Yellowriter

He started the sermon by asking, “What is it that makes you happy?”  That’s a good question and it can be rather thought provoking.  One of the things he said, that made him happy, was his mother’s homemade bread on Tuesdays.  He graphically described the end piece of the crust, hot and dripping with butter.  It makes me hungry even now, although I just had a meal.  For myself, there are a multitude of things that bring a smile to my face.  My relationship with Annie, my wife, is at the top of the list.  She is currently on a road trip to Texas with our youngest daughter, Lauren, who serves in the U.S. Air Force.  Five days in a car from Washington State to San Antonio - that’s a Radio Flyer memory!

I should explain by going back to the sermon.  The pastor was on vacation so the layman was at the helm and he did a marvelous job.  I suppose that is the goal of any worthy message, to get you to think.  The story that stuck in my brain was when he told of being a hardened seven-year-old orphan who had switched from one foster family to the next.  The child showed no emotion and was convinced that the county people would one day soon whisk him away to a new family.  But this particular family had other ideas; adoption was on their radar screen.  He talked of how his new Radio Flyer wagon was the joy of his life and he even washed alongside his soon-to-be-father on the driveway.  One day he was “flying” down the driveway when he took a nasty spill into the gravel.  The rocks cut his limbs and even embedded themselves into his skin for extra pain and insult.  But the hardened foster child did not cry; he simply did not cry for any reason, even when the county people came to take him away.  Eventually he ended up in a rocking chair in his mother’s lap.  She whispered into his ear, I love you.  You are mine and nobody is ever going to take you away from me.  A flood of tears started to flow.  That, my friend, is a Radio Flyer moment!

I am often given books and sermons by people I know and I invariably promise to listen or read the material.  A lady in my Thursday night Bible study gave me a sermon from a church in Sequim, Washington.  I listened to it yesterday.  The pastor spoke from Romans chapter seven and the bulk of his comments were focused on what he believed to be a fallacy, the eternal security of the believer.  What that means in non-theological egghead terms is that once a person trusts in Jesus Christ for salvation, can that person lose their position in heaven?  Most Bible believing churches, thankfully, can answer in the negative.  Also, a majority of the great theological minds, including Luther, Calvin, Hodge, Spurgeon, Lewis, Swindoll, MacArthur and Laurie, do not believe that a person who was truly saved can ever be lost again.  But should we confess something simply based on the majority?  No, but it isn’t my point to debate the man.  The sermon was delivered well and was interesting.  He started  with a business analogy and referred to what would be a sound procedure for business in the later part of his sermon.  I have a business degree so these metaphors made me curious.

Lauren just called from New Mexico.  Her description was “boring and hot.”  They should make it to El Paso tonight if all goes as planned.  Then my daughter will have a safe, reliable car to transport her to work, the chow hall and church.  She plans to go to Max Lucado’s church on Sunday.  That makes me happy.  Better than homemade bread is the fact that my little girl wants to worship.  That is a Radio Flyer moment for a dad.

Another Radio Flyer moment will be when I meet my darling bride at the airport.  It is a sad and lonely place without her at home.  Sure, I have the two toy poodles, but belly rubbing doesn’t make me happy.  Kiki and Jett enjoy it, but can’t a guy just watch the baseball channel in peace?  The reunion will be grand and that makes me happy.

I suppose writing makes me happy too.  Add it to the list of old science fiction movies and dishes that Annie cooks up from my mom’s recipes.  When I get to missing my mother (gone over seven years now) some creamed salmon over crackers makes me feel just fine.  Her sloppy joes are another pick-me-up.  But the thing that makes me happiest are the memories.  Call me a momma’s boy if you like, but there is nothing like the love a man has for his mom.  Sometimes I look at her picture hung in my office and smile.  Lots of Radio Flyer moments.

So that takes me back to the sermon on CD.  Some people would get upset over the pastor’s view of losing salvation.  From a business angle, it makes perfect sense and makes me want to label the man a genius.  These days, when church attendance is down and people are leaving churches in droves, his approach is masterful.  If people are AFRAID that they may lose their salvation, how could they ever leave the church?  Or what about differing with pastor?  That may be grounds to lose one’s place in glory eternally?  Fear motivates.  This pastor has more job security than most federal workers.  He will never lose his job as pastor.  Why not?  The people would be too afraid of possible future ramifications.  From a worldly perspective, this guy has it made in the shade.  I only hope that he is a man of integrity because he is clearly in the driver’s seat in this church for the rest of his life.   Or until he gets a bigger, better deal and leaves.

But all of that is window dressing.  What is the real point?  The real point is a tragedy.  No one in that church, the brilliant pastor included, can ever hear the voice of God saying, I love you.  You are mine and nobody is ever going to take you away from me.  Business and theological arguments aside, those people can never experience the most important Radio Flyer moment of all and when you think about it, it doesn’t make anyone happy.  Instead, it breaks your heart.         

When I was young there was a popular childrens’ book entitled, “Are You My Mother?”  The gist of the work was a duckling that hatched and quizzed various animals on whether or not they were indeed a parent of the little quacker.  The book was based on the work of a man named Lorenz who did extensive work in the area of imprinting.  Imprinting is the connection developed at birth to the nearest caregiver.  For his study Lorenz nurtured newborn ducks and the feathery twits took him to be their momma.  The pictures of the ducks following this man around always brought a smile to my lips.  As absurd as it sounds, you can become someone’s mother.

That took me back to Christmas in Broomfield, Colorado this past year.  Grandma Jan, my wife’s step-mother, was deemed to be the youngest great grandmother in her church at the Christmas Eve service.  Jan claimed to have become a great grandma at the spry age of 63.  There were none close to her youthful vigor when it came to the great grandma department.  On the ride home I mentally listed her three children and their children.  None of her kids were grandparents.  I asked her about it and obviously offended her and my wife at the same time.  My daughter, Brenna, has two kids and grandma and great grandma were aghast that I had not “grafted them in.” 

I admit that I was wrong, but I’m a man and that comes with the territory, right ladies?  It brings up a dilemma between the bloodline believers and the grafting group.  We all have people in our lives that we graft in and don’t think twice about it.  One of my closest friends (he is more like a brother) is Charles Dickerson.  We met in basic training for the Air Force in San Antonio, Texas in 1977 and have stayed friends for more than 30 years.  The kids all came to know and love “Uncle Chuck.”  When Jenna told stories of her uncle, her husband Rich, was intrigued.  Jenna went on and on about Uncle Chuck.  While looking at photos Rich asked who the tall, slender black man was in the picture.  He was a little shocked when Jenna said, “Oh, that’s Uncle Chuck!”  She just took the grafting for granted.  Just as it should be.

What reminded me of all of this was a phone call this morning from my son, David.  He is in the Navy and is deploying to Spain soon.  He woke me at 7:30 because the Navy wants their troops to have passports in Spain and he needed information.  I gave him the data and then had some coffee.  Over my cup of morning “go” I realized that I had errored.  It was my “grafting” that may yeild him a rejection on his passport.  My wife is not his mother.

I called David back and explained the situation.  He shrugged it off, but I gave him the vitals as a back up in case the passport people are bloodline oriented.  I was actually dumbfounded at how little my son knows about the woman who gave him birth.  His birth mom was pretty much out of our lives since David was six years old.  He had no idea how to spell his mother’s name, did not know her middle name, and did not know that she was born in England.  He did not know her birthday or the year she was born.  For David already had a mom.  No, Annie didn’t carry him, but she was everything to him that a mom could and should be.  It humbled me as I thought about my “bloodline” analogy in December.

Part of me is sad.  David Edward Powers has grown into a strong, confident man.  His birth mother would be proud of him.  I am glad to not only call him my son, but my friend, as well.  When his birth mom began her abysmal slide into the darkness of schizophrenia, she lost contact with the three children she had given life to.  Natalie will soon get her P.H.D. at Yale in molecular biology.  Annie and I will be there to see Dr. Powers “get hooded”, as they say.  Brenna is married to Charles Vincent Arcebuche and lives in Fountain, Colorado.  Talon Gage Powers Arcebuche and Lilah Jasmine Powers Arcebuche are the grandchildren that she doesn’t even know exist.  Too bad.  They’re flat-out wonderful.

So who is your mother?  It doesn’t strictly boil down to who gave you birth.  Who loved you?  Who cares for you?  Who meets yor needs?  Who nurses you when you’re ill?  Who stays up til five in the morning to help finish that blasted science project?  Who tucks you in at night and prays with you?  The questions can go on and on.  The bottom line isn’t Lorenz leading around some ducks.  Ask, where is the care?  Bloodlines are important, but love trumps all else.  Are you my mother?  The question need not be asked.  Just search your heart and the answer will be crystal clear.

Because of all of the commercial interests in Christmas, it is a perfect time for one to get a bit of clarity and perspective about the holidays.  The one who got the lesson, again, was yours truly.  We won a Christmas tree at a community event called “Festival of Trees.”  We spent five bucks and came away with an eclectic sort of tree that contained ornaments from all of the other thirty trees.  There was a chess piece from the Twilight Tree and a pink Cadillac from the Elvis Tree.  Curious George, the monkey, made a contribution as well.  It was delivered, lighted and looked pretty good.  The 2 foot Curious George at the top was a bit over the top and the little primate creeped me out so we took him off.  My grandson will love him.

The perspective started when I realized that for the first time ever, I had no intention of decorating for Christmas.  Annie and I refused to participate in this event due partly to the fact that this was to be our first year without any kids living at home (empty nest stuff).  Also, we plan on traveling for the holidays so what’s the big whoop?  I did stick two wreaths out front.  Now to the NFL Channel!

We had our ornament exchange party and I have to admit that the tree stole the show.  Our problem was how to get rid of the thing.  Sure it had some cool stuff on it, but more really is less when you’re retired.  One of the ladies in our Divorce Recovery Group brought her cousin.  This woman has lupus and needs treatments to keep going.  She is in the middle of her own divorce and has two daughters at home (ages 6 & 9).  We found out that this woman needed a tree, but had very little money.  One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.  I thought it would be a convenient way to rid the living room of this thing and at the same time, some kids would be happy.  To be honest the idea of clearing out the green thing took a front seat to bringing joy to a family that didn’t have much.  See the perspective train coming?  I didn’t.

Because we were to be traveling, we ate down our groceries.  We went to a Christmas party tonight and Annie used ingredients in the fridge to make a yummy casserole to take.  I can’t believe I just wrote “yummy.”  It was fun, but the real problem happened yesterday.  Annie wanted to get rid of some eggs and bacon and cheese so she decided to make a quiche.  I know, I know, real men don’t eat quiche, but it’s real yum…tasty.  She got upset because the cheese was moldy.  She had to go to the store.

Two days before we had loaded up the tree and placed it in the needy family’s house.  The cousin had the key so we were stealth.  Annie made them all stockings as well with toys, candy, games and perfume(for momma).  We left it and pretty much forgot it.  I had my living room back and there were 2 games on I wanted to watch.

Annie said that when the lady from our group, who works at the local supermarket, saw her she cried tears of joy.  Her cousin was so moved by “our act of love” that she wept on her cousin’s shoulder, thanking us for “making her Christmas.”  We didn’t get a call because they assumed that we had left town already.  The children were overjoyed with what they found when they came home from school that day.  To me, it was just something taking up space, but to them it was the true meaning of the season.  And all of their blessing came back to us because of an extra trip to the store caused by moldy cheese.  I really don’t think the cheese molded by coincidence, do you?

The real message comes in the simplistic.  Open your eyes.  Five dollars may not be much to you, but it is another one of those ceiling/floor things.  The blessings are there if we care to look…even in a block of moldy cheese. 

That is a curious phrase, “By the by.”  What it meant a century or two ago was a reference to things that are no longer useful or relevant.  Later terms referred to things like, “a fad” or “a flash in the pan.”  I write this because I realize that I am turning into a bad blogger.  I’m not saying the quality is poor; I’m referring to the quantity.  My blogging has become more and sporatic and I can guess you know why.  The reason is that blogging has gone by the by.

When I was a kid we got our first microwave oven.  It was huge, heavy and noisy, BUT IT HAD A PURPOSE.  Today, I will use a microwave oven.  It is convenient, mounted over our stove and relatively quiet.  It is user friendly and easy to operate.  The point is that this marvel is still performing its magic thirty years after its inception.  Why?  Because IT HAS A PURPOSE.  What is that purpose?  To serve us with convenience and save us some money.  A microwave oven will pay for itself over time (including the electricity it uses) because we don’t waste food - we eat it.  We shall refer to this as evaluating a product/service by how it pays by its purpose.

That’s a good example, but there have been some poor ones.  Remember Laser-Disc movies?  What about bulky Beta-Max?  How about Zip Drives on Computers.  Pagers had their day, but cell phones killed that market.  Technology rules the day, but we have to have the vision to guess which ones will hang around and which ones will bite the dust.  These products were outdone by the better mousetrap!  They don’t pay by purpose and therefore, must be discarded.

Blogging was very cool when it first arrived on the scene.  Alex Pinto, the guru who built and maintains this web-site, used to be enthusiastic about it.  He even bought me a book on how to blog effectively.  When I only blogged once a week, he was disappointed.  Now, not so much.  Why?  What changed?  Blogging is to social networking what cell phones are to I-Phones.  The purpose simply does not pay.  Someone can tweet or twitter and that makes a blogger like me typing in a backdrop from the Jurassic era.  Technology decides what mediums pay by purpose and blogging is right there next to the Creedence Clearwater Revival 8 track tape.  Bye bye blogsters!

But I am a dinosaur; I choose to be.  No, I have never sent a text message.  My two goals in life are  1) Never to kill anyone    and                                                                       

                             2) Never send a text message

Yes, I still have a Zip Drive on one of my four computers.  I just can’t stand to part with the things!  I did get rid of my DOS computer and the one with Windows 95 on it.  When I tried to circulate sermons in my Sunday School class by developing a lending library for the class, whereby they would take CDs from the bin, they looked back at me in horror.  One suggested the ease of I-Pod downloads as an alternative and another wanted to load them on a webite for phones and media players.  My head almost exploded.  I suppose I’ll just drop the whole idea.  Everything anyone REALLY WANTS is just a mouse click away.  But I’ll keep to my backwards ways.

The answer to the question is yes, I will blog on.  They will probably only be monthly, but as you can see, I have a hard time parting with things.  I met a guy yesterday at the Port Angeles Chamber of Commerce Luncheon and he began with the tech stuff.  I told him that “I still like to live most of my life in 1975.”  His wife asked about my mood ring and, with a straight face, I told her that it is on my nightstand next to my bed, which it is.  I’ll put it on later and see how this blog affected me.

I guess the question is, “Does this blog affect anyone?”  I guess it does.  It affects me because it gives me an avenue to vent.  Does it pay by purpose?  Psychologically, yes, but financially?  You read the ads on my web-site, didn’t you?  Ha!  Got ya!  Actually my blogging does public good.  When I want to kill the moron who keeps texting me and asking that I text him back, I blog instead of murder.  This pays by keeping me out of the penal system and also pays by making sure blog boy doesn’t go down for a dirt nap!  A lot of things have gone by the by.  Let’s make sure that the ability to laugh at ourselves is never one of the casualties.  

Time is funny stuff.  It seems like it was just yesterday and I was forced to share my bedroom with my meathead of a little brother named Craig.  We all had nicknames and some of them stuck.  My brother, Craig, was always referred to as “Burt” because is was merely an “n” shy of standing for burnt.  We called him Burnt/Burt because of his tendancy to say dumb things around me and my friends.  We even got to the point where we wouldn’t comment when he made a stupid remark.  We would all strike imaginary matches and toss them in my brother’s direction complete with airy sound effects like a charcoal grill being lit.  Pretty cruel, huh?  The sick part is that Craig liked it.

My brother was musically minded.  He started taking piano lesson when he was ten and there was no stopping him after that.  My dad and I continued to push him toward sports, but the lad was truly a gifted musician.  He went from piano to trumpet to guitar.  After a few years, there simply wasn’t an instrument made that Craig could not play.  I saw him fade into “his music” and our father stood by the adage, “Every musician I know is a bum.”  My brother made being a bum work for him.  He’ll be fifty in May  and he still lives for his music.

Craig, at the age of fourteen, insisted that everyone call him “Byrt.”  He changed the spelling and took ownership of what was meant to be a world-class insult.  But that’s my brother.  His existance and spin on the way things things are has always been a tad different.  Sharing a room with him for sixteen years was like living in some sort of bizarre movie.  Byrt had and has his quirks.  He lives in Anchorage, Alaska and works as the caretaker for his church and, of course, plays in the worship band.

What prompted this little trip to talk about my offbeat brother was time.  I was thinking today about the fact that here was a guy who I literally could not get away from for sixteen years.  We slept in the same room and ate at the same table.  Sure, we fought, but what brothers don’t?  When I was eighteen I left for the United States Air Force.  I can still see my father with that stoic look on his face, shaking my hand and telling me to do a good job.  I can also see my little brother crying and telling me how much he was going to miss me.  That was over thirty-two years ago but I remember it as if it was yesterday.

The rub comes because life rarely turns out like you think it will.  Craig went to Alaska in the eighties (I can’t remember what year) and our contact has been sparse.  I saw him for about three hours in 2007.  Before that it was two days in the Arctic Circle while I researching a book I was writing about Alaska.  I would have to say that I’ve been in the presence of Byrt about forty hours in the last twenty-five years.  I never thought about that as I tossed imaginary matches at the little twit.

I guess I miss my brother.  Our mother died in 2003 and she was the glue that held our family together.  The seams are ripping in the Powers/Willadsen family.  Annie and I are trying to hold some of it together by making trips to Wyoming and Missouri to see my mom’s two remaining brothers.  Maybe this is the way it is supposed to be.  The point is that during all those years I never dreaded losing a roommate.  Years later, I just don’t want to lose my brother.  I think I’ll send him an e-mail as soon as I finish writing this.  This time, Byrt, no matches.  The burn is on me.

I was just sitting on the back porch watching the rain come down.  Rain is something we haven’t had much of this summer so it was a welcome sight.  With coffee cups in hand, Annie and I watched the drops bounce off of the deck as our thoughts and conversation turned to Fall.  Summer, in all of it’s northwest glory is starting to wave goodbye and we are returning the gesture.

One of the things that I have had the time to do since retirement is think.  I’m not talking about the balancing of the checkbook type of thinking.  What I am referring to is pondering.  I sit and stew over items in my mind.  I come up with some surprising notions and I like the fact that I can still surprise myself, mentally at least.  We played tennis with our neighbors, Carla and Homer, yesterday and I can say that I surprised myself this morning, physically, hurting in places that I had forgotten existed!  Back to the point, Powers! 

One of the things that is on my mind is National Health Care.  It is front page news.  Everyone seems to be riled up over the topic.  I got some coffee, sat down and pondered.  That is what retired guys do - they ponder.  It occurred to me that a national plan is logical because it solves one of America’s most pressing problems without addressing it directly.  It solves our illegal immigration population (and subsequent health care financial support for this mass) by giving health care to all Americans.  If you are an illegal and your child gets very sick you can still get free treatment at any emergency room.  The bad news is that because you don’t have a government health care card, INS agents will be there to escort you and your family out of the country when your child is well again.  In five years everyone who doesn’t legally belong here will be ousted from the borders.  National Health Care solves our biggest problem and California’s, paying medical bills for people who don’t belong here.

I can see the racist accusations being formulated.  You see, us retired ponderers see this stuff coming!  It is not a race issue at all.  This is one for the beancounters, my friend.  Just crunch the numbers.  With the cost of health care soaring to record heights, no state or country has the money to pay for millions who cannot pay for themselves.  Just look at California’s record deficit.  They just raised state income tax again and the user fees from everything to water to streetlights to property tax are being escalated on the shrinking (and leaving) middle class.  It doesn’t work in the ledger books and it doesn’t walk in shoe leather.  Something has to give and National Health Care fills the bill quite nicely.

The unions love it as well.  The price of cheap labor just went up.  What a revelation on the last weekend of summer!  The trade off is something we don’t want to talk about.  The $45 an hour aerospace job is gone.  My brother-in-law is one who had that job.  His Southern California existance is being threatened as his unemployment benefits run out.  His house may be repossessed, but still he waits for the call from the big job boys, as do so many others.  Nationally, we are in a state of denial.  Mary, my dad’s girlfriend, asked me when the economy will be turned around again.  I told her about the state of denial and said, “When the $45 an hour former aerospace worker accepts his/her fate and accepts the long-term position as a manager of a fast food restaurant, we are back on track.”  The big money days are over, folks.

So are we becoming Canada?  Yes and no.  America will still have a class of wealthy elite that play by different rules than the masses, but for the first time in history kids in America will not surpass their parents in economic prosperity as a group.  Sure, they’ll be success stories - this is the land of opportunity, but they’ll be far and few between.  College graduates will be mowing lawns and working in mini marts.  The times, they are a-changing!

So how will this affect your plans?  Just grab your cup and watch the rain.  Spend some time thinking.  Join the Ponderer’s Club.  There is no fee to join and a lifetime membership is guaranteed.  I plan to ponder (after I clean the fountain in the back yard) and then I’ll make an afternoon resolution - no labor on Labor Day!  Look, it’s raining again.

My dad and his girlfriend went back to California today.  They were here for five days and we did a lot of the tourist things.  In Seattle we went to the Space Needle, Pike’s Market, Ye Olde Curiosity Shop and rode the ferry to Bainbridge Island.  We took a jaunt from Port Angeles to Victoria in British Columbia, Canada.  My father had never been to Canada and we marveled at the beauty and granduer of Butchart Gardens.  It was a fine five days and I think Annie and I did a fair job of entertaining Marv and Mary.  They’re already planning another trip up to “God’s Country.”

I have been thinking about my blog and have tried to fit it in with all of the rest of the technological changes I have had to endure in my 51 years.  Blogging really is obsolete.  We don’t want to admit it but the Twitter is sending the blog the way of the pager.  When I was a kid we had TV and that came in via an analog signal (also obsolete) so if you missed a program you had to wait for the rerun.  There wasn’t cable (also going the way of the dinosaur) or Beta Maxes, VCR Players, Laser Disc Players (remember their 15 minutes of fame?) DVDs, Blu-Rays, TIVOS, Cell phones, I-Phones, Laptops, Home Computers, Floppy drives, hard drives, Zip Discs (another technology flash-in-the-pan) or WIFI.  Life has changed.

I like to think about my grandmother.  She was born in 1906 and died in 2005 at the ripe old age of 99.  She saw Hailey’s Comet twice.  I saw it with her in 1986.  She had spied it out as a child in 1910.  We went from horse and buggy to motorcar to airplanes to jets and then to the moon and beyond in her lifetime.  But what about me?  When I was born in 1958 there were only 48 states!  The real change for me has been conveniences and creature comforts.

I remember when we got our first microwave oven.  I refused to use an ATM for a year after they were commonplace.  To this day I have not sent a text message.  I got on the blog bandwagon and was replaced by a device that gives second to second updates.  I just can’t compete with that.  The question arises Should I care?  My dad gave me the answer.

We did all of that fun stuff and the answer came on my pack porch.  Amongst all of the hub-bub and sightseeing, our best times were drinking wine and watching the sunset.  We didn’t need a twitter, a blog, the Internet or a pay for view event.  We simply enjoyed the company and conversation as we looked over the Strait of Juan De Fuca.  Life is good.  We joked, talked of some serious things, and generally just relaxed.  The digital world moved on without us and that was just fine.

One of the serious things was the passing of my father’s brother, Jerry Power.  Jerry went home to be with Jesus last Friday, confessing Christ as his Lord mere hours before his death.  For me, I’m glad that my beloved uncle is in glory; he suffers no longer.  For my dad it is the loss of his younger brother, a man he loved very deeply.  We told stories and drank a toast to this wonderful man who has gone the way of all the earth.  His dear wife, Phylis, grieves for her best friend.

I suppose that it all fits together in some cosmic sort of miracle.  I likened it to all of the lines drives a baseball player makes out on.  Over a career they probably equal the bloop hits that just drop in for base hits.  Like so many of life’s seeming unfairness, in the end, it’s probably a wash.  Let this mad generation text, talk and generally become slaves to the need to have to be entertained every waking moment.  I’ll sit on the back porch and enjoy a sunset with my dad in reverential silence.  I guess I’m joining my predecessors in the category of being out of the mainstream.  The funny thing is that I like it.  Yes, I’m oblolete and obsolete isn’t so bad.

I had a dream last night that got me thinking.  In the dream I was talking to someone whom we (my wife and I) used to be close to.  A situation happened and there ended up being a great deal of hurt feelings.  I think that Christmas cards weren’t sent for a couple of years!  That’s serious!  The crux of the dream was her trying to put guilt on me for the poor decision she had made.  Of course she played the “Christian Guilt” card saying, “I thought you CLAIMED to be a Christian!”  Her tone was accusatory and I responded by telling her that I did not plan to rehash that event.  It was over, there is forgiveness, and it simply would not be profitable to bring up all of that ancient junk.  I was calm and controlled, but then again, I’m in the ten percent.

The word “tithe” used to be more common than it is today.  It is a reference in the Bible to the percent of giving that was the standard for Jews in the Old Testament.  It was more than money and more often than not included animals, produce and olive oil.  The stuff you cook with, not Popeye’s girlfriend.  The ten percent in those times often equated to about twenty-three and a half percent.  That sounds stiff, but it was actually a deal.  Before the Kings of Israel, the Jews lived under a theocracy so the twenty plus percent covered the government and the Lord (who basically was the government).

Today we talk about tithes.  You can always tell a Mormon because they use the noun, “tithe,” like a verb.  They say, “I paid my titheing.”  This is an improper use of a noun as a verb and should be punished, but with all of the other abuses in the English language, I suppose we can let this one slide.  I’ve done my share of butchering words and phrases so I’m probably not the best judge.

The tithe I want to discuss is the reality tithe.  I’ve learned that about nine out of ten people don’t live in the same world as I do.  About ninety percent of people create their own reality.  When Annie and I are going to make a decision that requires resources, we sit down with pencil and paper and crunch the numbers.  In five minutes we know whether this can be done.  It is real world stuff and it is so basis, but so many people live in a bubble.  It isn’t just about money, but a side note is that if millions of people would have run the numbers instead of trusting creative financing wizards we would not be in the economic slump that we find ourselves in as Americans.  “But I want” rules the day.  When I married before my ex-mother-in-law (the most beautiful phrase on the planet) was always pressuring me to buy a new car.  My response was “I cannot afford a new car and continue my tithe and charitable giving.”  When my marriage was in trouble I ignored the math and bought a new vehicle.  My giving stopped and so did my marriage.  It is real world stuff that I had to learn the hard way.

Annie (my wife) had lunch with a bubble woman yesterday.  She sat there in her dream world talking about her two daughters.  She painted them as angels, but let’s just say that they don’t live up to their billing.  This woman (in the 90%) believes what she says.  She simply has to make her own reality - the truth is too hard to bear.  It is a form of denial and I’m telling you it is rampant in our culture.  The sad part is that bubble people rarely change; they can’t.  It would destroy the empire that they have mentally constructed.  So what’s the answer?

The answer is not to knock them over with the truth.  Yes, Jack Nicholson’s words are ringing in your head, “You can’t handle the truth!”  And Jack is right.  The best thing to do is to lead by example.  To tell them what may happen on their current path will not be received.  I had two friends with young sons.   They were both bubble dads.  In the early eighties I told both of these men that they had to alter the paths of their boys.  They both laughed when I confronted them.  I should say that these two men I knew did not know one another.  One was a friend from my youth and the other was a man I met in college.  “If you don’t step in your son will one day go to prison,” I told them on separate occasions.  Today, both of these fathers have ex-convicts for sons.

Just because you live in the real world it does not mean that you have the power to change the ninety percent who don’t.  Try to be kind.  Hold back.  Don’t give advice unless asked.  You can’t change someone else.  They have to have the “want to” to live in the real world.  Just let them live in their made-up domain and think that they are happy.  The real world is a cruel and cold place.  If you are part of the reality tithe then welcome to the trenches.  It isn’t that we are smarter or more gifted than the ninety percent.  We aren’t.  Our perception is simply different from theirs.  The reality tithe used to bother me, but then I got realistic about it.  Maybe God wants it this way.

Most of us take the time to look over the past year every last week of December.  I do this to try and understand where I have been, and hopefully, where I am going in the new year.  Quality Control is a big deal for me because I’m a goal setter.  I believe in specific, attainable goals.  July 31st is a day of reckoning.

On July 31st, 2008 I retired.  I had a bunch of things that I wanted to accomplish in my first year of retirement and I think I did okay.  The house in Port Angeles was new (built in 2006) so most of the first year had to do with putting in the yards.  The backyard alone took 35 yards of cement, yes, that’s 5 trucks, and it was quite a project.  I ended up having to take down my gazebo and cut down 160 squre feet of deck because I failed to check with our Homeowners’ Association before I hired a work crew.  That cost me a couple of thousand bucks due to my arrogance/stupidity.  Well, the yards are in (you don’t want to know the pricetag) and it all looks great.

Digging the trenches for the sprinklers cost me some time and pain.  I hurt my shoulder swinging that pick ax and ended up in physical therapy.  The sprinklers turned out fine and are a constant reminder that old guys and manual labor are sometimes not the best mix.

I go to the YMCA now and lift weights for my shoulder.  I’ve met some neat folks and have got a good solid routine for exercise.  I’ve lost 55 pounds since I retired and I want to lose 25 more.  That’s another goal.  Inch by inch anything’s a cinch.  I need to plug WeightWatchers here because without the support from the people at our weekly meetings it would be a tough road.  Annie has lost 62 pounds and is looking and feeling great.  She wants to shed some more but talking about a woman’s weight can be hazerdous to one’s health so let’s move on.

We got involved at a local church and are starting our Covenant Divorce Recovery group in the Fall.  I teach an adult Sunday School class with 70 members so it is no small responsibility.  We hope to also start a home group in January.  We didn’t retire from serving God…we can rest when we get to heaven.

Lilah was born in April and my granddaughter is the sweetest little gal in the world.  Talon, my grandson, is a bundle of energy and at 21 months of age likes to headbutt grandpa!  That boy is a linebacker in progress!  We loved seeing them in May (on a huge road trip that took us through Idaho, Montana, Yellowstone,Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado.  I tell you we need to scale back!

I’ve heard from many old friends.  My buddy, Bill Galarneau, was killed in a tragic motorcycle accident in May.  I think about him a lot and pray for his widow, Mary.  Bill and I were stationed in the Air Force together in Columbus, Ohio in the late seventies.  We later worked together at Los Angeles Center.  I heard from my old friend, Rodney Lewis, last week.  All is well with the “Nieshy-man”, as we call him, and he is enjoying retirement.  I got calls from two of my friends from kindegarten last week on my 51st birthday.  Bruce Grave and Pat Egan have been my amigos for 46 years.  Strange how the time seems to pass so quickly.

Financially, we are doing fine.  Retirement is about living on what you get and have.  We did get to travel a bit and our goal in the next couple of years is an extended trip to Ireland. 

The books are getting published.  Specter of an Accident will be mailed to me in a matter of days.  It was a blast reading over the drafts and making corrections.  Annie has become quite the proofreader!  I hope to be working on my next novel in a month or so.  It is written except for the last three chapters.

My dad and his girlfriend, Mary, will be here next month.  It will be great to see the old guy.  He is 81 and still runs marathons and works trail.  Mary is active and keeps Marv on his toes.  We plan to show them a good time Port Angeles style!

So there is my year.  I have to admit that I’m pretty pleased.  I praise the Lord for the blessings in my life.  Like the saying goes, “It’s all good!”  I’m looking forward to another super year.  Not that I’m counting on tomorrow.  I’m living in the moment as I think about a year in review.  And what a moment it is!

The last time I took the time to sit down and write a post Michael Jackson was still the King of Pop and Farrah Fawcett was battling for her life.  Things change fast, don’t they?  When I was a kid Michael Jackson was a blossoming star.  Back then it was the Jackson 5 that was all the rage.  I have their greatest hits CD.  I remember that the first time I officially fast danced with a girl and it was to the tune, “ABC.”  Michael Jackson was a unique and talented man.  His “Thriller” collection will probably sell for decades to come.  But in the end, the dream died.

Farrah was so hot that she sizzled.  She was actually larger than life when I was in high school.  We all had the poster, you know the one I’m talking about.  She was dead sexy and now she’s just dead.  That sounds cold and insulting, but it is not meant that way.  Farrah got to live her dream.  She believed in her ability when few in the craft took her seriously.  She was tenacious, driven and managed to stay in the public eye for four decades.  Here’s to you, Farrah Fawcett.

I was weed whacking the edge of my lawn yesterday and I noticed a huge bee flying around my head.  I swooed him away.  Bees are important and killing a bee is a sin.  At least it is to me.  Without Bees our crops would fail and life would come to an end.  Bees are that important.  I swooed him again.  I then realized that the hum of my weed trimmer was probably a mating call for the amorous insect.  I swoowed him away a third time hoping he could hook up with another of his species.  The last swoop I didn’t see and it was his last.  I sinned.  The edge of his dream was destruction.

I think it is wonderful to dream.  This blog is a dream in and of itself because I like to write and I want to be heard.  I self publish my novels, poetry and Christian literature for that same reason.  It is a dream.  But all dreams have an edge to them and some are razor sharp.

A friend of mine had a dream to start his own business and things are looking bad right now.  Business is down and overhead is up, like way up.  He is a nervous wreck and he should be.  There are alot of people counting on him.  He failed to see the edge when times were good and he’s got some tough decisions to make.  Usually there are warning signs.

I tell Annie, my wife, “My spider sense is tingling,” when I feel a bad vibe.  She has women’s intuition on her side.  Once, after we were first married we entered into a venture to purchase a home with creative financing.  The deal was for us to pay a large sum of cash upfront to save the sellers from going into bankruptcy.  We met with the couple and our agent and came away feeling the man’s frustration and the woman’s rage.  They were very angry about losing their dream home.  A couple of weeks later we went to seal the deal with a cashier’s check in hand.  We were to do a walk through on the vacated house and get the keys.  When we arrived we found the angry couple still in the house.  The man came out and stared us down and the woman folded her arms in total defiance.  The windows were down and we heard her tell the agent, “We’ll leave when we are good and ready.”  The agent began walking to our vehicle.  Annie and I exchanged a look.  She said, “Spider sense?”  I nodded.  She said, “I’m not comfortable with their body language: let’s get out before it’s too late.”  When he asked for another day I showed him the check.  “Tell them that this money to keep them from bankruptcy is going back in the bank.   The deal is off,” I said, rolling up the window and pulling away.  They mocked us as we drove away.  They drove to bankruptcy and divorce.  The edge was there and we heeded the warning.

I guess the meassage is not to quit dreaming, but to look for the edge.  Most things do have a downside.  In the end we all end up a memory anyway just like Michael and Farrah.  This life is a cruel hoax at times.  It is times like these that turn us to God and His eternal plan.  It isn’t wrong to dream.  Sometimes dreams die, just like all of us will someday.  Beware the edge of dreams.  Sometimes it ends in love and satisfaction…but sometimes it’s just a weed trimmer.