"When the Chips are Down,the Buffalo is Empty."

Final Score: 30-28

2012-01-21T18:13:00.000-05:00

Now today was a nail-biter game.

It was one of those basketball games where the entire time, it was neck and neck. One score answered by another. I don't really think the gap was ever more than four to six points!

Chaz has really improved on his basketball skills over the past three years! He stuck with it through the entire game ... never giving up. He was going after rebounds, playing great defense and keeping those hands up, and always aiming for the goal, even when he felt overwhelmed and perhaps a little disadvantaged.

I think that's how we should approach life as Christians. Stick with it throughout the game. Never give up. Go after the goal ... the prize ... even when we feel like there's little hope in winning. The fact of the matter is, we always carry the advantage with God. And how cool it is to share that advantage and have it accepted by our competitors.

I like it when everyone can win.

But tonight, I was the loser. And I'm OK.

Really, I'll be fine. Just give me a second to catch my breath.

(Is that really as low as our basketball goal will go? Hmm.)

First Princess

2012-01-14T22:53:00.000-05:00

It was Sunday night.

Sixteen years ago, this very evening.

As usual, I was up too late and should have been in bed sooner. It was after midnight when Veda came to the playroom to tell me it was "time to go."

And with that, we were on our way to Northside Hospital, in a royal blue 1992 Saturn SL2. (Historical fact that may amuse you one day.)

Approximately eighteen hours later ... we became a family of three.

And my heart was mush.

Your entrance wasn't without a challenge. Lots of trips walking up and down the halls. A rough patch or two for Mom midday, but an epidural put a stop to all that. Then things slowed down. I went to get a bite to eat. Mom napped.

Then you got a little twisted around playing jump rope with your umbilical cord. Things went into turbo mode. They put an oxygen mask on Mom. A doctor calmly told us amidst the flurry of activity that we couldn't wait any longer ... it was time. It was around 6:35 p.m. if I remember correctly ... it did get a little blurry there. But you arrived with much pomp and circumstance. Ten fingers, ten toes. Pink face, a little upset. Some hair on your head. Maybe even a bit of a scowl.

Nothing like the smile you have today.

Sixteen years can travel by pretty fast. Everyone always told us never to wish away the childhood days. But some were tough.

Like the days you were learning to ride a bike.

You cried and cried ... so afraid to keep pedaling. You kept wanting to put your feet down so you wouldn't fall. But you did finally fall, and pretty big. And you pulled off the helmet and went inside, determined you were not going to EVER ride a bike.

I went inside and calmed you down, but wasn't going to let you quit that easily. Because I knew you had it in you. The mechanics were all there ... you just had to see it through long enough to move forward. (Sounds like some of our efforts even as a teenager!) Tears and more tears.

But you finally went back outside. And after a couple of attempts, there you went down the street, squealing, "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" I think you would have pedaled all the way to the corner and out of sight if I let you.

More tears. But this time, they were mine.

You know more of the stories. The time you accidentally grabbed the volume on the stereo and turned it up full blast. It was like you were being electrocuted ... you couldn't let go! Mom got you into the living room at the front of the house, and you kept sobbing, "It got me, Momma! It got me!"

And of course, the time you kept calling Mom to come to the top of the stairs, even though she was making dinner. When she finally came to the bottom step to let you know she couldn't while she was cooking, you pointed firmly to the ground and declared, "Come! Here! Right! Now!" ... one of the best Veda impersonations I've ever seen.

There are so many "times" that have made us laugh, made us cry, or made us proud.

The time when I silently doubled-back after driving out of the subdivision only to see you in my rearview mirror saying, "Forget something?" (Yes, Miss Smarty Pants ... my wallet.)

The time when I first heard "Butterfly Kisses" on the radio while driving down the interstate (again, you were strapped in the booster seat in the back), and Veda asked me if we needed to pull over and let her drive.

The time when you actually laid hands on my shoulders and prayed for me, when you were probably only about five.

The time in kindergarten when you turned down a marriage proposal on the playground of the private school you went to, because you were "going to marry a Christian boy."

The time when you gleefully shouted that, if we adopted a baby from China, that she could teach you Chinese.

And there are so many "times" ahead. I've been open and honest with you through the years, that there would be times when you didn't like me very much. Fortunately, those times have been few and short-lived. Mom and I have been so blessed to have you for a daughter, and we have said over and over that God "found favor" to give you to us.

You've been tagged by some of your friends as the "Momma" of the group. And that's OK. Many if not all Mommas will tell you it's not the most glamorous position to hold. But it's one of the most honorable roles you will ever hold! You will be relied on for advice, for stability, for help, and for keeping folks out of trouble. Don't ever regret being looked on with that level of responsibility for your friends.

And there will be a time ... one day ... when we have to let go. A day when we put our faith in who you are and the foundation on which you make your decisions as you forge ahead into adulthood. You won't be perfect. (Neither are we, and we're just a little older than you!) But it is our prayer, as we celebrate your sixteenth birthday, that you always seek out what God has in store for you, that you never let go of your faith in Him, that you love and respect others around you, even those who are unlovely and sometimes undeserving, and that you smile whenever you can.

Because THAT'S my girl. Always bringing a smile to those around her.

Happy birthday, Leah B! I will love you ... always and forever, my first princess.

Daddy

First Down, Inches to Go

2012-01-03T23:13:00.000-05:00

What a festive time of year, as we bask in the afterglow of Christmas and look ahead with hope toward a new year. And resolutions ... we make them, we break them, but perhaps we have good intentions and better habits if only for a short while.

Some resolutions are pretty big. Stop smoking. Read the Bible cover to cover. Lose weight. There's plenty to choose from. Classic resolutions ... fancy resolutions ... healthy resolutions.

But this year, I'm going all out on something I've been putting off and giving up on for decades. It's so dramatic ... so deep ... it requires sharing so I can be held accountable.

It involves my toes.

No, seriously ... I have a goal ... to touch my toes.

[I'll wait for the room to settle down. Let me know when you're ready to continue.]

I know people who can palm the floor, and that's all fine and dandy. I'm not jealous. Much.

I'm just working to make a simple connection between my index finger and a hallux. (That's a big toe. And yes, I looked it up.)

For as long as I can recall, I've never been able to touch my toes. I'm sure did it as a baby, but then again, I think I could put my foot behind my head. Didn't we all do that? No? Hmm.

For years, I blamed my separation of upper and lower phalanges on long legs and a short torso. Hmm ... perhaps that's not it after all. I mean ... I don't really look disproportionate. My beltline isn't at the 3/4 mark between my feet and my head. If it were, I'd be on exposition in a traveling carnival.

And it's not because there's all THAT much to work around when I bend at the waist. A gut is a gut ... I should be able to displace what I have on the way down. So that's no excuse.

I think it's simply a lack of flexibility. An ugly truth. Unfortunate, but there it is.

Funny, I do recall as a kid being able to put my legs (lanky as they are) into a Lotus position. I could even walk around in that position on my knees. I know ... I don't understand why I didn't make it on Star Search either. Course, I don't think Mr. Lotus had that type of mobility in mind when he invented the inverted criss-cross-applesauce leg pretzel.

Now I realize touching your toes isn't a huge requirement in life. It's not on a college application form. It's not a prerequisite for membership in the country club. It's not even necessary for filing your taxes (although I realize some folks feel they are bent over in that process, but we won't dwindle on that word picture.)

Toe touching is just a personal "thing" that I want to be able to say I can do. To myself ... not as a public decree. Frankly, I'm befuddled as to why this is has become an issue. I take the stairs everywhere. I park and walk every morning and evening. I even go to different buildings for bathroom breaks during the day so I can squeeze in activity whenever I can. Just keep moving, just keep moving, just keep moving, moving, moving ... what do we do? We moooove! (Sorry ... Nemo reference snuck in there.)

Somewhere along the line, I became inflexible. Unable to stretch my boundaries ... make ends meet, so to speak. And the longer I let it go, the tougher it will be to reach that goal.

Whoa there ...
wrong direction!

Have you become inflexible over the years? Determined that the way things have always been is the way they will always (or should always) be? Have you been telling yourself that a situation is what it is and there's nothing you can do about it? How many opportunities are you potentially missing due to an unwillingness to stretch yourself ... to reach beyond your current limitation and do just a little more? Even if it means just an increment a day ... it can't be that far out of your reach.

When I first started my quest (I've been working on this on and off for over a year), I could only reach just below the halfway point between my knees and the final destination before I was sure things were going to tear apart. Calves, thighs and back ... all shredding apart. At least, that's what it felt like.

This evening ... I'm pleased to report that I'm LESS than two inches away. And mind you, I DON'T bounce. I heard that can make your eyes cross permanently and cause deafness in one ear. Not to mention, you may not come back up if you bounce. I prefer to walk upright, thank you very much.

At this rate, I may have this resolution done by the end of the month. I'll get to work on the mental flexibility all year long. And then some. We could all use more mental flexibility. Yes, indeed. And in an election year, for cryin' out loud.

What's your resolution? Not too late to make one!

Start the Countdown

2011-12-31T17:40:00.002-05:00

Only hours away.

2012.

And this year is going to be different. I can feel it.

Mind you ... I just turned 44. So things feel different now. I'm cool with that.

On my birthday a few days ago, my wife took me shopping for a new suit. Because I only have one. (Business casual work environment). And I was tired of only having one. Monosuit Me.

[Dramatic pause.]

I came away with three.

The other thing I came away with were shirt colors that are "out-of-the-box" colors for me. Purple (officially lilac), pale blue (officially "robin's egg") and some ties that I would have totally passed over. Why get ties that I wouldn't pick? Because I'm told they look great! And the salesman in the store put it well ... "I don't look at a tie that I'm wearing. Everyone else does. And if they like what they see, then I feel good about myself!" I can work with that notion.

This is good stuff. Because I had grown a bit weary of "me."

Now don't get me wrong ... I like me. Really, I do. What's not to like? (Don't answer that.)

Don't you ever find yourself in a bit of a rut? The kind of rut that will land you on "What Not to Wear" and having your precious wardrobe of faded golf shirts and 80s-era Levis on display for the entire world? And the button-downs ... a rack to themselves. I can see Stacy London tossing them in a trash can with the evil cackle emanating from under that white stripe of hair. Along with my two identical pair of brown Crocs. Well, that would be OK ... I've worn down the bottoms of those.

The end of the year is a perfect time for purging. I pulled out five white undershirts that need to be moved to the rag bag. I have two drawers of t-shirts that I have amassed over the years just waiting to be pared down. Many of the clothes I have hanging up in the closet are destined for Goodwill, where they will actually be worn and not just hang there in silent protest of being passed over again and again.

I think it's OK to re-imagine yourself every now and then. I don't call this a middle-aged crisis. A wise friend told me he has used job changes as an opportunity to re-evaluate and rebrand. Well, that really hasn't been an option for me ... not that I'm complaining! I'll choose to remodel in situ. It will be fun to see the reactions among folks who THINK they know me. Course, every time I do wear a suit to work, many folks want to know when the preaching will start and what the message will be.

I think a revival is about to break out!

A "new you" doesn't have to be a full demolition job. You stay true to the foundation, but you put on a new coat of paint. (Or three, if you shop well!) Redo the roof ... jazz up the hair a little bit (a tough proposition for some of us). And boy, how I'd like to get rid of the ol' gutter that's hanging over the waistline. Again.

I've got a new air about me (new cologne) and another one on the way. Some new shoes are also on order. And visions of dress boots are dancing in my head.

So 2012 is a new year. New beginnings. I'm going to dress better at work, regardless of the relaxed policy. I find that I walk a little taller when I feel like I'm dressed better. And I think folks treat you differently when you're showing a little confidence in yourself. And confidence is key.

Perhaps it's not an outward appearance that's been slowly bogging you down into a funk. Is it time to purge some inward baggage that's overdue for elimination? Why don't you start 2012 afresh with me ... head held high, a spring in your step? Let's make folks think, "Whoa ... what's got into him?" (Or her.) Perhaps we can all enjoy some newly discovered confidence as the year unfolds.

Swagger ... I'm claiming it. Watch me.

SuperWomen and Thanksgiving

2011-12-23T23:20:00.000-05:00

Yes, yes, yes ... we all know it's Christmas. The dinners. The family gatherings. The parties. The gifts. The church services in multiples. More food. More gifts. Strange ... it's only Dec 23!

And of course, we know the real meaning behind the season, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ who would eventually give us the greatest gift we could ever receive. And never have to take back to a store because it's the wrong size. Because it's perfect. No gift receipt needed.

But what I want to shed some light on is another aspect of Christmas for me. It's the re-introduction to the fact that my wife is a superwoman. No, a SuperWoman ... let's use caps for the correct magnitude.

When I am at home from work or on vacation for a holiday, particularly if the kids are still in school, I am exposed to an entirely new world. One where often I'm a bit of an alien and a freak, because I don't know the system. I have learned over the years that it's just best that I get up, shower, and ask, "What can I do?"

Sounds simple enough, but it gets tricky. It's not quite enough to just carry out tasks. See, there's a human element to it as well. Veda and I are two different people. Although we are one in marriage, we are still two separate brains. Two different genders. I have limited capacity ... generally only able to juggle one thing at a time. And if that one thing isn't going so well, then forget the rest. I'm cooked until I can get things back on track. I'm linear. I can be really good as a linear, but sometimes linear is not what's best.

Linear doesn't really work when you have three children, either. Oh, the day when we'll have them in three different schools ... now won't that be fun? I would need three lines to be linear on!

But I stray from the topic. Being at home today is like having Thanksgiving a couple of days before Christmas. Because I am so thankful for the woman who sticks by me and manages to juggle this thing we call life. I'm confident that the "average" woman of this day and age would have thrown in the towel long ago ... claiming it was all just too hard and that she deserved much better, that she needed to focus on herself.

Remember what I said? I'm not married to an average woman.

SuperWomen of today:
Cindi, Kelda, Connie, Susan and Veda

I saw a photo today of my SuperWoman having lunch with her group of other SuperWomen, while letting an extraordinary group of the next batch of SuperWomen get together for pizza. And I pray that each one of those up-and-coming SuperWomen will find Godly men who will see how much of a blessing they are.

Yes, Christmas is a time when I'm reminded of how blessed we are. But even more so, how blessed I am. Are you mindful of how blessed you are? Do you need to tell someone?

SuperWomen of tomorrow:
Laura, Gabby, Leah,
Bekah and Emily

It's a gift that doesn't need a box or a bow. Just see it, recognize it, and let someone know how thankful you are for how they bless you. Embrace a little Thanksgiving this Christmas and let your SuperWoman (or SuperMan) know how much you appreciate them!

Who Am I? Really ...

2011-12-19T08:51:00.001-05:00

It seems to me these days that so many people are having identity crises. Flip-flopping politicians. Out-of-work protestors who demand the downfall of that which helps ensure they are fed and clothed, regardless of whether or not they realize it. Entitled people who pickup their federal aid and hop back in their Escalade to go get their nails done.

One of my favorite authors is Robert Fulghum. He's the "All I Really Need to Know" kindergarten guy. Perhaps you've seen the posters (as shown). I like to think I'm complex, yet simple. Much like he comes across. I just read a Kindle sample of his book "What on Earth Have I Done." I'm told I don't read much ... at least in book form. This one may be my next conquest. Perhaps you should take a look at it as well. Now that I think about it, I have a Barnes and Noble gift card in my wallet. WINNING.

But anyway ... the issues of the country (along with my continual plodding into the potential for middle-age doldrums) have given me a spark to declare who I am. If nothing else, perhaps it will remind me who I was as time goes on. After all, the memory does seem to give way to the ... um, hold on a sec. What was I doing?

[Pause]

Oh yes ... who am I? Let's find out, shall we?

1. I am a Christian. I believe that God is God, and He created what we know to be our "reality" today, even as it seems to spiral into something ugly. He came down to Earth as a man (Happy Birthday coming up, Big J), and also exists as the Holy Spirit. The Bible is the unwavering truth. And I need to get to know it better. My faith carries me.

2. I am a husband of an extraordinary woman who graciously accepts the imperfect love I manage to give her and returns it with a love of her own. We are permanently linked for the time we have here on this world, and I could not imagine completing this adventure with anybody else. We complement each others strengths and weaknesses. It's a roller coaster ride, but one I'd get back in line to ride over and over again as long as she'll sit with me.

3. I am a father of three of the most precious, unique and impressive children. My oldest has a heart bigger than life, and she embodies me in girl form. My middle is a joy with her countenance and intelligence that will eventually challenge what I know (if it hasn't already.) And my youngest who carries my name is the one who stretches me. He has a spirit that could put an end to any energy crisis if it could be bottled up and dumped into the grid. He is our little prayer warrior (when he slows down long enough to put his heart into it). And eventually, once he realizes how he can wield his spirit like a sword, just look out folks. All three of these gifts from God are going to do great things in their own right. And I am a proud papa, indeed. Who they are and who I am are results of the two loving, Christian families that Veda and I can claim as our own. And I hope we are continuing a legacy of that love.

4. I don't know if I'm in the 1% or the 53%, but I know I pay 100% of my taxes. I don't necessarily agree with where that money goes, and I wish we could find someone who can put us back on track. And run our government more like a business. With fiscal accountability, even if it means we ALL have to swallow a bitter reality pill. I am proud to claim a debt-free lifestyle (with the exception of the mortgage) and I am blessed beyond belief. But I am eyeing a new car for 2012/2013, and I haven't saved up enough money for it. Hmm ...

5. I am also proud to be an American, Mr. Greenwood. And I sincerely wish others who have the right to claim this status would be a little more respectful of the honor it is. And for those who wish to take advantage of the blessings of being a part of this wonderful country, I wish they would do it the legal and appropriate way. Which leads me to #6 on the list ...

6. I am a rule follower first, then a rule maker second. I rarely have interest in being a rule breaker. It defeats the purpose of having them in the first place, and those who like to break the rules tend to really get annoyed when THEIR rules are the ones being ignored or broken.

7. I love movies. I love movies that make you think. I love movies that make you feel. I like to laugh at movies. Out loud. So that perhaps the director back in LA or wherever the movie came from will know that someone enjoyed it. I will also cry if it's warranted. I think that is OK and healthy. Besides, it's usually dark in the movie theater and no one will know if you keep it below a whimper. But let out anything more ... well, you're on your own then.

8. I like to number things. It's because I like order. Perhaps you came across this in some of the historical posts here on the blog. This one happens to be a perfect fit for #8. So be it.

9. I have a challenge maintaining order sometimes. That's all I'll say about that for now.

10. I like "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium" ... It is a good story, great acting, and has a brilliant soundtrack behind it. You don't realize how much the music adds to a movie until you hear the music by itself after you've seen the movie, and the songs take you back to the scenes. They literally sound like what you saw.

11. One of my favorite hats right now is an Australian outback hat. Don't ask me why. Just because. And I like cargo shorts with drawstring tassels on the legs that I never actually tie. They just dangle off the sides and help make my legs look a little less lanky.

12. Five of the last six words I just wrote started with the letter "L" ... so why don't we say this blog entry was sponsored by the letter "L." And yes, I grew up on Sesame Street. And The Electric Company. And Zoom.

There's bound to be more. But I will stop at 12. It's an even number. And it's time you got back to work. Or fed the chickens. Or put your hands back on the wheel. Or started your own list of who YOU are. Now there's an idea.

Hello ... pleased to meet you, whoever you are. Welcome to me. Come back often, OK?

Still Here, Stayin' Alive

2011-12-06T12:44:00.001-05:00

Every now and then, you're reminded of something from your past. Something happens in the mundane day-to-day activities of our lives that jars ~~our~~ my aging memory, and makes us me think of something long forgotten.

Let's take a blog for instance.

[Look of horror.]

Wow ... my last entry was May of 2011. "On behalf of myself, I'd like to accept this Lame Award ..."

OK ... let's put this back on all of us. You neglect things, right? It's not just me.

So, collective "we" ... when these events happen that reveal something that we've lost or forgotten, we find ourselves at a crossroad and we have a choice to make. We ask ourselves, "Do I do something about it? Change the course? Acknowledge and embrace my forgetfulness/laziness and get cracking, or do I turn away and pretend I never saw it?"

I'm going to take the road less traveled today. I'm going to write a post. And that will make all the difference. So there. (Thanks to Ms. Norma Rae in middle school for making me memorize "The Road Not Taken." I remember! And remembering things is very important for someone my our age.) Let's continue.

We decide to do something. We're going to write. Fine and dandy, but then you hit the wall. The absence of thought. The oblivion of nothing in the head. The dry well ... empty of anything fun and snarky to talk about.

[Pause]

I could talk about a roasted turkey sandwich, because that's what is in my immediate future.

[Yawn]

Politics? Certainly not a sleeper topic these days. But I'll withhold my thoughts for a while perhaps. Let's see if anybody reads my blog and decides I'm harassing them. The boring and the prudish. The ones who don't like to laugh. The ones who prefer to read the Wall Street Journal or Moby Dick. I won't feel guilty about taking up your precious time if I end up having to suspend my blog. (But I'll continue accepting donations, thank you very much.)

[Think, think, think.]

A-ha ... I have something. My love for Charlie Brown's Christmas. It's one of the remaining vestiges of Christmas untouched. Nobody has come in and edited Linus' child-like telling of the birth of our Savior to make it acceptable to all. And it's still being played on national television. Fancy that.

Not to mention ... who doesn't love Vince Guaraldi? (Yes, I had to Google it so I'd spell it right. Sheesh, the man's Italian. I'm Southern. Two different things.)

"Linus and Lucy" is one of my favorite tunes. Not actually related to Christmas at all, but it's on the soundtrack. Makes my head lop back and forth, like the kid in the front right of the dancing scene in the show. I think I can do the dance of about three of them with some recognizable skill. I know ... hidden talents. We all have them. This is so much better than disco.

One talent I do not possess is the gift of brevity when I speak or write. As some of you can attest, I could actually go on and on with mindless drivel about this and that. But perhaps if I'm smart, I can make something out of it for next year's annual blog post.

Besides ... I'm done with my sandwich.

Merry Christmas! God Bless us all ... everyone!
Luke 2:10

Waist of Fabric

2011-05-19T22:54:00.003-04:00

Is it just me?

More and more, I am passing younger individuals who are determined to let their posterior hang OUTSIDE their pants. And it's appalling. Unappealing. And simply a waste of fabric.

Think about it. Folks who are buying designer jeans (for those prone to purchase overpriced denim that has been pre-worn, pre-torn, bleached, blasted, and otherwise aged toward a quick replacement) are paying good money per every square inch.

However, some choose to drop these luxurious pantaloons below the equator, to the point that the expertly crafted seat and beautifully stitched pockets become a bulbous, unflattering gaggle of fabric on their thighs.

If it's absolutely necessary to show exactly how low they can go (perhaps they are just getting prepared in case they have to make a mad dash to the potty?), then why not save some money and just have the waistline cut at an angle? Coverage up front (and Lord help if that becomes an issue) and open trunk in the back?

Not that I'm pushing for it. Let me be clear. I'm a "waistliner" myself. Real men keep their pants up. Cuz' I ain't lookin' like no fool.

Against All Odds

2010-11-21T16:52:00.004-05:00

I grew up around Friday Night Lights.

As a kid, if there was a varsity football home game in town (and even a few select away games), we were there. Front row, reserved seats. In South Georgia, football IS community ... particularly when there is only one public high school in the county. Unity and comraderie. We were the mighty Cougars.

Once I got into high school, it was marching band. We had folks to took just as much pride in the band as the football game. Again, it simply defined our Friday nights.

As an adult, my connection is still through the band, but now as a proud band parent. And Friday night, I was going to be a part of something big. Really big.

Humongoloid.

You see, my daughter is a freshman at Hillgrove High School in Powder Springs. We were seeded third from Region 4-AAAAA after the regular season, and we drew THE short straw for playoffs. Mind you ... this was Hillgrove's first season playing in the AAAAA division.

Getting past Stephenson in round one was bad enough, coming into the game as an eight-point underdog. We handled that game and surprised many who didn't expect to see the five-year-old high school advance any farther. But things were only scheduled to get more challenging.

For you see ... our short straw led us to "almost Jacksonville" in the far southeastern corner of the state to play the #1 ranked Camden County Wildcats. Defending AAAAA champions. Two years running. Nationally ranked in many polls. Hadn't lost a playoff game since 2007. Playing on their turf. Under a full moon. Can I stack this deck any higher? Again, in these communities across south Georgia, Friday night=High School Football.

The drive was such that we could not take the entire band, so it was a smaller contingency of about 60. Not even half our full complement. Six hours on a coach bus, with a return trip scheduled right after the game. Basically 12 hours of the day spent on a bus with a potentially excruciating football game in between. We were heading into enemy territory, pegged to lose by 15. I took a vacation day to chaperone. Why? Because the band kids are just that great and so worth it. But that's another story. Let's stick to the pigskin tale.

Camden County takes this game seriously. I mean, really seriously. There should be a movie. Huge bigger-than-life posters of their players (perhaps seniors) lined the fence in the end zone. No telling what time these folks arrived before the game. There was tailgating.

The stadium is probably the largest single venue in Kingsland. The visitor stands rivaled McEachern, but about half of our side was filled with Wildcats. Overflow, perhaps. Or as one Wildcat fan said on a local news station, "We sit on this side to taunt the visitors a little ... makes it fun!" Hillgrove fans were relegated to a section in the middle (which wasn't completely filled), and the band had the final section on the end. Many local media outlets and discussion forums didn't give Hillgrove much credit, if any. One columnist out of Valdosta quoted, "Hillgrove? Seriously? Is that even a school?" Um, yeah. Adam McDonald ... is he even a sports journalist? Sorry, I digress.

With the exception of some younger folks (read immature) who gave us some verbal abuse in the parking lot, the Camden County folks were a CLASS ACT. We had an escort take the chaperones from one corner of the field to the other where we could get our tickets for entry. No smack talk. No jeers. Southern hospitality at it's finest. We were the guests. Granted, it's like fattening the calf before taking it to slaughter ... they certainly felt we were going to be the main course for the evening. I think we were just a little annoying buzzing around their head that just needed to be swatted with one blow as they continued their trek to the Georgia Dome.

The game. I can't even begin to comprehend what was going through the home team's mind as it unraveled right before their eyes. Their "three-peat" was becoming a no-peat. Their insane consecutive playoff winning streak coming to an end. Hillgrove answering every score that Camden put on the board, and then some. The last minute seemed to take an eternity to complete. But in the end, they couldn't get close enough to the goalpost to kick a winning field goal. Was the scoreboard true? 00 seconds on the clock. Hillgrove 28, Camden Co. 26.

There seemed to be a pregnant pause. It was like we went into a weird, Matrix-like slo-mo action. We started celebrating, but the Camden players were trying to point out an offside penalty that just wasn't there. Apparently they didn't make the snap before the clock ran out. It was over. Speed picked back up, and the team poured out onto the field.

The Grove had pulled through, once again. Surreal shock spread faster than fog off the Atlantic only a few miles away. I think they were truly stunned on the home side and a good chunk of our side with the Wildcat fans. A Camden player was face down in the end zone. Our team soaking in the win. The band attempting to play the fight song without jumping up and down, risking a busted lip. Cowbells continued to ring from within the segregated section of fans decked out in crimson.

But Camden continued to show class. Handshakes in center field. Their entire team and coaches circling around center field, going down on their knee to have a final discussion after the battle was over. Our own team doing the same off to the side around the 20-yard-line.

A family of Camden fans were coming down the aisle between the chaperones and the band, and they congratulated us on the win. We exchanged compliments to each other for an exciting game, and we thanked them for their hospitality. I hope the children of the Camden family, as well as the kids in our band, got to see that exchange and understand how to win AND lose with grace and dignity. We get hyped up and riled up over our teams, but we're still human beings. As we exited the field and headed to the buses, I think our original escort was at the gate. He thanked us for a great game, and wished us a safe trip back home.

Class ... Friday night, Southern style. I hope our schools in Cobb County and other areas in the metro Atlanta area can get a taste of this in games of the future.

As we pulled out of Kingsland, we passed a lighted church marquee that was glowing bright orange. It read, "God has shown mercy on us."

Indeed, it seems He did.

Annual Post?

2010-11-15T21:14:00.004-05:00

So ... when you don't write in your blog for a year, does it mean you're doomed to annual posting? I certainly hope not. My wonderful niece just starting writing, and I saw that in Facebook. It reminded me that I had a blog in Africa. Well, not really. But considering how negligent I've been with it, it might as well be across the Atlantic.

But it has been a wild and crazy year. In addition to the aforementioned job duties as president of a local chapter for business communicators (which I didn't do all that great a job of, IMHO), we have entered the realm of high school. Leah spend a good portion of late summer and all of fall in colorguard for the Hillgrove High School Marching Band. Their show this year was based on music from Swan Lake. It was a stunning show, and the couple of "pushes" in the show still gives me chills.

My first video taken with my Nano at the first home game was a total embarrassment ... I think I squealed for perpetuity. Chalk it up to "freshman parent." They competed in Akron, Ohio (placed seventh overall) and in the super regional in Atlanta (placing 11th out of 34). So proud of their accomplishments. They are a fantastic group of kids.

Amy and Chaz continue to plod along. Amy just finished her second book, entitled "Rosy Finds a Job." It's a fascinating page-turner ... all three of them. Illustrations of the characters on page three. She's so creative in that fashion. And Chaz has finally launched into a love of reading. I caught him reading National Geographic last week. Seriously. And no, there were no "interesting" photos that would have required a Q&A session.

Veda continues to hold down the fort and all of us hanging out of the windows. I continue to be amazed at her stamina and patience. The Lord blessed her with some gifts that I'll never master, so I'm glad He sent her my way.

Man ... this is good stuff. I think I'm AHEAD with this blog entry as a Christmas letter! So don't tell anyone.

Until next year? We'll see ... depends on whether or not something just seriously hits me that you need to know.

Bush is Back in the Saddle!

2010-02-06T19:49:00.003-05:00

OK ... not what you're thinking! But I am the 2010 president of the Atlanta chapter of the International Association of Business Communicators!

Here's my first blog entry as president if you have any interest.

http://ow.ly/14EVP

Other than that ... life continues on for the Bush family. Since my most recent blog entry (in September ... hmm) there has not been too many developments to speak of. But there are many times I think of something and think how it would make a good blog entry. And I fail to sit down and write it up.

And right now, I can't remember a single one of them.

So I guess I'll be back eventually!

Missing It

2009-09-01T23:12:00.004-04:00

Once a year, we have the privilege of taking our children to Six Flags.

I say it is a privilege, because there will come a time when our children don't want to be seen with us at a public amusement park. Or a grocery store, for that matter. So for now, privilege it is.

And last Friday night was the time-honored evening. We got there as the gates were opening up for our company outing at 6 p.m. This year, we focused the Friday night event on our two youngest, while our oldest will get a chance to go later this month for a no-kids event.

It was fun ... riding some of the very same rides that Veda and I rode on as a kid (and yes, there are still some of the original rides, smarty pants.) Bumper cars, the merry-go-round, the Dalonega ... and many more.

But about 10:15 p.m., we positioned ourselves near where the Gasp used to be so we would have a perfect view of the FIREWORKS extravaganza through an opening in the trees. A highlight of the evening! And they started right on time.

"Wait ... what is going on?" I thought to myself. As we were glued to our spots watching the August nighttime sky light up like a battlefield ... people were walking past us. BACKS to the show. "Are you kidding me? People ... turn around and see what you are missing! Stop!"

I couldn't believe it ... folks just walking along practically ignoring the display above our heads. What's got into people? This fireworks show is FREE ... it's awesome ... you won't get this every day! It's SPECIAL!

But then it hit me. That must be how we often look to God ... milling about down here in total oblivion to what He is doing. Turning our backs on His work. Ignorant and self-centered. Bypassing something that is not only FREE but available EVERY DAY! Wow ... we're crazy people. I can't say this in front of my younger kids or in the house ... but we're stupid.

So I asked myself and I'll ask you ... are we missing it? Is there some amazing stuff going on and we've either got our backs to it or we're overlooking it for what we think is a greater purpose? Reality check ... nothing is greater than what God is doing in our lives and those around us.

STOP! Turn around. Watch the fireworks. There will be more "oohs" and "aahs" than you could ever imagine if you just take the time to see what is happening.

Best display in town ... guaranteed.

O Blog, Have I Forsaken Thee? Nay!

2009-08-11T06:42:00.003-04:00

Wow ... I was posting a comment on (In)Courage just now. Yes, yes, I know it's a place for the new hearts of women. But I was reading an entry from one of my favorite authors. And I mean favorite, as in I know her!

Well, I don't "know her" in the biblical sense, mind you. But I can walk up and hug her without getting slapped. You should get acquainted with her, too. She's up and coming ... will eventually BE Oprah's list. You heard it here. But I knew her first. So get in line. Annie Downs ... remember that name.

Anyhoo ... when you post a comment on a blog, there's a field for your website. Auughh! My blog! I have one of those! I felt compelled to come and give it some attention since I was calling it out. Good thing, too. So much has happened in the last few months. Here's the highlights.

Big headline ... we are in a new church. In that awkward "first-day-of-school-and-you-don't- really-know-anybody" phase. Why leave a church after ten years of blessing? Because God speaks to those willing to listen. I heard Him. And we're trying to be obedient. We spent a "summer of discovery" visiting churches in the area. And it was strange. And challenging. And difficult. But it is bearing fruit.

You see, even when something like changing churches throws almost every emotion in the book at you, as long as God is in the lead, you'll be blessed for it. Seriously. Read on ...

On our first visit to Burnt Hickory Baptist Church (to be referred to as BHBC going forward for the love of my fingers), I picked up a daily devotional for adults. It was perfect. Half a page per day. What a great way to get back into the Word and to reacquaint myself with some God time. Baby steps, folks. I'm still a work in progress.

On a repeat visit to BHBC, I picked up a copy of Keys for Kids, a daily devotional for children. How cool was this going to be? I started "His Royal Court" as an alternative to bedtime stories, and Veda and I use this devotional to "hold court" on our bed, inviting Prince Chaz and Princess Amy of His Kingdom. We have our devotion, one opens in prayer and one closes, and then we adjourn court. Fun stuff! (And good practice for the wiggly one to learn how to sit still for ten minutes!)

Amy (as you recall, our six-year-old) has been talking about wanting to be a Christian for about a year now. This is the result of wonderful leaders and mentors in The Garden at our former church, and we are so thankful for that.

Well, on July 21, the lesson was called "Choice of a Lifetime" and it talked about the importance of choosing Jesus, much like choosing when to pull into traffic. In the wrapup, it gave an overview of the ABCs of the prayer of salvation (accept, believe, & confess). We talked about the Book of Life and all of the good stuff that comes with salvation.

Out of the blue, and totally unexpected ... Amy said "I want to pray that. I want God in my heart."

"Veda! Veda! You better get up here, please!" (Well, I didn't want her to miss this!)

Now mind you, Amy is only six. We have always been concerned with our children and having the appropriate age of accountability for this step. But when Amy started praying ... started weeping as she admitted to having sinned in her short life (e.g., yelling at Chaz, etc.), we knew God was good with it.

Praise the Lord ... two down, and one more to go! What a wonderful gift to help lead your child to Christ! THAT'S what parenting is about first. Then all the other stuff.

So ... new church. New Christian. Yay. But here comes some of the "other stuff."

Leah started public school yesterday. Oh yeah, other stuff. I went there.

We felt it wise to let her experience public school in the eighth grade first, so she's be more prepared for public high school. It went well, despite the fact that some football player hit on her in homeroom.

Sheesh, guy! Give the girl some breathing room ... it's only day one!

And I'm watching you. I know the ten rules for dating my daughter. You obviously don't. 'Cuz the prologue to the rules is ... she's not dating yet!

He kept prodding and eventually said they should exchange numbers. Leah balked ... said her Mom didn't allow her to call guys.

"Atta girl! You're darn right! Back off, jack!" She didn't give him her number either. Rejected!

Later, one of Leah's friends told her that he was a "nobody." Well now, no need to be THAT rejecting. I have a microscopic portion of grace for the guy for trying. And Leah is certainly a catch! There are many "nobodies" that eventually become big-time "somebodies." Just not with my daughter on "day one" of school.

Bind up those hormones, dude. Bind 'em up. Be a real "somebody" and learn how to pace yourself.

I'm sure there will be more sagas along the way. But for now, this should get me back on track. Did I forget anything? I'm sure I did. You'll just have to wait for the next chapter.

Ah, That's Why I Don't Do That For a Living

2009-05-09T21:50:00.004-04:00

I spent the afternoon detailing the interior of my car.

And yes, I mean the ENTIRE afternoon. I was literally vacuuming after dark. In the dark. Can't wait to see how well I did when the sun is actually up.

I've been driving a 2000 Honda CR-V since ... well, 2000 ... and it's been a wonderful driver/vehicle relationship. An SUV is what I wanted all through college, so when I finally got one, it was like I had finally arrived. Granted, I had been out of college 11 years when I finally arrived, but I had arrived, nonetheless.

So today, I was prepping my car for sale. Now I've detailed the interior of a car before when we were loaning out a van or something like that. And I actually enjoy it when I have time to do it ... and do it RIGHT. Out comes wipes, paper towels, cleaner, and TOOTHPICKS.

I don't know what the professionals use, but toothpicks are the key for getting gunk out of those little lines and crevices that are all over a vehicle's interior. I think the manufacturers create them just to agonize owners. Not really, but maybe. I mean, it's not a conspiracy theory. Just some engineered tactile elements that can be very aggravating. Dirt collects there, people. Gunky dirt.

So here I was, struggling with the mixed feelings of getting ready to move on with another vehicle and the joy of accomplishing something ... actually thinking that car detailing would be a fun job. Until I remembered what I needed to tackle.

A melted yellow crayon.

You know ... crayons really don't belong in a car. Cars get hot. Crayons get forgotten. Put the two together, and you have an issue. And the user of the crayon does not have the accountability to clean it up. Issue elevates to crisis. And I'm the crisis manager.

No toothpick was going to handle this. It required elbow grease. It required strategy.

It required boiling water.

I'm serious ... boiling water to melt it loose ... twice. Once to get up the majority of it, then again to get out the yellow tint that had coated the little tray in the center console. Ugh.

I'm guessing folks who detail cars have encountered melted crayons before. And had it been in the upholstery, I really would have been mumbling.

But thank you Lord ... You don't have me detailing cars. Not that I wouldn't do it if called, but let's just say I'm not seeking that out.

Particularly those vehicles with crayons. Or those whose drivers own a number of pets. Double-ick.

And BTW ... for those of you still hanging on for the rest of the story ... yes, my car is staying in the extended family.

So I'll have visitation rights.

You Need to Eat Here

2009-04-11T21:40:00.003-04:00

OK ... I have to admit something. I'm a bit of a restaurant snob.

What I mean is ... I generally stick to the tried and true. The comfortable and the convenient. Yes, the chains and the franchise restaurants. So when I experience something unique and different, it's a big deal.

And here comes the big deal. Rise & Shine Cafe, up in the Bentwater area. Now if you live up there, you're the lucky ones. I drove miles to get there, and it was well worth the trip. You'd be well advised to do the same if you're not already a resident and within shouting distance of Bentwater Village where the cafe is located ... just two doors down from the SunTrust bank.

So what's the big deal? Biscuits. They are truly some OMG biscuits (look it up if you don't know.) I took Leah and Amy up to have a Saturday brunch today (finally, after telling myself we were going to do it for weeks and weeks.) We all opted for something more along the lines of lunch, and boy was it good. I had a Smokehouse Burger, which is the fancy word for a bacon cheeseburger with BBQ sauce. NOW ... and listen good here ... it wasn't measly bacon strips or strips of something pretending to be bacon ... it was like a slab-o-bacon! Shut my mouth, that was good eating! Applewood bacon, I believe. Didn't matter ... it was just good. Like a really good picnic-burger-just-off-the-grill good!

Amy had a chicken biscuit. Well, I actually had a good portion of it as well, so I can attest to the biscuit. Hearty ... sticks to your bones. And Leah stayed closed to her comfort zone with a grilled cheese sandwich. I saw a plate of biscuits come out of the kitchen smothered in sausage gravy. I KNOW what I'm ordering next time. YUM-O-LA! And I ordered a cinnamon biscuit and a raspberry biscuit to go for Veda and Chaz, who were engaged in pollen warfare. Chaz looks like a little raccoon with his red eyes, so they stayed indoors.

Rise & Shine Cafe is comfortable ... not too big, not too small. Plenty of tables. Wi-Fi for us techie geeks if we needed it. Coca-Cola products for us Coca-Cola geeks, which we always need! Indoor or outdoor seating ... something for everyone! 104.7 The Fish playing in the background. Good food ... good service ... and it's the only location, so it's unique and has that neighborhood feel to it. Makes you feel like you're "in" if you're eating there. Not a clone in the masses.

6 a.m. - 1 p.m. on Tuesday thru Friday, then 8 a.m. - 2 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. Did I mention espresso and teas, too? Formerly Sunrise Biscuits & Stuffers. You don't believe me that it's THAT good? Fine, go check it out for yourself! Here comes the commercial ... 3732 Cedarcrest Road, in the Bentwater Village Shops. Tell 'em "Mr. Bush" sent you. If the server looks at you funny, tell them to tell Mr. Williams that Mr. Bush sent you. THEN you'll be in.

And get me a biscuit with sausage gravy. And a Coke Zero. Ahhhh, yeah!

Medium, wherefore art thou?

2009-02-11T12:34:00.002-05:00

I'm now wardrobe challenged.

Last night, I stopped for gas and dashed into BJs (not a usual place for garments, but I was there nonetheless.) I have managed to now look totally frumpy in the old pants one size too large, and it was time to find some pants that truly fit so Stacy and Clinton don't hunt me down and shoot me to take me out of my misery.

I'm truly astonished and pleased with myself to be able to claim "medium" as my size now for shirts and stuff, unless I'm going for comfort in a t-shirt or the like. However, as I perused the pants in my warehouse mecca, I became distraught.

There were no 34x32 to be found.

What?

I mean ... I'm guessing I'm now in one of the most proliferous pant sizes for American men, and after scouring through piles of pants, I think I found two. In navy. With pleats. Not going to work.

Which totally surprises me ... if you had asked me three years ago if I'd wear flat front pants, I would have laughed in your face and emphatically said "No." But I have learned ... flat is good.

So ... I silently huffed at my new dilemma of not being able to find one of the most common sizes of pants. Should I head to some of the feeding stations and plump back up so I could get back in some 36's. Ye jest ... I'll try not to go back there. Instead ...?

I went around the table and picked out a couple of medium dress shirts. Vertical stripes on one (very slimming, unless your lines bend outward in the middle of the shirt like a bell-shaped arc on a middle-school grading curve) and a surprisingly pleasant orange for the other. No, I'm not going Auburn on you.

God, I'm getting old. But I'm liking the averageness of medium. It's like driving in the middle lane of the interstate (which I so totally do.) Not too fast, not too slow. Just right. Call me a Goldilocks of all things mundane and boorish.

Much like this blog post, eh? Yah.

Whoa ... it's January?

2009-01-03T19:56:00.003-05:00

Wow ... December just flew by. Not that it wasn't filled with activities overflowing ... it just went so fast.

NYC for the first time visit the first week. Awesome. Braved the cold to stand AROUND THE CORNER from the Rockefeller Christmas Tree Lighting ... at least I could see a big screen. And I can say that I was sorta there. Unfortunately, I heard the "F" word from folks around me to last a lifetime. Harry Connick, Jr. was on the screen. I heard, "Who the F--- is that? Is that Beyonce??" C'mon lady ... it's a graying white man. Do you honestly think it's Beyonce??

Mississippi for the DiRT Ministry trip the second week. Even more awesome than NYC. Sad, these folks are STILL not in homes over three years after Katrina. The folks whose house we worked on had been displaced 53 miles away, which the drove EVERY DAY to take their kids to school. But the celebration dinner with families that had been helped in the last 18 months by DiRT was incredibly uplifting, even though I didn't know any of them. And the drive down and back was a blast. I have a new ~~appreciation~~ addiction for The Office.

Third week brought Christmas celebrations left and right. We had 26 people in our home on the 19th, and it was truly a joy to have them all there. Veda's side of the family ... it was a feast, then a frenzy of Dirty Santa. Thank you Lord for the new addition on the house! Everyone had a seat ... all in the same room!

More Christmas ensued. I had to laugh when I truly listened to The Little Drummer Boy on the radio. "Mary nodded ..." Well of course she was nodding ... she was postpartum and probably lacking a little sleep from being in the stable. Could you imagine that today? I wouldn't be nodding ... I'd be out cold. Course, I'd be on network TV if I had just had a baby. Much less a Savior. Sheesh.

"The ox and lamb kept time ..." Vision of said animals standing on their hind legs, snapping their hooves to the beat as if they were in a jazz club. I laughed out loud. Twice.

Christmas Day hit. We were actually celebrating at home for a change. Santa. Jesus' birthday. What a day!

More family Christmas at the senior Bush household as we drove over to the Athens area to celebrate with my family the weekend after Christmas.

New Year's Eve was celebrated with our dear friends, the Meeks. Food. Fireworks. I was glad I wasn't standing in Times Square. Hearing the "F" word. And I don't mean "freezing."

And now here we are ... facing 2009 with excitement, uncertainty, but full of faith that we are in Good Hands. Here's to you ... all of you out there in blogdom ... for a prosperous and blessed 2009, wherever you are. Cheers!

I Need Your Help, Please!

2008-11-26T15:21:00.018-05:00

Dear family, friends, bloggers, and strangers alike …

Happy Holidays to every one of you! You may be reading this message through Facebook and/or through my blog … if you encounter it twice, consider it a bonus!

Strengths and weaknesses … we all have them. I can identify two weaknesses for me when I was growing up:

1. I was not a salesman. Candles, candy, cookies, sunglasses, more candles, atlases … no matter what the fundraiser was, I stunk at it. If I didn’t want to buy it, why would someone else? Door-to-door was the worst. (Thanks to all my extended family and neighbors who were nice enough to not to crush my spirit and ended up purchasing “stuff.”)

2. I was not one to ask people for help. Potential conflict or rejection was not something I looked for, so I was not one to impose or interrupt someone for help unless it was pretty urgent. I found it easier to try and do what I could on my own. (Note to self: bad idea.)

Well, fortunately, I’ve somewhat grown out of these weaknesses, as I’m about to tackle both of them with this message.

In a nutshell, I need your help to do something very special this holiday season. The ask? Prayer. And a donation.

(There … that wasn’t so bad for me. You still with me? Good.) And now … the rest of the story. Please read all of it … it will truly give you reason to be thankful this season.

Three years ago this past August, Hurricane Katrina took a direct path over the coastal town of Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. It was one of the deadliest and most costly hurricanes to hit the United States. Over 90% of structures up to a half a mile inland were severely damaged or totally destroyed. Winds were sustained at 120 mph, and the storm surge of 27 feet pushed inland up to 12 miles. In Mississippi alone, 238 were dead, 67 missing and damage totaled billions of dollars.

So you would think after three years, things would be better. The current facts are unfortunately very sombering.

Nearly 300 families in Mississippi are being returned to hotels from mobile homes as FEMA moves to close the last of its emergency housing sites in the state.
FEMA has announced a March 1 cutoff date for all temporary housing payments.

Across the Gulf Coast, there are still at least 9,300 families in trailers and 1,600 in hotel rooms.
About 3,200 FEMA travel trailers and mobile homes remain in use in Mississippi.
Hundreds of federally-issued trailers and mobile homes have been identified as having high levels of toxins, including formaldehyde.
There are an estimated 30,000 children living in trailers and temporary housing in the region. A Children's Health Fund study released this month reveals that the “Katrina children” are the sickest children in the U.S., with iron-deficiency anemia, upper respiratory infections, skin ailments, and behavior or learning problems.
Many of these kids are going to spend their FOURTH Christmas in a place that is not their home.

So … how can you help?

On December 10th, I’ll be leaving with a team from Wildwood Baptist Church on a “rebuild three-day” to continue ongoing work to get people back in their homes for the holidays. The DiRT Ministry takes these trips a number of times a year, and the need for assistance is overwhelming.

But not insurmountable with your help!

Priority Ask #1 … PRAY. Pray for these victims of this natural disaster, that they don’t feel forgotten. Pray for our team as we minister to their physical and spiritual needs. If you’re not one to pray … give it a shot. While I am excited about the prospects of this trip, my heart grows heavier as I read more about the situation and consider the plight of the families still trying to put their lives back together after three long years. When I imagine what Thanksgiving and Christmas must be like for these children, my throat closes up, I have a hard time focusing on what I’m doing, and I wrestle with myself as to why I haven’t done something sooner.

Priority Ask #2 … DONATE. Please consider a donation to the DiRT Ministry to help offset the costs for travel and supplies for this trip, to cover past expenses from recent trips, and to establish a legacy for trips in the future. We all understand how much tighter the times are with the economy as it is, but think about how much more troubling it is for those who are already desperate for help. Perhaps you can bypass that cup of Starbucks. Or a fast-food meal. Maybe you save so much during Black Friday that you can give just a little back. This is one of those moments in time where an army of friends giving a little from the individual perspective will result in a fantastic outcome.

Giving is easy … play “DiRTopoly!” This online gameboard has streets listed where DiRT has served families in the past 18 months, or various other Bay St. Louis streets, landmarks or utilities. Go to http://www.w2ps.com/dirt/board.htm and roll your mouse over the various properties to see their value. Then click on the property to purchase it … which will be your tax-deductible donation of that amount to the DiRT Ministry. If you prefer, you can select Chance or Community Chest and designate a specific amount to give.

The link above is directly to the board, and it is also accessible from the http://www.dirtministry.com/ website, where you can see photos and videos about this ministry. You can use a credit card to make these donations, or a registered PayPal account. And if you wish to specifically direct your donation to scholarships (for travel expenses), tooling or materials, there is a field to make that known to the DiRT Coordinator.

Make a gift in someone’s honor … what a cool Christmas gift THAT can be! (On a side note, visit http://www.adventconspiracy.org/ for one of THE coolest videos I’ve seen this season. But not until you’ve made your donation to DiRT!)

If you prefer to make a donation by check, make it out to Wildwood Baptist Church and mail it to them at 4801 Wade Green Road, Acworth, GA 30102 and put “Mississippi Missions Fund” in the memo line. Or you can give it to me and I’ll get it to them. Please do not write my name on the check, but if you donate via this route and you mail it, please let me know via a blog comment or Facebook or email so I can thank you! At the very least, please let me know that you’ll consider praying for us December 10th through the 13th. Or more!

Still here? Wow, thanks … we made it together! Sorry if it got long … but there was plenty to tell and I didn’t want to leave out anything. Again, I hope that you and your family and friends experience all the blessings of the upcoming holiday season, and here’s to a very prosperous and healthy 2009! Thank you for your considerations of this effort.

All the best,
Chip

Fifteenth Bank?

2008-11-15T22:04:00.004-05:00

OK ... we were driving home from a wedding in Toccoa (second weekend wedding in a row for us, with both young children as the flower girl and ring "bear," and the eldest child as a bridesmaid in today's wedding.) But I digress from the topic at hand.

There was a billboard in Gwinnett County on I-85 that left me in a more discombobulated state than I already was. It was an advertisement for a bank. Now we all have heard of banks like "First National Bank" or "First State Bank," much like we hear of First Baptist Church or even Second Baptist Church (did they lose a race or something?)

But this bank ... it's way down the line in the standings. Fifth Third Bank.

What what?

I blinked and rubbed my eyes to be sure I was reading it right. Yep, Fifth Third Bank.

Are they serious?

Well, it demanded some research. There had to be a logical reason to make your bank sound like an odd fraction or a cryptic rendition of "Fifteenth Bank."

Let's start at their website ... http://www.53.com ... I'll give them credit. That's easy to remember. OK, let's find their history under About Us. Goes back to 1858 as Bank of the Ohio Valley. Nothing weird about that. Then Third National picked it up in 1871. And in the turn of the century, the Thirds wanted to fraternize with the Fifths, and so they did. (The Fifths never forgave the Thirds for cutting in line at the bank charter store.)

Anyhoo ... fancy the thought that on this weekend wedding, I'd encounter a bank with a funny name that was the product of a wedding of their own. Fifth National and Third National (kissing cousins?) became Fifth Third.

And the rest is history. I think I still prefer my bank, which was a merger of Sun Bank and Trust Company (yes, you know who). It's much easier to say. You try to say Fifth Third three times fast and see what you come up with. Don't blend those "TH"s ... enunciate, enunciate, enunciate. Fifthird is not what we're talking here. They've worked hard for that name.

Can a zoo be sexy?

2008-10-16T22:13:00.002-04:00

Just when you think you've seen it all ... something trumps it.

I was driving down (or up, depending on your orientation) Barrett Parkway the other day and was passed by a van or truck sporting an advertisement for the Atlanta Zoo.

This particular ad was sensationalizing the most unique and/or bizarre animal that you would ever see. (And strangely enough, an image of it was on the ad itself, making it somewhat anti-climatic in that you could see it vs. having to drive downtown to the zoo to catch a glimpse.)

The animal? NAKED MOLE RAT

Now ... here's where I started scratching my head and thinking that a blog entry was on it's way. I have two points.

The marketing firm for the Zoo really didn't have to use the word "naked" in this ad, now did they? So why? Because ... it gets your attention. I mean ... think about it. If you thought you could get a glimpse at a mole rat, you'd probably yawn and consider trimming your toenails as more exciting. But a NAKED mole rat? Well, that's a different story. Get's all sorts of thoughts going, probably more so for the guys than the girls. Wiring, it is. But even so, the second point also deserves your scrutiny ...
Aren't all animals naked? Do you really see animals in the zoo clothed? Sheesh ... they wouldn't look very natural in a frock or pantaloons, now would they? So basically ... when you visit the zoo, aren't you seeing a NAKED elephant, a NAKED zebra, a NAKED snake, and those delightful NAKED pink flamingos? Why, if the marketing folks could get that wrapped up on the back of a vehicle, ticket sales would jump through the roof. Even by folks who have been to the zoo and know good and well that they aren't going to see anything different!! Am I right?? Then the zoo could work out a deal with The Varsity to sell Naked Dogs, right there on the spot. (Now that's a draw.)

But let me clear ... that naked mole rat was an ugly little guy. Kinda like Perry the Platypus from Phineas and Ferb. (Sorry ... Disney Channel lingity there ...) Not a pretty sight. Hairless and buckteeth.

I'd pay more to see him in a pinstripe suit, frankly. 'Cuz I've already seen the dude NAKED rolling down Barrett Parkway. Helloooo marketing people ... leave something to the imagination next time, OK? Geezes.

And a sidenote regarding The Varsity ... when I was in college at UGA, I was driving through at the greasy V there in Athens. At the board, you were supposed to order using their terms. I wanted a hot dog with ketchup and an orange drink. So what did I have to proclaim as my culinary desire that steamy Georgia afternoon?

"I need a red dog and a big squirt."

Felt a little dirty as I heard it repeated back to me. But it ate well.

Nope, nothing quirky to see here

2008-09-22T22:12:00.003-04:00

AJ Macc tells me that I'm a blogger that she reads. Bless her soul.

And in one of her last blogs, she tagged me for six quirky things. Do I look like someone who would have even one or two quirks?

Don't answer that. Allow me to self-quirk myself. Here we go.

I have recently discovered a quirk that apparently I share with my mother (genetic, me thinks.) One of the most comfortable spots is to be laying/lying on the sofa with my right foot wedged in between the cushion and the back of the sofa. No, I can't tell you why. I wasn't tagged to explain my quirks. Just list them.
I cannot sit in a room with a crooked picture. My insides sit there shouting, "People! Can't you see that??? Dear God, will someone tip that frame just a little to the left so we can continue our conversation??? Aggghhhh!" Depending on the event and how well I know the host or hostess, I have been known to apologize politely and step over to straighten it, or just wait until they are gone and get it in order. They can thank me later. And I have been thanked by other members in the room who were having silent shouting matches with their insides as well.
I've been told that I have perfect pitch. I don't know how quirky that is, but it has come in handy in years past. In order to hear a pitch, I demand silence, or I have to step away so I can hear it in my mind. OK, so that may be more freaky than quirky ... I can literally "hear" stuff in my mind. It used to drive my friends crazy. They would start singing a song, but they would be like three or four keys off. I'd say, "No, that's not it. Listen." And I would start singing it as if it were on the radio. And then I'd be called a name. And the singing would stop.
If I had my way (and perhaps I will someday), there would not be any dry goods packaging in our pantry. All those jumbled boxes and sizes, usually taking up more space than the product inside! Everything would be in something like Tupperware. Perhaps labeled. And maybe alphabetized. And all the spices would be in the same type of shaker. And they would definitely be alphabetized.
I love to cook when I'm on vacation. I look for condos or houses with a kitchen, and I love to hit the grocery stores and buy up stuff to get set up and fix meals for our family. When I was younger, I wanted to be a travel agent, so I love finding places to go and planning trips.
I call Veda every single day before I leave work to let her know I'm on the way, and to see if she needs anything. Every single day. Is that quirky?

OK, I won't tag anyone else because I'm getting sleepy, but for those of you who are just itching to post their six quirks (to confirm what we already know), do so and we'll enjoy reading them!

Yearbook Yourself

2008-09-16T17:52:00.002-04:00

This is a fun site.

http://www.yearbookyourself.com/

And here are some of my results:

http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=31182&l=6f078&id=501269310

Try it out! If you make some, and you're on Facebook, post your pics into a new album and post your public link in the comments.

Not for internal consumption

2008-09-16T13:22:00.006-04:00

As I was getting ready for work this morning, I was playing my very first "rip & burn" CD that I made for Veda years ago. With a great amount of cheesiness, I named it "Veda's Love Mix" ... as it contains some of her favorite songs from the ages (as well as some of mine.) An eclectic mix of Karen Carpenter, Journey, Grease soundtrack selections (shut up), Steven Curtis Chapman, Paula Abdul, Whitney Houston, etc.

So as I finish wailing "Faithfully" with Sir Perry, I'm filled with nostalgia. It's as if I'm back in the '80s getting ready for school. And that's when it happened ... something I haven't done for years. I found myself reaching for the bottle. Dark green, gold cap, the man and his horse.

Yes, friends ... I was splashing on some Polo. No, young people. Not Polo Sport. Not Polo Blue, Silver, Black, Double Black, or any other color. I'm talking about the original. Classified as "woodsy." Leather, wood, tobacco, basil and oakmoss ... a masculine scent. Oakmoss? Heck, yeah, oakmoss. What's more masculine than that?

For many of us, Polo was the "wear-it-with-your-Izod" selection ... that cologne that meant you had finally matured beyond Jovan Musk. (Dear God ... I hope I didn't take out an entire herd of Asian musk deer to keep me smelling so spiffy.)

And boy, was the scent of Polo enough to really throw me into a time warp. My mom called me her "Polo guy" and I can remember being bowled over because our band director probably went through a bottle each week. No soap ... just Polo. You could see the distortion of the air around him as he approached, much like the heat waves in Arizona. And then it hit you. POW. Then you were disoriented for the next few minutes. Heaven help you if you had a meeting in his office.

Anyhoo ... I went about my morning routine, smelling like I just came from Crisp County High. I dropped off the kids at school, and made my way to Chik-fil-A for some free Chik-n-minis (with coupon).

About two miles down the road, I made the mistake. I licked my fingers.

Polo does not belong in the mouth. Maybe it's the oakmoss.

Have you ever gotten cologne or perfume in your mouth (by any number of means which we will not discuss here) and it literally sticks to your tongue for a minute or two? Some of the best fragrances do not taste like they smell. Polo is one that is not meant for consumption. Even a swig of diet lemonade couldn't wash it off. But I guess my breath was pretty snappy.

So ... that being said ... what was your personal aromatherapy of choice in high school? Anyone out there willing to admit Brut? (By Faberge, of course.) Old Spice? Charlie (kinda hip, kinda now)?

Now What?

2008-09-06T11:03:00.002-04:00

Well, I did it. 15 pounds are gone. It's official.

I went from 185 to 170 since our anniversary on July 18th. 170 was an arbitrary goal. Now I will need to pick a new goal (beyond just keeping off those 15 pounds.)

Of course, I think I hollered off a pound or two at Six Flags last night. I love roller coasters. One of those few moments when it's totally appropriate to yell like a wildman.

I love my kids and their daring sense of adventure. They will do things that I never even dreamed of trying when I was a kid. You'd know what I mean when I say I cried in line for the Dalonega Mine Train when I was a kid. I think I was older than 10. Of course, I loved it.

I talked Amy and Chaz into riding the Wheelie with me. Total fun. Squeals. Shrieks. (And they enjoyed it, too.) That was after two rounds on Splashwater Falls and one round on Thunder River. I took one for the family last night and spared Veda the H2O. The cell phone in the ziplock bag was genius.

Veda and I are going to have a celebratory lunch for taking off the weight and being more healthy. How ironic! I think there is a Cheddar Bay Biscuit in my near future. And a shrimp that met with an untimely death ... let's guess it was a surprise to the little guy. And his friends.

Personal Back Patting

2008-09-02T23:03:00.003-04:00

I've lost 12 pounds since July 18th. On purpose, yah.

When I was a kid ... I was skinny. Really skinny. Nickname: Bird Legs. (I think that's still being used in some parts of the globe.) I can remember the 28" waist. Always had to find "slim" jeans. That chore is now relegated to my 12-year-old. Bless her genetics.

Well, while you'd never really think it for those of you who know me and have seen my legs ... I was growing technically overweight according to the BMI calculators, even at 185 lbs. (for a 5'11" man.) Now that I'm down to 173, I'm right under the mark.

I do feel better. Was it the two Cokes a day? C'mon, gimme a break ... remember where I work for cryin out loud. It was my coffee in the morning and my pick-me-up in the afternoon.

Was it visits to the vending machine? I haven't seen the inside of a Snickers wrapper in a long time. Or a good bag of pork rinds. Turkey Creek BBQ Pork Rinds. Why do I know that?

I'm sure it's a combo of many things. I'm learning to like broccoli (particularly steamed or grilled with some kick to it). I'm enjoying walking the neighborhood a couple of times a week with my wife for a couple of miles.

Since I have a fairly sedentary desk job, I walk all the way across the office campus to go to the bathroom. In a totally different building. Through another building. Hey ... it gets me moving. And keeps me awake to boot.

Today, my 36" waist pants were looking a little pitiful, somewhat bunched up under my belt. I actually saw my belt buckle without seriously sucking it all in. Can it be? Is all this hype about good eating and exercise for real? Sheesh!

I hope to touch my toes one day. But I think that's a stretching issue. Ergo, long Bird Legs must get more flexible. Dang it.

My goal is 170 lbs. I've been holding at 173 now for some time. And I'm OK with that. If I make it to 170, I'm going to celebrate with a Coke and a Krispy Kreme. Booyah!

Then someone will have to scrape me from the ceiling.

Miss it ... and miss out

2008-08-29T23:52:00.005-04:00

We interrupt this blog for a short commercial break. DO NOT MISS THIS. GO SEE IT ON OPENING WEEKEND. I'm not kidding. We were very fortunate and grateful to screen the movie at the Fox Theater this evening, and even with me medicated, it was awesome. Do your life and your marriage right ... get your tickets and go. Not married? Doesn't matter ... it's something we all need to hear. Especially in these times. September 26th. DO NOT MISS OUT.

A new kind of chef

2008-08-25T14:58:00.002-04:00

Last night, I finally finished a soup I had started about a week ago.

Earlier in the year, I had a white bean soup at a downtown Atlanta restaurant, and I vowed I'd try to make it at home, because it was so good. I found a recipe and held on to it for months. Then I finally bought some dried beans, and held on to them for a while.

About a week ago, I soaked the beans, which took about 12 hours. Then I drained them and stored them, because I was too beat to make the soup by the time the beans had soaked.

But last night, I pulled out the beans and set out on the 1 hour, 5 minute prep (an unrealistic estimate from the recipe, which turned out to be almost two hours) of this cheesy white bean soup.

It was worth the wait. All the kids loved it. They kept wanting to give compliments to the chef, routing them to Veda. "Oh no ... this was your father's makings ... he's the chef of the night." And many thanks and praises came my way.

"But what about the sandwiches? I didn't make those," I admitted. "Let's say they were made by my sous chef."

Chaz took another bite of sandwich and looked at it, then turned to Veda. "Sue! These sandwiches are GREAT!"

It's just tiny rocks ...

2008-08-05T22:41:00.003-04:00

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 ...

God Bless Truett Cathy

2008-08-02T08:52:00.002-04:00

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.

Project 607

2008-07-20T22:44:00.003-04:00

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.

Dog Tired

2008-07-05T12:57:00.002-04:00

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.

Confessions of the Soul

2008-06-23T22:48:00.002-04:00

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.

Holiday Down

2008-05-26T21:14:00.003-04:00

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.

Lunch Blyte #3

2008-05-05T12:15:00.004-04:00

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.

Of Chickens and Roads

2008-04-29T12:13:00.002-04:00

What do you do when you're brain dead but you want to blog? How about a little plagarism with a side order of sarcasm? I found this a while back and pulled it out of storage. If you've read them before, read them again. If they are new to you, enjoy the freshness.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

GEORGE W BUSH -- We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road or not. The chicken is either against us or for us. There is no middle ground here.

BILL CLINTON -- I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

RUSH LIMBAUGH -- I don't know why the chicken crossed the road, but I'll bet it was getting a government grant to cross the road, and I'll bet that somebody out there is already forming a support group to help chickens with crossing-the-road syndrome. Can you believe this? How much more of this can real Americans take? Chickens crossing the road paid for by their tax dollars. And when I say tax dollars, I'm talking about your money, money the government took from you to build a road for chickens to cross.

MARTHA STEWART -- No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.

JERRY FALWELL -- Because the chicken was gay---isn't it obvious? Can't you people see the plain truth in front of your face? The chicken was going to the 'other side'. That's what they call it … 'the other side.' Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too.

DR SEUSS -- Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.

GRANDPA -- In my day, we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and we liked it.

BARBARA WALTERS -- Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart-warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its life long dream of crossing the road.

CAPTAIN KIRK -- To boldly go where no chicken has ever gone before.

SIGMUND FREUD -- The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity.

BILL GATES -- We're working on a rollout of Chicken2009, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook.

ALBERT EINSTEIN -- Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

THE BIBLE -- And God came down from heaven, and he said unto the chicken THOU SHALT CROSS THE ROAD. And the chicken didst cross the road, and there was much rejoicing.

THE LATE COLONEL SANDERS -- Did I miss one?

Red Dot Fever

2008-04-24T21:54:00.006-04:00

It's an obsession now. I watch that little ClustrMap on the right for new red dots. How cool is that? Last week I identified a fan around Turkey. How appropriate. And now somebody is reading in Africa (or at least read once before screaming and running for the hills.)

And what looks to be Iowa ... maybe Ottumwa? (I always felt I would have been Radar on M*A*S*H if I had been in the service ... just not as mousey.)

And I see Tenessee and Toronto. It's like looking through the Romper Room special mirror ... I can see all of you special people!

And if you don't know what Romper Room is ... well, sorry. You missed out. Especially Romper Stompers. Talk about a chick magnet ... those things made you at least six inches taller. Who would have thought you could make money off of two little yellow plastic buckets turned over with rubber handles on them?

Sorry ... I'm having a flashback. Is that Snuffleupagus I hear? Or is it Rita Moreno shouting "Heyyyyyyy Yoooooouuuuuu Guuuuyyyyyssss!" as the director on The Electric Company? And you haven't lived until you've "Zoomah, zoomah, zoomah, zoomed!" with the cast of Zoom.

Where are they now??? Barney had them snuffed out.

Could you imagine Snuffy going up against Barney? Now I'll admit the purple dino has an edge since he stands on his hind legs all the time. But Snuffy could take him out with that trunk in one swift blow.

Not to mention ... Big Bird and Oscar could take on Baby Bop and B.J. any day. Throw in the Teletubbies, and you'd have one serious melee.

Colorful, but serious. I'd pay to see that one.

Lunch Blyte #2

2008-04-15T13:21:00.006-04:00

I love Star Trek.

And yes, you do want to know why.

Have you seen the inside of the Enterprise? It doesn't really matter which version you are talking about ... the original, the next gen, or even the ones about space stations or other ships ... they all have one thing in common. It's orderly. Even the Klingons are orderly, albeit somewhat lacking a ship maid. And the Borg are Order Extraordinaire.

If you watch the shows ... you'll never see a pair of shoes sitting in the hallway going to the holodeck. Or toys scattered about the turbolift when you're heading to the bridge. Now mind you ... I'm not bashing being a parent of three. I'm just saying ...

Even in the crew quarters ... everything has a place and everything seems to be in it's place. It's much like when we go on a cruise. You don't have a huge stateroom, and what you do have is very efficient. Little storage nooks and crannies for your small amount of stuff.

I love cruises ... probably more than Star Trek. Yep, I'm certain I like them more. Now if there was a Star Trek cruise, where the ship was like the Enterprise and I had my own replicator ... THAT would be cool. No Earl Gray tea for me ... gimme a Coke float in a frosty mug to carry up to the holodeck, yes-sir-ee.

There's more that I like about Star Trek, but I'll hold it for future lunch blytes. Like the crash scene in Star Trek: Generations (the seventh movie, I believe). Talk about on the edge. I like The Matrix movies, too. Especially the motorcycle scene in the second one. But I digress ... this is becoming a bloated blyte.

And FYI ... I added ClustrMaps to my blog yesterday, and I have a reader somewhere on the western edge of the Black Sea. Perhaps Turkey or Bulgaria. I'm honored. And I hope I don't scare you away, little red dot.

Midnight Near the Beach of Gulf Shrimp and Something that Starts with E

2008-04-06T00:11:00.004-04:00

OK ... I was trying to make a play on "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil," but the brain just quit in the middle there. Sorry.

It's the evening (now morning) of our first full day at the Moore's house, my wonderful in-laws. We try to visit them every now and then. It doesn't hurt that they are about 15 minutes from the beach, but it's the 7 hours it takes to get to them that makes it an uncommon visit.

The kids are in bed (Leah is reading a book behind me, because I'm using Dad Moore's DSL wire in the room where she's on the pullout sofa ... I'm sure she wants me to go to bed.) The house is quiet. THIS is spring break. Ah, the deafening silence.

We all went to the movies today, and everyone split up. Veda, Trudy and Leah to see Nim's Island. Trudy's boys to Superhero. And I ... I took the movie less frequented by. And it has made all the difference. (Apologies to Robert Frost for maiming his poem.)

I took Amy and Chaz to see Horton Hears a Who.

Now mind you ... I loved Dr. Seuss as a kid, and still enjoy reading his literature. Who wouldn't love The Foot Book? Yeah, yeah, yeah ... green eggs and ham and all that jazz. But there's so much more!

Anyhoo ... let me just say this ... movies can get the best of me. And apparently, good animated ones can, too. It hit me weird today, though. Why the heck was I choking up in the middle of Horton Hears a Who, for crying out loud?

It's the nature of the human spirit ... the willingness of everyone to want to survive. OMG ... I really did like this silly movie. I held myself together, but man, it was tough. I guess it's the fact that I really GET into the movie and connect with the characters, even if they are a goofy elephant or the mayor of Whoville.

Amy laughed as much as I did. Chaz was like Veda ... pretty quiet ... not much laughing out loud. Even when it was gut-busting funny. Weird. He was more interested in why we didn't have popcorn (we had just come from lunch) or why there were lights on the steps in the aisle.

So ... thumbs up for the movie. And if you don't get choked up ... then you must have a heart that's two sizes too small ... that's all.

Lunch Blyte

2008-03-31T13:10:00.007-04:00

OK ... so I'm still suffering some ailment as described in my last post. But it hit me today that I'd be better off blogging short little snippets, perhaps while I'm eating lunch at my desk. I used to do this when a good friend of mine was stationed in Kosovo. I would sit down with my lunch and type up a Seinfeld letter ... much about nothing. Just banter ... jumping from one topic to the next. I think he enjoyed them. So this should be fun.

Here we are ... your lunch blyte for the day. Blog + byte. We're you really wondering? Not to mention, it rhymes with bite. So there you have it.

Topic for today: Sanford Mr. Sketch Scented Watercolor Markers. Can you believe these wonderful sticks of smell are still around??? I have a Blueberry one that was sitting here on my desk. I can remember saturating paper with color just so the aromatics of the picture would cloak the ineptitude of the visual. Teacher: "That doesn't really look like a flower." Chip: "Well no ... but smell it! Mmmmm."

I like almost all the colors but black. Black stinks. They now have a set of 18 (the original 12 plus some pastel flavorings: light pink bubble gum, lavender cotton candy, light yellow banana split, peach, light blue raspberry slushy and light green tropical punch.) I'll stick with the originals.

I think these markers have been around since 1972 ... I couldn't find a good history on them. I was five at the time and very impressionable. And I liked smells. So I have an affinity for these olfactory cylinders.

Kinda like the affinity for wet mimeograph paper. Those of you who are old enough ... you know what I'm talking about. And I'll admit ... I did inhale.

Have I Become a Blahgger?

2008-03-13T21:39:00.004-04:00

I hit the ground running. Ah, a blog! A way to express myself and share a little bit of me with all of you. (Annie ... no comments about "yeah, both of us.")

I was firing off posts left and right ... leaving comments on blogs of my friends and their friends' blogs. I was excited to be in the blogosphere! Some of you even linked to my blog, and I wept. Course, I had to hint and beg, but you came through. The rest of you should follow suit.

And then it hit ... just as suddenly as it took off. It was like a train wreck.

I got blogstipated.

And don't pretend you don't know what that is. You log into your blog and you end up sitting there, trying your little heart out to produce something. You may even turn red in the face and break out in a sweat, straining for something. Anything! But nothing. The brain gets all stopped up. You're stuck ... bloated with emptiness ... wondering if you should investigate a blenema. I had to do more research before taking such a drastic step.

So I whipped out the trusty Wikipedia to see if I could determine exactly what condition I had ... to explain to me how it happened and what I should do about it.

Did I need to join B.A.? No, no, no ... this was the absense of the addiction. I was simply stuck. Certainly I could get things going without 10 steps.

But I had stalled after 10 random things. What was happening to me???

Was it blogtle dysfunction? Had the honeymoon worn off? Were mental issues affecting my performance? I mean ... I hadn't lost interest in blogging. To the contrary ... I was still infatuated with the ability to talk/type for an hour or so without interruption. But when it came time to do the deed, I was coming up short. Yes, it was sounding more like BD with every Google second going by. I even think I saw a commercial for this debilitating condition on The WB. Had I truly lost my li-bt-lo? (Log in, blog to, log out.) I'm only 40 ... it couldn't be.

But more alarming was the discovery of an entire plethora of conditions that I could face while in this wonderful world of Web 2.0. I pressed on.

Had I suffered from blogorrhea when I first joined in? I mean ... I wasn't incessantly blogging hour after hour, but I was doing it at least once a day. Sounds fairly regular to me ... no Pepto for me. I'd pass, thank you. Nasty stuff.

Many of you have come out of being blistless for a while ... a sense of apathy or disinterest with the whole thing. I'm glad to see you back. Perhaps knowing I wasn't alone would help.

I can assure you this much ... what you are reading is not a flog. It's all me, 100%. Fresh from the medulla oblongata, or somewhere near there I think.

Perhaps it's just a time issue ... not enough time when I'm sitting at the computer. Perhaps I should try moblogging from my cell phone? Short, sweet nothings to the blogdience? I know, I know ... you'd want more. And I can't do 80 words per minute on a ten-key.

But here I sit ... realizing my problems are finally over. I've emerged once again ... active and alive. I can go ride a horse or swim or do whatever I want, feeling fresh and renewed. I'm back in the blogging saddle, revived from reading all of your blogs ... finding my blog in your links ... laughing and singing and dancing. I can now stand up and move on with my life.

Yep ... all it took was a little blaxitive. Thanks folks ... you are all wonderful people.

I've been hit ...

2008-02-25T22:22:00.008-05:00

Or should I say tagged ... thanks KTB ... you're gracious to think of me. Or everyone else has been tagged. Or your mama told you to. Whatever it was ... I'm game.

And the game is 10 random thoughts. Well, I've got about ten minutes before I have to start getting ready for a meeting tomorrow, so let me see what I can come up with. I guess this will be paced at 1 RPM (1 randomness per minute). Buckle up ... here goes.

I have two toes stuck together. It's like having a webbed foot, but only between two toes, not the whole foot. The technical term for fellow geeksters is "simple syndactyly." Wasn't that a Robert Palmer song? Anyhoo ... I used to pretend I was the "Man from Atlantis" with my webbed foot. Granted I don't look anything like Patrick Duffy. But I tried to swim like he did, like a flailing, dying worm with my hands by my side and my feet together. Did you know that you really can't get far underwater flailing like a dying worm with your hands by your side and your feet together? I know ... now. And so do you.
My great-grandfather, grandfather, dad, brother and nephew are all named George Bush. But our family is big into nicknames. My grandfather was "G.I.", my dad is Irvin, my brother is Skeeter, and my nephew is Bucky. Wackiness.
When I was born, the doctor told my mother, "Well Helen, you have a healthy bouncing baby boy." Her reply was, "Well, if that's the best you could do." I'm still not sure what to think of that, but I bet she was drugged.
I had three dates in college. They were with three different girls, and all within two months. I was having too much fun as a Redcoat (marching band) to date.
I like order ... lots of order. I prefer to have things in Tupperware containers vs. packages and bags of various sizes. If I am at your house and a picture is crooked on the wall, I can't concentrate until it's straightened. Notice the numerical order of the next one. More indications of the order disorder.
My six radio station presets, if you exclude the numbers, are Star River B Q Fish Jazz. In that order.
I love acting ... I won some awards in high school for the one-act play, and went on to act in the dinner theater at FUMC, which was awesome.
I hesitate to even mention this, but I LOATHE the "p" word used commonly to describe female underwear. It is the most wishy-washy, lame, gross word that I know of in the English language. Whenever someone says it, it's like someone whining. I know that God made everything, but the bad guy must have come up with this word. I think Eve originally called them "leaves" ... why didn't we just leave well enough alone and call them that? Works for me ... a bra and leaves set. No whining there.
I played french horn, trumpet and baritone/euphonium in high school, college, and into post-college. I also love to sing. I used to sing with a group at FUMC, and one year we were invited to sing at the lighting of the Rich's Great Tree at Underground Atlanta. THAT was way cool.
Let's wrap up (as we opened) with some more physical oddities. I'm color blind ... like for real. Not someone who has problems matching clothes, but really, genetically color blind. When I look at those circles of colored dots in the Ishihara color blindness tests, I cannot see the numbers in many of them. Oh, and I'm AB+, which is one of the rarest blood types and the universal recipient ... I can take blood from anyone. Well, I'd like to have their resume and accomplishments first, but in a pinch, I won't be picky. I'm married to an O-, the universal donor. I love that woman. And not just for her blood.

How random was that? Now I have to tag out ... let's hear from mother/daughter duo Kaye and Ann, and let's see if Ruth Allen will play the game! If not, we're going to call her a butthole (by her graces, not mine.) If I used language like that, I'd probably choose "butthead" vs. "butthole." Maintains complete distance from the leaves. Just FYI.

Toy Time

2008-02-20T00:13:00.005-05:00

OK ... here's one everyone can relate to.

What was your favorite toy when you were a kid?

Now beyond my culinary fascination with Play-Doh (revealed in my last blog), I think my favorite was Tinkertoys. One big can of wooden Tinkertoys with plastic connectors and levers, etc. I made ferris wheels and cars and helicopters. When the pegs swelled up too much on the ends, I had to clamp the ends a little with my teeth. Much like Play-Doh. Little did I realize that getting them wet made them swell more. Ah, well.

My second favorite was a chemistry set and microscope. I was a dork. But those slides of mounted flies and blood stains ... all cool stuff.

Third up was a tie between a bike and an electric organ, which was basically a big fan that blew in the housing and allowed air to escape through the keys when they were pressed. I never learned how to play piano, but I belted out stuff on that organ. What a noise it would make when I leaned on the keys and tried to press them all down at once. Like a dying cow. Not that I've ever heard a dying cow. But I've heard one in labor, and my electric organ didn't sound anything like that.

So what was your childhood favorite? If you are going to comment that your favorite childhood toy was a Wii ... don't. I'm grumpy and I'll have to slap an age limitation on this blog.

OH, and BTW ... please pray for our family. I leave for San Antonio tomorrow, and Veda is going to fly out and join me Thursday evening. Leah, Amy and Chaz will be here with my in-laws, and Chaz is coughing up a storm. We think it's allergies. But nonetheless, it's tough for Mommy to leave for some R&R if her baby is sick.

And a haiku for you ...

Tinkertoys ... they rocked

And the can made a great drum!

Better than a cat.

Is that King Tut's Tomb in there?

2008-02-16T21:12:00.007-05:00

Ain't it tough when you uncover the unfortunate choices of others that you now have to deal with?

I spent WAY too much time this afternoon in our shower. And I only wish it had been under some hot water. But no ... I was going to recaulk our shower. A quick job, it was to be. You know ... you get to a point to where you've used enough bleach to where the caulk is ready to throw in the towel. If it separates from the tile, removing it should be as easy as wheeling Britney out on a stretcher. Again.

So I get in there to start easily peeling away each precious bead of caulk, having done it's job and prepared for the caulk afterlife. Little did I know ... this caulk was heading for the underworld. At least, I was cursing it there.

Let's put it this way ... I broke one blade in the process, and at the end of two hours, I had stripped but not caulked a single bead.

For those of you who may be new homeowners, here's a little tip. TAKE OFF THE OLD CAULK BEFORE PUTTING ON NEW CAULK! A wise piece of information that the previous owners must not have read in Better Homes and Gardens. (Or perhaps they didn't discuss caulk removal in his magazine of choice. Not even a photo of caulk removal. Nada.)

It was so bad ... one corner had THREE layers of caulk. How did I know this? It was like going through an archaeological dig. I could tell by the strata and colors that this was no ordinary corner. And to top it all off, once I finally removed said caulks (yeah, plural), there was no grout in the corner at all ... it was a gaping hold between tiles. I had uncovered a secret passage. Was there money hidden in that crevice? No ... just wet caulk.

This was not the simple project I had planned to take on. Arrgh.

Fortunately, I had some tile grout. Now granted, it was about six years old, but after walking around with the tube in my hand, kneading it and rolling it like Play-Doh, I was ready to grout the gap.

So now our shower is posted as "out of order" for the next two days instead of one. But fear not, we will not grow ripe. We have other bathing options.

Homeowners ... please be informed. DECAULK before you caulk.

Sheesh.

Speaking of ... Play-Doh was the only time I can remember getting sent home from school. Or at least getting in big time trouble. In kindergarten, I tried to get someone to eat Play-Doh with me. I never could figure out why red Play-Doh tasted salty and not cherry flavored. But then again, so did the yellow and the green. Weird. Did you know that Play-Doh was originally invented as wallpaper cleaner? Now see, if I had known that, I certainly wouldn't have ingested it. Duh.

He's not Mafia ... I Promise

2008-02-14T21:30:00.007-05:00

It appears that many of my blog posts will be regarding something overheard at dinner. Perhaps that's when the funniest things are said.

So, without further ado ... here's the star of this evening's show!

Chaz: "I want to say the blessing tonight!"
Chip: "OK ... you go for it."
C2: "OK ... let's pray."
(All heads bowed).
C2: "God is gweat ... God is good ... let us ... NO, WAIT!"
(C1 and family snickers)
(C2 goes Brando ... to the tune of "Where is Thumpkin?")
C2: "God ah faddah ... God ah faddah ... (pause) ... Ah-ah-men ... Ah-ah-men!"

And with that, our food was blessed, along with our hearts and our comedic senses. Good show, son!

Word Veri

2008-02-13T19:13:00.004-05:00

One of the bestest bloggers out here is Caroline B. No, really ... you should read her stuff ... she's good. If you don't, you're not good.

She posted a comment on one of my posts recently that puzzled me ... I had no clue what she meant. Was it a typo? Was she medicated? I couldn't figure it out. In closing out her comment, she said, "Moilwax ... best word veri ever."

And for days, I fretted and fumbled around that comment. Was it a puzzle? Perhaps it was code ... something I had to figure out. She'd do something like that to me. More likely at 3 a.m. at summer camp, but I wouldn't put it past her on any other day.

But today, the clouds parted. I finally got it, while posting a comment on Annie's ultimate blog (another one you SHANT miss if you know what's good for you. And even if you don't ... I know what's good for you, and it's Annie's musings. Do it.)

Anyhoo ... as I was posting an eloquent comment to one of Annie's most recent perceptions into the human soul, I was reminded to type in a word verification for my comment so they'd know I was human ... as opposed flora or fauna, who have yet to master the keyboard. Word Verification ... hence Word Veri (sans the fication).

And ahhh ... I was released from my shackles. Course, at that point in time, now I had the best word veri ever. Me, me, me. And I'll share it with you.

Amfmkuny

Don't try to phonetically pronounce it. You have to spell out the A-M-F-M part first. Then say "kuny." I think it refers to the wickedly terrible state of Atlanta radio right now, with stations flopping around left and right.

Who comes up with these word veris? Flora or fauna?

Amfmkuny ... someone get Webster on the phone and let's get this one in print. 'Cause I like it. Just like snumping and snopping.

If you don't know ... don't be afraid to ask.

Tribute to My Wife

2008-02-11T11:05:00.000-05:00

I don't see how she does it.

Here I am, working from home today. Veda is on a field trip with Leah, and I am so thankful to have a job where I can request a "working from home" day every now and then.

But how does she do this, day after day? Is this a superstrength item that only the female gender possesses? I am stunned. EVERY husband should have to do this one in a blue moon.

I am taking this five-minute break from everything to pay special tribute to her, for the fact that she manages this home daily without rarely a peep. She does it because she is dedicated to this family.

In addition to working from home, and there's plenty to do, both Chaz and Amy are here today. That was in the plan, and I was prepared for it. But then it hit me this morning ... we have an architect coming by at 3 p.m. to discuss some long-range items for our home. Outsider? Coming in to our abode? Dear GOD ... I've got to straighten up or he won't take our project!

So between feeding children and answering their 1,238,456th question regarding whether or not they can brush their teeth now (why don't they ask to do this at night?), attempting to keep them from pulling out while I am putting away, juggling a spreadsheet full of data for reporting, unloading the dishwasher so the sink can be emptied and cleaned, sweeping the breakfast area, cleaning the table ... and that's all just before lunch! And I haven't even made it to the living room yet! Sweet Jesus, save me!

Lord ... bless Veda, and all the wives/mothers out there who do this day after day. You have truly blessed Man to have given him Woman.

Now ... where did I last see the vacuum?

Haiku Shot

2008-02-10T00:20:00.000-05:00

Tissues fill the trash

Homage to the battles fought

with my snotty nose.

Is this a PG-rated blog?

2008-02-09T10:39:00.000-05:00

I texted my brother and his kids last night while I was sitting in front of Outback Steakhouse. I was waiting for my beautiful bride to arrive, so we could pull up a wonderful table (for two ... woo-hoo!) and we would chow down on some quasi-authentic Australian cuisine.

I was messaging my family to clue them in on this blog. (Which by the way has moved to a new URL of http://chipsup.blogspot.com/ ... reflects my generally upbeat disposition and the fact that I'm usually up way too late in the evenings/mornings on my computer.)

I love texting them when I think about it ... just a quick note ... a connection point in our harried lives. Yes, I could call them, but a text message is a broadcast ... I can get out a message to many with a single blow. Efficiency or laziness? I like to consider it efficient. Not to mention ... it's something they can read on their time, and respond when they can. I like that ... non-intrusive. Like blogs and email.

Anyhoo ... it hit me that I hadn't emailed my parents to let them know I was now blogging socially (versus blogging with a cause, like we did when Dad had his fall.) Do I dare fill them in? Would letting them read my blog reveal any new discoveries about their son ... shattering any pre-conceived notions about their "baby?"

(Sidenote: There's a running tradition that I'm the "baby who ..." and you just fill in the blank with whatever is going on in my life at the time ... so I'm the "baby who went off to college" ... the "baby who went to work for Coca-Cola" ... the "baby who got married" and so on and so on.) It's just a subtle reminder that I'm the baby of the family. As if I'd forget that notion.

So with that, I scanned my previous posts. But why? Would I actually be writing ... committing to Internet perpetuity ... anything that I would be ashamed of? I don't think so. I think I've said the word "fart" in front of them before, and I didn't end up eating the Ivory.

And then it hit me ... would I write anything that God would be ashamed of? Well I certainly hope not! I mean ... come on ... if anybody knows exactly what's on the Internet ... HE does. And I'll bet that His stance on it is the same as it is with everything in the world. Some of it pleases Him, and some of it doesn't. I hope that He at least grins every once and a while with mine.

So with that, I am extending an invitation to Mom and Dad later today to join in the studio audience. I hope that what they read makes them smile, as is the case with all of you. I hope they get a sense of the wonderful support group of friends and family that I have when reading your comments (keep them clean now).

I can attribute 99.8% of who I am to their influence. I find myself a perfect combination of the two. I love to tell stories like my Dad. I worry like my Mom. I love to sing like my Dad. I have a heart for others like my Mom. But above all, they taught me the importance of living a life with God in the midst of it all. And I truly thank them and love them for that.

Now the question is ... do I tell Veda what my blog URL is? =8^]

At the Dinner Table

2008-02-07T20:01:00.000-05:00

Chip: "Chaz ... what is your full name?"
Chaz: "Chazzy Bush."
C1: "No, no. What is your REAL name?"
C2: "C ... H ... A ... Z!"
C1: "Well, that's great spelling, but what is your full long name?"
C2: "Allen ... Bush ... Junior!"
C1: "Closer ... what is your real first name? It also starts with the 'ch' sound. Ch ... Ch ... Ch ..."
C2: "CHUG!"
C1: "Oy vey."

Oops, Forgot the Haiku

2008-02-06T21:45:00.000-05:00

Hmm ... let me think.

Sinuses draining

I don't have time to be sick.

Cough, cough, sniff. Cough ... ack.

I Can't Be Old

2008-02-06T20:41:00.000-05:00

I went to college today.

Yes, I left the house at dark:30 this morning to get to Athens before all of Atlanta poured out into the federal interstate system.

Every time I go to UGA, I hope I don't stick out. Aren't there grey pot-bellied students?

Anyhoo ... today I was in a suit, carrying one bag and sporting my red and black backpack off the right shoulder ... just the way we all wore our backpacks in school. The only thing missing was my cassette player in the back pocket with earphones, cranking out "Oh Yeah" by Yello from Ferris Buehler. But that's OK ... I was looking good as I left the parking garage and headed by the Baptist Student Union toward the Journalism building.

Not thirty seconds out of the garage, and I had to laugh. "What a moron," I said to myself regarding a passing student. "Total nerd ... wearing both backpack straps on his shoulders. Lame-o." And I grinned to myself as I continued on my journey.

Wait ... another goober fully engaged in backpack straps passed by. Then some folks came out of Fine Arts. Why is everybody wearing both straps??? Don't you know how odd and out of place you look? Look at me, people! This is how you WEAR it ... draped off the right shoulder, giving yourself a bit of a swagger. Can you see it? Like this ... let it bounce off your right hip. See?

Hmm ... well, it appears once again that I was the moron on campus. The old fart, I suppose. Everyone knows you can seriously screw up your back wearing a backpack off to one side. Lord, forgive me for those mental lashings of idiotness. These are just healthy students trying to get through a semester.

But come on ... are those really the kind of pants that guys wear these days? Sheesh. And you ... yes, you ... the guy in the American Eagle shirt. You're tossing locks of hair on the front of your face more than Emeril with a wok of crawfish. I mean it ... stop. You look like you have a nervous habit, DUDE. If you can't speak through the hair, let me introduce you to Sir Scissors.

I went to my speaking engagement ... totally feeling like the grown up. Ugh. But then, I had lunch with my parents at the Mayflower Restaurant, which was established in Athens when Caesar was in Rome. One of these meat and two veggies places. I felt young in that crowd. I saw Michael Adams while I was there. The waitress called me, "Honey." NO tip in the world is enough for that type of service ... along with sweet tea (real sugar) and lemon.

OK ... so I'm older. Fine. But I dress better, and you can see my eyes without a fling of the neck. Fat, dumb and snappy, I am.

Not to Be Outdone

2008-02-05T20:43:00.000-05:00

Well, as I find blogs from friends and family, I realize how much I've been missing! It's like talking, but nobody interrupts me. How cool is that?

Now I will admit to being a bit of an anomaly. A white male who enjoys communicating. In the proper circles, of course. Someone asked me if I enjoyed the Super Bowl. Admittedly, it was never on the TV at our house. (Now college would be a different story, but NFL just doesn't do anything for me.)

So I write. And I'm not hung up on sports 24-7. But I do carry a man card. I appreciate justice, but don't necessarily like to fight. More like a Jean Luc Picard without the starship and the torpedoes. Don't get me started ... I can guarantee you'll hear more about Star Trek. Who does that jazz up for future reading? Here's a shout-out to all my Trekker peeps! Be Heard!

Anyhoo ... I'd rather negotiate between conflict than be one of the sides. Annie, I guess that rules me out as Peter Pan. While he was good and all that, he didn't flinch at a battle. Besides, I don't look as snappy in green tights. Trust me. But the hat is dapper.

I digress. A writer. Low sports. A lover, not a fighter? And I get really gigged over finding a good deal. ESPECIALLY travel. Always did, even as a kid. I was the one to research hotels (the pool had to kick) and make reservations for our vacations. "Travel agent" was one of many jobs that I planned. Along with architect, civil engineer, pharmacist, weather personality, and (pity the thought) a yearbook representative. You know, like for Jostens.

Wait ... did someone just whisper "lame" under their breath? Mmm-hmm. Don't think I don't hear you.

I even love to just walk in the mall. No real goal, just ambling. Odd, yes. Relaxing, yes. And I love walking hand-in-hand with Veda. But she's a goal shopper. Get in ... get what you need ... get out. We truly are sometimes the perfect storm of a role reversal. God is good ... He knew what He was doing when He put us together. But doesn't He always know?

For those of you who have no clue ... here's the family unit on the left. Well, at least the fam as I knew it back in 1976. Looks like we all had the same hair stylist. And yes, I was a blonde. What of it?

I'm surprised our collars did not just open up and swallow our heads whole. Or start flapping and take flight. If my collar didn't, my ears were prepared as backup in case I needed to be airborne.

I took pride in pulling teeth. In fact, I determined it was quite the business, and I think I pulled three over the course of two weeks.

Here's the current Bush family, where I'm the head. Veda's the neck. Yes, yes, yes ... turns the head. Leah is the heart (shares space with God.) Amy is the memory ... like an elephant. And Chaz is both arms and legs ... flailing them about whenever he can. Boy, will he be a future blog topic. And, of course, a haiku for you!

A man's family
Reflects his innermost traits
I'm a complex guy.

The Start of Something Beautiful

2008-02-05T03:50:00.000-05:00

Testing, testing. 1 - 2 - 3

Mrs. Teevee: I assume there's an accident indemnity clause.
Willy Wonka: Never between friends.

Hmmm ... after a failed attempt to get someone to laugh out loud on MySpace (perhaps nobody was reading?) ... we'll try something new. Something fresh for 2008. Something that has been done for years now. OK, OK, remember that I turned 40 this year, so I'm catching up.

Actually, I'm not new to the blogging scene ... to the contrary. When my Dad had his traumatic brain injury in August, 2007, it was a blog that came to the rescue of our family. It kept us from fielding phone call after phone call. It gave us a place to share what was going on, and to let everyone have a peek into our family and how we pushed through (with God's grace) a very trying time. It's still there ... a legacy to God and His miracle. http://gibush.blogspot.com.

And BTW ... Dad was released to drive in December of 2007. God is good!

But this isn't going to be about the past. I've trashed my MySpace account ... snumped it, I did. While I thoroughly enjoy Facebook now, I also find the musings of some of my favorite people in the blogosphere quite entertaining. And I love to write ... even at 12:44 a.m.

So we'll give it a go. Successful blogging requires dedication and skill. It requires cunning and wit. I only hope that I can provide as much laughter as others can. Life can be a laugh fest.

But then again, perhaps only Caroline can say "gassy" and really make one laugh. But it works for me, every time.

My eyelids they droop
Midnight, thou hast past me by
Blogger slumber time.