Sand.
Now before I go totally off the deep end, let me set the record straight. I love walking on the beach. The beach is sand. If A=B and B=C, then A=C. So you'd think I love sand.
Well, if it would stay on the beach, perhaps. But it doesn't. And it doesn't in spades.
Perhaps it's a childhood trauma. I do remember being caught up in a particularly heavy surf and having my rear end drug through the sand, coming up with enough inside the lining of my swimsuit to level out the greens of a small golf course. Even at that tender age, I knew what uncomfortable meant when you're dealing with the area around the Gentiles, and SAND was certainly not a friend.
We spent about two hours at the beach today. My children seemed to have no problem with the fact that they were covered head to toe in the granular stuff. Now mind you, they didn't want to walk back to the car in it, but that's beyond the point.
I had been squatting with my back to the Gulf of Mexico building my sand resort ... one of those drizzle castles with a moat and then a retaining wall and another moat to fend off the raging sea. Unbeknownst to me, with each wave bashing into my posterior, tablespoons of the sugary stuff were depositing themselves inside my board shorts. Layering themselves between the outer shell and the lining. Crikey.
I got up (which took a second or two) and for a minute, I was alarmed. I thought I had my cell phone and that it had fallen out of my pocket into the leg of my board shorts. "No, that can't be. I don't have pockets." Plus, it was on both sides, on the backs of my thighs.
Arrgh ... you guessed it.
So I waded out into the surf, shaking the bottom of my board shorts trying to free myself from the grit. Perhaps no one was watching. Yeah, right ... EVERYBODY does a little people-watching on the beach. Don't say you haven't, because you have. And especially white pasty males shaking their legs in unnatural ways in the green surf.
After the bizarre water dance, I thought I had it all removed, and we set out on our journey to cross the blazing noonday Sahara back to the beachside showers to rinse off. Like a dribbling little public beach shower really gets it all. Nope. Especially when it's in your hair.
We get back to my in-laws house and the kids hit the showers. Had I been crafty enough, I could have used the sand that came off of them to make the concrete for our new addition's foundation. Why weren't they uncomfortable??? They sat in that stuff all the way from the beach to the house! A 20-minute ride! I would have been going bonkers.
How is it that sand can get in places where other natural resources can't? Apparently I had gotten into it more than I realized. You know you're cursed by the sand gods if you take a potty break and you pass sand.
So I hit the showers to rid once and for all (until the next beach trip) these microscopic boulders plaguing my crevices. Down the drain they went, perhaps on their way back to the sea. Farewell and good riddance.
And don't even get me started on sunscreen ...
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
God Bless Truett Cathy
This man has to be one of the greatest heros of our time.
For those of you who are under-rock dwellers, Truett Cathy is the man behind Chick-fil-A. Beyond his unwavering dedication to God and support of family, including refusing to open restaurants on Sunday, he has one thing that just rocks my world.
He got the recipe for public school yeast rolls and uses it to make his Chick-n-Minis.
When I found these little jewels of poultry for breakfast, I was in heaven. I used to trade stuff to get yeast rolls in school. I even mentioned them in my high school graduation speech.
Now call me strange (as if you haven't before), but I used to put stuff in my rolls. Green beans. Mashed potatoes. And certainly any type of meat we had been served up, however mysterious it may be. I loved making yeast roll sandwiches. I still make sandwiches out of stuff, much to the chagrin of my wife as my children gleefully request to "put mac and cheese in white bread like Daddy."
So thank you, Truett Cathy and all your marketing and research for bringing back these delicious baked goods to my life. And it doesn't hurt one bit that they are stuffed with a good ole piece of fried chicken. A man after my own heart.
For those of you who are under-rock dwellers, Truett Cathy is the man behind Chick-fil-A. Beyond his unwavering dedication to God and support of family, including refusing to open restaurants on Sunday, he has one thing that just rocks my world.
He got the recipe for public school yeast rolls and uses it to make his Chick-n-Minis.
When I found these little jewels of poultry for breakfast, I was in heaven. I used to trade stuff to get yeast rolls in school. I even mentioned them in my high school graduation speech.
Now call me strange (as if you haven't before), but I used to put stuff in my rolls. Green beans. Mashed potatoes. And certainly any type of meat we had been served up, however mysterious it may be. I loved making yeast roll sandwiches. I still make sandwiches out of stuff, much to the chagrin of my wife as my children gleefully request to "put mac and cheese in white bread like Daddy."
So thank you, Truett Cathy and all your marketing and research for bringing back these delicious baked goods to my life. And it doesn't hurt one bit that they are stuffed with a good ole piece of fried chicken. A man after my own heart.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Project 607
We're about to start building. May the Lord help us.
The drawings are done. The contractor selected. The contract will be finalized in the next week. And then the real fun will begin.
See where we've gotten to already at http://project607.blogspot.com
It's gonna be good.
The drawings are done. The contractor selected. The contract will be finalized in the next week. And then the real fun will begin.
See where we've gotten to already at http://project607.blogspot.com
It's gonna be good.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Dog Tired
Well, another year of camp has come and gone. And I'm beat. No doubt about it.
Funny enough, though, I think I got more sleep this year than I ever had. Was in bed around midnight just about every night except at the beginning and the end. I was up until 2 a.m. packing on Thursday evening/Friday morning, so perhaps that's why.
Leah came down with fever, chills and general "malaise" on Thursday. She was devastated that she had to leave camp. And it broke my heart. This was her first year as an official camper. At least it was at the end and she didn't miss much.
One thing did happen that struck me as awesome that I have to share with you guys. On Friday, after all the campers depart for home, we go to the office to pay our tab with the FFA camp staff, and load up cars and trucks with all the equipment and stuff in our entourage. I had cleaned out the office and ran over to my room to load up my luggage, and then I'd be heading out.
As soon as I came out of Pulliam with my luggage, it had started to rain. I mean BIG rain. Those huge drops that smack the pavement like little dive bombers. I threw my bag in and hopped in the car, then drove up to the 7th grade girls cabin at the top of the hill to get a good cell signal and make sure our friend was able to pickup Leah's stuff (thanks Rebekah for packing and Connie for transporting ... my lifesavers!)
It was still raining like crazy. The road I was on is like a huge loop around camp ... kinda like the FFA 285. So I continued to drive it all the way around camp, the rain beating down. I was passing cabins where I have been a counselor on the guys side, and all the other places where I've created memories for the past 10 years.
But once I passed through the main camp gate to leave, the rain started to ease up. By the time I got to the end of FFA Road at the highway, the rain had stopped. And that's when it hit me.
I could not help but think that God was washing camp.
Kids left behind junk this week. Stuff. Things that Satan had been coating them, suffocating them, and sliming them down with. They left it all behind. And now God was washing it away in the rain. Just there in camp. Cleaning it up for the next group.
You know ... when we were in the Prayer Room on Sunday before the campers arrived, many prayed for God to show up. But I am of the belief that God never leaves camp. He's always there. Waiting for us. Longing for us. Wishing that we would take Him with us when we leave camp and to share Him back at home. At work. At school. It doesn't take camp to have Him in our presence and our daily lives. The camp experience can be year-round.
But even when we fail Him ... year after year, He's there at camp. Just waiting. With a cleaned slate ... a fresh year of camp ... ready to wash us with His presence and His love.
Let it rain. Let it rain. Open the floodgates of Heaven. Thanks be to God.
Funny enough, though, I think I got more sleep this year than I ever had. Was in bed around midnight just about every night except at the beginning and the end. I was up until 2 a.m. packing on Thursday evening/Friday morning, so perhaps that's why.
Leah came down with fever, chills and general "malaise" on Thursday. She was devastated that she had to leave camp. And it broke my heart. This was her first year as an official camper. At least it was at the end and she didn't miss much.
One thing did happen that struck me as awesome that I have to share with you guys. On Friday, after all the campers depart for home, we go to the office to pay our tab with the FFA camp staff, and load up cars and trucks with all the equipment and stuff in our entourage. I had cleaned out the office and ran over to my room to load up my luggage, and then I'd be heading out.
As soon as I came out of Pulliam with my luggage, it had started to rain. I mean BIG rain. Those huge drops that smack the pavement like little dive bombers. I threw my bag in and hopped in the car, then drove up to the 7th grade girls cabin at the top of the hill to get a good cell signal and make sure our friend was able to pickup Leah's stuff (thanks Rebekah for packing and Connie for transporting ... my lifesavers!)
It was still raining like crazy. The road I was on is like a huge loop around camp ... kinda like the FFA 285. So I continued to drive it all the way around camp, the rain beating down. I was passing cabins where I have been a counselor on the guys side, and all the other places where I've created memories for the past 10 years.
But once I passed through the main camp gate to leave, the rain started to ease up. By the time I got to the end of FFA Road at the highway, the rain had stopped. And that's when it hit me.
I could not help but think that God was washing camp.
Kids left behind junk this week. Stuff. Things that Satan had been coating them, suffocating them, and sliming them down with. They left it all behind. And now God was washing it away in the rain. Just there in camp. Cleaning it up for the next group.
You know ... when we were in the Prayer Room on Sunday before the campers arrived, many prayed for God to show up. But I am of the belief that God never leaves camp. He's always there. Waiting for us. Longing for us. Wishing that we would take Him with us when we leave camp and to share Him back at home. At work. At school. It doesn't take camp to have Him in our presence and our daily lives. The camp experience can be year-round.
But even when we fail Him ... year after year, He's there at camp. Just waiting. With a cleaned slate ... a fresh year of camp ... ready to wash us with His presence and His love.
Let it rain. Let it rain. Open the floodgates of Heaven. Thanks be to God.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Confessions of the Soul
It's shameless.
I actually watch The Bachelorette.
Veda and I hunker down every Monday night after the kids are in bed to debate over who DeAnna is going to select from her dwindling selection of guys.
It started two seasons ago ... we watched as Bachelor Brad methodically (per the script?) narrowed down the field to two ladies, including the current bride-to-be who he left at the alter before ever giving either one of them a chance. Many nights of moaning and groaning over bad acting and the absurdity of it all.
Then we slid through "London Calling" and the British bachelor. Ho-Hum.
And now we're rooting for the Georgia girl. And tonight, at least she dropped Graham. Sheesh ... he was as immature as it gets. Couldn't look her in the eye ... was he camera shy for kissing on screen? And what he came dressed in for the rose ceremony ... heck, let's just really throw the contest with our jeans, shirt untucked from a sweater and a jacket to dress it up. Good riddance. At least Twilly knew how to dress.
Of course, I step back from the show and ask myself, "Why? Why would I even bother blogging about something as mundane and moronic as a show about selecting your true mate from a field of 25?" Is it possible that God would arrange it to be so? I guess that Trista lady would say so.
The shamelessness will continue ... next Monday, same time, same channel. Arrgh, and we'll be at camp! Hello, DVR!
Lord have mercy.
I actually watch The Bachelorette.
Veda and I hunker down every Monday night after the kids are in bed to debate over who DeAnna is going to select from her dwindling selection of guys.
It started two seasons ago ... we watched as Bachelor Brad methodically (per the script?) narrowed down the field to two ladies, including the current bride-to-be who he left at the alter before ever giving either one of them a chance. Many nights of moaning and groaning over bad acting and the absurdity of it all.
Then we slid through "London Calling" and the British bachelor. Ho-Hum.
And now we're rooting for the Georgia girl. And tonight, at least she dropped Graham. Sheesh ... he was as immature as it gets. Couldn't look her in the eye ... was he camera shy for kissing on screen? And what he came dressed in for the rose ceremony ... heck, let's just really throw the contest with our jeans, shirt untucked from a sweater and a jacket to dress it up. Good riddance. At least Twilly knew how to dress.
Of course, I step back from the show and ask myself, "Why? Why would I even bother blogging about something as mundane and moronic as a show about selecting your true mate from a field of 25?" Is it possible that God would arrange it to be so? I guess that Trista lady would say so.
The shamelessness will continue ... next Monday, same time, same channel. Arrgh, and we'll be at camp! Hello, DVR!
Lord have mercy.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Holiday Down
Another holiday has passed. The cruel reality of work is before me.
Do you working adults remember the excitement you had for summer vacation? Day after day of down time? Then the summer job came. That was only a glimpse of what was to come. Ah well ... it's good to be the worker bee. We had a great weekend, and I'm thankful for it.
And by the way ... I've had requests for a play-by-play on Duran Duran's "The Reflex" (a personal fav) and Manfred Mann's "Blinded by the Light." I can tell you now folks ... there's no mention of any feminine products in the latter. No matter what you thought the lyrics were (and no matter how I sang it when I was a kid, not that I sang it all that often.) I may have to do portions ... they both are pretty interesting. But neither are as funny to make fun of as Princey-man was. I'm just sayin'.
Does anyone else out there have difficulty leaving the digital volume on a stereo, iPod or MP3 device on an odd number? When I mean odd ... I mean numbers like 17. 33. 41. They are just weird. I have to have it on a multiple of 5, or at least an even number like 28. Course, if I'm pumping it up to 28, I'll go ahead and make it a round 30. Natch.
Just a little nugget there. I know I'm not the only one. Enjoy the short week ahead.
Do you working adults remember the excitement you had for summer vacation? Day after day of down time? Then the summer job came. That was only a glimpse of what was to come. Ah well ... it's good to be the worker bee. We had a great weekend, and I'm thankful for it.
And by the way ... I've had requests for a play-by-play on Duran Duran's "The Reflex" (a personal fav) and Manfred Mann's "Blinded by the Light." I can tell you now folks ... there's no mention of any feminine products in the latter. No matter what you thought the lyrics were (and no matter how I sang it when I was a kid, not that I sang it all that often.) I may have to do portions ... they both are pretty interesting. But neither are as funny to make fun of as Princey-man was. I'm just sayin'.
Does anyone else out there have difficulty leaving the digital volume on a stereo, iPod or MP3 device on an odd number? When I mean odd ... I mean numbers like 17. 33. 41. They are just weird. I have to have it on a multiple of 5, or at least an even number like 28. Course, if I'm pumping it up to 28, I'll go ahead and make it a round 30. Natch.
Just a little nugget there. I know I'm not the only one. Enjoy the short week ahead.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Lunch Blyte #3
OK ... prepare to sit a bit for this blyte. I was listening to the radio and heard a song from the eighties (my era) and it hit me how funny the lyrics were. The more I listened and thought about how this guy would be perceived in today's world, the more I laughed. See if you agree in this play-by-play reaction. And if you have an 80s song you'd like analyzed, post it in a comment and I'll give it some consideration.
Raspberry Beret
Prince & The Revolution, 1985
1 2, 1 2 3, huh
Yeah
Good show, man ... counting is a prime skill for the job market. Yeah.
I was workin' part-time in a 5-and-dime
Only being able to count to three may limit your career choices to small outlets and less than full-time status. Note the fact that you even had to start over counting at least once. Practice makes perfect.
My boss was Mr. McGee
Cousin to Mr. Magoo, a fine fellow ... can you see it?
He told me several times that he didn't like my kind
Cuz I was a bit 2 leisurely
Methinks it had someting to do with your spelling skills and gratuitous use of the number 2 incorrectly. As far as being leisurely goes ... this wasn't a cruise ship. It's a 5-and-dime. Sweep, man!
It seems that I was busy doin' somethin' close 2 nothin'
But different than the day before
While it appears you are making an effort to diversify your daily work schedule, a skoosh above "nothin'" is not a career builder.
That's when I saw her, ooh, I saw her
She walked in through the out door, out door.
OK ... Her entrance style should have been clue numero uno that this was not going to bode well for you, dude. Dyslexic or illiterate ... neither one will be a benefit in the long run.
CHORUS: She wore a raspberry beret
While the descriptive adjective sounds appealing and even tasty, colored berets should be reserved for the French or for military deployments.
The kind U'd find in a second hand store
Don't let your guard down. While she may appear to be Salvation Army today, it's Neiman Marcus tomorrow. What kind of contraction is U'd, dude? I have to award points for simplification ... you may have been a 15-year pre-cursor to texting.
Raspberry beret
And if it was warm, she wouldn't wear much more
Again ... she's playing the poor card on you man. Beneath that raggedy Daisy Duke exterior, the gold digger will run over your toes as she's heading to Phipps once she gets your 5-and-dime paycheck. Or perhaps that will be Wal-Mart. Either way ... she's going to rob you blind.
Raspberry beret
I think I love her
May I suggest the word "think" is your Achilles heel ... you better KNOW you love her before tripping over to The Shane Company.
Built like she was, huh, she had the nerve 2 ask me
If I planned 2 do her any harm, hmph
Hmph indeed. Let's make a self assessment here. Look at you. Dr. Ruth could take you out in one blow. So could your nameless beret girl. And my five-year-old.
So looka here, I put her on the back of my bike and ah...We went ridin'
down by Old Man Johnson's farm
Huffy or Schwinn ... we're not sure here. But it makes for a funny picture.
I said now overcast days never turned me on
But somethin' 'bout the clouds and her mixed
Somethin' ... 'bout ... Is it possible for you to begin to use full English words in the near term? You don't sound 2 bright.
She wasn't 2 bright,
Ah ... perhaps you are a match made in heaven. Course, we figured out her brightness level when she entered the store through the exit, remember?
but I could tell when she kissed me
She knew how 2 get her kicks
The only kick here should be 2 the curb ... either one of you.
CHORUS
The rain sounds so cool when it hits the barn roof
And the horses wonder who U are
The horses are also wondering who's going to get stuck having to eat that bale of hay you're doing the deed on.
The thunder drowns out what the lightning sees, huh
Huh. The lightning would prefer to be blind.
And U feel like a movie star
Not likely in your future from the looks of the side you're showing in the barn. Whatever you do, never do a bathtub scene in an opening of any of your music videos. Whoops ... too late. When Doves Cry was in 1984. Not a good look. Flash forward ... Purple Rain did not a movie star make.
Listen, they say the first time ain't the greatest
Ah, the infamous "they." Just note ... some would debate this point with you.
But I tell ya, if I had the chance 2 do it all again
I wouldn't change a stroke cuz baby I'm the most
With a girl as fine as she was then
Questionable at best. Old Man Johnson called her a "cow" as he was running you out of his barn. Mistaken identity? Perhaps not.
Lord, ras...
OK ... first it's choppy words, now you're not even completing sentences. You may have to give up your name and become a symbol if you can't grasp the English language.
(CHORUS)
The kind U find, the kind U find, oh no no! Uh huh, uh huh
And who wrote this song for you anyway? Was it during a writer's strike? Repetition equals "running out of things to say." Get your money back.
Where have all the raspberry women gone?
Where have they gone? Into hiding ... in a commune of raspberry women ... out of embarassment for those silly berets.
Yeah I think I, I think I, I think I love her!
I think, I think, I think ... thinking doesn't appear to be your strong suit.
(CHORUS)
No, no, no No, no, no, I love... Tell me where have all the raspberry women gone? {fade out}
We covered this already. Sounds like you could use some listening skill training as well.
I think I love...
Oy vey.
Raspberry Beret
Prince & The Revolution, 1985
1 2, 1 2 3, huh
Yeah
Good show, man ... counting is a prime skill for the job market. Yeah.
I was workin' part-time in a 5-and-dime
Only being able to count to three may limit your career choices to small outlets and less than full-time status. Note the fact that you even had to start over counting at least once. Practice makes perfect.
My boss was Mr. McGee
Cousin to Mr. Magoo, a fine fellow ... can you see it?
He told me several times that he didn't like my kind
Cuz I was a bit 2 leisurely
Methinks it had someting to do with your spelling skills and gratuitous use of the number 2 incorrectly. As far as being leisurely goes ... this wasn't a cruise ship. It's a 5-and-dime. Sweep, man!
It seems that I was busy doin' somethin' close 2 nothin'
But different than the day before
While it appears you are making an effort to diversify your daily work schedule, a skoosh above "nothin'" is not a career builder.
That's when I saw her, ooh, I saw her
She walked in through the out door, out door.
OK ... Her entrance style should have been clue numero uno that this was not going to bode well for you, dude. Dyslexic or illiterate ... neither one will be a benefit in the long run.
CHORUS: She wore a raspberry beret
While the descriptive adjective sounds appealing and even tasty, colored berets should be reserved for the French or for military deployments.
The kind U'd find in a second hand store
Don't let your guard down. While she may appear to be Salvation Army today, it's Neiman Marcus tomorrow. What kind of contraction is U'd, dude? I have to award points for simplification ... you may have been a 15-year pre-cursor to texting.
Raspberry beret
And if it was warm, she wouldn't wear much more
Again ... she's playing the poor card on you man. Beneath that raggedy Daisy Duke exterior, the gold digger will run over your toes as she's heading to Phipps once she gets your 5-and-dime paycheck. Or perhaps that will be Wal-Mart. Either way ... she's going to rob you blind.
Raspberry beret
I think I love her
May I suggest the word "think" is your Achilles heel ... you better KNOW you love her before tripping over to The Shane Company.
Built like she was, huh, she had the nerve 2 ask me
If I planned 2 do her any harm, hmph
Hmph indeed. Let's make a self assessment here. Look at you. Dr. Ruth could take you out in one blow. So could your nameless beret girl. And my five-year-old.
So looka here, I put her on the back of my bike and ah...We went ridin'
down by Old Man Johnson's farm
Huffy or Schwinn ... we're not sure here. But it makes for a funny picture.
I said now overcast days never turned me on
But somethin' 'bout the clouds and her mixed
Somethin' ... 'bout ... Is it possible for you to begin to use full English words in the near term? You don't sound 2 bright.
She wasn't 2 bright,
Ah ... perhaps you are a match made in heaven. Course, we figured out her brightness level when she entered the store through the exit, remember?
but I could tell when she kissed me
She knew how 2 get her kicks
The only kick here should be 2 the curb ... either one of you.
CHORUS
The rain sounds so cool when it hits the barn roof
And the horses wonder who U are
The horses are also wondering who's going to get stuck having to eat that bale of hay you're doing the deed on.
The thunder drowns out what the lightning sees, huh
Huh. The lightning would prefer to be blind.
And U feel like a movie star
Not likely in your future from the looks of the side you're showing in the barn. Whatever you do, never do a bathtub scene in an opening of any of your music videos. Whoops ... too late. When Doves Cry was in 1984. Not a good look. Flash forward ... Purple Rain did not a movie star make.
Listen, they say the first time ain't the greatest
Ah, the infamous "they." Just note ... some would debate this point with you.
But I tell ya, if I had the chance 2 do it all again
I wouldn't change a stroke cuz baby I'm the most
With a girl as fine as she was then
Questionable at best. Old Man Johnson called her a "cow" as he was running you out of his barn. Mistaken identity? Perhaps not.
Lord, ras...
OK ... first it's choppy words, now you're not even completing sentences. You may have to give up your name and become a symbol if you can't grasp the English language.
(CHORUS)
The kind U find, the kind U find, oh no no! Uh huh, uh huh
And who wrote this song for you anyway? Was it during a writer's strike? Repetition equals "running out of things to say." Get your money back.
Where have all the raspberry women gone?
Where have they gone? Into hiding ... in a commune of raspberry women ... out of embarassment for those silly berets.
Yeah I think I, I think I, I think I love her!
I think, I think, I think ... thinking doesn't appear to be your strong suit.
(CHORUS)
No, no, no No, no, no, I love... Tell me where have all the raspberry women gone? {fade out}
We covered this already. Sounds like you could use some listening skill training as well.
I think I love...
Oy vey.
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