Los Angeles ... my personal travelogue

Going to L.A. is an interesting experience. Having never been there I did not really know what to expect. My knowledge of the city and southern california in general came from television. Specifically, reruns of The Beverly Hillbillies. And as we all know, TV teaches you what it wants you to believe. So what did I learn in my 5 days in "tinsel town?" A lot! But here it is whittled down into it's easiest "must know" form. Throw away the AAA Southern California guide ... and trust me. :)

-What is Los Angeles about? Easy. CARS. 10,000,000 people live in the L.A. basin and I think each one owns 5 cars. And they are all running. That might be an exaggeration but it does not feel like it when it's 10:00PM and you are still sitting in rush hour traffic. The locals call I-405 "the 4 0 5." But they pronounce it "the 4 or 5." That is because you usually do 4 or 5 mph when you drive on it. They are not exaggerating.

-Though the cars are legion the drivers are surprisingly friendly. I could not believe this one but 5 days proved that the inital act of kindness we experienced was more than a one time anomaly. If you need to change lanes and you turn on your blinker .... lo and behold ... someone lets you in! Of course, it's made easier by the fact that everybody is cruising along at 4 or 5 mph. Still, in nice midwestern St. Louis attempting to change lanes in rush hour will get your rammed or shot.

-Smog. The locals call it haze. My response? HAHAHAHAHA! I know smog when I see and smell it. The city is virtually surrounded by mountains but you really wouldn't know it unless you actually went to the edge of the city and ran into one. That's because you can't see them. Why? Because there are 2,500,000 cars all idling on the expressways at once 24 hour a day.

Do you see downtown L.A. in this picture? Of course you do! That's it in the smog. Do you see the mountains behind the city? Of course you don't! But if you could they would look like this ...

Yeah. That's a hang-glider BELOW us. So the mountains are really mountains. Big enough to jump off of.

-It is possible to stand in your 3rd floor bathroom in a 5 story hotel and actually hear the traffic outside through the ceiling fan. No, this was not a Motel 6. This was a Springhill Suites. As in Marriott. Did I mention that there are a whole lot of cars out on the roads 24/7?

-You know that "HOLLYWOOD" sign you have heard about? Well, it really is big and it really is up there above Hollywood Hills. It isn't that easy to find. You can't just stand around LA and see it. You have to look for it. I gave up and googled it to find it's location and the best places to view it. There aren't that many. And if you want to climb to it .... uh uh. The first thing you will see up there is a police helicopter buzzing you telling you to climb down. The second thing you will see is a police car and a nice man with hand-cuffs offering you a stay in "Hotel California." Well, that's what you get if you survive the rattlesnakes. How do I know that there are rattlesnakes? Because I read the signs. This is what they said ...


-If you are not going to L.A. for the beaches ... don't go to L.A. Well, there is the sunshine. And the warmth. If those things count for you, hop a plane. Just remember ... the cars out number the planes and the beaches combined.

-As crowded as the expressways are in L.A. there are a few with virtually no cars on them. These are called "Tollways." Nobody drives on the tollways. Sometimes there aren't even people in the toll booths to collect your money. But if you drive through without paying they will take a picture of your license plate and send you a bill for $55.00 so I don't recommend this practice. How do you pay when there are no toll booth attendants? Easy. They have those machines like at a car wash where you feed your dollar bill in but instead of giving you tokens it lets you drive. God help you if your dollar bill is ripped or wrinkled and there is a car behind you. Please don't ask how I know.

-Would you like to see L.A. at night? Okie dokie. Here it is...


-Always remember that your trusty GPS might know the quickest or the closest route to your destination but it does not not not take into consideration the condition or safety of the roads along your route. This is a really important thing to remember. Again, don't ask how I know.

-The very best food item in all of L.A. is called the "Pazookie" and it is served at a place called "B.J's." A Pazookie alone is worth the price of your airline ticket. And it is almost worth the drive from the airport through the city to the restaurant. Almost. A Pazookie looks like this ...


-Flight time from St. Louis to Orange County is approximately 5 hours. Oddly enough that is not as long as it takes you to drive from the far southern L.A. suburbs (like San Clemente) to the far northern L.A. suburbs (like Simi Valley) and back again. Did I mention that there is a lot of traffic in this city?

Well, that's the skinny on L.A. There is, of course, a lot more to be said but this little blog is getting long and you need your rest. So I'll shut up now.

I'm done.

Why are you still reading.

Seriously. That's all.

Sheesh. You don't give up easily, do you?

Good-bye.

My Family Is Officially Nuts

In response to Christopher and Laura's anniversary celebration video another family video was created. My daughter Kelli, her husband Joe, their two children Elle and Paisley, and my brother-in-law and sister-in-law Jim and Alisha felt compelled to respond. The results? Breathtaking moves worthy of a new John Travolta movie. Viewers beware! (Note: click on the video for a better picture.)

And the two ... became one

My youngest son and his bride of one year celebrated their first wedding anniversary this week. In honor of the event they made a little video to show the world just how happy they are. Welcome to Christopher and Laura's Sunday Night Dance Party!

What Worship Is All About

Tonight I watched something that brought tears to my eyes. If you know me, that rarely happens. But it is not every day that you see an act of sincere worship. Worship for no reason other than to say, "God, I love you. We love you. And we hope this pleases you."

Debbie and I attended worship at Saddleback Church tonight in Lake Forest, California. I've always been curious about Saddleback. Not curious enough to fly 1,800 miles to check it out, but since we are hoteling about 30 miles from them we decided that this would be a fitting way to end our L.A. vacation.

It's an amazing little facility they have there. Unlike most mega-churches, most of it is outside. It's a weather-friendly area. We made our way into the worship center about 30 minutes before the service began. The place began to slowly fill up. I honestly don't know how full it got. As the worship band began playing and the singing began I found myself half participating and half observing. Honestly, it was an awesome experience. You could feel the energy from the worship leaders. They seemed, even early on, to be into it. Deeply.

Eventually Rick Warren spoke. I had never heard him deliver a sermon before but this one nailed me. I mean, dead in the heart. But never mind.

At the end of the evening we were invited to participate in communion as we left the room. The worship band began playing in earnest. After a few minutes Debbie and I made our way to the rear of the auditorium and found one of the tables where the communion elements were prepared. Each person served themselves and spent as much time as they desired in doing so. Debbie and I finished our private time with God and we turned back toward the stage. The room had emptied out. The worship band played on. They played as though the room were full. I stood amazed as I watched their leader dismiss most of them, one group at a time. Eventually there were about 10 musicians left on the stage. They began playing "Grace Greater Than All Our Sin." Rick Muchow, the worship leader sang quietly. I looked around the center ... the worship center that holds 3,800 people. I turned and counted. There were 30 people left in seats. Thirty. This would be the end. Everybody had gone on and were on their way to homes and restaurants. And then I saw Rick look at the 10 musicians and pat the top of his head. I'm not a musician but I knew what he meant. "Take it from the top." And they did. The soothing strings of the violins. The beauty of the flute. The single acoustic guitar. Each of them looked upward, not focused on any human being. Lost in reverence and awe. And I realized ... there is only one reason for them to still be playing. There are 30 people here. Less than one seat in every one hundred was filled. And yet they played with more heart than they had all evening. You see, they ... the worship leaders ... were worshipping. They were not leading others in worshipping. They were worshipping themselves. The could be no other reason. They played through two more worship songs before wrapping it up. They played every note and every verse to God alone. And you know what? In twenty minutes the worship center would fill again and they would start all over. They didn't seem to mind. Their spirits were connecting with The Eternal.

It was not a job for them tonight. It was not really even a ministry for them tonight. Tonight I saw raw worship. Musicians playing, singers singing, for the simple purpose of making God smile.

That touched me far more deeply than any act of service I have seen in a long, long time. Thank you, Saddleback, for reminding me of what it is all about.

"Debbie Day" on Vacation '09!

V.A.C.A.T.I.O.N.

Oh so much to write about! Oh so little time to write. So instead, here's my favorite vacation photo's thus far...


The famous "Hollywood" sign wasn't nearly as dramatic as I thought it would be.



Albert Einstein picked my wife's nose.



No matter where I go I still seem to be in Cleveland. (Not that this is a bad thing....)


I don't know how they knew I was coming but I appreciate they put a billboard up honoring me!


And finally, this is the bumper sticker of the week so far. Support our troops!

When in LA ...

I didn't really WANT to rent this. I wanted the El Camino. But ... she insisted.

Chasing The Sun At 39,000 Feet

Today I got an extra 156 minutes of sunshine. That is two hours and thirty-six minutes. Debbie and I hauled ourselves aboard a 737 and the pilot made a quick climb out of “The Lou” and turned westward. It was cloudy in St. Louis. It wasn’t so cloudy at 39,000 feet. The sun was shining. To bad for us though because it was in that “hey, I think I’m going to bed now mode.” It was barely visible. I think it was over Kansas City. Or maybe Joplin. It was hard to tell. But as we roared through the sky at 500+ miles per hour I began to notice that the sun was having trouble setting. It tried. Really it did. It finally slipped below the horizon. I think that happened around Tulsa. But for the longest time it must have hovered just out of our sight. The sky glowed in hues of orange, purple, and my favorite, a rather off-beat green. Not sure what that was about. Orange and purple I understand. But green?

I digress.

The important thing is that I figure this makes me a little bit like Joshua. One day in the middle of a fierce battle the Israelites were winning but not quickly enough. And so Josh prayed and God made the sun stand still. If memory serves they got an entire extra day. I could be wrong about that. I’m back at 37,000 feet right now. Someplace between Phoenix and Orange County, Ca. So the cabin pressurization is having its way with me and I could be wrong. But if Josh bought himself an extra day he seems to have lost out to me. I got an extra two hours and thirty-six minutes. But Josh was an honest to gosh biblical figure. I'm just a lowly 21st century pastor. I figure ... let's see ... uhhhhh ... ummmm... add 3 hours for 9 years of higher education ... carry the 1 ... subtract 30 minutes for skipping "Old Testament History" that one time ... okay I figure my 2 hours and 36 minutes in todays time translates into about 9 days in biblical time. Yowzer! Take THAT prophets of old!

And now it is dark. Loud and dark.

Directly below us I am quite certain you can find glorious things like rattlesnakes, wild horses, and the occasional buffalo. Don’t forget the cactus. Lot’s of cactus.

Directly above me you can find … God. I can’t see Him any more than I can see the rattlesnakes but He is there. Oh yes, He is there. And tonight I’m really glad that He created all of those laws of physics. Things like thermodynamics or whatever it is that does battle with gravity. At the moment gravity is losing. I hope it continues to lose right up until the landing gear is settled into place, the pilot is wiping the sleepy out of is napping eyes, and we find ourselves safely nestled into a big old John Wayne size terminal at the airport named after him.

Wow. Extended sunsets. Magnificent altitudes. Rattle snakes. God. John Wayne. All in one day. This should be a vacation to remember.

Things I Learned While Circling Death Looking for A Place To Land

-Sadly enough the world would (and eventually will) go right on without me. I've been keeping my eye on FOX News and CNN during my deathbattical (I hereby copyright that word!) and it seems that my imminent demise has had a net effect of zero on the stock market, the general economy, world politics, and Chicago baseball. The price of Baked BBQ Lays decreased however due to an unexpected increase in supply.

-Spilling orange juice directly into an electrical surge protector has no consequences. Odd. Everything electrical kept right on humming. Remind me to clean that up after it dries.

-It is quite entertaining to sit near the window in my favorite chair (my fuzzy buddy) with the nozzle end of a running vacuum cleaner in my hand and suck up unsuspecting flies. Who knew that a fly could actually look startled?

-"Facebook Evangelism" does not work.

-The odds that there is anything on television worth watching is directly inverse to the amount of free time you have to watch it.

-It actually is possible to re-grout a bathroom floor when the grout is mixed with snot drippings.

-If what I've been experiencing is indeed the "Swine Flu" rather than some other kind of flu or a common head cold, it was obviously my brother-in-law Jim's fault. He gave me some chocolate covered bacon at his birthday party on Monday night at chick-Fil-A. My conspiracy hypothesis is that the chocolate was a mere "come-on" to sucker me into flu infested pig meat. And it worked like a charm.

-Thanks to my Administrative Assistant, Connie, I have discovered that I have indeed had every single symptom of the Swine Flu. Well, except for one. No government official rushed to my door offering me an IV or even a freaken Aspirin. Obama didn't even call to check on me. (Personal not to the POTUS: I'm voting along party lines next time buddy and you ain't invited to the party.)

-Nobody can hear the ringing in your ears but you. I learned that at Taco Bell. I kept telling them that the fries were done and they kept telling me that they don't make fries. So I pinched my nose and blew real hard and, wouldn't you know it, the fries weren't done after all.

-It is possible though difficult to have a quiet time alone with God when you keep seeing all of your deceased relatives and friends beckoning you to come and join them. They all looked so happy and at peace. Except for one. She owes me money.

I've had head colds/flu before but this is ridiculous

I looked in the mirror today and noticed that my headache was probably the least of my problems.

Snot Rolls Down Hill

Ahhh. I had almost forgotten. Autumn in St. Louis. My annual dance of death with The Head Cold From Hell. It started as a minor scratch in the back of my throat. No biggie. Probably just the spicy nachos I ate the night before. The next morning a head ache was added.

Today I am drowning in my own snot.

What is it about head colds? We have not yet cured cancer but major strides have been made. Many types of cancer actually can be cured and even prevented. Polio has been wiped from the face of the earth. Seen a good case of the Bubonic Plague lately? I thought not.

But the head cold rolls merrily along.

What's with that? Strep throat, left untreated, can damage your heart. So we have drugs to cure it. The head cold can't really do anything except make you wish you were dead and yet nobody can figure it out. You cans spend a fortune trying to feel better but, as dad use to say, leave it alone and it will last a week. Treat it and it will last about seven days. Dad was a genius. Why he wasted his life in a non-medical field is beyond me.

Do you realize what you can't do when you have a head cold?

You can't go to work (or your co-workers will hate you and rightfully so,) taste food, lay down flat, smell, hear clearly, keep your eyes from tearing up, think clearly, sleep in the same room with your wife if she has asthma, stand to be around yourself, or anything else that requires you to have a body. The only person willing to be around you is God and He stays on the far side of the room.

One week from tonight I'm suppose to be relaxing in lovely Southern California. So, you see, it could be worse. I'm just getting this out of the way.

By the way, I've been craving bacon all day. You don't suppose this could be the ... nah ...

Taking This "John The Baptist Thing" Too Seriously

Today I got an email from our Baptist Associational office. The request was simple. Another pastor wants to borrow our fake guillotine. You know. The one that doesn't really work.

Now, I know I'm still relatively new at Towerview but I've been in every room, every closet, every nook and cranny. I've yet to come across a fake guillotine.

So I did what any self-respecting Baptist pastor would do. I emailed but my apologies. I explained that our guillotine was real. I added, "Go real or go home."

I mean, is that asking too much? If they don't like it ... let them eat cake!

The Amazing Elle swears off graffiti

The Amazing Elle goes graffiti

I need you to pray for my friend

I need you to pray for my friend. Again. Lots of you have prayed for my friends before. Thank you for that. I did not ask this friends permission to get you to pray but she won't mind. I didn't ask her permission to print on this blog the update she wrote on her own web site today. Again, I don't think she will mind. I didn't ask her permission to tell you what I told her either. But hey, I wrote that so she doesn't get a say-so.

I've known Dara for maybe 9 years but she and her husband, and my wife and I, have only really spent time together on I think four separate occasions. Still, you know how it is when your spirit bonds with another persons spirit right? And when two couples "click" you know what that's like too. Well, that happened to us. We were able to show Dara and Anthony kindness at a hard time in their lives nearly a decade ago. The next year it was their turn to show us kindness and they did. They introduced us to the "real Tucson," fed us fish taco's and prayed for us. I was not well when I got to Tucson. I was when I left. Who knows? Maybe it was their prayers?

Now it is our turn again. Dara has been battling cancer for a year. Have I ever mentioned that I hate cancer? Well, I do. A lot. If you've been reading this web site for only four months you know that is true. I hate Dara's cancer. So I'm printing all of this here simply so that maybe you'll take a minute and pray for her. I would be grateful. But probably not as grateful as she would be.

From Dara today ...
Thank you everybody for the cheerful greetings. If you want to know what the Snoopy dance is you have to watch the "Merry Christmas Charlie Brown" video. I can't get my feet to go as fast as his but I try.
Chemo was fine yesterday There is still a BP concern, and my port site has a sore that will not heal. The Doctor looked at it yesterday and said it was like a canker sore and could take a long time to heal because the drugs that I am on make it difficult for my body to form new blood vessels. Plus, the surgen who put the port in likely severed a blood vessel that would feed that area. SO, yuck!
Teaching is going fine, I wouldn't say better, just fine. I see the Doctor on October 2 and will look again at the reality of working. The delima I face is that there is a strong possibility that I will never be free from some form of treatment. Avastin is my miracle drug at the moment, but there is always the possibility that my body will require something else in the future. That understanding came to me this week as I remember the anniversary of my September 17th, 2008 diagnosis. The day my world went black. I have hope now, but from time to time I feel the weight of the last 12 months, and I cry.
Thank you for praying me through.
Love, Dara

And this is all I knew to tell her in response. It's not nearly enough but it's what was in my heart. And it feels right ...

Do you mind not crying alone? Because, quite honestly, I feel like crying for you. I don't want you to have to take meds for the rest of your life. I want you to do The Snoopy Dance in person! :( BUT ... we live life by God's rules ... His schedule ... His calendar. This is where I usually give my pep talk. But I think I would rather just say, Dara, sometimes life sucks and all you can do is let it, endure the sucky parts, and do your best to enjoy every moment that God give no matter how it feels. I never truly faced death in 2001 ... but it felt like it. And my life has never been the same. Yeah, I still take meds and I hate that but it is what it is. And when I finally resigned the church I loved for 23 2/3rd years after fighting for its heart and soul for the last 3 of those years I did so because my doctor told me in specific terms, "You have to quit your job or you will die." So. Again, it is what it is. I am reminded that the joy is in Jesus and in relationships. Nothing else matters much. Things like health and strength were an illusion all along. But if it all drives you to Jesus ... it's worth every bit of the pain.
If you don't let it drive you to Jesus ... well ... then it REALLY sucks.
Anyway, I don't mean for this message to be sad. Just realistic. It's tougher to find the bounce in my step now than it was pre-2001. My steps are more deliberate. More measured. More intentional. I try to make them matter more. I pray complete, utter, total healing for you. No meds, no pain, no treatments. And I deeply hope that God grants you that. If He doesn't? Then attack life with as much joy, gusto, and passion as possible anyway. Remember, these years we spend on the fallen planet are the only moments in our eternal history that we will be able to really make a difference in the cosmic battle we find ourselves locked in. So fight well, my sister. Salute your Commander-In-Chief every day. Love well.
And when it's over for us down here? THEN ... then we will dance.
You are loved in St. Louis.

That's all I've got. Will you pray for my friend?

Baseball is evil and baseball is hairy so I quit

Tonight I decided to hate baseball for the next 5 months. My team stinks and they stink on purpose. 'Nuff said. But here are some pictures that influenced my decision in a back-and-forth kind of way...


These guys kept falling into the stadium which made me want to enlist and drop into ball parks more often.

Then they double-decked it which doubled my temptation.

Next my friend Gordon decided to switch from his team to my team. That was really encouraging. Thanks, Gordon!

Everybody knows that I love meetings and I guess that in baseball you can pause the game at any point and get together with the guys and meet. That almost clinched it for me. I was nearly hooked. Two meetings at once! See how happy they look?

And then I saw this guy and I realized ... I don't want to turn into him. And he's cheering for baseball. So I want to thank him for helping me to give up the game until spring training. And maybe forever. Probably not ... but maybe. I'll have to talk to the lady who cuts my hair. She gets a vote.

LET'S GO SKIING!

Heart Attacks and Brain Cramps

So today my brother ... whom I had not seen in two years ... mentioned quite casually to me that he had a heart attack 18 months ago.

Say what?

Yes indeed. My brother ... the sole remaining member of my family of origin ... had a heart attack while I was living in Cleveland and neglected to pass that word along to me. Exactly how does something like this slip your mind? Was he engrossed in the latest episode of "Family Guy?" Obviously NOT. I mean, on his own, he's obviously only a marginal "family guy" at best!

Anyway, he's alright. Of course that doesn't matter because now I have to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. It's a matter of family honor. Dad would have wanted it this way. And as a beginning of his punishment/torture I thought I would expose the latest picture I took of him (moments after he revealed this bit of news) to the world. The head below ... the sign above ... it only seems appropriate and accurate.

One "BANG" too many

A third grader sat in the school gym transfixed by what he was seeing on television. He was young but somehow he sensed, he knew, that he was watching the world change. There was a "BANG" in reality as well as a "BANG" in history and a tower tumbled. Everything was hazy. Nobody was thinking clearly. Certainly nobody had a handle on how the events of this day would effect the future. For days nobody could tear their eyes from the tube. Commentators commented. Analysts analyzed. Wise men and women spoke words of wisdom. And yet a real "Humpty Dumpty" had fallen and we were all pretty certain that he could never be put back together again.

The following years proved those thoughts to be true. At the moment of the BANG it seemed as though every American was united. We linked arms and faced the future as one. But all to quickly that fell apart. Unity gave way to ugly. Bravery turned to bickering. It continues to this day.

I remember that third grader all to well because he ... was me. My "BANG" was a bullet. It tore from the sixth floor of a school book depository building in Dallas Texas, and penetrated my "tower," the brain of the President of the United States, and left him dead in the back seat of a bullet proof car that, ironically, had its top down leaving him open to the wind ... and to the wicked. I watched my teachers cry. I watched my parents sit in shock, mourning the murder of a man whom they had never met and yet trusted. He had recently, with steely eyed resolve, faced down the hated Soviet Union in what has become known as "The Cuban Missile Crises." We had walked to the edge of the annihilation of the human race and this man had led us back. He got us off the brink. And then he was murdered and then his brother was murdered and we learned never to trust again. Oh, and don't forget to hate. Hate those who don't think like you do because they are probably hating you and planning your demise.

There is a fading freshness in our country these days. In a few hours we will experience the anniversary of another "BANG." Other third graders sat in class rooms staring at televisions and thinking the same things that I thought. And by now the memory fades. Somebody emailed me a massive amount of 9/11 pictures today, shots of the Twin Towers as they collided with their fate. I admit that I was shocked all over again. I have not spent the past eight years staring at the helpless bodies of men and women leaping to their death from 100 stories in the air to avoid the torch of jet fuel and office supplies. Since that horrible day I have walked the side walks around that site. My feet have trod land that was, not too long ago, coated with dust and ash and metal. And body parts. Just like the back seat of a limousine on November 22, 1963.

For me it has been 45 years and 8 years, depending on the "BANG." I remember them both as though they were yesterday. And I mourn what happened to those people. And I mourn what has became the unfortunate and possibly inevitable results to our country. Many, many people will hurt tomorrow. Oddly, I want to be one of them. Because if I hurt it means that I remember. And I don't want to forget. I cannot afford to forget. On a day when we are torn apart by debates over health care, two wars where close friends of mine came oh so close to death, a mega-recession, and countless other things that divide us, I want to remember why it matters.

Why does it matter? It matters because, no matter what you might have been indoctrinated to believe, the United States has for many, many years been the world leader in .... goodness. Yes, goodness. We don't generally blow-up other peoples stuff unless they have already blown-up our stuff ... or seriously threatened to. Complain all you want about a "first strike" mentality. I wish we had blown the living tar out of Japan before they ever got close to Pearl Harbor. And if you have a brain you do too. Then my dad could have stayed home with his future bride and not traveled in uniform to Europe causing him to (in his own words) "go to bed every night remembering the eyes of the men I killed so that they wouldn't kill me." I hate that my dad had to live his life that way. But I'm grateful that he was willing to. We are the country that sends our soldiers to protect and liberate people that we don't even know. We send food, clothing, and medicine to take care of citizens of countries that can't take care of themselves. That is, to me, a strong definition of "goodness."

Okay, so that's how I feel on this night before 9/11/09. About a week after 9/11 I asked my family to please write down their memories of that day. I wanted to be able to read it myself and give it back to them years down the road. We tend to forget how we felt ... really truly felt ... after the passing of time. One of them actually took the time and wrote the mini-essay. I came across it after we moved. It shocked me. I realized there was pure fear in those comments. And I wonder if that fear is still there. Or has it simply been relegated into the hearts of those who visit National Cemeteries and stand over the graves of their families soldiers who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time and wound up giving everything to keep us from another 9/11. I can't answer that question.

I can only hope we can find a way to stop the bickering and fighting and return to simply being good. Because honestly, I feel it slipping. And that scares me more than 11/22/63 or 9/11/01.

Bill ... The Man ... The Myth ... The Legend. Sideways.

Okay, I know he's side ways. But I'm not spending the $39 for the software to turn him around. Get over it! Bill York is THE MAN at any angle!

Paisley Rae

I watched my new granddaughter sleep today. She sleeps the sleep of the blessed. No twitching, squirming, dreaming, no kicking, twisting, or any of those other oddities that seem to disrupt the sleep of the more "mature." She simply ... slept. She was all nestled in safely to her little seat. She could not fall out, be stepped on, accidentally smacked or other less than delightful occurrence. Her mom and dad take great care to make certain that she is safe and protected from a rough and rowdy world. (And a rough and rowdy family!)

I've been Paisley's grandpa now for a few weeks. I have not written on this space about her at all, though she graces the pages of my private journal at length. It's not that I don't love Paisley. It's not that I don't care about her. It's just that she's an unknown quantity wrapped in flesh. This is a good thing! I find myself staring at her and wondering what her voice will sound like. What her eye color will wind up being. Will her hair be curly? What color will it be when it is fully grown? And her smile. Will it be all toothy and child like or will she fast forward to a more adult smile before her time? Hey, it happens. And we just don't know.

One day this week our family had gathered for lunch at a restaurant near her home. As we came out Paisley was strapped into her car seat which was then buckled tightly into her car. Everybody was standing a bit away from the open door. She was completely safe. I wandered over in that direction and stuck my head in and looked at her. Her eyes were closed. Her eyes at this age are most always closed. Suddenly, without warning or provocation, she began to cry. It was one of those real cries that start in the gut, explodes through the throat and then begins to quiver as her lungs run out of air. I leaned in closer to her. I brushed her forehead with my cheek and gently whispered, "Shhhhhhh. It's alright. Shhhhhh. Grandpa doesn't know what's wrong but he loves you and he is here. Shhhhh." And. Well. She stopped crying. I stopped whispering but I continued to brush my cheek against her forehead. When I finally stopped she began crying again. We went back and forth that way three times. Her lovely mama came over and I stepped back. I'm sure she addressed the real issue and Paisley once again slipped into her deep sleep.

I've thought a lot about those three moments today. I saw her again over lunch. We didn't speak. You guessed it, she was sound asleep. Babies need a lot of sleep. She will certainly be a strong young lady if getting her fill of snoozing is any indication. But as I ate my lunch and looked at my granddaughter I found myself dreaming about afternoons pushing her on a swing. Morning's at McDonalds eating that kids breakfast Happy Meal. Evenings singing to her, "You are my (nickname to yet be decided) my only (nickname yet to be decided.) You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my (nickname to be decided) away!" I sang that song to all three of my kids when they were small. And I'll sing it to all of my grandchildren. Why? Just because I can. Not because I sing well. I don't. Not because the song is creative. It isn't. But simply because it says what I want Paisley to know. I want her to know "I love you." If that requires this croaking old voice to sing, then sing it shall.

Paisley. I love you. Thanks for making me smile today. I can't wait to REALLY meet you. Until then, well, if you need somebody to run their cheek over your forehead and whisper, "Shhhhh" you just let me know, I'm here for you, baby girl.

SLAP '09

So it seems that this guy was walking through a Wal-Mart in Stone Mountain, Georgia when he happened across a 2 year old who was making noise. That's what 2 year olds do. They make noise. They also make snot, poop, and a general mess out of everything they touch. But noise is way high on the "things to make" list for 2 year old kids. Our friend didn't like the noise and so he warned the mom to shut the kid up or he would shut the kid up for her. Mom didn't get the job done. So the man slapped the kid 4 times. Then the kid really started screaming. Ya see, that's the other thing that is wrong with 2 year olds. There ISN'T a volume button. Still, this guy is deep in the aforementioned poop. I'm thinking he's seen his last Wal-Mart for a while. That's not an entirely bad thing for him.

But it all got me thinking. There are people I would like to slap the snot out of. If perchance I run across them strapped into a shopping cart at my local Wal-Mart I just might take a shot. It would be selfish of me to keep their identities to myself. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present you with my "Most Slappable People" list as of 09-13-09. Pray you are not on it.

In no particular order ...

-Whitney Houston. She should have either quit singing after filming "The Body Guard" or she should have hung out with a higher class of husband.


-Shaq. He's 0 for 3 in "Shaq VS" having lost to everybody he's taken on. I think next week he has a "nursing contest" against the ob/gyn ward at Barnes Hospital.


-Ben & Jerry. They changed the name of their amazing "Chubby Hubby" to "Hubby Hubby" to celebrate the state of Vermont granting same sex marriage licenses. No more "Chunky Monkey" for me. I'm not boycotting. I'm just afraid they'll allow people to start marrying monkeys and I can't stand the thought of losing that banana goodness in the name of all that is politically correct.


-Miyuki Hatoyama. She's married to Japanese Prime Minister Elect, Yukio Hatoyama. She also says she was abducted by aliens, traveled to Venus on a UFO while asleep, and Knew Tom Cruise in a former life. Well, at least 2 out of 3 were potentially fun.


-Katie Voitek. She's my niece and she ISN'T coming to visit me this weekend with her parents. Excuses, excuses, Katie! NO VANILLA FOR YOU!


-Doctor ButtFeel. No explanation needed. Just follow the
link -----> Link

-The entire 2009 Chicago Cubs. For rolling over, dying, and ruining the perfect fall I had planned.


Consider yourselves all slapped.

There. I feel better already.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #40

Chocolate Covered Bacon. It's about time.

My brother-in-law's blog

My brother-in-law Jim has created the ultimate blog post. I can't beat it. So I'm simply posting it here for my little part of the world to enjoy. (Jim video blogs on Sunday's. His bride, Alisha, has been in the hospital for over a week, though she is home now. So that's enough explanation. Enjoy!)

Stupid Picture Chronicles #39

There are just so many things wrong with this statement that I don't even know where to begin.

I love my sister-in-law's guts

I love my sister-in-law's guts. And here they are. Just a little snap shot the doctor took this week as she's been spending all day and all night in the hospital. Cool, huh?

Stupid Picture Chronicles #38

For the reading impaired?

Stupid Picture Chronicles #37

I can't really think of anything to add to this. Stupid speaks for stupid.

What happens at St. Johns STAYS at St. Johns (or on "You Tube")

Doctor Buttfeel

I had every possible reason not to go to the doctor today. Yes, my knees have been torturing me since my glowing victory on the softball field a few weeks ago. They are all swollen and yell at me when I bend. And I had to have a check-up before he would refill my addictions ... er ... medications. So off I went to see Dr. Butterfield. This is my least favorite day of the year. (And I REALLY hate October 14th.)

I could have stayed home. I could have turned back. There was plenty of opportunities. Like ...

A street sweeper or a sign from God? You decide.

EVERY light was red! An omen of things to come!

Every truck had been called into action. An almost-successful blockade was put in place. I trudged on.

Obstacles were placed along the way ...

Dire warnings of men without knees and elbows waving and holding boxed lunches out to drivers made me want to slow down and accept one ... but I was told to report to the doctor while fasting. He is a very religious man.

I was woozy and not seeing clearly due to my hunger. It was so bad that I began to hallucinate that an orange man next to a stooped over orange gorilla was creeping toward my moving car.

I sped up to get away from them.

Then Tiger Woods showed up to cheer me on so I kept going even faster! That really helped! Thanks, Tiger!

The flora and fauna caught my attention and I was tempted to stop. Fortunately, a sign was posted nearby reminding me of my important mission. Dr. Butterfield was waiting!

The city of Alton sent dancing deer to welcome me! So kind!

And then I got to the doctors office at St. Anthony's Hospital in Alton. And I made a mistake. I called Dr. Butterfield ... Dr. Buttfeel. Oh yes I did. Seriously. The nurses laughed at him. They wiped their eyes. I felt badly. But not badly enough, I guess. Because the doctor hurt me. He stuck needles in me. I watched my life's blood being drained from my body. He told me to tighten the muscle in my upper arm and then he stabbed it with another needle. Yes. He did that. Then he told me it was going to swell up and hurt but that I should be a man and not whimper or cry. He said that if I hurt myself and bleed anytime in the next ten years it won't hurt me for long because he put stuff inside of me to keep my jaw from locking up and other horrible stuff from happening. He gave the nurses dirty looks as if to say, "Don't you dare tell him the truth." I don't really know what was in that needle. My arm hurts. This may be my last blog. Ever.


One nice nurse felt badly for me and she bandaged up one of the holes in my body. This one only hurts a little bit. But I lost a lot of blood through it. It was really hard to text and drive on the way home. I was woozy.

I rewarded myself with liquid heaven. Hit-N-Run Vanilla Coke. I thought about drinking two but thought I felt my throat swelling up and closing off from the fake shot.

That's when I noticed that I had hurt myself. Somehow I had poked a hole in my thumb. Maybe ... maybe the doctor was right. Maybe the shot will make me not lock-up and die. Maybe.

Probably not though. I don't trust Dr. Buttfeel.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #36

I dunno. There's just something wrong with the location of your local hospitals "crash cart" being pointed out by a bulletin board designed by Mrs. Sweeneys 3rd grade class. Is that today's lunch menu down in the bottom corner?

Stupid Picture Chronicles #35

Oddly enough the town of the next name is "Beulah."