and then, in his 40s, he began to attend this small Pentecostal Church after marrying his second wife. He was a faithful member there and one Wednesday evening, the pastor asked him to give the message. Elmer thought this was a crazy idea but when the pastor asks you to do something, you do it. So he gave the message and the pastor told him he wanted him to preach more. So Elmer did.
In the course of time Elmer became the pastor/preacher of that little Pentecostal Church in a run-down community of some antiquity.
By this time, Elmer was working at the Naval base and making a decent salary based upon his standards. He ended up pastoring that little Pentecostal church for 14 years and never received a dime for his ministry. He took his own money and fixed things up; repaired and ministered. From what Elmer said, I don’t think it ever exceeded 50 people but Elmer didn’t seem to worry about things like that. He was just amazed that God took someone like him and called him to pastor.
I met Elmer when he was about 80, his wife had died, his health was breaking down and he decided to enter a nursing home. And so began his last journey. He was classically the “old codger” and would both tease and joke with the staff. He liked to call the staff psychologist the “nut doctor.” The psychologist seemed to take it in stride.
Elmer had never fathered any children and his only relatives were just a sister and niece and they were out of state. So visitors were few and far between. The staff at the nursing home ultimately became his family for the last decade of his life. They treated him well and on the last day of his life, a lot of women entered his room to check on him and make sure he did not die alone.
He had a TV, it was always on but he didn’t really watch it. He colored and did crossword type activities. He built relationships with the staff but not much with the residents. He always had his Bible open to be read.
Over the years, C.O.P.D. ( chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) became a bigger problem but somehow he held on. Then earlier this year it got pretty bad and he was sent to the cardiac ward at the downtown hospital where he resided for a few weeks. Much to my surprise, he got somewhat better and returned to the nursing home. But he had lost a lot of ground that he would never make up.
When I came in this morning, the staff indicated he was doing fairly poorly. So I write this sitting next to his bed, he’s on full oxygen but medications have been ceased and the staff has been instructed to just make sure he is comfortable.
He is not responding interacting anymore. He still has a feeding tube but that seems unnecessary at this point.
The staff has not been able to contact his sister though we’re pretty sure she’s alive because she sent him some mail a few days ago. I read it to him this morning though he did not respond. His sister recounted how he used to call her “Skeeter” when they were little and how furious that made her. But she tells him in his letter and in the Christmas card, how much she loves him and prays that God might bless him. She signed it, “Skeeter.”
I don’t know if he heard what I read; but it was the last communication he would receive from what is left of his family.
I told him I loved him too. He’s an old saint and I don’t doubt he’ll be in the presence of the Living God the moment he breaths his last breath on Earth.
His eulogy should read: He loved His God, he loved his wife, he treated others well and with a sense of humor.
It can be said of Elmer , “he finished well” and blest us with the last years of his life.
(He died 8 hours later).
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
LIFE? IT IS NOT SAFE
PYROMANIACS by Centurion
You know: deaths by medical error outnumber firearm fatalities by a factor of 17:1; deaths by medical error outnumber auto fatalities by a factor of 5:1. You think you're safe in the hospital, but I would suggest that you're in one of the most dangerous places in the world for two reasons: both you and the care providers are, in all real respect for their years of hard work and real intention to be doing no harm, overconfident.
My point is not to minimize the death of these children, or make you fear the hospital: it is to open your eyes to the fact that the natural state of the world is not safe and secure. The natural state of the world -- the way it really is all around us every day and we simply overlook it -- is that it is a deadly and dangerous place.
See: the natural state of things is that people die all the time due to no direct fault of their own. Families are left fatherless or motherless -- or both. The oldest child, or only child, is safe on the rainy night driving home from work and is killed the next night when she went to the convenience store for milk and a drunk ignored the red light. The fellow in the locker next to you at work doesn't realize the safety on the overhead crane is broken, and you have to explain it to the OSHA investigator because you pulled him out from under it, too late.
But here's the thing: this does not spoil Christmas. It in no way denigrates Christmas, or makes Christmas a joke. This fact makes Christmas necessary.
[We have always, and we continue to need a transcendent God who can save us from ourselves.]
You know: deaths by medical error outnumber firearm fatalities by a factor of 17:1; deaths by medical error outnumber auto fatalities by a factor of 5:1. You think you're safe in the hospital, but I would suggest that you're in one of the most dangerous places in the world for two reasons: both you and the care providers are, in all real respect for their years of hard work and real intention to be doing no harm, overconfident.
My point is not to minimize the death of these children, or make you fear the hospital: it is to open your eyes to the fact that the natural state of the world is not safe and secure. The natural state of the world -- the way it really is all around us every day and we simply overlook it -- is that it is a deadly and dangerous place.
See: the natural state of things is that people die all the time due to no direct fault of their own. Families are left fatherless or motherless -- or both. The oldest child, or only child, is safe on the rainy night driving home from work and is killed the next night when she went to the convenience store for milk and a drunk ignored the red light. The fellow in the locker next to you at work doesn't realize the safety on the overhead crane is broken, and you have to explain it to the OSHA investigator because you pulled him out from under it, too late.
But here's the thing: this does not spoil Christmas. It in no way denigrates Christmas, or makes Christmas a joke. This fact makes Christmas necessary.
[We have always, and we continue to need a transcendent God who can save us from ourselves.]
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
QUINN ELISA WOLFER
November 20th, 2012
Hi Quinn, you'll not be reading this for a few years but I just want to tell you something. I was upstairs crying when they were struggling to bring you into the world on November 19, 2012. It was touch and go there for a couple of hours and I was pretty scared. But you had good doctors, nurses and a loving God who was determined you were going to make it; and make it you did.
Today is the second day of your life; they're weaning you off the oxygen and your Mom is starting to feel a little better prepared to take you home in the next couple of days. Besides your Mom and Dad, you've got Grandpa and Grandma Wolfer and Grandma Brown up there with you. You don't know it but you have a ton of family who has been praying for you for the last few months but particularly in the last few hours. You are most fortunate Quinn, not everybody comes into this world with all the love and prayers you have been bathed with.
Quinn, I've waited along time to be a grandfather and you have made it come true. You'll be my favorite oldest granddaughter for ever. I've got your name on my heart and that won't change.
I think you're going to like life.young lady and you're definitely going to flourish and prosper; All the Wolfer/Brown grandchildren do ( a little humor; you are, so far, the only Wolfer/Brown grandchild).
I hope to come see you in a couple of months; take lots of pictures and hold serious talks about your future. I'll take the pictures of course, you can do some of the talking. It'll be great. I'll show you how to hold my finger in your little fist. What fun that will be. And if you're lucky I'll play the "So-do-we" game where I bounce you up and down on my lap then pretend to let you slip to the floor. I loved that game when I was your age and I'm going to teach you how to play it. (Don't worry, I'll do all the hard work, you just squeal with laughter.)
I promise to continue to pray for you Quinn as long as I have breath - which might be a very, very long time. You never know. I might not get to see you too much in person but we're gonna SKYPE like crazy; yes siree. I'll do my part while you thoroughly enjoy being Quinn in a loving family, that's your part.
Well bye for now Quinn; I'll see you in a couple of months, "The Lord willing and the creek don't rise."
I love you Quinnie - Grandpa JB
______________________________________________________________________________
April 13, 2013
Well Quinn, instead of me coming up to Medicine Hat to see you, we decided to fly you and your Mom down to Florida to see all us. Instead of only getting to you see you 3 or 4 days, I'm getting to see you 2 weeks plus. It has been so much fun holding you, playing with you and talking with you. You've held my fingers, we've played "So-DO-We" and I have played " This Little Piggy" with your toes. It's been all fun and you have enjoyed yourself immensely.
This is my favorite picture of us ( and we've taken a ton of pictures ).
You've just finished your bath and your Mom has handed you to me to hold and dry while she cleans up. It's so much fun.
August 2013 -
Your Dad, Grandma Wolfer and other family members took a trip to Europe so you and your Mom came down to spend a month with us. You were 9 months old and we had a wonderful time. We took a lot of pictures and one day we went to the beach. This is my favorite Grandpa/Quinnie picture.
Grandpa's are born to take their Granddaughters to the beach. It was so much fun and I love this picture of you and me.
Nov. 1, 2014 - Hi Quinn, you're almost two and you have been staying in Jacksonville with "Gaga" and "Papa" for the last 20 days. You came down with your Dad and Mom. Dad had to return after a few days but you and your Mom have been here enjoying your grandparents and the city. Actually, the joy is all ours. As Uncle Tom said on one of his Facebook posts, while you were a handful you were still "adorbs." I agree with his assessment.
You talk wonderfully, you run all over the place. You're still putting random things in your mouth if we don't watch you like a hawk but you bring smiles to our faces every single day. You've gone to the Zoo, you've gone to the beach seveeral times. You got your first haircut AND you went Trick or Treating on Halloween dressed in your tiger outfit. You were cute. Sadly for Gaga and Papa, you'll be going back home in two days. We are going to SOOOOoo miss you. I'm just glad we can see you and talk to you on SKYPE everyday. So we still get to see you growing up.
Me 'n Gaga love you to pieces Quinn. We love watching you grow up. Papa
Hi Quinn, you'll not be reading this for a few years but I just want to tell you something. I was upstairs crying when they were struggling to bring you into the world on November 19, 2012. It was touch and go there for a couple of hours and I was pretty scared. But you had good doctors, nurses and a loving God who was determined you were going to make it; and make it you did.
Today is the second day of your life; they're weaning you off the oxygen and your Mom is starting to feel a little better prepared to take you home in the next couple of days. Besides your Mom and Dad, you've got Grandpa and Grandma Wolfer and Grandma Brown up there with you. You don't know it but you have a ton of family who has been praying for you for the last few months but particularly in the last few hours. You are most fortunate Quinn, not everybody comes into this world with all the love and prayers you have been bathed with.
Quinn, I've waited along time to be a grandfather and you have made it come true. You'll be my favorite oldest granddaughter for ever. I've got your name on my heart and that won't change.
I think you're going to like life.young lady and you're definitely going to flourish and prosper; All the Wolfer/Brown grandchildren do ( a little humor; you are, so far, the only Wolfer/Brown grandchild).
I hope to come see you in a couple of months; take lots of pictures and hold serious talks about your future. I'll take the pictures of course, you can do some of the talking. It'll be great. I'll show you how to hold my finger in your little fist. What fun that will be. And if you're lucky I'll play the "So-do-we" game where I bounce you up and down on my lap then pretend to let you slip to the floor. I loved that game when I was your age and I'm going to teach you how to play it. (Don't worry, I'll do all the hard work, you just squeal with laughter.)
I promise to continue to pray for you Quinn as long as I have breath - which might be a very, very long time. You never know. I might not get to see you too much in person but we're gonna SKYPE like crazy; yes siree. I'll do my part while you thoroughly enjoy being Quinn in a loving family, that's your part.
Well bye for now Quinn; I'll see you in a couple of months, "The Lord willing and the creek don't rise."
I love you Quinnie - Grandpa JB
______________________________________________________________________________
April 13, 2013
Well Quinn, instead of me coming up to Medicine Hat to see you, we decided to fly you and your Mom down to Florida to see all us. Instead of only getting to you see you 3 or 4 days, I'm getting to see you 2 weeks plus. It has been so much fun holding you, playing with you and talking with you. You've held my fingers, we've played "So-DO-We" and I have played " This Little Piggy" with your toes. It's been all fun and you have enjoyed yourself immensely.
This is my favorite picture of us ( and we've taken a ton of pictures ).
You've just finished your bath and your Mom has handed you to me to hold and dry while she cleans up. It's so much fun.
August 2013 -
Your Dad, Grandma Wolfer and other family members took a trip to Europe so you and your Mom came down to spend a month with us. You were 9 months old and we had a wonderful time. We took a lot of pictures and one day we went to the beach. This is my favorite Grandpa/Quinnie picture.
Grandpa's are born to take their Granddaughters to the beach. It was so much fun and I love this picture of you and me.
Nov. 1, 2014 - Hi Quinn, you're almost two and you have been staying in Jacksonville with "Gaga" and "Papa" for the last 20 days. You came down with your Dad and Mom. Dad had to return after a few days but you and your Mom have been here enjoying your grandparents and the city. Actually, the joy is all ours. As Uncle Tom said on one of his Facebook posts, while you were a handful you were still "adorbs." I agree with his assessment.
You talk wonderfully, you run all over the place. You're still putting random things in your mouth if we don't watch you like a hawk but you bring smiles to our faces every single day. You've gone to the Zoo, you've gone to the beach seveeral times. You got your first haircut AND you went Trick or Treating on Halloween dressed in your tiger outfit. You were cute. Sadly for Gaga and Papa, you'll be going back home in two days. We are going to SOOOOoo miss you. I'm just glad we can see you and talk to you on SKYPE everyday. So we still get to see you growing up.
Me 'n Gaga love you to pieces Quinn. We love watching you grow up. Papa
Monday, November 12, 2012
EFFICIENCY INSANITY: Part Two
As I mentioned in a previous post, I tend to be a little wacko about living efficiently. Today was no exception.
I'm getting ready to turn into a gas station to fill up when a lady driving a similar sized vehicle pulls in first (she broke no laws doing so, she just didn't let me go first). Well I'm irritated and I mutter to myself, "Lady you might have pulled in first but I'm betting you'll pull out last because I am deadly efficient when it comes to pumping gas.
Even as I'm pulling up to my pump and braking, I'm reaching down to pull on the little gas lever lid release then immediately grabbing my wallet out of the door pocket all in one continuous movement. I turn off the engine but leave the keys in the ignition so I won't have to search my pockets for the keys when I'm ready to drive off. Even as I step out of the car, I'm opening my wallet for the I.D. card allowing the I.D. reader to search it and give me the green light. While waiting for the green okay, I'm grabbing the credit card with my other hand, flipping it to the right position to push and pull it out of the credit card reader once I get the okay. Still holding the wallet open, I stick both cards back into their proper places while waiting to hit the "credit" versus "debit" button when it appears. At the first sign of my zip code address request, I'm typing away with one hand while reaching behind me with the other to unscrew the gas lid. It's all going like clockwork.
The gas pump computer whirs for a few second then tells me to grab the gas pump gun and chose the octane. In a flash I've got the gun in the tank, push the 87 octane button and begin pumping away. Somewhere around the 40 dollars mark, I'm done. Rapidly I return the gun to the pump, spins the gas cap into place (making sure I hear those little clicks), slam the little gas lid close, step into the car while simultaneously slipping the wallet back into the door. Put on the seat-belt, start the ignition and begin driving out.
Ah HAH! The lady is STILL in the process of pumping gas while I'm driving away. OBVIOUSLY an inefficient gas pumper.
I guess I showed her. EFFICIENCY RULES!
I'm getting ready to turn into a gas station to fill up when a lady driving a similar sized vehicle pulls in first (she broke no laws doing so, she just didn't let me go first). Well I'm irritated and I mutter to myself, "Lady you might have pulled in first but I'm betting you'll pull out last because I am deadly efficient when it comes to pumping gas.
Even as I'm pulling up to my pump and braking, I'm reaching down to pull on the little gas lever lid release then immediately grabbing my wallet out of the door pocket all in one continuous movement. I turn off the engine but leave the keys in the ignition so I won't have to search my pockets for the keys when I'm ready to drive off. Even as I step out of the car, I'm opening my wallet for the I.D. card allowing the I.D. reader to search it and give me the green light. While waiting for the green okay, I'm grabbing the credit card with my other hand, flipping it to the right position to push and pull it out of the credit card reader once I get the okay. Still holding the wallet open, I stick both cards back into their proper places while waiting to hit the "credit" versus "debit" button when it appears. At the first sign of my zip code address request, I'm typing away with one hand while reaching behind me with the other to unscrew the gas lid. It's all going like clockwork.
The gas pump computer whirs for a few second then tells me to grab the gas pump gun and chose the octane. In a flash I've got the gun in the tank, push the 87 octane button and begin pumping away. Somewhere around the 40 dollars mark, I'm done. Rapidly I return the gun to the pump, spins the gas cap into place (making sure I hear those little clicks), slam the little gas lid close, step into the car while simultaneously slipping the wallet back into the door. Put on the seat-belt, start the ignition and begin driving out.
Ah HAH! The lady is STILL in the process of pumping gas while I'm driving away. OBVIOUSLY an inefficient gas pumper.
I guess I showed her. EFFICIENCY RULES!
Sunday, November 11, 2012
DAVID PETRAEUS; his adultery goes public
1) I do hope Mrs. Petraeus has wonderful friends, a good support system and a strong faith. How would it be to wake up one day and find your marital issues spread all over the nations news? I have no idea what she is like but I'm thinking she's not too happy and truly caught on the proverbial Horns of a Dilemma. She and David have been married many years, have a lifetime of memories and now it's all up for grabs. What should she do, which way should she go.
My rabbinical counsel to Mrs. P; DON'T MAKE ANY MAJOR DECISIONS THIS YEAR.
Either she can live with the adultery or she can't; but it simply takes time to sort it out and you cannot really rush the process. Take your time Mrs. P. Don't let anybody rush you into a life changing decision.
2) David, I hope you are actually a good guy. Your sins are acknowledged, you've already done the "wrong thing," now it's time to do the next "right thing." If you're actually a "good guy," you will.
Two famous people who have actually set good examples after their betrayals of their spouse are Chris Evert and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Chris left her husband of 18 years, Andy Mills, for the Australian golfer Greg Norman, and within 18 months rapidly found out it was a mistake. She later said her husband, Andy, did not deserve this. And then she fell apart.
Arnold's background is one of extensive promiscuity. High profile marriage, had at least one, if not more affairs, and when this one went public, his wife Maria Shriver divorced him. He has said publically and privately "He screwed up." After a separation, Maria has divorced him though he indicates he'd like to get back with her.
My rabbinical counsel to Gen. P: DO EVERYTHING WITHIN YOUR POWER TO SAVE YOUR MARRIAGE. You're gonna have to be patient but you can rebuild if she'll let you.
Finally Gen. P. There is a great and forgiving God; I'd encourage you to seek after Him with all your heart. He is the one who takes lemons and makes lemonade. He'll be your anchor thru the storm if you'll let Him.
My rabbinical counsel to Mrs. P; DON'T MAKE ANY MAJOR DECISIONS THIS YEAR.
Either she can live with the adultery or she can't; but it simply takes time to sort it out and you cannot really rush the process. Take your time Mrs. P. Don't let anybody rush you into a life changing decision.
2) David, I hope you are actually a good guy. Your sins are acknowledged, you've already done the "wrong thing," now it's time to do the next "right thing." If you're actually a "good guy," you will.
Two famous people who have actually set good examples after their betrayals of their spouse are Chris Evert and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Chris left her husband of 18 years, Andy Mills, for the Australian golfer Greg Norman, and within 18 months rapidly found out it was a mistake. She later said her husband, Andy, did not deserve this. And then she fell apart.
Arnold's background is one of extensive promiscuity. High profile marriage, had at least one, if not more affairs, and when this one went public, his wife Maria Shriver divorced him. He has said publically and privately "He screwed up." After a separation, Maria has divorced him though he indicates he'd like to get back with her.
My rabbinical counsel to Gen. P: DO EVERYTHING WITHIN YOUR POWER TO SAVE YOUR MARRIAGE. You're gonna have to be patient but you can rebuild if she'll let you.
Finally Gen. P. There is a great and forgiving God; I'd encourage you to seek after Him with all your heart. He is the one who takes lemons and makes lemonade. He'll be your anchor thru the storm if you'll let Him.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Trying to avoid the Old-Fart-Syndrome
I have felt, for a number of years, extraordinarily blessed because I have never suffered chronic pains. I'm well into my "mature years" and finally some chronic old age pain has surfaced. It's nothing terrible, just a knee that is approaching the bone-on-bone stage of existence where the meniscus or pad that keeps the bones from rubbing against each other has warn down and now allows the inside edges of my leg bones to begin grinding against each other. In the future all of the pad will cease to do it's job and I will creak as I walk.
The pain itself is nothing intense; on a scale of 1 to 10 it never goes above a 4 and I can generally walk it down to a one. The problem is the nighttime when any little pain can so easily disturb sleep. Now I am limited to only a couple of sleeping positions where it doesn't cause me too much discomfort and I can fall asleep. 4 months ago I was sleeping soundly, now I'm not. Bummer.
So I have now begun to take, Cosamine ( over the counter) and Aleve at my orthopedist' suggestion. It seems to be helping but I hate having to take any pills/meds on a daily basis and have avoided it until now.
All of this is a "heads up" pointing towards a future with more limitations. The modern surgical solution is a knee replacement, some friends of mine have certainly experienced great benefit from knee/hip replacements but I hope to avoid that option as long as I can.
So I continue to ride the bike as long and hard as I can. Surprisingly the riding motion seems not to bother the knee though I'm careful to refrain from hard accelerations which could lead to ligament strains or tears. My friends assure me that when the time comes to give up the racing bike I'll look just fine on a 3 wheeler with a metal basket on the front to hold the groceries. (Yes, those are the kinds of friends I have - dryly.)
But I have recently joined a gym (not yet open) and am going to try lap swimming plus other things to keep me invigorated and young.
I am grateful, I can still work ( I have a job that requires no physical labor ) and my pains are minimal. But in the far distance I can sense the final horizon.
I am determined, I WILL be thankful to the Living God who has with great patience granted me much grace over the years. So let the aging process continue; tomorrow I start searching Craigslist for a 3 wheeler with an aerodynamic basket in which to store the groceries.
It's all good.
The pain itself is nothing intense; on a scale of 1 to 10 it never goes above a 4 and I can generally walk it down to a one. The problem is the nighttime when any little pain can so easily disturb sleep. Now I am limited to only a couple of sleeping positions where it doesn't cause me too much discomfort and I can fall asleep. 4 months ago I was sleeping soundly, now I'm not. Bummer.
So I have now begun to take, Cosamine ( over the counter) and Aleve at my orthopedist' suggestion. It seems to be helping but I hate having to take any pills/meds on a daily basis and have avoided it until now.
All of this is a "heads up" pointing towards a future with more limitations. The modern surgical solution is a knee replacement, some friends of mine have certainly experienced great benefit from knee/hip replacements but I hope to avoid that option as long as I can.
So I continue to ride the bike as long and hard as I can. Surprisingly the riding motion seems not to bother the knee though I'm careful to refrain from hard accelerations which could lead to ligament strains or tears. My friends assure me that when the time comes to give up the racing bike I'll look just fine on a 3 wheeler with a metal basket on the front to hold the groceries. (Yes, those are the kinds of friends I have - dryly.)
But I have recently joined a gym (not yet open) and am going to try lap swimming plus other things to keep me invigorated and young.
I am grateful, I can still work ( I have a job that requires no physical labor ) and my pains are minimal. But in the far distance I can sense the final horizon.
I am determined, I WILL be thankful to the Living God who has with great patience granted me much grace over the years. So let the aging process continue; tomorrow I start searching Craigslist for a 3 wheeler with an aerodynamic basket in which to store the groceries.
It's all good.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Mister Ed
Curiously enough, "Mister Ed's" real name was Bamboo Harvester and he died a somewhat untimely death in 1970 from kidney disease. A different horse, thought to be Mister Ed died it 1979 but it was not the real Bamboo Harvester.
GETTING MISTER ED TO TALK: (Wikipedia) It is often said the crew was able to get Mister Ed to move his mouth by applying peanut butter to his gums in order for him to try to remove it by moving his lips. However, Alan Young said in 2004 that he had started the story himself.[5] In another interview, Young said, "Al Simon and Arthur Lubin, the producers, suggested we keep the method a secret because they thought kids would be disappointed if they found out the technical details of how it was done, so I made up the peanut butter story, and everyone bought it. It was initially done by putting a piece of nylon thread in his mouth. But Ed actually learned to move his lips on cue when the trainer touched his hoof. In fact, he soon learned to do it when I stopped talking during a scene! Ed was very smart."[6]
Young also states in the AAT interview that after the first season, Ed did not need the nylon – Alan and trainer Les were out riding one day and Les started laughing, telling Alan to look at Ed, who was moving his lips every time they stopped talking, as if attempting to join in the conversation. This difference is visible when comparing first season episodes to later ones, as it is clear that early on he is working the irritating string out, sometimes working his tongue in the attempt too, and later on he tends to only move his upper lip, and appears to watch Alan Young closely, waiting for him to finish his lines before twitching his lip.
Young added in the Archive interview that Ed saw the trainer as the disciplinarian, or father figure, and when scolded for missing a cue, would go to Alan for comfort, like a mother figure, which Les said was a good thing.[7]
It's been a few years since the show was produced (from 1961-1966) but it is still on cable; still pretty funny if you ask me.
"Mr. Ed., I toast you with a raised bowl of oats."
GETTING MISTER ED TO TALK: (Wikipedia) It is often said the crew was able to get Mister Ed to move his mouth by applying peanut butter to his gums in order for him to try to remove it by moving his lips. However, Alan Young said in 2004 that he had started the story himself.[5] In another interview, Young said, "Al Simon and Arthur Lubin, the producers, suggested we keep the method a secret because they thought kids would be disappointed if they found out the technical details of how it was done, so I made up the peanut butter story, and everyone bought it. It was initially done by putting a piece of nylon thread in his mouth. But Ed actually learned to move his lips on cue when the trainer touched his hoof. In fact, he soon learned to do it when I stopped talking during a scene! Ed was very smart."[6]
Young also states in the AAT interview that after the first season, Ed did not need the nylon – Alan and trainer Les were out riding one day and Les started laughing, telling Alan to look at Ed, who was moving his lips every time they stopped talking, as if attempting to join in the conversation. This difference is visible when comparing first season episodes to later ones, as it is clear that early on he is working the irritating string out, sometimes working his tongue in the attempt too, and later on he tends to only move his upper lip, and appears to watch Alan Young closely, waiting for him to finish his lines before twitching his lip.
Young added in the Archive interview that Ed saw the trainer as the disciplinarian, or father figure, and when scolded for missing a cue, would go to Alan for comfort, like a mother figure, which Les said was a good thing.[7]
It's been a few years since the show was produced (from 1961-1966) but it is still on cable; still pretty funny if you ask me.
"Mr. Ed., I toast you with a raised bowl of oats."
Monday, September 17, 2012
PERSON OF INTEREST
I don't watch a lot of TV but I admit to thoroughly enjoying PERSON OF INTEREST. Beyond the acting and all that it entails is the underlying premise; a computer program that has been written to access all databases and make projections that something is about to happen to a particular individual (Person of Interest). At that point our protagonists insert themselves into the picture and attempt to prevent an unforeseen tragedy or death.. The various protagonists interventions are okay but not the fascinating part.
Let us assume that INDEED, elements of our government wish they did have a computer tapped into all kinds of databases to prevent possible attacks. Certainly the Patriot Act was the beginning.of an attempt to do just that. So the underlying premise, a desire for a computer program that can predict future events, is a very real desire and we continue to see it in our government. Can you begin to feel a little paranoia? I can.
While I don't think the government yet has an effective program able to do what the program is able to do on Person of Interest, I certainly believe that the government is working on EXACTLY that type of program.
Are there people in the government that would use a computer like that for selfish purposes? ABSOLUTELY!. Can safeguards be put into place that would guarantee it would not be misused?
ABSOLUTELY NOT. That is the problem. There is No Way to build a computer program with access to incredible amounts of details about everybody's lives that would never be used for evil.
The problem is this:
The programmers are not beyond evil
The architects of the plan are not beyond evil.
The users of the program are not beyond evil.
The administrators, assistants, aides, and clerks are not beyond evil.
Any number of people would be tempted to use the program to enhance their lives at the expense of others and NONE of us are beyond evil.
What this computer program is ultimately about is providing to it's users an UNBELIEVABLE TEMPTATION to have god-like power, to decide life and death, sickness or health, poverty or riches.
There would be no fail-safe device that could ultimately prevent this program from actually doing the exact opposite of what is was designed; instead of doing great good, it would INEVITABLY do the exact opposite; great evil. That is the history of human behavior; great evil done in the name of the greater good.
As the ancient Scriptures say, "the heart of man is desperately wicked; who can know it?"
So at this point, I look forward to the next season of Person of Interest. Already the plot has acknowledged the potential for great abuse and what the writers of the show will come up with should be interesting.
Finally, our ultimate protection against a machine like this is actually the fallibility of human nature. Our lack of integrity, overwhelming pride, greed, and desire for power means the engineers, programmers and builders will continually be sabotaging each other in their attempt to attain pre-eminence over others thereby mutually thwarting their own selfish ends.
A successful conspiracy requires truly righteous people. But righteous people do not engage in conspiracy.
Therefore all conspiracies are doomed to fail because of the inherent fallibility of pagan men.
Theoretically, the machine could be built; realistically, it won't.
The New Tower of Babel will not be built. I don't think God will let it.
Let us assume that INDEED, elements of our government wish they did have a computer tapped into all kinds of databases to prevent possible attacks. Certainly the Patriot Act was the beginning.of an attempt to do just that. So the underlying premise, a desire for a computer program that can predict future events, is a very real desire and we continue to see it in our government. Can you begin to feel a little paranoia? I can.
While I don't think the government yet has an effective program able to do what the program is able to do on Person of Interest, I certainly believe that the government is working on EXACTLY that type of program.
Are there people in the government that would use a computer like that for selfish purposes? ABSOLUTELY!. Can safeguards be put into place that would guarantee it would not be misused?
ABSOLUTELY NOT. That is the problem. There is No Way to build a computer program with access to incredible amounts of details about everybody's lives that would never be used for evil.
The problem is this:
The programmers are not beyond evil
The architects of the plan are not beyond evil.
The users of the program are not beyond evil.
The administrators, assistants, aides, and clerks are not beyond evil.
Any number of people would be tempted to use the program to enhance their lives at the expense of others and NONE of us are beyond evil.
What this computer program is ultimately about is providing to it's users an UNBELIEVABLE TEMPTATION to have god-like power, to decide life and death, sickness or health, poverty or riches.
There would be no fail-safe device that could ultimately prevent this program from actually doing the exact opposite of what is was designed; instead of doing great good, it would INEVITABLY do the exact opposite; great evil. That is the history of human behavior; great evil done in the name of the greater good.
As the ancient Scriptures say, "the heart of man is desperately wicked; who can know it?"
So at this point, I look forward to the next season of Person of Interest. Already the plot has acknowledged the potential for great abuse and what the writers of the show will come up with should be interesting.
Finally, our ultimate protection against a machine like this is actually the fallibility of human nature. Our lack of integrity, overwhelming pride, greed, and desire for power means the engineers, programmers and builders will continually be sabotaging each other in their attempt to attain pre-eminence over others thereby mutually thwarting their own selfish ends.
A successful conspiracy requires truly righteous people. But righteous people do not engage in conspiracy.
Therefore all conspiracies are doomed to fail because of the inherent fallibility of pagan men.
Theoretically, the machine could be built; realistically, it won't.
The New Tower of Babel will not be built. I don't think God will let it.
Monday, September 10, 2012
NURSING HOME SADNESS
"Ned," has some dementia but is self grooming, gets around with his cane and appears to be basically intact. For reasons unknown to me, he has been placed in the nursing home, his status doesn't appear that serious. I think he'd do fine in assisted living but nobody asked me.
His wife comes to visit and she has power of attorney and is the only decision maker as to his activities; such as attending a church locally. She has to allow it otherwise it can't happen.
She's physically healthy but she appears to have some dementia and doesn't want to make decisions.
Ned got upset with the facility the other day and went out the front door and headed down the street. Police were called, they escorted him back to the facility but refused to do a 3 day commitment. Staff put him 1-to-1 with a male nurse because they didn't know what to do.
Sunday rolls around, Ned gets dressed, ready for his pastor to pick him up and take him to church. The wife is called, told she needs to come in and decide if he can go to church. She comes, but doesn't know what to do. She insists the nurses make the decision, they tell her that only she can make the decisions. She is in a dither, continue to argue that the nurses must make the decisions and she'll go along with it. The head nurse say, "No, you are the only one who can make the decision." They go back and forth for a good 1/2 hour in this same vain. She is sooo upset, looking for guidance but it is her decision alone. She never makes it but the nurse finally intuits her acceptance of his going off to church with his pastor.
Ned wants to live at home, wife doesn't want him to. Ned has some dementia; wife has some dementia. Children are not in view. Wife empowered to make all decisons but doesn't want to make any. The nursing home is stuck in the middle with an obligation to go EXACTLY by the law lest they be sued.
Ned's unhappy, his wife is unhappy, the nursing home is unhappy but at the moment "it is what it is" and I watch with great sadness the situation of Ned and his wife. One wishes for an easy solution but as in real life; there doesn't appear to be one.
God helps us all.
His wife comes to visit and she has power of attorney and is the only decision maker as to his activities; such as attending a church locally. She has to allow it otherwise it can't happen.
She's physically healthy but she appears to have some dementia and doesn't want to make decisions.
Ned got upset with the facility the other day and went out the front door and headed down the street. Police were called, they escorted him back to the facility but refused to do a 3 day commitment. Staff put him 1-to-1 with a male nurse because they didn't know what to do.
Sunday rolls around, Ned gets dressed, ready for his pastor to pick him up and take him to church. The wife is called, told she needs to come in and decide if he can go to church. She comes, but doesn't know what to do. She insists the nurses make the decision, they tell her that only she can make the decisions. She is in a dither, continue to argue that the nurses must make the decisions and she'll go along with it. The head nurse say, "No, you are the only one who can make the decision." They go back and forth for a good 1/2 hour in this same vain. She is sooo upset, looking for guidance but it is her decision alone. She never makes it but the nurse finally intuits her acceptance of his going off to church with his pastor.
Ned wants to live at home, wife doesn't want him to. Ned has some dementia; wife has some dementia. Children are not in view. Wife empowered to make all decisons but doesn't want to make any. The nursing home is stuck in the middle with an obligation to go EXACTLY by the law lest they be sued.
Ned's unhappy, his wife is unhappy, the nursing home is unhappy but at the moment "it is what it is" and I watch with great sadness the situation of Ned and his wife. One wishes for an easy solution but as in real life; there doesn't appear to be one.
God helps us all.
Friday, August 31, 2012
NURSING HOME HUSBANDS
BOBBY came by the nursing home today to visit with his wife for awhile. I'm not sure of Bobby's age but he appears to be in good enough shape. His wife, on the other hand, is destined to spend the rest of her life in a nursing home. Sometime he pushes her down the hall in her wheelchair, sometimes she just remains in bed but she looks forward to seeing him.
BOBBY is one of the good guys. He's been coming to visit his wife day after day for several years now. The nurses like him; he rarely raises a fuss. I suspect Bobby and his wife been married at least 50 years, maybe longer. I'm not sure what he does with the rest of the day but he does not ever neglect visiting his wife. Outside of the nursing home, BOBBY is for all intents and purposes a widower. I don't know how he does it, I just know he comes to check on his wife Every Single Day. Nobody has ever heard him complain. He always shows up.
BOBBY is one of the good guys.
BOBBY is one of the good guys. He's been coming to visit his wife day after day for several years now. The nurses like him; he rarely raises a fuss. I suspect Bobby and his wife been married at least 50 years, maybe longer. I'm not sure what he does with the rest of the day but he does not ever neglect visiting his wife. Outside of the nursing home, BOBBY is for all intents and purposes a widower. I don't know how he does it, I just know he comes to check on his wife Every Single Day. Nobody has ever heard him complain. He always shows up.
BOBBY is one of the good guys.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Dummy with a Smart Phone
I've had a cell phone since 1995, in fact I still have the same phone number 17 years later. But I've been feeling left behind with all the new Smart Phones that have been out a few years now. Even my wife has one and of course my kids do too.
So a friend of mine just bought himself the latest iPhone. I asked him what happened to the old one. He said it was sitting in a desk drawer at home. I asked what was wrong with it; apparently it has some difficulties with "the cloud." I have no idea what "the cloud" is but my 10 year old Nokia never complained about it.
Anyhow, we made a deal; I'd buy him a "Loop 'n Cheddar" at a local burger spot and I'd get the Iphone.
Quite the deal if you ask me. He gave me the phone ( without a charger, without a connector, etc.) and I started trying to find out what company I could use it with; AT&T was the answer. I didn't particularly like that answer after viewing their monthly plan. The young clerk then told me there was a store in town that could "unlock" the iPhone pretty cheaply. Wasn't sure what that was but headed down to the store where they told me they could, indeed, unlock the phone enabling me to use it on any network I chose.
One day and 50 buckazoids later, the phone was unlocked and I signed up with "Simple-Mobile" (cheap, generic version of T-Mobile) - non contract, 1 month at a time, everything for $45 bucks. We'll see how it goes. If I don't like the new phone company I can always change.
I feel like a new man but at this point in time my iPhone do anything but make and receive calls, just like my 10 year old Nokia. More precisely; I don't know how to do anything but make and receive calls. I did download Skype and Kik; hopefully I'll be able to use them with my daughter living out of the country.
Now I'm a dummy with a smart phone. We'll see how this works.
So a friend of mine just bought himself the latest iPhone. I asked him what happened to the old one. He said it was sitting in a desk drawer at home. I asked what was wrong with it; apparently it has some difficulties with "the cloud." I have no idea what "the cloud" is but my 10 year old Nokia never complained about it.
Anyhow, we made a deal; I'd buy him a "Loop 'n Cheddar" at a local burger spot and I'd get the Iphone.
Quite the deal if you ask me. He gave me the phone ( without a charger, without a connector, etc.) and I started trying to find out what company I could use it with; AT&T was the answer. I didn't particularly like that answer after viewing their monthly plan. The young clerk then told me there was a store in town that could "unlock" the iPhone pretty cheaply. Wasn't sure what that was but headed down to the store where they told me they could, indeed, unlock the phone enabling me to use it on any network I chose.
One day and 50 buckazoids later, the phone was unlocked and I signed up with "Simple-Mobile" (cheap, generic version of T-Mobile) - non contract, 1 month at a time, everything for $45 bucks. We'll see how it goes. If I don't like the new phone company I can always change.
I feel like a new man but at this point in time my iPhone do anything but make and receive calls, just like my 10 year old Nokia. More precisely; I don't know how to do anything but make and receive calls. I did download Skype and Kik; hopefully I'll be able to use them with my daughter living out of the country.
Now I'm a dummy with a smart phone. We'll see how this works.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
BILL SPRATLING; TEACHER EXTRAORDINAIRE
My 7th grade core teacher was Mr. Bill Spratling. ( It should be obvious, we didn't call him Bill. Maybe nowadays the kids might; but not back then.) He was in his second year of teaching. Before he achieved his college degree he had been in the Army; even showed us a couple of pictures. I recall him being fair but not inclined to put up with much foolishness from his junior highers.
His favorite punishment for a student acting inappropriately was to have them stand next to the pencil sharpener. He would take the little catch barrel, pour out the pencil shaving and tell the poor student to start counting. It was tedious and embarrassing. The class is sitting at their desks, you're standing up front trying to count innumerable pencil shavings. Mr. Spratling has assured you he knows EXACTLY how many there are. In 7th grade you believe him so you count very faithfully. I think I did this twice. The second time was no better than the first.
I matriculated on to 8th grade and from then on had very little contact with Mr. Spratling. Seventeen years later, long gone from the community, I was back in town for some business and happened to swing by my Junior High one afternoon at 4:30. Kids had been dismissed at 4 but the building were still open. Being a rabid nostalgist, I wondered down into the basement of the old main building where Mr. Spratling had held class. The door was open, the light was on so I walked in. There, much to my surprise, was Mr. Spratling.
I introduced myself; told him I had been in his class those many years ago. He looked at me carefully and said he remembered me. He then pointed to a desk where he said I sat. I pointed to a different desk and said I had sat over there but talking with him it was evident he remembered me. Later on that evening I remembered that he had CORRECTLY pointed out the desk I sat in the first semester, I had pointed to the desk I sat in the second. Seventeen years later Mr. Spratling could correctly place me in his classroom.
I wasn't the smartest, nor the dumbest. I wasn't the most obnoxious, certainly not the nicest. I wasn't the funniest, wasn't the quietest. I was pretty much a middle-of-the-road kid. Seventeen years later Mr. Spratling remembered me.
Kudos to you Mr. Spratling. I suspect hundreds of kids have good memories of 7th grade under your expert tutelage.
His favorite punishment for a student acting inappropriately was to have them stand next to the pencil sharpener. He would take the little catch barrel, pour out the pencil shaving and tell the poor student to start counting. It was tedious and embarrassing. The class is sitting at their desks, you're standing up front trying to count innumerable pencil shavings. Mr. Spratling has assured you he knows EXACTLY how many there are. In 7th grade you believe him so you count very faithfully. I think I did this twice. The second time was no better than the first.
I matriculated on to 8th grade and from then on had very little contact with Mr. Spratling. Seventeen years later, long gone from the community, I was back in town for some business and happened to swing by my Junior High one afternoon at 4:30. Kids had been dismissed at 4 but the building were still open. Being a rabid nostalgist, I wondered down into the basement of the old main building where Mr. Spratling had held class. The door was open, the light was on so I walked in. There, much to my surprise, was Mr. Spratling.
I introduced myself; told him I had been in his class those many years ago. He looked at me carefully and said he remembered me. He then pointed to a desk where he said I sat. I pointed to a different desk and said I had sat over there but talking with him it was evident he remembered me. Later on that evening I remembered that he had CORRECTLY pointed out the desk I sat in the first semester, I had pointed to the desk I sat in the second. Seventeen years later Mr. Spratling could correctly place me in his classroom.
I wasn't the smartest, nor the dumbest. I wasn't the most obnoxious, certainly not the nicest. I wasn't the funniest, wasn't the quietest. I was pretty much a middle-of-the-road kid. Seventeen years later Mr. Spratling remembered me.
Kudos to you Mr. Spratling. I suspect hundreds of kids have good memories of 7th grade under your expert tutelage.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Will men attend a women led church
http://baylyblog.com/blog/2012/08/why-men-leave-church#comment-31808
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
ROBERT WESTERMAN
Here is to ROBERT WESTERMAN. He was not a close friend but we worked in the same business periodically crossing each other's path and sharing small tidbits of humor about the institutions we serviced.
He died in bed at the all too young age of 49. It is still a shock. He leaves a family behind to try and find their way with their Dad and Husband now gone.
Rob never offended anybody, was quite low-key in his interactions and did his job in a professional manner.
To his children I say; Rob was a well respected member of the medical community. You can be proud that he was your Dad.
Robert Westerman; R.I.P.
He died in bed at the all too young age of 49. It is still a shock. He leaves a family behind to try and find their way with their Dad and Husband now gone.
Rob never offended anybody, was quite low-key in his interactions and did his job in a professional manner.
To his children I say; Rob was a well respected member of the medical community. You can be proud that he was your Dad.
Robert Westerman; R.I.P.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Grandma G; the Scrabble Nazi
One of the pleasures of childhood was being able to spend a week with my grandmas. Nana lived at the beach, I loved visiting her; mostly because I spent my day at the beach and she just enjoyed having me around; either cooked something I liked or we went to COFFEE DAN'S in Redondo Beach; they had great vanilla malts.
But I loved Grandma G too; however she lived in a small house in the middle of L.A. on a small, extremely steep dead-end street. There were no kids around so my week with her often had elements of boredom but I was happy enough to be there for a few days cause my Grandma G loved me.
She was forced to drop out of school in 8th grade and go to work, her father had deserted the family and life because extremely impoverished for her Mom and her siblings.
Grandma G was very motivated to get out of poverty and achieve education and she spent the rest of her life reading widely with an emphasis on the Bible; which she read to me every morning.
Her favorite game was SCRABBLE and with all her reading, she had a world class grasp of possible words made out of the Scrabble tiles. She began to teach me Scrabble when I was 8 or 9. Grand G was competitive and she loved to win; it didn't matter who she was playing or how good ( or bad ) they were.
It didn't take me long to realize A) Grandma G was merciless and B) she wasn't above gloating when ever she cleaned her grandson's clock.
We'd be playing, I'd put down C A T and earn 3 or 4 points. She'd put down quokka with the Q on triple points and earn 50 to 60 points and be absolutely gloating. Early on, I thought Grandma might take my youth, education and lack of word knowledge into account and give me a break. But as far as I can remember, her objective was to win big and crush her grandson in the process. I don't recall ever winning or even coming close.
In Little League baseball there's a mercy rule; if one team is up big then the game is shortened. Well Grandma G had no interest in the mercy rule for Scrabble with her 9 year old grandson. We played 'til all the tiles were gone. Generally, I had about 20 points, she had about 300.
I remember one time spelling out J A N E with the J on triple points. I was excited; then Grandma pushed the tiles back to me and said that wasn't an acceptable word. "WHAT?" I cried. "I've been reading about Dick and Jane; Jane is too a real word." Grandma then informed me it was a personal pronoun and totally unacceptable in the game of Scrabble. Well I was vexed, but Grandma claimed to know the rules and I had never read them ( probably couldn't at this stage) and ended up spelling I H A T E U which Grandma also rejected. (Actually I don't think I did that but that's what I was thinking, you betcha.)
There's always life lessons to be learned and I learned one in particular; DON'T PLAY SCRABBLE WITH GRANDMA. From then on I became either quite clever or deviantly devious in avoiding Scrabble games after the first couple of years. Even then I lacked the martyrdom gene and losing big to Grandma brought me no lasting pleasure so I created what ever diversion I could to avoid head-to-head competition in a game I couldn't win. Grandma mourned my stubbornness but eventually quit forcing me to play.
I think Grandma G died in about 1974 and I mourned her passing; she was a fine grandmother even if she was a Scrabble Nazi.
But I loved Grandma G too; however she lived in a small house in the middle of L.A. on a small, extremely steep dead-end street. There were no kids around so my week with her often had elements of boredom but I was happy enough to be there for a few days cause my Grandma G loved me.
She was forced to drop out of school in 8th grade and go to work, her father had deserted the family and life because extremely impoverished for her Mom and her siblings.
Grandma G was very motivated to get out of poverty and achieve education and she spent the rest of her life reading widely with an emphasis on the Bible; which she read to me every morning.
Her favorite game was SCRABBLE and with all her reading, she had a world class grasp of possible words made out of the Scrabble tiles. She began to teach me Scrabble when I was 8 or 9. Grand G was competitive and she loved to win; it didn't matter who she was playing or how good ( or bad ) they were.
It didn't take me long to realize A) Grandma G was merciless and B) she wasn't above gloating when ever she cleaned her grandson's clock.
We'd be playing, I'd put down C A T and earn 3 or 4 points. She'd put down quokka with the Q on triple points and earn 50 to 60 points and be absolutely gloating. Early on, I thought Grandma might take my youth, education and lack of word knowledge into account and give me a break. But as far as I can remember, her objective was to win big and crush her grandson in the process. I don't recall ever winning or even coming close.
In Little League baseball there's a mercy rule; if one team is up big then the game is shortened. Well Grandma G had no interest in the mercy rule for Scrabble with her 9 year old grandson. We played 'til all the tiles were gone. Generally, I had about 20 points, she had about 300.
I remember one time spelling out J A N E with the J on triple points. I was excited; then Grandma pushed the tiles back to me and said that wasn't an acceptable word. "WHAT?" I cried. "I've been reading about Dick and Jane; Jane is too a real word." Grandma then informed me it was a personal pronoun and totally unacceptable in the game of Scrabble. Well I was vexed, but Grandma claimed to know the rules and I had never read them ( probably couldn't at this stage) and ended up spelling I H A T E U which Grandma also rejected. (Actually I don't think I did that but that's what I was thinking, you betcha.)
There's always life lessons to be learned and I learned one in particular; DON'T PLAY SCRABBLE WITH GRANDMA. From then on I became either quite clever or deviantly devious in avoiding Scrabble games after the first couple of years. Even then I lacked the martyrdom gene and losing big to Grandma brought me no lasting pleasure so I created what ever diversion I could to avoid head-to-head competition in a game I couldn't win. Grandma mourned my stubbornness but eventually quit forcing me to play.
I think Grandma G died in about 1974 and I mourned her passing; she was a fine grandmother even if she was a Scrabble Nazi.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Rain and the Bike
Yesterday I wished to take a brief (14 mi.) bike ride. About 3 miles down the road it looked like it was starting to rain and the clouds ahead were looking dark and gloomy. So I pulled off the road and parked under an overpass. Well the rain came hard and fast with thunder and lightening accompanying. I kept waiting for it to clear; this is basically a tropical area where summer storms come and go often within a few minutes.
It continued to look gloomy so I called my wife to come get me if she could. By the time she showed up the rains had actually stopped though it was still cloudy. I accepted the ride and by the time we got home even the clouds were pretty much gone.
I've often thought; if you live in the Pacific Northwest you must ride in rain a lot. But I don't live in those places and more often than not have sunny times in which to ride.
Maybe the guys/gals riding in Portland and Seattle have rain gear. I don't.
Generally, it's enough to find an overpass or an overhang; sooner or later the summer storm will move on.
I'm not sure I could adapt if I moved to the Pacific Northwest and wanted to keep riding; rain dribbling down the back of the shirts is just a wee frustrating - cold too if you're in the Northwest.
A few years ago, my buddy Ed and I were on a long bike ride in central Florida. There's a bike trail that goes over the Swanee River, wonders down into Chiefland and heads back to Bell. We're in the last 15 miles and we see and hear a storm coming up our of the west. It's nasty; unrelenting thunder and lightning. We're not near any facilities, kind of out in the country but there's a wooden kiosk ahead that's been built for people on the trail. We race to get there arriving about the same time the storm does. It is incredible. We're holding our ears and sitting up on the backs of the wooden benches being careful to not have our feet down in the water or be touching our metal bikes. We're terrified we're going to be the recipients of a direct strike and Ed is temporarily uninsured. We think being under a wooden roof is relatively safe but wonder what will happen if our bikes take a direct hit. It pours and pounds for a good half hour than moves off. I suggest to Ed we can leave be he's still worried about being uninsured. We had to wait another 1/2 hour before I could convince uninsured Ed that it was time to head on home.
Tomorrow's possibly another opportunity to ride in good enough weather. If the rains come, I'll find another shelter in which to ride it out.
A bike ride? "It's all good."
It continued to look gloomy so I called my wife to come get me if she could. By the time she showed up the rains had actually stopped though it was still cloudy. I accepted the ride and by the time we got home even the clouds were pretty much gone.
I've often thought; if you live in the Pacific Northwest you must ride in rain a lot. But I don't live in those places and more often than not have sunny times in which to ride.
Maybe the guys/gals riding in Portland and Seattle have rain gear. I don't.
Generally, it's enough to find an overpass or an overhang; sooner or later the summer storm will move on.
I'm not sure I could adapt if I moved to the Pacific Northwest and wanted to keep riding; rain dribbling down the back of the shirts is just a wee frustrating - cold too if you're in the Northwest.
A few years ago, my buddy Ed and I were on a long bike ride in central Florida. There's a bike trail that goes over the Swanee River, wonders down into Chiefland and heads back to Bell. We're in the last 15 miles and we see and hear a storm coming up our of the west. It's nasty; unrelenting thunder and lightning. We're not near any facilities, kind of out in the country but there's a wooden kiosk ahead that's been built for people on the trail. We race to get there arriving about the same time the storm does. It is incredible. We're holding our ears and sitting up on the backs of the wooden benches being careful to not have our feet down in the water or be touching our metal bikes. We're terrified we're going to be the recipients of a direct strike and Ed is temporarily uninsured. We think being under a wooden roof is relatively safe but wonder what will happen if our bikes take a direct hit. It pours and pounds for a good half hour than moves off. I suggest to Ed we can leave be he's still worried about being uninsured. We had to wait another 1/2 hour before I could convince uninsured Ed that it was time to head on home.
Tomorrow's possibly another opportunity to ride in good enough weather. If the rains come, I'll find another shelter in which to ride it out.
A bike ride? "It's all good."
Sunday, July 08, 2012
Meeting a cellist
My wife and I frequently attend our local symphony that is highly regarded among mid sized American cities. Our first cellist is a young Russian of some world renown. Though I rarely sit in the front section, the way the orchestra is laid out, everybody can see the concertmaster (primo violinist) and also the first cellist who is always to the immediate right of the conductor as you look towards the stage. Since the musicians are elevated on the stage it can be a little hard to assess their actual size. Our cellist is notable for very short hair and a cherubic look.
So I'm in this organic grocery store eating a sandwich when this young man walks to a table with his sandwich. He's mid-sized, a cherubic face and has a short haircut. However he's wearing knee length basketball shorts and a Tee shirt with sandals; pretty casually attired. I keep looking, he reminds me our our symphony's cellist. Hmm - Finally I work up the nerve walk over to catch his attention and ask him if he plays the cello. He looks puzzled then responds, "Yes I do." I tell him I have enjoyed his work in the symphony and he seems pleased. I ask him how often he is recognized and he states, "all most never."
We have a brief discussion as to whether or not the concertmaster is more often recognized, Alexei responds; "of course, he's the boss." But in the classical music world, it's possible Alexei is more famous. He is superb. It was fun chatting with him; seemed like a nice young man.
So I'm in this organic grocery store eating a sandwich when this young man walks to a table with his sandwich. He's mid-sized, a cherubic face and has a short haircut. However he's wearing knee length basketball shorts and a Tee shirt with sandals; pretty casually attired. I keep looking, he reminds me our our symphony's cellist. Hmm - Finally I work up the nerve walk over to catch his attention and ask him if he plays the cello. He looks puzzled then responds, "Yes I do." I tell him I have enjoyed his work in the symphony and he seems pleased. I ask him how often he is recognized and he states, "all most never."
We have a brief discussion as to whether or not the concertmaster is more often recognized, Alexei responds; "of course, he's the boss." But in the classical music world, it's possible Alexei is more famous. He is superb. It was fun chatting with him; seemed like a nice young man.
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