All Question Marks and a Period

Why do you think God designed the sky to be blue? Do you suppose it was to match the ocean which He intended to be deep and pure and cleansing? Could it be that God wants us to experience His depth, purity, and cleansing every time we look up or down?

Why do you suppose God made electricity? Do you suppose it is to define "Power" by splitting the sky with lightening, filling our homes with warmth, and propelling our machinery with energy? Is it possible that God wants to teach us of His strength by splitting our sky, warming our souls, and propelling us to serve Him by serving others?

Why do you suppose God created the sneeze? Do you suppose it was to cleanse our systems of impurities, quicken our pulse rates, and alert us to the dangerous of unbreathable air? What if God wants to remind us to clean our hearts of sinful desires, cause our hearts to pound as we grow to be more like Him, and become hyper-alert to the things in our environment that make us less than Christ-like?

All of life is an illustration used by God to bring us closer to Him.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #42

If I were this guys Yorkie I might be a wondering what happens when he runs out of Sushi...

Do Not Fear

"Do Not Fear" is mentioned in the bible 365 times. Could it be that God knew every day of the year we would be afrai..... nah.

Dad

I can still smell him. To me he smelled like his job. He owned his own company, a storm door and window venture based in the suburbs of Chicago. He was a simple man by nature but complex by experience. He took his 4th grade education and turned it into a self guided career that allowed him to retire on his savings and social security at the age of 62. He had a retirement house built halfway between two ozark lakes in north central Arkansas. He purchased a speed boat and thrilled his grand children by ushering them around those huge lakes filled with cobalt blue waters. He loved to work for himself using his hands and the tools he accumulated over the years. He built things that he had no right to know how to build. I have no idea how he learned to do those things. He just did.

He was a good dad. I did not realize at the time just how good he was. It was not until I became a dad myself that I realized how hard he worked to take care of and provide for his family. I can remember him going to work, always an outdoors event for my dad, when I was a small child on mornings when it was -20 degrees. He just bundled up and went. Somedays he worked 7 day a week. Whatever it took, he did.

Because he worked on the installation of storm doors and windows he smelled like caulking, lumber, aluminum, gasoline, and in the summer, sweat. He wore tall leather boots, pinstriped overalls, and sometimes a ball cap. He never complained about how hard he worked but he never hid it either. When he needed rest we all knew it because his laughter faded to crankiness. In my younger days I remember him laughing more. He loved country music including goofy ozark style "hee haw" tunes. I hated them but it always cracked me up to see him enjoy them. He bought a huge stereo cabinet complete with turntable and radio. It was about 6 feet long and made of some sort of dark hardwood. He loved that stereo. I sometimes wonder what he would think of todays Ipod culture. I think he would miss the dressiness of the wood, the beauty of the cabinetry.

My earliest memories of my dad include sitting on his lap on Sunday mornings in Detroit while he read the cartoons to me. I'm sure I bugged him until he gave in became my reader. Dad loved to drive and had impeccable taste in cars. The first one I remember was his pink and white 1957 Chevy. He eventually traded that in for a white 1964 Chevy Impala Super Sport. He had a knack for choosing a classic.

Dad was far from perfect. He seldom said, "I love you" first. But you never doubted his love. He seldom grabbed you and hugged you but if you hugged him he always hugged you back. He took me to many White Sox games at Old Comiskey Park but never one at Wrigley Field. He just didn't do the north side. I watched dad race from his garage one day to defend a friend of mine from the neighborhood bully as the bullies father screamed for him to "scratch his eyes out." Dad stood toe to toe with the man and told him that he was going to do to him whatever his boy did to my friend. And I know that he would have had the man not pulled his son away and retreated homeward with their tails between their legs. I was never prouder of my dad than I was at that moment.

I could write forever about my dad. He has been gone nearly 10 years now. I miss him more every day. I think, perhaps, that is a thing that God has planned out in order to prepare us for the coming reunion. Today I have worn his wedding ring all day long. It is all I have left of him. Except for my memories. The memories are far more valuable than the ring.

And today he would have been 90 years old. That is unfathomable. Unbelievable. And yet true. Somehow I think that he would be more of a man at 90 than I could possibly be at any age.

Size Matters

Several of us were looking at a jigsaw puzzle of the world tonight after church. It's 32 inches wide. I made some smart remark about wondering what the "scale" was between the puzzle and the real planet earth.

Teachable moment: never wonder aloud about something like that in the presence of a proud member of The United States Air Force (AKA: Adam Page.) I received the following mathematical equation on my facebook page about an hour later.

Puzzle Diameter = 32 inches
Earths Diameter at the equator 7,926.28 miles
First convert miles to feet 7926.28 X 5280 = 41,850,758.4
Then feet to inches 41850758.4 X 12 = 502,209,100.8 is earth’s diameter in inches at the equator
So the scale of the puzzle is 32/502209100.8 OR 1/15,694,034.4ths approximately

I present this to you simply because the world needs to know it ain't no big deal.

Gratitude - An Open Letter To God

I own too much stuff. My closet is stuffed, my drawers are over full, my "toys" remain uncounted. And all of this is true after selling a house which required filling a huge dumpster to over flowing and moving four times in two years. I've donated to the trash man, the Good Will store, and numerous anonymous "dump your used clothes here" boxes on street corners.

And I still have too much stuff.

Those things have very little to do with my gratitude. They don''t even come into play when I think about what matters to me the most.

But I am the leper that often forgets to come back to You, The Healer, and say "Thank You." I am the dead guy that You brought back to life and I spend so much time dancing in joy that I forget to utter the all important words that You must long to hear...

I think that the simple words "thank you" mean a lot. They need to be said. Yet they roll off of my tongue almost without thought. They are mere courtesy designed to dismiss my debt.

Let me cut in front on you in traffic when I turn my blinker on and I wave "thank you."

Ring me up at the "Quick Mart" and toss a penny in from the "give a penny/take a penny" tray so that I don't get a pocket full of jingling change and I say "thank you."

Hold the door for me because I have my hands full of food or drinks from some fast food establishment and I say "thank you."

So how can it be that leaving the wonders of Heaven and dying in my place to save my eternal soul from ever lasting separation from You and never ending punishment is worthy of the same "thank you?" How is that not more important than letting me cut in, tossing me a nearly meaningless piece of change, or holding the door for me?

Whips. Thorns. Spit. Nails. Hammers. Wooden beams. Blood shed. And all I can come up with is "thank you?"

I owe you everything and I give you so little. The only thing deeper than my shame is my gratitude.

Habenero Shots

Ever wonder what would happen if you should stroll into Q-dobe just before closing, order up a "Naked Burrito" and then dare the two young adults to down a "shot" of Habanero salsa? (Habanero peppers are believed to be the second hottest pepper in the world and the hottest in the Americas.) I decided to find out. So after ordering up my dinner I asked them innocently what their hottest salsa was. They pointed out this bubbling cauldron of awful looking lumpy liquid. I told them that any Q-dobe employee worth cooking up my burrito would surely be able to chug a small cup full. They strolled up to the condiment area and told me, "No problem-o" And the popped the shots. The results are in the faces...


It was a VERY good night.

I got it at Jarod!

About 8 years ago I was propped up in bed late one night messing around on e-bay. I came across a Ferguson Jenkins autographed jersey. Fergie was one of my childhood heroes in the years when he pitched for the Cubs. I accidentally purchased it for $95.00. Yes, accidentally. Don't ask. Debbie didn't leave any lasting marks in my beating the next day. These small things in life matter. The old Cubs uniform top showed up a few days later commemorating Fergie's strike-out totals, career wins, and year elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. All in his own handwriting.

The jersey occupied a lowly place in a dresser drawer for years. And then I met Jarod. He's a buddy of mine, goes to my church, and loves people. He, his wife Caitlin (pronounced "CaitLINN." She likes it when you emphasis the last syllable. Really she does.) and daughter, Lyla, have become great friends very quickly. Well I mentioned my jersey to Jarod a couple of weeks ago. He took it home with him. The guy is a total genius when it comes to woodworking. I mean G-E-N-I-U-S. And tonight he showed up at my house with this ....

Wow. I mean ... WOW. I have the coolest man-cave ever. And best of all? I got it at Jarod!

Oh, and I have to include this picture of Jarod and Adam Page. I'm pretty sure they were debating whether or not I'd notice if they hung it upside down. I tell you, I don't get no respect.


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And now a word from our non-sponsor. If you are in need of cabinet making or wood working this guy is way good. His prices are way reasonable (but remember, he does have to feed his family!) Let me know if you want him and I'll connect you.

America's Most Wanted ... Elle

Having been listed featured on "America's Most Wanted" she asked me to send her response to the authorities.

Nuts

Cause sometimes you feel like a nut ...


And sometimes you don't ...

Skiing skill is not as important as skiing fashion

My son, Christopher, and his charming bride, Laura, are blowing off the family Thanksgiving celebration this year. They have chosen to totally disregard all family tradition and loyalty in exchange for snow. Colorado snow. At about 10,000 feet. Can you believe that?

I can. And I would totally blow them off too if I had the same opportunity that they have. It's just the way our family rolls.

Tonight I was instant messaging with Laura. She mentioned that she was wearing her ski outfit, even her goggles, while we were talking. (I assume she did not have the gloves on.) I immediately responded with, "PICTURES! PICTURES!" I never thought she would comply.

Brave girl, that Laura. This arrived in my email box moments later.


If fashion carries the day Breckenridge, Colorado is in for a major shock...

Hold Me!

So I was sitting around and talking with God Monday morning before I went to the office. I told him that I felt like a "Duraflame." You know what a Duraflame is. It's one of those fake logs. A log wannabe. You put it in your fireplace and light the wrapper and it burns for about three hours all by itself. No other logs needed. You can't do that with a regular log. Regular logs need other logs. You light some kindling and then put other logs loosely around the top of the kindling and the logs catch fire and burn together. But a single log all alone? It might catch fire briefly but it won't keep burning. It needs other logs. Duraflames have wood in them but they also have waxy stuff that allows them to burn on their own. But when they burn out it's pretty ugly. They just turn to a bunch of smoldering and scorched dust on the bottom of your fireplace.

Christians are like logs. We have to burn together if we really want to burn for the glory of God. If we try to be Duraflames we will last a while. We might even make a nice flame that all those who look on will admire. But sooner or later you'll burn out. And it will be ugly.

Lately I've been a Duraflame, trying to burn all by myself. I told God that I recognized that and that I needed help finding the right logs to lean up against. Guys to be real with and burn with. About an hour later I got a call at my office. It was from a long time friend in a far away state. Actually, my friend didn't call me. His Administrative Assistant did. It seems he was wanting to set up a regularly scheduled conference call with me because he wants to be a log and not a Duraflame. Okay, she didn't phrase it that way but that's what it meant. We talked for about half an hour today. I have one log now and that's a start.

Then I was driving to a hospital today to visit and on impulse I dialed another friend up on my phone. He was driving between assignments on his job. I told him I am a Duraflame and that I want to be a log. I asked him to be a log with me. He told me that God had said the same thing to him on Monday of this week. Hmmm. God had a busy Monday. I have two logs now and that's more than a start.

And then after I finished working out at the gym today I was listening to the television above my head as I dressed. Some ESPN type guy was talking about Andre Agassi and how he has just confessed to using crystal meth and performance enhancing drugs in his tennis playing days. He retired in 2006. The ESPN type guy said that the problem in professional sports these days is that there is a difference between "Image" and "Reputation."

Now he had my attention. I sat on the bench and actually paid close attention to what he was saying. He pointed out that "image" is what people think you are. It is what you represent yourself as. It usually is not realistic when you look beneath the skin of "The Real You." On the other hand, "reputation" is who you really are. It is what you have with people who know you. People who have watched your life play out and understand your credibility ... or lack of it. He said that Andre Agassi had plenty of image and no real reputation.

I thought about being a Duraflame. "Human Duraflames" might start well but they finish lousy. They have plenty of image. They are beautiful, brightly colored, and fun to watch. Then they show their true colors and fall apart. I don't want to fall apart. Do you? I want to be a log among logs. You see, one log holds another log accountable for it's fire. For it's heat. Put several logs together, light them, and you have a mighty fine fire.

Accountability is so very important.

So I want my "log friends" to hold me. I want them to hold me accountable. I've burned out before and I don't ever want to do it again.

Andre, sorry you became the bad example. You made that choice. But perhaps something good will come of it if men ... people ... start saying to one another, "Hold me. Hold me accountable."

Just a little thing God's been reminding me about this week and thought you might like to know.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #41

Nobody wants to go to live in a nursing home. But if you HAVE to ... why not move into one that helps you pump up your biceps with daily work-outs? This is a nursing home I can live with! (And since when did "daily" come to mean "6 days a week?")

Now

It has been 20 years since the Berlin Wall came down. Twenty years. How is that possible? My kids were 9, 6, and 4? They probably do not even remember it? To me it was yesterday. Okay, maybe it seems like 10 years ago. But 20? No way.

I was playing with that number today and I realized that time is messing with my head. I think it's intentional but how can you be sure? Time is, in theory, passive. It is the passing of seconds but who can hold a second in his hand in order to show you what it is? So let's switch that up a bit. Time is moments. Individual moments. A dictionary has called it "The indefinite continued passing of events in the past, present and future regarded as a whole."

What does THAT mean? It sounds to me that time is defined not as an entity in and of itself. Time is, well it is what transpires. You cannot hold time. You can "hold" or at least "observe" the passing of events. So I suppose I am good with that.

I was born in 1955. June, to be exact. That makes me 54 years old. When I was born my father had been back from World War 2 for 10 years. I was probably 5 years old before I was seriously understanding that there was a history and a future. To me history consisted of the last chocolate bar I had eaten. The future consisted of the next chocolate bar I would eat. I didn't do much thinking about WWII. But when I finally became cognizant of the fact that it existed in history, in time and space, I was sure it was an eternity ago. After all, it had been 10 years. And now it has been 20 years since that big wall came down that separated East and West Germany. 20 years since President Reagan boldly stood at the Brandenberg Gate and challenged Mr. Gorbachev to "Tear down this wall."

And now it occurs to me, when I was born my father must have still felt the helmet on his head. The boots on his feet. The rifle in his hand. I know for certain that he still dreamed of the horrors he had witnessed. I don't suppose I expect anybody else to understand this, but it blows me away to realize how true this is.

I think this is all coming to mind because my dad has been gone for nearly 10 years. And I have been thinking about him a lot lately. In about 29 minutes it will be Veterans Day. My dad didn't talk much about his army years. His war years. He didn't begin to open the veil that obstructed the view of his curious sons until just before he died. Once the veil began to lift I understood why. There were horrors behind it. Bloody, evil, horrors. And he wanted to forget them. And he didn't want to infect our minds with them.

And now I find myself struggling with the concept of time. Who knows where that came from? I suppose it snuck up on me due to a variety of circumstances. All of my struggles have produced only a limited number of recognizable thoughts.

Time really does fly. Time really does not wait for any man. Individual moments seem to last for eternity while, at the same time, the whole seems to rocket by.

The meaning of all of this? I think that the meaning is that only one part of time counts. It isn't yesterday and it isn't tomorrow. It is now. What will I do with now? Because yesterday my current now was tomorrow. Tomorrow my current now will become yesterday. But even then, all I will have is ... now.

I am not sure what you can do with that. I'm even less sure that it will help you. And I am totally uncertain that you will understand where I am coming from or where I am going with all I have said. I only know that it has infected my consciousness and my heart and so I have to deal with it.

As that great theologian, Steve Miller, once said ...
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future

I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Oh, Lord, through the revolution

Feed the babies
Who don't have enough to eat
Shoe the children
With no shoes on their feet
House the people
Livin' in the street
Oh, oh, there's a solution

Maybe time is to feed the babies, shoe the children, and house the people? Maybe somebody got something right in the '70s after all. Who knew?

Scott Saves Matts LIfe!

There are still heroes among us...

The True Measure of a Successful Day

Step #1 - Stop at "The Cozy Dog"


Step #2 - Prepare your Cozy Dog


Step #3 - Consume your Cozy Dog


Step #4 - Repeat as necessary

Full Moon Monday

Today is not just a Monday. It is a full moon Monday. It was one of those days that leaves you scratching your head. Kind of like you got hit by a bus. You KNOW you got hit by a bus. But as it drives off there are no tire marks across your torso and no bruises on your body. Just makes no sense.

First I decided this was that day to honor my promise to "go extreme." Now my extreme might not be your extreme. I'm not taking up "wing walking." I'm not going to pull airplanes with my teeth. That's sissy stuff.

I joined a gym.

:)

Not just a gym. No sir. I joined Golds Gym. Big place. Lot's of flat screen TV's to watch while you sweat. It even has this big ... and I mean BIG ... dark room. It's full of all the usual cardio equipment. Only thing is, the lights are off. Why are the lights off, you ask? Because they show MOVIES! Yes, full length movies! There's a big screen on the front wall and all day long they show a a single movie over and over and over. A new movie every day. Some are oldies like "Casa Blanca." Some are straight off the new release racks at Blockbuster. Now THAT is cool! And the hot tub is the size of a mid-sized third world country. I think we are going to get along just fiiiiiine. I don't expect to turn my "2 liters" back into a "6 pack." If I'm going to waste my time on fantasies it won't involve time at the gym.

And then I got to go back to Doctor Buttfeel today. Seems that even after his prescription 17 days ago I"m still functionally deaf. I hear the Pacific Ocean in my ears. So I call him up today about 9:30AM. He has his spiffy 3rd grade educated nursing staff call me back at 2:30 and tell me to be there at 3:15. Dude. I work in Belleville. He's in Alton. That's a 45 minute drive IF I'm already in the car, all the lights are green, and there are no school buses on the roads. So I sweet talk her into an extra 10 minutes and I hit the road.

Now this should really be a no brainer. My head sloshes when I shake it. My right ear is playing "The 1812 Overture" 24/7. I get dizzy sometimes when I drive. Disequilibrium. Not fun. so prescribe something to dry me the heck out and leave me alone. But nooooooo. They want to turn on their little key chain flash lights again and stare into my head. What's a guy to do? I drive like a crazy man and get there with 7 minutes to spare. I drank caffeine all the way there which required a stop at the little boys room and finally entered the doctors inner sanctum with 2 minutes play time. I checked-in with the pretend nurse (she gets to wear scrubs but they only give her a pen and an appointment book. This is the person you have to get through before you actually get to lay eyes on the man that went to the Alfred E. Neumann School of Medicine.)

The call my name. They weigh me. Oddly, I weighed exactly what I weighed 17 days ago. They took my blood pressure. Ditto. Same thing. Temp? A repeat. Nurse Ratchet exits. Enter Dr. Buttfeel.

"What seems to be the problem?"

Are you kidding me? We just did this. I mean I haven't even got the gum off my shoes from the last time I walked through his lobby. But in an attempt to get drugs I explain the situation once again. So he looks in my head. Yep. Fluid. Bulging ear drums.

"Welllll ... let's try another prescription of Pseudofed."

"No,let's not. I can't sleep when I take that stuff."

"True. True. Okay, let's try something else. Something with an antihistamine. Take it for 3 weeks. If that doesn't work we'll send you to an "ear, nose, throat" guy and he'll probably want to put tubes in your ears."

"Okay."

I sign-out. I tell them which pharmacy I use. I leave.

Later in the evening, after ruminating on the fact that on the other end of life I actually subjected 2 of my 3 kids to "tubes in their ears" and now the infamous circle of life may be getting even, I decide to go and get my medicine. I call up the appropriate Walmart pharmacy. They don't have it. After a second call they track it down for me. The bottom line?

My dear Doctor Buttfeel sent the prescription to the wrong pharmacy.

And he prescribed the wrong medication.

And he prescribed ONE DAYS WORTH. One days worth. After he told me to take it for 3 weeks.

See what I mean? It's a full moon Monday.

Injun Joe(sophine)

You have to be verrrry careful these days when you answer a knock at your door. Especially on halloween. It could be ... AN INDIAN!

The difference between silence and a whisper is to big to measure

At Towerview Baptist Church, where God has placed me as pastor, we are in the middle of an in depth study of prayer. I feel almost silly typing that. How can you "study" a conversation with the God of the universe? It ain't easy. But we are taking our time and approaching it on three levels.

Sunday morning is "Level 101." That's where we are looking at the basics of prayer. Literally the who, what, when, where, and why of prayer. On Sunday evenings we are at "Level 201" and digging into the things we can do to prepare our hearts for prayer. Things like the practice of solitude, silence, meditating on God's Word. And on Wednesday nights we are at "Level 301" and learning some of the prayer practices of the early church. For those who choose to jump in with both feet I believe that it can be life changing.

Especially for the teacher. (That's me.)

I was speaking on Sunday morning and at one particular point we were looking at "God's silence." You have probably noticed that on occasion ... okay, most of the time ... God chooses to remain pretty quiet. He doesn't seem to speak unless He has something specific He wants to say. Of course, that is not a firm rule. God doesn't have to obey rules. He's God. He can stop the world and tell us all a joke if He wants to. He just doesn't do it very often.

So anyway, there we are talking about God's propensity for frequent silence. It seems to come at the most inopportune times. For instance, God seems to often be His quietest when you want the most to hear Him. And I managed to get myself into a position where it would appear that I was about to reveal why that is so. The problem is, I have no idea. I mean, who does? God does what He wants to do when He wants to do it. But I rather sensed that those who were still awake were waiting for me to address that issue.

And that's when He spoke. Softly. Gently. Within the depths of my own spirit He pointed out something that had never occurred to me before. As I was speaking from my notes I was actually multi-tasking. I was running through a sequence of scriptures in my mind checking to see if what I thought was God's prompting was perhaps the spicy food consumed the night before. Within about 30 seconds I was convinced it was God.

I like it when God makes me look brilliant. I mean, really. I determined to teach something that was not in my notes but was impressed upon my heart. And if I got it wrong I was going to look really, really dumb. I leaned on the acrylic pulpit and referenced the prayer that Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night before He was crucified. He prayed three distinct and separate times. And the scripture makes it clear that He was asking God if He would mind changing the game plan for the next day. He was asking God if there was possibly a way to achieve His purposes without having to go to the cross.

And there is no recorded response from God. None. Zip. The Son of God asked His Father the same thing three times in the space of just a few minutes. And God said ... nothing.

Do you realize what that means?

It means it's okay to bug God. You have free reign to take the same request to Him over and over and over and over and over and ... well, you get the point. Don't be shy. Don't fear getting smacked. It's not going to happen. Jesus shows us the way.

And it means that God is often, at the moment of your greatest need ... silent. That really stinks. No, I mean really. THAT REALLY STINKS. Sometimes I just don't think I can take another breath unless God answers a particular question. Honestly? I've been asking God for an answer to something for years now. Just a simple "why" explanation would be more than enough. He has never once indicated that He was inclined to answer my prayer. I get more of a "lean not on your own understanding" feel than I do an expectancy that an answer is imminent. I just hate that. But it puts me in good company. Very good company indeed. Because once upon a time the Son of God asked His Father (whom He knew on a Face to Face basis) a question ... and His Father remained silent. Not a Word.

In an odd sort of way it makes me rather happy to read that. I mean, I don't want Jesus to have had to go through any more pain than necessary. But if God leaves His Son in the silence and He leaves me in the silence, well then I'm in the same camp as Jesus. So the company is not half bad.

Okay, the confession is that I'm not really brilliant. I just had my spirit tuned to "channel 1" (The God Channel) at that particular moment instead of "Channel 2" (the enemies channel) and God whispered what He wanted me to teach the people present in that worship center. And I have a very strong hunch that He was also communicating something to me. I'm pretty sure He was telling me not to expect an answer to my question any time soon.

Rats.

Tandem Sky Diving With A German Shepherd Police Dog?

Since last nights blog I've been inundated with suggestions from (usually not so) well meaning friends. They all have great ideas of what I can try on the extreme side of life. Among those I have heard today are ...
-Catching a bullet with my teeth
-Ice road trucking
-Continuing to drive my Mustang without buying new tires (this person made a good point. I gotta get on that...)
-"Dry Snorkeling" (No water outside the mask. Water inside the mask.)
-Tandem sky diving with a German Shepherd police dog

People. You are not being helpful. I want to stimulate my adrenal glands. I do not want to die. I want the exhilaration of an emotional rush. I do not want an extended stay in ICU.

Honestly, I don't think you are trying hard enough. My friends and family are some of the most creative people I know. My son-in-law write songs and tours in a band. And that's just his part time job. My brother-in-law use to be a pseudo-carnie by running games at an amusement park and he came within a hair of driving the Oscar Meyer Wiener-Mobile for a year. My own kids are all certifiably insane ... usually in a good way. My brother writes poetry for a newspaper. My wife can legally wrestle and restrain renegade teenagers. One of my daughters-in-law houses the homeless, and one of them homelesses the housed (she works for a savings and loan and she'll either kill me or laugh hysterically when she reads this.) I've been blessed to hang out with cops, Coast Guard "swabbies," a coroner, jet pilots, ex-cons, current cons, a nuclear missile repairman, mayors, national champion archers, EMT's, truck drivers, taxi drivers, a sniper, an underwater bridge pier painter, a stuffer of animal intestinal skins with Johnsonville Bratwurst, and a guy who passed his 16th kidney stone today. There is some serious talent in that bunch. And these are the best suggestions they can squeeze out of their fertile brain cells? Puh-lease.

It appears that I'm going to have to go it on my own. Chart my own course. Design my own destiny. If I'm going extreme I'm obviously going alone.

You'll all be sorry when you read my memoirs.